Chapter Five

January 15, 1818

Baselford House

St. James Place

London, England

Over the past four days, life had fallen into a rhythm for Evan, and it gave him back a modicum of control that he'd lost since returning to London.

He took breakfast with Vivian, and that private time alone with his wife in her morning room would always be treasured. After that, he usually met with his man-of-affairs to try and make sense of his finances as well as his duties toward his properties and tenants. Since there was no way for him to remember anything about politics or how he'd voted in the past, he didn't worry so much about that. The Duke of Edenthorpe said he would handle those responsibilities by proxy until Evan felt more confident in that regard.

When the afternoons were fair weather-wise, he and Vivian went to Hyde Park. Walking was good exercise and the opportunity to take clear air into the lungs was a boon he'd come to appreciate. They talked during the chilly stroll, sometimes of nothing, sometimes of deep subjects, and it went a long way in learning about her all over again.

After their walks, they would usually have tea together, and that time was much cozier and more comforting than the outings to Hyde Park.

Some evenings he would have dinner with her. Some evenings he would go to the club because his friends were there, and they gave him encouragement and support. Beyond that, the rogues helped him make sense of his life. It was appreciated, for navigating this new world was daunting at best, and there were times he relied heavily on their advice.

And in doing these things, he couldn't help but think they were making new memories and laying down new foundations for a future. It was both encouraging and daunting.

"You are quiet today. Lost in thought?"

The dulcet sound of her voice yanked Evan out of his thoughts. He patted her hand that rested in the crook of his bent elbow. "Perhaps. These last few days have been… lovely. I have a schedule now, and spending time with you is helping me to feel more like myself."

"That's wonderful!" When she peered up at him, the sunlight slanting through the winter-bare tree branches enhanced the blue of her eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

"No, but I'm not giving up hope." If he thought too much about it, a panicked feeling rose through his chest, so he tried to take each day as it came. "But the amnesia might be a good thing as well. I'm certain I have made mistakes in my life. Perhaps this means I can reverse those or do better this time ‘round."

"An interesting way to look at it." She was pretty and glowing in a dress of robin's egg blue beneath an ivory pelisse. Her bonnet had matching ribbons and silk flowers of the same shade. "I don't know if you can make anything right that happened in the past, but you can take new direction now."

Thank goodness he couldn't remember exactly what he'd done while in the military. It was a small mercy, for if he did, would she look differently at him?

"Perhaps." Having her so close made too much awareness rush over his skin, so he clasped his hands behind his back as they walked. At the back of his mind was the kiss they'd shared a handful of days ago and how much desire and heat had been present in that one meeting of mouths. Was that how it had always been between them, or was this new?

"Why don't you tell me of your life in Cornwall. Who found you after your accident?"

He shrugged. "A man from the nearest village when he was out walking with his dog. I apparently turned my ankle in a hole hidden by dried grasses then took a tumble down a slight ridge, hitting my head on a cluster of large rocks near a stream." That was a bewildering and painful day. "It was a good thing they came ‘round else I might have drowned in that shallow stream. How embarrassing that would have been. Survived the war but drowned in an accident."

"Why did the friends you went hunting with not come looking for you?"

"I have often wondered the same. Perhaps they went back to London. No doubt that is where I was headed before the accident."

The corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. "Yet your country estate is near Cornwall. You'd written to me in a letter that you'd planned to stop in there after hunting before returning to London."

"Obviously, I didn't do that." Had no one cared enough about him to inquire as to his whereabouts or plans? "If I'd told my friends those were my plans, they wouldn't have thought twice about them." Yet he'd been missing for five years. Had he truly not been sought out?

"That explains the letter I had from the butler of Fairfax Hall. He'd written saying you'd never been in residence and that I should expect you in a week's time." A tiny sigh escaped her. "I suppose the household thought you'd changed your mind, just as I had." She continued to walk beside him though there was a sort of melancholy hanging over them. "To be fair, the man you used to be was a bit difficult to anticipate let alone talk with. You'd kept to yourself, often preferring to be alone, even around me."

He frowned. "Why?"

"You never said, but I suspected it was due to your being in the war, seeing and doing horrific things that no man should have needed to indulge in." Briefly, she touched his arm. "Your holidays were always so short. We didn't talk about your military days. There were other things that occupied our time."

"Ah." That made sense, to a point. "The man who'd rescued me saw me situated in a boarding house. After I healed, and since I couldn't remember who I was, he took me on as an apprentice of sorts, which is how I began the business of wood working."

"From what I've managed to glean, you enjoyed your time doing that." She peered up at him and there were questions in her eyes. Evan was struck by the fact that in the winter sunshine, her hair was more brown-blonde than it was in the candlelight. Fine lines framed her eyes and mouth, a testament to the fact she either worried over life or had been determined to enjoy it despite the hardships. "Was it at least fulfilling for you?"

