Honour's Choice

by Joan Vincent

  “To Lord Castlereagh at the War Office.” He paused. Family first. “My lord, please forward this missive to de la Croix and also send a note in your hand to assure Tretain that I am well.

  “On March 16th while pursuing a man known as Squire George,” he began his dictation.

  Chapter Eight

  Edgerton Manor May 2nd Tuesday

  Crandall looked up from Tarrant’s right foot and saw beads of sweat on his patient’s brow. “Sir, did you not take laudanum this morn?”

  Hadleigh clutched his blanket. “I take the dammed stuff.”

  Hearing this as he entered with fresh bandages, Cauley explained, “Mr. Tarr asked the dose be diluted.”

  “How much so?”

  “You’d have to ask Lady—”

  “Do not speak like I am a child. Like I am not here,” Hadleigh said vehemently.

  Crandall stared at him.

  Hadleigh grimaced an apology. “I dislike not having a clear mind. I take a stronger dose at night so I can sleep.” He glared at Cauley daring him to contradict this.

  The batman held his tongue. Since the doctor could do aught for the nightmares, he need not know about them.

  Hadleigh gulped air as the doctor requested while he listened to his lungs. As usual, he started coughing.

  “I’m afraid you shall have that cough for some time,” Crandall informed him. He dressed the wounds with the batman’s practiced help. “There are wheezes in the right lung I cannot like. But do not let it concern you.”

  “And what else should not concern me?” Hadleigh scoffed. He gritted his teeth to contain the pain and his frustration.

  “There will be no permanent scars on your wrists,” Crandall said, then finished the bandaging.

  The batman raised the new wood brace so Hadleigh could see it. “Best take a firm hold, sir.”

  With a curt nod, Hadleigh gripped the sheets. While they fastened it, he clenched his teeth, tried not to moan.

  “We are finished,” Crandall said at last. “You are unwise not to take the opium,” he told him brusquely. “Only fools suffer without reason.”

  Hadleigh drew in several long deliberate breaths to control the tormenting pain. “Crandall what ... about my ... feet?”

  The doctor measured out a dollop of laudanum and put it in water. “Drink this and I will explain the likely outcome.”

  Hadleigh glared at him.

  Crandall’s chin jutted. “I can bind it tighter.”

  “Damme you,” Hadleigh swore and reached for the glass.

  The doctor drew a chair close to the bed. “There is no one here you need to impress I assure you. ‘Tis foolish to suffer severe pain needlessly.”

  “I had a friend at Oxford who became an opium eater,” Hadleigh said. “I do not wish to become a slave to the poppy.”

  “Wise,” Crandall returned. “Oxford” confirmed that Tarr was of the gentry as Sarah thought. “It will not happen under Lady Edgerton’s care. She is skilled with medicines. You know that. I would have bet a monkey she could not save you.”

  Hadleigh read that truth in Crandall’s eyes.

  “I thought you had tetanus then,” the physician explained.

  “And now?”

  “I am not certain what it was.”

  “When will I be able to walk?”

  A question glinted in the doctor’s eyes for he had expected to be asked about the amnesia. “Not for some time. The shallower cuts on the left sole are healed.” He put up a warning hand when eagerness lit Haleigh’s eyes. “But if you try to put your weight on it now you will break open the deepest cuts and delay everything.” Crandall paused.

  “Your right foot—well, you dealt with a rather fiendish sort. The abscess complicated matters.”

  Hadleigh shuddered. George, splintered board in hand, was still too present.

  “Because of the abscess there will be a considerable delay in walking.” Crandall’s voice hardened, “The curvature—”

  “I thought the dammed board was to take care of that.”

  “It is, but, unfortunately, only pain is guaranteed.”

  Hadleigh glared.

  “No use getting your back up. Be thankful you survived,” Crandall told him bluntly. “And that Rupert Hale shared the knowledge about how to mend the curvature. You can return to your home without harm or undue discomfort in early June at the latest if you procure a well-sprung carriage.” He noted Tarr’s lack of concern and added dryly, “If we discover where you live.”

  Realizing his error, Hadleigh frowned. “Who is Hale?”

  Crandall knew the question a ploy but answered. “A physician who visited two years ago. He travels in search of new methods of treatment and investigates folk cures.”

