Wrestling With Demons

" F irst time I've seen Lord Liverpool in person," Niven mused as the carriage pulled away from Plas Newyyd.

"Me too," Rowan replied half-heartedly.

It wasn't much, but the two words were the first Rowan had spoken since the dedication ceremony the previous day.

"The Prime Minister is reputed to be a tyrant," Niven remarked, hoping to keep the conversation going. Four days cooped up in a carriage with a silent traveling companion loomed large. Rowan had never been an easy conversationalist, especially since the war, but Niven had hoped the marquess' revelations might have loosened his brother-in-law's tongue.

Rowan shrugged. "I suppose he's doing his best given the economic woes the country is experiencing," he replied, apparently warming to the subject. "Unemployment, bad harvests, high prices. "

"Good of Wellington to put in an appearance," Niven said when his brother-in-law again drifted into silence.

"Yes."

It appeared Rowan wasn't about to weigh in on the bad blood between Wellington and Anglesey.

Niven tried again. "Two celebrated heroes at odds over Anglesey's affair with Wellington's sister-in-law years ago."

"At least the marquess had the good sense to marry the woman he loved," Rowan replied.

Niven got the feeling they were speaking about two different things, but better he stay out of it. Only Rowan could resolve the problem he'd created with Daisy.

Rowan appreciated Niven's silence. The canny Scot knew enough to keep quiet while Rowan spent hours wrestling with his demons. His heart recognized he had to get Daisy back, but his brain said otherwise—at least until he got his hands on one of Potts' artificial legs. True, he couldn't wear the contraption to bed, but…

"Get a grip," he exclaimed, startling Niven out of a doze.

"Solved it yet?" his brother-in-law asked with a yawn.

"You must think I'm an idiot," Rowan replied, despairing of the worsening state of his fingernails.

"It doesna matter what I think," Niven countered.

"Did you know Daisy was helping homeless veterans of Waterloo? "

"I heard something o' the sort," Niven confessed.

"Did you know she was engaged to some earl?"

"Aye, but she didna go through wi' the marriage. Her heart wasna in it."

"I'll wager her fiancé was livid. Who was he?"

"Reginald Fernsby, and Kenneth is still trying to persuade him not to sue."

"Handsome fellow, and wealthy too. Has all his limbs."

"Daisy doesna care about that. She loves ye, idiot."

"Do you think she'll have me back?"

"Why do ye suppose she finagled our invitation to Wales?"

Rowan chuckled as his exhausted brain finally saw the light. "Anglesey confided she took him to task for the pathetic support the country is providing for homeless veterans who lost limbs during the war."

"She's right. 'Tis appallin'."

"I've been so wrapped up in my own grief, I never gave a thought to the plight of men without the means to cope. I could help Daisy with her charitable work."

"She'd love ye all the more for it."

Hope, long since dead, blossomed in Rowan's heart. "But first, the new leg."

After four days on the road, Niven thoroughly resented his brother-in-law's new-found lease on life. Rowan hadn't stopped talking since the afternoon of their departure from Plas Newyyd. If he wasn't singing Daisy's praises, he was extolling Anglesey's wisdom or the miracle of the flexible artificial leg.

Niven had missed his wife and ached to be inside Willow's warm, welcoming sheath again. However, he couldn't object to Rowan's insistence they head straight to James Potts' establishment once they reached the outskirts of London. Willow would understand the delay.

As it happened, Potts was out, but his elderly, bespectacled assistant explained the workings of the Anglesey leg. "It's made of a wooden shank and socket, a steel knee joint and an articulated foot that's controlled by catgut tendons from the knee to the ankle."

Trying visibly to hide his disappointment, Rowan nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I know that already. Can I make an appointment to consult with Mr. Potts?"

"Of course. Would Tuesday next be convenient? Mr. Potts prefers to consult at your place of residence."

They left after Rowan provide directions to the townhouse. "Good," he exclaimed once they were settled in the carriage. "I think I prefer he come to see me."

Niven nodded his agreement. If he was the person having usually clothed parts of his body measured, he'd prefer it be done in the comfort and privacy of his home.

Niven and Rowan arrived home in mid-afternoon, but Willow couldn't wait until nighttime to make love to her husband. He was as anxious as she to reunite their bodies, so it wasn't hard to convince him to take her to bed.

"I missed this," she murmured as he suckled her nether lips.

"Mmm," he agreed, swiping his tongue over her sensitive nub.

Release came immediately. She was still screaming her euphoria when Niven thrust inside her and the rapture went on and on.

Afterwards, they lay sated as the shadows lengthened.

"We should get dressed for dinner soon," he said. "Rowan and yer father will wonder what's happened to us."

"I think they can probably guess," she replied. "Anyway, tell me all about the journey. Rowan looks happier. Did Anglesey talk to him?"

"Minx," he teased. "Ye dinna care a whit about how yer husband fared in Wales."

"Of course I do," she retorted.

"Prove it," he challenged.

So she did.

Rowan expected an elderly man on the Tuesday following his return home, but James Potts couldn't have been long out of the schoolroom. Being measured by the young genius wasn't that much different from Rowan's visits to the tailor's shop before the war, except when it came to exposing his stump. However, Potts' professionalism made it bearable and over quickly. Cosmo kept a wary eye on the entire proceedings.

His valet frowned when Potts quoted a hefty price for the artificial leg. Rowan didn't blink, but balked when informed it would take six weeks to manufacture. "Six weeks!" he exclaimed.

Potts dithered. "You see, my lord, it takes time to carve the wood to exact specifications and to procure the catgut for the tendons and the hinges for…"

Rowan couldn't wait that long to visit Daisy walking upright without a crutch. "I'll double the fee if you can produce it in three weeks," he said.

Cosmo gasped. "Major, Sir," he began, but Rowan waved away his objection.

Potts' eyes widened. "Well, I suppose we could make some adjustments to the length of time it takes."

"So, we have a deal," Rowan declared, extending a hand.

Potts accepted the gesture. "I may have to return to take further measurements but, yes, I agree to produce your leg in three weeks."

After the young man left, Rowan tolerated Cosmo's glaring disapproval while his valet redressed him. He then decided to put pen to paper and compose the missive to Daisy rattling round in his head.