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‘I was emotional, and confused and grateful to you.’ Rose made herself hold his hard blue gaze. No man looks at a woman he loves like that, but a soldier faces an unpleasant duty with just that look in his eyes. ‘We had been lovers…I see now I was simply making up a romantic fairy tale to justify my wantonness when I thought I was in love with you. Of course I don’t want to marry you.’
Adam sat silent, watching her, so she kept talking. ‘And you are a dreadful liar. You do not want to marry me, so you can go back to Brussels and tell my parents that I am fine and they do not need to worry. Then you can get on with your own life.’ She thought the smile she produced was really rather good, under the circumstances.
‘I see. Very considerate of you.’ Adam’s mouth thinned to a hard line. He stood up and reached for his sword belt. ‘I can hear the maid with your soup. Try to drink as much as possible and get some rest as soon as the doctor has seen you.’ He walked to the door, held it open for Jane and then disappeared into the shadowy passageway.
Jane put the tray down and flapped a napkin over Rose’s lap. ‘I’ve told Mrs Weston to have a bedchamber made up for the major in the west wing, Miss Tatton.’
‘Here?’ She almost spilled the soup when Jane placed the tray in her lap.
‘He’s been travelling as long as we have, ma’am, and Mrs Weston says there isn’t a decent inn until you get into Whitstable. I didn’t think you’d want to turn him out. Besides, Jem in the stables says his horse needs to rest.’
‘He brought Old Nick? On a boat?’
‘Seems so, Miss Tatton. A powerfully determined man is the major.’
‘Well, he can determine on going back to the Continent tomorrow.’ Her hand shook with weakness as she lifted the spoon, but the soup slid down into her abused stomach, savoury and warm and comforting. ‘But make sure he has a good dinner tonight, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Miss Tatton.’ Jane gathered up the tea things. ‘Shall I sleep in here tonight?’
‘Why?’
‘In case you feel uncomfortable with a gentleman in the house and no chaperone, miss.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jane,’ Rose snapped and wondered, rather desperately, where she had put her handkerchief.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Is Major Flint about yet?’
‘He’s gone, Miss Tatton. He was up with the dawn.’ Jane set the tray down on the window table in Rose’s bedchamber and began to lay out cutlery. ‘Cook’s sent up a nice poached egg and a slice of mild-cure ham and some toast. That will all sit well inside, I’m sure.’
‘Please thank Cook for her thoughtfulness.’ Rose slipped on her robe and padded barefoot to the table. Gone. Is it to be so easy, then?
The day before, Adam had made no attempt to see her, but he had asked the doctor to call again and Jane reported that he was supervising the food sent up from the kitchen. She also said that Old Nick was rested. The doctor had been encouraging and had no doubt put Adam’s mind at rest. His horse was fit to make the short journey to Margate. What was there to keep him, after all?
The window commanded a fine view over the small park at the back of the house where grassland edged with trees led down to the river in its shallow valley. She had slept in, for the mid-morning sun was bright on a swath of buttercups.
So Adam had given up and left. She had to be relieved, of course. It was good of him to go without saying goodbye, for that could only have led to more arguments or painful silences. Now all she had to do was work out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. It wouldn’t involve a husband and children. Or Adam Flint.
Rose stabbed the quivering centre of the egg and watched the yolk run out. That had not been a good idea with her sensitive stomach. Or perhaps that unplea
sant sinking feeling was despair, not squeamishness. Many women did not marry, she told herself, attacking the ham. She was luckier than most, for she had wealth and education behind her. She could, and would, find something fulfilling and worthwhile to do.
She forced her thoughts away from Adam and thought about the injured Rogues in Brussels. What was going to happen to all those wounded soldiers coming back from the war? How would the ones who had lost limbs, or their sight, fare? And what about those whose wits had been turned by the ordeals they had been through? She had just touched on the edge of that horror and had lost her voice and her memory. What would happen to those who had gone through far worse and who never recovered?
She had heard of the horrors of Bedlam where the inmates were chained like animals and exhibited as a menagerie of horrors for the entertainment of gawping visitors and it was the stuff of nightmares, not the sanctuary it should be for those who had given so much for their country.
What those men needed was comfort and tranquillity, kindness and care and, if they were able, a suitable occupation. She could provide that, she was certain. Others would help her with such a good cause and she could begin here by converting the great east wing to house them.
Rose folded the remains of the ham into a roll and went to rummage in the bureau for paper and pen. With her sandwich in one hand she began to jot notes. She would need military help at a high level and lady patronesses. Medical advice… The list got longer as the ham cooled. Convert the east wing into separate rooms? Shared rooms? Dormitories? All three? She needed more advice.
*
When she reached the foot of the third sheet of paper she had to get up and stretch her stiff shoulders. Perhaps it would be best to look around the east wing now. Rose had her hand on the bell pull to ring for her bath when she saw the rider in the park. The horse she would have known anywhere, the rider…the rider was not in uniform. Adam might have left Old Nick here to rest up, but the stallion would kill anyone else who tried to ride him. It had to be Adam.
All the suppressed emotion surged up, filling her with energy that she thought she had lost for ever. Rose yanked on the bell pull and Jane came in minutes later, flushed and out of breath. ‘Miss, are you all right?’
‘Yes, perfectly.’ Except for a racing pulse and a pain where her heart was. ‘Who is that?’ She pointed to where the rider had halted to survey the valley.
