Lily and our son was certainly the first great tragedy of my life, and the event that most changed my life, because if she hadn’t died, I never would have joined the army.”
“Living in England and raising a family would have been such a very different path from the one you’re on,” she mused, her gaze assessing. “I’ve heard the tales of mud and slaughter and horror. The Peninsular Wars have been brutal. Do you regret walking this path?”
He’d not really thought of his life in terms of the path taken versus the one ended by tragedy. “I do not regret the army,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I feel as if I’ve contributed to a worthy goal, and I have made strong friendships. But I’m ready for a change. The peacetime army would be deucedly boring.”
“Then it’s good you’re on your way home.” She cocked her head to one side. “What is another of your worst experiences?”
“When I read the news that my brother, Mac, had died in London.” Will halted, remembering the numbness that dissolved into a tidal wave of pain when he’d read the fatal words. “I was visiting my friend Ballard in Porto on the way home to England when I saw the notice of Mac’s death in a London newspaper that had just arrived.”
“I’m so sorry!” she said, her golden hazel eyes warm with compassion. Then her brow furrowed. “From the way you spoke of him, I thought he was still alive?”
“He is. His death was misreported, and finding him alive when I returned to England was the greatest happiness of my life,” Will said simply. “That didn’t mean my grief hadn’t happened, but at least it ended quickly.”
“Tragedies with happy endings are the best kind, but sadly rare.” Athena looked a little wistful before continuing. “What else would you put on your painful experiences list? The deaths of your parents?”
He sighed. “Neither of their deaths caused me more than a brief, dutiful twinge of regret. I didn’t really miss them when they were gone because I didn’t see a great deal of either. My mother was frail and my father was busy with his own interests. He had a reliable heir, but he wasn’t much interested in me as an individual.”
“That is a tragedy of another sort, but I do understand. If I someday hear that my father has died, I would feel nothing because I didn’t know him.” Her voice turned dry. “At least I knew nothing good of him. It’s possible his legitimate children adore him.”
“Equally possible they don’t, since he sounds like an unpleasant fellow.” A thought struck Will. “Would you like to meet other members of your parents’ families? Surely, they aren’t all bigots. Your half brothers and sisters must be around your age, and perhaps you have cousins on your mother’s side. They might like to know you.”
“No!” Athena said sharply. “I don’t need more people who wish I had never been born.” She reached for her hat, which she’d hung on one end of the bench. “I think we’ve had quite enough harrowing questioning for one day. Do you really think there is value to this mutual baring of souls?”
He studied her face, seeing a strong, capable woman who had learned to play the difficult cards life had dealt her. But in her eyes were shadows of the injured child she had been, and that vulnerability called to him powerfully. “Yes, there is value. I feel I know you much better than I did when we stopped here to eat, and I’m glad for that. But I realize you might not feel the same.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m rather afraid to ask.”
She bit her lip as she stared back. “I do know you better, and . . . I think I’m glad of that even if we can never be more than friends.”
He thought of saying that whether they might be more than friends remained to be seen, but he didn’t want her to retreat. Instead, he said, “Surely, friends can hug each other.” He stepped forward and drew here into a gentle embrace.
She stiffened for a moment,
“Living in England and raising a family would have been such a very different path from the one you’re on,” she mused, her gaze assessing. “I’ve heard the tales of mud and slaughter and horror. The Peninsular Wars have been brutal. Do you regret walking this path?”
He’d not really thought of his life in terms of the path taken versus the one ended by tragedy. “I do not regret the army,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I feel as if I’ve contributed to a worthy goal, and I have made strong friendships. But I’m ready for a change. The peacetime army would be deucedly boring.”
“Then it’s good you’re on your way home.” She cocked her head to one side. “What is another of your worst experiences?”
“When I read the news that my brother, Mac, had died in London.” Will halted, remembering the numbness that dissolved into a tidal wave of pain when he’d read the fatal words. “I was visiting my friend Ballard in Porto on the way home to England when I saw the notice of Mac’s death in a London newspaper that had just arrived.”
“I’m so sorry!” she said, her golden hazel eyes warm with compassion. Then her brow furrowed. “From the way you spoke of him, I thought he was still alive?”
“He is. His death was misreported, and finding him alive when I returned to England was the greatest happiness of my life,” Will said simply. “That didn’t mean my grief hadn’t happened, but at least it ended quickly.”
“Tragedies with happy endings are the best kind, but sadly rare.” Athena looked a little wistful before continuing. “What else would you put on your painful experiences list? The deaths of your parents?”
He sighed. “Neither of their deaths caused me more than a brief, dutiful twinge of regret. I didn’t really miss them when they were gone because I didn’t see a great deal of either. My mother was frail and my father was busy with his own interests. He had a reliable heir, but he wasn’t much interested in me as an individual.”
“That is a tragedy of another sort, but I do understand. If I someday hear that my father has died, I would feel nothing because I didn’t know him.” Her voice turned dry. “At least I knew nothing good of him. It’s possible his legitimate children adore him.”
“Equally possible they don’t, since he sounds like an unpleasant fellow.” A thought struck Will. “Would you like to meet other members of your parents’ families? Surely, they aren’t all bigots. Your half brothers and sisters must be around your age, and perhaps you have cousins on your mother’s side. They might like to know you.”
“No!” Athena said sharply. “I don’t need more people who wish I had never been born.” She reached for her hat, which she’d hung on one end of the bench. “I think we’ve had quite enough harrowing questioning for one day. Do you really think there is value to this mutual baring of souls?”
He studied her face, seeing a strong, capable woman who had learned to play the difficult cards life had dealt her. But in her eyes were shadows of the injured child she had been, and that vulnerability called to him powerfully. “Yes, there is value. I feel I know you much better than I did when we stopped here to eat, and I’m glad for that. But I realize you might not feel the same.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m rather afraid to ask.”
She bit her lip as she stared back. “I do know you better, and . . . I think I’m glad of that even if we can never be more than friends.”
He thought of saying that whether they might be more than friends remained to be seen, but he didn’t want her to retreat. Instead, he said, “Surely, friends can hug each other.” He stepped forward and drew here into a gentle embrace.
She stiffened for a moment,
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