Page 4 of The Baron Takes a Wife

wanted to roll her eyes at him but restrained herself.

“In English?”

“I am learning.” She crossed her arms warily. “It’s entirely different letters. My friend is teaching me.”

"I'll make you a deal. I will practice moving my toes…and you will practice reading to me in English."

Her gaze darted around. "I cannot now. I have others to tend to.” He was about to kick himself and nod in defeat, but she spoke again. “However, later, it might be possible.”

“Only if you can. I know there are a lot of…” With some effort, he gestured around. He did feel rather ridiculous asking her to read to him in the middle of a war, but he needed something to look forward to if he was going to survive.

“No, it is all right. Mrs. Raeburn, my friend, she wants her hotel to be a space of comfort, so she keeps as many books as she can find. As much as there is a need to heal the body, she says we must also start healing the spirit, so she started a book collection. There are some books I can bring. I’ll see what she recommends.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I am not one of the British nurses, so no one looks over my shoulder. Mrs. Raeburn will not mind as long as I am doing something of value.”

She went to leave when he suddenly asked, "And you did say you rubbed your grandmother's legs, you could do that as well?"

She slowly turned back to look at him, her expression stricken. A spasm of something like fear flashed across her face, and then her features went blank. He realized his mistake instantly.

"Only if you wanted to.” He quickly followed, “Not if it makes you uncomfortable."

She nodded impassively, the warmth gone from the room and from her face.

"You will return later today?" he asked with some uncertainty. She nodded again with some distraction, then hurried away.

Idiot, he thought. He had only wanted to see her, hear her again, because when she was around, he felt he could pull away from his legs and his thoughts and his memories. He had to make her understand that she was safe with him. He slammed his head back in frustration. This really was the most damned existence.

****

He stared at the ceiling for the rest of the day. Did she know he had previously been a much-in-demand man about London? And here he was, waiting on a woman for the time of day. He grimaced, suddenly overcome with a deep shame with himself. This young woman did not owe him anything. Hadn't the battlefield taught him how little distinctions of class or circumstance ought to matter? And besides, he was hardly the handsome young man of London anymore. Summoning all his energy, he reached up and touched the bandages on his face. Most of the time, he almost forgot his face in his anxiety over the lower half of his body. He still had not yet looked in a mirror. He was not a vain man, but he now recognized certain privileges that life created when one was relatively pleasing of face and form. He felt another pang of fear that he was now a monster.

"I can return tomorrow if you wish." Elena walked in hesitantly, pulling back a curtain, which had been put up again. His face must have shown his thoughts as she watched him with a furrow on her brow. He shook his head, trying to release some of the fear and anxiety he had been caught in.

"No, I was lost in my thoughts. I would much prefer your company."

She gave a small smile and brought with her a chair. “I brought a book from the small library Mrs. Raeburn put together. She recommended it. She runs the hotel across the way.” She waved her hand toward the window, which as ever, was much too muddy to see anything out of. “Have you heard of her? She has many friends among the British officers. That is how she came to be here.” He thought the name sounded familiar but could not recall where he had heard it before, so he shook his head.

“She gave me a French novel, but she said it is translated into English.” She held it up to read stiltedly. “It says it is called The Hunchback of No-Notre Dame. "

She shrugged. "Those words do not make sense to me."

"Notre Dame is a cathedral or church in Paris. A hunchback is a man or woman who is somewhat deformed. "

"Oh." Her eyes widened briefly as she tripped over her words. "I did not bring, that is—she gave it to me."

Her reaction only exacerbated his fear. He took a breath. He needed to do this first.

"Before you begin, could you bring me a looking glass?"

She regarded him and nodded with purpose. His pulse began to race as a pounding began in his ears. She left for several moments, then returned with a small mirror. She gently held it up for him to see. He closed his eye and then opened it. It had been so long since he had seen his face that he hardly recognized it. His jaw was covered in a beard, growing scratchy in the heat. Uneven bandages covered his right eye and that side of his face. He pointed to the bandages.

"Could you?"

Leaning toward him, she gave him the mirror to hold, and then she carefully peeled back the bandage that ran from his temple down his cheek. Beneath the bandage, his skin was red and smarting, with a clear burn from his hairline to the top of his cheekbone. He supposed he was lucky not to lose his eye. He wished he could remember how he had gotten this burn, but he only remembered the charge. He took a moment to look at his whole face. While he was not a monster exactly, he could not reconcile the face in the mirror with the man he had seen the last time he had looked into one. However, he did not want her to think him weak or vain, so he swallowed and looked up.

“Well, it’s not as if I was Adonis before.”

She did not smile but seemed to touch her own scar absentmindedly.

He stilled. “You know what it is to look in the mirror and see a different face.”