“So much nicer than pistols, Tony,” Winwood said of the knife they used to cut the wedding cake. Sera thought it was an unkind reminder, but Tony only smiled at him.
* * *
“Perhaps we should have gone to Europe, as your father suggested,” Tony said unexpectedly as Lord Cairnbrooke’s traveling carriage took them southward.
“But I like Brighton.”
He was a little conscious that Sera had seen so much more of the world than he, and would have been glad to explore Europe with her for the first time, but she was right that it was still too torn up for travel. He would be a fool to lead her into danger or discomfort...when he felt so little able to take care of her. Besides, the Brighton road was hard enough to tolerate in a well-sprung carriage. He turned a little sideways, to get his right shoulder off the seat, and the better to converse with his bride.
He was agreeably surprised by her in many ways. She was witty, for one thing, and sometimes had an uncanny knowledge of what he was thinking. He had seen more beautiful women, but none so distinctive. Once you got to know those hazel eyes, that generous mouth, that ever-so-slightly aquiline nose, they could never be forgotten. And her glorious brown hair, burnished with auburn—he was looking forward to seeing it loose about her shoulders. Compared to Lady Vonne, Sera was not above average, but all in all, he was looking forward to being married to her.
That Vonne thing was a bad business. How he had been led into it, he could not remember. Only that after Charlie’s death he had not cared very much for anything, and Madeleine had listened and sympathized. He was just running over in his mind the course her sympathies had taken when he became conscious of Sera watching him with a look of concern.
He flushed, thinking for a moment she really could read his thoughts, then smiled nervously. “Sorry I am such a morose traveling companion.”
“Will people think badly of you to marry while you are still in mourning for your brother?” She had been about to ask if his shoulder hurt him, but sensed it would have been the wrong thing to say.
“Not since it was a private wedding. Besides, if no one married who was not in mourning for someone, there would be precious few weddings in all of England. Still, it can’t be very pleasant for you. You will miss out on so much.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted a lot of show. A wedding should be a private thing, not a play given before strangers.”
“What an odd thing to say.” Tony flashed a smile that was all the more endearing for its spontaneity.
“Yes, when you consider that, generally speaking, I like the theater very much. That is the place for grand gestures and impassioned speeches. Real life is something quite different.”
“I’m glad one of us has a firm grasp on reality. These past few months have seemed like a nightmare to me—that is, until I met you.”
“Because of your brother.”
“You understand, then. He thought it was a lark. He expected to come back. But not to even know how he died or where he is buried...”
“How would you feel if he had survived?”
“Alive again.”
“Then pretend that you are your brother, live the life he should have had.”
“Pretending doesn’t work for me. Sooner or later I sober up and discover he’s still gone.” A hole in the road jostled Tony’s shoulder and surprised a grunt of pain from him.
“Then tell yourself that the pain of his death will ease when your shoulder does. If it hurts as much as I think, that will be long enough to grieve.”
“The pain of his death will never go away,” Tony said, in despair. “I’ll never forget.”
“No, I didn’t think so,” Sera said in defeat.
“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone— I’m sorry...your mother...” He looked anxiously at her.
“I never knew her. But I have watched men die.”
“In Brussels?”
“Yes. They were so stoic, uncomplaining even when they knew.”
“You should not have had to go through that.”
She raised her chin. “I’m glad I stayed, even if all I could do for some of them was make them more comfortable. At least they knew someone cared.”
“You were lucky to have had something to do. You didn’t have to endure that waiting.”
“There is something you can do now that I cannot.”
“What is that?”
“Make sure there is not another war like that. We have lost part of an entire generation. The country cannot afford another such sacrifice.”
“A political career? I hope you have no such ambitions for me. Besides, why should you worry over that?”
“Just because I’m a woman does not mean I don’t think of such things.”
“Then you are more unusual than I thought.”
* * *
They reached Brighton to discover that Marie and Stewart, Tony’s valet, had installed their luggage in the Old Ship Hotel and stood ready to see to their comfort. It was not the most fashionable hotel in Brighton, but these were the best accommodations they could get on short notice. Tempting as the close view of the sea was to Sera, she insisted she had to lie down and rest before dinner.
Tony had not thought her so delicate, but was relieved not to be dragged all over town immediately. Indeed, he lay down himself, and fell into a fast sleep.
Sera was just sneaking out of her room for another look at the ocean when she encountered Stewart in the hall.
“I don’t suppose he has managed to fall asleep?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes, but I could wake him, if you—”
“Don’t you dare,” Sera whispered, with a chuckle. “It’s what I was hoping for. Even a short trip like this is bad for him. We really should have waited.”
“He’s very strong, generally speaking,” Stewart said, looking rather surprised at Sera’s perception.
“I know, but for a time we must all conspire to see he gets enough rest. You won’t tell him I’ve sneaked out for a short walk?”
“No, of course not.”
“And let him wake of his own accord. I have taken a sudden liking to dining fashionably late.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Steward said with a smile.
Tony did chide Sera for not waking him, but he was so good-humored after his rest that he only did it jokingly. He ordered dinner for them in the dining room of the hotel, quite expertly she thought, checking by an inquiring look if she approved his choices. She asked him about his younger years, and he talked so unreservedly of Oak Park and his boyhood adventures, she thought they were a fair way toward being on intimate terms by the time he suggested an evening stroll along King’s Road and up the Marine Parade.
They had a pleasant walk, with Tony pointing out buildings he knew, and were on the point of returning to the Ship when a young man, lounging with some of his fellows, approached to say, “My name is Wentworth. You don’t know me, but I was wondering if you were in Belgium.”
“No, I was not,” Tony said coldly.
“The Peninsula, then? I only wanted to know