The Morning After

T he day after the reunion, it was mid-morning by the time Niven and Willow left the townhouse to travel to Ramsay House. Daisy had probably already departed on her honeymoon but Niven wanted to at least offer apologies to Daisy's brother for not attending the ceremony. Kenneth had likely paid for the whole event.

Rowan hadn't risen by the time they departed. "Nay surprising given the quantity o' spirits he imbibed at the reunion," he told Willow once they were out of her father's earshot. The Duke of Withenshawe had worried his eldest son might not cope well with the inevitable dredging up of horrific memories.

Niven kept to himself the details of assisting Cosmo to wrestle Rowan out of his uniform and into a nightshirt. In the hospital, his thigh had been swathed in bandages. This was the first time Niven had seen the blighted stump left behind by a hasty battlefield amputation. Now, he had a better understanding of Rowan's reluctance to take a wife.

"He's drinking more and more these days," Willow replied with a sigh. "I fear things will worsen when he hears about Daisy's marriage."

Half an hour later, they arrived at Ramsay House after crossing London. Niven should have known something was amiss when Harrison opened the front door to their knock. Nose twitching and lips pursed, the unflappable butler looked decidedly harried. Niven had never seen beads of sweat on his forehead. "Something awry, Harrison?" he asked.

The butler rolled his eyes—a very uncharacteristic gesture. "His Grace will no doubt keep you informed, Mr. King."

At that same moment, Kenneth and Cat hurried into the foyer to greet them. "I suppose you've heard?" Niven's cousin declared.

"Heard what?" Niven asked.

"When ye didna attend," Kenneth's Scottish wife replied. "We assumed ye kent."

Niven clenched his fists, his exasperation growing. "Kent what?"

"Daisy jilted her groom at the altar," Kenneth explained. "I've spent most of the morning smoothing ruffled feathers. Fernsby's understandably offended."

Willow ought to have been shocked by the news, but hope for her brother blossomed in her heart. There could only be one explanation for Daisy's decision—she was still in love with Rowan.

Cat invited her guests to the drawing room where the foursome sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.

"Ye dinna seem that upset," Niven finally said.

"Well," Kenneth replied. "I'm annoyed it took my sister until the last minute to realize she was making a mistake, but I'm relieved she didn't marry Fernsby."

It was really none of Willow's business, but she had to pursue the matter for her brother's sake. "May I ask why? The earl seems like a good catch."

Niven's cousin looked at her askance. "He is, but she doesn't love him."

Cat nodded. "She still pines for yer brother. 'Tis simply that Fernsby isna Rowan Halstead."

Willow's impatience got the better of her. "And my brother is still in love with her. The situation's ridiculous."

"Daisy has tried to talk to Rowan, to make him understand they belong together," Kenneth said.

"But he refuses to see her," Cat added.

"He can be stubborn," Willow agreed. "His own worst enemy."

"He's afraid," Niven declared. "He still considers himself half a man and canna believe Daisy doesna see him that way."

"I don't know what to do for the best," Kenneth admitted. "I want my sister to be happy."

"And I want the same for Rowan," Willow replied.

"There's one man who could possibly talk sense into Rowan," Niven suggested. "We were able to travel home from Flanders in the company of the Earl of Uxbridge who'd also lost a leg at Waterloo. He refused to put up with any of Rowan's whining."

"Interesting," Kenneth remarked. "He was recently invested as the Marquess of Anglesey as a reward for his service at Waterloo. I heard he attended court sporting some kind of mechanical limb."

"We must get in touch with him," Willow declared enthusiastically.

When they'd first arrived home from the church, Kenneth had instructed Daisy to remain in her suite of rooms in case Fernsby came to the house. Her tearful mother had helped her out of the wedding gown. Lady Maureen was sympathetic to her plight. Everyone in her family understood she still loved Rowan. She was sorry it had taken her until the last minute to realize she couldn't commit to Reginald. She'd have to apologize to him. He was probably annoyed that his pride had been dealt a severe blow. They got along well, but a marriage would never have worked. Reginald had confessed he didn't love her and resented the hours she spent at the mission helping destitute war amputees. It was a way to gain understanding of what Rowan had suffered, but she couldn't admit that to Reginald.

Upon hearing loud voices in the foyer the day after the fiasco at the church, she feared Reginald may well have come. It was a relief to recognize Niven's brogue. Years ago, she'd treated her Scottish cousin flippantly, but thank goodness they'd remained friends. Now, he was married to a sweet girl who adored him. Niven understood about the need for love in a marriage.

She blew her nose, slipped her feet into her shoes and left the suite, intending to join the conversation in the drawing room.

She stopped abruptly outside the half-open door when she heard Niven's wife speaking about Rowan. Willow claimed her brother still loved Daisy.

