The Duke of Loring paced around his study. The family had just returned from Scotland, where Beatrice had married Lord Vernon. They were headed to the Continent soon for their honeymoon. One problem was resolved, at least.
He had hoped upon his return to London he would find an errant letter from Nathaniel, or some positive word from the investigators he had sent to look for his son, but there was little news to be had. He would have to go to Brussels himself. Then again, he thought, perhaps he should begin in Paris with Wellington and his staff. His investigators said they had done an exhaustive search—to include every known hospital and posting house— of Waterloo and Brussels. But there was no sign of Nathaniel.
There were officers of lesser rank who had been returned to England for burial. Things simply did not add up. He had even spoken to the Lords Uxbridge and Somerset, who had been in direct command of Nathaniel’s regiment, and neither could explain what could have happened to his son or his batman, Ajax. They had seen him at the very last moment of the battle.
He had waited long enough. He must go and look himself.
The Duchess soon found her way to the study, anxious to see if there was any word.
“Is there any news?”
He shook his hand, “I am afraid not.”
“We are no better off than we were before we left for Scotland.”
“There is no word of his death, at least.”
“What do we do now?”
The Duke raised his eyebrows at her use of ‘we’. “There is nothing to do but for me to go and look for myself.”
“Then I shall come with you. When do we leave?”
The Duke had to stop himself from saying something tactless. He had no idea how his wife thought she would be of any use to him whatsoever. She had been more reserved since leaving Scotland, but that did not mean she would not be a nuisance while he was searching for Nathaniel. There would be little luxury to this trip, and he did not mean to accommodate her idea of roughing it.
“Wilhelmina, I do not think it prudent for you to accompany me. There will be nothing pleasant about this journey, and I cannot be certain of what we will find. The country has been ravaged by the war and there may be times we are forced to sleep in less than desirous conditions.”
“I understand.”
“I am glad you are able to see reason. I do appreciate your wanting to help.”
“No, Robert, I understand the conditions may not be pleasant, but I do not wish to remain here alone.”
“Wilhelmina...” He took a steadying breath. This was not the time to get angry or lose patience with her. She might act like the veriest ninny at times, but he knew seeing Beatrice wed, yet not knowing whether her son was alive or dead, had been torture for her too. “I will not be able to attend to your needs. We cannot take an entourage with us on this occasion. Are you prepared to travel without a maid?”
She flinched slightly but nodded. “If I must.”
“There will be no place for hysterics; no vinaigrette, no smelling salts.”
She stiffened, but said nothing.
He stared at her and saw she was in earnest. “Very well. Have your things packed, and pack lightly, for we will leave at daybreak. I have already ordered the yacht to be ready to leave tomorrow. And Wilhelmina,” he called after her as she was leaving the study.
“Yes, Robert?”
“Make sure to pack some riding habits. We may be obliged to do a fair amount of riding.” He saw her hesitate, knowing that she normally avoided riding at all costs, but she said, “Very well, Robert,” and continued on her way.
Had the situation not been so dire, he would have laughed. The thought of seeing his duchess on a horse again would be humorous; almost like old times. He sighed. How he wished he could have his old Wilhelmina back. He had no intention of travelling with her without a maid, but it was a good measure of how much she must want to go, that she would do without. He shook his head; he was sure he would live to regret this, but he had arrangements to make and no time to worry about her comforts now.
Nathaniel could not get his eyes to open. In fact, he had not felt this way since…bloody hell, someone must have given him laudanum! And a great deal of it. He could hear people speaking around him in—what was that, French? Dutch? Walloon? He tried to focus on their words, but his head was spinning and he felt confused. Had he been taken prisoner? No, please do not let it be that.
Morts. Dead. Enterrer. Bury him. Anglais. England.
He wondered who had died. And he wondered why he could not open his eyes. He tried to move and felt a sharp pain in his side. He tried to move his arm, but that did not feel right either. What was going on? He searched his mind, trying to recall, but could not seem to remember what had happened. He finally managed to move a little, but the pain was so severe a groan escaped him.
“My lord? Was that you?”
Nathaniel knew that voice, but when he opened his mouth to speak he could not get the words to come out. He struggled, but his throat was too dry and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Here, my lord, take a drink.” The familiar voice held a drink to his lips, which felt like an oasis in the desert. He still could not see.
