Page 22 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“It helps me,” he admitted. “When I lose my breath, I count backward from ten. Usually, before I get to one, I remember where I am.”

The man looked uncertain but grunted in agreement after a moment. David pointed to an empty bed next to him with his cane. “May I?”

The man swallowed, then grunted again, and David sat. He saw the man’s gaze go to his scars and his cane and judge him to be a fellow veteran as his wary eyes softened marginally.

“Hector McDaniel,” the man muttered, “invalided out after friendly fire at Kersch.”

David quickly decided not to give his title or military rank. It might make the man more comfortable. “David, uh, David Pierce. Got this.” He rubbed his scarred temple. “Battle of the Great Redan.” There was a pause as David tried to think of what to say, so he went with the first thing that came to mind. “Are you a good shot?” he asked.

Sometimes, David felt self-conscious as he had only arrived in Crimea in early 1855 when his regiment was sent as reinforcements, then he was wounded and invalided out by the end of the summer. He knew that the first fall and winter before that had been hell on earth, and McDaniel was fortunate to have survived his injury and disease. At the same time, David had spent that winter training with foreign mercenaries in Greece.

“I was.” McDaniel looked uncomfortable. He gestured to his left arm, which David realized he had not moved this entire time. “But you need a working arm to aim. Even worse, my nerves are shot. If I hear a loud noise…I can barely get through the day.”

David nodded. “I saw many men like that.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments. David wanted to keep the man talking, as he appeared to stop shaking when he spoke.

“If I may ask,” David started slowly. “Why did you join the army?”

“Military family,” the man obliged him with a response. “Long line in the Black Watch. ” The man looked at the ceiling above as if weighing his choice of words, then came to a decision. “I haven’t written them that I was back. I write with the left, unnatural as it is. I can’t hold anything in my right hand for long, either.” He swallowed. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

David remembered his dread in seeing Irene, that his scars and injuries might scare her, one of her few living family members. “I was afraid to see my sister again. But her joy in my being alive outweighed her discomfort at my injuries.”

“But you don’t shake as I do.”

He had a point. “True. But I can’t be in crowds anymore. I’m always scanning the crush of people, looking for ways out.” He could see in the man’s expression that it wasn’t the same. “I know it’s not equivalent. But if you ever change your mind, I’d happily write them for you.”

McDaniel studied him for a moment. “All right, I’ll return the question, why did you join?”

No one had really asked him that. His friends had tried to talk him out of it, but they never really asked him why he was purchasing a commission when he had a title and a business. He might as well be honest since he had never had the opportunity to say it aloud.

“When my father died, I was overwhelmed by the responsibility he left, even more than the grief. I suppose I wanted to escape.” Many peers inherited a title when the previous one died, but few also inherited a business. Even though he had Aunt Sophie to help with the business side, shouldering the title and business responsibilities crushed him as a young man. He found himself acting rashly, living a libertine lifestyle. He engaged in drinking, casual love affairs, and carousing without a thought to the consequences, all in need of an escape from the suffocating responsibility he inherited with his father’s death. Then, one morning, when recovering from a terrible hangover, he felt such an overwhelming disgust with himself that he knew he needed to get away.

“Good man, your father?” McDaniel asked.

“The very best. But he spent most of the end missing my mother.”

McDaniel smiled sadly. “I always wanted to be a father like mine. But now…I don’t know if I’ll ever be one.”

David had been in that position only too recently. It was not something one would often admit to a stranger, but being veterans of the Crimea inducted them into a unique brotherhood that was difficult to put into words.

McDaniel blinked momentarily, his eyes shuttering again as though he believed he had revealed too much to a virtual stranger. “I think I need to rest if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, I’ll take my leave. If you ever change your mind about the letters, I’ll be back.”

David thought about offering his card, but for some reason, he felt that would put more social distance between them, so he just gave the man a nod and turned to leave. As he picked up his cane and walked away, he felt a new lightness he couldn’t explain. Now, to find his wife…

****

Elena smiled and wandered away as her husband conversed with the shaking man. She had confidence that he did not need her at that moment. She wondered where Irene had gone off to since they first arrived. They usually stuck to the women’s ward, as there was still a great stigma of women being alone in a room full of men, but with David’s presence, it was different. Things were much more regulated here than in the Crimea, which was chaotic and a bit disorganized. As she enjoyed the peace of walking through a quiet hallway, she became aware of someone else in the hallway with her.

“Elena?”

Antigone, or Annie, Sprague was tall enough that Elena had to look up to talk to her. She was a striking girl, elegant and statuesque, with gleaming black hair and high cheekbones. In some ways, she looked less like an Englishwoman than Elena, as both their skin was much darker than what was fashionable, but Elena thought Annie looked much more beautiful than most pale Englishwomen she saw in ballrooms. Annie often visited with Irene, her dearest friend, once Irene had started accompanying Elena to the hospital. She had a strong constitution, able to calm the most belligerent patient in a soothing tone as if gentling a bucking horse. She was also frighteningly idealistic in a way Elena wasn’t sure she had ever been, even when she was so young. But she had such a serenity about her that she almost convinced you to see the world as she did.

“I hear you met my father last night. I hope he didn’t bore you with his studies.” Annie took Elena’s arm as they turned into a long hallway.

“No, but he did explain the origin of your name.”