Chapter Eight

On the way back, they were stopped in the carriage for so long that David got out to see what was causing the delay.

Irene and Elena sat in silence for several moments, but then curiosity overtook them when David did not return. As she descended from the carriage, Elena saw David talking with a man over something bloody on the ground.

"We really ought to shoot it, guv, put it out of its misery," she heard a young man tell her husband.

As she stepped closer, mindful of the busy street, Elena realized it was not a person but a dog whose back legs had been trampled by a wheel or a horse's hooves. While she did not grow up with dogs in the home, as that was not the way of her people, dogs ran freely through the streets of her village. Her heart went out to this large, wolf-like animal that still wagged its tail and looked longingly at David despite its obvious pain.

"Oh, David." He looked up as she touched his shoulder. "Let us take him home."

"Yes, please, Davie, please," Irene had joined them. She had never heard her call him that, but it seemed to work to some effect as David's gaze was torn between the two women.

"Irene, he'll probably die. Leaving him to, uh, this young man might be kinder…"

Irene shook her head. "Elena's a nurse. She can fix him."

David looked at Elena, cocking his head to one side. "Can you?"

She studied the dog, which she could tell was golden and black, even with the grease and matted blood in his fur. She looked over his legs. One looked like it might heal fully. It was just broken. She wasn't sure about the other as it lay beneath him. But still, this dog deserved a chance. And they could give it to him.

"I think so." David still looked undecided, so she added, "I seem to remember someone else with a serious injury who kept fighting against tall odds."

David shrugged. "I never thought of that part as the fighting. But I suppose it was." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "All right." He stripped off his coat and began to make a sling of it to carry the dog, who was quite large. Once they had him in the carriage, Irene and Elena fussed over the dog to make him comfortable. At one point, Elena looked up and saw David shaking his head at the two of them.

"What is it?"

He crossed his arms in front of himself. "I'm not convinced this old chap didn't know exactly what he was doing when he dodged in front of that horse today. He wound up with two ladies fawning all over him."

Irene looked up. "He's just jealous," she told Elena, turning her attention back to the dog.

****

David carried the blasted animal into the townhouse. It was challenging without his cane, but he knew Irene and Elena couldn't manage it on their own. Fields looked appalled as he approached.

"The ladies decided to save a trampled street dog this afternoon. Have the maids bring some hot water and clean cloth. Would Mrs. Jenkins be bothered if we take him downstairs?"

Fields recovered quickly. "Mrs. Jenkins can handle anything, sir."

"Just so," he said. He carried the animal downstairs as Elena cleared off a table. She looked down at her lavender gown, which, while not as elaborate as an evening gown, was surely not ideal clothing for treating a bleeding animal. As if reading his thoughts, she shrugged and immediately got to work.

Elena cleaned and set the animal's wounds, speaking to him soothingly. He was rather a handsome fellow now that Elena had cleaned up some of the blood and grime, quite large for a street dog, with a coat of tan and black. He was reminded of Alsatian dogs he had seen on the Continent. David hated himself, but he rather envied the animal in those moments when she gently tended to him, though he was still moved to pity for the poor beast. Even greater than his envy was his pride in how efficient she was, how competent. He knew she treated men outside Balaclava but rarely saw her do it. He also knew that she might not be considered a proper or trained nurse in the eyes of the world, but he couldn't have been prouder if she had treated the queen herself instead of some poor animal on a table. In his observation of her, he didn't notice a coldness on his hand. The animal had moved his nose into David's palm as if to force him to pet his nose. He looked up at David longingly.

David sighed, finally resigned to this new addition to the household. "I suppose if he is to stay here, he ought to have a name."

Elena pondered for a moment. "What about Goliath?"

David looked again at the beast as he gave in and scratched his ears and head. "Well, he is rather a large, strapping fellow."

"Not because he is large. Because he challenges you. I think it will benefit both of you." David raised an eyebrow at her. "But yes, also because he is very large," she admitted, flashing him a mischievous smile that he hadn't seen before. "There is some truth in names, you know." She looked up at him, clearly testing if he remembered their conversation from years before.

"Yes," he echoed her words. "Yes, I suppose there is."

David went to change his shirt, which was unfortunately covered in the dog's blood. His new valet would have a challenge saving the shirt and his coat. He had not come to know the man very well yet, as his old valet had fallen in love and married a girl in Switzerland. But, hell, he would ruin all his shirts if it would make his wife look at him that way again. As if he were her hero…Damnation, he had things to do, but instead, he was going to go find her again.

After he changed, he found Elena was having footmen bring a tub and water down to the kitchen.

