Page 40 of To Wed an Heiress
“What do they say about you?”
Taking another cloth square, she dampened it with the whiskey and began blotting at the cuts on his face.
He looked at her, his blue eyes intense. Her stomach felt hollow. He really should look away. Or she should, but the sensation was so unique that she kept her gaze on him.
It felt as if they spoke in that moment. Words weren’t necessary or would have been superfluous. Their initial antipathy was gone as if it had never been. Lennox was, in some strange way, a friend. Or perhaps more. She felt as if he were someone she could trust with her secrets, her worries, and perhaps even her fears.
How very odd to have that thought.
“Much the same as what you’ve said, that I’m insane.”
“It’s my turn to apologize,” she said. “I think you’re foolishly brave, but I don’t think you’re mad.”
“That’s progress,” he said, placing his hand over hers. “I’d be happy to remove your stitches.”
It was a perfect moment of accord with another human being. One of a different country, culture, background, family, and future—yet she couldn’t help but feel that they were linked somehow, despite all those things that separated them.
If so, what connected them? She didn’t know, but she realized in those silent moments that she very much wanted to figure it out.
“I’m sorry about your machine,” she said, pulling her hand away.
“So am I. I’ve never crashed before. Not and lost an entire aircraft.” Lennox stared into the fire as if he could see the ruin of his dream in the flames.
His voice was very calm and matter-of-fact, almost as if he were discussing something of no importance to him at all. Yet there was an undercurrent if you listened hard enough. Not sadness as much as a touch of anger.
“It was an accident,” she said.
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“Do you think someone sabotaged your airship?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like that. It was incompetence, pure and simple. I did something wrong. My calculations were wrong. Without the lift from the sails, I was doomed. The aircraft didn’t have the shape to glide.” He glanced over at her. “Actually, I was lucky I made it as far as the loch.”
“Surely you’re being too hard on yourself,” she said. “Maybe it wasn’t anything you did. Maybe it was just that there wasn’t enough wind.”
“Or the day was too humid or the wood was bad.” He smiled. “Even if all of that had been true, it would still be my fault. It was up to me to check all of those things.”
She was left without anything to say. Perhaps he assumed too much responsibility and blame, but she knew people who were the opposite and refused to accept any accountability for their actions. Or, even worse, blamed others for their misfortune.
Lennox wasn’t like that. He was honorable, a word she’d thought she knew the meaning of, at least before the war. All the men who’d marched off in proud splendor had been honorable, heeding the call to protect the Union. Yet she knew now that honor was more than patriotism, more than loyalty or beliefs. It was standing for what was right, even when it was difficult to do so.
Lennox had come home, abandoning his calling as a doctor, recognizing a greater responsibility to his clan and his family. That, to her mind, was honorable. The highest form of honor because it also demanded sacrifice.
He was an admirable man. It wouldn’t do to let him know that she felt that way about him. Or maybe something even more. That was such a troubling thought that she pushed it away and concentrated on her task.
Chapter Nineteen
Mercy began to bandage Lennox’s arm, following his instructions. First she applied a noxious thick yellow mixture over the cut. It smelled of onions and other spices and was so thick she had to dab it on with another cotton square.
“What is this?”
“A concoction I devised,” he said. “It aids in healing.”
“You didn’t use it on me. Did you?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t dare. You were already furious with me. I didn’t want to send you on your way smelling of onions and painted yellow.”
She smiled. “That was probably wise.”
