Lettie’s horrified stare darted across the battlefield. The dead, dying, and wounded lie clustered in groups or decidedly alone. One man leaned against a stout tree, pinned in place by the broken point of a bayonet. The soldier, a man she’d met on occasion during meals—Oliver. His eyes were open in terror, yet she knew he saw no more. The tilt of his head pointed the opposite way as if to say that what she sought would be found in that direction.

He was wrong. Lettie didn’t want to find anything. She wanted to run, desired to put miles and oceans between her and the war that’d been her life for so long she didn’t remember what peace felt like. The battles that kept her and Gregory moving, traveling across foreign lands, and never worrying about a family or home of their own.

Lifting her skirts, Lettie knelt beside a fallen soldier—a French soldier, but that meant naught to her—and felt for a pulse at his neck.

Cries for help came from every direction. There was no way their encampment had enough supplies to treat even a fraction of the fallen men littering the blood-soaked ground and strewn in every direction.

Unfortunately, the French soldier had no discernible heartbeat. His vacant stare should have confirmed as much without her wasting time feeling about his cold, lifeless body.

Lettie stood, noting that at least one of the puddles of crimson hadn’t soaked into the rough ground below her or been washed away by the ever-constant drizzle, for the hem of her gown had absorbed it and the stain now wound its way into the cotton fabric of her skirts, inching higher by the second. It was her only stipend gown, in blue and red. It would likely be weeks before she could procure a new bolt of fabric to make a fresh one.

Lettie didn’t dare glance above the hem to see the rust-colored smears staining the material at her knees from when she’d knelt before the man.

Something brushed against her leg, and Lettie flinched, pivoting to see what offensive thing lay close. A mound of discarded bodies lay at her side. Where had they come from? She could have sworn that they hadn’t been there when she’d knelt next to the fallen French soldier. The pile rose and fell as if it were a living, breathing entity.

“Colette.” The moan of her name drifted on the tainted breeze.

Who could be calling her? No one called her Colette—it was “Lady Lettie” or “Doc” unless she was cooking or darning clothes, then it was “Cook” or the unfortunate, “wench.”

Her glare darted around the field, searching for whoever had called her. They must know her. Perhaps from London or her family’s country estate.

“Colette!” The moan was louder this time. “Lady Lettie.”

The ground shook beneath her, and she realized that the pile of bodies called to her.

Whoever it was, lay right beside her. She could find them, help them, save them!

She dropped beside the tangle of limbs, clothing, and forgotten weaponry, but was uncertain where to begin or how to disentangle the mass of moaning, wounded cries.

Lettie reached out and rolled a body from the top of the pile. It continued to roll until she heard a thud as it settled in a large, muddy puddle. She worked furiously, her arms ached at the dead weight, but she’d yet to find the man who called to her for help.

He must be close. He still said her name, but it was louder now—growing with intensity as she worked faster.

The ground trembled once more as if a cannon had been shot right beside her, but no other sound filled the air other than her ragged breathing and the shout of her name.

Blessedly, she pulled a limp arm away to reveal a familiar face. His mouth formed her name one last time.

Just as quickly, all life drained from his eyes.

Lettie was too late. She hadn’t moved fast enough. She hadn’t known the true urgency of the matter.

Daniel!

---

“Daniel!” the single word ripped from her, breaking the silence as Lettie’s eyes snapped open. Above her, Daniel stood—mercifully alive—staring at her with great worry, his hands holding her shoulders firmly against the lounge. “Daniel,” she sighed, allowing the terror to drain from her, and her body to go limp, no longer fighting his hold. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He released her and took a step back, permitting her to sit. She pressed her hands to her coiffure to make sure her pose hadn’t ruined her maid’s handiwork, but belatedly, she remembered her locks were shorn too close to her scalp to afford any style beyond an unassuming clip.

She breathed deeply, attempting to slow her erratic heartbeat enough to stop the trembling of her hands before Daniel noticed.

“You were calling out in your sleep.” He took a seat next to her on the chaise. “I came to meet with your father, but I heard you yelling all the way in the foyer. You sounded as if you were in great pain, and the servants were acting as if they did not hear anything amiss.”