When he made a face, she said matter-of-factly, "He needs a proper bath. Mrs. Raeburn always says cleanliness helps prevent infection."

He followed her downstairs, and she looked up at him beseechingly. "Could you pick him up and place him in the tub?" Since he could probably never deny her anything, David began to remove his coat. "Wait, what are you doing?" Elena was looking at him in a strange way.

"If I'm going to get soaked, I'd rather not ruin my clothing again," he said while rolling his shirt sleeves. He saw her eyeing his forearms with alarm and something else in her golden-brown eyes. That look caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. As well as other things.

The dog, Goliath, he supposed, was far too lethargic from pain to object to being lifted into a tub of water. As Elena picked a bar of soap and began scrubbing the dog, carefully avoiding the bandages she had just set, David had a flash of her gentle hands bathing him . Suddenly, his collar felt too tight. Sod it, all his clothes felt too tight. Attempting to tamp down this jolt of lust, he swallowed.

She looked up at him as she had almost forgotten his presence once she set herself to the task at hand. "Are you quite all right?"

He hadn't noticed he had been standing there frozen for several moments.

"I-I forgot I had to…keep up with my correspondence. In my study. Upstairs."

She crooked her head. "Well, don't let me keep you."

He stared for a moment longer, then nearly sprinted up the stairs with his cane. Did he have correspondence to keep up on? He supposed he could write a line to Henry, anything to take his mind off his wife and her gentle hands.

As he entered his study, he decided he could probably find Henry if he wanted to speak with him. He might find Henry at the Garrick, the gentleman's club they frequented as younger men. Young Henry had fancied himself a rebel and an artist, eschewing the traditional aristocratic Boodle's or White's. However, a new club, Pratt's, had just opened off of St. James, which seemed a more likely option for Henry since David had been away. As David turned and walked to the front door, Fields asked if he should summon the carriage as the club was within walking distance.

"I'll walk instead, Fields." Walking would help rid him of this arousal. Yes, proper exercise ought to be effective.

However, after he was halfway there, he admitted to himself that he hadn't thought through how difficult walking all the way to the club with a cane would be. But he had almost made it and wasn't going to stop. Just another few blocks. Just…

There were too many people. He couldn't catch his breath. It felt as if someone was stepping on his chest and wouldn't let up, no matter how he begged. What had he done before? As he was being treated for his spine, one of the doctors suggested deep breaths when he felt crowded in. He tried to remember. Breathe. What had he told McDaniel today? Count backward from ten.

Ten. Nine. He gasped. Eight. Seven. He thought of Elena working quietly, bathing that poor dog. Six. Five. Four. Three. The gold in her eyes when he first saw her and the sun shining behind her braided hair creating a sort of halo. Two. One. He could breathe again. He could make it. He had stopped by a lamppost, which he grabbed as if to remind himself that he was real, that he was on this sidewalk and needed to keep walking. He wasn't going to dissolve into the air. He was going to see his friend. He had resolved to be a better friend and a better brother. He had been too wrapped up in his own problems for too long.

****

The porter's eyes went wide when David entered and enquired about Henry. Fortunately, even though David didn't have membership at Pratt's, he was recognized as they bought his sherry and wine. As expected, Henry was at the club, and when David found him, in his cups.

"King David!" When he drank, Henry was always excited to see everyone.

"Hotspur." David bowed his head. He had no idea how long they had called each other these silly nicknames. Henry's mother had been a lover of the Romantic poets, so she gave him the middle name Percy, and at some point, David had arrived at Hotspur from Henry Percy.

"My liege, you have deigned to grace us mere mortals with your presence."

David did not know what to say, so he gestured to join him.

"Please." Henry seemed to recover himself slightly. "Sit. Join me."

David started to say something, then stopped. This was one of his oldest friends. Why was he having so much trouble talking to him?

Finally, he said, "I haven't heard from you in a long time. I wasn't sure I would be welcome."

"Well, yes, I've been busy."

"Busy?" David had never heard his friend live anything but the life of an idle gentleman. It had been part of what he wanted to get away from. He wasn't like Henry, who was from a very old, very blue-blooded family and title. David, whose title was much more recent and whose family was in trade, felt the grating nature of indolence and had tried to escape it.

"Yes, just so." Henry gestured around as if indicating this was what he had been doing. Henry glanced at his drink.

"Is this one of yours?"

David could tell by the color and smell that it was not. War had not burned out the palate his father had helped him build from a young age.

"We're mostly sherry. You know we don't import brandy."

"It must have slipped my mind. It has been some time. And wine still, yes?"

