Its Been A Year

JUNE 18TH 1816, ROCHEVAUX ABBEY, BERKSHIRE, ENGLAND

P erched on the edge of his mattress after another sleepless night, Rowan Halstead, Marquess of Bracknell, stared at the stump where his left leg used to be. "A year to the day since you left me," he groused, massaging the scarred flesh of what was left of his thigh. "Still bloody useless. More life in the flesh twixt my legs."

He switched his attention to his insistent morning erection. "Stubborn cock still pines for what can never be."

Determined to put the woman he'd loved and lost out of his mind, he retrieved his crutch from beside the bed, and rose unsteadily.

An efficient tap at the door heralded his valet. Rowan hated the coarse feel of a nightshirt on his skin, so Cosmo couldn't fail to notice the forbidden location of his master's fist. As he did every morning, the valet discreetly averted his gaze.

Recommended to Rowan by the Earl of Uxbridge—a fellow amputee—shortly after his return from the war, Cosmo had been a godsend. A former batman in the British army, he'd tailored all Rowan's trousers to accommodate his deformity. Rowan was a career soldier before being wounded at Waterloo, so he appreciated Cosmo's militaristic approach to service. As far as the valet was concerned, he was still a corporal and his master was Major Halstead. He listened stoically to Rowan's whining about being crippled, but never made a comment one way or another about the difficulties his master faced.

Cosmo saluted. "I've adjusted your uniform for the reunion, Sir," he said.

Rowan cringed. He'd fully intended not to attend the reunion of the 32 nd Cornish Regiment but his brother insisted they go. "It's our duty to honor the officers who didn't return from Waterloo a year ago," Ash kept reminding him.

The notion oozed irony. The Halstead brothers had been seconded to the 32 nd as a favor to their ducal father because their own Berkshire regiment was being sent to Canada. Rowan often wondered if he'd still have both legs had he gone to Canada instead of ending up in the bloodbath of Waterloo. Dreams of glory ended when shrapnel from a French cannon shattered his knee. Furthermore, the Halsteads hadn't formed friendships with any of the dead officers of the 32nd. During the Peninsula War, they'd fought with their own regiment.

"Lord Ash and Mr. King said to let you know they'll be ready to leave for London after breakfast," Cosmo informed him.

"Jolly good," Rowan replied, not feeling the least bit jolly. His brother Ash tended to be a pain in the butt these days, apparently unable to talk about anything other than his latest mistress, and their younger brother. Hawthorne had disappeared off the face of the earth after Paris fell to Wellington's forces. Ash seemed to think it was Rowan's responsibility to find him and bring him home. "It's your injury that he feels guilty about," was a common refrain. As if Rowan had time or energy to go gadding about the world looking for Thorne. It was months since their father had received the last letter, posted in Egypt.

Rowan got along well with Niven King, but his brother-in-law usually talked on and on about Willow. Rowan loved his little sister, and was happy she'd married Niven despite his own misguided efforts to keep them apart. However, the pair's deep love for each other simply reminded Rowan of what might have been had he married Daisy Hawkins, an impossibility given his crippling injury. "Best help me get ready then," he sighed, thinking it was fortunate Niven wouldn't be attending a reunion of the 79 th Cameron Highlanders for whom he'd played as a piper at Waterloo. That regiment was still garrisoned in Paris. The Scot's bagpipes would add a welcome bit of life to the reunion of the 32 nd .

Niven was heartily glad his wife had accompanied him and her brothers from Berkshire to her father's London townhouse in East London. Ash and Rowan had hardly spoken a word throughout the forty-mile journey. Niven didn't blame them. He wasn't looking forward to reliving the events of Waterloo either.

In the privacy of their bedchamber at the townhouse, he could now speak of the added complication. "I find myself in a difficult position," he told Willow as she helped him fasten the refurbished Cameron kilt he'd worn at Waterloo. "I agreed months ago to attend your brothers' regimental reunion on the first anniversary of Waterloo."

"Then came the invitation to your cousin's wedding that same day," Willow replied sympathetically.

Though not a soldier, Niven had participated in the bloody battle to defeat Napoleon by playing the pipes alongside the 79 th Highlanders' legendary piper, Kenneth McKay. "I sincerely want to honor the thousands of Waterloo's victims, no matter what regiment they belonged to."

Willow stood back to check his appearance. "And Rowan's even requested you play a lament on the bagpipes at the 32 nd reunion."

