Richard winced. “No, Blackmore. I, I’ll be fine in a moment.” He leaned against the banister, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead.
“Sir!” Blackmore reached out with his free arm and caught Richard before he could fall on the stairs. He pulled Richard up the remainder of the way, and then lifted him in his arms to carry him down the corridor to the bedchamber.
Richard appeared to have lost consciousness.
“Sir? Here we are Sir, come on now.” Blackmore set Richard down and helped him into the big upholstered chair by the fireplace. “Why sir, you are exhausted. You most certainly need more rest. Let me help you to change out of your travelling clothes.
“Thank you, Blackmore.” Richard’s head was wobbly on his spine. He leaned back into the comfort of the chair and closed his eyes again while Blackmoor tended to his boots.
Richard winced. “Sir?” Blackmore stopped what he was doing.
“Blackmore, I. Uh, may I confide in you?”
“Why, of course, Sir.”
He sighed. “I have sustained an injury from the war. The very last battle I was in, actually. I was nearly killed. I suppose I should be grateful, but I must admit, there have been many times I’ve prayed for death to visit me.”
“Is it your right foot, Sir?”
“It is my leg. Is the limp that obvious? I’ve been practicing, trying to walk normally. Trying not to give into the pain.”
“No. The limp is not noticeable, Sir. Not at all. But the leg gave out as we came up the steps. I believe you lost consciousness momentarily. The pain must be great.”
“It’s shrapnel. It’s embedded in the flesh and muscle of my leg. There is nothing to do about it. I’m lucky they didn’t take the limb.”
“I’m sorry, Sir. Does it give you that much pain often?”
“That it does.” Richard sat forward and rubbed the offending appendage. It’s something, well, it’s something I wish to keep to myself. I’ve worked very hard to accommodate my walking so I do not limp. In other words, I’d prefer you not mention it to anyone.”
“As you wish, Sir.” Blackmore continued to assist Richard in undressing. Richard would have a short nap, then a change of clothes before dinner. “Here is your dressing gown, Lieutenant.”
Richard slipped the garment over his head and sat on the edge of his bed as Blackmore stooped down and removed the boots from his feet. He stopped his movements suddenly.
“Well you might as well get acquainted; you’re going to be seeing a great deal of one another.” Richard gestured to the angry purplish ropes of scar tissue and shrivelled muscle that rested along the bone of his lower leg. The leg had been fractured in two places. Both breaks had healed, albeit not perfectly, and the scar tissue and the trapped shrapnel within the withered tissue created a never-ending source of pain.
Blackmore stared at the leg and slowly let out his breath. A knock came to the door.
“Mr Blackmore? It’s Nancy. I’ve brought the vessels of water up. There are four large ones,” she spoke through the door.
The valet’s eyes met Richard’s. “Thank you. That will be all, Nancy. I’ll take care of the rest.”
There was silence from the other side of the door. Then Nancy answered. “Uh, very well, Sir. Ring if you need me.”
“Thank you, Nancy.”
Blackmore looked at Richard’s leg again then stood up. “I … I am so sorry, Lieutenant Warren. Truly. I, most humbly, thank you for your service to our country.”
“Don’t Blackmore. Serving England was not my main motivation when I joined the army. I had what might be called an ulterior motive. And it backfired. Maybe this lingering injury is my punishment from God for my pretension. I’ll ask you to keep that to yourself as well as the condition of my leg.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Very well. So, my secret is safe with you. I may need you at times. You know, as an assist. I cannot let my mother know anything about the severity of my injury. She would be most upset. Is that clear?”
“Very well, Sir. You have my word. I will not discuss it with anyone.”
“Not even Camille?”
“Sir?”
“Come now, Blackmore. Before I enlisted there were a few times I saw
the two of you in each other’s company. Christmas or another such time. I saw how the two of you looked at each other. Please tell me I’m not wrong in considering that your mutual feelings may have grown in my absence. Am I wrong?”
Blackmore looked down sheepishly. “You are not wrong, Sir.”
“I thought not. And? Is there any news I should be aware of?”
“Camille is now the cook here, Sir.”
“She is? Well, well, how wonderful. It’s very glad news to be hearing. I welcome it most heartily. I presume we’ll have a wedding in the house before too long?”
Again Blackmore looked down. “Yes, Sir. Camille’s parents are gone so I’ve been in a quandary as to how to ask for her hand.”
“I would say my father in this instance, Blackmore. I know he’ll approve. He adores you. He’s told me many times, even if he hasn’t told you, that you are one of the people he most respects in this world.”
The valet smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you very much.”
“There is no need for thanks. I wish you and Camille the greatest happiness.”
Blackmore bowed. “Yes, Sir.”
“And, now I have another question for you. I imagine our neighbours, the Hancocks, are still in Paris? Or do you have an idea of their whereabouts? Are they, perhaps, somewhere else? Belgium?”
