“I will not visit him,” Ellen said, “unless he also receives Jennifer. She is his flesh and blood, Dorothy. I am merely the widow of his son. No, I will not go. I will see her respectably married on my own after our year of mourning is at an end and then carry on with my own life. I don’t need your father. I don’t need anyone. Only Charlie, and he is gone.”

“Don’t upset yourself.” Lady Habersham pulled a hand-herchief from her pocket to dab at her own eyes. She looked up at Ellen, who had got to her feet and was looking back at her, unshed tears brightening her eyes. “I will talk to Papa. He is so stubborn, Ellen. And so hurt. Oh, dear, I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen closed the distance between them, and laid a hand lightly on the other’s shoulder. “This is hard on you, Dorothy,” she said, “being a go-between like this. I understand, and I honor you for remaining loyal to both sides all these years. But I can’t make it easy for you, I’m afraid. I can’t go and visit him without Jennifer.”

Their conversation was interrupted at that moment by the entrance of the butler, who presented a card on a silver salver to his mistress.

Lady Habersham picked it up, read it, and smiled up at Ellen. “This should cheer you up,” she said. “You have a visitor, my dear. Is he waiting downstairs?” she asked the butler.

“Yes, ma’am,” that individual said, bowing.

“Who?” Ellen asked.

“Charlie’s friend,” Lady Habersham said with a bright smile. “The one Jennifer was taken with. The one you nursed in Brussels. Lord Eden. Show him up, Hancock.”

“No!” Ellen spun around to face the butler. “No. You will tell him, if you please, that neither I nor Miss Simpson is at home.”

“Ellen, dear…”

“We are not at home,” Ellen told the butler firmly.

He looked inquiringly at Lady Habersham, bowed, and left the room.

“But why?” Lady Habersham’s voice was puzzled. “I thought you would be delighted to see him, Ellen. Was he not a very close friend of yours and Charlie’s?”

“Excuse me.” Ellen did not turn around to look at her sister-in-law. “Excuse me, please, Dorothy. I, er…We…Excuse me, please.” She hurried from the room.

Lady Habersham was left to stare after her in some dismay. Clearly Ellen was not as far along the road to recovery as she had hoped, if she went to pieces like this at the prospect of meeting someone who would remind her of Charlie and the events surrounding the Battle of Waterloo.

LORD EDEN HAD SPENT almost a month in Brussels with his mother and brother before they felt that he was fit for the journey home. There he had concentrated all his energies on his physical health, forcing himself every day to greater and greater effort, priding himself on the gradual return of stamina and weight and muscle.

He had set goals for himself. By such and such a day he would be able to set foot outside the hotel, or walk for fifteen minutes or half an hour, or ride a horse. By such and such a day he would be ready to return to England. Edmund’s frequently woebegone expression spurred him on to the last goal. Edmund was missing his family, though not by a single word would he ever have admitted the truth.

They had come home eventually, leaving Madeline behind. She was still busy nursing Lieutenant Penworth, whose recovery was necessarily slower than his own, and was made slower by the patient’s own lack of will to live. Madeline had refused to listen to any of the advice she had been given, gently by her mother and older brother, scathingly by him. She was convinced that she loved the lieutenant and would be happy with him for a lifetime. And when Mad once got a notion into her head, Lord Eden had to admit at last, there was no shaking it.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she really did love the man. And perhaps she would live happily ever after with him. Who knew? And who was he to judge? He was no great expert on love and happiness.

He had been back in England for a month. Back in London. Getting himself out of the army and back into civilian life. It was unusual for his brother to spend much time away from Amberley, especially during the summer months. But on this occasion he did stay, with Alexandra and the children. And so did the dowager, with whom Lord Eden took up residence. And his uncle, Mr. William Carrington, was there too, with Aunt Viola and Walter and Anna. They had come to London in the spring for Anna’s come-out Season. They had stayed after the Battle of Waterloo in order to have news of him. And then they stayed until he came home. And now they were staying-as was the rest of the family-for Madeline’s return.

His physical recovery was progressing daily. Provided he walked and rode and exercised in moderation, he could almost forget his injuries. It was only when he forgot and exerted himself too much that he felt the old twinges and aches in his side and the old breathlessness. And only when he caught sight of himself shirtless in a mirror that he was reminded of the ugliness of his wound.

His emotional state he did not explore too deeply. In Brussels he had had to block thoughts of Ellen from his mind. They were too painful, and threatened his physical recovery. After the first week, when his mother finally informed him that she was no longer in Brussels but had gone home to England, he felt some relief. There was no chance that he would come face-to-face with her if he went outside.

And back in England he kept up the mental block. He would not think of her. He would put her behind him with all the other pain and nightmare of the Battle of Waterloo. He would not think of Charlie because doing so reminded him that he had lost a friend so dear that he had felt almost like a brother. And he would not remember Ellen because doing so reminded him that he had lost what might have been the happiness of the rest of his life.

He would not think of her.

