Kindred Hearts (52 page)

“I know it.”

“He’s a good man, Northwood. Not what I expected—he’s got bottom. Steady, reliable. Doesn’t fit his reputation. Sorry I didn’t catch him before he wrecked his nerves with the drink.”

“He’s no drunkard,” Charles said. “He stopped drinking even before he started studying under you. I’ve known men who are addicted to it, but once Tris had something else to think about, he didn’t need the liquor any more. I think he drank out of boredom and frustration more than anything else.”

“Stands to reason,” Crosby nodded. “Bright lad, forced into shoes that didn’t fit—of course he drank, and whored, and gamed.”

Charles grinned. “Tris doesn’t gamble. Says it’s boring.”

“Knew he was sensible.”

“And I’m relatively sure he’s faithful. Now, at least.” To whom, Charles didn’t specify; he only hoped he was right.

Crosby slapped his thighs. “Good, good. Means he’s found focus. Man will make a damn good doctor if he keeps up with it. Now. You. You can keep up working with the crutches, but no weight on that bone for, hmm, five more weeks, at least. Exercise the leg, by all means; it will keep it from shortening more than necessary. I agree with you on the laudanum, and will talk to Northwood about it; keep it for the worst times when you can’t bear the pain any longer, but switch to one of your mad herbal concoctions for the rest. I’ll be in town here for another five or six days; I’ll want to see one of your exercise sessions for myself.”

“Come by in the morning, then. I like to start my day with extreme pain and misery. Makes anything that comes after tolerable by comparison.”

Crosby laughed and rose from the chair. “Your sister said something about dining here. Are you up for it?”

“Yes—tell her to bring in the troops, if you will. If you don’t mind the excessive casualness of dining not only
en famille
, but
en boudoir
.”

“Well, I haven’t done
that
in a long time, but it’s not quite the same thing, is it?”

Despite himself, Charles laughed.

“I’m surprised
to find you still at home,” Derek Chamberlain said as Reston ushered him into the former butler’s pantry, now remade into a bookroom for Tristan.

“Maartens informed me that there was no need for me to come out to the battlefield any longer. The Bruxellois have it well in hand, and aside from a memorial service once the burials are finished, the rest of us Englischers are superfluous.” Tristan set the book in his hand aside; he’d finish the chapter on debridement and curettage later. “Plus Dr. Crosby’s coming by for one last visit with Charles before he returns to London.” He gestured for Derek to sit; his guest obeyed, dropping into the wing chair opposite Tristan.

“Oh, he’s off too, then?” Derek said.

Something in the way he said it made Tris cock his head and study his friend. “‘Too’?” he echoed softly.

“I leave with the Seymours in the morning.” Derek closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair back. “I won’t say I won’t be happy to be back in my rooms at home, but… things are different now. Things have changed. I’ve changed.”

“I know what you mean,” Tristan agreed. “To have been part of something this important, to have participated—even if on the sidelines—in an event of this magnitude, has to change one, doesn’t it? Even if a hundred years from now no one even remembers the name of Waterloo?”

“Oh, they’ll remember, I wager,” Derek said. He opened his eyes and looked at Tris. “I borrowed Lord Seymour’s bay again; would you have time for one last ride in the park before I return to my deadly dull solicitor’s life?”

“I’m assuming you mean your life is dull, not the solicitor,” Tristan said with a smile as he rose. “Dr. Crosby’s not due for an hour, and even so, it’s Charlie he wants to see, not me, so yes, I’ve time for a quick jaunt. Just let me have Paragon saddled.” He rang the bell for Will and gave him the order, then the two of them strolled out to the front of the house.

“That’s not the Brat,” Derek said when the groom brought Paragon around. Tristan checked the girth, then swung himself up into the saddle.

“No, it’s Paragon, Charlie’s horse. I’ve been keeping him exercised. Brat is quite jealous, but he’s enamored of Betsy, Charlie’s other mount, so he’s easily distracted. Paragon is much better mannered than the Brat.”

“Lives up to his name, does he?”

“He does. Come on, then.”

They rode sedately to the large park several streets over, then let the horses shake out their legs. It was midmorning; the early risers had already been and gone, and the late risers were still drowsing over their breakfasts. The beastly hot weather had broken, and the morning was cool and sunny, without a hint of the humidity that had made the summer so unpleasant.

Paragon was as fast as the Brat, but without the gelding’s nervous twitchiness; his gait was smooth and flowing, and riding him at a gallop felt like flying. Tris laughed from the sheer physical joy of it. He set the horse at a low hedge, and they flew over it with barely a bump. Near the center of the park, he drew rein and let Paragon drop to a trot, and then a walk; he leaned over to pat his neck and found him barely even damp. “Ah, I see why Charlie calls you Paragon,” he said in a soft voice, and the horse’s ears flicked back toward Tris. “Sweet gait, sweet nature, and strong as an ox, aren’t you?”

Derek rode up, panting, his horse lathered. “Dash it, Tristan!” he complained good-naturedly, “that horse is secretly a racehorse, don’t deny it. You’ll be entering him at Epsom Downs, no doubt.”

Tris laughed. “Ah, would that I could! But he’s Charlie’s, and a hunter, and the Derby’s for thoroughbreds, isn’t it?”

“I’d think you’d know better than I,” Derek replied in confusion. “I can’t bet on races on a solicitor’s salary, but I thought you would have done so a dozen times by now.”

Tristan shook his head. “Not interested in racing,” he said dismissively. “I prefer hunting. Standing watching perfectly good horses running around a track is deadly dull.”

“Well, you’re the only person in the British Isles that thinks so,” Derek said, snorting.

