They arrived at the modiste with only moments to spare as she and Daniel bustled through the door. She was certain Daniel hadn’t realized the impact his words had had on her—not all things are meant to heal. Maybe the wounds of her past would never heal. If they didn’t, then it was up to her to patch and bandage them well enough that the pain and visible wounds were not obvious to those surrounding her.

For not the first time, she experienced the security of having Daniel close. The feeling that as long as he was near, nothing bad could happen to her.

It had been a long week since her arrival in London, and she hadn’t seen Daniel after that first day. He was giving her ample time, and while she appreciated that greatly, her sense of loneliness was all-consuming as the nightmares no longer waited for nightfall to attack.

Curse her, but she’d missed Daniel since she’d wed Gregory.

She had no right to long for him, no right to claim his time, and certainly no right to ask anything of a man she’d betrayed. Though she’d done it in the name of love, mattered naught.

“Hold still, my lady,” the modiste said. “Only a few more pins, and I shall be done.”

She shook her head to clear her wayward thoughts and stood perfectly still as the modiste slipped another pin into the pre-fashioned gown she was fitting to her exact size. The three-part mirror caught Lettie from several angles, and her skin appeared pale next to the ebony muslin. She’d selected this pattern as opposed to the calico material for the soft way it hugged her and draped gracefully to the floor where one of the modiste’s helpers pinned the hem.

The extravagant bolt of fabric could be traded for enough materials to outfit an entire foot battalion. Lettie pushed down her contrition, knowing if she did not select at least a half-dozen gowns, her mother would likely purchase dresses for her made from far more lavish silks and satins.

“I will return in a moment,” the modiste called, clucking for her helper to follow as she departed the back fitting room, exiting through the curtain that separated this room from the front of the shop.

Lettie glanced back at her reflection—her skin had lost its sun-kissed coloring, her hair was growing back but at odd angles, and her face was far thinner, almost gaunt, from many hours of labor and not enough rest and sustenance. She was a mere shell of the woman she’d been during her debut Season. A chuckle from the front room drew Lettie’s attention.

When the modiste had departed the room, she’d pushed the curtain aside, affording Lettie a glimpse of the front of the store. Daniel sat where she’d left him almost two hours prior. His continued presence wasn’t necessary, and Lettie had begged him to depart and return for her later; however, he’d insisted on remaining in case she needed anything.

He’d done far more than was necessary. It was as if he were determined to continue their association and pick up where they’d left off. Well, not exactly where they’d left off since that would mean her breaking off their betrothal, and him so deep in his cups he hadn’t a care he still had another woman’s perfume clinging to him.

No, this was a different man than the one she’d left six years before.

This Daniel hadn’t so much as accepted a goblet of dinner wine on her first night back. This Daniel listened to her when she spoke. This Daniel thought of what would put her at ease. This Daniel was charming, sympathetic, and attentive.

All things he hadn’t been six years ago.

Another change, possibly the most apparent, was his hooded demeanor. He’d suspected she suffered from harrowing nightmares, but how could a gentleman of his caliber know of such things? He’d never been a soldier, never favored manual labor or dock work, and certainly, the hardships of the lower class were unknown to him; yet, still, they’d found a kinship and understanding Lettie had thought disappeared long ago, never to be rediscovered.

She struggled to process his kindness. She’d deserted him shortly before they were to wed. She’d brought shame and disgrace on both his family and hers, and then she’d fled England, leaving him to deal with the mess she’d created.

Even after all that, he sat patiently in the modiste’s store front and waited for her to finish. He’d offered to escort her to keep the duchess from selecting patterns and fabrics not to Lettie’s tastes.

Daniel owed her nothing.

Lettie owed him everything.

He glanced up from the newspaper he was reading and met her stare. He gave her a warm grin, making him all the more handsome as he pushed a lock of black hair from his eyes. For a moment, he appeared the young lord she remembered, unburdened by life and circumstances…and her heart fluttered. Once upon a time, Lettie had looked forward to wedding Daniel, starting a family, and spending their lives together.

She averted her eyes, conflicted by her colliding emotions.

For the past several months, she’d been in deep mourning for Gregory. Though it had taken only a day back in London for her emotions to betray her, and for thoughts of Daniel and their past to take over.

Certainly, Daniel was a handsome lord, but she had no right to notice. Her heart should not flutter at the sight of him. Her pulse should never quicken at the mere thought of his embrace. It was the ultimate disloyalty to Gregory and the love they’d shared.

The modiste, with her helper fast behind her, reentered the room, pulling the curtain shut and blessedly blocking Daniel from view. Lettie’s cheeks reddened with shame at her lapse.

“Lady Colette,” the modiste said, rushing forward with a bolt of fine velvet draped over her arm, proudly displaying it to her. “This just arrived yesterday. While it is not black or dark grey, I think it would suit in case you have occasion to wear it.”

Lettie reached out her hand, tentatively caressing the soft velvet. The material was so dark it almost appeared black, yet is was midnight blue. How the color was achieved was beyond Lettie’s comprehension.

