A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

I think I went a little mad when Blanchards told me Gideon was dead. Of course, I know, really, that Blanchards wouldn’t lie to me about something like that, but then, he might have been mistaken, mightn’t he? The report might have been sent in error, or something. Anyway, I felt that I couldn’t believe it, the way you both did, without proof. I ended up going as far as the battlefield to search for answers and stumbled across Justin instead. He is gravely ill and needs constant care.

That would give a good enough reason for her continued absence from Antwerp, without alerting Gussie to what was really going on. Justin needed constant care right enough, but it was Mary who was giving it. They’d managed to get Justin back to his lodgings, Mary had explained via a curt note, where she would now be staying so that she could nurse him without interruption from Sarah or anyone else.

Even if Blanchards suspected she was being economical with the truth, he wouldn’t voice his suspicions. His first priority was to Gussie and his heir. His letter had revealed that he had already hidden the news of her absence from Antwerp. He would carry on doing what he could to shield Gussie from worry.

Which was just as well, because if anyone found out that she was living with a man to whom she was not related, with no proper chaperon in place, there would be an almighty scandal. Which would reach as far as London, never mind Antwerp.

Oh, dear. She really should have thought things through. She pressed her hand to her forehead as she went over everything she’d done since Blanchards had told them Gideon was dead.

Dead.

A shudder went through her. How could anyone think things through when they were given news like that? Of course she hadn’t thought things through. She’d just reacted.

But at least she’d done what she could, since then, to mitigate some of the damage her behaviour might have caused. She’d gone to ground, as it were.

That doctor was the only person who might possibly start spreading gossip. She frowned. But he could only do so if he knew who she was. She thought back over his visit, wondering if he’d ever once called her by name. No, he hadn’t. And with the amount of injured men he’d have to attend, given what she’d seen of the battlefield, he wouldn’t have time to concern himself over something as minor as her reputation even if he did know who she was.

She hoped.

So all she had to do was warn Madame le Brun that she wasn’t receiving visitors, if anybody by some remote chance did happen to discover she was back in Brussels, and her secret would be safe.

‘Angel? Are you there?’

At the sound of his hoarse voice, Sarah leapt to her feet and went back to the bedside. She’d let him call her that while in the grip of fever, because there hadn’t seemed any point in correcting him. But now it dawned on her that even he didn’t know who she really was, either.

He’d forgotten he’d ever seen her. Because she’d made no lasting impression on him.

How depressing.

‘I’m here. I was only writing some letters. ‘

He reached out and grabbed her hand as though his life depended on it.

‘Couldn’t see you. Thought you’d gone. Or that I imagined you perhaps.’

‘No. You didn’t imagine me. And I won’t go anywhere. Not until you are well enough to do without me.’

‘Then I hope I never get well,’ he said vehemently. Because when he was well, her family would take great care to keep her well away from a man like him.

How did he know that?

Because an image swam into his mind, of a girl on horseback, blushing because he’d winked at her. And snatches of her companion’s conversation drifting to his ears. For once I agree with Justin...

Hell’s teeth, no wonder he’d had the feeling he knew this woman, even though he was sure he’d never spoken to her before. She was Colonel Randall’s precious, virginal little sister. Lady Sarah Latymor.

‘Oh, don’t say that!’

Bless her, but Lady Sarah looked as though she really cared. Actually, he rather thought she did care, for some obscure reason. Else why would she be here, nursing him, when in the normal course of things, men like her brothers protected women like her from men like him?

With good reason.

‘Why not? If it is true?’

‘Because,’ she said sternly, ‘I want you to get well.’

Of course she did. As soon as he was well enough, she could walk out of his life again. For good. For some reason the prospect of never seeing her again was so distasteful he couldn’t help grimacing.

‘Oh. Do you have a pain? Do you want some more of this medicine the doctor left?’