His brother was nattering again. “I think I would have made a good soldier.”
No doubt.
Ernest’sbonhomieand open character would have endeared and endured despite the harrowing experience, and his men would’ve followed him to hell and…then further.
As would he them.
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That morning you first asked me, I’d received a note from Lord Kingswood. His younger brother had been killed at Salamanca, and only the month before, our baker had received news that both his sons had died at Badajoz. So, to put it simply, I didn’t want to lose you. You and Uncle are all I have.”
Ernest spluttered, halting to place a steadying hand on a shop’s bow window. “Why did you never say?”
“I thought it appeared…weak.” He stared at the clouds gathering in the distance; it would rain soon. “Father got taken advantage of because he was weak. You should have seen the ridiculous schemes he became involved in – peddling whisky to the Scots and sausages to the Hapsburgs. To be a successful duke, you have to be strong, a leader, and never show weakness.”
A firm hand not unlike his uncle’s dropped to Casper’s shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time Ernest had done so. “You great dolt. There’s no need for that with me or Uncle. We’re on your side, Casp.”
Nodding, he drew forth his handkerchief. So dusty in London.
“Mrs Swift is good for you,” his brother mused as they strolled across Piccadilly. “Today, you’re the brother I remember. The one I went scrumping apples with in Mr Littlegate’s orchard, and do you remember we brewed that cider and you got caught arse-naked with the–”
Casper halted. Enough was enough. “Ernest. We are now on the outskirts of Mayfair so if I ever hear mention within this parish again of such scurrilous slander, I shall marry with all haste, beget an heir before the year’s end and cut you off without a farthing.”
It appeared his authority over Ernest was now weaker than the brandy at Plymtree’s ball as the bugger laughed and clapped a hand to his back.
“Enjoy your begetting at leisure, Casp, as you’ll need to do more than that to get rid of Uncle and me.”
Chapter 20
A cat may look at a duke…
“Ido not wish my sister bled,” Evelyn stated, displaying her mutinous face.
The doctor glanced up from examining Artemisia’s throat with a rather elongated and painful-looking instrument.
“And neither do I, Mrs Swift.”
Oh.
This doctor certainly had an unusual manner. “Well, do carry on then.”
From her previous encounters with the medical profession, attending first Mother, then Father, and recently her sister, they were a superior lot who lived well on their patients’ misfortune. But this doctor seemed an altogether different kettle of fish.
He listened. He inspected. He apologised for his cold hands. He was ginormous.
In fact, Evelyn had never met a brawny chap with such height, all topped off with overlong dark-blond hair and scars upon one side of his face which made her wince for the pain he must have suffered.
“I was in the army, Mrs Swift,” he revealed. “And when you’ve seen that amount of blood spilled, you question the sense in spilling more.”
So unusual.
“What has your diet been lately?” he enquired, scrutinising Artemisia’s eyelids and humming.
“Potatoes, Doctor Mainwaring,” she answered. “Until two days ago.”
“And living conditions?”