  Hadleigh thought of Sarah’s great interest in herbal medicines. “Is he a young man?”

  “A few years older than I,” Crandall replied, puzzled.

  “Where is he now?”

  “In Italy from what Sarah tells me. He is rather an adventurous sort. But back to your question of walking.

  “By the time you leave you should get about with a crutch. At least I have high hopes you will.”

  Crandall checked his watch and slipped it back into his waistcoat. “Late again. Lord Sheffield has an émigré he wants me to examine. Is there anything else?”

  Hadleigh shook his head. Crutches, he thought dismayed. He forced himself to consider if Lord Sheffield could be involved with George but thoughts of Sarah and Hale overrode it.

  A short time later, Cauley found Hadleigh scowling. He had seen the blue devils take hold during slow recuperations and made a mental note to ask Lady Edgerton if there was some medicine that might boost low spirits besides those that intoxicated.

  Cauley decided exercise would ease Tarrant. He took a firm grip on Hadleigh’s left arm and began the routine. When his patient tried to pull free, he ignored it. “Another week and you’ll be able to do this on your own.”

  The flexing and bending combined with the earlier dose of laudanum distracted Hadleigh from the pain and his darker thoughts. “Do you intend to return to the army, Cauley?”

  “Can’t say yea or nay to that, sir.”

  “What happened to the major you served?”

  “Major Dunbaden was badly mauled by a cannon ball at Corunna. He was alive when I carried him into the dingy and dead when I hauled him aboard the transport.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “As I,” Cauley said. “‘Twas the second officer I lost. First was Captain Bloomfield. A fierce fighter but a smallish sort. When he were a lieutenant the regiment was in Cork. I helped him deal with the Irish who took exception to his sharp tongue.”

  Hadleigh began to relax. The batman continued. “He got his promotion and wanted a batman of, ahh, of the two-fisted kind. I was a rougher sort in the days.”

  Hadleigh glanced at Cauley. The batman’s evident sorrow drew him from his self-pity. “What happened to Bloomfield?”

  “The Irish killed him in ‘98.” Cauley met Tarrant’s gaze. “You’re lucky you did survive what with me taking care of you.”

  Understanding guilt, Hadleigh took hold of the large man’s arm. “Will you stay? At least until I am out of this bed?”

  “Have ye no val’t then?”

  “No, never had the need,” Hadleigh said bitterly.

  “‘Haps your living is a sign.” Cauley shrugged. “I’ll do it for a time.” He saw gloom descend again and tapped the man’s shoulder. As Hadleigh looked up, the batman widened his eyes and pulled his lips into an ear-to-ear grin.

  Seeing a maniacal bear, Hadleigh loosed a bark of laughter.

  Cauley wriggled his tongue and circled his eyes prompting a true laugh that then turned into a cough.

  When the spell ended, Hadleigh asked in a much lighter tone, “What other peculiar skills do you have?”

  Cauley wrinkled his brow. “I know when to keep me mummer closed. I am uncommonly good with a needle and thread.” He laughe
d lowly and raised his fists. “This skill ‘tis not peculiar, more like useful.”

  Hadleigh smiled, then grew serious. “Lady Edgerton told me you were party to my ravings.”

  “Needn’t feel cut up o’er thet, sir. Why I heard a tale about a certain colonel in the 42nd who—”

  Hadleigh held up a hand. “And I thought you taciturn.”

  “There’s times to talk and times to not,” Cauley quipped. “If Squire Buckley calls,” he winked, “that’d be a time to not.”

  “Is he suspect?”

  “No. Hen-witted.” A sudden intake of breath at the door turned him to it. Cauley saw Molly, a tea tray in hand, her cheeks flooded with colour. “The squire is uncommon hen-witted, isn’t he, Miss Molly?” Cauley teased and took hold of the tray.

  Molly released as if her fingers were scalded. “Why—well,” she stammered, “I—” Her cheeks flamed at the mockery in the bear’s eyes. “‘Tis not seemly to speak so of ones’ betters.” Molly stalked away.

  His features falsely solemn, Hadleigh watched Cauley prepare his cup of tea. “‘Haps you will not care to leave Edgerton Manor.”

