Chapter 1

Carolina saw the gentleman twice in the tranquil streets of Bath--once in the North Parade and once more in busy Broad Street--before she began to wonder about his identity, and his disabilities.

He was obviously a veteran and a victim of the Peninsular War. His bearing was military and he was tall. His right arm was contained neatly in a black silk sling, his right hand shielded with a black glove. A silk patch covered his right eye, but concealed little of two drastic scars that scored the right side of his lean, strong-boned face. His clothes hung upon him, tailored for the vigorous, muscular man he must have been before he had suffered his wounds.

Once Carolina had noticed him, she saw him frequently, always walking, always hatless, his unfashionably long dark hair gleaming blackly in the occasional rays of Bath sunshine. Over two weeks, she saw him repeatedly: striding through Orange Grove, limping one day down Walcot Street, pacing the meandering banks of the River Avon, and treading the straight line of Gay Street.

He was impossible to overlook, and intriguing, but her speculations upon his identity were idle, given her retiring nature. They were unlikely ever to meet. The thought caused a pang of regret to linger in the region of her hitherto untouched heart.

Then one morning, to her utter surprise, he appeared in the Pump Room. She had never seen him at the Upper Rooms, at musicales or at evening parties, but only when he was abroad, walking. Now here he was, in attendance, near the counter where the vile healing waters were dispensed, upon a frail lady well past her middle years. In close proximity he appeared even more battered than she had thought, yet he was smiling in a manner that belied his physical state. His cheerful visage, in view of his shocking injuries, was astonishing.

Carolina's curiosity overcame her normal reticence. "Grandmama, who is that gentleman?" she said in an undertone to the elderly lady at her side.

The Dowager Viscountess Chersham surveyed the spacious, light-filled room with her faded blue eyes. Carolina knew she would not have to explain to her astute grandparent which gentleman she was observing. He was conspicuous among the elderly infirm aristocrats and paunchy middle-aged citizens who made up the assemblage.

"I have no idea, but he is in company with Lady Quainton if that is of help to you. A nice woman, not in robust health." The dowager knew everyone in the town and had repeatedly provided Carolina with unwanted details about them all. "Her son was in the Rifles or some such, injured at Ciudad Rodrigo. Could it be he?"

"I think it must be, and that he is no longer in the Rifles," Carolina suggested. She found herself unable to prevent her gaze from lingering on him. "Not with those limitations."

"I've a notion to speak with her ladyship. Do you go and bring them to me," the dowager said.

"Grandmama, I--"

"Go, girl. You'll not hide behind shyness while you reside with me and you don't require a formal introduction to the lady. I've known her these thirty years. You're two and twenty; strive for some courage. Tell them who you are. You've dignity and self-possession if not beauty and charm, and you don't lack for wit. Now go."

The dowager was not a lady with whom one argued. Carolina went, albeit reluctantly. She returned alone brief minutes later, edging through the increasing crowds all bound to take the waters.

"They were on the point of departure, Grandmama. Lady Quainton has been unwell and stays abroad only a short time each day. But she says she will call upon you, perhaps tomorrow, if she is well enough." Carolina straightened her simply decorated, plaited straw bonnet nervously.

"And the boy?"

Carolina thought to quibble over calling the desperately scarred gentleman a boy, then decided against it, remembering his ready laugh and charming smile. "It is Lord Quainton, formerly a Colonel of his regiment." She puzzled over his determinedly light-hearted and whimsical manner. It had been most unexpected. Perhaps it was meant to distract one from his injuries and from questions about his career on the Peninsula?

"I remember now. Quainton passed to his reward five years since. This Alexander inherited the barony."

"But went to the war?"

"Career soldier; his mama did not demand that he sell out."

"Perhaps she wishes she had. 'Tis a miracle he returned alive," murmured Carolina, half to herself.

Her grandmother smiled a small tight smile.

Carolina could read the old lady's thoughts very well. Lady Chersham was delighted that her granddaughter had displayed an interest in a gentleman.

She was well aware that her grandmother found her difficult, although she was not flirtatious or contentious or scandalous or avaricious. She was simply ordinary...astonishingly so, she thought. Her face, her person, her talents, and her achievements were none of them more than commonplace.

Carolina had had three Seasons in London, and had been presented during the second. She was accepted at Almack's without question, but only danced reluctantly. A few pleasant and undistinguished gentlemen had taken note of her. She had wanted no part of them. She had refused a fourth Season and had requested that she be allowed to visit her grandmother in Bath. Her parents had permitted it, as they were busy with the debut of her younger sister.

"I have welcomed your company these past weeks, my dear, you know that," Lady Chersham said now, as they departed the Pump Room.

Carolina unfurled the umbrella she carried; it was raining again though the trees were now in full leaf, and myriad flowers brightened the late spring gardens.

"But I sympathize with your mother, I really do. I'm losing patience with you."

Carolina only sighed as she gave her grandmother her arm to the crested carriage that would see them home to Queen Square.

"You see? You will not defend yourself, will not bother even to argue with me. You make nothing of yourself, have nothing to say for yourself. You are pale in person and character. You need not be! You have as many good features as bad, and a more than common intellect. I am relieved, indeed I am, to see you express an interest in Quainton. It shows you have blood in your veins, at least." Lady Chersham settled into her carriage's maroon plush seat with something perilously near a flounce.

Carolina struggled to lower her umbrella. She smiled her thanks when the groom took it and handed her within. She said nothing, for how could she respond when her grandmother spoke only the truth. They sat in uneasy silence for the short journey.

Carolina's reflections were grave. If she could not even be a comfort to the dowager--and all she seemed to do was irritate her grandmother--what could she do with her future?

Be a prop to her aging parents? The Viscount and Viscountess Chersham were disappointingly hale and vigorous.

Be a useful maiden aunt? Her elder brother had already produced two precocious infants, and her two married sisters looked set to be as fecund.

Yes, she could be indispensable to the nieces and nephews who would populate the family nurseries. She would be an antidote, more plain and awkward every year, shunted from household to household within the family. "Aunt Caro will help. What else has she to do?" She shivered as the imaginary words echoed in her head.

"Never say you have caught a chill?" her grandmother snapped. "Even your constitution is lacklustre!"

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