"And wine, yes," David echoed. Henry had to know this. He was on the wine committee at the Garrick club, or at least he had been.

"You may have heard the happy news that I am neither the heir nor the spare anymore."

"Your brother?" David had been away for a while, for when he left, the viscount was childless after many years of marriage.

"Remember him? Charming fellow who would likely disapprove of your presence here today. That I would dare associate with someone in trade is simply unacceptable. Yet, while I live to earn my brother's disapproval, I raise my glass to his offspring. Happy miracles. The wonders of procreation."

Henry raised his glass as if to toast David, but David did not raise his. He was studying his friend. He was still handsome, even as his friend David could see that. Henry had always gone through life with such ease. He could charm any woman, challenge any man, and yet wind up sharing a drink and a laugh with everyone before the night's end. David used to have that same relative ease, but he had a seriousness, a weight that his parents' deaths and his title had dropped on him, that Henry never had. Perhaps it was because of his background in the merchant class, but he had always felt that their shared hedonism was only a temporary state, not a way of life, as it seemed to Henry. One had to be born completely into wealth and privilege to believe that that sort of excess did not come without a price. Looking closely at Henry, he was reminded of a cheap pocket watch whose shine was wearing off, as he had deep lines around his eyes and looked markedly thinner than David remembered. He thought of the gold automata watch that beat in his pocket, a Swiss creation of exquisite craftsmanship he had inherited from his father. The opposite of the gentleman sitting in front of him now.

Although David thought he dressed relatively well, he was nothing compared to what Henry used to be. As a young man about town, Henry Lennix rivaled the legendary Beaux Brummel from years past, always impeccably dressed in the height of style. But now his clothes hung limply on his frame, his four-in-one tie loose, and his waistcoat unbuttoned. His hair looked lank, and the blue eyes that ladies had once loved had lost their depth.

"Is that what this is about? We used to have some fun, but we did not spend our days at the bottom of a glass. Not like this."

Henry's face tightened briefly, then resettled into the same unimpressed expression. David was starting to see the strain and effort maintaining the fa?ade of a callow drunk cost him.

"What would you know? You've been off fighting wars and wooing wantons," Henry sneered.

"If you are referring to my wife, I recommend you hold your tongue." David gripped his cane. He knew Henry was hurting for some unknown reason, but insulting Elena was untoward.

"Or what? You'll call me out?"

David cocked his eyebrow and felt his blood chill in his veins.

"My wife is above reproach. She has done nothing but good in this world and does not deserve your disrespect. Or I will meet you at dawn, friend or no friend."

Henry finally looked up at him for longer than two seconds. David saw a flicker of fire in his eyes, a glimmer of his old friend.

"Ah, I see. I wasn't sure if you just had some mad idealistic notion like you do. But I see you've fallen."

David did not say anything. Henry looked down at his glass and raised it.

"To the beautiful fall."

David halfheartedly raised his glass to his friend. "Not that you would know anything about it," David said under his breath.

Finally, Henry's fa?ade of nonchalance cracked, and a genuinely bitter look crossed his face as he brought his glass down hard on the table.

"Little would you know." His words were so quiet that David hardly heard him.

The penny dropped. David sat back and regarded his friend for several moments.

"Ahh, I'm sorry, Hotspur. What was her name?"

Henry swirled his glass, the tan liquid reflecting and refracting light across the table.

"It doesn't matter. She won't have me. She'll never have me. I did something unforgivable."

David frowned. That didn't sound like Henry. He could be immature, but he wasn't cruel.

"I'm sure—"

"No!" His voice was a harsh rasp. "There is no hope. She married someone else anyway."

David had never seen Henry like this. He had never been a bitter man, given to moping. He did not know what to say. He could not conceive of betraying Elena, having her leave him. Just imagining it made him feel empty and cold.

They sat silent for several moments when Henry finally spoke.

"My apologies for insulting your wife," Henry began softly. "I…haven't been myself lately. For quite some time, in fact. I have seen her a few times, your wife. She is quite striking. You say she has solid character as well? "

David relaxed for the first time since he arrived and nodded fondly.

"The best." They still felt oddly formal.

"And a man could never say no to those breasts."

"Don't make me hit you."

Henry laughed, finally cracking a real expression that lit his eyes.

"I suppose I have been rather cross with you."

"Is that so?"

"Without you, Michael and I had nothing to talk about. I imagined you off like Byron, dying in the Near East in some unmarked grave, and here, Michael and I would just keep drifting apart from the lodestone that brought us together."

"Byron died in Greece. And at least he died for something."

Henry raised his eyebrows. David had not meant the last part to come out so bitterly.