“No, Sir.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“The Hancocks, uh, Mrs Hancock and Miss Mimi, did go to Paris as I believe you’re aware, Sir. That was why Camille came here to work. Mrs Warren, God bless her, took Camille on as a kitchen maid. Mrs Reilly was most welcoming as was Cookie Ann. Then Ann moved off with her new mister to the country. As you can well guess, Mrs Warren was thrilled to have an authentic French chef, as much as she had valued Ann. Ann is a wonderful cook, but it seems everyone is happy with the changes that have been made.”
“So, where are Mrs Hancock and Mim, uh, Miss Hancock?”
“Why, they are three doors down the road, Sir. They were unable to sell the townhouse while they were at their relatives’ in Paris. They came back to London when the French soldiers were being pursued across the mountains from the Peninsula.”
“I see.” Richard allowed Blackmore to help him to the bed. He lay back against the pillows feeling as if he could sleep for a hundred years. He hadn’t slept in a real bed in four years, including the French hospital he’d been admitted to.
“Will that be all, Sir? I must see to the rest of the day’s events.”
“Yes, Blackmore. That will be all. Thank you, my man.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The valet left the room, and Richard lay back on the bed eyeing the patterned canopy. Mimi was in London. He couldn’t believe it. He was, on the one hand, thrilled, but on the other, he was mortified.
How could he ever let her know about his leg? How could he ever share with her his experiences away at war? He felt like a shadow of his former self. He had been walking around in a pain-filled daze for months. Now that he was home, in London, he wished nothing more than to become a recluse. No woman would want him. Ever. Not only was he a second son, with no trade. He was practically crippled. He thought to look at some small country estates and ask his father for a loan. He could move away and nurse his battered leg and broken heart in private. It seemed like the only option left for him.
His first plan had been to study the law, and then, he’d foolishly joined the army in an effort to hastily rise up his place in society. He’d do best to stay with the military; however, with his leg in the condition it was in, he could not fight.
He closed his eyes and sighed. Mimi was just three doors away. He must do all he could to avoid her. At any cost. He must never let her see his
injury, his weakness, his pain. Never.
Chapter 7
“Mademoiselle. Mr and Mrs Bond are here. They are in the drawing room.
“Merci, Giselle. Please ask Jones to tell them I’ll be down straightaway. And then come back up. I need help with my chignon, please.”
“Oui, Mademoiselle.”
Giselle left the room, and Mimi studied her face in the looking glass over her vanity.
At twenty, she was aware of her beauty. She knew how her charming manner beguiled most of the men she came into contact with. She didn’t lack for attention, but she kept things at the platonic level with all the gentlemen. She just wasn’t intrigued by any of them.
She had no interest in the drivel that men whispered into women’s ears. Indeed, since they’d been back in London, Mimi hadn’t had any real fun. All the men she met seemed like dolts. Many of the men her age were off fighting, and many of the older, married gentlemen of the ton seemed interested only in having a pretty, young mistress to be seen with at the theatre.
The idea of being a mistress to an ageing member of the peerage was unattractive to Mimi on many levels. That sort of situation could end very poorly. Mimi would rather take her chances at being a seamstress.
She knew she would never be in love again. But she could be picky about whose attention she accepted, and the Duke’s attentions were sporadic at best. She liked him, but his manner was disconcerting.
Duke Hertford had left Paris without a word to Mimi, and since she’d returned to London, a few months before, he’d been to visit her twice. Her mother, of course, was pushing the issue. She’d told her daughter to limit her dancing with other men at the soirees she visited.
Of course, an argument always ensued when Marie acted like Hertford was the only member of the peerage who was unmarried. But he was at the top of the beau monde. He was the shining star of the ton. A Duke. The best of the best.
And Mimi knew her mother wanted the best for her. Short of royalty, the Duke was the highest option for any woman. Marie was sure her daughter was more beautiful and accomplished than any of the daughters of the ton.
Then there was Richard. Mimi had been so happy to hear he was back in London. She didn’t understand, though, why he hadn’t been to call. He must have needed some time to rest. She had no idea how long it had taken him to get back to London. She also wondered why he had come back before his three year enrolment had passed.
The papers said that Wellington was pursuing Bonaparte even further. The war was not over. Why had Richard come home? How was she to greet him when she finally did see him?
Mimi’s stomach felt funny. The thought of seeing Richard again made her knees quake.
A light knock on the door brought her out of her revery. “Oui, Giselle. Entrez.”
“Mr and Mrs Bond are taking some refreshment in the drawing room, Mademoiselle.”
“Wonderful, Giselle, wonderful. I will wear my new frock.”
“As you wish Mademoiselle. The rose?”
“Yes. We must hurry, though. I don’t wish to let the Bonds wait too long.”