“Ajax.”
“We…we thought you were dead, my lord.”
“What happened?”
“Do you remember anything?’
Nathaniel tried to concentrate, but his head ached like the devil.
“No, but I feel like I’ve been drugged.”
“Aye. The French surgeon dosed you fair heavy. Said there was nothing more he could do for you and thought he would ease your suffering.”
“I feel as though he about did for me.”
“You took some bad hits during the last charge. Your hand was shot off, you were run through by a sword, and I am not sure the extent of injury to your head. I have been gone for hours, making your arrangements, and it is glad I am to find you breathing instead of placing you in a wooden box.”
Nathaniel listened to his batman, trying to process everything he said. Remembrance began to occur slowly, and in pieces. Now he knew why his arm felt strange and why his side hurt; he hoped he could see something when the bandage was removed.
“Salty?”
“Gone, my lord. Shot out from under you. That was how they took advantage of you.” Ajax paused to let Nathaniel absorb the news. “I had best send for the doctor. He will not believe me until he sees you. They have cleared the other wounded out of this old farmhouse. They were kind enough to let me leave you here until, well, I returned for you. I will be back after I fetch the sawbones.”
Nathaniel lay there in the darkness, still groggy and attempting to assimilate everything Ajax had said. He began to put together the last few days. The battle, the wedding...
Oh, God. Lydia. Amelia. They must think I am dead.
Pain surged through the place where Nathaniel thought he had a heart. He had wondered before the last week if it no longer existed. The realization that Lydia was gone with his daughter, and without him, made the pain from his battle wounds seem insignificant. He had to recover and find them. Perhaps Ajax knew where they were. He reminded himself to ask Ajax when he returned. He was too exhausted to remain conscious for long and allowed a deep sleep to overtake him.
“Sacré bleu! Impossible!” the French doctor exclaimed. “He was dead for certain.”
“I thought so as well, sir. But he was awake and talking to me.”
The doctor went closer to Nathaniel and saw that he was breathing. “Je n’en croix pas mes yeux!” You could not have convinced me if I had not seen it with my own eyes! C’est un miracle!” He crossed himself violently in accordance with his words.
“What shall we do now, Doctor? Should I try to move him to Brussels?”
“Non! He is much too weak to be moved. I still am not convinced he will survive. I will speak with the old lady and make arrangements.”
Ajax was taken aback by the doctor’s words. He looked around him and could not imagine remaining here to take care of his master. “How…how long do you think we will be here, Doctor?”
“I am not knowing. We still have to fear the fever.”
Nathaniel began to stir. “Ajax?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Where is Lydia? Where is Amelia? Have they left?”
“Major Abbott left to see them safe, my lord. I presume they returned to England.”
Nathaniel let out an irritated sigh. “We must send word to them. I do not want her to think...”
“Yes, my lord, I will see to it at once. There are still soldiers nearby, attending to the dead.”
“Impossible!” someone cried in an astonished tone.
“Who is there?” Nathaniel asked.
“The doctor.” Ajax chuckled. “With a gaping jaw!”
“Good.” Nathaniel turned toward where he heard the doctor, “Sir, how long till I can leave? And when can you remove these bandages from my head?”
“Your wounds are very serious, sir. Many months.”
“I do not have months, sir. What is wrong with my head?”
The doctor hesitated, not wanting to answer.
“Sir? Ajax? Someone tell me!”
“A shell exploded near your head, sir. I do not know if you will be able to see again,” Ajax answered.
Nathaniel sucked his breath in. It was one thing to deal with a sabre wound and losing a hand, it was another thing entirely to realize you would be blind— never to see again.
The doctor spoke. “You may have sight in the eye that was not damaged, but we will not know until we remove the bandages. It is too soon to take them off. The longer you keep the eyes covered, the better your chance will be. I will speak to the old woman about keeping you here for now.”
Nathaniel was speechless. Blind? Eternal darkness? How fitting. He’d had a small glimpse of heaven, and he would never be able to see her – either of them – again. Perhaps they would be better off without him. No! He would not allow himself to feel that way. He would see again. He would.