“Seems someone has to,” Richard said, walking around the desk, grabbing Jon’s arm, and dragging him to the sofa. “Now drink the bloody coffee and sober up, or I shall pour it down your throat myself.”
Richard and George took seats on either side of their friend. Hartley reluctantly drank the coffee and ate a sandwich but refused to go upstairs and take a bath. “You can leave now. I’ve had enough of your charity for one day!”
Richard and George each grabbed an arm, stood, and dragged him up the stairs. The footman had just poured the last bucket of steaming water into the tub and they dunked him in it, clothes and all. His legs hung over the side, and they each grabbed a boot and pulled. Even they wouldn’t ruin a good pair of boots for no reason.
“Now, are you ready to take a proper bath?” Richard asked. “Because we’re not leaving until you do.”
If looks could kill, he’d be dead on the spot. Hartley stood up and stripped off his shirt and breeches before settling back in the bath.
“Where’s your valet?” Richard asked.
“Fired him,” Hartley growled.
“Every single day, and yet I’m still here,” Seaford said, rushing into the room. “Captain Ballard, may I help you?”
Richard was relieved to see that there was someone looking after his friend. “Good to see again, Seaford. You remember Spenser?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, nodding to George. “Lieutenant.” The valet turned back to Richard. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I shall put out the earl’s clothes,” Seaford said, leaving Hartley sputtering in the bath.
Richard reached down, grabbed the pitcher of warm water beside the tub, and dumped it over his friend’s head. “Wash your hair. You smell like a pig stye.”
“You have no right to be here in my home, ordering my servants about,” Hartley said, reluctantly grabbing the soap to wash his hair.
“Well, it looks like someone has to. Really, Jon. Get yourself together.”
Richard and George exited the dressing room and waited in Jon’s bedchamber for him to finish his bath.
Seaford had laid out a fresh set of clothes for Hartley. “Do you require anything else, my lord?” he asked Richard.
“No, we need some time alone with Jon.”
“Of course,” Seaford said. “Just ring if I can help further.”
It seemed an age before Hartley got out of the bath and stomped into his bedchamber with a drying towel around his waist. He smelled better, but that shaggy beard had to go.
“Are you happy now?” Jon asked. “You got what you wanted. Now get out!”
“Not a chance. Sit down,” George said. “You need a shave.”
Richard thought Jon might bolt, but eventually he sat in the chair while George lathered his face with soap. “A disgusting mess, wouldn’t you say?” Jon said as George carefully shaved around his scar.
Richard tried to reason with his friend. “Jon, you’re much more than a scarred face. It’s time for you to stop brooding and start living again.”
“Brooding! What do you know of it? You, Captain Ballard—excuse me, the Marquis of Evans—with your perfect face and heroic deeds. You know nothing of what I’ve been through.”
“No, I don’t. But nothing has been easy for any of us, Jon. The war lasted another four years after you went home. Four years of seeing the worst of humanity and a whole host of atrocities I willnever forget, no matter how long I live,” Richard said. “While we didn’t suffer the long-term consequences from physical wounds as you did, returning home from the war hasn’t exactly been as perfect for us as you think. War is brutal and leaves lasting scars on us all.”
George finished shaving his face and Hartley got dressed.
“We’re staying in Bath for the summer. We’ll see you again soon,” George said.
“Don’t bother,” Jon growled. “You’ve done your good deed for the year. Now get out!”
“Goodbye, Jon,” Richard said as he and George left their friend stewing over their intrusion.