"I enjoyed what I did. There is a certain satisfaction knowing that what you've created with your own hands brings someone else joy or happiness." That existence was much different than this one, where he still didn't feel at ease. "It was a simple life, but lonely."

By this time, they'd entered a more sparsely populated area of Hyde Park. The evergreens provided a much-needed splash of color in the chilly environment. Most trees didn't have leaves, but there was enough shrubbery and ground cover to give the area a wooded feel.

For the space of a few heartbeats, his wife remained silent. Then she asked, "Within that time in Cornwall, did you take a lover? Marry? It would have made sense as you were living your life as Adam and had no idea you were someone else."

"I did not." Though, now that he knew she'd let another man court her, perhaps he should have. Then at his next thought, he realized it wasn't charitable of him.

"Why?"

He blew out a breath. "I'm not entirely certain. Perhaps deep down I knew I wasn't free to do that. On other days, I simply didn't have the wherewithal." With a glance at her, he frowned. "Physical labor is taxing on the body and I'm not a young man any longer. When the tasks of the day were finished, I either went home and slept shortly afterward or visited a local tavern for a bite and sup before returning home to sleep for the night." While it was embarrassing to admit he hadn't the stamina of a younger man, it was the truth, and perhaps after the past five years, they were both owed that.

"Such gammon." She snorted with derision. "You are just over forty-one. Your birthday was last month."

A hint of shock plowed through his chest. "You kept track?"

"Of course." A sheepish expression went over her face. "You were my husband; regardless of the length of time you were missing, there was still a modicum of hope."

"Except when you completely gave that up too." There was no animosity in the statement, only the truth.

"As I have said, life is… complicated at times." She looked away, and he missed that attention.

"Tell me of your life during my absence." No doubt he would need to steel himself for her truths, but then, their lives had been bumped off course through no fault of their own.

"Oh, well, I tried to keep busy with causes and charities. There was still that kernel of hope in my chest that you would come back." Once more she peered at him. Traces of sadness pooled in her eyes. "Then more time passed. There was no word, and you hadn't returned. No one had seen you. Letters I'd written to various people were answered with condolences and the knowledge you had simply vanished. I had no choice but to console myself. I told myself you had most likely died. I mourned, waited, mourned more, and then ultimately had to pick up the pieces of my life."

"I cannot imagine how difficult that was for you." Though he wished to comfort her, he didn't have the right, even if they were married. It was far too awkward, yet. "Lord Starkington started coming around." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." She nodded. "He was a comfort. At first, he only offered friendship and assistance in running the estates, in talking with your man-of-affairs, since I was also worried over my mother. She'd taken a fall around that time." Worry clouded her eyes. "After a while, I began to depend on his presence and help. After that, he openly began to court me, but we kept it discreet. And still, there was no word about you."

Fair enough. He didn't have any idea what he might have done in a similar situation. "Did you kiss him?"

"Yes." A blush stained her cheeks. "Bear in mind, I thought you were dead. In fact, a few months ago, I filed paperwork to have the courts declare you as such. There are no heirs to the title, you see, and I…"

"You wished to do something with your life instead living in limbo," he finished in a soft voice and a tight chest.

"Yes."

He nodded. "I cannot fault you for that. What did the courts say?"

"That there was not enough evidence to declare you deceased, that you might still show up, that some men decide to give in to wanderlust and go off on their own. Pick an excuse." But there was no bitterness in her voice, which he appreciated. Another sigh escaped her. "There was no word from you. No one knew where you were. The war was over. You'd written that you were going to spend time with friends before coming back to London but didn't specify who. There was no one I could write to, and I was at a loss."

"I'm sorry." This time, he drew her to a halt and took one of her hands in his. Turning to face her, he said, "If I would have known who I was or how much trauma my absence was causing you, I would have moved heaven and earth to contact you."

"I know." She searched his face, his eyes, and he hoped to God she found whatever it was she needed in him. "I'm glad you're here now, and I—"

Bang!

The sound of a pistol report echoed on the winter air. Even more disturbing, the sound of the ball whizzing by filled his ears, as did the quick sting of pain at the upper portion of his left cheek.

"Fuck." Someone had taken a shot at either him or her. A wave of fierce protection welled within him. "Get down." The divide in his mind between reality and nightmare thinned as he shoved her behind a cluster of shrubberies. The metallic scent of blood from the graze on his cheek mingled and meshed with the memories that were forever seared into his brain. "I'm going to reconnoiter and try to find the shooter." But as soon as he took a few steps away from the refuge where he'd put her, a nightmare rushed up to meet him with such lifelike feelings, he couldn't discern that from his reality.

