She made him lay back down on the pillow and pulled the sheet and coverlet over him. Then she sat down by the bed and reapplied the vinegar and brown paper.
"You've been very kind, Sarah. I can't believe my luck."
"I'm sorry, sir. I can understand how upsetting this must be for you. As I've promised, you can stay as long as you like until you find your family and other friends. But I do have one question."
"Yes?" he asked, his tone and expression wary.
"Can you tell me how it is, if you can't recall anything about your past, that you believe your name to be Jonathan Deveril?" she asked gently.
He sighed. "When I arrived at the field hospital, apparently, I had commission papers concealed in a secret pocket of my trousers which were made out in the name of Jonathan Deveril. They were my only means of identification."
She frowned. "The only? What about insignia, your uniform badges, buttons?"
"There was nothing else. I was barefoot and wearing only a pair of white Army issue breeches. My injuries told them I had been through something horrendous. My back was cut to ribbons and I had no memory. The doctor doubted I would live. I lost my senses, lapsed into unconscious, had brain fever, was paralyzed."
"My goodness," she gasped. "How long were you like that?"
He shrugged. "As near as they can tell, about a year. I've been gradually getting better over this past year, but it's been a real struggle. I couldn't speak, couldn't walk. But the monks-"
She stared at him. "Monks?"
"The monks at the monastery which took in many of the wounded who couldn't be moved or sent home. They helped me learn how to walk and talk again. More than that. I re-learned English, and also learned French, Spanish and Portuguese from the monks and other soldiers there. I learned about the soil, tilling the fields, and picking oakum for caulking ships. I was able to earn my keep, and given a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I convalesced for about a year in total after I woke up."
"So why are you here now, back in England, I mean?"
He shifted in the bed slightly to get more comfortable. "The war in Spain was pretty much over once the British crossed over the Pyrenees, so some of the officers began to repatriate the wounded who were fit enough to travel.
"I was sent home as soon as I was well enough. I made my way to the Horse Guards to try to find out something more about myself, and was told that I was Jonathan Deveril, and that I had lived in Sussex at the time of my enlistment in 1808."
She nodded. "That would have been true. It was true until the spring of 1812, when my brother came home, settled his affairs with my father, and went off to study."
"I see." He looked thoughtful for a time.
"What did you do next?" she asked, though she could already guess.
"I went down to Lewes to visit my supposed family home. Only when I got there, I was told that the Deveril family had gone away. That the father had died, and the sisters had moved to the north. And that the son, named Jonathan, had gone back to study at Oxford."
"That's all true as well. They only left out the fact that I went to Oxford with my brother to keep house for him."
"I was determined to continue following the trail, so Oxford was my next port of call. I resumed my trudging along the road, located his college, and found an old don who knew of him. I was told that he had been ordained and taken up parish duties here as vicar of Brimley."
"Brimley and Eltham, yes," she confirmed.
"I enlisted his help in locating Brimley on the map, and have been traveling ever since."
"I see. So you were hoping that you would find your old life, or at least find someone who knew you?" "Precisely. Any clue would help."
"It's terribly bad luck that you just missed him and the wedding. But if you woke with my brother's papers in your pocket, then I feel sure that you must know him in some capacity. I shall certainly write to Jonathan and tell him your story, and describe you. But there might be an easier way to find out who you are."
"Really? How?" he asked, his eyes alight with hope.
"Let me light a candle."
She took up the tinderbox, and re-lit the sconce near the bed. She took it out of the bracket and brought it close. "Please show me your arm."
He seemed surprised at the request, but held it up for her inspection. Sarah looked at it carefully on both sides. The only thing she could see was a small set of initials. JAD.
"What are you looking for?"
She stared for a time, then blinked as she recalled herself. "Jay A Dee. Very curious. They're the same initials as my brother. Jonathan Alexander Deveril. But it's not the full name, and there's no town."
His dark brows knit in confusion. "I don't understand."
She explained, "My brother and his friends are known as the Rakehells, and those who served were inseparable during the war. They all had tattoos placed on their arms and legs to help identify them in case they were ever wounded or killed. You have the same sort of tattoos. But there's no town, and not a full name. There's also the George and Dragon to show you're English, but even that's different. Smaller. Do you mind if I look at your other arm?"
He offered it to her.
She sighed. "It's the same. Jay A Dee. Nothing else. I would ask to look at your legs, but we wouldn't want to embarrass you."
"Well, if you think it would help, go ahead," he offered gruffly. "I'm still wearing drawers."
