Chapter Four

David felt his heart pound in anticipation as his carriage drew nearer and nearer to his London townhouse. They knew he was coming. He reminded himself that he had written Irene that he would be arriving that day and a little of his improved condition. He knew that his sister read his letters to his wife, as Elena had started adding small notes at the bottom of Irene's letters this past year. Clearly, she had picked up writing in English, and with each letter, he found himself skipping forward to her notes. They were written as she spoke, earnest and quietly funny. Using only the necessary number of words to convey her meaning. One of these notes had led him back here, though ostensibly he was returning for his sister's first Season. In one of her notes, Elena had used the phrase "maybe someday." While it was not in the same context they had discussed outside Balaclava, that phrase and another discovery began to give him hope. As he read the letter, he caught that smell of faint amber that always reminded him of her, and for the first time since he was wounded, he began to feel the stirrings of desire. Nothing full-fledged, no raw passion, but something tentative and new. Different than before he was injured. The doctors in Bern believed he had sustained a severe bruise to his spine and through treatments, exercise, and will, but most likely, sheer luck at where his injury was located, his ability to walk returned, though he would probably have to use a cane for the rest of his life. How odd that walking sticks seemed to be back in fashion among the ton when he couldn't care less about the current fashion. While he had written that he was coming back for Irene, and he was, he really was. He was also coming back to know what "maybe someday" meant. He wanted to see if he could have a true marriage with Elena, if "maybe someday" meant someday soon or someday never.

As he handed his hat to the butler, Fields, when he came in, he saw the man's gaze go straight to his right temple. He had grown so used to his scars that he had almost forgotten how jarring he must look to those who had known him most of his life. He allowed the older man a moment to avert his eyes.

"My sister?"

"With your wife, sir, in the music room," Fields seemed to recover, respectable English butler that he was. "It's good to have you back, my lord." He heard faint chords and bursts of laughter, and something settled inside him.

"It's good to be back, Fields." He grinned, which barely hurt at all these days, and then started a quick pace with his cane toward the music room. He was surprised. His sister was a dab hand at the piano, but Elena? They had not talked much about music. Then he stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar melody as the notes crept down the hall. It was the song . The tune too sad to be a lullaby that she often sang softly to herself. But now, with the piano accompaniment, it sounded both like a memory of his childhood and something new and unfamiliar. He slowed when he came to the doorway, catching sight of his sister, Irene, seated at the piano, glancing warmly at Elena, who sat next to her humming. Irene looked so much like their mother, with her dark brown hair, almost black, and olive-green eyes like his that he had to stop a second and blink to remind himself it was his sister sitting there and not his long-gone mother. And Elena, although her forest green morning gown was utterly different from the drab gray gowns of Balaclava, seeing her again warmed him precisely like before. He felt his heart clench and beat as it had not since he had seen her last. He had come back with an off-hand hope, but at this moment, he knew his ultimate goal was to make it a reality. He just hoped she might eventually feel the same way, too.

They just needed to be reacquainted.

Lost in his thoughts, he did not hear as the music stopped.

"David!"

His sister rose quickly from the piano bench, throwing her arms around him. Behind her, Elena stood slowly, her features unreadable.

"We did not expect you until much later, my lord."

Her "my lord" hung strangely in the air, as she had rarely, if ever, had called him that before.

"Please call me David like you used to, Elena. We need not stand on formality." We are married, after all, he held himself back from adding.

She ducked her head, quirking her mouth slightly. He could tell she did not quite know how to act around him, standing back closer to the piano. He understood as he didn't quite know how to act around her either. Their acquaintance had been so intense and so brief, then he had been gone these past three years. She was a woman with whom he had shared his darkest secrets, as well as a stranger from a faraway land.

"You adapted the song?"

"Yes, Irene heard me singing it one night—"

"David, you should have been there," Irene jumped in, seeming oblivious to the tension and uncertainty in the room. "I had never heard anything like it before. It was like a Chopin, so sad and full of longing and—"

"Yes, I've heard it before," he said softly, sharing a secret smile with Elena. "A long time ago."

