‘And?’ Sarah prompted as the speech finished in a sob.
Letty pulled out her handkerchief. She seldom cried. She had never found it a useful emotion and refused to become a leaky tap at this late date. ‘If—if I were ever to marry, I would want to be loved.’
Sarah paused in her unpacking. She stepped forward, taking Letty’s hands and holding them between her palms. Her fingers were twisted from arthritis and her skin roughened from work.
‘There, there. I have been a long time widowed, but I know a thing or two about love. And I know this. Lord Anthony was a broken man when he came back from the war. And he’s started to heal. I don’t think that healing and the way he feels about you is all about honour. I’ve seen him look at you. Besides, I don’t think he’s the sort of man who would take a maid to bed, if there weren’t some serious feelings going on.’
‘I—we—how did you know?’ Letty gasped.
Sarah produced the cravat, handing it over. ‘Now, miss, you can stay here and wear out the floor boards or you can talk to the man. Seems to me that if the two of you love each other, there’s got to be a way to work things out. Except I doubt you’ll be finding it pacing this here bedchamber.’
* * *
Tony went back to his study. He felt a heavy, achy lethargy.
He loved Lettuce Barton. He loved her eccentricities, her dedication, her serious, scientific intent, her moments of humour.
When had he fallen in love? Had it been when she’d come to his bed during his nightmare? Or when she’d touched his scar with gentle caring? Or years ago, when she’d sat in Lord Entwhistle’s library in her vibrant green gown and lectured him on cowpox.
But he could not limit her.
He could not take her purpose, but must find his own. He had survived hell. For some reason, he’d lived. He had not asked for life and at times during his recovery he’d wished for death and still felt the heaviness of guilt that he could see and feel and breathe while others could not.
He had lived.
And he must ensure that he was worthy of this life. There was the estate. That had been his brother’s purpose and now must be his own. He must do right by the tenants. He could no longer hide from Oddsmore or its memories. He must live up to his father’s expectations of his brother. And he would be a good uncle and brother—the best.
That would be enough.
He leaned back in the chair. As he sat within the study’s quiet, he felt the memories again: the mud, the stench, the low mist mixed with the smoke of musket and cannon. Usually, he tried to hide from those memories, today he didn’t. Today, he watched them almost as he would watch the theatre. He saw them become clearer, superimposed on the study’s books, hearth and comfy furniture.
He remembered the men, their frightened eyes as even the bravest among them cried for his mother. He remembered the severed limbs and the cold damp of the mud sodden by the heavy rains.
It had been cold. And then hot. The shudders had racked through him. He’d lain beside George’s body and heard the tramp of the scavengers, their footsteps louder and nearer as the men died, an empire’s discards.
It wasn’t right. He remembered George and Elsie at their wedding. He remembered the way they laughed and smiled.
George had not deserved to die, but even more he had not deserved to be left to die alone. None of them had.
None of them...
Not George or Edgar or the boy with the bayonet in his gut.
Chapter Thirteen
Letty sat at the base of the oak tree on top of the hill which overlooked the village.
She had given up pacing the room.
It had been three days of pacing and sleeping fitfully. The only respite had been when Phillip Rant had required six stitches after falling off a barrel while in his cups.
Moreover, Sarah seemed intent on driving her mad, producing food when she was not hungry, suggesting exercise when her very bones felt lethargic and indulging in bouts of questioning and long-winded anecdotes.
Indeed, Sarah’s sole purpose was to drive her into Lord Anthony’s arms, but it appeared that admission into an insane asylum was the more likely result.
So today, she had found her energy and exited the house and now sat in solitude within the quiet of the outdoors.
Despite Sarah’s soliloquies, one fact remained. Letty could not become the wife of a peer.
She could not be the type of woman her mother had always so desperately wanted her to be. Firstly, she doubted she even had the capacity to do so and, secondly, she would lose herself.
She could not give up on her research.
Moreover, the pain of loving Tony and knowing that he could not reciprocate the feeling would hurt too much.
Leaning back, she felt the solid bulk of the tree against her back. The leaves above were starting to change colour and a few had fallen and were scattered around her. A slight breeze moved the branches making the dappled sunlight flicker over her face.
In front of her, she could see the fields—some had turned to yellowed hay and waited for cutting while others were bright, emerald greens. Small copses of darker green, dotting the scene with foliage splashed with a smattering of yellows, reds and orange. The stream, low in its banks after the hot summer, formed a thin, sparkling stream.
She saw him. He rode his horse along the road which threaded the valley. For a moment, she wondered if she had imagined him. Perhaps she had been thinking about him so much that she had conjured up his image.
Her breath caught.
She hadn’t seen Tony for four days. She’d told herself that she did not ‘love’ him. Rather, she’d experienced this wild seesawing of emotion because she was naive, unschooled in the physical act of love, exhausted and elated after winning a battle with death.
Except when she saw his tall, thin, lanky figure at the base of the valley, she knew that was nonsense. It was the pap she was feeding herself.
