Page 43 of My Hellion, My Heart
“A few of us decided to depart after breakfast instead of this afternoon, including Her Highness with the Earl and Countess of Dinsmore. We took the liberty of seeing Lady Carmichael home.”
“Thank you,” Henry murmured.
“My wife and I have an engagement this evening, but I thought it best to stop by.” Thorn peered at him. “Suffice it to say that a little bird was worried about your possible concussion.”
“I did not injure my head,” he snapped, something shifting inside him at the thought of Irina’s concern.
“I rather thought so,” Thorn said over the rim of his glass, one booted foot propped up against his knee. “So, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to pry it out of you?”
It was on the tip of Henry’s tongue to tell the earl to go tup himself, but he stalled, staring at the whiskey in his snifter instead. He eyed the man opposite. “You know what happened. My horse startled and bolted.”
“We both know you are a far better horseman than that, Langlevit.” Thorndale paused. “When we came upon you, you were unresponsive, wouldn’t say a peep. If it weren’t for the chit babbling on to conceal your state of confusion, both of us would have been hard-pressed to explain to Hastings why you refused to offer so much as a word.”
Henry stared into his drink as if the answers he sought were in its depths. He didn’t speak for a long time, but when he did it was with a question, not an explanation as the earl expected. “When we served on the Peninsula under Wellington, you had to do things, terrible things, correct?”
“We both did.”
“Do you think about the ones who died? Are you ever haunted by their faces?”
Thorndale inhaled sharply. “Every day.”
Henry sighed, his head drooping. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. If anyone could understand, he knew it would be Thorndale. “I thought I could do it, remain detached, not feel a thing. That’s how officers like us do what we do, isn’t it? But it’s impossible. Sometimes, I feel the memories clawing at my skin. Lately, it seems that anything can trigger them.” He chanced looking up at Thorn. “Like a snapping branch or a fool’s gunshot.”
Thorndale sat forward in his chair, his brow furrowing. “Nostalgia?” Henry frowned as the earl went on to explain. “Indifference brought on by the toll of war. Homesickness, it’s called.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “I should have guessed that was it.”
“How could I be homesick? Iamhome.”
“You’re still suffering from the symptoms, however. Perhaps they are related.” The earl nodded more firmly. “Christine’s father was acquainted with the Austrian physician who coined the term.” Thorndale hesitated before going on. “Much like what you’ve experienced, though not as brutally, I suffered from night terrors for years. My father-in-law suspected that nostalgia was the root cause.”
“What can I do?” Henry murmured, raising his snifter. “Besides drink myself into oblivion.”
“Talk.”
Henry looked up at him. “Is that what you did?”
“Yes,” he replied. “With Christine. For so long, I was haunted by demons of my own making. I didn’t think I deserved to be happy, and then I met her. She refused to let me push her away, even though I tried. I did not want to sully her with my sins.”
Henry swallowed hard, his despair pushing to the surface. The man had uncovered the truth of it in one breath. “She did not…hate you for what you’ve done?”
“No, on the contrary,” Thorndale said gently. “Perhaps your Lady Carmichael will do the same for you.”
Henry’s eyes flicked to the earl. He hadn’t been thinking about Rose at all. He’d been thinking of Irina…of the way he had been able to talk with her. He recalled her gentle words in the hidden glade after his unexpected confession. There had been no incrimination in her gaze, no judgment in her voice. She’d only listened, sweetly saying he owed her nothing. And for the briefest of moments, Henry had felt an odd peace in the center of his soul.
“Perhaps,” he said eventually.
Thorndale finished his drink and declined the offer for another. “As much as I’d like to sit and drink this fine whiskey for the rest of the afternoon, I must be off or Christine will have my head.” With an apologetic smile, he shrugged into his coat and approached Henry. “There is another reason I am here.”
Henry gave a short bark of laughter. “Besides seeing about my concussion?”
“I took a turn at White’s for luncheon,” he went on. “In fact, that was where I’d expected to find you.”
“I contemplated it,” Henry said. “And?”
The earl drew a breath, an uncomfortable look crossing his face, and suddenly Henry knew exactly why he’d taken it upon himself to visit. He could feel every muscle in his body bunching in irritation.
Thorndale cleared his throat. “Speaking of the young lady who so eloquently saved your arse, I’m certain you already know of the wagers being placed.”
“I know of them,” Henry ground out.
