reached down to scratch Zeus’s ears, his long fingers moving absently in the spaniel’s fur. “They were,” he said, without looking at me. “The care of the wounded was criminally poor. The conditions of the hospitals… well, if I tell you that what I saw there convinced me to take up the study of medicine, perhaps that will give you an idea of the atrocity of it.”
“You are a doctor?” I exclaimed. In a family as wealthy as the Reginalds, there could be no need for even the son of a younger son to work for a living. Charles must have been deeply affected by his experiences to take up a trade.
“I hope to become one. This summer I leave for Edinburgh to begin my studies in earnest. Now, while I am convalescing”—the wry lift of one eyebrow showed his opinion of that term—“I am trying to learn the fundamentals. I hope to find ways to reform the practices that lose so many lives needlessly.”
“You must have suffered a great deal yourself,” I ventured.
He brushed that away. “Believe me, your friends are not sugaring over the truth for your benefit,” he said earnestly. “If your brother died quickly, he was surely spared a great deal of horror. And many more men died in hospital of illnesses they contracted there than of battle wounds. Your brother’s death was probably the most merciful that could have happened under the circumstances.”
I nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude toward him for having relieved some of my anxious uncertainty. “It is kind of you to be frank with me.”
“Not at all. So many people don’t wish to hear the truth about the war; it is a relief not to have to guard my tongue for once.”
This was more kindness, I guessed; had he spoken with utter candor, I suspected, he could have described horrors I knew nothing of. I wondered if he had been able to talk of what he had experienced to anyone, or if he had been forced to offer only a partial and highly edited account for his family’s hearing.
Although I had not heard anyone approach, Zeus’s head popped up and he gave a pleased bark that announced another arrival. Charles and I rose and I found myself facing a man who must be Lord Claude. I stared to curtsey, but he caught my hands in his and drew me forward, beaming. Before I realized what he intended he had startled me by planting a kiss on my cheek.
“So this is Gwendolyn’s long-lost niece,” he said. “I see that you have already met Charles. I hope he has been making you feel at home. Did you have a pleasant journey?”
“Very pleasant, thank you, sir.” Clearly I had no cause to worry about my reception.
“I am glad to hear it. I know Gwendolyn is delighted to have you here, as we all are.” His eyes twinkled, and I saw the resemblance between him and his son. “I even believe she has given special instructions to Cook for something spectacular to welcome you with.”
“She need not have troubled; I feel very welcome already,” I said, dazzled by the lavish extent of this hospitality.
“It is no trouble, I assure you,” he said with a chuckle, and Charles added, “My aunt would be sorely disappointed to lose the chance for a celebration.”
Lord Claude was shorter and stockier than his son, but with the same good-humored expression, and the crinkles around his eyes suggested that he laughed often. He was a handsome man, the ruddy gold of his hair and beard unmixed with grey, and without any sign of paunchiness. Nevertheless, he was not a forceful presence: his voice and manner were quiet, calm, unobtrusive, never calling attention to himself. In a livelier company he might be forgotten altogether. Once more I was baffled by the difference between my expectations and the reality. Neither Lord Claude nor the duchess looked at all the sort of person I had naïvely expected to be involved in a scandal. For all their wealth and rank, they seemed to be pleasant but fairly normal people. Even their willingness to take in a virtually unknown