"Very well," she agreed readily. "Sit up and dangle your legs over the bed."
She glad he could not see her blushes. She hoped she didn't seem too eager to see even more of him bare. What she had viewed of his chest and muscular arms was enough to give her romantic fantasies for the next year.
He did as she asked, maintaining his modesty by clutching the sheet around his waist. Kneeling on the floor, Sarah scanned his lean feet and ankles quickly for any special marks besides the initials. She then moved the sheet up past his muscular calves to his knees. She gripped each ankle in turn, rotating them to and fro. She could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, felt her own heart beating in time with his.
She swallowed hard past the choked feeling in her throat and forced herself to concentrate. At length she reported, "I'm sorry. There's nothing. I can go a bit further if you like."
She tried to quell the hammering of her heart at the sight of his naked magnificence. Her mouth was dry with desire. Scarred though he was, he looked like a god.
He cleared his throat. "If you don't find it too shocking, Sarah."
"No, not at all," she said, her voice husky with indefinable emotions. "You aren't scarred badly or anything on your limbs, if that's what you're asking me."
"It isn't, but that's good to know, thank you," he said, visibly relieved. "Actually, I meant I didn't want to offend your sensibilities any more than I already have done."
"I wasn't raised to be prudish. The human body is a beautiful thing. Yours is like a piece of Greek statuary," she said with startling candor.
He blinked in surprise. "Why, thank you."
In the light from her candle, she could see him blush, and smiled to herself.
She pushed the sheet up as far as she could, to the edge of his drawers high on his thighs, and said, "I'm sorry. There's nothing else except the initials, and a few obvious but intriguing scars."
Without thinking, she patted him on the knee with her whole hand.
He sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," she said innocently, though the strange tingling sensation she had felt before made her aware of the undercurrent of intense feeling between them both.
"Er, not exactly hurt, no. It just surprised me. My back was injured very badly. I'm getting sensation back in my, um, all over my body. Sometimes it's most sudden and ah, disconcerting."
She was glad he couldn't see her expression, for she was sure she was goggle-eyed with desire. She flicked the sheets over his legs once more quickly, trying to remove the tempta
tion so near. But the damage had already been done. She had seen him bare. She was sure as long as she lived, she would never forget such a rousing sight, or the sensation as she had touched his leg.
As she helped him adjust himself more comfortably once more, she could feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton sheet and an answering glow radiated within her from head to toe.
"I'm sorry I got your hopes up for nothing. The initials tell us a little, but certainly not as much as I had hoped."
"It was best to check to be certain. I'm grateful that you tried."
"But you must be exhausted."
He lay back down meekly, stiff and ill at ease now.
"I'm sorry that was a waste of time," she apologized again. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, not at all. Please don't think that."
His shoulders eased, and she began to tuck him in lingeringly.
"There, all done."
"I'm sorry to be so churlish, Sarah. You did try. I'm grateful."
"How's your head now?" she asked, after replacing the compress again a few moments later.
"Much better, thank you. You're a good nurse." He took one hand and after some hesitation, kissed the back of it lightly.
"You're a good patient," she said in a warm tone.
He relinquished her hand at last, and said in a business-like manner, "So, have you any more thoughts as to what I can do while I wait for your brother to write to us, or come home?"
"Is there anything else you have with you that might help?"
"Copies of the war office records, the commission papers, are here for you to scrutinize. Caleb took them out of my pockets and put them in a safe place. Jenny is taking the money out of the lining of my coat. The papers aren't much good to me in my present state. I've had no one in whom I could truly confide. So far as I know, they all state that I'm Jonathan Deveril. They would be all about his record of service with the 45th Foot until he was injured lightly at Badajoz."
"That's right. He was with Picton when the Third Division succeeded in breaking through into the castle. It was a miracle, I can tell you. For a time it looked as if Wellington had lost, until the news from the 45th arrived that they had given it one last try."
"I've heard the stories from men in the hospital. Your brother must be a very brave man."
"He does what he has to do for the sake of his principles, as do we all."
"I can see you strongly resemble him, then," he observed quietly.
"Physically, no. In terms of disposition, yes, most certainly. We're very close, the best of friends, though there are several years in between us. Though not as many as between our older sisters and he."
"I hope his kindness extends to charity for the poor, then. I got a awarded a small pension which I've put in a bank under my assumed name, but I've already exhausted a fair amount of it in my fruitless searches. I have no home to go to, no friends whom I can recall, so I am as you see me, blind and close to destitute."
