Page 5 of Letters to a Wallflower
“Tell me.”
“I want to make a splash. Shock them all. Show them all what they’ve missed, judging me so harshly and turning away from me. I want to gain their regard and their attention—and then, having conquered them, I will walk away. Show them how little they mean, to me, and perhaps, how little they mean in the grand scheme of things.”
Grandmama laughed. “Oh, good heavens, what a lark. Yes, child. I can think of no better way to spend my last Season.” She sat straight. “We have so much to prepare. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Chapter 2
“Are you quite sure you don’t wish to go home to Hargrove House? You still are not quite recovered.”
Major Benjamin Hargrove did not sigh in response, although he was tempted to. “No, Mother. I am more comfortable in Town. Thank you.”
The Viscountess Elswater also looked as if she would also like to sigh. For some reason, she had been trying to drag him to the country house since the first moment he arrived back in London. He stretched out his injured leg. Perhaps his limp embarrassed her.
Well, it didn’t embarrass him, by God. He considered himself lucky to still have the leg at all. He’d had to fight off the field surgeon and his bloody saw, after his injury. He’d suffered the wound in Santander, Spain. The combined English and Spanish forces had succeeded in capturing the port city, but Benjamin had been injured trying to prevent the escape of the French governor. In the end, Dubreton had got away, several of Ben’s men had died and a French blade had sliced open almost the whole of his thigh.
Not his finest hour.
But he’d managed to fend off the sawbones and although it had taken months of recuperation on foreign soil, he was healed and walking again. Home again, with his commission sold and a new future to figure out. His limp was less noticeable than it had been at first, and he had hope that it might one day leave him altogether. He still made use of his cane, though, when his leg tired. Perhaps it was this visible reminder of his imperfection that bothered his mother.
Certainly something was bothering her. Ben had hoped he might, at last, feel a bit of warmth from his parents when he finally made it home. And there had been something. His father had smiled with pride when he welcomed him home and awkwardly made mention of several of Ben’s past military triumphs. To prove he’d been paying attention? He’d mostly just looked relieved to have his spare son home safely. His mother had given him a stiff hug and tut-tutted over his cane. But she’d been on edge. Now, she tried again.
“I know there are people in the neighborhood in Hertfordshire who would love to see you,” she ventured.
Ben didn’t sigh. He pushed his coffee cup away and struggled to his feet. “Honestly, I’ve no wish to go to the country, Mother. There, I will not be able to ride yet, nor walk to the village, or hunt or swim.”
“You will not be able to do those things here, either.”
“No. Nor will I be able to box or fence, as I might wish. But I can watch a mill or a match. I can go to Tattersalls. To my clubs. To the theatre. I can drive in the park or go to a ball?—”
“But you cannot dance!” His mother looked almost panicked.
“No, but I can play cards, drink champagne or sit out a set with a pretty girl. I can be occupied and social far more easily in Town, Mother. And who knows, if I keep working my leg, I might be able to ride before the Season is over and that will make going to the country far easier.”
His mother cast his elder brother an imploring look.
Bernard, the all-important heir, the son who had been taught, tutored and molded into the perfect viscount’s heir, had held his tongue until now. But at that look, he rose to his feet, too. “Why don’t we take a turn about the square, Ben?” he asked genially. “Give that leg a good stretch to start the day.”
With a nod for his mother, Ben left the breakfast room. Not until they were outside and strolling slowly along the wide pavement did he turn to his brother. “What is it, Bernard? I feel as if there is something I don’t know. Why doesn’t Mother want me in London?”
“She is uneasy,” his brother hedged.
“Uneasy? It’s just a limp, for heaven’s sake!” Ben stared. “What is the fuss about?”
Bernard frowned. “A limp?”
“Yes, by God, and one earned in honest service to king and country. She should be grateful I don’t carry my nasty scar where she must see it. And happy that I managed to keep my leg at all. Imagine the uneasiness if I had come home with a peg!”
“Your leg is not the issue, Ben.” His brother rolled his eyes.
He paused. “Then what is?”
“She’s worried about the scandal.”
“Scandal? What scandal?”
“The one that is bound to be stirred up again when you step into Society.” Bernard sighed. “It wasn’t easy on her the first time.”
“What have I done to warrant a scandal?” Ben was growing exasperated now.