Great pain was not a strong enough phrase to encapsulate the hellish night terrors she’d suffered since Waterloo. Only this time, something had changed. The wounded, dead, and dying were as they were every night when the dreams came. The eerie quiet—except for the moaning of the wounded—was as it always was. Even her name reaching her on the breeze, calling her forth, deeper and deeper into the blood-soaked battlefield—and farther from camp—was the same.

However, the mound of breathing bodies had been larger.

As she’d moved the final limb to discover who’d been calling to her for help, it had not been Gregory’s cold, unmoving eyes staring at her, but those of…

Daniel.

He stood quickly and moved to the sideboard, pouring her a healthy goblet of watered wine before returning to her side. “Here, have a drink. You are as pale as a freshly laundered bed sheet.”

Before taking the offered glass, Lettie ran her damp hands down her legs to her knees. The added time would hopefully stop their shaking and enable her to hold the wine without spilling it on both of them.

“Thank you,” she said with a feeble smile. It had been nearly a week since she’d spoken with Daniel. He’d come and gone from Carrolton House but he’d never pressured her to accept his presence as she adjusted to being back in London and under her parent’s care. Oddly enough, a part of her longed to see him, speak with him, and be close to someone who knew her well. “It was only a dream, nothing more. I am much better now.”

“How long have the nightmares plagued you?” he asked.

His matter of fact tone told Lettie that lying would do her no good. Yet she wondered what Daniel had lived through to know anything about the nightmares that visited her during sleep.

Her brow furrowed. “How do you know it was a nightmare?”

“You were thrashing around.” He lifted his arms where a red welt had formed. “Your fist knocked me before I was able to get a handle on you. If you were dreaming of kittens and rainbows, you would not have been so…” He paused to find the exact word to describe the scene he’d walked in on. “…out of control and filled with terror.”

She stared into her cup, and Daniel regretted inquiring about her fitful sleep. Since that early morning at Phineas’s townhouse, the same terrors had infiltrated his once peaceful slumber. Endless hours spent running and searching the stables, trying to locate the boy as Daniel heard the whip hitting him repeatedly, over and over, while Charlie wept for his mother.

Daniel was never able to stop the beating, only locating Phineas by his deep chuckles of pleasure when they echoed through the stables. And each morning, Daniel had awoken feeling like the failure he’d proven himself to be.

Every night, it was the same.

It was his penance.

He deserved the nightmares that visited him every time he closed his eyes.

But Lettie…Lettie deserved none of it.

And she certainly deserved a better man than Daniel had proven himself to be.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice still gravelly from her fitful rest. “Besides meeting with Father, that is.”

She’d always known when he was keeping something from her. It was a blessing that she hadn’t honed in on his much bigger secret. “I thought I’d accompany you to the modiste, instead of the duchess. I overheard your mother informing the earl that your appointment was scheduled for this afternoon. I would much enjoy escorting you.”

Her brow rose. “Why?”

“Well, I know how taxing your mother can be, especially when she has her sights set on something,” he said. And Daniel had desperately missed Lettie. He’d gone so far as to make several unnecessary visits to Carrolton Hall over the last week in hopes of gaining a glimpse of her or hearing her voice float down the long corridors. “I offered to escort you, which will give you the freedom to select material and styles you prefer as opposed to those forced upon you.”

She appeared to think over his offer, and Daniel feared she’d decline his escort.

“However, I should probably inform you that the offer has already been made and accepted by the duchess.” He winked.

“I suppose I should thank you.” She stood, the color having returned to her face. She glanced over her shoulder at the tall clock against the wall. “I will collect my cloak and meet you at your carriage.”

As she hurried from the room, the need to pull her close and into a hug filled him. He shook his head to clear the silly notion. She was only retrieving a warm coat, not running off to battle again. In no time, she’d be in his carriage, and they’d be off and away from the prying eyes of her mother.

If he were lucky, Lettie wouldn’t cross paths with her father. Or she’d find out Daniel hadn’t a meeting with the earl at all but had overheard her mother mention a fitting with the modiste at sharply eleven o’clock today on one of his needless social calls disguised as a meeting. It just so happened that he hadn’t any previous engagements to call off in favor of an afternoon with her.

Though, he would have canceled a meeting with the King himself to gain an afternoon in Lettie’s company.

