Kindred Hearts (54 page)

“I don’t want your attention,” Charles said sullenly.

Tristan reached over and felt his forehead. Charles jerked away with a muttered oath. “I’m not feverish,” he growled.

“I thought you might be delirious,” Tristan said.

“Go to the devil.”

“Charlie.”

Charles looked up at him, his expression unwilling.

“There’s something going on, more than your resenting Chamberlain’s infringement on my time. What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just… tired, is all.” He looked up, then. “I resent anything that takes you away from me,” he said wearily. “I’m being selfish. I know you’ve other demands on your time; Lottie’s told me that you’re tending to other wounded, and then there are the social demands of my mother and her husband. I’ve no right to expect you to spend all your time with me, but damn it, Tris….”

“It’s all right,” Tristan said, and he bent to kiss his forehead.

Charles jerked away. “Stop it,” he said savagely. “If you’re going to kiss me, then bloody well
kiss
me. If not, then stop throwing me sops.”

“I beg your pardon?” Tristan blinked in surprise.

“I’m tired of all this…
gentleness
. I’m not a bloody child, Tristan, nor a woman. I’ve broken my leg, not been gelded.”

“Forgive me for thinking that you might not be up for bed sports,” Tristan said sarcastically.

“I’m not asking for sport,” Charles shot back. “I’m asking you to treat me as a man.”

“I’ve never treated you as less.”

“Ballocks!” Charles roared. “You treat me as a bloody invalid!”

“You
are
a bloody invalid! For God’s sake, Charlie, what do you want from me? You’re not exactly in a position to bugger me, though I imagine that’s what you want. Shall I put my mouth on you? Will that satisfy your need to believe that I still think of you as a man?” Furious, Tristan grabbed the bedclothes and started to yank them down.

Charles caught hold of them and held them. “Damn you, Tris,” he panted. “God damn you to hell!”

Tristan shot to his feet and glared down at Charles. “Fine,” he said tautly. “I wash my hands of you. Go to hell in your own way, Charles, and leave me to go to hell in mine.” He slammed out of the room and went to Charles’s old bedroom, where he’d taken to sleeping, and flung himself on the bed. A part of his mind was telling him it was just the enforced idleness and the weeks of pain and inactivity that had soured Charles’s temper, but the pain of their argument on top of his own fear was more than Tris could bear. He had been worried about Charles forever, it seemed, and Charles’s words had cut deep.

Lottie came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “We could hear you and Charlie shouting,” she said. “Is he very angry?”

“He’s a fool,” Tristan said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“All men are fools,” Lottie said. “I imagine he’s worse because he’s frustrated. He’s used to being up and about. You were much the same when you were ill; although, of course, you weren’t cooped up quite so long. Charlie will be better when he’s home, and can sit outside in the sun.”

“Do you know,” Tristan said, “I don’t believe I give a damn.”

“Of course you do,” she said, and patted his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think I do. Which is quite all right. He’s not in need of my nursing any longer; Reid can manage him, and he has you and your mama to pat his hand and tell him nursery tales.” He rolled over and gave Lottie a savage smile. “He really doesn’t need me at all.”

“No,” Lottie said, “and he’s not the only one with a temper and the ability to sulk.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t dance attendance on him for a while. Too bad Mr. Chamberlain has gone; he would have been good company for you until Charlie is over his fit of temper.”

“Chamberlain! That’s half the problem. Charles has it in his head that I’m besotted by him or something.”

“Hmm,” Lottie mused, “that’s interesting. I assume by your tone of voice that you are not.”

“No, of course not.” Tristan put an arm over his eyes. “He told me this morning that he was in love with me, but that he knew I was devoted to Charles. Hah!”

“Well, isn’t it true?”

Tristan didn’t answer right away, caught up in his own misery. Finally he said, “Yes, damn it, it’s true. I may not have been faithful to you, Lottie, but I cannot find it in me to betray Charles.”

“Well,” Lottie said practically, “that’s because you never loved me.”

Tristan’s eyes burned and there was a vise around his throat, but he managed a brief nod.

“He’ll come ’round,” his wife said, and patted his thigh. “It’s just a fit of the sulks. Give him time.” She was quiet a moment, then added, “I think you’d be wise to avoid him for a day or two. Give him the chance to miss you. He’s taken you for granted a bit, I think. Leave him to Liesl and me.”

He raised his arm and looked at his wife. She was smiling wickedly. “He’ll learn to appreciate your kindness.”

Despite himself, he laughed.