And when he did-as he inevitably did every single day and every single hour-it was to admit that she had probably been right. He had loved her because she had nursed him with such gentleness and devotion. Because they had been cut off together from the rest of the world. Because she was beautiful and had great strength of character. Because they had both been carrying the burden of a great grief that they were afraid to admit even to themselves and had turned to each other for comfort.

It had not been love. It had not been lust either. But definitely not love. Not the sort that could last a lifetime through the daily routine of marriage.

When the pain was gone and he could eventually think quite openly about their affair, he would be able to remember it and her with some pleasure. But it was an affair for memory only. It was not something that he would want to revive.

He had promised Charlie, as his friend was dying, that he would look after his wife and his daughter, that he would see to it that they were never in need. It was very possible that Charlie had not heard. He had almost completed his journey into death when the words were spoken. But that did not matter. The fact was that the promise had been made and that it was binding.

And so it nagged at Lord Eden’s mind for the month after his return to England. And he knew that he could never know peace of mind until he had called upon Ellen and Miss Simpson to satisfy himself that they were not in need. But always he would pay that call tomorrow. There was always a good reason why it should not be made today.

It was Susan Jennings who finally decided him that the visit could be postponed no longer. Susan too had lost her husband at Waterloo. She was in London, staying at the home of Lord Renfrew, her brother-in-law. Her mother, Mrs. Courtney, had come up from the country to be with her.

The two of them had called a couple of times on Alexandra while he was still in Brussels, and once since to inquire after his health. And they called again a month after his return, while he himself was also at his brother’s house.

“It is so lovely to see you home safe and sound again, my lord,” Mrs. Courtney said in her motherly way, squeezing his hand and patting it. “And quite as handsome as ever. Though thinner, I believe. Is he not thinner, ma’am?” She turned to the dowager Lady Amberley for confirmation.

Susan withdrew a lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her tears. She gazed at him with large soulful hazel eyes.

“I would not have called, my lord,” she said, “if I had known that you and her ladyship were also visiting. I would not have intruded. Mama and I merely wished to hear how you did. I am very, very happy that you escaped the fate of my dear husband.”

She dissolved into further tears and was comforted by her mama.

She looked remarkably pretty, Lord Eden thought, even in her mourning. The unrelieved black of her dress made her look more fragile than ever and complemented the auburn of her hair.

But it was not Susan he saw in his mind after she and Mrs. Courtney had taken their leave. He saw Ellen as he had seen her last, also in black, hiding herself in the shadows of her living room in Brussels. She would still be wearing mourning. So would Miss Simpson.

He must call upon them. She had told him, of course, that she never wanted to see him again. But he had promised Charlie. Besides, she had spoken at an emotionally charged moment. Despite everything that had happened between them in those rooms, they were still friends of long standing. He owed her a courtesy visit. He must put it off no longer.

Even so, he had to use all his willpower the next day not to make excuses yet again for staying away from the house on Bedford Square. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he handed his card to Lady Habersham’s butler and asked if he might wait upon Mrs. Simpson and her stepdaughter.

It was strange, he thought as he left the house a few minutes later, having left his card and the message that he would call again the next day. He had rehearsed several scenes that might develop from his call. He had pictured Ellen upset or angry or cold or even glad, and he had dealt with all those possibilities in his mind. But he had not at all prepared himself for finding that she was from home. He had not prepared his mind for perhaps having to go through the same ordeal all over again.

Or perhaps she was at home. Perhaps she would not see him. He would find out the next day, he supposed, when she would be expecting him. He mounted his horse and turned its head toward the stone gateposts and the square beyond.

ELLEN STOOD LOOKING DOWN at him. He was wearing very fashionable civilian clothes. She had never seen him out of his officer’s uniform. Except in those last few weeks, of course.

He looked strange. Different. And very, very familiar.

She wished she could relive the past few minutes. She would not behave in the same way. She had been very foolish, very uncontrolled. But he had taken her by surprise. She had not expected him. And so she had reacted by instinct. And instinct had made a coward of her. She had run from him.

She would not have expected to act that way. In two months she had worked him out of her system. Her grief at her loss of Charlie had outweighed all else in her life. It had been far, far worse than she had expected even in her worst nightmares. It had paralyzed her, taken away all her will to live, to do, and to plan.

She had put Lord Eden out of her mind, out of her heart. And she had forgiven herself for what they had done together. In the absence of anyone to confess her guilt to-in the absence of Charlie-she had forgiven herself. He had been right about that one thing. Neither of them had been ready to face the truth, and so they had turned to each other. They had become lovers briefly.

There had been no love involved, only a physical and emotional need. They had filled the void for each other for a few days.

There was no point in carrying around a burden of guilt with her for the rest of her life. No point at all. And so she forgave herself. And him. She did not hate him. But she did not love him either. She had no feelings for him. He had been Charlie’s friend. That was all.

But she did not want to see him again. She did not want to be reminded either of those days when he had been almost a part of their family or of the days after Waterloo. She did not want to see him again. And she had assumed that honor would make him respect her final refusal to allow him to see her.

She had been taken by surprise. And instead of receiving him downstairs in Dorothy’s presence and conversing politely with him for half an hour, she had run like a frightened rabbit to hide in her room.