Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(44)

Emmaline flashed him a smile. She found peace in being with the men here who were a bit rough around the edges and had the false edge of Society’s veneer dusted free. It was refreshing.

“Byron?” She opened the volume and fanned through several pages before settling on, “The Lady”.

“Are you anyone’s lady, my lady?” Jones interrupted.

The brazen question caused Emmaline to stumble in her recitation.

Jones smiled broadly, displaying a row of crooked teeth. It had been three weeks since he’d first smiled and spoken to her, and yet Emmaline was still startled by the transformation of the soldier she’d known for three years.

“Easy enough question,” he teased.

Emmaline troubled her lower lip. Yes, for most it was an easy enough question. She chose to break with the strictures on what merited appropriate discussion. “I’m betrothed,” she said at last.

His brow wrinkled and he shoved himself up with his only elbow. “So you’ve got yourself a gentleman?”

She managed a small smile. “I’ve got myself a gentleman.” Unused to speaking freely about her betrothal to Lord Drake, she hesitated. “He was a soldier. He also fought on the Peninsula.”

Jones’ eyes widened the same way she imagined they would if she’d proclaimed diamonds were falling from the sky.

“You’re marrying yourself a soldier?”

“I am.” Or she was supposed to. She couldn’t go and explain the complicated aspects of her and Drake’s relationship.

Jones gave an approving nod. It seemed she’d risen even more in the man’s estimation.

He whistled between his teeth. “You found yourself a fancy bloke who fought in the war, too? Not many lords were giving their lives, my lady.”

Not many of them had been running away from a childhood betrothal, either. “No, no they weren’t.”

Sensing Jones was far more curious than any time in the three years she’d known him, she decided to share this personal piece of herself. “He is the Marquess of Drake, he fought—”

The man’s shocked gasp cut into her words. “Lord Drake is your gentleman?”

Emmaline blinked, unprepared that this man should know him. She leaned forward in her chair. “Did you know of him?”

“Know of him? I served under him,” he said, his eyes round with amazement. “My battalion was hit hard. We lost our commanding officer. The captain was given control of our battalion.” His eyes took on a far-off quality that suggested he was seeing things Emmaline didn’t want to see. “He’s a hero.”

Yes, Drake was a hero. She’d read that in every last smattering of articles she’d collected on his accomplishments. How funny this stranger should truly know, firsthand, what Drake had seen and done.

She continued to aggravate her lower lip. “W-what was he like?”

Jones didn’t respond right away. Instead he studied Emmaline with a near overwhelming intensity.

This time it was her turn to try and tamp down the awkwardness brought on by the conversation.

How odd to finally realize the discomfiture she must have caused Jones with her probing questions these past years.

“He’s a good man,” Jones said quietly.

“Yes.” That wasn’t really the bit of undisclosed information she’d been seeking from Lieutenant Jones.

He must have suspected as much. “After the Battle of Salamanca, the French left Madrid and Wellington marched us into the city.” Lieutenant Jones glanced down at his hands. “He left three divisions to guard the capital and then marched the rest of us to Burgos. The captain led us in that march. We came to a scorched field. There was this mangy pup. Emaciated thing. All bones. Whimpering. A step from death. Literally.” He tried to grin but it failed, resembling more of a twisted grimace.

Emmaline thought to the well-nourished, loving hunting dogs and pugs her family had over the years. Then she tried to envision the poor, neglected creature described by Jones. Her heart hurt for the poor little fellow.

“As we marched, that mangy dog followed the captain’s horse until the captain drew his horse to a halt, and scooped up the flea-ridden creature. He nursed that old dog back to health. Gave the dog half of his own rations. Ate right out of the captain’s plate, he did. Drank his water.” He shook his head, as if still dumbfounded. “Never would have imagined a fancy lord would share food from his own plate with a filthy dog. Named him Valiant. That dog followed him everywhere. There wasn’t much to laugh about then, but we used to laugh about it.”

Emmaline’s heart hitched.

God help her, she loved Drake. She loved him with a desperation that made her want to fling down the book and run out of the hospital and find him.

She tried to imagine Drake riding beside some of the men here in the hospital, bantering back and forth. He was such a proud man. So very serious. Emmaline couldn’t reconcile the Drake she’d come to know with the one being described by Jones. “I imagine Lord Drake was not pleased with the ribbing he received?”

Jones slashed his one hand through the air. “Aww, he took it all in good humor. Men respected him for that. You know, being able to laugh at himself and all.”

Emmaline sat back in her chair. “I don’t understand why he didn’t return with Valiant….” Her words trailed off when Jones looked away.