Elena shook her head as if to clear it from the moment before, then gestured toward the bellpull. "May I offer you refreshment? I do not quite know how to act in your house, though I have lived in it these past few years."

He was grateful she had acknowledged the tension. "Yes, let's ring for tea."

"You British and your tea, it means everything. At home, when we had tea, we just drank tea." She walked over to join them, a little more confidence imbued in her step.

"Yes, but then you missed out on biscuits," he offered.

"And tea cakes," his sister cut in

"And scones with clotted cream," he added.

"But they are all too dry for my taste." Elena had wrapped her arm with Irene's as they walked out. "Someday, Irene, I will teach you to make baklava with layers upon layers of honey inside." Swallowing, she turned back to him. It still felt as though she was looking past him, not quite at him. "Husband, would you like to refresh yourself before tea?"

He tried to cover the small thrill that shot through him from the funny way she said "husband" with her accent. He would save reflection on that for later. He figured husband was a good middle ground between his Christian name and "my lord."

"Yes, it's been a while, but I think I shall find my way."

Elena looked torn between apprehension and pleasure that things were going so smoothly. She gave a small fraction of a nod again.

As he walked away from them toward his chambers, he replayed her words in his head. Husband . He liked that. Husband. He could work with that.

****

Tea was more formal than usual. Elena wondered how she was supposed to act now that David had returned. It was his house, after all. Elena knew she was being too quiet, staring at her tea, but she did not know quite what to say. Given Elena's silence, Irene filled the natural lull in the conversation with updates and questions for her brother. Elena knew she was supposed to pour, but Irene gave her a knowing look and did the honors herself. Elena couldn't help but be grateful, as Irene seemed to know how her brother took his tea.

While Irene chattered, Elena studied her husband from beneath her eyelashes. His walk only had a minor limp here and there. He did not use the cane as much as she would have thought from his letters. And his face, his face was definitely different than in Balaclava. For one, he had a beard covering much of his face for most of their acquaintance.

And on top of that, half of his face had been wrapped in bandages. Because of his injury, he had been rather thin, and she had never seen him stand at full height. He now appeared much taller than her and rather broad of shoulder. All in all, a very well-formed man. Like Irene, he had the same dark brown hair and olive-green eyes. Both had much paler skin than Elena's, though David looked tanned from travel. The siblings shared rather defined cheekbones and full lips. Not as full as Elena's, but unlike most Englishman she had met. She realized he must have been rather handsome before his injury and that even with the scarring, he was rather attractive still. This should have been a pleasant surprise to any wife, but this worried Elena as she did not trust handsome men. When David had been wounded and covered in bandages, he seemed so trustworthy, as he had no way to hurt her or lead her down the wrong path. But the polished and handsome lord sitting before her frightened her deeply. Even though she knew from his eyes and scars that he was the same man, she did not feel that easy trust and friendship she had felt in Balaclava. He wasn't a stranger exactly, but she had to be wary.

But then again, even though a handsome man had betrayed her most deeply, ugly men had also hurt her. She had almost completely blocked out the memory of the time between coming back to her family home and when Mrs. Raeburn had found her, but now and then, she felt and saw flashes of moments that made her cold to the bone. She tried to push the thought from her head.

Back to David. His burns had healed into scars, and he was still missing a small part of the end of his eyebrow. She could see that maybe he would not be considered as handsome as before he was injured, but the scars gave him a certain rugged aura. They crept down his face on the right side of his temple, almost a mirror of her own scarring, though they reached deeper down the side of his face. They both had been lucky they had not lost their eyes, she thought suddenly and strove to prevent herself from compulsively touching her scar. He looked over at her, seeming to notice her perusal, and smiled. His smile was something to behold, a little cocky and quirked to the right side. It made her feel warm and uncomfortable. And yet, for all the warmth of his smile, she could not tell for the life of her what he wanted.

"So, we shall all go to the Amesbury ball tomorrow?" Irene asked, looking over at Elena.

