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She was delighted to discover that Harry’s comment was an understatement if anything, as they began to walk down the new path that had been made with cobblestones. She had not noticed the new plants, lamps, and pathways in her search for him because she had moved quickly lest she lost him.
Under the moonlight, the flowers furthest from the lamplights had an almost ethereal glow, and their scent filled the still night air. This was but one part of the garden but she already loved it.
“We could have breakfast here when all the work is finished.
“Dinner, too,” he put in. “A table could be set close to your magnolias.”
She looked up at him with a grin and a raised brow. “Mymagnolias?”
He stopped to gaze down at her. “Yes, darling. They are Grayfield’s gift to you.” Joy filled her as he said that.
They continued walking but Harry grew quiet. He seemed to be deep in thought. “I will show you more of the garden tomorrow,” he said, guiding her to a stone bench under a canopy of white and red roses.
He sat first and drew her to sit on his lap. Then he gazed up at her, the expression on his face one that she was unable to identify for once.
“What are you thinking?” Bridget placed her arms around his broad shoulders.
“Many things,” he replied.
“Do you want to tell me?” She cupped his cheek, the one with the scar. Harry swallowed, seeming uncertain. To encourage him to talk to her, she leaned down and lightly kissed along his scar. “You can tell me anything.”
His brow furrowed. “I cannot wholly give myself to you until you know who I truly am.” His eye moved from her face to stare at something in the distance as if taking himself away from the garden and into his memories. “My mother died when I was very young. I cannot remember her. My father never married again but he was neglectful. So long as he had his booze and enough money to gamble, his life was perfect, and his only son could look after himself.”
Bridget’s heart began to ache for the little boy who had been alone. Harry laced his fingers through hers. He was still with her even though he was far away.
“When I came of age, I bought a commission. He was enraged about it and said I was throwing my life away. The last words he said to me as I was leaving were, ‘This war will end you’. I did not think of his words as a curse until I was wounded, because he reminded me of the choice I made, the monster I became, every day when I was brought back to England.”
“How could a father be so cruel?” Bridget kissed his temple, and he drew her closer.
“I do not think about him often.”
“Harry,” she began, taking a deep breath, “I saw a painting in one of the towers.”
He closed his eye, his face contorting with pain. “I suspected someone went up there. Lander cleans the place and leaves everything as he sees it.” He raised his eye to hers. “Why did you go there?” he whispered.
“I was curious. I suppose I should not have, but I do not regret it.”
“What did you see?”
“A painting of you and another soldier.”
Harry briefly rested his head on her shoulder before continuing. “The soldier was Norman Belmont. Gerard’s brother, and the best man I have ever known. We had been friends since we were in Eton, and we bought our commissions together. We were fighting alongside each other in Salamanca. I got wounded, and he stood in front of me and the enemy, defending me with his life.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, then another, and she kissed his cheek again, finally understanding where the grief in the painting had come from.
“He chose to save you so you could live a long and happy life, Harry. Do not blame yourself for it. He gave us a gift.”
He hid his face in the crook of her neck as his arms tightened around her waist. Bridget stroked his hair, encouraging him to overcome his grief. They remained there for an indefinite moment before he looked up at her.
“My father destroyed the castle, our fortune, butIallowed my fear and guilt to turn me into,” he waved a hand at himself, “this.”
“But this man here is the man I adore, Harry,” she said. “I am proud of your strength and courage, but more importantly, I am proud of you.”
Harry’s smile was both sweet and rueful. Bridget reached behind his head to find the knot holding his patch in place. He did not stop her or even tense as she thought he would. He simply held her gaze.
Loosening the knot, she removed the patch from his face, seeing what he had kept away from her for the first time.
The wounded eye was closed, and when she touched it, he said, “The eye was eviscerated.” Then he shrugged.
