“Can I help?”
He looked up at her and bit back a chuckle. Could she help him? In her current mode of dress that would be difficult, though even in a nurse outfit, she’d never really been able to pull his weight up. Without the use of that leg, he didn’t doubt he weighed twice his weight.
“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled, hauling his body upward.
He sat across from her, and noticed as the carriage rolled, she wouldn’t look at him. That annoyed him. The growing feeling that he was a nuisance to her stirred in his gut. Made the driving urge to get mobile again surge through him. He knew New York, he had means to get out of here and, as they passed more and more storefronts with glaring signs of enlisting for the Union and Federal flags, a coldness gripped him, the like he hadn’t felt before. He’d gone to war to forget Emma. The cause was irrelevant to him. His broken heart drove him. But now, the alienation of these northerners was seeping into him and for the first time, he needed to get out of here and return to the sunny South.
The carriage continued, the lull of the steady pace making him sleepy. He snapped his eyes back open. Being in this state, in this condition, was not one that he should fall asleep in. Heaven only knew what she’d do then. Perhaps drop him at a local sheriff’s office, as a prisoner of war? He glared out the windows, trying to ignore gazing in her direction. It was obvious to him she hadn’t taken her eyes off the scenery, so he’d do the same. Besides, to watch her was making his skin itch. She was too pretty to be so immersed in a war that was bloody and full of sights no woman should ever be subjected to. Half of him wanted to save her from the torment, but a voice deep inside countered she wanted to be there, to help the wounded. He shifted in his seat, the odd feeling that he was one of those types she wanted to help, yet he knew his side disgusted her, putting him in a precarious spot.
Yes, he needed to find a way to maneuver better and leave her, to return to his people.
That wayward thought, of his people, made him chuckle. And as much as he tried to contain it, the merriment was audible, enough it caught her attention with a questionable glare. That made him laugh again.
“Do you ever laugh, my dear?”
Her lips pursed and she returned to looking out the window.
“Of course, I laugh.”
“You do realize, in all the time I’ve know you, I’ve only seen you smile once. It’s a very pretty smile. You should practice it more often.”
This time, her brows inched high. “I’m a doctor. What I see most of the time is nothing to be jovial about.”
“Oh, that, I don’t deny, even from my own perspective. But, perhaps, it might lighten your heavy load and make us poor souls, so damaged, feel better.”
She growled.
“Like now. We are here, in New York, and it is the holidays. Granted, I’m still mending, but maybe, a little lightheartedness might be the medicine to help a poor soul like me.” When she didn’t turn, he added, “Think about it.”
The twitch in her jawline made him smile. He’d hit home. Good.
The carriage wheels slowed to a halt. With that, she jumped, adjusting her hat and coat.
“We are here.”
He glanced out the window on her side. Here was a rather large brick mansion with a white-pillared front of a three-storied residence. Sweet Briar, as she called it, was anything but warm. The design and surroundings pointed toward money. This was where they were to be, to help him recover on her leave? Baffled, he grabbed his cane and hissed as the pain streaked up his leg.
How the hell was he ever to get out of here?
Chapter 20
“I can’t spare this man. He fights.”
—Abraham Lincoln stated in reference to Grant.
James stood stoic, his gaze on the couple who’d just arrived at Sweet Briar. The girl he recognized, and it was helpful that he’d received the letter indicating her arrival. She appeared in good form, dressed in a neat travel gown, even if it was a bit dated—a notice only a man like himself, with managing a large wealthy estate, would notice. There were lines and shadows on her face that indicated a long, tiresome trip.
A limping man who followed her. He looked more like one of those useless men the butler found in the market square. Soldiers from the war sent home with injuries incapacitating them, mixed with the pickpockets and drunks that loitered the area. It took every ounce of years of service to his employer to keep his expression bland and unreadable when inside, James wanted to roll his eyes.
“Miss Lorrance, welcome to Sweet Briar.” James motioned to the doorman to take her cloak and the man’s coat.
She gave him a smile. “Thank you, James. How nice of you to remember me.”
“Master Leonard notified me you’d be arriving, so we are prepared.”
“Is Will here?”
“No, madam. He told me to let you know he’ll arrive before the end of your stay.”
She looked momentarily perturbed but inhaled, steeling her shoulders. James inwardly grinned. He’d always liked Miss Lorrance. He’d always felt she’d be a good match for Master Will…With a deep inner sigh, he threw that wayward thought aside.
“Did he tell you I’d be bringing a…” she paused. “A guest?”
James’s gaze narrowed. Before he spoke, the man jumped right in.
“Perhaps in our hasty departure, he didn’t include it.” He gave the butler a look. “Francois Fontaine, a distant cousin, twice removed.”
James bit back the snort. The slight southern drawl with a French curl would indeed make this individual distant to anyone the butler knew.
“Of course, sir,”
