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Once all the guests had departed, Zac found himself in a depressingly boring routine that reminded him why he had sought a career in the first place. How in the world did other nobles handle the endless boredom of having nothing to occupy their time but hobbies? Zac didn’t understand it, and he hoped he never would.

There were only so many things around Beasley Hall that he could paint, given that he had spent most of his childhood painting them all. Nothing about the hall ever changed, not even the scenery. Still, painting outside gave him some privacy, even if it was difficult to haul himself and his gear to the various locations where he chose to work. At least the manor’s grounds were secluded enough that he never encountered anyone during his little painting excursions. The last thing he needed was for anyone to realize just how pathetic he was, hobbling around like someone twice his age.

He hadn’t realized how long he had been at work until he saw what appeared to be a ladies’ maid struggling up the hill toward him with a picnic basket in hand. Zac knew that, in spite of his rank, he should have stood up and scrambled to help her, but that was easier said than done. He stretched out his leg until it would stretch no further, and knew he had been sitting too long. If he stood, he would topple right over, and that was something no one, not even a ladies’ maid, needed to see.

As she closed in on him, Zac realized he had seen this particular maid before. He couldn’t recall her name—something with an L? Letitia, perhaps, or Lucinda. Something along those lines. She was new, like so many of the house’s staff, and Zac had not learned them all yet. There were so many more women, he noted, and he supposed that was because many of the men of the village had gone off to the war. He wondered how many might not return at all, or would choose not to remain in service when they did, after having seen so much more of the world and learned that so much more was out there for the taking. He wouldn’t have blamed any of them who did.

Zac wondered if anyone else in his family knew just how close change was, and how quickly their way of life was fading away. He was not sure that any of them did realize it, nor would they listen if he told them. He would only be the crazy military son with no respect.

“I brought luncheon from the house, Sir,” the maid said, letting the picnic basket drop rather unceremoniously in front of him.

“I’d have expected a kitchen maid to make this sort of delivery,” Zac replied, reaching for the basket and just managing to scoot it toward his side without toppling out of his chair. “But thank you. And give my compliments to the cook; she never disappoints.”

“I’m afraid we’re a bit short on kitchen maids at the moment, and well, I’m one of the newest.”

“Low man on the totem pole,” Zac remarked, which earned him only a confused, blank stare. “Well, I should expect to see a lot more of you, then. And I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Leona, Sir.”

“What a beautiful name,” he replied, smiling up at her. Her nose crinkled as she returned his smile, and it only highlighted the beautiful sprinkling of freckles across it. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

She nodded and smiled, and Zac knew there was nothing she could say in response to that. He had put his toes just over the line, and even a brand new maid like her knew the thin ice they were treading on now. She gave a small curtsy and scurried away quickly, not hazarding a glance back over her shoulder at him until she was several yards away.

Zac couldn’t resist raising a hand and wiggling his fingers in a small wave. It only made her turn and scurry away faster, and he laughed in spite of himself. He might have been taking advantage of his position, but he hardly cared. If he was going to be stuck on the estate all day, he had to find some way to amuse himself, and flirting with the maids was as good a hobby as any.

Once she was safely out of sight, Zac pulled the picnic basket right to his side and opened it. There was a blanket inside, but he knew he would never get back up again if he sat on the ground. Instead, he remained in the camp chair he had brought with him to paint with and laid his lunch right in his lap. It wasn’t dignified, but being dignified had not been a concern of his for quite some time.

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble, you know,” Taylor said, suddenly appearing by Zac’s side and blocking out the sunlight.

“I didn’t know you were back from your London trip yet,” Zac replied, choosing to ignore whatever Taylor had been implying.

“It won’t help you to change the subject,” Taylor shot back. “But if you must know, I got in late last night. I believe you were already passed out drunk by then.”

“That does sound like me.” Zac nodded in agreement.

Taylor took it upon himself to spread out the blanket and sprawl across it. Without asking, he plucked a sandwich from the basket and took a dainty bite. Zac snarled, but decided not to waste any more energy on complaints and pettiness. There was really no point in starting an argument with his brother. If they could manage to get along, then perhaps Taylor would be distracted from criticizing Zac’s every move.

“How was that trip of yours, anyway?” Zac asked, pasting as big of a smile on his face as he could manage.

“I’m not convinced at all that you actually care,” Taylor replied, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, having quickly finished his sandwich. “But if you must know, it was wonderful. And that’s all you’re going to know about it.”

Zac scowled. “I don’t know why you don’t trust me. You share more with Jessica than you do me, and god only knows what that’s doing to her young mind.”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” Taylor admitted. “Only you’ve never made any secret of the fact that you don’t approve of me. So I’m not sure why you’d want to know any of the sordid details.”

“Then I suppose we’re even,” Zac replied. “Don’t think I don’t know how you feel about me, either. But I am hurt that you’d think I don’t approve. Watching you, or anyone else in this family, give me a run for my money as biggest disappointment, simply amuses me. If you’ve mistaken my amusement for disapproval, then I am sorry. I truly couldn’t care any less what you do in your own private life, as long as you’ve the sense to keep it private.”

“I’m deeply touched,” Taylor said, pulling a fresh pear from the picnic basket.

Zac just nodded, popping open the small bottle of cider and raising it in a poor imitation of a toast. He gave Taylor a wry smile, then tipped the bottle up and took a large swallow.

“You do know,” Taylor said, “our family is well and truly ruined if it’s up to you and I.”

“I don’t know that I have any say in the matter, even if I am likely to be promoted to second son. But I’ll be happy to share a drink with you while we watch it go down in flames.”

