Jones held out a hand. “It’s good seeing you again, Captain.”
Drake stared at it a long moment and then shook it.
Why in the world would Jones or MacGregor or any one of them ever want to see him? He’d been no different than any other man on that field…with the exception of the fact he’d at one point been made captain. He therefore could claim the distinction of being responsible for many of them being in the bloody spot they now rested.
Jones must have seen something in Drake, something he perhaps recognized in himself. “It isn’t your fault, Captain.”
The breath left Drake, and for a moment, a blinding curtain fell across his eyes. He’d seen too much. Taken too many lives. Cost too many men their lives.
His voice came out hoarse when he finally spoke. “How can you forgive me?” He made a slashing gesture with his hand to the spot Jones’ arm should have been. “How is this not my fault?”
“It isn’t your fault a bloody madman took it to his head to try and conquer this world. You were no different than so many of us, Cap’n. You decided to fight for our country. Some of us were luckier than others.”
A bark of laughter devoid of mirth escaped Drake. It was hallow and guilt-ridden. “Are any of us really lucky, Jones?” The question burned in his soul.
Jones shook his head slowly. “No, that’s a fair point. We’ve all been touched by that damn war and I suspect it’ll always be with us.”
Unbidden, Drake’s mind went to the nightmares that frequently plagued him. He thought of Emmaline, who’d been leveled by his own hand, the bruise upon her cheek. In his mind he saw the tears wetting his normally unflappable father’s cheeks. Would there ever be a time he was not plagued by the hellish memories of those years? He’d hoped that as the months passed, he would begin to forget, that the reminders would fall into the background. Oh, even now there were days when the remembrances were not with him, or were less vivid and gripping. Then suddenly something would happen; a face that reminded him of a fellow soldier, or an unexpected sound, and then his hellish time on the Peninsula would come rushing back.
Drake scrubbed the back of his hand over his face. “Do you ever have nightmares, Jones?”
Jones nodded. “Every day. Sometimes it’ll be in the dead of night. Other times I’ll be awake, sitting in this bed in the middle of the day and they’ll come upon me.”
A wave of relief filled him. There was solace in knowing he was not alone—that there were others who shared his struggle. For some time, he’d begun to think he was a madman who belonged in Bedlam. “How do you live with it?” Drake asked on a low whisper.
It was the first time Jones’ grey eyes slid away from Drake, out to that window which had earlier consumed his attention. “I came back from the war without my arm. Upon my return, I learned, while in my absence, my wife and son had died of a fever. I wanted to die.” He looked back at Drake. “Do you know what kept me alive?”
Drake waited for the other man to continue. He tried to imagine the horror of returning from a war missing a limb, only to discover you’d also lost your wife and child. Jones was far braver than Drake. Drake knew he could never have survived the great losses that had been heaped upon Jones’ shoulders.
“Your wife kept me alive. Every week for three years she came and sat beside me. One week I didn’t kill myself because I wondered if she’d come back to visit. I told myself she was just a bored lady with nothing to do. Sure enough she came back. Then I made silent wagers with myself, betting how many weeks before she would disappear. The weeks passed, and by then I forgot about killing myself.”
Drake’s breath caught and lodged in his chest at the realization that this too was a man Emmaline had saved. By her presence alone, she had sustained Jones, pulled him from the precipice of darkness, and given him life. Drake was not very different from Jones. The difference being, Emmaline belonged to him. Her smile, her laughter, filled both his and Jones’ lives and for that they both honored her.
It was Drake however, who had the right to hold her, cherish her, love her.
Love her.
God, why had he not allowed himself to acknowledge that thought until this moment? She, who was so free with her love, with her every emotion, deserved so much more than him. She deserved to be told regularly just how special she was.
“She is a remarkable woman,” Drake managed to say; forcing his thoughts back to Jones.
Jones tipped his head in acknowledgement. “You know Captain? I lost everything and everyone I loved. You have a reason to live. Trust me. You have your nightmares, we all do. And they’re always going to be with us, sir. But as long as you have her you’ve got something to live for.”
Drake felt his throat work. He did have something to live for…rather he had someone to live for. Someone he needed to see desperately in that moment.
Drake came to his feet quickly. “What are your feelings on leaving this behind and coming to work for my staff?”
Jones’ eyes revealed a gleam of desperate hope, which was quickly squashed by a dawning sense of reality.
“I am not altogether sure I’d be much help to your staff.” Jones’ words were tinged with bitterness.
“I beg to differ, Jones. I have a need of help in my household. I recall how capable you were with the horses. I’m certain you’d grow accustomed to adjusting to your changed circumstances.”
That gleam of longing reignited in his eyes. Jones fairly licked his lips, clearly more enticed at the idea of being in the stables, where he’d always been comfortable.
Jones held out his hand. “It would be an honor, Captain. A real honor.”
Drake accepted the hand in a firm shake. “I’ll see the arrangements made and have you sent for.” He cleared his throat, suddenly besieged by a desire to see his wife. “If you will pardon me then, Jones?” He bowed his head.