"I know you think me an indolent aristocrat, but I did keep up with the Times and William Howard Russell. I didn't envy you, old friend. What level of hell would you rate warfare?"

David remembered his inability to walk down the street just then. "Indescribable," he said sharply.

Henry gave a brief nod, acknowledging that he would take the subject no further.

"Still, it sounds like you found a veritable angel on this earth. Those are quite rare, so take care of that one."

David couldn't tell if Henry was being serious or not. He hated that they had been apart so long. He couldn't read him like he used to.

"I did try to watch out for her at first as you asked us to. I visited the hospital several times and looked for her at events."

David hadn't known this. He had assumed only Michael had listened to his request to watch out for Elena and Irene, as he received no correspondence from Henry on the subject. He was moved that Henry had taken his request to heart, and he put his hand on Henry's shoulder. As Henry stared at David's hand for a moment, there was that flicker of depth to his blue eyes again, and he covered David's hand with his own. Then, the moment passed, and he went back to his drink. They did not talk about that moment but spent the remainder of the hour discussing the news of the day.

As David gripped his cane to rise to leave, he suddenly remembered. "Lord Gaius wants to have a dinner with the old Round Table soon."

"We really do have too many nicknames amongst us, don't we?" Henry grimaced comically.

David shrugged. "I suppose we do. Hard to keep track of, isn't it?"

Henry saluted with his drink.

"Will you attend?" David needed him to come to keep an eye on this new version of his friend.

"I suppose. If I'm free."

"Since you're always free, that settles it."

Henry rolled his eyes and bid David good day. He found walking home easier, as the streets were less crowded at this time of day. Or maybe it was his renewed friendship and the promise of his wife at home that added a spring and lightness to his step.

****

Instead of finding his wife, David found his sister alone at the piano, her favorite room in the house. He sat and listened to her go through Beethoven and Chopin. Then, she seemed particularly stuck on Mozart. As her playing slowed, he worked up the nerve to ask.

"Was I wrong to leave you, Irene?"

She looked up from the piano, her eyes so like his but wider and younger. Had he ever been so young?

"I was certainly sad when you left, David. I won't lie to you. I felt terribly abandoned. I know I had Sophie, but she is so busy. I was so happy when you returned with Elena, but then you left straight away."

"I—"

"I know why you had to go. I do. And I was grateful for Elena. I think she was as hungry for family as I was, even if she would never admit it."

"I'm sorry I left, Irene, particularly the first time. I was only thinking of myself and what I needed. I didn't think of you. I ensured you would be taken care of should anything have happened to me, but that's not the same, is it?"

"No, it is not." Irene looked back at the keys, playing several stray notes.

"You know I can always tell your mood by how minor the song you are playing is."

"Am I so easy to read?" She played a minor scale very dramatically with a slight smirk.

"Just by me, Renie." He ran a hand through his hair. There was one more thing he had to do. "I'm also sorry that I assumed you would want a Season without asking you. I just charged ahead, as I do. Forgive me, Irene?"

"I understand why you did. Most brothers would, too. And I know you had good intentions. But good intentions are not enough."

"I've learned that lesson a very hard way."

"The war?"

He nodded. He wanted to shrug casually, but he found his shoulders locked.

"Do you…ever want to talk about it?" She stopped playing straying notes, her hands stilling.

"Perhaps someday." He gave her a small smile.

"You and Elena have seen so much of the world. I often feel like a maiden in a tower." She put her fingers back on the keys and pressed down dramatically.

"In some ways, I'm glad you haven't seen parts of the world. There are some real monsters out there. But I am glad you are going to the hospital with Elena. I hope that allows you more perspective than your average lady."

"Well, I'm not your average lady."

"No, you're not." He chuckled.

"Join me?" She gestured to the bench.

"My skill is nothing to yours."

"Yes, but it makes me feel superior." She smirked again. Somehow, she made a smirk rather endearing.

He shook his head and rose to join her at the bench as Irene slid over and positioned her hands.

"In the future, David, please ask me before you make choices that will impact my future."

"Such as my marriage?"

"No, I love Elena! I mean, me having a Season. Just ask me first."

She looked him straight in the eye, and he gave her a slight nod. He did not feel quite settled in this new equilibrium, but it was a start.

"What shall we play?"

"More Mozart? The opera is The Magic Flute ."

As if she hadn't reminded him every other day. "Won't you be sick of Mozart by the end of the week?"

"Never," she said definitively and began a Mozart sonata.

He took a moment to remember the bottom part and then joined her in the music. It was only partway through that he remembered his promised lessons to his wife and resolved to convince her to join him in the music room sometime soon.