After their embrace on the night of her return, he’d gone home and stared at his decanter of scotch. He couldn’t bring himself to take so much as a sip of the fiery liquid, nor had he sought out a gaming hell or brothel. For the first time in a long time, he knew the consequences of his actions and realized that either choice would result in him hurting Lettie again, even if she never found out.

He’d told her he would never push her into accepting a marriage proposal from him.

And he’d meant every word, even though his promise to his parents nagged at him daily.

Daniel’s respect for Lettie meant more. He would not disappoint her again. Returning to his drunken, rambunctious ways would most certainly disappoint her. And with that in mind, he’d promised himself to give her space and time to adjust to town life—gain her own footing without his constant presence.

Accompanying her to the modiste and offering to be her friend did not make up for all the wrongs in his past, but it was a start.

When he exited the front door of Carrolton Hall, Lettie was already seated in his open-air carriage, her poise returned and a bonnet covering her brown locks. It must be the doing of the duchess because Lettie had never been fond of headgear; but then again, many things had changed in the last six years. Gone was the pile of curls that had always been pinned high atop her crown, and in their place, was a style much more suited to combat life.

“Are you ready, my lady?” He took his seat across from her as she fussed with the string of her handbag. At her nod, Daniel called to his coachman to be off.

They had a bit of a distance to travel, especially with the midday traffic as society made their way about the city on social calls, shopping, and trips to Hyde or Regent’s Park, especially since he had one stop to make before arriving at the seamstress’s shop.

Silence stretched between them.

Daniel watched Lettie.

Lettie kept her stare trained on anything but him, yet not noticing that their carriage did not head for the modiste shop as planned.

While she appeared relaxed and calm now, her mouth had been contorted in a silent scream while she’d slept—before she’d called his name…not her late husband’s name, but Daniel’s. She fought her demons during her sleep, and he’d been there with her. But in what form?

Had he saved her?

Had he been the cause of her pain?

Daniel didn’t know, nor had she been willing to speak of it more in the salon.

At the moment, they were stuck in a carriage, alone, in the middle of slow-moving coaches and men on horseback, affording them ample space and time for a private conversation.

“How often do the nightmares come, Lettie?”

“Every time I close my eyes, even when I’m not asleep,” she confessed but did not look at him.

He hadn’t imagined they plagued her so often. Even his night terrors were absent every few nights when he went so long without rest that he fell into a slumber deeper than death.

“When awake, I can sometimes keep them at bay, but I have no control over my sleeping mind.” She turned, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

Why hadn’t her fatigue been as evident when he’d collected her from The George?

“And they started after Gregory passed?” Daniel didn’t want to mention the man’s name, did not want the ghost of her dead husband invading their private moment; however, it was Gregory’s fault that Lettie suffered so. If he’d never met her, never made her fall in love with him, never married her and whisked her away to war-torn areas, she would not be plagued with horrible dreams now. She would not be pining away for a man who was long buried.

And maybe, Daniel would have found his own happiness and not fallen into disgrace.

Thankfully, his carriage turned onto St. James and continued down the street barely wide enough for two carriages to pass. It was then that Lettie stiffened, finally noticing that they’d turned off the main street leading toward the popular Bond Street shopping area and onto the street that housed the Linwood family townhouse—his home.

“Where are we going?” she feigned ignorance, but her eyes immediately looked down the street and settled on the brick façade of Daniel’s house.

“I thought you’d relish a few moments in a familiar spot—one without the ever present watchfulness of the duchess.” Daniel fell silent as this coachman did exactly as he’d bid, turning onto the narrow lane that would lead to the alley bordering the back of the Linwood property were a small grove of plum trees blocked the view from outsiders, including the Linwood servants. “I know it is highly improper, but I thought we could spend a bit of time here before your meeting with the modiste.”

He stopped himself from reminding Lettie of the solace she’d found in his family gardens when her mother’s ranting became too much to bear; however, the softening of her stare told him he’d made the correct decision.

“You always found peace here,” Daniel muttered, keeping a close watch on her, prepared to command his coachman to drive on if their destination did not please her.

“And silence…” She spoke barely above a whisper, and if he hadn’t been paying such close attention to her, Daniel would have missed her words. “It was the silence I loved most.”

