Lettie pressed her hands to her ears in an attempt to block out the barrage of banging and clanging as men worked somewhere deep in her parents’ townhouse. The noise had awoken her from a fitful sleep and sent her scurrying to work the night from her eyes and get dressed.

The sounds echoed through the entire house, bouncing off the walls and rattling the windowpanes. The men appeared to be working on the second floor, for the sound increased as she made her way to her father’s study, situated on the ground floor and overlooking the back gardens. The noise was directly over her head as she paused before a slightly ajar door—even over the loud workmen above, Lettie could hear her mother and father speaking…along with another familiar voice.

Daniel.

He’d called her obtuse, yet it seemed to be he who did not understand that his continued attendance in her house was unwanted. Yet, he’d still arrived almost every day since her return, though she’d avoided him over the past several days following their argument after her appointment at the modiste’s shop.

Lettie leaned close, trying to discern what they spoke of over the commotion above; only a jumble of words, a raised voice, and the sound of pacing greeted her.

“You must insist, your grace,” her mother demanded.

“The dowry will be yours,” her father countered.

“I have promised Lady Colette I will not—” Daniel’s voice was inaudible, the din of the workmen cutting off his reply.

But she’d heard enough to know they spoke of her. Her future. Her life. Everything that should be her decision.

They discussed it behind closed doors as if Lettie had no say in the matter.

Maybe she shouldn’t have any say in her future. She could barely keep her present within her grasp as the past always threatened to take over; as it did now. A hammering sounded above stairs, pulling her out of Carrolton House and placing her back in camp. The noise of soldiers breaking down their roughly built camp as they prepared to leave the peninsular and travel to their next battle assignment rang as the hammer continued above. Lettie remembered hastily packing all her medical supplies—having to leave behind a good portion of what she’d managed to collect in their rush—and the sound of injured men being moved from cots and set upon the hard, cold ground. They would either gain their feet or be left behind.

Lettie leaned against the wall outside the study, her legs trembling beneath her as she relived that day. The sounds of cannons and musket fire were absent. Their regiment leader shouted nonstop orders. Lettie had carried both her and Gregory’s belongings, allowing him to assist a wounded soldier.

The mere remembrance of that day filled Lettie with exhaustion—bone deep, soul-crushing exhaustion. At her back, the wall vibrated from the continued work, and she pressed her hands to her ears once more to drown out the noise as she squeezed her eyes shut, begging herself to return to the present.

“Lady Lettie?” Daniel’s hand settled on her shoulder, and she pulled away. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine. Could not be better, in fact.” Lettie shuffled on wavering legs away from Daniel. She hadn’t come face-to-face with him since their tiff, and at the moment, her head pounded and swirled far too much to string together a proper retort. “I am here to speak with my parents, but I can return to my room until your meeting is complete.”

He slipped an envelope into his jacket pocket before continuing; and Lettie longed to ask what business they’d been attending to—besides usurping her future. However, she was hesitant to admit that she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation.

“May I call on you later for a turn in Hyde Park?” His expression remained blank, but Lettie noted the spark in his eyes and his tense shoulders. “Or possibly on the morrow, if that suits better?”

She’d seen this before. Daniel had hope she would accept his offer and put behind them what had happened; but that could not be. There was more she longed to know, and much she didn’t understand.

“I must decline, your grace,” Lettie mumbled, glancing to the now open door of her father’s study. “My gowns have yet to be delivered, and my mother would likely perish if I left the house in a state of disarray.”

It was a lie. The modiste had been sending her commissioned wardrobe to Carrolton House as the pieces where completed. She was simply not prepared for another afternoon in Daniel’s company—one moment it was as if no time had passed, as if she’d never wed another, and as if Daniel hadn’t been hurt by her actions. While the next, he was clearly hiding something from her. Lettie could not organize her thinking enough to grasp what it was.

“However, thank you for your kind offer.” Lettie lowered her eyes to the floor at his feet and sank into a curtsey. “I will meet with my parents now.”

He’d been dismissed, and he knew it. “Do have a pleasant afternoon, my lady. Please send word if you are in need of anything.”

“Of course.”