Elena snapped back to the moment. "Of course. I wonder when Aunt Sophie might grace us with her presence." Elena and Sophie had both discussed attending events of the season. Sophie had decided she would let Elena handle the majority as she was not very fond of aristocratic functions, and Elena was better at holding her tongue. Sophie tended to the business from the merchant side of the family and helped manage some of the properties. While she usually lived with the family, she also traveled extensively to oversee the family business or visit with friends. Elena admired that David had entrusted so much to his immensely capable aunt, though she suspected many of the men Sophie corresponded with for business did not suspect that she was a woman.

"We will all be there to support you, Renie." Elena looked up. She had never heard David's pet name for his sister. Surely, a man who was so good to his sister and aunt would not ask too much of her. Surely, he would go back to Switzerland and leave her be.

"Well, I'll need all the help I can get." Irene looked pained.

"Irene, you don't have to do this if you do not want to. And you do not have to marry anyone this year," David said flatly. "I can hardly fathom my little sister talking to a man, so let me adjust my thinking first."

"Take all the time you need, David." Irene leaned back and finished her tea. "Take all the time you need."

Elena had a feeling that with Irene's looks and wealth, she might do very well in the London Season. Even so, she wanted Irene to have a choice in her life and her place in the world.

"Elena, might I have a word after tea?" Her husband's expression was unreadable. She looked back down at her tea. "Yes, my lord."

"David." She glanced up to find him watching her.

"Yes, Husband."

Maybe now she would find out how long he was staying. Irene excused herself, and Elena waited, her heart pounding loudly as she set down her tea. She schooled her nerves and turned her body toward David, waiting for him to speak.

"I have returned," he said awkwardly.

"Indeed, you have." She would not look away. She would be direct. "How long do you intend to stay, my lord?

He started to correct her, but she gave him a look. She wanted to keep the formality to have this discussion.

He let out a breath. "That is a good question. I should like, that is, perhaps indefinitely." She gripped her hands together in her lap. She could not let fear take over. She knew this day might come. She had always known it.

"I made a promise to you. To Mrs. Raeburn. I will never do anything you do not want."

"Yes, I remember."

He suddenly moved to sit by her. Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears it could have been a drum. She jutted out her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"Elena, a long time ago, you said, ‘Maybe someday. Maybe someday we could have a real marriage.' I need to know, what did that mean?"

She swallowed, unsure of how to go forward, what to say.

He went on. "Elena, my circumstances have changed. There is a chance I could be a real husband to you. And if it's possible, I'd like to take that chance. But I'd like to know what you want."

She longed to look away, but his green gaze held her frozen in place. She felt roiled by a tangle of emotions, an awareness of him she had not felt before, but this awareness was mixed with a bitter memory written across her body, memories of the journey to üsküdar. She did not know if she could bear being with a man again. And yet…and yet, she knew she wanted to feel pleasure again someday. She had to admit that deep down in her soul, her first experience with Anatole had felt good, even if it was a sin, even with everything that came afterward. And that, to her shame, she had never said no to the men on the road to üsküdar. But she hadn't said yes.

"I do not know. I will need some time."

"Of course." He paused for a minute, his expression patient, and yet Elena still felt her pulse jump. "Elena, I think we should spend time together. I want you to know me outside of war. I have to say again, just so you absolutely understand, I will never do anything you do not want. I will not enter your chambers unless you grant me permission. And you still have the power. If you wish for an annulment, " he said the word quietly, "then I will respect your wishes."

"I do not yet know what to decide. I need some time to think and become acquainted with you again. Because right now, you feel like a stranger." Her words came out suddenly before she could think them through. She looked up at him, afraid he was angry, but his gaze became inexplicably warm.

"Well." He gave a long, slow smile. "That I think I can fix."

****

As she sat at her vanity the following evening, Elena considered how her husband had never seen her in such a dress. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she noted she would have filled the gown out much better when she was younger. Before the war, she had been rather plump, but hunger had changed her, and though she had gained some weight back, she was much thinner than she used to be. She missed her fuller figure and the looser clothing of home, but her body seemed to have been permanently changed by the war in so many ways. She stared at herself in the mirror for a second, at her bare shoulders, the low dip of the neckline. The dresses she wore outside Balaclava had been borrowed from Mrs. Raeburn, as she had to sell her beautiful embroidery for food when she arrived in üsküdar. Strangely, this grand gown felt borrowed as well.