"He always helped those less fortunate than himself, even before he devoted his life to his current vocation. You will be welcome by him and all his friends, I'm sure of it."
He sighed bitterly, and rolled in the bed to face her. "I don't want to prevail upon your hospitality any more than I already have, Sarah, but to tell you the plain truth, I don't know what I shall do in the ensuing time until your brother writes or finally returns home. Even if he does do either of those things, he might not know me."
"But he might," she said in her most optimistic tone. "The tattoos certainly seem to indicate that you know the Rakehells, so I feel sure you will have some answers from him soon."
"If he doesn't know me, I might never be able to get my old life back. In which case, what shall I do then? Even if he does know me, do I have anything worth going back to in my old life? I'm blind, crippled for Heaven's sake. What use am I to anyone?"
She put the brown paper to one side and stroked his brow soothingly, feathering back his lush dark hair. "Sush, it will be all right. Please calm yourself. I'm not going to throw you out to wander the roads. You've walked this far, but I can see what a toll it's taken on you. You need to rest, and try not to push yourself too hard.
"I was just thinking before how God works in mysterious ways. You'll stay here with me. No, don't even try to argue. I have the room and would welcome the company. And don't even dare suggest you're a burden. There are many things you can do around here to help me, once I think about which are most important and give you a chore list."
"Chores such as?" he asked with a skeptical quirk of one brow.
"A lot of things," she said firmly, though none sprang to mind at that particular moment. "But I won't put you to work until you're feeling better and are properly rested. In the meantime I shall look over the papers, make inquiries. We may not find all of the answers. My brother may or may not know you. All these things take time. It could be days, weeks, or months until we get any specifics. But someone out there knows who you are, and either we will find them, or they will find you."
"It's so hard to wait. I've been like this for over a year now," he confessed, every word fraught with frustration.
"And you wrote letters, made inquiries?"
"So far as I could from Spain, yes, but there was nothing. Of course they've had a lot of things to do at Horse Guards with the war on."
"Yes, quite," she said wryly.
"But since you tell me that your brother is the Jonathan Deveril being described by the little information I do have, it means I'm not even Jonathan Deveril. So anything I've learnt about my supposed self and past has been for naught. My trail has gone cold. "
She patted his hand. "It's brought you here for a reason, I'm sure of it. And once he hears about your circumstances, he will be just as happy to help as I am. Your tattoos tell me you are, even if you don't wish to listen to my instincts. So, trust in the fact that you are safe now and that all will be well. The answers you're looking for will have to wait a bit longer, but that is no bad thing. It will give you a chance to rest and regain your strength here."
He shook his head. "But you don't even know me, who I am, what I'm capable of. For all you know I could have a dreadful past," he argued.
Sarah stared at him. Ah, so that was it...
She ruffled his hair again gently. "I think I can understand some of your fears and concerns. You're worried about the kind of man you were, and are. Wonder about the things you did during the war, I dare say. Many soldiers who've been through the hell of the Peninsular War would love to be gifted with blessed forgetfulness over what they endured.
"Well, I can't say for sure that you were a good, decent man back then. I will say that you have all the polish and good manners of a gentleman. You're intelligent and I believe educated. You may never recall anything about your life before the war. But to me it really doesn't matter if you never remember or discover the truth.
"My brother has many friends, and not all of them have led the kind of lives they would be unreservedly proud of. Some have been rakes, and others, well, let's just say they're going to have to make peace with their God in their own way.
"But none of us have any right to judge. I'm certainly not going to cast stones. I've found a person is more than his or her past. A man is his present, how he chooses to live his life day after day. It will take time, but we'll find the answers you seek. I'm sure of it."
"Miss Deveril, I can't ask you to be so generous to a stranger such as myself. Think of your position in the village. A woman alone-"
She patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "The villagers and townspeople hereabouts are all very kind. They'll like you, I'm sure of it. And be glad to make room for you here in the community. We could tell the truth, but it might only confuse people. And I can understand you being concerned for my reputation, as well as yours. So we can simply tell them you're a cousin back from the war, and home for Jonathan and Pamela's wedding."
"Cousin?"
"It will explain the
last name, at any rate. We just need to come up with a Christian name."
He frowned. "What would you suggest?"
Sarah considered. "Your initials are Jay A Dee. My brother's middle name is Alexander. It would seem to be as good a name as any."
He nodded, liking the sound of it. "That seems a logical solution to a rather unusual problem. Alexander it is then," the newly christened young man said with a nod.
"After the great conqueror, don't you know," she said with a smile. "It suits you somehow, scarred and battered as you are."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 6