That had come as a pleasant surprise, but Niven worried. "Is your brother aware his former fiancée is marrying another man?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "He insists he is over Daisy, but we both know that's a lie."

"I worry about the real possibility that Daisy is marrying a man she doesna love."

"Only my brother's stubborn pride forced him and Daisy apart. He thought breaking their engagement was for her own good."

"Fear as well as pride, I think. He thought she'd be disgusted by his stump. The old Daisy I met when I first came to London wouldn't have had the courage to wed a man with one leg, but the relationship with Rowan changed her."

"There has to be a way to get the two of them back together," she sighed.

Rowan wasn't the only officer at the reunion to have lost a limb at Waterloo, but he grudgingly admitted he seemed to be the only one who hadn't adapted to his impaired abilities.

Two one-armed former captains were having no trouble playing cards and drinking copious amounts of spirits, all the while laughing loudly at every lewd jest about the inventive ways they'd overcome their deformity while bedding their wives.

From the way Second Lieutenant Brodie easily maneuvered his way around the large mess hall, no one would guess an explosion had robbed him of an eye.

Rowan wished he hadn't attended. Waterloo had sickened his soul and turned him into a mockery of a man. It was only thanks to Niven's persistence that he'd survived the amputation and made it home, yet he even resented fellow officers' fawning over his brother-in-law's rendition of a lament for the fallen. The duty fulfilled, they'd urged him to play something livelier. Now, several drunken fools, Ash among them, were cavorting about pretending they knew the steps of a reel.

The plaintive sound of the pipes reminded Rowan too much of Waterloo, though he'd been spurred on during the battle by Niven's playing not too far away. The 32nd had been in the same brigade as the Cameron Highlanders.

But something else was missing. Thorne. Blaming himself for Rowan's injury, the youngest Halstead brother had disappeared. Rowan had insisted all along it wasn't Thorne's fault his horse had thrown him to the ground where a French cuirassier's saber was poised to take off his head. Naturally, Rowan had done his utmost to save his little brother and lost his leg in the process. But if the boy had exercised better control of his horse…

Desperate to banish the possibility he did blame Thorne, Rowan tossed back a third glass of whisky—definitely not Uachdaran . He'd lost his leg and the only woman he would ever love, all because…

Visions of his shrieking horse torn to bits by the shrapnel rose up behind his closed eyes. Or was it his own cries of agony he remembered?

"Cheer up," Ash yelled too close to his ear. "At least you're alive."

"Am I?" Rowan countered, startled into opening his eyes.

"I'm as tight as a boiled owl," Ash exclaimed with a grin, slurring his words and gleefully oblivious to Rowan's reply. "Let's have another drink. The ladies'll be here soon. Can't wait to get my hands on a juicy pair of Cupid's kettle drums."

Rowan decided he might as well keep drinking. He aimed to be flat out drunk when the ladies of the evening arrived to "entertain". If he couldn't face bedding Daisy, he certainly wasn't going to sample a whore's tits.

As the evening's festivities wore on, Niven became increasingly worried about his brothers-in-law. Ash was making a complete fool of himself with one of the whores hired to entertain . His equally inebriated comrades were egging on his attempts to remove all her clothing. There wasn't much Niven could do. Ash wouldn't welcome his interference. However, slouched in a chair on the periphery of the raucous celebrations, a glassy-eyed Rowan looked to be three sheets to the wind.

One of the older whores had approached him and been snarled at for her trouble. Apparently, even ladies of the evening were repulsed by amputated limbs.

Niven had planned to leave the reunion early and take a short carriage ride to his cousins' home. Ramsay House wasn't far away. He should at least show his face at Daisy's wedding reception and she'd appreciate his contribution of a few tunes on the fiddle. However, Rowan was obviously incapable of making it to the Halsteads' townhouse alone and Ash would be no help.

Shortly after midnight, with the assistance of two other drunken officers, he managed to half carry Rowan to their carriage. It was a good thing his brother-in-law was too drunk to hear their offensive comments about legless men.

"Aash? Wherz Ath?" Rowan babbled after Niven bundled him into the carriage .

"He'll hafta fend for himself," Niven replied, ordering the driver to proceed to the townhouse.

Rowan soon lapsed into a drunken haze. Other than snoring loudly, the only sound he made was a plaintively whispered, "Daithee."

Pressed into service once they reached home, Cosmo insisted he help take care of preparing Major Halstead for bed.