  “Well, sir, as to that, there’s naught any more to keep me here than you,” the batman said enigmatically.

  “Then the end of May, barring word from the War Office, we shall travel to my home, Tarrant Hall.” Hadleigh scowled. “My father had thought to go far in the world when he married my mother’s money. He wanted a fitting address.”

  The nightmare that had been his parent’s marriage, older wealthy wife and young aristocrat, took on new meaning at the thought of Sarah. His hand shook, rattled the teacup in the saucer. “What dammed fools we are playing at life.” Hadleigh dashed cup and all to the floor.

  Cauley collected the pieces. Bent over his work he said, “Things get broken ev’ry day, sir. Sometimes they’re just pitched out. Other times they’re fastened together with glue or some such. They can be useful for a long spell ... years.”

  He looked at Hadleigh. “Do ye know, sir, after a time no one but the thing fixed recalls ‘twas e’er broken.” The batman placed the pieces on the tea tray. “‘Tis only the blue devils. They’ll last ‘til you decide not to waste time on self pity.”

  “Bring me a glass and a bottle of brandy,” Tarrant ordered.

  “Sleep is what you need,” Cauley said. Steel underlined his softly spoken words. “Then it’ll come back to ye that ye don’t want thet George to win.”

  Hadleigh closed his eyes, struggled with an intense sense of failure. After a brief wallow, he rubbed his hands across his eyes. What would André say if he saw you like this? Why hasn’t he come? Did George find him too? Please God no.

  * * *

  May 8th Monday

  Sarah knocked on the morning salon’s door and entered. She halted at the foot of the bed, hands behind her back, and surveyed its occupant. “Why, Cauley, I shall hire you to make my gowns if this is a sample of your work.”

  An altered shirt of Sir Rufus’ was neatly buttoned at Hadleigh’s neck and her husband’s paisley dressing gown was sashed at his waist. “Quite becoming, Mr. Tarr,” Sarah quipped. Her eyes rested on the fabric across his hips. When she raised her gaze, she encountered silver warmth in Hadleigh’s darkening eyes. A blush crept up her neck.

  Hadleigh coughed but then grinned. “The difficulty with the breeches was solved when I told Cauley I have a wee bit of Scottish blood in my veins.”

  “A kilt or summat like it,” Cauley said behind her. “It looks to me like you’ve had a deal of success.”

  Pushing away lingering desire, Hadleigh asked with forced lightness, “What do you have behind your back, my lady?”

  Sarah held her work before her.

  Hadleigh stared at the piece of sheepskin and an over-sized slipper. “Do you think it will work?” he asked, half in wonder, half in fear.

  “We shall know when we make the attempt.” She laid them on the bed and drew the blanket off his legs. Picking up the tanned sheep hide fashioned into the shape of an ankle sock, she turned it inside out. Sarah gently pulled it on over the bandaged foot and looked up. At his nod, she pressed her hand against the sole of his foot. “You do understand you must take care?”

  Hadleigh scowled. He had almost passed out when the blood rushed into his legs the first time he had lowered them over the side of the bed. He had badgered Cauley until the man helped him during the night and he had lowered and raised his left leg several times. “I hardly felt your hand,” he said impatiently.

  Cauley tossed two pillows to the floor to cushion the right foot. Then they turned him so his feet were off the bed.

  “You keep the right off the floor,” Sarah instructed the valet and lowered the left.

  Triumph rose in Hadleigh’s breast as the blood in the leg answered gravity’s pull without undue light-headedness. He put his arm around Sarah’s waist, then nodded at the batman to lower the right leg. The intense pain staggered him. He tightened his grip on Sarah.

  She nodded to Cauley who stepped close to Tarrant’s left side. He half-sat on the bed, pulled Tarrant’s left arm over his shoulder and wrapped his right arm about his waist.

  “Ready, sir?”

  “Just give me a moment.”

  “Perhaps this is enough for today,” Sarah suggested.

  “No.” Their eyes met, locked. “I want to do this. I must do it.”

  Sarah tightened her hold. “Concentrate on keeping weight off your right foot.” She looked at Cauley.

  “Ready? On a count of three. One. Two—”

  “Three,” Hadleigh said and scooted forward. As his left foot met the floor, Cauley hauled him up and held him suspended.

