Cherishing the Captain (Men at Arms Book 2)

by Elise Marion

Dr. Scudder’s dire warning had done nothing to frighten Sylvia. If anything, it made her more adamant about proving to Gideon that he wouldn’t have to undertake such a daunting process alone.

  “He is my husband. I will not abandon him, and am not afraid of a challenge.”

  “Then I will do all I can for him. I was brought here to see to the care of soldiers, and Captain Whitlock falls under that purview even if he isn’t an official patient of Davies House.”

  She wanted to go in search of Gideon right away, but with breakfast ending she had several hours’ worth of work ahead of her. The other nurses began leaving the kitchen, and she would be expected to follow. Dr. Scudder urged her to allow him to approach Gideon about the matter. She spent half the day thinking of how their conversation might have gone, and worrying that Gideon wouldn’t take kindly to her discussing such a sensitive matter with someone else. But, Dr. Scudder wasn’t just anyone. The man was one of the most forward-thinking alienists in England, and his own experiences with war gave him a unique perspective. It was her opinion that there was no one better qualified to help her husband than Dr. Scudder.

  As she left her patient’s room, Sylvia fished her watch out of her skirt pocket by its chain. It was time for her to have lunch, but she had no appetite. With time on her hands, Sylvia found herself aimlessly wandering the corridors of the house and wringing her hands as anxiety swelled within her.

  Equal parts relief and trepidation swept over her as she rounded a corner to find Dr. Scudder coming in her direction. He had just left the library, the door hanging ajar behind him. His mouth pinched into a firm line when he noticed Sylvia.

  “Have you a moment to spare, Nurse Whitlock?”

  There was no mistaking the gravity in his voice, or the meaning in his gaze.

  “An hour at most.”

  “That will be enough for now. If you would, come with me.”

  Sylvia took a slow, shaky breath as she trailed the doctor to the library, her heart leaping into her throat. For a moment she could hear nothing but the roar of her own blood in her ears, but as she neared the open door, she also detected the rhythmic thud of heavy feet against the rug. As she entered the library, she found the source of the noise.

  Gideon paced before the hearth, hands clenched behind his back, jaw wound tight. He paused and whirled when she entered, revealing that his good eye was wide and panicked. He was as still as death as he gazed at her, only the tension in his face and the accusation in his eye giving away his state of mind.

  Her heart sank as she realized he must feel betrayed. Raising her chin, she returned his stare and hoped he could see the truth—that she was sorry to have acted without his leave, but also that she’d done it all for him. If he could learn to manage his attacks and create some sort of life with her, then she would accept his anger now. She would do anything if there was a chance they could weather this together, and somehow come out whole on the other side.

  Dr. Scudder cleared his throat, interrupting the silent communication that had arced between her and Gideon. Her husband broke their locked gaze first, swiveling a narrowed eye at the doctor, who had seated himself in an armchair. Crossing one leg over the other, Dr. Scudder returned Gideon’s malevolent stare with a steady gaze of his own.

  “Captain, you have something you’d like to say to your wife, I believe. Though, I would ask you to consider that it was my idea to approach you on my own before involving her. She wanted to bring the matter to you herself, but I convinced her otherwise. It was a brave thing to do, coming to me. If nothing else, you might commend her for that.”

  Gideon’s shoulders unwound a bit, but his jaw was still as hard as the side of a cliff as he stared at her, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

  “I understand why you did it,” he said slowly, succinctly, as if measuring each word before speaking. “But, I wish you had consulted me before you decided to go airing our … personal affairs to someone else.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Sylvia took a slow step in his direction. “Perhaps I might have, but I awakened this morning alone. Ye did not give me the opportunity to discuss it wi’ ye.”

  Gideon’s face flushed to the roots of his hair, and his gentlemanly sensibilities showed themselves as he darted a glance at Dr. Scudder. She had forgotten how averse he was to discussing such matters in the presence of others. Sylvia’s upbringing as the daughter of a farmhand and her years nursing soldiers had obliterated all traces of shyness from her.