Three
days later Charles was ready to kill something. Or someone. He drained his teacup and hurled it at Reid, who caught it deftly. “No!” he shouted, “I
don’t
wish to see my sister. Or my mother. Or any benighted woman. They tell me I need to stay quiet because my fever has returned—which it hasn’t, as I never had a damned fever in the first place—and then talk my ear off! I’ve no wish to see anyone in skirts, damn it!”

“I’ll convey your message to Lady Montolivo,” Reid said calmly, and left the room. Charles had the suspicion he was chuckling.

It was a conspiracy, he was sure. Tristan seemed to have mysteriously vanished, and caring for Charles in his place were the two most important, most loved, most
aggravating
females of his acquaintance. After two days of their solicitous, annoying,
fussing
care, he’d broken down and asked his sister where her husband had disappeared to. Her response was an evasive, “Oh, he’s around… somewhere.” His mother was more straightforward: “He’s not interested in seeing you at this moment,
mein Junge
. You hurt him quite badly. Tch! Poor Tristan.”

“But where is he?”

“Gone off to some dinner with some friends; the Richmonds and some of their ilk. Lottie was invited, of course, but she has no interest, and we are Not Received.” She chuckled. “Poor duchess. She and I are quite good friends, but even in Brussels standards must be met. Did I tell you what she said about Wellington?”

“Yes, four hundred times,” Charles said irritably.

She cocked her head and studied him thoughtfully. “Did you wish me to give a message to Tristan?”

“No,” Charles said curtly.

That was yesterday. He was regretting his response now. In fact, he was miserable and furious as well as regretful. Three days of lying here, staring at the canopy, or fumbling his way through his exercises with only Reid and the footman—what was his name? Oh, yes, Will—for support. Three days of listening to the women’s endless chatter. Three days….

Three days of being without Tris.

He’d gone longer—months longer—before Tris had joined him in Brussels. Why had these past three days been interminable? Was it because before, he’d known how Tris felt for him, had had no doubt as to his love and his loyalty? Had he been wrong then? No, he’d been sure that Tris had been faithful then. Why should he not still be faithful? Was it because he saw Charles as something lesser, something he needed to tend, rather than someone his equal? No, that couldn’t be true. He thought sometimes perhaps Tris did still love him, and it was just his own restlessness and frustration that set these demons at play in his mind.

He was lying, brooding up at the canopy—again—when Reid came back into the room. “Captain Randall is here to see you, Major. Shall I show him up?”

“Certainly!” Charles said in relief. “Here, help me up first, into the chair.” He waited for Reid to slide his leg from the traction machine, then leaned on his batman to get to the chair. Reid lifted his leg onto the footstool and arranged his dressing gown neatly around him before going back downstairs to fetch the captain.

When Randall came in, he reached out his hand eagerly. “Randy! Good to see you. Are you back in Brussels with your company, or….”

“No, just as a courier to Richmond,” Randall said, shaking his hand. “Left my troops in Keighley’s tender care. How are you?”

“Crippled with ennui, but recovering. I understand I have you to thank for my timely rescue?”

“Keighley, rather. It was he who noticed that piebald of yours. I was focused on finding the missing members of my troop.”

“Well, thank Keighley, then. I was glad to hear that you both came through the fighting relatively unscathed.”

“Better than you, at any rate. How are you healing?”

“Slowly, but steadily. I’m managing to get around after a fashion.” Charles waved his hand at the crutches beside his chair. “Sit. Reid, bring tea, please.”

“Aye, sir,” Reid said.

“Now,” Charles said, “tell me. How bad was it? I keep getting different reports, none of them good, but one worse than the next.”

“Horrible,” Randall said. “Worst I’d ever seen, worse than Badajoz and Talavera combined. God. I don’t even know how many dead—estimates range from about twenty thousand Allies, and at least that many French, to over a hundred thousand for the full campaign. It was brutal, Monty.”

“Is it true the Duke lost his entire staff?”

“Not all of them dead, but none unscathed. Uxbridge lost his leg while sitting his horse right next to the Duke; the ball sailed right over His Grace and struck Uxbridge.”

Charles snorted. “So I’d heard. I’ll wager His Grace had something clever to say about that.”

“Perhaps. I haven’t heard.”

“You were the one who told the surgeon not to take off my leg,” Charles said. “It’s the one bit from that time that I remember, and I’m grateful for that.”

“I’m not a surgeon, but I’ve seen worse breaks heal.” Randall shrugged. “Too many sawbones are too eager to earn the name. I’m just glad my choice proved correct.” He shook his head. “I just knew what I would want in the same position, and made my choice based on that. And it was lucky your friend Northwood was so quick to come when Keighley told him we were laid up in that farmhouse. He not only patched you up, but tended my handful of wounded as well.” He paused, then went on, “I was grateful to him for that.”