“It is beautiful,” she sighed. “But, truly, I have no use for a gown made of such a fine velvet.”

“Your mother sent word that I must prepare at least one gown in a hue besides black and grey. If I displease the duchess, she will refuse my tab.” She pushed the material closer for Lettie to inspect. “It is of the highest quality, my lady.”

Lettie glanced from the velvet to the modiste and back again. How to explain the quality wasn’t what caused her hesitation? It was the indulgence of purchasing a gown of such worth. Soldiers slept on the ground with nothing but their worn coat for warmth. Women who devoted their lives to their husbands and military service suffered a lack of food, heat, and shelter. She’d even assisted with the birth of a babe in camp before journeying to Waterloo. All those people suffered while Lettie was making trivial decisions about accepting a gown of crushed velvet or insisting on dresses made from less fashionable fabrics such as jacquard.

She glanced at the small pile of muslin she’d already selected for several gowns, and then down at the fine black frock she wore before turning back to the modiste.

The older woman’s eyes pleaded with Lettie to accept the velvet.

With a groan, Lettie nodded.

“Wonderful, my lady,” the modiste said, handing the velvet to her assistant and mumbling a few quick orders. “I think that will be sufficient. Patterns and materials have been designated. I will have this gown altered and delivered by this evening with the rest to follow within the week.”

“Do take your time,” Lettie argued. “I am in no need of the gowns for some time still.”

“It is no trouble.” With a reassuring smile, she continued. “It only needs to be taken in at the waist and the hem raised. It should take no more than an hour to accomplish.”

“You are too kind.” Lettie glanced back at the mirror. This was the first new gown she’d had in over four years. “You do fine work.”

“Thank you, my lady.” The woman’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. “If there is nothing more you need, I will assist you out of this dress and help you back into your own gown.”

The modiste’s nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned the back of her new gown, careful not to disturb the pins placed for taking in the waist.

Within moments, Lettie was again wearing the gown she’d arrived in as she collected her bonnet and handbag.

“Is there anything else I can have made?”

“I think two bonnets to match the gowns. If it is not too much trouble.” The modiste was the first person she’d encountered in London who hadn’t winced at the sight of her shortened locks. “Nothing fancy, mind you, but something until my hair grows a bit. Oh, and gloves. I am in desperate need of gloves.”

“There is no need to explain.” The modiste gave her a pitying smile and patted her arm. “I will send the bonnets and gloves with the gowns.”

“Thank you, again.” Lettie securely tied the string on her bonnet under her chin and made her way to the front of the store where Daniel still waited.

When she entered, he jumped to his feet and set the newspaper he’d been reading aside. “Are you ready to depart?”

Several hours in a woman’s clothing shop would likely put any man on edge.

“I am finished.” Lettie retrieved her lone pair of gloves from her handbag and slipped them on. “Thank you again for escorting me. It would have been a trying afternoon with my mother.”

“It is my pleasure, Lady Lettie.” He held out his arm.

With a confident smile, Lettie set her hand in the crook of his arm.

The door swung open before Daniel reached for it, and a man walked in, his auburn hair catching the late-afternoon light. Lettie caught sight of Daniel’s carriage waiting at the curb beyond, and suddenly, she was exhausted. She could walk for hours with a heavy pack on her back or work three days straight tending the wounded; however, a few hours being fitted for new gowns had withdrawn all the energy from her.

“Danny Boy!” the man shouted with a chuckle. Daniel’s arm tensed, and he halted but made no move to turn and face the man who’d entered the shop. “I can’t believe my eyes. It is you!”

“Lord Gable,” Daniel said by way of greeting as he turned to face the man, releasing Lettie’s arm and stepping in front of her. “I was unaware you favored women’s fashion.”

Lettie attempted to peek around Daniel, but he was too quick and sidestepped to block her view. Was he embarrassed to be seen with Lettie on his arm?

Maybe she was not so far off with her sense that he hid something from her—the thing that had brought about such a drastic change in him.

“No, no,” Gable said. “I am only collecting a gown for my mistress…a feisty golden-haired siren, Amberlyn. You remember her from the playhouse, do you not?” Daniel didn’t so much as nod to the man. “Oh, well, you have been absent for several months, but the woman is going to be the death of me—I swear the things she can do with her legs…”

Gable sighed, not bothering to finish the statement.

As if Daniel were more than capable of envisioning exactly what the man meant.

Lettie was not unaware of the pleasure shared between a man and a woman. Though speaking of such things publicly was highly indecorous. That a lady was present made Gable’s statement all the more unsettling.

“Ah, well. Who do you have with you, Danny Boy?” Gable stepped around Daniel and grasped Lettie’s hand, bringing it to his lips.

She could have sworn Daniel growled beside her.

“And who might you be, you tiny minx?” Gable purred as Lettie pulled her hand back from his clammy touch, the heat and moisture felt even through her gloves. “You must be the reason Danny hasn’t been much for fun of late.”