  “I could not sleep, so I went for a swim. When I returned you were gone.”

  “I had to attend my duties, else I would have waited.”

  “Sylvia, last night …” He paused, once again looking to the doctor, who sat watching with silent interest.

  Dr. Scudder inclined his head and waved his hand for Gideon to continue. “You can speak freely in front of me. It is my duty as a physician to keep the confidence of my patients.”

  “I am not your patient!” Gideon snapped.

  “Perhaps not yet,” the doctor replied coolly, “but I would like you to be. Your friend, Lieutenant Davies, trusts me with the patients of this home because my years of study and own personal experiences make me uniquely qualified to treat men like you.”

  “And what do you know of men like me?”

  Dr. Scudder’s cool blue eyes were as unwavering as his resolve. “I know what it is to be changed in the most elemental of ways, to long for home only to arrive and realize you don’t quite fit as you used to. I understand what it is to see death everywhere you look, to feel threatened even once the danger has passed. I know more than most men of my profession about your very unique circumstances, Captain. I am not asking you to trust me right away, only that you let me earn it.”

  “Gideon, please,” Sylvia pleaded. “Give him a chance … give us a chance. I refuse to believe that a handful of nights together is all we can ever have. Last night—”

  “Might have been a mistake,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “It was not my intention to give you false hope.”

  “I am not wrong to have faith, and I think ye know that. In fact, I think it is hope that scares ye more than anything. Ye fear that if you allow yourself to believe ye can be whole again, there is the chance ye will come up short.”

  “Yes, only you’ve forgotten the most important part. For me to fall short could have devastating consequences. It could mean harming you, and not only physically.”

  Her throat tightened as tears threatened her eyes, but Sylvia forced the words out while maintaining her composure. “But what if doing this could mean something wonderful?”

  “I won’t put you at risk.”

  “There could be a child.”

  Gideon blinked, seeming taken aback, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility before Sylvia had brought it to light. It was an idea that had greeted her the moment she opened her eyes this morning; one that had remained with her throughout her hours of work. They’d taken no measures to prevent conception of a child, which meant even now she could be quickening with his babe. Their babe.

  “I’d started to believe I would never have the things I once dreamed of—children, a family, happiness with the man I love. But it is possible, Gideon, all of it.”

  Uttering an oath under his breath, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “If there is a child, then of course I will see both of you cared for. You would want for nothing.”

  “Save for the presence of a husband and father.”

  “A father who has no idea how he might react to the racket of a squalling baby, or the unforeseen, grasping hands of a toddler! Would you have me put our child’s life in danger as well as your own? You ask me to think of the consequences of last night, as if I hadn’t already run through every possibility in my mind. I couldn’t sleep for worrying that you’d come to hate me for being forced to abandon you again. Yet, I can see no other way.”

  “I think, perhaps you can.”

  Sylvia sucked in a sharp bre
ath at Dr. Scudder’s interruption. She had nearly forgotten the other man’s presence, but she looked to him now. He had come to his feet, his rapt gaze fixed on Gideon.

  “I think,” he continued, “you can far too easily see yourself making a life with your wife and the children who have not yet been born. I think it haunts you. It keeps you awake at night, because there is a part of you that will not let go of that possibility, even though you’ve convinced yourself it cannot be done. Captain, I am here to tell you that it can be done. Not in the blink of an eye, and not without a great deal of effort on your part. You have suffered enough, both physically and within your own mind. Will you continue punishing yourself under the misguided notion that you are incapable of enjoying life as it is meant to be lived?”

  Gideon broke the doctor’s gaze, his throat bobbing as he stared down at his feet. Sylvia looked at his hands, which were encased in a pair of leather riding gloves and had begun to shake. His voice was so low when he spoke, she had to strain to hear him.