She loved him. Absolutely she loved him.
Man and horse approached, darkly silhouetted against the green. Letty rose. A part of her wanted to retreat.
While another part wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms, caution be damned.
Except she couldn’t move. Instead, she watched him with a hungry avidity, unable to look away. She studied his movements, his broad shoulders, narrow hips and dark hair. Looking at him gave her both a mix of physical joy and pain.
As though drawn by the very intensity of her gaze, he glanced up. Their gazes locked.
Without conscious thought, she started to walk towards him, hardly aware that she was doing so.
He dismounted, dropping the reins.
They looked at each other with an eager, needful way. They did not speak. Hungrily, she took in the strength of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes, the sweep of his hair. Neither touched the other, but only stood, as though afraid to shatter the moment.
‘Letty, I love you,’ he said. ‘I love you. I understand why you don’t want to marry me, but you need to know that I love you.’
She looked up. She felt a joy which seemed too huge to be contained within her body. Tears smarted her eyes. ‘You do?’ she whispered, needing to hear it again.
‘Yes.’
She felt a deep content. Just for now it was enough to be with him, to feel his breath on her cheek and to know she need only reach up to touch his dark hair, and strong jawline. ‘I am inexperienced with love, but I love you, too.’
‘Then we can’t walk away from each other.’
‘I can’t be the type of wife you need—’
‘I need you,’ he said. ‘I don’t need a “type” of wife. I need your love. I need your wit. I need your brilliance. I need you. Letty, I’ve found my purpose.’
‘You did?’
‘The very worst thing about Waterloo was not the
death and dying, but the way England sent men into battle and didn’t properly save them or care for them. They were cast aside like they didn’t matter. That is what I dream about.
‘I can’t be Edgar. But I can be myself. I can take my seat in the House of Lords and I can use it. I can advocate for future soldiers. I don’t want us to leave people to die on a battlefield, to be plundered for their teeth.’
‘So you will use your position to stop it.’
‘To try. Or at least make people aware. As you said, you have to start somewhere.’
She reached for his hands, holding them within his own. ‘It is a good purpose. A wonderful, worthwhile purpose. But, if you are going to take an active role in government, it is even more important that you are not connected to me, not if I am Dr Hatfield. And even if I am no longer actively practising, I still do not have the necessary social abilities.’
Tony took both his hands, cupping her chin. ‘Letty, whether you are Hatfield or not, I will not be popular with those ideas. Or scandal free. You know it. And I want you by my side. I need you by my side. I will not stop you from being Dr Hatfield, I promise. But there are other ways to contribute to medicine, as yourself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Work with me together to help to change society. Or start the change. Do your research. Help me learn about fevers and battle wounds. Research about childbed fever. Help me to advocate. Let us be two voices instead of one. Give me the knowledge that I need. Teach me. We will get your research published. I will talk about your work in the House of Lords. It will be a step towards changing people’s minds—not pretending behind a powdered wig.’
‘Yes!’ Letty said. The single word blasted from her. ‘Yes.’
It felt as though the world opened. Everything had felt narrow. Everything had felt divided between medicine and love, emotion and logic.
And with his simple words, the divide had gone.
But maybe there was no divide. Or the divide was only in her mind and in society. Minds and society could be changed.
She reached up, pressing a kiss to his lips. ‘And if I am working less as Dr Hatfield, there are so many things I could research. How to have a better outcome for injured soldiers, how to stop disease, how to inoculate against other diseases and—’
He kissed her, stopping her words.
She arched into him, reaching into his hair and pulling him closer. Love. Hope. Joy.
Life would not be easy. There were no magic solutions. Together they might build a world where women had choices, doctors had tools and soldiers were not discarded on the battlefield. Or maybe they would just start that process.
You have to start somewhere.
Ideas flooded her mind. Perhaps she could research the effectiveness of her herbs—she had always wanted to design a more scientific study to properly analyse their success. There was yarrow and lavender and oregano and mint and—
‘What are you thinking about?’ he muttered, his lips moving against her own.
‘Feverfew and oregano and—’
‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
And then his kiss became more passionate and she didn’t think any more.
Epilogue
Letty exited the library and walked across Oddsmore’s flagged terrace to where Elsie and Flo sat in the Spring sunshine. Well, Flo was sitting. Elsie had Teddy on her lap, but the child kept squirming off and attempting to walk.
‘I don’t know why I ever wanted him to walk early,’ Elsie said, as she stood again, holding on to her young son as he took a few wobbly, tentative steps. ‘Now I am forever chasing after him, and Maria is becoming positively athletic.’
Teddy lifted up his arms to be carried, but instantly tried to wriggle down again once Elsie had scooped him up.
‘Goodness, you cannot decide what you want,’ Elsie whispered fondly, pressing a kiss into his blond curls. ‘I think it was the enforced immobility of the carriage ride and he is now determined to make up for lost time.’