“Oui.” Giselle lifted the frock from the clothing press and brought it to the bed. “Lovely, Miss Mimi. Very lovely. This colour suits you well. Would that the handsome Duke Hertford be at the dance, he would find you more beautiful than anyone else.”
“We’ll see, Giselle.” Mimi smiled. She was confused about the Duke. He was hot then cold. Her mother couldn’t understand why the Duke hadn’t made more of an effort with Mimi. Mimi, herself, thought the man to be a dandy who fancied himself more than anyone else. He wouldn’t be tied down to one woman. In fact, there were rumours as to why he was still unmarried at his age. Shocking stories repeated behind fans at parties about a woman of ill-repute and a baby somewhere. There was no way to prove or disprove the tales, and they surfaced every few months or so. As if that wasn’t enough now there was, for Mimi, the complication and excitement of Richard’s presence back in London.
But none of those things mattered. Mimi had decided that if she was forced by her mother to go to dances and balls, then she might as well enjoy herself. She reached her hands through the sleeves of her dress as Giselle lowered it over her form.
Tonight Mimi was going to dance with anyone who asked her. And she knew that would keep her occupied all night. In spite of how her mother wanted her to behave, Mimi intended on having fun regardless of who was at the party. Or not.
*******
“Please, Richard? I realise you came home only a week ago, but you need to start leaving the house. I’m worried about you.” Lavinia Warren sat on the sofa in the sitting room watching her son.
“Mother, please. Do not worry about me. I am safe. If you’d been with me at the battles I fought, then I would accept your fretting. Trust me please; this is to be a completely different atmosphere I’ll be entering. I dare say most will want to hear war stories from me. I find that draining, Mother. I, I don’t want to talk about the war. I’d rather stay at home and read. I’ve a lot to catch up on.”
“Nonsense, I’m getting you out of this house tonight. You’re twenty-one, Richard. You need to think about settling down. You know Lizzie Stevens is still unattached.”
“Mother!”
“What is wrong? All I’ve done is mention a lovely unmarried woman’s name.”
“I cannot … I will not go to a dance party because you think I need to get out more. I have no wish to court anyone. I have no wish to see anyone. I have no wish to indulge in meaningless conversation with anyone. Am I making myself clear? Please, Mother. Just let me be. You and Father go to the party. I only want to stay here in quiet solitude.”
“You need to break out of your cocoon of self pity, Richard. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I don’t care what suits me or not, Mother. I’m staying home. I care about what soothes my mind. I care about what allows me not to see blood and gore and horror and death every time I close my eyes.”
“I realise that, but darling it will do you so much good to get out with people again. It will be fun to be out among society and all those who hold high places within it. I’m only looking out for your best interests. You need to have some fun, darling.”
“All due respect, Mother. You have no idea of what I need. And the last time I was ‘out among society’ as you put it, I found myself fatigued by the dullness of the company and the empty conversation.”
Lavinia stepped back away from him. “I … I’m sorry, Richard. I meant only to help. You’re my son. My baby. I was practically sick with worry about you when you were at the war. But I am so proud of you. I realise I haven’t told you just how very, very proud I am of you. Forgive me for wanting to show you off.”
“Forgive me for being so curt, Mother. I thank you for your efforts. I truly do. But I am not interested in society, the ton, the gentry. I’m tired of it. All of it. I’ve been to war, Mother. It changes a person when you see the things I’ve seen. One realises what it important in life. What is really important in this life we live and then leave so quickly.
“Oh, my poor Richard. I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me.”
He looked straight at her. “At the first battle I fought in, there were two brothers John and Michael. They were fourteen and fifteen. They’d lied about their ages to join the army. At Salamanca, they ran. Away. In the opposite direction of the combat. Everyone was terrified, but those two boys were shocked beyond belief. They panicked, crying and screaming, as many of us were. And they ran, holding hands, searching for an escape route from the battle.”
“What happened then?”
“A French soldier, on a horse, took aim and methodically shot each of them in the back. First one, then the other. They fell dead on the spots they were in. They had run from what they feared. Certain death. And then they had run right into her arms.”
“Oh, Richard. I’m so sorry.”
“Do you see now? Those are the kinds of stories I want to forget, Mother. And they
are not the kind of stories anyone wants to hear at a party. Can you understand that? I’ve had enough of the blood and brokenness and tears. I can’t make it sound glamorous and exciting. I wish to forget it all, but it’s impossible. I go to sleep at night and dream of it. In fact, every time I close my eyes, I see the images of death and destruction everywhere I look. I’ve told you this, but you force me to recount a heinous event in order to understand me.”
“Lavinia? Richard?” Mr Warren came into the room. “Richard, you should be dressing, should you not?”
“No, Father. I am not going to the dance.”
“I’m sorry, my boy, but you must.”
“No, Father. I don’t want to go. I am not committed to anything.”
The Lost Love of a Stunning Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 9