They rode on in companionable silence for a while, only breaking it to comment on something innocuous. When they came upon a bench in a shady nook, Derek drew up and dismounted, leading his horse over to the bench, where he sat down and looked up at Tristan. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said soberly.

Curious, Tristan followed suit, wrapping the reins around the arm of the bench as Derek had. “What about?”

Derek didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, his arms on his knees, and stared at the fountain splashing merrily a dozen yards away. Finally, he said, “This is more difficult than I expected it to be. I practiced it, you know. Thought I had it all down pat. But now… it’s hard.”

“Just say it,” Tristan said. He felt suddenly chilled. He’d grown to like Derek a great deal, and had hoped to renew the friendship when he returned to London, but from the tone of his friend’s voice, there was something wrong. Was it that he had decided he no longer wanted to be friends with someone of Tristan’s persuasion? Was he going to warn Tristan to stay away from him, or worse, was he intending to lay charges against him when he returned to London? Tristan knew he and Charles had been discreet there; it was only here, in Brussels, that their carefully constructed house of cards had come tumbling down. He swallowed hard.

“I love you,” Derek said.

A bird chirped nearby, and a tree frog sang. Tristan sat frozen in shock. “What?” he managed finally.

Derek gave a soft, unamused laugh. “I said ‘I love you’,” he repeated. “I know. I’m mad. And I know that you’re devoted to the major. But I can’t help it. I’m in love with you. I just thought you should know.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Tristan said, “except, for God’s sake,
why
?”

“Oh, Christ, Tristan, I don’t know where to start! You’re brave, and beautiful, and strong, and smart, and intelligent. You’re this perfect—perfect
paragon
of a man, and it makes me long to be like you. To be
with
you. I’m torn, I really am; I wish you would leave the major, but if you did, you wouldn’t be the man I love, and I don’t want that, really. I didn’t even realize I loved you until I saw you with him, saw how you cared for him, and I knew I wanted that from you, and can never have it.” He put his gloved hand to his eyes. “God, I sound like a female in some Gothic romance. I shouldn’t have said anything. But I couldn’t go back to London knowing you might be there sometime soon, and if we encountered each other, you all unknowing—I might not be able to hide it so well. So I thought I’d warn you.” He put his hand down on his knee and stared straight ahead. “I’m a fool. I’m sorry.”

“You are a fool,” Tristan said. Derek’s head jerked up and he stared at Tristan blankly, his eyes wide. “You are a fool to think that of me. That I’m any of those things. I’m
none
of them. Whatever I am, I am because of Charles.” He swallowed hard. “Before I met Charles, I was setting my affairs in order with a view to putting a period to my existence. I was a worthless drunkard, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Charles changed that. He showed me a way of thinking that had never occurred to me—introduced me to people like Ian MacQuarrie and Bennett Crosby and their compatriots, who think nothing of spending their time and money and energy helping other people, while expecting almost nothing in return. I’m not that good, Derek.”

“But all those soldiers you treated, the hours you worked until you dropped….”

“Which you did, as well.” He held up his hand when Derek, shaking his head, started to protest. “You did. So you didn’t have the little bit of training I had—that only made it braver, for you to try to help when you weren’t sure what to do. I
knew
some of what I could do. You didn’t, but you tried anyway. You worked just as hard as I did. Besides, all I could think was that perhaps Charlie was out there, injured, alone, and I could only pray that someone would take care of him as I was taking care of the others. I wasn’t being selfless, Derek. I was being as selfish as I possibly could be, because helping those men helped me too.” He shook his head. “I’m no hero. God, I’m barely a decent man. I don’t know why you’ve decided that I’m any better than anyone else. Because it’s not true.”

“You make me love you even more,” Chamberlain said. He essayed a brave smile. “But that’s all right. I don’t believe you.”

Tristan chuckled, but he never felt less like laughing. “Derek….”

“It’s all right, Tris. It’s all right.” Derek touched two fingers to the back of Tristan’s gloved hand. “I just hope that we can still be friends. That was what I was most afraid of, that you’d not want to see me again.”

Did he
? Tristan gazed down at the fingers a moment, then Derek lifted them slowly away. Tristan reached out and closed his own around them. “You have been my friend through one of the darkest times of my life,” he said quietly. “No matter what, you have earned my regard. I can’t be what you need me to be, but I shall ever stand as your friend.”

“Thank you,” Derek whispered.

Tristan put his other hand over Derek’s and held it clasped. “I don’t expect to come directly back to London,” he said. “I intend to take Charlie back to Leicestershire with us so he can recuperate in the country. But Crosby expects me to return to my medical studies, and I know Charles intends to do the same, so we may be back in town by next Season. I don’t know for sure. But I shall send ’round to you when we are. In the meantime, letters sent to Lilac Cottage, Market Harborough, shall find me. If you need anything, please write me.”

“You are entirely too kind,” Derek said, his cheeks scarlet.

Tristan patted his hand and let go. “Come on, then. I must return; I’m sure Crosby will have plenty of instructions before he leaves.”

“Of course.” Derek stood up and busied himself with his horse’s reins a moment before swinging into the saddle. He didn’t meet Tristan’s eyes.

Tristan mounted Paragon and turned his head back toward the rue de Valois. They rode in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; just two men wrapped in their own thoughts. Derek dismounted when Tristan did and held out his hand. “Thank you, Tristan.”

Tristan took his hand, but didn’t release it immediately. “Your friendship has meant a great deal to me, Derek. I should have been quite miserable alone here for these weeks. Please write me when you are settled back at home and let me know you arrived safely.”

“I will.” Derek hesitated a moment, then glanced around before leaning forward to brush his lips on Tristan’s cheek. “Take care of yourself, Tris—and of Charles.”

Tristan raised his hand and brushed his fingers across Derek’s jaw. “I shall.”