A battle was clearly in progress. Smoke from cannons drifted over the frigid plain, and in the light of the rising sun, he discerned the shadows of the men around him as they all crept steadily forward, for soon they would meet the French in a skirmish.

"Get down!" As soon as he glimpsed one of the younger men in his regiment, he yelled at them. "Stay with the smoke. It will mask your approach."

The acrid scent of the smoke and gunpowder clogged his nose. His muscles ached as he crouched and moved forward. The itch in his ears indicated he was straining to hear anything that would give away the enemy's position. He clenched his fingers around his bayonet, but there was little comfort in the familiar weapon. It only meant he would be forced to take another slew of lives once they came upon the French contingent, for no other reason than those men weren't English.

We are all fighting in a war of someone else's making. A war that makes certain the rich stay that way and gives the powerful more people to lord over.

And he was a surgeon, damn it. He was supposed to save lives, keep them sacred, not take them!

Nearby, gunfire was exchanged, but he steeled himself against that. He was only responsible for the men nearest to him. Another large roar from a cannon reverberated through the air; the ground beneath his feet shook. Seconds later, dirt clods and pieces of earth erupted into the air as the ball connected with the ground twenty feet ahead. A few screams of men also indicated that the cannon had found its target with a group enemy soldiers.

Then one of the men rushed at him, came from out of nowhere, using the smoke as the same cover that he did. A shout of surprise left his throat, and he lowered his bayonet, waiting for either his blade to find purchase or his opponent to do the same to him.

"Evan!" A hard shake to his shoulder didn't dislodge the cold dread creeping down his spine. "Evan, you're safe. This is a nightmare. You're safe!" The shaking continued until someone yanked hard on the hem of his greatcoat. He tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his backside, but the image in his brain shifted, and once more he was in Hyde Park with Vivian—his wife—and she stared at him with rounded eyes full of fear.

Blinking, he finally focused on her as she kneeled beside him. "Vivy?"

With her face wet with tears and slight fear twinkling in her eyes, she nodded. "I'm here. You were stuck in a nightmare and nothing I could do would pull you out." She clutched at one of his gloved hands. "You've been shot." With a finger of her other hand, she trailed a fingertip over his cheek. It came away with a trace of scarlet blood.

"A flesh wound only." Fear tightened every muscle in his body. "Did you see anyone running away from the area while I was… uh… engaged in the nightmare?"

"No." She shook her head even as her hands trembled. "There has been no one. The shrubbery has hidden us away from a continued threat." With a squeeze of her fingers, she managed to impart a modicum of calm. "We're safe. You're safe."

Heat climbed up the back of his neck. "You must think me weak or a fool for not being able to discern nightmares from reality."

"Why would you say that?"

He shrugged. "Because I think that of myself."

"Then you are wrong." She tugged at his hand. "Come. Let's get you home. You need more help than I can give, and I'll have to find someone you can talk with. Or me."

"No!" Suddenly terrified lest the nightmares descend upon him again, he clutched at her hands, pulling her closer. "Don't leave me." His pulse pounded so hard she feared his heart would rip from his chest. "Stay, for a few minutes more. I'm not ready to go just yet. Need to stay here with you." Hot shame filled his chest, and he dropped his gaze, for he couldn't bear to see the pity in hers.

"Shh, don't fret." When she settled on her arse, she moved about in order to put her arms around him and stroked a hand down his back. "We won't go until you are ready." When she held him close, a shuddering sigh left his throat. "I am not going to leave you, Evan. Not now, not ever. You are my husband, and for as long as you have need of me, I'll be there."

Oh, God. "I appreciate that so much. You make me feel less like a failure." Not caring how it made him look, he burrowed into her arms and held her just as close in his. How could he ever take up the reins of his life again when he couldn't get through a day when a pistol went off in close proximity? "Was it someone hunting in the park do you think?"

"I would have no idea," she whispered with her head on his shoulder. "I thought hunting wasn't allowed here, though."

"If that is so, then someone deliberately shot at me—us." And that was so much more terrifying. "But why?" Was that ball for him or her?

"That might be too difficult to believe just now. We don't know the facts about anything." Yet fear made her voice waver. She met his gaze with questions in her eyes. "But if it was meant for you, then someone in London wishes you dead."

"Perhaps." Damn and blast. Vivy certainly didn't deserve a man like him. A burden. No one did. "I don't know anyone outside of the men in the Rogue's Arcade, and as far as I know, they are my friends. None of them would want me dead."

"Then someone else does. We must be very careful now. You have only just returned to London. Therefore, the pool of people who know this is small."

Which made it all the more concerning. "When we go home, make certain there is no laudanum in my room. I don't trust myself not to take an overdose." For with this new threat, she would surely be safer if he wasn't around…

Anywhere.