“You are welcome to come any time it suits you.” The carriage came to a stop at the stone wall separating his property from the common alley. Odd, but he came here for the complete opposite reasons as Lettie. She came for peace and solitude, while Daniel came in hopes of finding Lettie and a few brief moments of witty conversation, jests, and tree climbing. They’d laughed, they’d played, and they’d enjoyed time as a young woman and man—not a future duke and duchess with unlimited responsibilities and the welfare of others hanging about their necks, weighing them down. “That is if you desire it.”

She turned, and a pained expression settled on her face, before she gave him a small smile. “It is very kind of you, Daniel, to remember.” Her mouth moved to a frown. “But I find the quiet is not to my liking anymore.”

“Then we shall climb trees and swing from one branch to the next, like we used to when we were children.” Daniel flung the carriage door wide and departed, holding his hand for her to take. “Come, Lettie, let us climb to the highest branch and yelp as loud as we dare!”

She shook her head but her grin returned, with only a hint of the melancholy she’d shrouded herself in before. “I do not think it proper to climb trees nor scream, but I would very much enjoy a walk in the grove.”

Taking his hand, she stepped down from the carriage. Daniel tucked her hand into the crook of his arm before setting off for the wooden gate that led to the back of his property, shielded from view of the house by the ancient plum trees.

“Agreed, no climbing and no shouting.” He made an X over his chest as they walked through the unlocked gate and into the overgrown foliage of their long ago special spot. “What about a game of chase the weasel?”

She let out a light laugh at the memories of the game they’d concocted during their childhood. “You know well and good that I was always faster than you.”

“Yes, but I fear those heavy skirts weigh far more than the ankle-length frocks you wore as a child.” He raised his brow at her in challenge. “There is no conceivable way you could best me now.”

“Mayhap I have no need to best you.” Her smile fled once more, and Daniel sensed her slipping away from him again. He was uncertain where her mind traveled to, but he’d noted this occurring her first day in London. There was nothing Daniel longed for more than to keep her here, solidly with him and not in the past. “Tell me, Daniel, what have you been doing since I departed London?”

Imbibing too much. Thinking too little.

And making an utter mess of his life as he applied himself to filling his days with people, activities, and things that hadn’t mattered.

Until that fateful Christmastide morning, that is.

But Daniel would not share any of that ugliness with her. Lettie had seen enough, experienced far more than a gently bred woman should in her short lifetime. He would speak of the last nine months. A time he was proud of.

“I have been learning estate management from your father,” he confided. “Things I should have learned in my youth from my own father. But, alas, I’d thought there would always be more time, another day with him present to learn all I needed.”

“That is certainly something I understand.”

They fell silent as their slow progress through the grove brought them to the edge of the trees. If they traversed a few more paces, they’d be visible from the back terrace of his townhouse.

Easily, he turned them about to face back toward the alley and their waiting carriage.

Daniel wasn’t ready to share Lettie just yet—nor return to his carriage.

Could he stall a few more minutes?

“My how the trees have grown!” She halted before a particularly thick, tall tree and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun overhead. “I truly cannot believe we once climbed these things—without a broken bone or scratch resulting.”

Daniel took in the sheer size of the trees, as well. They’d grown, their fruit falling from their limbs, and new saplings taking root. As some trees aged and decayed, others grew tall and strong to take their place.

Had he and Lettie aged—decaying as the years passed?

He’d like to think that neither of them were worse for wear due to the years passing, but wiser and stronger than they’d once been.

“Have you thought of what life holds for you next, Lettie?” Again, he thought he’d never tire of saying her name aloud.

“I have only been in town a week,” she said, resuming their slow walk. Dried leaves crackled and crumbled with each of their footfalls. “But I will confess the thought of returning to society is as daunting as it was when I first arrived home.”

“There are some things time cannot heal, that it is not meant to heal.” Daniel had no idea what made him speak those exact words, but when Lettie moved closer, burrowing into his side, Daniel suspected he’d said what she needed to hear. “We can only live one day at a time and hope the things that can never heal at least diminish in size.”

Lettie sighed, and Daniel felt the tension drain from her as they made their way back through the gate and to the carriage.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, as he assisted her into the open-air conveyance.

“You are welcome to return whenever the need arises.” Daniel took his seat and called to the coachman to continue on to Bond Street, though every inch of him screamed to remain in their small, secluded grove, where the harsh realities of life could not reach them.