The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(27)

"War is certainly a dreadful waste," he said, with a shake of his head. The toast in his mouth now tasted like sawdust, and he had to force himself to swallow. He hated talking about it. Even worse, he hated her being upset.



"Oh it's not just that which is making me sad," she admitted. "He'd only gone over recently, as part of a new fresh batch of reinforcements after Christmas. He was so eager to get a chance to do his part. He complained when he got put into the besieging forces. He had wanted something a bit more lively, he said. He said that sitting in front of a city gate was dull work. Well, he certainly got his excitement after all." She heaved another huge sigh.



Alexander cleared his throat and asked softly. "Are there, um, well-- Are there any other special friends you need to look up bedsides this Gareth?"



"Only Michael Avenel, Viscount Glyne, and Dr. Blake Sanderson. Blake is no doubt at the field hospital, safe and sound. As for Michael, he isn't at Bayonne. He's with the rest of the army on the march up through France."



"What regiment?"



"He was with the 45th, and more recently with the 92nd. He's such a superb soldier, he signed on at the start and has never missed a day from illness or leave. A great hero if ever there was one. You may have heard of him. They call him the Grim Reaper."



"Has he ever been wounded?"



She shook her head. "Never once, remarkably enough, though he's always in the thick of the fighting. He saw a lot of action at Orthes in February. That's the last we heard of him."



Alexander could hear her admiration clearly in her voice, and tried to tamp down the surge of jealousy which rose through him like a choking tide. "Perhaps you'd better look over the other papers you brought. I know you've been too busy to keep up with all the news."



"I can do better than that," Sarah said, before draining her cup of tea.



"Oh?"



"Yes, there is a pile of letters downstairs waiting for me. I can read them to you after we've bathed."



"Aren't they private?" he asked in surprise. The letters might be upsetting to her, as well as himself. Yet at the same time it was nice to feel included, as if he really did belong.



"Oh, no, not at all. Not in the house or amongst our Rakehell set. We're all friends."



"Well, thank you for including me in that group," he said sincerely.



"Actually, you're more than friends, you're family now, aren't you, Cousin," she said firmly. "So just be glad you don't have to help me with all the thank you notes for the wedding."



"Shouldn't your brother and his wife be tending to them?"



"They should, but I act as Jonathan's secretary because his handwriting is so poor. And he and Pamela are quite busy trying to get a grip on the reins at Ashton Manor now that he is officially the owner of the property. Pamela's father's will was overturned, and Jonathan, a distant cousin, turned out to be heir. The present Mrs. Ashton and her son refused to be beholdened to my brother, and have just closed up the house and moved north to live with her own people. I was helping them yesterday just before you arrived. Pamela asked Gareth before he departed to be steward to the property.



"Gareth will come home, I'm sure of it, and can take up all the duties then," she said as if it were a fact that could not possibly be refuted. As if she would not even admit possibility that the bright young man could be dead. "I can simply sign the thank you notes for both of them. Most of them won't know the difference. And it does well to keep busy."



"But Jonathan's wife should be his aide now, should she not? Now that he's wed, what are your plans for the future?" Alexander found himself asking.



Her face fell. She replied stiffly, "I haven't really thought too much about it, to be honest. I imagine things will stay pretty much the same, at least for the time being."



He gave her an almost pitying smile. "I'm sure you're too young and lively to be a spinster content to simply live in her brother's shadow for the rest of your life. And while this vicarage is a very fine home, it's not terribly large."



She blushed. In her frostiest tone she said, "There's no hurry. I have plenty of time to--"



"So you have no beau?" he blurted out, though inwardly he cursed himself for being so blunt.



"I know many nice--"



"No prospect of being wed in the near future?" he pressed, shocked at his own boldness but determined to know precisely where he stood.



"No, not at all," she said, sounding astounded by the very idea.



"I find that hard to believe, Sarah," he remarked, his tone now an almost husky purr.