The revelation spawned new hope. She'd finally agreed to marry Reginald in the apparently mistaken belief Rowan no longer loved her. Heart pounding, she listened breathlessly to the rest of the conversation. Wherever this Marquess of Anglesey lived, she might need her brother's help to track him down. Perhaps he could talk sense into Rowan. A mechanical leg? Whoever heard of such a thing?

Daisy breezed into the drawing room. "I couldn't help but overhear," she said, making light of having intentionally eavesdropped. "You think this marquess could overcome Rowan's stubbornness?"

Niven rose to greet her. "Daisy, lass," he said, holding out his hands. "How are ye?"

"I'm ashamed of myself," she admitted, taking his hands. "Fernsby must think I led him on. I simply couldn't go through with it."

"Weel," her cousin replied. "Ye hafta be true to yerself. "

"Exactly," Daisy agreed. She'd known in her heart Niven would understand. His wife might be another matter. She was Rowan's sister, after all. "Did you speak true, Lady Willow? Does your brother still love me?"

"He's miserable and I think he misses you more each passing day."

"Then we must find the Marquess of Anglesey and convince him to speak to Rowan."

"I too traveled with him," Niven said. "He knows me. I'd be willin' to speak to him."

"What do you make of this talk of a mechanical leg?" Daisy asked, hesitant to invest too much hope in such a contraption.

"Sounds unlikely to me," Kenneth replied. "However, Trevithick invented an engine that runs on steam, and an Italian brought us the voltaic pile battery. Given modern scientific advancements, who knows what they'll come up with next?"

Encouraged, Daisy soldiered on. "So, how do we find the Marquess? Where exactly is Anglesey?"

Kenneth chuckled. "He may not actually live in Anglesey. He'll have been given the right to collect rents and chose the member of parliament. It's more likely we'll find him at court. Wellington would probably know, though he may still be in France."

Daisy inhaled deeply. The solution seemed to be at hand, yet farther away than ever. Still, every effort would be worth it if it meant convincing Rowan they belonged together.

Rowan awoke with a pounding headache and the metallic taste of inferior whisky in his mouth. He had no recollection of how he got home from the reunion the previous evening, though he suspected it was Niven who'd taken care of the job. Ash was too far into his cups. Cosmo must have helped once he got home. Who else would have swathed him in a modest nightshirt and put his uniform away in the armoire?

What a pathetic creature he was, having to rely on others for everything. It was past time he got hold of himself. He may have lost a leg but he was still alive and capable of better things. If he kept to the destructive path he was on, he'd waste away and die. His father would be devastated. Ash would inherit. God forbid.

"Pull yourself together, man," he exhorted, losing his patience when he couldn't find his crutch. "Corporal," he yelled at the top of his voice. "What the fyke have you done with my crutch?"

His dry throat rebelled. Soon, he couldn't stop coughing which only worsened the throbbing in his head.

True to form, Cosmo arrived within two minutes, Rowan's crutch tucked under his arm. He was carrying a tray on which perched a glass of ominously dark liquid. "Your restorative, Major," he intoned.

Simply eyeing the glass made Rowan's belly rebel, but he reluctantly accepted his valet wouldn't take no for an answer.

Jaw clenched and still not one hundred percent certain he'd regained his equilibrium, Rowan hobbled into the study that would be his when his father passed on. He used to love the cherrywood desk and the very masculine, mahogany-paneled room with its floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed full of learned tomes. He had looked forward to taking over responsibility for the affairs of the dukedom when the time inevitably came. Now, the task loomed like a seething volcano.

Patient and understanding as ever, his father hadn't pressed him, but he too must be worried about the future of the dukedom.

"I've come to apologize," Rowan stated when his father looked up and smiled.

"No need for that," came the reply as he was motioned to the red leather armchairs in front of the fire. "Imagine," his father continued when they were seated. "It's so chilly, we need a fire in June. It seems we're not to have a summer at all this year."

"They say it's thanks to some volcano in Asia that erupted last year," Rowan replied, glad of the chance to settle his nerves while they indulged in small talk. He'd never had a problem voicing his opinions to his father before. Looking back, he'd come to realize most of his opinions were bombastic at best. His brothers' eager seconding of every pronouncement he made had convinced him he was always right. How wrong he'd been. This was all too reminiscent of the gut-wrenching experience of being summoned to the Headmaster's office at Eton. "I've let you down, Your Grace," he began, swallowing the lump in his throat .

"You're my son and I love you," his father replied. "You're a war hero. And I prefer you call me Papa."

"I'm determined to pull myself together, Papa," he said.

"You've suffered a horrendous loss, Rowan. You were lucky not to die out there. No one expects you to simply carry on as if nothing had happened."

Rowan studied his once immaculate fingernails, now bitten to the quick. "Truth be told, I had no will to live and would have died had it not been for Niven. He was determined to get me home."

"Yes. We all misjudged that boy. Thank goodness he survived our attempts to be rid of him. At a time when the national economy is collapsing, he's made Withenshawe Shipping more profitable than ever."