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William watched once more in torment as Charles was run through with a bayonet, this vantage point a new seat to witness hell unfolding yet again.

Then William watched himself across the yard as he called out his cousin’s name in agony. He witnessed the other William’s anguish, followed by the realization he had no bayonet with which to defend himself as the tide of blue rushed toward him. The other William brought the musket back over his head to wield it in the manner of a blacksmith’s hammer.

Caroline was humming next to him, nudging him and pointing to the left of where William was fighting the enemy.

Curious what had her attention, he focused on where she pointed and noticed for the first time that as he fought, Corporal Graham, Graham’s brother, and several soldiers were fighting near him while Captain Wyndham led them to the north gate. As the other William brought the stock of his musket down on the head of a French soldier, he now noticed that the man had been preparing to stab Corporal Graham from behind with the point of his bayonet.

The corporal paid no heed to what was happening behind him as William cracked his stock down on the enemy soldier’s skull, killing him in a single, powerful blow. Graham raised his musket and fired at a French sniper who was taking aim at Captain Wyndham. He hit the sniper, and then the group of redcoats fought their way forward under the command of Lieutenant Colonel MacDonell to the north gate. Closing the gate was their only hope of survival, and the men fought their way valiantly in service of the British army, as they had been instructed to do. Château d’Hougoumont had to be defended at any cost.

William watched on, realizing for the first time that while he fought in the skirmish across the yard, his fellow redcoats made it back to the gate and struggled to get it closed. Then they turned to fight the remaining bluecoats in the yard.

Caroline broke off from her song. “If you had not been standing in that exact spot, Corporal Graham might have died. If he had died, so too would Captain Wyndham have died. And if Captain Wyndham had died, Lieutenant Colonel MacDonell would have failed, and Hougoumont would have fallen.”

“What of it?” William heard the belligerence in his voice, but he could not help it. He had returned to the site of his downfall as he did every horrible night. It was hell on earth, and he had had to relive it every evening since that day.

Caroline turned to gaze at him with lively hazel eyes. “It was a blessing you were here that day, William. The Duke of Wellington himself declared that the success of the battle turned upon the closing of the gates at Hougoumont.”

William’s brows drew together in his confusion. He supposed he must have known that, considering Caroline was merely a guest in his dream. She could not point it out unless he had already heard it. At least, that seemed the most logical explanation.

Observing his perplexment, Caroline placed her hand on his forearm in a gesture of comfort as she explained, “If you had not been there to stop that Frenchman from stabbing Corporal Graham, we might have lost the entire war with Napoleon.”

That seemed far-fetched. And besides, it did not address the excruciating cause of his true grief. “But because of me, Charles is dead!”

“Charles was going to sign up whether you joined him or not. He was frustrated that more than a decade of war with Boney looked to be starting anew. He wanted no more wives of Chatternwell to be widowed. When Boney escaped, Charles informed you that he would fight with or without you because he was a good man. A courageous man.”

William paused, thinking back on the events leading up to Hougoumont. Now that he thought about it, Charles had been the first to raise the subject of joining the fight after Boney escaped Elba.

“Charles would be proud of the part he played this day. That his loss prompted you to fly into a rage, which in turn led to saving the corporal. His presence here that day, it was⁠—”

“A blessing?”

Caroline smiled. “Indeed. We did not need any more fatherless children in Chatternwell because of the little tyrant’s quest for power. Charles had a choice in his fate because he was allowed to grow into a man. He had a mother and father who loved him, and he chose to honor them by protecting the liberty of England.”

William sat down, his knees no longer able to hold him up as he adjusted his perspective of the past. He had lived in regret for five long years, but would he have done anything differently? Would he have convinced Charles to stay home, never himself signed up, based on what he knew now?

“Regretting the past is a waste of time, William. We must count the blessings and then continue with our lives.”

Caroline had taken a seat beside him, her white skirts blinding in the sunlight as she placed her delicate hand over his. “Charles would want his sacrifice to be meaningful. He would want to know that his memory lived on through you."

The chains that had bound him since this day at the fields of Waterloo slowly loosened their hold and the weight of them melted away. As the tight bands disappeared, William felt his eyes welling with moisture. Raising his hand, he found tears streaming down as he quietly accepted the past and released his guilt.

Next to him, Caroline resumed her melodic humming as he finally wept for his cousin’s death, but understood that it had played an important role within a hitherto unknown master plan.

When William’s eyes flickered open, he was surprised to find his cheeks were wet. A strange discovery—for he must have wept like a babe in his sleep. The room slowly came into focus as the dream faded.

He flinched when he realized Caroline was standing over him, her hand resting gently on his arm as if to wake him. A candle flickered on the table beside her, casting golden light upon her worried face. She was stroking his arm in a soothing gesture.

“William! Thank heavens you are awake! You were having a nightmare, and I could not rouse you.”

He blinked, struggling to clear the lingering haze of sleep from his eyes.

“How did you know? What was I doing?”

“You were highly agitated—growling and flailing in your sleep—and then you …” Her voice softened, clearly hesitant to finish. “You were weeping?”

William swallowed hard and slowly lifted himself to lean back against the arm of the settee. “I was counting my blessings.”

“And that made you”—Caroline faltered, apparently reluctant to wound his pride—“cry?”