  “Put me down,” Hadleigh snarled. When the batman complied, his full weight came on his feet. His lips tightened into a thin determined white line. He swayed, but between them. Only Sarah and Cauley’s support kept him upright.

  Hadleigh sagged back against the bed and went limp.

  “Pardon, m’lady.” Cauley put his foot between hers and Tarrant’s. When she moved back the valet swung Hadleigh on to the bed.

  Sarah dashed around him and raised the right leg. By the time she had it settled on its pillows, Cauley had the other in place. “I do not know, Cauley,” she worried. “How will he—”

  “Are the crutches ready?”

  “They’ll be on the morrow.”

  “Then we try again then. We knew it would take time.”

  “But he’s so keen ta get out’a this bed. If only thet friend of his would come,” Cauley growled.

  “I know, but the letter he received told him to do nothing, to write no one. He is to wait for further word.”

  “I don’t like the smell of that. I wouldn’t trust a politician ‘less he could go through the eye of a needle.

  “He’s coming about,” Cauley noted with satisfaction. “I’ll make meself scarce. No sense tryin’ again so soon.”

  Nodding agreement, Sarah chaffed Hadleigh’s hand.

  Tarrant blinked, shook his head. He saw Sarah’s eyes wide with worry. “‘Twas nothing.”

  She brushed back a stray lock from his forehead. “You did well for the first time.”

  “Harrumph!”

  “You expect too much.” Sarah rested her palm against his bearded cheek. “Let your strength return before—”

  Hadleigh took her hand. The warmth he refused to name skittered between them. Then he thought he saw pity. His continuing helplessness angered him. “I am tired of hearing that. I can judge what I can and cannot do.”

  Sarah went very still.

  He quashed the impulse to apologize beneath the searing need to strike out at anyone. Hadleigh laced his words with sarcasm. “One would think you were a cat that had only one kitten.” He watched her move her lower jaw in that tight little circle he knew so well. When she pulled her hand free, darkness engulfed him. “Sarah—”

  She saw quicksilver glitter in his eyes. It made the urge not to place her ha
nd in his brief and futile.

  Hadleigh rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. “I am ... sorry.”

  Sarah stared at their hands. With each stroke of his thumb he stoked a fire she could no longer deny.

  Hadleigh saw desire flare in her eyes. It fired his. “Sarah.” He gently tugged her closer and whispered, “Sarah.” Hadleigh leaned forward, brushed his lips across hers.

  At the feather-light touch of his lips, a jolt of molten fire coursed through Sarah. Startled by the strength of her reaction, she jerked back and collided with the chair.

  Hadleigh pushed up on his elbows. “Sarah—”

  “Say nothing. Nothing,” Sarah repeated a hand to her cheek. She stared at him a moment longer and then fled.

  Hadleigh folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. The brush of Sarah’s lips against his had given him a passionate yet terrifying jolt. Its effects lingered still.

  Images of Sarah teased him. Gentle Sarah who changed the bandages on his feet. Enthusiastic Sarah who encouraged him to talk about his beetles. Laughing Sarah who enjoyed his attempts at wit as he helped her memorize her herbs’ Latin names. Serious Sarah who tried to explain what he must do and why. Stern Sarah, who demanded he take his medicine. Sarah who read to him.

  It had been a revelation to discover they shared an interest in Milton’s from Paradise Lost to, more surprisingly, Coke’s agricultural articles. He looked at the chair where she often sat and demanded nothing of him, not even conversation. How good even silence was between them.

  Hadleigh’s skin tingled at the memory of her hands. How they glided over him, warm and sensuous, just like her lips. His groin tightened, rang a warning bell.

  I am not falling in love with Sarah. This—interest—is because I have been so ill, he told himself. Good God, she saved my life. The phrase echoed.

  Hadleigh remembered that Sarah cared for all the sick of the district. Shame arose. She sees me as a patient, nothing more. But my interest upset her. Because of Crandall? Or Hale? Jealousy surged through him.

  Hadleigh closed his eyes. Nothing but questions. Pain and questions. Always behind it memories of parents who could hardly tolerate one another. And a memory of men chiding his father for marrying an older woman. Because of that he dare not seek answers. Not about Sarah.