  “I … do not know where to begin. I never have. Since I returned, it is all I can do to survive from day to day. I breathe, I eat, I sleep only when the exhaustion of it all becomes too much.”

  “There is something else, though,” Dr. Scudder said, moving across the room to stand between them. “There is the way you feel about your wife. You have already admitted that your feelings have not changed. You do love her?”

  Gideon’s eye peered up at Sylvia through the locks of golden hair fallen over his brow, the intensity of it burning straight through her. “More than life itself.”

  His words pierced her right through the middle, making her stomach quiver and her throat burn with the urge to weep. The desire to reach out to him was strong, but she fought it. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize what they’d started working toward. For, whether Gideon realized it or not, the moment he’d kissed her, he had started this entire chain of events. One day, she would be able to reach for him without fear or reservation, and he would welcome the touch of her hand on his brow, his cheek, his chest.

  “It is enough,” Dr. Scudder murmured. “Something to fight for, to work toward. I ask every patient to do something before we begin … and that is to tell me, out loud, one thing they would want if they could have it—no matter how impossible it may seem. For some, it is simply the ability to step foot outdoors after years of cloistering themselves away. For others, it is to achieve a full night’s rest, or enjoy a display of fireworks without collapsing. Why don’t you tell me what you would like to achieve? It doesn’t matter how inconsequential.”

  Gideon stared at Sylvia for a while before answering, and the longing in his voice broke her heart. “I want … to sleep in the same bed as my wife. There has only ever been the one night, and I … it was what I missed most while I was away. It was the thing I fought so hard for.”

  Smiling, Dr. Scudder gave an encouraging nod. “Then that is what you will have … but only if you are willing to try. I am here to assist you in any way that I can. Will you allow me, Captain?”

  Gideon squeezed his eye shut, tension radiating from him like a tangible force. Sylvia could see him wrestling with himself, the push and pull happening deep within as he stood on the edge of what must be a frightening precipice. But, as long as he let her, she would stand on that edge with him.

  “All right,” he said in a pained whisper, his eye fluttering open to focus on her. “Yes.”

  Sylvia hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out on a sigh of relief. Exhaustion nearly took her down into the nearest chair, the mental strain of hoping and waiting taking its toll. However, the day was only half gone, and it was nearly time for her to get back to work. She felt as if they’d just climbed a mountain together, and now stood at its peak, gazing out over all the possibilities their future could offer.

  “Nurse Whitlock, I realize you have your duties to attend to, but there is something I would like to see happen before you leave this room.”

  At her questioning look, Dr. Scudder glanced at Gideon.

  “Captain, if you would please remove one of your gloves.”

  Gideon stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just one glove, not both. Quickly, please, your wife has patients waiting for her.”

  Sylvia’s insides erupted in a flurry of sensations and emotions, and she couldn’t tell if excitement or dread were the strongest of them all. Gideon complied slowly, suspicion showing in his eye as he watched Dr. Scudder. The physician merely waited while Gideon revealed one large, strong hand. Sylvia shivered at the memory of those hands on her just last night, touching her in ways she’d never thought to experience again. His nails were neatly trimmed, accentuating the length of blunt fingers notched with pale white scars along the knuckles. Holding the leather glove in his opposite hand, Gideon shifted from foot to foot, practically vibrating with the fear that showed in his eye.

  “Extend your hand, please, Captain,” Dr. Scudder urged.

  Gideon made a sound in the back of his throat, deep and desperate, his eye darting about as if he were searching for some avenue of escape.

  “Look at your wife … yes, that’s good. Now, you told me you can tolerate touch when you know it is coming. You are going to stand here with your hand out and allow Nurse Whitlock to take that hand. You will see the touch coming, so there is no need to fear. All she is going to do is hold your hand, nothing more. You can trust her to observe this limit for the time being, knowing it will go no further than that for now.”

