Lee mulled that over. Was it possible? Could love grow out of mutual caring and respect? Over the years, Charles had fallen deeply in love with Elizabeth. They were happy. Unbelievably so. In her life at Parklands, Lee would have chosen Jon as her protector. Why not a husband instead?
"Jon wants children, Lee. I know how much you would love to have a family of your own."
It was said that when one door closed another opened. Perhaps this, at last, was a door to the life she had finally discovered she wanted. Certainly she could be happier with Jon than she had been in the world of the demimonde, where she had never fit in.
"Jon enjoys racing," the marquess went on. "Your horses will have the very best of care."
She set her cup and saucer down next to his. "Do you really believe marrying Lord Nash is the right thing to do?"
The marquess reached out and captured her hand. "I have done all I can to protect you. Jon is aware of your former… relationship… with Captain Tanner and yet he believes, in time, you will come to care for him. As the wife of a viscount and respected member of the ton, your future would be completely secure."
His hold gently tightened around her fingers. "Shall I give him my approval?"
She thought of Caleb, closed her eyes and forced his image away. "Tell him if he proposes marriage… if he is certain that is what he wants, I shall be honored to accept."
Lee could scarcely believe it. In only a few short months, her life had completely changed. She was betrothed to a well-respected member of the aristocracy and soon would be wed.
It was less than three weeks till the wedding when she made a trip to London for the final fitting of her trousseau. Though she missed Jeannie, her maid was happier at Parklands where she was more readily accepted. Beatrice was her lady's maid now, the two of them staying at her father's town house. She had buried thoughts of Caleb deep in her heart, never to be resurrected, and so she was surprised when, standing at the top of the stairs, she saw his brother, Lucas, striding into the entry.
The moment she realized who it was, a wave of fear hit her and the breath froze in her lungs. She flew down the stairs, her pulse hammering so madly she was afraid she might swoon. "Do not say he is dead!"
Lucas shook his head and relief rushed over her, so strong her legs went weak. Luc took her arm and led her into the nearest drawing room, urged her down onto the sofa.
"Caleb is alive, Lee, but I'm afraid he's been very gravely injured. There was some sort of mix-up and he was believed to be someone else. Word only reached us a few days ago."
Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together in her lap. "Where… where is he?"
"The hospital at Portsmouth."
She started to get up. She had to go upstairs, change into something for the journey.
Luc caught her arm. "My brother is in some sort of a coma, Lee. He has sustained a serious head injury. On top of that, he took a musket ball in the chest. He's been out of his mind with fever off and on for days. The hospital is a place of horrors, but they are afraid to move him. I came because in his lucid moments, Caleb calls your name."
Her eyes burned with tears.
"I heard you were here," Luc continued. "I thought that perhaps—"
"It won't take me a moment to change and pack a few things for the trip. If you would see me to Portsmouth, Lord Halford, I would be forever in your debt."
He gave her a weary smile. "I hoped you would say that." He looked tired. Faint smudges darkened the skin beneath his blue eyes and beard-stubble roughened his usually clean-shaven cheeks. "I probably shouldn't have come here, but if you are willing to suffer the horrors of that place and there is any chance you can help my brother, I can only say that I am grateful."
She simply nodded. Caleb was injured, perhaps even dying. Her throat ached and a film of tears blurred her vision. Turning away from Luc, she hurried out of the drawing room and raced up the stairs shouting for Beatrice.
In minutes, she had changed into traveling clothes, secured her bonnet strings beneath her chin, told Beatrice where she was going and asked her not to worry her father unless she had to. Then she hurried back down the stairs, tapestry satchel in hand. Luc took the bag from her trembling fingers and together they walked out the door.
Luc's carriage was waiting. He was the Viscount Halford and his crest blazed in gold on the door. He helped her inside and she settled against the carriage seat. They wouldn't reach Portsmouth before tomorrow.
She thought of Caleb and prayed he would still be alive when she got there.
The military hospital at Portsmouth overflowed with wounded men. The fighting at Talavera had been fierce, the casualties in the thousands. Some of the soldiers remained in hospital camps in Spain. Others, like Caleb, had been shipped home to England.
As Luc settled a steadying hand at Lee's waist and led her into the three-story brick building, she tried to prepare herself. But nothing could have prepared her for the moans of the wounded and dying men, the terrible stench of blood and death that hung in the fetid air.
"Are you all right?" Luc asked worriedly.
She knew her face was pale and her hands were shaking. Her stomach rolled with nausea and she prayed she wouldn't embarrass herself. "I'm fine," she lied. "This just takes a bit of getting used to is all."
Luc's face looked hard. "A good bit, I would say. I don't believe anyone ever gets used to a place like this." He took her arm, lending her some of his strength, and they walked down row after row of sick and wounded men.
Besides the bloodstained bandages and the odor of putrid flesh, she saw men with severed limbs and a number who had been badly burned.
"There was a grass fire after the battle. A lot of the wounded were killed in the fire or very badly burned."
She stopped, looked up at him. "Caleb?"
He shook his head. "The chest wound I mentioned and a saber gash in the leg. I'm afraid the leg is infected." Lucas caught her shoulders. "They may have to take it, Lee."
Her heart nearly broke. "Oh, dear God. Caleb would hate that more than anything. He's a cavalry officer. He needs to be able to ride." And she wouldn't let them take his leg unless there was no other choice.
Unfortunately, when she reached his bedside and saw how ghostly pale he was, saw the blood leaking through the bandages on his chest and leg, she thought removing the limb might be his only hope.
Lee knelt beside him, reached out and took his hand. It felt even colder than her own. The other, she saw, was bandaged.
"He escaped the fire himself," Luc gently explained. "He was trying to help some of the others."
"Caleb? Can you hear me? It's Lee." But Caleb said nothing. His eyes were closed, his cheeks gaunt, his complexion as pale as the sheet.
"He hasn't spoken in days," a tall blond man said from the opposite side of the bed. "I'm Christian, one of Caleb's brothers." The married one, she thought. "Our brother, Ethan, is out of the country. This is my father, Lord Selhurst."
The earl was mostly silver-haired, his shoulders slightly bent, and worry for his son was written in the lines of his face. "I'm sorry Lucas troubled you to come," he said a little stiffly. "I told him he shouldn't. This is no place for a woman."
She straightened a little. "Caleb asked for me. That is why I came. I won't leave him until he is recovered."
The marquess said nothing more but his gaze faintly sharpened.
"There seems to be a shortage of surgeons," she said, glancing around the room, thinking what an understatement that was. "Over the years, I have tended a number of injured horses." Actually, Jacob and Arlie had done most of the work, but at least she had been there. "Since there is no one else, I should like to take a look at the wounds myself."
"That is absurd," Lord Selhurst said. "I've sent for the best physician in London. Once he arrives, my son will be in the very best possible hands."