Page 4 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“And leaves all the lesser ones to grieve.” It should have been a joke, but his tone fell too flat for the jest, but Ernestcould only agree. Neither of them was the viscount. He had filled and commanded a room effortlessly. He had loved his betrothed with every beat of his heart, and now the only embrace he would feel was that of a shallow grave.
“I heard you funded the memorial,” Graham said, clearing his throat, and when Ernest glanced at his friend, he could see the grief lining his eyes in red. Fatigue settled beneath them. While he was impeccably groomed, the six months since the Battle of Waterloo had taken a large toll on him.
“I did.” Ernest nodded. “There was something utterly unbearable about the fact that his body would be lying in a shallow grave. He … He deserved more than that, so I funded this.”
The marble monument read: Archibald White, viscount and captain. He served valiantly so others survived and returned home. May his soul rest and his heart know peace. War hero in the Battle of Waterloo.
It had his birth and death dates, and Ernest could not bear to look at how his friend was taken too soon. He shook his head and stepped back. He could visit often, at least, and face his grief in a quiet, personal way.
They looked at the monument for their fallen brother for another moment longer before Graham motioned to a nearby bench. “Shall we sit? It has been quite some time since we were last in one another’s company.”
Ernest led the way, striding over to the bench. His friend’s dark hair was already peppered with grey, despite only being in his thirties, and his green eyes were duller than before the war. They had both seen horrors and weathered them.
“How have you been?” Ernest asked. “It has been many months since we spoke.”
“Six months is a rather long time, especially when we knew one another so closely in the field hospital. Sometimes, I cannot get the ringing of patients’ screams out of my head. Sometimes, I wake up, swearing I can still see the blood on my hands. It is cruel, is it not, that the time passes and feels like an age for friends not to see one another, but the nightmares persist after such a length of time.”
“Very cruel,” Ernest agreed, pressing his lips together. “I feel as though my life has been forged by grief as of late. My uncle, my cousin, my friend.” He looked longways at Graham. “I am glad to have seen you.”
“You are glad I am at least one person still alive, you mean,” he said, trying to laugh, but it was too quiet.
“No, I am glad for you. You are my oldest friend, and even if our lives have become shrouded in death, then at least we are there together.”
Graham nodded, taking another mouthful from his flask before handing it to Ernest, who drank as well. The whisky burned, but it was a welcome sensation.
“Are you not suffering nightmares?” Graham asked.
“I have been rather occupied of late,” Ernest confessed. “My sleeping has … Not been best prioritized.”
“Ah.”
He nodded. “I do not wish to wake up my household with my own shouts of nightmares.”
“How is life as the new Earl of Bannerdown?”
Ernest winced as he burrowed down deeper into his coat. “It is … everything I thought it would be. Busy, endless paperwork, and I must confess I have been throwing myself wholeheartedly into my work since returning to England to avoid facing Lady Florence. She is young, and I do not know what to say to her. She has a governess, however, so she is not truly alone.”
“You do not think she would be comforted more by family? By you? You knew this fate was coming for you since you received word from the barrister.”
“I know.” He sighed. There was a tune echoing in his head. A voice and a melody he could not quite stop hearing. He even glanced around, wondering if somebody was playing an instrument. A pianoforte coming through an open window, perhaps. But there was nothing, and he knew that despite not being able to place the tune, he could not stop thinking about it. Ernest tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the landscape ahead.
The field behind them that housed Bellott’s hospital faced the old street ahead. On such a winter day, the street looked bleak, and he turned his attention back to his friend.
“Are you yet betrothed?” Graham asked. “I recall many nights of teasing you about your new obligations to find a countess.”
Ernest sighed, almost a laugh, a sound of pure resignation. “It should be easy, shouldn’t it? I find a lovely woman who suits me—or who doesn’t but would make a good countess—and marry her. But … sometimes the dealings of the Ton feel so frivolous compared to what we faced out there. To what our purpose was.”
“That is because you have not always been of the Ton,” he pointed out. “To those born and raised among it, it is their game of chess. It is the most terrifying ordeal of their lives. It is exciting, yes, but it is a ruinous thing for both men and women.”
“And you haven’t been avoiding any duties, my friend?” Ernest teased. But Graham only shrugged.
“No,” he said. Ernest almost wished to be back in that tent, even on the battlefield, if only to see the excitement and laughter in his friend once again. “I have become the chairman of this hospital right here. And … Well, I have been making excellent strides. Like you have funded the monument in honour of our fallen friend, I wish to do something too. I am looking to have a new wing of the hospital opened in honour of him. The White Wing, perhaps. It could be specifically for veterans with complex physical medical care. Perhaps even a place where they can stay and recover long-term.”
Ernest liked that idea and smiled tiredly at his friend. “I agree. That would be most wonderful. If you need any assistance, do not hesitate to write to me. I shall drop everything.”
“Perhaps I might have you as my assistant this time around.” And there was a glimmer of the old, jesting Graham Courtenay back, just for a moment, before that distracted seriousness overtook him as he gazed outward at the street. “But Ernest, I do think you need to finally talk to your ward.”
“I do,” he insisted. “We talk at mealtimes. Briefly, but it is something.”