  With a slow nod, Gideon shifted, curling his bare hand into a fist. But then, his arm began to lift, his fingers uncurling as he offered his hand to her, palm up. His jaw worked as he ground his molars, his cheekbones flexing taut. To her relief, he held firm once the hand was fully extended, his gaze locked with hers. He gave another nod, this one a sharp motion letting her know that it was all right to touch him.

  A sudden nervousness came over her, and she worried that to force this touch would cause him more harm than good. She remembered all-too well the moment he’d lashed out at her in the drawing room, though her fear was not that he would hurt her. It was what she could reduce him to with the wrong touch, the wrong timing. But, as he held her gaze and waited, she realized that she needed this as much as he did. If they were to begin anywhere, why not the simple clasp of his fingers in hers?

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Sylvia reached out and laid her palm in his. It was warm and slightly callused, big and open and unmoving. Gideon stood as still as a statue, sucking in a sharp breath and watching her fingertips skim along the heel of his hand, then his palm, until she was touching the pulse in his wrist. She felt the rush of his blood, far too fast for a man at rest. Tiny tremors translated from his fingertips, but instead of pulling away, he did the most surprising thing.

  With a tiny huff of shock and disbelief, he closed his grip around her hand. The clench was tight enough to send an ache radiating through the delicate bones of her fingers, but Sylvia had never felt anything sweeter in all her life. She clutched him back just as fiercely, tears springing forth to roll down her cheeks. Gideon’s eye glimmered with unshed tears of his own as he stared down at their joined hands without the barrier of gloves.

  They stood that way for what felt like forever, hands joined as Sylvia’s shoulders shook with silent sobs. A smile broke out over her face when Gideon suddenly lowered his head and kissed her knuckles, his lips lingering for several seconds before he finally released her.

  She missed his touch the moment it was gone, but let herself bask in the warmth left behind, the tingling awareness that raced up her arm.

  Dr. Scudder looked pleased, offering Gideon a small smile. “Very good. Now, Nurse Whitlock, perhaps you might take a moment to compose yourself before returning to your duties. The captain and I have work to do.”

  Chapter 10

  “The entire battlefield had erupted into chaos. We charged under faulty orders, and did
not realize until afterward that the command was misinterpreted. We were supposed to advance to Causeway Heights, where it was thought the enemy was making off with our artillery. Instead, we were told to advance into the thick of the battle and attack a battery of eight Russian guns on the north end of the valley.”

  Gideon paused and took a deep, slow breath as Dr. Scudder sat in the armchair across from him and waited. The man’s face betrayed none of his thoughts while he sat listening to Gideon recount the events of the battle that had led to the loss of his eye. Anyone with a subscription to a single newspaper in England would already know the most rudimentary details of the Battle of Balaclava, and the disastrous losses caused by faulty intelligence and confusion. Gideon had returned to England to find written accounts assaulting him from every turn, and had heard many a recitation of the now-famous poem by Lord Alfred Tennyson, Charge of the Light Brigade.

  However, Dr. Scudder had insisted on hearing Gideon’s version of events. He rarely spoke of the day with anyone—not even the fellow soldiers who had survived the skirmish. But for Sylvia, he would do anything.

  He would tear himself open and poke metaphorical fingers into the festering wounds of his soul in the hopes that he could be healed. He would submit to this alienist and learn to manage the affliction of his mind.

  It hadn’t been his intention upon coming to Davies House. To his mind, this place was for men whose physical wounds still needed tending, and those who could not function within society. While he had a difficult time with intimate touch, Gideon was not so bad off as to need restraining with a straight-jacket or to be sedated with doses of laudanum. He’d witnessed men in the throes of terror and rage so intense, that multiple attendants were needed to keep them from hurting themselves or others. Gideon’s episodes were only ever triggered by unforeseen touch, and he’d become adept enough at avoiding it. He might not be able to share a bed with his wife, or endure her hands on him, but he didn’t fall into the ranks of the men who’d begun filling the patient rooms in Davies House.