“Captain,” Jones returned.
Drake took his leave. He needed to see his wife. Emmaline deserved to hear the words he’d withheld from her. She also deserved his thanks for bringing him to this place.
His musings were interrupted by the figure of a man who stepped suddenly into his path.
Drake’s feet ground to a quick halt.
The Duke of Mallen arched a dark brow, his expression stony. “What brings you here?” Mallen drawled.
Drake’s jaw set. He’d be damned if he would share something so personal with this man. He might be Emmaline’s brother but he was no friend of Drake’s, and certainly didn’t deserve such personal information. He could only imagine what the great, powerful duke would say if Drake responded with the truth; Oh, you see, I have frequent nightmares and remembrances of the war. I even occasionally lose control and…
“None of your business, Mallen.” He bit out. “What brings you here?”
Mallen cleared his throat. “I’ve always had a sense of regret I was unable to enlist and fight. I’ve felt guilt about the men who lost their lives, risked their limbs, when I was at home, safe and unaffected. I joined the Hospital Board upon my father’s passing.”
Drake started. He could appreciate what that admission cost Mallen. It would seem he knew his brother-in-law far less than he’d thought. It had never occurred to him the guilt Mallen, and perhaps other lords, would feel for not fighting.
His gaze held Mallen’s. “Trust me, you were better off.”
Mallen rubbed his chin. “Perhaps.”
“Emmaline needed you,” Drake said.
“As she did you.”
Ah, there it was, the subtle thrust and parry. It would be easy to dislike Mallen…if he weren’t so damn loyal to Emmaline. That the other man loved her and hated Drake for having abandoned her all these years, well…it was rather hard to feel any ill-will toward someone who felt that way toward his wife.
“I’m here now, Mallen.” Drake sketched a respectful bow. “If you will excuse me, I have to return home.” I miss my wife.
Drake had nearly reached the entrance
.
“Drake,” Mallen called out, halting Drake in mid-stride down the hall.
He turned on his heel and waited for Mallen to speak.
“Tell Emmaline to throw out the bonnet I’d given her. Tell her I said her bonnet is just fine.”
Drake angled his head. Hell, he’d never figure the other man out. “Certainly, Mallen.” With that he left.
There was something he very much needed to tell his wife. Something that had been long over-due—and it wasn’t going to be about her bonnet.
Chapter 42
Emmaline sat back on her heels and surveyed the overgrown boxwoods. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, considering the bushes. A trickle of perspiration dripped from her brow. She removed her bonnet and swiped the back of her hand across the moisture.
Emmaline reached into the front pocket of her apron and withdrew a pair of pruning shears when a warm, wet tongue lapped the salty trace of sweat from her hand.
“Oh you loyal, loyal, boy.” Taking a momentary break from her efforts, she sat down with her legs drawn to her chest and proceeded to shower Sir Faithful with some deserved attention.
He made a moaning growl of approval and promptly flipped to his back.
She laughed and scratched the sparse patch of fur on Sir Faithful’s underside. “How do you think your master is doing this afternoon?”
Sir Faithful gave a little yelp in response.
“Good, do you?” she answered for him.
Her brow wrinkled. She hoped Drake’s time at London Hospital didn’t cause him further distress. Emmaline had thought Drake might find kindred spirits in the men who’d come to mean so much to her. She’d prayed Drake might find that which had eluded him for nearly four years—peace.
Emmaline did not delude herself into believing one visit would exact a miraculous transformation over Drake. She worried, however, that he wouldn’t want to return to London Hospital. And she couldn’t ask any more than that from him. She did not presume to know what his life had been like on the Peninsula. It would therefore, be unfair for her to make requests that could very well cause him greater angst.
She gave Sir Faithful one more pat and then returned her attention to the boxwoods. “My poor forgotten, beautiful dears,” she praised them. “You must know you are utter perfection to me. You have not heard that enough, have you?” She clucked her tongue.
“I would say the same to you, my lady.”
Emmaline glanced over her shoulder. Drake stood by the wrought-iron bench. He had a riding crop in one hand and beat it against his muscled thigh.
She placed her pruning shears in her apron pocket, and made to rise.
Drake walked over in three long strides, took her hands in his, and guided her up.
She wet her lips. His inscrutable expression gave her little indication of what he was thinking or about his trip to London Hospital. “Drake. How was—?”
He took her into his arms. His lips, a mere hairsbreadth apart from her own, tickled her skin with the faintest trace of coffee. “I love you.” He kissed her in the gentlest meeting of lips.
Emmaline’s knees went weak, but he caught her to him. His fingers undid the fraying blue satin ribbons of her bonnet. He gave a gentle tug, and then tossed the article aside. It caught a faint spring breeze, and then fell onto a nearby bush.
Emmaline’s heart raced with a giddy sense of joy. Oh, she’d known Drake had come to care a great deal for her. What man, after all, would share his poetry and humble himself before a tableside of strangers?
Tears welled in her eyes, and the elegantly white linen fold of his cravat blurred.
