LITMIR.BIZ

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of blank despair that was only partly lifted as Hugh rushed up and grabbed his hand, Welsh words pouring forth.

      The raw feeling in Hugh’s face made Jocelyn uncomfortable. As she shifted her gaze away, her eyes were caught and held at the bottom of Rhys’s bed. Where there should have been two legs under the covers, there was only one. The left had been amputated just below the knee.

      She swallowed before approaching to touch Hugh’s arm. He turned with a guilty start. “I’m sorry, my lady. I forgot myself.”

      She gave a smile that included both of them. “No apologies are necessary. Corporal Morgan, may I introduce myself? I am Lady Jocelyn Kendal, and I have the honor of being your brother’s employer.”

      Rhys propped himself up against the wall behind his cot, alarmed at the vision of elegance before him. With a bob of his head, he stammered, “My pleasure, ma’am.”

      Hugh hissed, “Call her ‘my lady,’ you looby.”

      A wave of color rose under the fair Celtic skin as the soldier attempted to apologize. Wanting to alleviate his embarrassment, Jocelyn said, “It’s of no importance, Corporal. Tell me, are you two twins?”

      “Nay, I’m a year the elder,” Rhys replied. “But we’ve oft been taken as twins.”

      “You are very alike,” Jocelyn remarked.

      “Not any more,” Rhys said bitterly as he glanced at the flat bedding where his leg should have been.

      Jocelyn colored with embarrassment. Deciding the brothers would be better off without her inhibiting presence, she said, “I’ll go find my friend now and leave you to visit. When I’m finished, I’ll return here, Morgan.”

      Hugh looked uncertain. “I should go with you, my lady.”

      “Nonsense, what could happen to me in a military hospital?” she replied. “Corporal Morgan, do you know where the officers are quartered?”

      He straightened when she asked for help. “The floor above, ma’am. My lady.”

      “Thank you. I shall see you both later.” Jocelyn left the room, conscious of the stares that followed her. Impossible not to remember that while she had been living in comfort in London, these men had been getting blown to bits for their country.

      Climbing a staircase to the next level, she found a long, empty corridor with individual doors instead of open wards. As she hesitated, a thickset man of middle years strode purposefully from a nearby room. Guessing he was a physician, she said, “I’m looking for Captain Richard Dalton of the 95th Rifles. Is he in this area?”

      “Down the hall.” The doctor waved his hand vaguely behind him, then marched off before she could get more specific directions.

      Resigned to trial and error, Jocelyn opened the first door. A nauseating stench sent her into hurried retreat. Aunt Laura, who had done her share of nursing in Spain, had once described gangrene, but the reality was far more sickening than Jocelyn had imagined. Luckily, the still figure on the bed was not the man she sought.

      The next doors opened to empty beds or men too badly injured to notice her intrusion. No Captain Dalton. More and more unnerved, she opened the last door on the corridor. Several figures stood around a table with a man lying on it. A scalpel flashed, followed by a blood-freezing scream of agony.

      Jocelyn slammed the door shut and ran blindly into the open space at the end of the corridor. She’d thought it would be simple to locate a friend. Instead, she was finding the worst suffering she’d ever seen in her life.

      Eyes clouded with tears, she didn’t even see the man until she slammed into a hard body. There was a clatter of falling wood, then a strong hand grabbed her arm. Jocelyn gasped, on the verge of a hysterical scream.

      “Sorry to be in your way,” a quiet voice said. “Do you think you could hand me my other crutch?”

      Blinking back her tears, Jocelyn bent to pick up the crutch that had skidded across the floor. She straightened to hand it over and was profoundly relieved to see the man she sought. “Captain Dalton! I’m so glad to see you up and about.”

      Richard Dalton was a brown-haired young man of medium height, with hazel eyes much like her own. Though his face was drawn with fatigue and pain, his quick smile was warm. “This is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Jocelyn. What brings you to this wretched place?”

      “You did, after Aunt Laura learned you were here.” She glanced ruefully at the crutches. “I didn’t intend to put you back into a hospital bed.”

      “It takes a good deal more than a collision with a beautiful woman to do me an injury,” he assured her. “I can say without reservation that running into you is the most enjoyment I’ve had in weeks.”

      Richard’s flirtatious teasing helped restore her ragged nerves. Though there had been nothing romantic between them, they had always enjoyed each other’s company. Probably the lack of romance had made them friends. “Aunt Laura sends her apologies that she could not accompany me today, but she will call on you day after tomorrow.”

      “I shall look forward to it.” He shifted awkwardly on his crutches. “Would you mind terribly if I sit down? I’ve been upright for as long as I can manage at the moment.”

      “Of course,” she said, embarrassed. “I’ll never make an angel of mercy, I fear. I seem to be causing nothing but problems.”

      “Boredom is one of a hospital’s worst problems, and you’re alleviating that nicely.” The captain swung over to one of several chairs and card tables set beside a window to create a lounge area. He gestured her to the chair opposite him as he lowered himself with a wince.

      Jocelyn examined the drab walls and furnishings and the windows that faced another depressing wing of the hospital. Not a place designed to aid convalescence. “Will you be staying here long?”

      “It may be a while. The surgeons periodically poke around for bits of shell and bone they might have missed. We had one long argument about amputation, which I won, but now they are trying to convince me that I’ll never walk without crutches again. Naturally I have no intention of believing them.”

      “In any such disagreement, my money is on you.”

      “Thank you.” Bleakness showed in his eyes. “I’m fortunate compared to many of my fellow patients.”

      “Aunt Laura mentioned Major Lancaster in particular,” Jocelyn said, remembering the letter. “Is there news of him I can take to her?”

      “Nothing good. He has grave spinal injuries and is paralyzed from the waist down.” Richard leaned against the high back of his chair, his face much older than his years. “He can barely eat, and it’s an open question whether he will die of starvation, pain, or the opium they’ve been giving him to make living bearable. The physicians don’t understand why he isn’t dead already, but they agree it’s only a matter of time.”

      “I’m sorry. I know the words are inadequate, but any words would be,” Jocelyn said with compassion. “He’s a particular friend of yours?”

      “From the first day I joined the regiment, when he took me in hand to turn me into a real officer.” Richard’s gaze was on the past, and the days and years that had gone into weaving a friendship. “Even in dying, he’s an example to us all. Completely calm, except for his concern for his younger sister’s future. She’s a governess and well situated for now, but when he’s gone, she’ll be alone in the world, with nothing and no one to fall back on.” He gave his head a slight shake. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be depressing you with the story of someone you’ve never even met.”

      Jocelyn started to say that he had no need to apologize, then froze as an idea struck. She needed a husband, and the mortally wounded major wanted security for his sister. Unlike Sir Harold Winterson, there would be no question of “marital rights” since the poor man was on his deathbed. In return for his name, she could settle

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