“He’s not a bad fellow,” Charles said. “A decent surgeon.”

“That’s the professional soldier talking,” Randall said. “I appreciate your discretion, Charles, but you know that I’m perfectly aware of your relationship. I don’t approve, and legally I am obliged to report it, but you have been my friend for far too long, and from my observation Northwood is”—he shook his head—“a decent man. If you had asked me a month ago if I could describe a sodomite as anything but indecent, my response would have been quite different.”

“People don’t fit into easy categories, Randy,” Charles sighed. “Take Uxbridge—adultery is far more specifically forbidden in the Ten Commandments, and yet he is not only accepted, but respected, despite having eloped with Wellington’s sister-in-law. There’s nothing in the Commandments about ‘Thou shalt not covet thy sister’s husband.’” He chuckled humorlessly. “Though that is, in fact, the case.”

The captain was shaking his head again. “I don’t understand,” he said. “How can you choose….”

“I didn’t
choose
, Randy,” Charles said quietly. “This is the way I am. I know, the preachers say that this is a sin, that it’s choosing evil. I don’t see any evil in it. Yes, of course, I know all the arguments about the devil making sin attractive, but don’t you think I would
choose
to be like everyone else? Don’t you think I would
prefer
it?” His breath caught in his throat. “Being like this isn’t
attractive
. It’s what I
am
. How can that be evil? God made me like this, and I thank Him every day that he brought Tristan into my life.” He looked up at his friend, and asked painfully, “I’m asking you to betray your obligations, Randy, and leave us alone. I’m
begging
you.”

Randall didn’t answer right away, and Charles felt his composure slipping even more. He didn’t care about himself so much; he’d always known his predilections were illegal, and had accepted the risks, but he was terrified for Tristan, who’d never been forced to consider it until now.

Reid scratched on the door and slipped in with the tray for tea. He set it on the side table and poured out for both of the gentlemen, then slipped quietly away again.

Charles busied himself with buttering bread. Randall refused a slice wordlessly, and sipped his tea. Finally, he said, “I’ve given it a great deal of thought, Monty. I have to admit, in a sense I’ve been grateful for the insanity of the last few weeks because I’ve been prevented from actually having to make a decision. It hasn’t been easy.”

He looked up and met Charles’s eyes. “If I am asked,” he said deliberately, “I will not lie. But neither will I volunteer any information. I consider you my friend, and will continue to do so, and Northwood’s behavior has led me to respect him, much to my surprise. He seems to be honestly devoted to you.”

Something in Charles’s expression made him hesitate. “Am I wrong, Monty?” he asked quietly.

“I….” Charles shook his head. “We had an argument,” he said. “Probably foolishly. But there’s a friend of his, a Mr. Chamberlain….”

“Derek Chamberlain? Yes, I’ve met him. He came out to the Pauwels’ farm to help Tristan cart you back here.” He cocked his head and regarded Charles. “I asked him point blank if he was betraying you with Chamberlain. He was furious; as was Chamberlain when I taxed him with it later. Not in the outraged manner that disguises a lie, but honestly, bluntly furious, both of them. It was amusing, really. I think Chamberlain was more indignant on your brother-in-law’s behalf than on his own—it was quite as if I’d impugned Wellington to one of his infantrymen. No betrayal—but a bit of hero worship, I’ve no doubt.” He gave Charles a wry smile. “Much as I must admit it, I believe that Northwood is faithful to you—as you believe, I’m sure.”

“I do believe it,” Charles sighed. “It’s just… bloody frustrating being cooped up here and not being able to see things for myself. And to have to lie here for hours with nothing to do but brood. I’ve tried reading, but it only gives me a headache.”

“Reading what? Novels?” Randall picked up the book on the table and glanced at the title. “Good Lord—a
gothic
novel? No wonder you’re having headaches. Get Northwood to bring you some of those damn medical books you used to haul around the continent. In fact, I’ll mention it to him when I leave. At least you’ll find that interesting.”

“He’s here?”

“Downstairs, visiting with his wife and a strange couple, the Count and Countess of someplace in Italy. She’s a German, though.”

Charles chuckled. “That would be my mama and her current husband, I imagine. Did I never tell you the story?”

“Good God, no. I understood that she was deceased.”

“Oh, no. That novel is her contribution. Here, have more tea and I’ll tell you the romantic tale.”

Tristan
and the count were playing piquet for penny points while Charlotte and Lady Montolivo embroidered. Tristan had just discarded when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked up to see Captain Randall in the doorway. “Ah, Captain. Come in. Care to take a turn at being fleeced by Lord Montolivo?”