The Sentimental Soldier

by April Kihlstrom

  In answer he caught the hand that was stroking his hair and gripped it tight. For a long moment matters hung in the balance. He wanted to shout at her, to ring a peal over her head, to tell her she didn’t understand a thing. And Prudence wouldn’t have blamed him a bit if he had.

  But he didn’t. Instead, slowly, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. With a shaky laugh he said, “I keep telling you that I have gotten the better end of this marriage bargain but you refuse to believe me. Perhaps after now you do?”

  Her own voice was husky then as she shook her head and said, “Never.”

  And when he reached for her she went into his arms willingly. She had known what it was to be a bride for only one night and part of her was impatient to know it again. But she dared not even ask if it would ever be possible for that was one of the things the surgeon had warned her might not happen.

  As though he read her mind, Harry took one of her hands and guided it where he wished it to be. “One thing I can promise you, at least,” he said softly, “is that when I am a little more recovered I shall in truth be your husband once again.”

  And what there was about that to make her cry, Prudence could not have said, but it did. This time it was Harry who stroked her hair. And she was the one who took comfort from him.

  Later, much later, Prudence asked, “Would you like me to write your family for you? To tell them we are coming?”

  Harry hesitated then shook his head. “No. That is a task, I think, that I must do myself. If I do not, they will wonder just how ill I am that I cannot write, that I must leave it to someone else.”

  Prudence nodded. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “What will they think of me?” she asked.

  He looked at her and all the stiffness left his face as he smiled a warm and gentle smile. “They will find you just as exasperating as I do,” he teased. “And think you just as much in need of a guard. But they will also take you to their hearts.”

  “Even Lord and Lady Darton?” Prudence asked skeptically.

  “Even my starched up brother and his wife,” Harry confirmed. At her skeptical look he added, “It is the truth, I swear it! George is forever telling me that I ought to get myself leg-shackled. How can he object, now that I have done so?”

  “In his place, I should,” she countered.

  Harry laughed and shook his head. “Perhaps just at first. But he will accept you once he sees how respectable you make me appear.”

  Prudence looked down at her clothes and laughed. “That should be quite a trick! We must make certain, then, that he catches no glimpse of me until I am dressed a little better than this.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Harry countered, his eyes merry for the first time in days. “If I bring you home looking like this, then Emily and Juliet are certain to take you to their hearts.”

  “The reformer and the inventor?” Prudence asked, her own voice turning soft now. “From what you have said, I think I shall like them.”

  “If we are talking of family,” Harry said unrepentantly, “perhaps we should speak about your uncle. What is he going to think of me? Bad enough I am a soldier, but now I shall be a crippled one. What is he going to say when he learns we traveled about the countryside unchaperoned for so many weeks? Will he call me to account for that, do you think.”

  Prudence grinned. “Why? Do you wish me to play the part of wronged maiden? I do not think my uncle will believe that any man could take advantage of me against my will. He knows me too well, you see, and he would ask why I had not sunk a dagger in your breast if I found you so objectionable.”

  “What of your pacifist leanings?” Harry asked warily.

  “He would say, and has, that there is a point beyond which idealism becomes foolish,” Prudence retorted with a lightness she did not feel.

  Harry knew she was thinking of the man she had killed in France and he therefore made his voice lighter, more teasing than it might otherwise have been.

  “Your uncle sounds like a most sensible man!” he said.

  It was a measure of how well Prudence had come to terms with what happened there that she was able to say, her head tilted to one side, “Well, do you know, I think he is. I also think he will be grateful to you. Which reminds me. Now that you no longer need my constant attention, I ought to write to my uncle and tell him the situation here.”

  “Do you think that wise?” Harry said with some alarm. “Suppose your letter should fall into the wrong hands? It could be a disaster for Wellington and his men.”

  “I am not such a fool as that!” Prudence said with a snort. “Years ago Uncle and I contrived a code we could use just between us. No one reading my letter will think I am telling him anything other than the news about my marriage to you.”

  Harry fell back on the bed with a mock groan. “Now I know for certain that my brothers and their wives will absolutely adore you,” he said. “You will become a part of their circle without the least effort! But where were you when we could have used your help a year ago?”

  “What?” Prudence asked, thoroughly confused.

  “Never mind,” Harry said, reaching for her. “Who said I no longer need your constant attention?” he demanded with a growl.

  Prudence went into his arms again willingly. She did, she thought as she had so many times since her wedding day, like being married after all, even if Harry could not be brought to understand why. But it was the name “Alain,” and not “Harry,” she whispered just before he kissed her. Because in moments like this she could almost believe he was the same man who had kissed her in France.

  * * * *

  Harry carefully slid out from beside Prudence and moved to sit at the desk that had been brought into the room for him. He trimmed a quill pen and dipped it into the ink even as he pulled a sheet of paper toward him.

  For all his optimistic words to Prudence, he knew that he had better prepare his family, both for his condition and for her existence. The words were surprisingly hard to find. For a tuppence he would have tossed away the paper and trusted to providence and their relief at his sudden reappearance to question Prudence’s presence beside him.

