Jenni Fletcher - Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

‘You have bad memories?’ She crouched down on her heels in the same spot she had earlier.

‘One or two.’ His lip curled, though there was no merriment behind it. ‘But I won’t disturb you again, I promise.’

‘Because you don’t intend going back to sleep?’ She tipped her head to one side, seeing the answer in his eyes. They were a bright and piercing blue, the very first thing she’d noticed about him on the doorstep, but now they looked haunted. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to for a while either. It’s hard to calm down after a shock, especially when you’ve been fighting imaginary assailants with umbrellas.’

He looked faintly amused, the barest hint of a smile softening the harsh lines of his face. ‘I do appreciate your coming to rescue me. Nothing scares intruders away like an umbrella, I understand.’

‘Ah, but I was simply creating a diversion. I intended for you to do the rest. Unless you were indisposed, of course, in which case I would have hurled the umbrella at whoever it was and gone for the poker instead. I had it all planned out.’

‘Evidently.’ He actually chuckled.

‘Would you like to talk about it?’

‘About what?’ A shutter seemed to slam down over his eyes, turning the blue into shards of silver, as wintery cold as the snow outside.

‘Whatever it is you were dreaming about. My younger sister used to have nightmares after our father died. We shared a bed so I always knew, but talking about it soothed her.’

‘What happened to your father?’ The shutters lifted slightly, though he didn’t answer her question.

‘Typhoid. There was an epidemic in London ten years ago and he was one of the victims. Lottie was only twelve and it wasn’t easy for her to witness.’

‘Or for you, I should imagine. I doubt you were much older.’

‘No. I was fifteen, but I had to be strong for her and my brother and mother.’ She winced at the memory of that dark time. ‘My parents were devoted to each other, you see. They ran a charitable institution, but after he died, my mother couldn’t bear to face the world for a while. Someone had to be practical and keep things going.’

‘I’m sorry.’ His gaze seemed very intense all of a sudden. ‘For all of you.’

‘Thank you.’

She rocked back on her heels as they lapsed into a pensive silence, without so much as the crackle of a log in the fireplace to relieve the atmosphere of tension. Maybe she ought to go back to bed, after all, Millie thought. If he didn’t want to talk, then she didn’t want to push him, although for some reason she didn’t want to leave so soon either. Despite the tension she felt strangely comfortable with him.

‘What did you say to your sister after her nightmares?’ he asked finally, his voice softer than before. ‘How did you make her feel better?’

‘I’d tell her that the pain would ease in time, that Father wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad and that we had to take care of each other the way he would have wanted us to. But mostly I just let her talk.’

‘And that helped?’

‘It seemed to.’

He nodded and stared down at the floor as if he were considering something, his brows contracted into a straight, hard line. ‘What do you know about the military campaign in Afghanistan?’

She blinked, taken aback by the change of subject. ‘Only what I’ve read in the newspapers. It sounded awful.’

‘It was.’ He looked up again, the muscles in his jaw and neck clenched tight. ‘I was sent there two years ago as a captain in the Army of the Indus, twenty-one thousand men sent to play “the Great Game”, as Melbourne and the rest of our politicians called it. It wasn’t a game for us. That was the real nightmare. Things happened that I wish I’d never seen, things done by both sides, but I was one of the lucky ones. I was sent back to India after a year. I wasn’t in the Khyber Pass.’

‘Oh.’ She lifted a hand to her mouth, horrified by the mere mention of it. ‘That was terrible. Just one survivor.’

‘Out of thousands of soldiers.’ He nodded grimly. ‘Our generals were over-confident and didn’t understand the terrain. They delayed the retreat for far too long, until winter. The whole campaign was a disaster. There were skirmishes on our march back to India, too. My unit was attacked several times.’

‘Were you injured?’ For some reason the thought made her breath catch.

‘Not badly, but…almost.’ A muscle in his jaw seemed to spasm. ‘I had a friend who saved me from a knife in the stomach. Unfortunately it got him in the shoulder instead.’

‘Did he recover?’

‘We carried him back to India on a stretcher, hoping he’d somehow pull through, but…’ He dropped his gaze to the floor again. ‘I sat by his bedside for four days, telling him he’d been a damned fool to save me and doing whatever I could to repay the favour, but it wasn’t enough. All I could do was watch him die.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

‘So am I.’

‘I’m sure he was glad to have a friend by his side.’

‘I don’t think he was aware of much by the end.’ He ran a hand over his brow. ‘He was thirty years old with a fiancée waiting at home and his whole life ahead of him. I was going to be the best man at his wedding. It was all such a waste.’

‘Yes.’ She couldn’t argue with that. ‘What was his name?’

‘Towse, Captain Edward Towse.’ He grimaced as he reached for the bottle of port that wasn’t there. ‘He was like a brother to me and I…’

‘You blame yourself?’ She finished as his voice broke.

‘Yes.’

‘It was his choice to save you.’

‘But he shouldn’t have taken the risk. I didn’t ask him to.’ The look in his eyes was stark. ‘He gave up his life for mine. That’s not an easy thing to live with.’

‘No, I don’t suppose it is.’ She shook her head sympathetically. ‘Is that what you dream about?’

He nodded. ‘Not every night, but often. I watch the whole scene in my head, only slowed down. I see the glint of the blade heading towards me, I see my own sword come up and then I see Edward push me aside. Then I can’t see anything because his back is in the way and then…then I see him fall. Over and over again, like I’m trapped in those few minutes. It’s as though my mind thinks if I watch it enough times then I’ll be able to change things somehow, to stop it all from happening, but I can’t. Nothing ever changes. Not the result or the guilt. Some nights I’m afraid to go to sleep.’ He gave a ragged laugh and shook his head. ‘A grown man, afraid of his own dreams.’

‘They’re not dreams.’ She repeated his earlier words. ‘They’re memories.’

‘Ah.’

‘Is that why you left the army?’

‘Part of the reason, but I was needed back in England, too.’ He shifted forward, bracing his arms over his knees. ‘A few days after Edward’s funeral, I got word that my cousin had taken a bad fall from his horse. By the time I returned to England, he was dead.’

‘How dreadful. Were you very close?’

‘Not so much in recent years, but as boys we were inseparable. We grew up together, you see, but after university our lives went in different directions. Magnus married and had children and I joined the army. I wish I’d made more of an effort to stay close to him.’ He stared down at the purple-stained hearth and made a face. ‘Now you see why I drink. Guilt is a terrible thing, Just Millie , but you’re quite right.’

‘What do you mean?’ She drew her brows together. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘Ah, but you thought it and you’re right. Edward sacrificed himself to save me and all I do to repay the favour is wallow in self-pity and alcohol. It’s downright ungrateful.’