“Shall I stay with you, my lady?” the footman asked.
Harriet shook her head. “No, I’ll only be a moment longer.”
The footman nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
She gently rubbed Hartley’s hand while softly singing another sweet lullaby. When his grip on her wrist lessened, she kissed his cheek and left his bed. She walked to the large window and closed the drapes, sending the room into soothing darkness before she exited the room without another word. She hadn’t pressured him to talk, and her patience astounded him. Most people would be chattering nonstop, as they tried to help him. That had never helped, but her sweet voice had helped him immensely.
Why did this happen today of all days? I merely wanted to enjoy one day of peace.
Jon felt terrible that he wasn’t there to help celebrate Seaford and his new wife, but the whole affair had stretched his tolerance for chaos to its breaking point. He had no idea what had set off this latest attack. There’d been no loud noises, no dropped plates, nothing that could have startled him, so he could only surmise it was being around so many people when he was unused to it. He’d felt suffocated. The walls had closed in, and he’d had to escape for some fresh air.
Usually, when the panic crawled up his throat and threatened to incapacitate him, it took a day or more for the panic to recede, but today, he could feel it slipping away as she sang to him. Being in a quiet, darkened space helped soothe the savage beast inside. How did Harriet know that was what he needed?
He thought she had the voice of an angel.
Was she truly his path to salvation?
Harriet slipped back intothe ballroom, hoping that she’d helped Lord Hartley somewhat. Her singing had seemed to calm him a bit, and she was happy to help in any small way she could. No one seemed to have missed her, and she was glad she’d told her mother she needed to use the retiring room. She was sure the earl wouldn’t want it known that he wasn’t feeling well today of all days. She looked around the room and found Mercy and Wiltshire talking with Lord Evans and Helena.
She walked to the group and gently tapped Wiltshire’s arm. He turned toward her.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about Meribelle’s latest win against Thunder,” she said, trying to draw him away from the group.
He seemed to understand her hidden intent and turned to the other guests. “Excuse me a moment. I must hear about Lady Harriet’s horse,” he said.
They walked to the corner of the room, and Harriet whispered. “The earl has had an attack. A footman and I helped him upstairs to his bedchamber, but I don’t know what else he needs. I wanted to send for Mr. Seaford, but Lord Hartley refused to interrupt the wedding breakfast.”
Wiltshire let out a belly laugh. “Lady Harriet, my dear, you do amuse me so. I knew Meribelle had spirit.”
She knew he understood and only laughed so the other guests wouldn’t suspect anything was amiss.
He leaned down and bussed her cheek. “Go talk to your sister. I’ll go to him,” he whispered in her ear.
Harriet went back to the group and took her brother-in-law’s seat next to Mercy while Wiltshire slipped out of the ballroom. She hoped that he’d be able to help his friend. Her heart ached to see Hartley hurting so much.
As much as she’d wanted to stay with the earl, she knew it would be improper for her to stay in his bedchamber. Sheseethed at the dictates of propriety that kept her away from him when all she wanted was to be by his side and help him however she could. He’d seemed to settle slightly while she sang to him, but Wiltshire would know better what to do to help him.
“Mercy, what part of the Lakes Region did you enjoy the most?” she asked. She had no doubt that Mercy would talk in detail about their wedding trip—exactly what she needed to keep everyone distracted from wondering about what had happened to the earl and why he was no longer in the ballroom.
Seaford was thoroughly focused on his wife, and Harriet was glad because the last thing Hartley would want was to drag his valet away from the celebration.
Chapter 14
Wiltshire looked around before exitingthe ballroom to ensure no one was paying undue attention to him. Harriet had done Jon a great service by helping him to his bedchamber without alerting anyone else. His friend wouldn’t want anyone to know he was suffering, especially since the last thing he’d want would be to upset his valet’s wedding day.
He quietly ran up the stairs and entered Jon’s bedchamber. The room was dark, and Jon lay on his bed, breathing heavily. He walked to the bed and picked up his friend’s hand.
Startled by the contact, Jon went to jerk his hand away, but Wiltshire held on tight. “Jon, it’s Wolf. You’re safe, Lieutenant. You’re safe.”
Jon finally opens his eyes. “Wolf, it keeps happening. I can’t control it.”
Wolf nodded. “I know, Jon. I know. Tell me what you’re feeling if you can. I’ve seen that sharing their thoughts has helped other soldiers who suffer these episodes.”
He waited patiently, knowing his friend needed to gather his courage to talk about the day he was injured. It had been a brutal, hellish battle, and they’d lost many men to the French. It was up to Jon to confront those demons. Only he could banish them. There wasn’t much else Wolf could do, especially since Jon would never agree to talk to a doctor about his malady. So he sat on the edge of the bed, never letting go of Jon’s hand, and waited.
It took a moment for Jon to speak in a low, halting voice. “It’s like a beast trying to devour me from the inside. The images ofthe battle play in my mind without relief, and panic crawls up my throat.”
Wolf let his own memories of that day come to the forefront. He hated to relive those memories, but he would do it if it could help his friend. “Lieutenant, it was indeed a most brutal battle, but you were magnificent that day, holding off the so many of the French.”
