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She was positively radiant. That was the only word for it. Her face fairly glowed from within as she gave a happy sigh and smiled at the gentle surf—could one feel jealousy for the sea? And that ribbon…
Ah, that ribbon, the faintest pink blush against the rich brown of her hair. Yet it was like a beacon to him. Did it signify something? Had she perhaps changed her mind about his suggestion that they make a match of it?
And why did that thought make him so deliriously happy?
But no, this was temporary. She had said as much, had been most adamant about it. He’d do his best to remember that.
Which, unfortunately, did not lessen the tiny spark of hope that nevertheless lit his insides up like a lantern.
“Do you think,” she said, her voice quiet and slow, “that Gran would know if I removed my bonnet and raised my face to the sun for ten minutes?”
He chuckled. “I rather think your grandmother would know that you’re even considering it. Though whether her frightening knowledge would be from paid spies or the supernatural, I really couldn’t say.”
She turned her head to look at him, her warm brown eyes dancing with humor. “Why, one would think you’re afraid of her.”
“Oh, I am,” he admitted readily enough. “I like her more than most people, of course. She’s refreshingly honest and candid. But she terrifies me.”
She laughed, a light, joyous thing he felt clear to his soul.
Suddenly several shadows fell over them.
“Why, hello, Mrs. Kitteridge. Imagine seeing you here.”
Daniel glanced up, more than a little dazed after having witnessed Margery’s unbridled happiness. The sun shone behind the newcomers, casting their features in shadows.
“Oh!” Margery exclaimed, rising. “How lovely to see you all. But please allow me to introduce my companion, the Duke of Carlisle. Your Grace, Mr. Newton, Mr. Emmett, and Mr. McTavish,” she said, pointing to each in turn. “These gentlemen were friends of my late husband’s. They served in the same regiment together.”
Daniel lurched to his feet and faced the men. Only then, as he smiled politely and held out his hand—trying not to curse Margery’s acquaintances for disturbing them—could he ascertain their features and understand her words.
The beach was gone in an instant. He was in the midst of a field. Mud, mixed liberally with blood, sucked at his boots. Screams and shouts and the constant roar of muskets and cannons rent the air. The acrid stench mixed with blood and excrement, filling his nose. A panicked boy pushed past, face spattered with mud and blood, horror etching deep grooves for the mud to cling to.
“Daniel?”
Margery’s voice seemed to come from far away, the faintest of sounds. Yet still vivid, still devastating, was the death and horror all about him, as if he were back in that cursed field. And in his arms, that dead boy, pale blue eyes staring up at a smoke-choked sky—
“Daniel!”
Margery’s alarmed tone, her hand on his arm, dragged him back to the present. He breathed in deeply through his nose, dragging in the fresh, briny air, forcing the memories back to hell where they belonged.
“Pardon.” His voice was a mere croak. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Please, forgive me.”
Margery’s brows were pulled together in the middle, worry stark on her lovely face. “Are you well?” she asked quietly.
Before he could summon an answer—he didn’t have the faintest idea how to respond anyway—a deep voice broke into the moment.
“But you’re Captain Lord Daniel Hayle.”
Daniel flinched. That name seemed to call from a veritable lifetime ago, a haunting echo of the idealistic boy he had been. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Margery’s acquaintances.
Again, that shock of memory that tried so violently to make itself known. This time, however, his defenses were firmly in place, and it blessedly slipped away, leaving numbness in its wake.
“By God, McTavish, you’re right.” The tallest of the three, a Mr. Newton, gaped at him.
“My word,” the one with the light brown skin, Mr. Emmett, breathed. “We saw you that day. On the battlefield.”
Daniel cleared his throat. “I was Captain Lord Daniel Hayle. Now I am the Duke of Carlisle.”
“Ah.” The man flushed, bowed. “My apologies, Your Grace. And my condolences.”
