Page 149 of The Earl She Once Saved

“You are my guest.”

“I will find other lodgings if I must. You will still see me here.”

Roland glanced at Ezra. “And you?”

Ezra’s face was pale with pain, though his grip upon the cane remained steady. “I have not yet made my arrangements.”

“Make them.”

Roland turned and walked out. Rafe heard his boots cross the yard and pass beyond the stable doors. Only then did Ezra lean against the stall wall.

“You should sit,” Rafe urged.

“I shall.” He did not move. “I would prefer you did not make me get between you again.”

“He spoke of her as though—”

“I heard him.”

Rafe bent to retrieve the brush he had left upon the stall door. He held it without remembering what he meant to do with it.

“He will try again,” Ezra said. “In the yard he learned that an order may be questioned. He will want to learn how far the questioning goes.”

“I know.”

“You cannot guard her by standing close enough to strike him.”

Rafe set the brush down. Ezra once pulled him from beneath a fallen horse while fighting continued around them. He trusted his friend’s judgment most when it was least welcome.

“I will speak to Henshaw,” Rafe confided. “There must be some way to keep Roland from carrying out that threat.”

“Then begin there.”

Ezra took a careful step toward the doors. Rafe stayed beside him across the cobbles, though he knew better than to offer an arm before it was wanted.

***

That afternoon Rafe found himself on the upper passage outside Verity’s room. He meant to ask whether Roland had approached her since the yard. At the foot of the stairs, he thought better of arriving at her door with another account of her husband’s temper. Still he climbed them, troubled by what Ezra said and by the memory of her face when he spoke before the tenants.

He stopped a pace short of the door. From within came Win’s voice, too low for him to distinguish the words. Rafe turned to go. Then Verity answered, and he heard the field hospital.

He stood still.

“You never told me you recognized him when he came here,” Win said.

“I did not want anyone to know.”

“Did he know you?”

“Yes. At once.” Verity paused. “I told him I could not remember one officer among so many.”

Rafe looked down the empty passage. He had known she lied that first day. Her face betrayed recognition before she drew herself up and called him Colonel Thornlow. Yet he never dared decide what the memory meant to her.

“I remember the night I tended him,” she confessed. “He was scarcely conscious. He kept hold of my hand when the fever was worst, even after he no longer knew I was there.”

A faint sound came from the room, perhaps Win setting something upon the table. Rafe could smell clean linen and the lavender soap kept in the cupboard nearby. The passage was as familiar as it had been an hour ago. He felt as though he had come upon a place he had searched for years.

“I never forgot him,” Verity admitted.