“Nicholas”—her smile was tight—“you’ve worn your uniform. How . . . nice.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
There had been an enormous fight over his and Stephen’s clothes for the wedding. Harsh words had also been hurled over the fact that the ceremony was rushed and there would be no honeymoon.
However, the squabbling had occurred between Veronica and her mother, with Veronica demanding that her mother do something. Nicholas had had no part in the quarrel and wouldn’t have heeded either woman if they’d had the temerity to confront him, which they hadn’t. Lucky for them.
“Let’s go in, shall we?” She extended her arm for him to take.
“Yes, let’s.”
They started off together, as if they were marching down the aisle at the cathedral, and the notion was terrifying. His throat was closing, and he couldn’t breathe.
The prospect of returning to the party was unbearable, and he was so lost in his pitiful reverie, that he scarcely realized someone was calling, “Captain Price! Captain Price!”
He frowned as a beggar stumbled toward him. Dressed in rags, he was filthy and decrepit. His left arm was missing, the empty sleeve of his shirt tucked in the waist of his trousers.
“It’s me, Captain,” the fellow said. “It’s me, Ted Smith. Don’t you remember?”
“Teddy?” Nicholas asked. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Captain. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”
Ted had served under him for three years until he’d been maimed and sent home. Nicholas had never heard from him again, and though he’d posted several letters to England, inquiring after his health, he’d never received a reply. Ultimately, he’d wondered if the young man hadn’t perished from his injuries.
“What happened to you, Ted?” Nicholas asked, appalled by his condition.
“I’ve had a spot of trouble, Captain. I admit it.”
“But . . . I thought you went to live with your parents. I thought they were going to take care of you.”
“Both passed away, sir, with the influenza. I didn’t find out until I arrived and there was a new family settled in our house.”
Veronica tried to tug Nicholas away. “Nicholas, come on! Mother and Father are expecting me, and I’m horridly late.”
Nicholas ignored her.
“Wasn’t your father the village minister?”
Ted had grown up in church, listening to his father’s sermons, so he’d been the regiment’s make-shift preacher. Whenever they’d needed prayers or a quick funeral, he’d volunteered.
“Yes, my father was a vicar,” Ted explained, “so the house wasn’t really ours. It belonged to the Church.”
“Why didn’t anyone help you? How did you end up in London?”
“I had a job offer, so I moved to the city, but it didn’t work out, and I didn’t have any money to return to the country. With the folks being deceased, there wasn’t anything to return to anyway.”
Veronica fumed and tugged harder. “Nicholas!”
“Could you spare a bit of change, Captain? I promise to pay you back when I can.”
The spectators were intrigued by the conversation, and they were pressing in while Veronica’s outriders were pushing and shoving, clearing a path for her.
Someone tripped and someone staggered, and suddenly, Ted—in his grimy, tattered clothes—was knocked into Veronica. Their contact was brief and minimal, but she shrieked with outrage.
“Get him off me! Get him off!” she screamed, even though he wasn’t touching her.
Her outriders withdrew clubs and started swinging them. Innocent bystanders cursed and jumped out of range, which had others reeling and falling. A full-on riot seemed likely, and he and Veronica were pulled forward by her servants.
Nicholas hurried where he was led, wanting Veronica inside before a melee ensued. The butler held the door, and as they swept into the foyer, he slammed and locked it behind them.
After the noisy chaos of the street, it was very quiet. Veronica trembled with fury.
“Filthy beggar!” She was wiping at her skirt as if it was dirty, but it wasn’t. “Filthy, disgusting beggar!”
“I know him,” Nicholas said. “He served with me.”
“Soliciting you for money,” she scathingly continued. “Accosting us as if we were a pair of . . . missionaries. How dare he!”
“He’s poor. He’s hungry.”
“He didn’t have an arm, the revolting swine! He deigned to touch me, and he didn’t have an arm!”
Her mother appeared down the hall, coming to check on the commotion.
“Mother!” Veronica’s voice was shrill with offense. “Mother, you won’t believe what he let happen to me!”
She stormed off, spewing a flood of vitriol, as her mother guided her into a nearby parlor and shut the door. In a matter of seconds, Nicholas was alone with the butler. The man stared implacably, not a hint showing as to his opinion of Veronica’s display, of the fact that her footmen had been beating people with sticks out in the driveway.
“Lord Stafford,” the man said, “I have a letter for you.”
“A letter?” Nicholas scowled, unable to imagine who might have written or why it would have arrived at the supper party.
“Yes, it came a bit ago. I was searching for you, but you’d stepped out.”
He retrieved it from a drawer in a table. As Nicholas reached for it, he saw the word URGENT penned on the front, but he didn’t recognize the handwriting.
“Do you know who it’s from? Or who delivered it?”
“It was brought from your residence by a servant. Your staff has been trying to track you down all afternoon. I’m told it’s imperative that you read it immediately.”
“Thank you.”
He stuffed it in his coat.
He needed to find Ted and learn where he was staying, but he wouldn’t exit into the unrest. An angry mob had formed, and he had no desire to brawl. Not without a weapon or Stephen guarding his back.
Instead, he dawdled, wishing he could simply vanish. He was weary and dismayed and . . . sad. Yes, he was very sad; he couldn’t deny it.
Veronica emerged from the room where she’d been whining to her mother. She stomped over, her fury still not quelled, but he was in no mood for a tantrum.
“We should go in.” She grabbed his arm. “Father has waited too long. His patience is waning.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“You spoiled everything!”
“It was your outriders inciting the crowd. I was just standing there minding