Drake’s finger traced the fullness of her lower lip, careful not to cause further pain to her bruised cheek. “Do you hear me? I—love—you.” He punctuated each word with a kiss.
Emmaline leaned into his caress. “I love you, so much. I think I always have.” She had loved him her entire life. There had been the inquisitive five–year-old girl who had loved the boy of three and ten who’d helped her to her feet. She had loved the man who cared so powerfully for his soldiers and a dog named, Valiant.
Drake drew her closer to him, lowering his cheek against the top of her head. He inhaled deep. “I’ve never deserved it.”
Emmaline wrapped her arms about his waist and held onto him tight.
Drake tilted her chin up. “Do you know when I fell in love with you?”
She shook her head.
“I spent the entire ride from London Hospital trying to figure out that very question. Do you know what I realized?”
“What did you realize?”
“There was no one time, Emmaline. There wasn’t one particular moment. It was a collection of so many memories and moments with you. When I saw you challenge Whitmore and his crony. The night you approached me at the opera, and then that next morning when you sent around that outrageous note. Or the day I spied you purchasing one of the most scandalous Gothic novels from the Old Corner Bookshop.” His throat moved up and down. He fixed his stare at some point beyond her shoulder. “The day I…lost control in your gardens and you just held me…it was the first time I hadn’t felt alone since I’d returned from the Peninsula.”
Emmaline raised a hand between them and stroked the slight cleft in his chin. His eyes slid closed.
“Emmaline, when I spoke to Jones today, I felt a peace I haven’t felt in a number of years. I felt you there with me. Your presence is all over the ward. I fell in love with you as I saw your fresh cut flowers, as I learned of your devotion to the men who’d fought and lost so much.”
He returned his dark, moss-green eyes to Emmaline. “You are deserving of that one spectacular moment, a moment when I fell head over heels in love with you, Emmaline. I cannot give you that.” His eyes charted an intent path over her face. “I can give you the love I feel that was slowly kindled and cultivated, just like the flowers you tend. I can’t—”
She placed her fingers over his lips, silencing him. “Do you think I care how you fell in love with me? It is enough that you love me.” She stretched up on tiptoes and kissed him. “I love you.”
Sir Faithful gave a little bark and scratched a paw on Drake’s tan breeches.
Drake turned his attention to the mangy black dog. He had grown significantly since Emmaline had brought him to his life. In spite of his impressive diet, he still managed to appear reed thin.
“Yes, boy, we both love you, as well.” He fondly pet the dog between his ears.
Emmaline smiled, and leaned down, to also stroke Sir Faithful.
Drake returned his attention to her. “Do you remember what you asked me the day our fathers signed our betrothal documents?”
Emmaline’s mind went wandering down a path fifteen years old. Of course, much of that day had been lost to time but she still remembered so much of it, too. She’d only been a girl of five, after all. Traces of memories had remained with her. She tried to think…
The reminiscence suddenly came to her. “I asked if you wanted to be my husband.”
Drake claimed her hands in his own. He brought them to his mouth and lovingly worshipped her knuckles. “I want you to know, Emmaline, that more than anything, I want to be your husband.”
Emmaline smiled tremulously. “And I want to be your wife.” It was all she’d ever wanted. He was all she’d ever wanted.
He dropped his brow to hers, and rubbed it back and forth. “You are all I ever wanted,” he murmured.
And after a forever betrothal, Emmaline at long last had what she’d always yearned for…a forever marriage.
Epilogue
Drake stared at the canopy above their bed, and grinned at the cacophony of noise penetrating the night quiet. His wife’s snoring stirred the tufts of hair upon his chest, mingling with Sir Faithful’s heavy breathing whose chin rested on Drake’s ankle.
This time it wasn’t nightmares of the past that kept Drake awake. It wasn’t even a result of his wife and dog’s snores. No. Now, he reveled in the feel
of Emmaline in his arms—he reveled in life.
It had been almost a year since they’d married.
Over the months he’d been wed to Emmaline, the nightmares had lessened. Oh, they would still visit him on occasion; when he least expected it. He suspected Jones had been right when he’d said the memories would always, to some extent, be with them. Yet each day it seemed as though they faded in their vividness, in their intensity.
Drake attributed it Emmaline’s love.
The support from the soldiers he’d taken to visiting at London Hospital.
And of course, the help of a stubborn mangy black dog, that didn’t seem to know his place.
The End
Books by Christi Caldwell
The Danby Novellas
Winning a Lady’s Heart
A Season of Hope
The Scandalous Seasons Series
Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride
Never Courted, Suddenly Wed
Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous
Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love
A Marquess For Christmas
Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love
The Heart of a Duke Series
In Need of a Duke
For Love of the Duke
More Than a Duke
The Love of a Rogue
Loved By a Duke
Seduced By a Lady’s Heart
To Wed His Christmas Lady
A Memoir
Uninterrupted Joy: My Journey through Infertility, Pregnancy, and Special Needs
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About Christi Caldwell
Christi Caldwell is the bestselling author of historical romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 106