Miss Truelove Beckons by Simpson Donna Lea

Author:Simpson, Donna Lea [Simpson, Donna Lea]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: traditional Regency, Waterloo, Jane Austen, war, British historical fiction, PTSD, Napoleon
Publisher: Beyond the Page
Published: 2015-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

• • •

The next morning Arabella determinedly cornered Lord Drake in the breakfast room as he helped himself to eggs from the covered chafing dish. She took a plate and spooned on a tiny helping of eggs and a slice of ham. And she would have to be careful that she did not eat even that. Despite what he had said at the inn, she was sure that Lord Drake would approve a dainty appetite. It was time to steel herself to necessity, and set all her efforts to the task at hand. “I must say, my lord, that your . . . your infirmity appears to be healing!”

He scowled at her, but then saw her motioning toward his abandoned cane with her fork. “Oh . . . yes. This last month the exercise of walking with you ladies has done my leg good, I think.”

She dimpled up at him as he pulled out a chair for her. “Soon you will be as good as new! One would never know you were in that awful battle.”

“On the contrary, Miss Swinley,” he said, taking the seat next to her. They were the only two in the breakfast room at that early hour. “I wish no one to forget about that battle. I was lucky enough to be given an injury that will heal. Many of our poor soldiers lost limbs on the battlefield.”

She nodded, determined not to scold him for bringing up subjects unfit for a lady’s ears. If he wanted to talk about the dreadful war, then she would do it. If True could, she could. With the determination of a field general planning an attack, she took a deep breath and said, “Why, I think our gallant soldiers injured in the line of duty should be given a pension for their work for our country.”

“There is some provision for the injured, Miss Swinley. Chelsea Hospital is for the care of elderly and severely disabled soldiers. It is pitiful, but it is something, I suppose.”

“Why then, they are taken care of!” Arabella was pleased that she had finally engaged the dour viscount in conversation. It was going well, she thought. She stabbed at the piece of ham, then remembered herself and cut a minuscule portion and popped it into her mouth.

“Not when one considers the sacrifices made. I still believe we could be doing more . . . much more.” He glanced over at her curiously. “Are you genuinely interested in the welfare of our returning soldiers, Miss Swinley?”

She swallowed. Oh, Lord, she thought, I hope he does not have some dreary society he wishes me to join! “I am,” she said, nodding vigorously. “I cannot think of anything more fascinating!”

Drake smiled, and over coffee told her much more than she ever wanted to know about military life, and the dilemma facing those concerned about returning and injured soldiers. And that was just the beginning, she found. That afternoon she walked with him on the terrace, and he told her all about the Peninsula campaign, Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca .

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