Taylor grabbed the cider from Zac’s hand and took a long swig. Passing the bottle back to him, he said, “It’s a date, then.”

Zac just barely resisted the urge to make an incredibly inappropriate joke about that particular turn of phrase. He hoped Taylor realized how much strength that took. More than that, he hoped Taylor knew that whatever happened, Zac was truly on his side.

God help us both, Zac thought to himself.

****

The first thing that Isaac registered when he awoke was the heat.

The first thing Isaac registered every time he awoke was the heat. It was inescapable. Even first thing in the morning, his clothing was plastered to his skin with sweat.

He was, at least, well enough to leave his bed now. He changed into a fresh set matching linen shirt and trousers, and padded into the dining room where breakfast was waiting on him. The cook at the convalescent home of sorts where he now rested was Indian, but she had studied English cooking and did a decent enough job approximating it. Not quite enough to remind Isaac of home, but enough to make him long for it.

It was sacrilege to say, but the tea was better than back home. He lingered long, drinking a second cup. He was, at the present time, the only patient there, having been moved a few weeks ago once he was declared recovered from his concussion and able to function well enough with his arm in a sling and the lingering dizzy spells.

Isaac was not entirely sure how long he’d been in hospital. His memory of the events leading up to it had been erased entirely, although he was given to understand that some local troubles had boiled over and there had been an attack near the embassy. He had, apparently, been caught up in the explosion, though he remembered nothing of it. Enough of his wounds had now healed that it all seemed like nothing more than a story, something reported in the newspaper but far remote from his own life.

He had just gone back for this third cup of coffee and a reasonably edible scone to accompany it when he heard shuffling footsteps quickly approaching the door. It swung open with a deep creak and one of the house boys whose names he had not yet learned appeared.

“Sahib,” he said. “There is a man here to see you. A man in a uniform. English.”

“Send him in,” Isaac said, although he could think of no reason why a soldier would be there to see him. Then again, he could think of little at all these days.

For what he was told was a full fortnight, he could not even say for certain what his own name was. When he remembered it, he knew the worlds held a certain weight and meaning, but he could not recall that either. A messenger from the viceroy had come to visit him, and only then did he realize just exactly who he was.

The soldier stepped into the room, looking even more official than Isaac might have imagined. He was not much older than Isaac himself, he thought, but military service tended to age men faster. Isaac wondered how his brother Zac looked… if he still looked like anything at all. He’d had no word from his family, and for all he knew, Zac’s body lie somewhere on a battlefield, forgotten.

“My Lord,” the soldier said. “It took us a while to track you down here. Communication is a bit haphazard here lately, I’m afraid.”

“For what purpose did you need to, as you say, track me down?” Isaac asked.

“As I said, communication has been a bit haphazard. I’m afraid I must report that we cannot guarantee any post has escaped India intact for the last month. We’ve only just received a large packet of letters intended for you. I’ve come here now to deliver them, however overdue they may be.”

“I see,” Isaac replied. That would explain why his family had been silent, he supposed. “I’ll have them now, if you please.”

“Of course, Sir.” The soldier produced a stack of letters from within his coats and slapped it down on the table, and Isaac had to wonder how there had even been room to conceal so much.

“Thank you,” Isaac said, sliding the twine-bound veritable brick across the table toward himself.

He didn’t wait for the soldier to leave before tearing into the stack. There were any number of boring missives from his parents, detailing all the comings and goings at Beasley Hall. As he read the words, the manor came to life for him again. Until that moment, it had seemed so remote. He knew it was his life, and yet he could not recall a thing that truly felt real. As he read Jessica’s letter about working at the village hospital, he could actually hear her laughter at how queasy the blood made Taylor.

And Taylor…

His letter was restrained, but he wrote with all the persuasiveness expected of a lawyer. In this particular instance, he was pleading with Isaac to return home and free him from the burden of being heir. Isaac had to stop reading once to catch his breath. He had been so reckless, coming to India in the middle of a war, even if India was on the same side as England.

What had he done to his family?

The one and only letter from Zac said it all.

 

My dearest brother:

Goddamn you.

Yours,
Captain Zachary Hanson

 

The very last letter was from a name that Isaac did not immediately recognize. Miss Nicole Dufresne. Who could that be, he wondered? He peeled the envelope open carefully, and the scent of expensive perfume hit his nose. The scent brought back the rest of his dormant memories, and he wondered how he could have ever forgotten the American heiress.

He had been so convinced that his trip to America would be his most eventful trip. Glancing down at his sling, he decided perhaps it was time to give up traveling. But not before one last voyage.

Isaac glanced up from the letter and was surprised to see that the soldier remained stock still by the door. Clearing his throat, he asked, “If I wanted to be sure that a letter was delivered, what would be the best method?”

“There may be no such way at the moment, My Lord,” the soldier replied.

Isaac sighed. There simply had to be a way.

“You may consider, if the message can be condensed, having a telegram sent. The embassy has reopened, and I am sure they could get your message through.”

Isaac nodded. “That will have to do. If you could, let them know I will come by as soon as I can clear it with the good doctor.”

The soldier nodded, then turned neatly on his heel and departed.

Isaac glanced down at the letter again. Though it was sent weeks ago, it appeared Nicole had not met anyone else in his absence. With her wealth and good looks, he was sure she had no shortage of suitors. He was a fool for leaving without asking her hand in marriage. Having come so close to death, he realized he could afford to let no other opportunities pass him by.

As soon as he could get a message sent and secure passage, he would be on his way to America again, for what he hoped was the last time.

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