Borrowed clothes do not keep you warm. She remembered her grandmother's saying, though she never quite understood what she meant until now. Elena took a moment and studied her hair, which had been pinned so the curls spilled down her back. Fortunately, her hair took to curls rather well, and she liked how it highlighted the gold in her brown hair. Almost elegant, she thought. Imagine that, a girl from a village in Dobruja, now an elegant lady of the English ton.

If only she did not have that ugly scar. But she knew she deserved it. Like a mark of Cain, it kept her vanity in check and reminded her of her foolishness. Still, she wished her hair could be styled to cover her temple fully, but that was not the current fashion. She rose and put on her gloves.

"You have outdone yourself, Simmons." She beamed at the other woman as she regarded her hair.

"If you don't mind me saying so, my lady, you almost look like an English lady."

Elena did not know how to respond to that, so she continued to smile.

Descending the grand stairs, she caught sight of her husband and registered that her earlier assessment was not entirely accurate. He was not just pleasant to look at. He was very handsome in his formal attire, with the gray of his waistcoat somehow setting off the green of his eyes. She had never seen him clean-shaven with his hair brushed back, as he had looked weary from travel when he arrived. Elena may have had the same effect on him, as she heard his breath catch when she reached him. She was simultaneously flattered and alarmed by this realization, so she covered her tumult with a deep curtsy. Elena was thankful she had learned so much while Irene was preparing for her season. She hoped she would not embarrass either of them.

"My lord."

Her husband apparently recovered because he caught her eye, bowed, and broke into a brilliant smile. She would never have married him if she had known he had such a smile. She hoped he did not notice the hairs on her arm stand on end. What did the English call that? Gooseflesh? What a strange phrase…

"My lady."

He took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. She forced herself to keep her hand steady.

"Ready to face the ton?" he asked conspiratorially.

"I'm ready not to embarrass you or Irene." She retrieved her hand, grateful he did not notice the slight tremor that ran through her at that kiss.

"I know you won't, my lady. You couldn't, you know. I couldn't care less about the ton other than to benefit Irene. And that they keep purchasing our sherry and wines." He smirked. "Yours is one of the few opinions I value."

She was temporarily stunned. She looked into his eyes, going back and forth between them as if trying to catch them in a lie. She had not known she was important to him. They had developed a great friendship in Balaclava, but she thought it was mostly pity for her circumstance and hopelessness in his own that had moved him to marry her. Perhaps that was not all there was. But his words sounded like they could have come from Anatole, who had seduced her with his handsomeness, his flippant wit, and how he had ingratiated himself with everyone in the village. But as she looked into her husband's eyes, she saw no easy lie but something she could not name. Was it yearning? She had agreed to marry him because she believed him incapable of desire, of desiring her. But did he feel desire for her now? She had assumed he wanted to procreate to have an heir, but his eyes told a different story. Thank goodness she could be a good actress. She retreated into the persona she would be that evening, the good English wife.

"You are too generous, my lord."

He looked confused by her response and shift in demeanor, but fortunately, Irene interrupted their conversation by coming down the stairs. They both turned to look at her at the top of the staircase. Irene wore white silk trimmed with pink rosettes that should have washed out her pale skin but instead gave her an unearthly glow.

"She looks so grown up," Elena fought the embarrassing urge to cry. Irene was not her sister. Why was she acting like a watering pot?

"She looks like our mother," David said quietly.

Elena noticed him grip his cane tighter and felt a great wave of compassion for her husband, who had lost both of his parents so young. She smiled up at him, their formality gone. "She must have been very lovely."

He nodded, then seemed to compose himself for Irene, holding out his arm for his sister.

"I shall be the envy of the ton tonight, with the two most beautiful ladies on each arm."

Irene playfully smacked him with her reticule. "Forth unto battle, comrades."

Forth into battle indeed, thought Elena.