  But he could not do that to her. She had a right to his protection. And to the consideration of his family. Somehow he must make it clear to them that it was the least he would expect.

  Harry would have done so even if this strange marriage of his was simply one of duty. But somehow, in the past few days, even if it had begun otherwise, he had lost his heart to Prudence. In France he had known she had courage. Here he saw it demonstrated tenfold. She had not flinched from dealing with wounded and dying men. She had not flinched from the curses they sometimes hurled at her head. She had not flinched from dealing with him, even when he had been at his worst.

  This was not how he had planned his life but, in the matter of his marriage at least, Harry had come to feel, these past few days, that he was more fortunate than he could ever have known beforehand. He had come not only to respect Prudence, but to love her with a depth he had not known his heart possessed.

  So dipping the quill pen yet again in the inkwell, Harry began to write. So lost was he in the effort of composing a suitable missive that he forgot, for some moments, the pain in his leg. And that, he thought later, had to be the best sign of all.

  Still, until the moment the surgeon pronounced him completely healed, Harry would not be able to let go of the fear in his heart. He had seen too many men he knew lose their legs after an injury in battle for him to be complacent.

  Chapter 12

  The ship rocked beneath their feet, but this crossing was far different than the last one Prudence had experienced. No clouds marred the sky today, nor storms threatened on the horizon. And she was in skirts, instead of the robes of a Moroccan prince.

  She wished Harry would agree to sit. But he insisted that he stand, with one hand gripping the rail and the other balancing on his cane, to watch the shore of England come into sight. Who was she t
o deny him that pleasure? And at least Wilkins stood by, just in case he was needed.

  “Colonel?” a voice said from behind them. They turned to see the captain standing there. “I’ve arranged for one of my men to carry your things ashore. He’ll help you get them to wherever you may be staying.”

  “Thank you.”

  The captain touched his cap and retreated. Beside her, Prudence could feel Harry stiffen. Everyone seemed to treat him that way, these days. With a mixture of deference and discomfort. Polite to his face but, embarrassed by his injury, eager to be out of his company as quickly as possible. And Harry patently took it to heart every time.

  All Prudence could think to do was squeeze his arm. And then he looked down at her gratefully, as he always did, but the pain was still there, at the back of his eyes. The surgeon had shown her how to take care of Harry’s injured leg, but how did one heal a man’s soul?

  * * * *

  England. His home. Always before he had come back to these shores with a sense of purpose, knowing that he was one of those who helped to defend her. But to what did he return now? To what purpose?

  Harry sighed. He could feel Prudence at his side and Wilkins nearby, both watching him with concern. But how could he reassure them when he could not even reassure himself?

  He gripped the railing tighter. It would be so easy, even now, with his leg injured as it was, to go over the side and sink below the waves. He might have done it but for two things. Men would have put their lives—Wilkins would put his life—at risk trying to save him, and it would cause Prudence pain. Worse, it would leave her without a husband and she would have to face his family alone. He could not do that to her.

  No, at least until he put his affairs in order, Harry had to go on. However much he longed for rest. So now he made himself smile and touch her arm and point out to Prudence some of the things they could see. She had traveled so much that perhaps she knew the sights as well as he, but if so she was perfectly willing to pretend she did not. And for that Harry was grateful.

  He seemed to feel that way often these days and it was a sensation he did not like. He would far rather have had it the other way around. He wanted to know that he was the one protecting her instead of feeling, at times, as if she was protecting him.

  He also wanted, he found, to show Prudence his England. The places he had played as a boy, the factory his brother Philip now owned, the machines his brother James invented. And he wanted to show her off as well. A smile lit his face at the thought of dancing with her at Almack’s.

  But there would be no dancing, he thought, the smile wiped away as fast as it had come.

  As though she read his mind she put a hand on his arm and said, “For each thing you cannot do, there are a dozen others you can.”

  He looked down at her quizzically. “Do you know me so well, then?”

  “I want to. And I know something of your fears, I think. Though I would guess you would rather I did not.”

  “Witch!” he said with some affection and, for her sake, he forced himself to smile again. “You pluck the thoughts right out of my head.”

  She shook her head but smiled, pleased by the compliment, for she knew he meant it as such. “Where do we go first?” she asked, turning the subject.

  “London, I think. Most of my family will be there and they would never forgive me if I did not go to them first,” Harry said with a sigh. “Afterward, well, afterward we can go wherever you wish.”

  She started to shake her head again but stopped and a mischievous gleam lit her eyes, warning him a moment before she spoke. “The continent? The talks, perhaps?” she asked impishly.

  He pretended to frown but could not sustain it long. “Wretch!” he told her. “You would take advantage of a poor, sick man?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed. He could not help himself. There was such joy in being with her that even in the depths of his fears, late at night, it helped to see her lying close beside him. And when she teased, as she did now, there were moments when he felt he could face whatever lay ahead.

  “No, we are not going to the continent,” he told her firmly. “Not unless I am sent.”

  “But why not?”

