Free It Takes a Hero by Elizabeth Boyle

through a passel of housekeepers, while Rebecca spends a good deal of time appeasing the neighbors because the colonel's spent the afternoon shooting at their chickens. The gel hasn't got two seconds to spare most of the time."
    "The colonel is, however, a rare fellow when he's lucid," Lord Finch added. "Unbeatable in chess. And devoted to Bex. And when he is in his right mind, an admirable scholar. Why, he's always asking for one of Evaline's couriers to fetch him some Persian tract or odd translation."
    That explained the Sutton volume in her market basket, Rafe reasoned, though it didn't shake his suspicions.
    "And the brother? Richard?" Rafe asked. "Where is he?"
    There were downcast glances all around.
    "Dead. Died fighting on the Peninsula," Lady Finch finally said. "Broke the colonel's heart, for he thought of Richard like a son." She sighed. "Richard was a dear boy. He came to see us just after Jemmy left for Spain and stayed with us until he could arrange for his own commission."
    "Still, if anyone deserves a bit of your meddling, mother," Jemmy said, "it would be Rebecca." He turned to Rafe. "A bit old for the Marriage Mart, still she's the type of girl who could sneak up on a fellow, and before he knew it, find he's fallen for her."
    Only if he'd been struck on the head
, Rafe thought, thinking the man who found himself in love with that vexing bit of muslin ought to reserve a seat at Bedlam right next to her uncle's.
    But still the image of her sparkling eyes and pert lips left him oddly unbalanced. He tried to tell himself it was just because she'd gotten the better of him—at least this time.
    This time?
Gads, he needed to get out of Bramley Hollow post haste when some spinster got him feeling all cork-brained.
    "How soon could you manage to put together this dinner?" Rafe asked.
    Lady Finch smiled. "Would tomorrow suit you? If I must have these people in my house, let's get it over with quickly before we all come to our senses."
    Jemmy groaned. "Say you do find this author, what then?"
    "I've got to convince them to stop writing," Rafe told him.
    "Seems a shame," Jemmy said. "I'll miss those books."
     
    After dinner, Lady Finch insisted Rafe and Cochrane stay with them. Before he could refuse, she ordered rooms prepared and Cochrane's preferences for breakfast passed on to the cook. Rafe witnessed firsthand the indomitable Lady Finch in action.
    So when it came time for Jemmy to leave for the gatehouse, Rafe offered to walk down with him. The idea of being cooped up in the same house with a woman known for her matchmaking schemes and penchant for gossip was enough to send him hightailing outside with the feeble excuse that he wanted to catch up on old war stories.
    The war, Rafe suspected, was the last thing James Reyburn would want to discuss. And he was right.
    "You've unleashed the dragon, I hope you know," Jemmy told him, his cane crunching into the gravel of the drive. "She'll not rest until she helps you discover this poor author. Badger you and nag you until… well, until…"
    "Until you move into the gatehouse?" Rafe suggested.
    Jemmy nodded. "Yes. I suppose so." He grinned and continued his slow, beleaguered pace toward his solitary residence.
    "She's worried about you," Rafe said, after a few moments of silence.
    "I know."
    Demmit, so was he. He'd never realized how badly Jemmy's injuries had crippled him, or that he avoided society because of them. And a large part of Rafe felt the sting of guilt that he had never bothered to discover the truth about Jemmy for himself, so caught up was he in his own life.
    "Now that I've seen you, so am I," Rafe admitted.
    "Thank you, but I don't need—"
    Rafe stopped in his tracks. "Yes, you do. Jemmy, you can't hide from what happened to you. You're alive, for Christ's sake. You saw how many people didn't come home. You've got to live, if not for yourself, then for the poor bastards buried back there. Gads, it's not like there is anything to stop you."
    And all