It had been a simple question. One Daniel thought would be expected given Lettie was a married woman. A way to begin a conversation after so many years apart—after so many years of living different lives. The slump of her shoulders and the shaking of her hands as she twisted her wedding band on her finger told a far different tale.

“Lettie,” he began quietly. She appeared the timid mouse, something his childhood friend—and once betrothed—would have never allowed. “Look at me, please. I did not mean to upset you. It was only a question.”

When her eyes met his, they were as round as his mother’s ancient tea saucers and held as much wear. But at twenty-six, no woman’s stare should hold so much…hurt.

Its depth reached across the carriage and tangled about his own heart, pushing him away from her.

Daniel reclined on the velvet-covered bench, stretching his legs out and crossing them at his ankles. Next, he turned and looked out the rain-splattered windowpane as the carriage sped away from The George. Suddenly, he wished he’d have succumbed to another tankard of ale.

His calm pose appeared to do nothing to banish the tension from her; did not still her worrying fingers that’d moved from her gold band to the stitching of her coat—a garment that was at least two sizes too small for her. The sleeves didn’t reach her wrists, and the elbows were almost threadbare.

Maybe beginning with a question was a bit too much for her.

Daniel shifted on his seat and pretended to stare out the window once more. “Your mother will not take kindly to your choice of hairstyle, my lady.”

He thought of sharing that he thought the style framed her face perfectly and highlighted her deep blue eyes, or mentioning it showed off her graceful neck to perfection, but an unladylike snort filled the carriage, bringing Daniel’s gaze back to her.

Lettie narrowed her stare, honing in on him, and he immediately regretted his comment. He was zero for two in the way of tries.

He was mucking up the conversation and making a fool of himself.

“Long locks are not preferred among women who travel with the soldiers. Hair collects bugs, and those bugs spread to rations. Not to mention they itch like the devil when one tries to sleep.” She paused, and Daniel sensed she’d learned that lesson the hard way. It was his turn to stare at her wide-eyed. “Bathing is rare in times of battle, and a proper head of long hair needs constant maintenance and brushing. With so many wounded, it was hard to find the time and adequate supplies. I much prefer this style, as it is.”

A lump formed in his throat, and he coughed in hopes that it would vanish, but it remained, giving Lettie the opportunity to sharpen her tongue on him again.

“When one is faced with carrying extra soap or laudanum for pain management, there truly is no choice to be made,” she continued, the words leaving her in a rush as if she’d finally found an agreeable topic that suited her. Her chin notched up and she stared down her nose at him. “Hair is only a vain attempt to shield others from who a person truly is. I have dispelled with all the fine draping society deems necessary for a woman of worth. My hair is not who I am, though it may be who I was.”

Her eyes lost their piercing glare as if she’d been transported to another time by her own words.

If Daniel had found it difficult to speak before, it was near impossible now. She’d always been idealistic, and he’d blamed it on her flight-of-fancy ways—always determined to think the best of others, to give as much as she could to the less fortunate. Like giving a new coat to one cold fruit vendor at the playhouse would solve the many societal problems London faced.

The beau monde may be able to look past her long locks to admire the stunning woman behind them; however, he was certain they would never be able to notice beyond the lack of hair.

It was a sad revelation, but the wretched injustice of it would not diminish just because it was deemed so.

“My apologies for the discourteous observation.”

“There is no apology necessary, Lord Linwood.” She crossed her arms, mimicking his pose. She’d never called him by his title—not in direct address. They’d been acquainted long before he’d inherited it, and when his father passed away, it had always still been Daniel, as she was simply Lettie. “I have steeled myself for such uneducated and insensitive remarks, I assure you.”

The young, impressionable woman who’d left him—and England—was no more.

The angry, hurt, and lost lady before him was unfamiliar.

A stranger.

Lettie was gone. Even Lady Colette, as she was properly addressed, had disappeared.

Before him sat a woman he didn’t know. Yet, he desired to know her…had to know her, at least enough to vanquish the sorrow from her eyes.

But how was he to do that if every time he spoke, his words were met with anguish and fury?

“Lettie,” he whispered to the woman before him, only familiar in appearance. “What happened to you?” He poured every speck of concern he had into those words as he trained a tender stare on her. Something awful had happened, something had changed her—and he wasn’t sure it was for the better.

“Gregory is dead.” She brought her hands to cover her mouth as if surprised she’d spoken.

“Dead, Lettie?” He shook his head to do away with his confusion. “I am so deeply sorry for your loss.”

It was then Daniel realized the change from optimism and light was not a hardening of her, but rather a spiral into despair and sadness. Her dark garb should have alerted him to her reason for returning to London.

“Thank you for your sympathy, your grace,” she sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders as her posture turned inward. “But there is so much more than the loss of Gregory. There are men dying every day during battle, and not only from wounds obtained during combat, but also from disease, famine, and…heartbreak. Women and children are left without their husbands and fathers. At least I was fortunate enough to travel with the man I loved for six years. There are many who will never know the fate of their loved one.”

She tugged her bonnet from her head and ran her fingers through her shorn locks, massaging the back of her neck.

Knowing the fate of a loved one who never returns from war is far different than knowing and having to deal with the loss. Avoiding a known truth is harder than remaining blissfully unaware.

Lettie may be conflicted about how to come to terms with everything, but Daniel was utterly baffled. She seemed to find more compassion for those lost during battle, but neglected to fully explore and heal from the loss of her husband.

“Why did your parents not send a carriage for you?”

“I was unable to send word of my homecoming until we reached port in Dover,” she confessed. “I used what little coin Gregory and I had managed to save over the years—and the few funds given to me by the other soldiers—to purchase my seat on the stagecoach. My funds did not allow to me find lodging for an extended period of time.”

“I am happy you arrived safely, and I am certain your parents will be, as well.” Even after all these years—all the hurt he’d suffered when she’d begged him to break their betrothal agreement so she could wed Gregory and depart with the soldier—he was happy to have her near again. “Your journey must have been harrowing. A hot bath and a warm meal surely await you at Carrolton Hall.” He glanced out the window. “It is not far now.”

No matter what Daniel had seen in the past year—the things he should have stopped—it was nothing compared to the horrors Lettie was burdened by. Carnage and death impacted a person.

Daniel had seen enough of death, and he fully understood the weight it left on a person’s shoulders. He could not fathom the extreme strain of bearing witness to hundreds—or even thousands—of such atrocities.