  “Because I would be useless there,” Harry replied, and there was no mistaking the sincerity behind the words. “Nor could I protect you if something were to go wrong and the French decided to break the treaty.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. “Very well,” she said.

  “Very well?” he echoed warily.

  She nodded. He studied her for some moments. “Now why do I not believe you?” he asked aloud.

  She grinned, unrepentantly. “Because you know me very well?” she suggested.

  “No doubt.”

  “Well, for once I mean it. I shan’t plague you, if you truly do not wish to go,” she said and this time it was he who did not doubt her sincerity, though he could not fathom why she might have changed her mind.

  And then they were docking. The deck became a fury of activity and slowly Prudence and Harry made their way toward the ramp that would let them off the ship. Each step on that ramp jarred Harry’s leg, even though he leaned heavily on the cane as the surgeon had told him to do. But he bit back every exclamation of pain. He would not let anyone know how much this simple thing cost him. Not when other men were having to be carried off on litters.

  They had scarcely reached solid ground when Harry heard his name called out. He winced and turned to greet his brother George.

  “There you are. Had a devil of a time getting the coach close enough. But it’s straight over here, Harry. We’ll have you home before you know it. And who is this, a camp follower turned nurse? You may send her off for we’ve engaged the best of care for you.”

  Harry felt rather than saw the chagrin on Prudence’s face. Hastily he spoke to head off what he instinctively knew would be trouble.

  “George, if you received my letter that I was returning home—”

  But his brother cut him off before he could say anything more. “Letter? No we’ve received no letter. Not from you. But Sir Thomas received word, don’t ask me how, that you were injured and would be returning home on this ship. So naturally I came to get you. Here, my good woman, here is something for your trouble and I said you may take yourself off. As you can see, my brother is in my charge now.”

  “George,” Harry had to all but yell to get his brother’s attention, “this is not a camp follower or a nurse. This is my wife. Prudence, this is my brother, Lord Darton.”

  “Wife?” George gaped at him. “Surely you are joking? You cannot have married someone like this!”

  Now the devil was in it and Harry was not quick enough. Prudence spoke before he had even begun to frame his reply.

  “I assure you, Lord Darton, that I am indeed Harry’s wife. And before you say anything more, anything you may later regret, let me inform you that my birth is equal to his. My uncle is a diplomat in the king’s service and my father was Lord Marland.” She paused, then added almost graciously, “I can well understand your confusion, however. My attire is borrowed and not of the quality to which I am accustomed. I must hope it can be replaced quickly, now that we are back in England.”

  Harry rather enjoyed the sight of his brother’s stunned expression. And the way he changed sides the moment he realized what Prudence was saying. When she finally finished her little speech, George even managed a smile, albeit a weak one, and his color was still a little high.

  “Er, my profound apologies for the misunderstanding. That is to say, welcome to the family. But, er, Harry? I do think it would be best to continue this discussion in the coach, rather than providing a spectacle for everyone.”

  Harry offered his arm to Prudence and she took it, very much as though she were a grande dame instead of the woman who had masqueraded as a very dirty gypsy boy such a short time before. George mopped his brow as he led the way to the coach. The moment they were in sight, the fo
otman leapt to open the coach door.

  “My man, Wilkins, is bringing our baggage,” Harry said. “Someone ought to keep watch for him.”

  “No need,” Prudence said softly. “He has seen us and is coming this way.”

  With patent relief, George gave orders for the footman to help Wilkins strap the baggage on back and make room for him to ride beside the coachman. And then they were off for London, moving slowly at first but then more quickly as they quit the seaside town.

  It was, Harry had to admit, a welcome thought, that he would travel in such a well sprung vehicle. And that his brother had cared enough to come and collect him. Now if he could just prevent George and Prudence from coming to blows on the journey home. That, unfortunately, seemed an impossible task but at least, he consoled himself, he need not fear the journey would be boring.

  “Er, how did you and my brother come to meet?” George asked, when their things had been strapped onto the back and the coach was on its way. “Was your uncle at the court of the king of Spain?”

  Prudence flushed. Harry grinned at her wickedly and he had the distinct impression that had George not been there she would have stuck her tongue out at him. Of course, if George had not been there, she would have had no reason to do so.

  She looked away, careful not to meet Harry’s eyes as she replied, “Why no, Lord Darton. Harry and I, er, met when I was, that is to say, what I mean is—”

  Harry took pity on her. “What she means to say is that she fell overboard from the ship she was on and she happened to wash ashore just where I was. I rescued her and we, er, became rather, er, attached to one another.”

  George regarded him with a shrewdness Harry sometimes forgot his eldest brother possessed. “Coming it much too brown, Harry. I know a Banbury tale when I hear one! The truth now.”

  “The truth?” Prudence asked, leaning forward. “The truth is that I fell overboard, your brother rescued me, we fled through France dressed as a priest and nun, were captured by the French, escaped, then traveled about dressed as two gypsy brothers. Eventually we managed to reach Spain and the Marquess of Wellington’s camp where we were married within days of our arrival.”