The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband

“Of course, of course,” the major said in his usual gruff manner. “Think nothing of it.”

“Wait!” Cecilia called out, scrambling to her feet as Wilkins turned to leave.

He tilted his head toward her. “Ma’am?”

“Will you take me to Haarlem tomorrow?”

“What?” Sour stomach be damned, Edward hauled himself upright for that.

“I would like to visit that infirmary,” Cecilia said to the major.

“I will take you,” Edward cut in.

“I don’t think you are in any condition—”

“I will take you.”

Wilkins looked from Edward to Cecilia and back with only slightly concealed amusement before offering her a little shrug. “I cannot countermand a husband’s wishes.”

“But I need to go,” Cecilia protested. “Thomas could be—”

“We have already determined that it is highly unlikely that he is in Haarlem,” Edward said. He clutched the edge of the table, hoping that he wasn’t being too obvious about it. A touch of vertigo had descended upon him with his sudden rise to his feet.

“But he could have been there,” Cecilia said. “And if that’s the case, someone will remember him.”

“I will take you,” Edward said again. Haarlem was only about ten miles away, but ever since the British had lost (and then regained) the territory in 1776, it had felt like more of a wild outpost than the former Dutch village it was. It was no place for a lady alone, and while he did not doubt Major Wilkins’s ability to watch over Cecilia, he could not help but think that it was his duty as her husband to see to her safety.

“If you will allow me to take my leave,” Major Wilkins said, bowing again to Cecilia.

She gave a curt nod. Edward was fairly certain, however, that her ire was not directed at the major. Indeed, the moment Wilkins departed, she turned to Edward and, with jutted chin, said, “I must go to that infirmary.”

“And you will go.” He lowered himself back into his seat. “Just not tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Nothing will change in a day,” he cut in, far too exhausted to argue with her on this matter. “Wilkins is making inquiries. He will gain far more information from General Garth’s attaché than we will from a journey up the island.”

“Surely it would be better if we pursued both avenues of inquiry,” she said, sitting back down beside him.

“I do not argue with you on that point,” he said. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the wave of fatigue that had fallen over him like a blanket. With a sigh, he continued, “Nothing will be lost if we wait a day or two. I promise.”

“How can you promise?”

God, she was like a dog with a bone. Edward would admire her tenacity if he weren’t so goddamned ill. “Fine,” he snapped. “I can’t promise. For all I know the Continental Army could arrive tomorrow and we will all die before we get the chance to investigate the infirmary. But I can promise that given everything I know—which admittedly isn’t much, but it’s more than you do—a few days will not make a difference.”

She stared at him in shock. It occurred to him that perhaps he ought not to have married a woman with such extraordinary eyes. Because when she stared, it took every ounce of his fortitude not to squirm in his seat.

If he were a metaphysical man, he’d think she could see straight to his soul.

“Major Wilkins could have taken me,” she said with soft defiance.

He fought the urge to groan. “Do you really wish to spend the day with Major Wilkins?”

“Of course not, but—”

“What if you are forced to spend the night? Did you consider that possibility?”

“I made it across the Atlantic on my own, Edward. I’m sure I can tolerate a night in Haarlem.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” he ground out. “You married me, Cecilia. For God’s sake, let me protect you.”

“But you can’t.”

Edward reeled in his seat. Her words had been soft, but if she had pulled back her fist and slammed it into his neck she could not have landed a better punch.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

His temper, which had been simmering at the surface, started to spit and sizzle. “You’re right,” he said in a harsh voice. “I don’t know. Do you know why? Because I don’t know you. I’m married to you, or so I’m told—”

She flinched.

“—and while I can imagine all sorts of reasons why such a union would have come to pass, I can’t remember a single one of them.”

She said nothing, made no movement save for a tiny tremble passing over her lips.

“You are my wife, aren’t you?” he asked, but his tone was so unkind that he rescinded the question immediately. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “That was uncalled for.”

She regarded him for a few more seconds, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. But she was pale, unsettlingly so as she said, “I think you should rest.”

“I know I should rest,” he said irritably. “Do you think I don’t feel what is going on in my head? It’s as if someone is taking a hammer to my skull. From the inside out.”

She reached across the table and placed her hand atop his.

“I don’t feel well,” he said. Four little words, yet so hard for a man to say. But still, he felt so much better for having done so.

No, not better. Relieved. Which he supposed was a form of better.

“You are doing remarkably well,” she said. “You must not forget that it has been only a day since you woke up.”

He eyed her with a narrowed stare. “Don’t say that Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“I would never,” she promised, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I felt better this afternoon,” he said. His voice was small, almost childlike to his ears.

“Better? Or improved?”

“Improved,” he admitted. “Although when I kissed you . . .”

He smiled. When he kissed her, he’d almost felt whole.

Cecilia stood and gently took his arm. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He did not have the energy to argue.

“I shall have supper brought to the room,” she said as they made their way to the stairs.

“Not much,” he said. “My stomach . . . I don’t know what I could keep down.”

She looked at him intently. Probably measuring how green his skin had become.

“Broth,” she said. “You must have something. Otherwise you will never regain your strength.”

He nodded. Broth sounded possible.

“Perhaps some laudanum,” she said quietly.

“A small amount.”

“Very small, I promise.”

When they arrived at the top of the stairs, he reached into his coat pocket and took out the key. Wordlessly, he handed it to her and leaned against the wall while she unlocked the door.

“I’ll help you with your boots,” she said, and he saw that she had led him inside and sat him down on the bed without him even realizing it.

“I would remind you that you should not overexert yourself,” she said as she pulled off one boot, “but I am aware that your exertions today were for Thomas.”

“And for you,” he said.

Her hands stilled, but only for a moment. He might not have noticed it if he weren’t so exquisitely aware of her touch.

“Thank you,” she said. She reached behind his heel and gripped his other boot, giving it a sharp tug before sliding it off. Edward crawled under the blankets while she meticulously put them in the corner. “I’ll prepare the laudanum,” she said.

He closed his eyes. He wasn’t sleepy, but his head felt better when his eyes were closed.

“I wonder if you should have remained in hospital for another day.” Her voice was closer now, and he heard her shaking liquid in a bottle.