Lettie swallowed, glancing sideways at Daniel.

He did not smile nor join in the revelry with Gable, though neither did he step forward to make a proper introduction.

“I am Lady Lettie Hughes, my lord,” Lettie said, giving a curtsy. “But I am afraid it is not I keeping Lord Linwood from any merriment.”

“Oh, is that true?” Gable looked from Lettie back to Daniel. “Well, you must join me tonight. I am hosting a card game, and, well, other entertainments.”

Daniel’s eyes flashed, finally settling on Gable. “I am otherwise occupied this evening.”

Gable took Lettie in from head to toe, a lecherous grin settling. “I expect you are; however, the invitation stands.” Gable kept his stare trained on her. “Bring Lady Lettie Hughes with you, Danny Boy. But remember, clothing is always optional in my home.”

Lettie gasped but had no opportunity to rebuff the man’s insinuation.

With a tug, Daniel pulled the door wide and steered her out of the store.

“She must be quite the pleasure pot to keep you from the gaming hells, Danny Boy!”

Lord Gable’s riotous laughter could be heard as Daniel’s coachman assisted her into the waiting carriage.

The quick pace pushed the breath from Lettie’s lungs as she all but fell on her seat, a scathing retort at the ready.

“Wait here, I will return momentarily.” Daniel’s eyes dared her to move an inch, their intensity kept Lettie frozen in her seat as he pivoted and made his way back into the shop.

She careened her neck to see inside, but the draperies in the front window made it impossible.

True to his word, Daniel exited the shop after only a few minutes, pushing his black hair from his face before entering the carriage.

Daniel sat across from her, his lips taut and his shoulders stiff with tension.

The words died before making it past her lips.

“I apologize for Lord Gable’s inappropriate comments.” He called to his driver to be off and settled in to gaze out the window as they made their way back to her family’s townhouse.

The man meant to offer no other explanation for the scandalous encounter.

Lettie’s temper flared red-hot. “Did that man think me to be your—“ the word stuck in her throat, but she pushed it out, needing an answer, “your paramour? A kept woman?” Her voice rose with each word until her final question was little more than a shrill screech. “Your courtesan?”

Her fury only increased when he remained silent, giving her not even the satisfaction of a bogus explanation.

“Did you think because I am a widow, I would fall into your bed without benefit of any future promises? Is that why you’ve been so kind to me, taking me to a place I favored in the past, even after everything I did to you when I wed Gregory?”

That finally captured his attention. “I said I would never force you into any arrangement—betrothal or otherwise.”

“But you were hoping I’d fall willingly into my place as your mistress, the sad, pathetic, aging widow that I am?”

His eyes flared as hot as her temper. “Of course, not. Do not be obtuse, Lettie.”

She leaned forward, laying her arms across her chest. “Never in my twenty-six years have I ever been obtuse—except in this moment, not realizing the roguish ways you’ve taken to and how far you’ve truly fallen. You are not the boy I grew up with.”

“You are correct, my lady, I am not a boy. I have not been for many years,” he hissed, matching her pose and bringing their faces so close their noses nearly touched. “And my personal life is none of your concern. Especially the years following your flight from London and marriage to another. Do not dare cast stones at my decisions.”

He was a rakehell. A rascal. His benevolence surely feigned for his own benefit. She shook her head in disbelief. “You thought me so low—penniless, homeless, and without a possession to my name—I could easily be taken to your bed? Resigned to a future of being passed between men until my beauty crumbled to nothing and I perished old and alone…a spent whore?”

His silence was damning.

And crushed what little Lettie had been able to piece back together from her life before the war. She’d thought seeing unknown men die on a field covered in blood and weaponry was difficult. She’d assumed tending the wounded and caring for the permanently disfigured was a fate no person should have to witness. She’d mistakenly presumed her nightmares would ultimately bring her to a level so low she could not climb out.

However, this treachery was far worse than anything she’d been subjected to thus far.

Mankind was far crueler and more uncaring than she’d ever suspected. The battlefield and what came with it was expected, but how was she to know her enemy when they wore the guise of an old, dear friend?

The carriage pulled to a stop in her drive, and the coachman leapt from his post and opened the door. He extended his hand to assist her down, but Lettie paused.

Staring directly into Daniel’s midnight, cold eyes, her lifelong friend, silently imploring him to give her any answer but the one she’d concluded. She needed him to argue against her accusations. Tell her how wrong she was and offer some form of insight into what their confrontation with Gable had been about—and why he’d rushed Lettie from the shop as if the devil were on their heels.

Instead, he remained quiet, turning his penetrating glare toward the street beyond.

Just as he had all those years ago.

Lettie grabbed her handbag and took the coachman’s offered hand, departing the carriage.

She nodded in thanks before lifting her chin and walking to her door. She would not run. She would not allow her sob to escape. She would not show him how deeply his silence wounded her.

Daniel had, in essence, pointed out yet again that she wasn’t worth his time or effort.