The Three Colonels

arrangements for our departure. We will return shortly.” Philip gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze and left with Darcy.

Buford stared deeply into his wife’s pale face. He could read the revulsion clearly written upon it. “Caroline, you should not have come.”

“Why not? I bore the voyage well, and the babe is in no danger.”

It cost him some hurt, but Buford turned his head away anyway. “You should not see me… like this.”

“John, I had to come.”

All the fears that had built up inside him since the battle now burst out. “What kind of husband can I be to you? I am but half a man!” He held up his left arm, the sleeve pinned back over the stump the surgeon left. “Look at me! Look at the wreck I have become! Left arm gone, face scarred, hip slashed wide open. I do not know if I will even stand again!” He did not grieve for himself; he accepted his wounds as payment for his mistrust of and infidelity to his wife. He had committed great sins against his marriage, and he earned every iota of pain he now suffered. The tears that ran unheeded down his battered face were for everything that Caroline had lost—a strong, faithful, useful husband who could provide for and protect his family. “You deserve better than me.”

His wife’s wet eyes went wide with hurt. “What madness is this?”

“Caroline, you cannot even look at me without crying.”

Understanding flowed over her countenance. With fierce determination, Caroline grasped her husband’s good arm. “Now you see here, Colonel Buford!” she managed through her weeping. “I do not weep for me! I am pained beyond measure for you! I am in agony for what you have endured! Could I but bear this burden for you, I would! But since I cannot, I will have to bear it with you.”

“But you should not have to—”

“Is that not what I promised to you and God when we married? Do you think I will shirk my duty now? What a low opinion you have of me, sir!”

“You twist my words—”

“Do you really think I will abandon you now? God’s teeth, you are my very life. I will never leave you, my love—never!”

Buford wept without moderation. “Oh, Caro, my love!”

Caroline tried to kiss him, but he flinched. “Does it hurt?”

“No, but my face…”

She gently touched the undamaged right cheek. “Johnny, I kiss not your face—but you.”

Buford painfully tried to embrace her, but he could not. His left arm had been taken off at the elbow. “Damn it! I cannot take you into my arms!”

“Oh, Johnny,” she said, “do not concern yourself. I have arms enough for both of us.”

*   *   *

When Darcy and Philip returned, they found Lady Buford half lying over Sir John in a tender embrace. The two stepped back into the hallway and gave the couple a minute’s privacy before Philip coughed loudly.

“Is the carriage packed and ready, Philip?” came Caroline’s voice from within.

“No,” said Philip, “but it will be very soon.”

“Then come back when it is. And close the door.”

The two gentlemen looked at each other in embarrassment. Darcy reached out and pulled the door shut. He cleared his throat. “It is the least we can do.”

“Umm… yes,” agreed his companion. “Did I see some chairs on the porch?”

“I believe you did,” said Darcy. “I do not think it too warm to sit outside. Do you?”

“Not at all. Very pleasant today.”

“Yes. Well…” Darcy gestured towards the outside door.

The two made their way outside, took their seats, and watched the coachman load the carriage.

Chapter 29

Three colonels—one in red, two in blue—rode with the owner of the Darcy carriage through the streets of London on an uncommonly mild August afternoon. The four gentlemen were silent as the carriage made its way from the docks to the more fashionable part of town. Finally, the coachman brought it to a stop before the Buford townhouse. The gentlemen disembarked and climbed the few steps to the door. They were met in the foyer by the butler and Mrs. Albertine Buford.

Moments later, the group was shown into the sitting room. Awaiting them were two people: a lady in light blue and a gentleman wearing a black coat and breeches. The gentleman’s struggles to rise from the sofa caused his wife some distress. She made to help, but she was gently brushed aside.

“Now, leave off, Caroline,” grumbled Colonel Sir John Buford. “I will meet these guests on my two feet. I need no assistance.”

The four men watched as Buford slowly, shakily rose, his right hand tightly gripping a cane, while the sleeve of his left arm was pinned at his elbow. He clearly favored his right leg, and his once-handsome face was scarred and bandaged. Still, his bright blue eyes were clear and only slightly pained, and once on his feet, he looped the cane about his outstretched arm and made to shake each of his guests’ hands.

“Brandon, Fitzwilliam—well met! And Denny, too! By thunder, it is good to see you all again. Darcy, thank you for bringing them.”

While her husband greeted his friends, Caroline watched over him with pride. “Would you gentlemen please be seated?” she asked. “Colonel Brandon, how well you look in a Dragoon uniform! Blue becomes you, I think.” She then helped her husband retake his own seat.

“Caroline, may I introduce—” Buford looked again to be certain, “Colonel Denny? Congratulations, my friend!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Buford turned to Fitzwilliam and grinned. “I understand you are to get the Bath, Fitz. It could not happen to a better fellow!”

“Shall we call you Sir Richard, now?” asked Caroline.

Sir Richard laughed. “From you, I would prefer Richard or Fitz. I know I will never get anything else out of Buford!”

Sir John chuckled as his wife continued. “And you, Colonel Brandon—I thought you a brigadier.”

Brandon smiled. “It was my temporary rank during the occupation, my lady. I shall retire at my permanent rank, but with the Light Dragoons rather than the Life Guards.” He looked at Buford. “I will never wear any uniform except Dragoon blue from now on.”

Buford nodded in understanding. “So, tell me of your occupation duty in Paris. Was there any trouble?”

Caroline watched as Sir John conversed easily with his former comrades, now as dear to her as they were to her husband. In Brussels, she had learned that these three men searched the Waterloo battlefield relentlessly for hours for a sign of Sir John. They were the ones who carried his battered body back to the surgeons. If not for Brandon, Denny, and Fitzwilliam, Caroline knew she would be wearing black instead of light blue this night. These men saved her husband’s life. Tears pricked at her eyes.

The same thought must have occupied Mrs. Albertine Buford, as a sob escaped her lips as she rose slightly unsteadily to her feet. “If you gentlemen would excuse me,” she apologized, “I should see to the tea.” Lifting a hand, she forestalled her daughter. “No, my dear, stay and entertain your guests.”

The gentlemen were uneasy, and Sir John was concerned, but Caroline explained, “All is well, gentlemen. My mother is… very thankful for all you have done. She has lost so much already.”

The atmosphere sobered, and Sir Richard looked hard at Sir John. “Buford, I want you to know—we all want you to know that… well if you need anything, any assistance, you have but to ask.”

Brandon quieted Richard with a hand on his shoulder. “What Fitzwilliam means is that, as well as our friend,