Page 29 of The Scarred Lyon

This was a new chapter in her life, and Augusta would embrace everything that entailed.

Chapter Thirteen

They sat in companionable silence for some time, the crackling of the logs in the fire the only sounds, broken only by the occasional gust of wind. Duncan recalled how Augusta had touched him earlier; the brush of her fingers set his skin alight in the best possible way. To find that he had reacted physically to her was satisfying, indeed. It was as if his heart were waking from a deep slumber.

“Duncan?”

“Hmm?”

“What I want most of all from our marriage is for us to be friends. I believe we are already on that path, are we not? We speak with ease, and there is no awkwardness.”

“Yes, we are becoming friends. I agree it’s an important aspect of a successful marriage.”

“This is the perfect opportunity for us to get to know one another, since we will be alone here for a few days.”

Duncan’s insides clenched. This meant speaking about the past, which would inevitably lead to his army service and his war injury. He had never discussed it in any detail, not with his uncle, the duke, his father, or Laura. Back then, he’d given a brief, condensed version of events, and even revealing that much had nearly done him in. “I think it’s fairly obvious who we are,” he snapped irritably. “Two desperate people who married for selfish reasons.”

It was a horrible thing to say, and Duncan immediately regretted it. He waited for Augusta to gasp in shock, cry, or yell at him. Instead, she sat very still, staring at him intently, as if trying to peer into his very soul.

“Yes. You have the right of it,” she replied softly. “I married for comfort, protection, and a new life for my son and me. I wanted to see us not starve in the streets. You married because you wanted to carry on the family name and title. You needed a viable womb.”

“Well met. You have it exactly right,” he replied mulishly. “We are selfish people. Good to know right from the start.”

“And why are we? Perhaps because we grew up in the aristocracy and wanted for nothing. We thought only of ourselves, and no doubt still do. I daresay there is no need to be cross about it,” Augusta said matter-of-factly. “Petulance does not become you.”

Duncan could not disagree with anything she said, so instead of acknowledging the correctness of her statement, he growled, lashing out as a wounded animal cornered.

“Good heavens,” Augusta tsked. “You certainly have a protective shield around you when it comes to certain topics. I suppose I do as well. The past is not easy to mine, but it has made us who we are today. Friends tell each other things. Past hurts. Secrets. I do not know how we can go forward if we cannot be completely honest with each other.” Augusta sighed. “I have had my fill of emotionally closed-off men like my father and Southen. I want more from our relationship, or why even continue? Still, if you wish a typical, cynical, aristocratic marriage, where I provide the heir, and we live separate lives in separate residences, I can oblige.”

Good God. Augusta had a lively spirit, and he respected her honesty. Duncan would return that probity in kind. “First, I apologize for my flash of temper. It crops up more often than not, especially over the last few years. My words were poorly chosen.”

“I accept your apology. I noticed your temper when Mrs. Hansen screamed upon seeing your face and when I mentioned your injury in the carriage. You basically said it was a complicated topic that should be discussed at another time. Why not now, while we are alone here?”

Duncan grunted. He knew she was right once again, but damn it all, how to even begin the benighted subject?

“Are you afraid of fire?” Augusta asked pointedly.

“Afraid?”

“You are sitting well back from the fire, so I had to pull my chair back as well. You also positioned the tented bed away from the hearth.”

Was he afraid? Possibly. He’d certainly had a few nightmares over the past five years regarding the incident and the fire itself. But it wasn’t enough to paralyze him in complete fear. “No, not afraid as such. I employ a more judicious attention. I have no problem building a fire and lighting it, as you see.” Duncan pointed to the stone hearth. “But I know the damage wrought, so why sit or near a fire when a wayward spark could ignite garments or bedding?”

Augusta tilted her head. “Very wise, indeed. In the carriage, I mentioned the possibility of your having inner scars. Do you?”

Duncan stretched out his legs. “Yes, every soldier has them. War is not pretty. I cannot will them away; I can only manage them as best as possible. They are a part of me. As you said, they made me the man I am today. However, I have learned not to allow them to rule my life. It took several years of gloomy self-indulgence and anger, but I feel I have made some progress, even though it is an ongoing progression. It won’t affect our lives together, you have my word. I am certain that if I do allow it, you will swiftly bring it to my attention.”

Augusta chuckled. “See? We are already getting to know each other. Tell me about your cousin.”

He sighed. “Jonathan was eighteen months younger than me. We grew up together, more like brothers than cousins. We spent wonderful summers at Bamford Park and my father and I visited often when we were in London. When I went to Eton, Jonathan soon followed. The same at Oxford. When I joined the army, Jon wanted to do the same, but his father would not have it.”

Augusta sipped her tea. “I can well imagine. The heir apparent joining the army? Is there a law against that?”

“Not as such, no. But it is generally accepted in society that heirs must protect the aristocratic line. There were many arguments over a period of several months, with Jon threatening to go to America, never be heard from again. Finally, my uncle agreed to buy him a commission under one condition: he would accept a posting far from war and fighting, particularly the Napoleonic Wars. Jon agreed, as long as I was posted with him.”

“Where were you at this time?”

“Spain. The Peninsular War. When word reached me of Jon’s request, I gratefully accepted. I was tired of the constant battles with the French. I witnessed atrocities no human should be exposed to.” Duncan stood and tossed another log onto the fire. He sat carefully in the chair to avoid twinges of pain, adjusted his sling, then picked up his mug of tea. He had brought down the flat-top trunk and set it between them as a table. “I agreed to the scheme, but only if Patrick McGloin came with me. It took a few months for the orders to come through, but then we were all off to Upper Canada. We were finally off the front lines.”