Letty smiled. ‘You are looking wonderfully healthy. You both are. Would you like tea?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll find Maria and have her look after this gentleman.’ Elsie went into the house, while holding the still-squirming Teddy.
Letty turned to Flo, who was sitting, her hands resting on her increasing belly and her feet propped up on the chair opposite. She and Ramsey had arrived the day earlier.
‘Tea sounds wonderful. Do tell me you ordered cream puffs,’ she said.
‘I did.’
‘For the first three months I couldn’t eat a thing and since then I have continually wanted cream puffs. Do you think that is normal?’
‘I am certain it is.’ Letty sat next to her sister-in-law. ‘Indeed, I remember a farmer’s wife who had never liked cheese and then craved that dreadfully strong stuff. You know, the type that smells like old socks.’
Flo smiled. ‘Well, I cannot say that my liking for cream puffs is new, only more constant.’
The door swung open as Elsie returned without Teddy, but accompanied by Letty’s mother.
Letty stood to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘I was just about to order tea. Would you like some? Tony and Ramsey are in the study, but should be out soon.’
Letty watched as her mother sat, leaning over to enquire about Flo’s health. Her concern for Flo was lovely to see. Indeed, she had taken up knitting and had several pretty garments put aside, ready for the birth.
Her mother had mellowed. She’d been thrilled when Tony and Letty married, but Letty had worried that their nuptials would not long satisfy her need for social advancement. However, while still suggesting that Letty pursue a more active and conventional social life, her mother was less persistent and more contented.
They might never properly understand each other, but had achieved a tentative acceptance.
Just then, Ramsey and Tony strode from the library, their footsteps brisk raps against the tiles.
Tony waved several pieces of paper. ‘I have written the draft,’ he said, sitting beside Letty and pressing a kiss against her cheek.
‘For the House of Lords?’
‘Yes. I read it to Ramsey. He doesn’t think I’ll be thrown out on my ear.’
‘I wish I could see it all. They are very backward that they do not allow women to watch, although I understand some have managed to do so.’
‘Not without more bother than it is worth,’ Ramsey said, sitting beside Flo.
Just then Sarah came out with the tea tray. Letty leaned forward, starting to pour while Elsie took one of the cream puffs, handing it to Flo.
‘And how is the final version of your article coming?’ Ramsey asked.
‘I need to make more revisions, but I believe it has clarity.’ Letty spoke with caution.
‘Which likely means it is absolutely brilliant,’ Elsie said fondly.
‘She is planning a follow up,’ Tony added. ‘Looking at statistics between midwives and doctors in London.’
‘Do they keep such records?’ Ramsey took a tea cup.
‘That is what I hope to find out. I am going to Queen Charlotte’s Hospital next week when we go up to London,’ Letty explained.
‘You do realise that those doctors may not want to talk to you?’ her mother warned.
‘Absolutely.’ Letty smiled, reaching for Tony’s hand and holding it tight within her own. ‘But you have to start somewhere.’
His gaze caught her own, with a flicker of shared understanding and amusement. She leaned back after helping herself to a cream puff and licking the cream off her fingers with a contented sigh.
Here, within the rustic confines of the small estate, she felt that wonderful sense of belonging that had eluded her for so long. She might be an oddity within the larger community, still all arms, legs, elbows and a habit of over-analysis, but here she belo
nged.
She tightened her grip. Tony no longer hid the scar on his hand, and, while he had the occasional nightmare, he had achieved a peace and a determination to ensure that the past shaped a better future.
‘My lady?’ Sarah came out again. ‘The gardener is at the back door. He thinks his son might have broken his ankle and is wondering whether you might be able to take a look?’
‘I really don’t know if that is quite the thing—’ her mother started to say.
They all laughed. Letty could hear Ramsey’s deep guffaw and Elsie’s chuckle like silver bells.
‘I don’t think that matters to Letty,’ Tony said.
She glanced back, taking in the merry group and love and understanding in her husband’s steady gaze.
* * * * *
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Keep reading on for an excerpt from The Brooding Duke of Danforth by Christine Merrill.
The Brooding Duke of Danforth
by Christine Merrill
Prologue
‘Was there no other way than to spend an evening here?’ Lady Beverly tapped her foot, fighting against the rhythm of the music. ‘Meagre refreshments, tepid dancing and tiresome company will make for the dullest evening imaginable.’
‘You did not have to accompany me, Lenore,’ replied Benedict Moore, Fourth Duke of Danforth. ‘But as you keep reminding me, it is time I married. One hunts for rabbits in the field and fish in the stream. When one is hunting for a wife, one comes to Almack’s.’
‘You are correct that I have been telling you so for years. But why have you suddenly decided to listen?’
‘Considering the family history, I might not have much longer to make such a decision.’ Or the faculties to do so. He did not add the comment, but remembering his father’s final year, the possibility that he might end his days babbling in a sickbed was never far from his mind.
A Debutante in Disguise Page 22