Page 56 of The Lyon Rampant

“Its sole purpose is to kill people. I understand that we need it to destroy Napoleon and bring balance back into Europe. But the fact is that those who die in battle always leave someone behind. Those soldiers, the faceless, blue-clad ranks of the French have mothers, sisters, wives, children, elderly fathers—they have families who’ll be devastated by their loss. Some of those soldiers would probably never have risked their lives had they not been staring extreme poverty in the face. Not every man goes to war because he enjoys killing. William went because he had an elderly mother. She suffered from the palsy most terribly, and he joined the Army so he could send his wages back to pay for her physician and keep her out of pain. Then she died and he needed the money for her funeral. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Of course, he did. His jaw set as he recalled the first time Maman had told him the true story of his origins when she felt he was old enough to deal with the knowledge of his parents’ murder. The desire for revenge had been with him almost half his life, and obtaining the mine, and increasing its output of lead meant he’d been playing his part in the destruction of those guilty of killing his family. How could he afford to let that go unpunished? He’d sworn to the spirits of his mother and father that he would avenge them, somehow, someday. Was Belinda now asking him to renege on his promise?

“I know what you’re thinking, Piers, and I think you had every reason to set out on the path you have taken. But killing Frenchmen won’t bring your mother and father back. You have had a good life in England—foster parents who dote on you. Is that not enough for you? If you have children, are you going to fill them with the same hatred that you have carried in your heart?”

He leaned toward her again, resting his forehead against hers. “Oh, Belinda, Belinda! You don’t know what you ask. Would you have me sell the mine entirely? It has been close to my heart ever since I was a boy. It gave me a raison d’être—you cannot understand the thrill of burrowing deep into the Earth by candlelight and seeing the glitter of minerals in tunnel walls. There is a special kind of magic involved in producing metal from the earth, which you can’t imagine. Please don’t ask me to give it up.”

She took his hands in hers. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t want you to think I’m bargaining with you. It is just the way I feel. I cannot help but think of those poor families. Do the French veterans have benefactors like Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who gives well-paid jobs to damaged soldiers? Or will they have to take to the streets to beg like those we see in all parts of London?”

Warfare was terrible—Piers understood that. He also accepted that Belinda thought it a terrible waste of life and resources. But it was far more complicated, all about power, and land, and politics, and religion. In his experience, these things were generally of no interest to the ladies of the ton. But Belinda was different. Perhaps, in time, he could explain it all to her, and she would accept his reasoning.

Or . . . was there another way to resolve the question?

He reached for her, and she came into his arms. The wetness on her cheeks was cool against his chest. He hadn’t realized that his proposal would tear her apart like this. Neither had he realized how much damage a refusal would do to him.

“Let me ask my question another way. Do you want to marry me, Belinda?”

He waited, scarcely daring to breathe. When he felt her nod, the life returned to his veins.

“Then I have an idea. We will solve the Charlotte problem, so you needn’t worry about that. And regarding the mine—what if I were to use the profits to offset the harm caused by the creation of lead shot? Or I could sell the place and use the proceeds for a good cause.” He’d miss the mine, of course, but Belinda’s happiness was more important.

“If you can think of something, I’d be very grateful.” Her voice was muffled, and he held her closer. They had both made a difficult journey together—a journey of understanding, forgiveness, and enlightenment. Having come so far, he had no intention of giving up now. She would be offering herself to him, body and soul, if she married him. It was only fair that he should give something in return, that he should make a sacrifice, a grand gesture.

“What if I were to use money from the mine to finance a veterans’ hospital? Your brother-in-law and sister run the Foundlings’ Hospital to which I contribute, and I already know a bit about charitable institutions. I’m sure the earl would guide me in setting up a new foundation. I’m not talking about helping the kind of veterans employed by Mrs. Dove-Lyon—I’m talking about those who are even more broken—those with missing limbs, those who are blinded or deafened and are forced to beg in the street. You would be glad, would you not, if more of those men had a roof over their heads, and a decent meal in their stomachs?”

She tilted her head up to him, and his heart ached at the expression of love and joy on her face. “You’d do that? For me? Truly, I don’t deserve you.”

He smiled, and kissed her, softly and lingeringly. “Incorrect, my darling. I do not deserve you. Now come on. Don’t keep me waiting.”

She flung her arms around his neck and embraced him, then held her hand out for the ring still clutched in his fist.

“Yes, Mr. Piers Darvill. I will marry you.”

Joy exploded in his heart and he picked her up and danced with her around the room. She laughed at him, her face alight with pleasure, and he knew in that moment that he’d learned to love again. They would be married at the earliest opportunity.

Nothing and no one would stand in their way.