With a curt bow, he pivoted and stalked down the hall toward the foyer. The banging and pounding above drowned out his footfalls before he was out of sight.

Lettie turned to her father’s study and stepped into the room. “Good day, Mother, Father,” she said a bit too boisterously as she threw her shoulders back in feigned confidence. “What in heavens is all the commotion?”

“Aw, good day, my dear,” her father said in greeting, but did not stand from behind his desk. “You are looking well rested.” It was a lie, but Lettie allowed the comment to pass unaddressed. “As far as what is happening above, your mother has decided my library does not need so many—ah, books or bookshelves.”

A library with too many books? She’d never heard of such a ridiculous thing.

Lettie took a seat across from her mother on a low lounge.

“Yes, the room has become dark and crowded—besides, your father doesn’t look at any of those old things anyways. It is only another room overrun by dust.” The duchess shook her head—as if she’d ever in her life tidied a room or knew the labor necessary to keep a pristine house. “Tea, Colette?”

That name again. Her mother must see her cringe each time she addressed Lettie by her given name. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Now, it has come to my attention that you have not left the house since your modiste appointment,” her mother mused, handing Lettie a teacup.

“That is correct.” She’d been able to blame her unfit wardrobe until now, but dresses had arrived, and even women in mourning did not stay secluded for the entire year. “I fear I am not ready to go out in public as yet.”

“Poppycock, my daughter.” The earl’s head popped up from the pages he’d been inspecting behind his desk. And to think, Lettie hadn’t thought he paid attention to the conversation around him. “Fresh air will do you good.”

Lettie had had fresh air, in fact, she’d had enough fresh air to last her a lifetime as she’d traveled home from Waterloo—it hadn’t helped to clear her mind nor ease the pain that continued to burrow deep within her.

Still, before she’d wed Gregory, she’d been her father’s cherished daughter. Maybe, one day, she would make him proud once more. “I will take a turn in the gardens today. I promise.” She took a sip of tea. Her delicate cup clanked against the saucer when her hands trembled.

Settling the hand-painted cup on the table beside her, Lettie threaded her fingers together to halt their shiver.

The duchess’s brow rose, obviously noting Lettie’s unease. “I think she needs more than fresh air, husband.” Her mother took a sip from her own teacup, her hands never wavering. “I think it is past time she put all this war nonsense behind her—forget about it all—and look to the future.”

“Mother, I do not think—“

“That’s just it, girl, which is the problem.” The duchess shook her head with regret. “But you think too much. Dwell, fret, and fear…not good for the soul, I tell you.”

“What is not good for my soul is being made to forget the past, act as if it didn’t happen.” Lettie’s brow pulled together. She’d rarely confronted her mother, except for the day she and Lord Linwood had broken their betrothal. “I was married…for six years. I saw many gruesome things during wartime, and I held soldiers as they died. That stain, that burden, never releases a person. It never diminished. It haunts me, day and night.”

She looked to her father, seeing a spark of understand fill him only to be distinguished when her mother sighed.

This was all her mother’s doing.

“I can see the change in you, my daughter, but we—your mother and I…and Lord Linwood—are at a loss for how to help you. We are doing our best, though we may miss the mark often.” He stood and came to sit next to her, setting his arm around her shoulders. Immediately, Lettie was a child again, wrapped in her father’s protective embrace.

He would help her. He would understand. He had to.

“Now, hurry to your room and change into a new, pretty gown…you will feel much better in a fancy dress. We will dine shortly.” He pulled away from her and patted her hand, at the same time a pit grew in her stomach.

Her father didn’t understand at all. He was pacifying her, telling her what she longed to hear, and all the while hoping she fell back into her old, youthful ways.

Lettie stood. “You are correct; I think it best I retire before our meal.”

“Yes, and do don one of the gowns that arrived today.” Her mother took hold of her needlework that had lain unnoticed at her side. “I grow tired of seeing you garbed in rags.”

“Of course, Mother.” Lettie nodded and quickly fled the room. At some point, the men had stopped working above, but Lettie’s head still ached.

“Barclay, I think our decision to bring the ton to her was very wise.” Her mother’s final words chased her down the hall.