Читать книгу Claiming the Forbidden Bride - Gayle Wilson - Страница 7

September, 1814. England

In an unthinking response to the image in the cheval glass, Major the Honourable Rhys Morgan, late of His Majesty’s 13^th Light Dragoons, lifted his left hand to help the right in the adjustment of the intricately tied cravat at his throat. Pain seared along its damaged muscles and nerves, reminding him that, although he was finally home, the effects of the years he had spent campaigning on the Iberian Peninsula were still with him.

Incredibly, given the severity of his injuries—caused by a burst of grapeshot—the surgeons had managedto save his left arm. It was not the same, of course, and he had gradually become reconciled to the reality that it never would be.

A minor consideration, he reminded himself. He was glad to be alive. And infinitely grateful to be back in England.

This time, he used only his right hand to smooth over a persistent wrinkle that disturbed the line of his jacket. There had initially been some discussion of attempting alterations, but the scope of the required changes had proved those impractical. His chest was broader, for one thing; the muscles in his thighs and calves still hardened from long hours spent in the saddle. In addition to the debilitating effects of his wound, he had, since he’d been home, suffered another bout of the recurring fever he’d picked up on the Continent. As a result, his body was far leaner than it had been before his departure. In short, almost nothing he had left behind in England almost four years ago could be remade—not with the preciseness of fit that fashion demanded.

The local tailor had been called in to produce the coat of navy superfine he was wearing, as well as his striped waistcoat and close-fitting pantaloons. The tasselled Hessians that completed the ensemble were the only item that had been salvaged from his preservice attire.

The garments were neither in the most current style nor constructed of the finest materials, but theywould do for travel. Rhys had promised his brother that as soon as he arrived in London he would be properly outfitted from heel to crown by one of the capital’s premier tailors.

A prospect he wasn’t looking forward to, he acknowledged. Other than his surgeons, no one had yet been forced to view the carnage that had been inflicted on his body.

Determinedly putting that from his mind, he met his brother’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Shall I do?’

‘Very nicely,’ Edward said. ‘At least until you have time to visit my man in London.’

Rhys smiled. ‘If Keddinton doesn’t turn me away from his door, the credit shall be yours.’

‘He won’t turn you away. You’re his godson.’

‘A godson he hasn’t seen in more than five years.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Keddinton knows his duty.’

The word seemed to hang in the air between them, the crux of all the arguments that had marred the last few days. To break the suddenly awkward silence, Rhys returned his gaze to the reflection in the glass, tugging down his waistcoat.

‘A few more days can’t hurt,’ Edward said after a moment.

‘Unless the weather changes. Autumn can be unpredictable.’

‘All the more reason—’

Laughing, Rhys turned to face his brother. ‘One more day of sitting by the fire, Edward, and I promise you I shall go stark raving mad. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience.’

‘You are mad. Surely, you’ve done enough for King and country. More than enough.’

‘I’m alive. Relatively sound of mind and body. And I’ve explored a great deal of geography during that service. Most of which, I remind you, is about to be carved up and redistributed in Vienna.’

‘You can’t expect Keddinton—’

‘You’d be surprised how little I expect,’ Rhys interrupted. ‘I simply believe that my experiences during the last few years might prove valuable to someone. That’s my hope, at least.’

It was a discussion they’d had several times during the previous month. One which had never satisfactorily been resolved on either side.

‘You can be useful here.’

Rhys laughed again, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘If I thought you really needed me, you know I’d stay. I owe you that and more. The truth of the matter is I should only get in the way of your very competent estate manager, and you know it.’

‘You owe me nothing, Rhys. I hope you know that.’

Rhys pulled his brother close, embracing him for perhaps the first time in their lives. Older by a decade, Edward had always seemed almost as distant as their father. Rhys had no doubt they both cared for him, but demonstrations of their affection had been few and far between.

‘You’ll forgive me if I disagree,’ he said. ‘You and Abigail have not only made me welcome, you have cared for me as if…’ Rhys hesitated, searching for an analogy that would express his gratitude, without making the other man uncomfortable.

‘As if you were my brother?’ Edward’s rare smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. ‘My only brother, might I remind you. And having spent more than one night convinced you wouldn’t live to see the sunrise, I confess a reluctance to let you out of my sight.’

‘I managed to survive Boney’s best efforts to eradicate me. I believe I may be trusted to make it all the way to London without incident.’

‘Alone. And ridiculously on horseback,’ Edward added, shaking his head.

‘The saddest indictment of my boredom is that I’m looking forward to that journey immensely.’

He was. Despite the deep gratitude he felt toward his family, they had been determined to wrap him in cotton wool since his arrival at Balford Manor almost six months ago.

He’d endured his sister-in-law’s potions and his brother’s strictures until he’d wanted to throw the former at their collective heads. The thought of finally being free of their solicitous, if loving, supervision had done more for his spirits than had even the prospect of once more feeling his life had some meaning.

‘Take care,’ Edward urged. ‘Promise me that you won’t do anything foolish.’

‘If there are highwaymen about, I shall toss them your money with abandon. Believe me, Edward, I am not looking for adventure.’

Simply a little fresh air and anonymity. Both to be enjoyed with no one hovering over him.

He knew very well what the next argument advanced against this journey would be. It was one he had heard ad infinitum during the tedious days of his recuperation.

He didn’t intend to listen to another injunction that he must guard his fragile health. Not today. Today was an opportunity to escape the confines of that familial concern.

‘If I don’t start now, however, I shall not make Buxton by nightfall. I don’t fancy spending a night in the open. The dampness, you know.’ Unable to resist, Rhys closed his right hand into a fist, which he tapped lightly against the centre of his chest.

Edward’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but at the last second he came to his senses or perhaps he glimpsed the teasing light in his brother’s eyes. In any case, Edward clamped his lips shut before he nodded.

‘Off to adventure then,’ Rhys said, gesturing his brother out of the chamber door ahead of him.

‘Dear God, I hope not, ‘Edward muttered as he passed.

Rhys grinned again, but somewhere in the back of his mind was an acknowledgement that a small adventure would not come amiss. Perhaps he was not quite so ready for that promised boredom as he had imagined.