Kindred Hearts (14 page)

“Boodle’s and White’s, eh?” he said, stabbing another piece of ham and adding a dollop of potatoes. “I think both would be within my means. I don’t gamble much, though.”

“Nor do I,” Tristan said. “I find it tedious, unless it’s for entertainment with friends. I’m not above a pleasant game of whist or piquet, but vingt-et-un is simply a matter of luck, not skill.”

“No, I agree,” Charles said. “I too prefer games of skill over games of chance. I suppose for me it comes of years in the military—there is so much that is beyond our control that we learn to appreciate achievement, rather than just advancement. At least some of us do.”

“Lottie says your own advancement was awarded, not purchased. That’s quite an accomplishment for someone as young as yourself.”

“Someone seemed to think I’m a good leader,” Charles said absently. “But that’s done. I’m technically on extended leave until the sale of my commission goes through, but I’ll still be reporting daily to the Horse Guards headquarters until then. It’s a small price to pay to get them to house my cattle until I can arrange their sale.”

“How many horses do you have?”

“Three, including Paragon. Speaking of which, thank you for letting me have stable-room for him this morning; I’ll take him back to the Guards after breakfast when I report in. Then I am at your service after lunch.”

“Fine,” Tristan said. “I’ll take you around, introduce you to some people.” He glanced at the clock. “If you will excuse me—this is the time I usually spend with my son. Have you met him yet?”

“Charlotte introduced us last evening,” Charles said. “He’s delightful.”

A slow, soft smile spread over Tristan’s face, and he met Charles’s eyes with ones that glowed with love. “He is, isn’t he?”

Charles stared at him blankly, his heart flipping over.
My God
, he thought dazedly,
what I wouldn’t give to have that look be for me
. The pewter of Tristan’s eyes had warmed to something softer; the smile, so different from the brittle grins he’d flashed before, went straight through Charles like the musket ball he’d taken in the side years ago, the oddly painless shock of impact before the pain began. But this time there wasn’t any pain. This time there was a rush of heat and dizziness, as if he’d been holding his breath and only now taken in air. And in the wake of the shock a slow, bittersweet understanding.

He’d thought he’d found Tristan attractive before. Seeing him now, smiling with love, Charles realized that it was more than just attraction, more than just the appeal of a handsome, arrogant, moody young man.

That face—that love—belonged to a man who could steal Charles’s heart. Not even Gregory, whom he’d loved, had ever struck a blow like this one. With just a smile, he undid all Charles’s carefully constructed defenses, stripped him bare, and left him helpless.

“Yes,” he managed, and he wasn’t sure if he was answering Tristan’s rhetorical question, or submitting to Fate.

“
Well
, then, all settled in? Rumor had it that you were back.”

Charles closed his book and grinned up at Dr. MacQuarrie, one-time physician to Arthur Wellesley and his cadre. “Mac!” he said in delight as he shook the man’s hand vigorously. “I didn’t know you were posted back here!”

“Well, not much for me to do in Lisbon once you fellows had gone off,” the physician said as he dropped into a chair across from Charles. “His Lordship—excuse me, I suppose it’s ‘His Grace’ now—never really needed a personal physician any road; I’d swear the man was made of iron. Besides, Hume suits his temperament better than I ever did. So once my leg healed, he had me sent back here. Not that I minded—I’m getting a bit too old to follow the drum.”

“How is your leg?” MacQuarrie had broken it during an earthquake in Lisbon several years prior.

“Gives me fits on cold damp days, which is why I’m living in this godforsaken city instead of a civilized place like Edinburgh.” He snorted. “Not that London’s much better, weather-wise. I’m inclined to retire to someplace like Sicily for my old age. Someplace hot and dry. Maybe Egypt.”

Charles laughed. “Well, don’t retire too soon. I’d been meaning to write to you, anyway; it’s even better that you’re here. You’re a member of this club?”

“Since before you were born, you young upstart. Who sponsored you?”

“Tristan Northwood.”

MacQuarrie raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that lively lad?”

“He’s my brother-in-law—married my twin a few years ago. Do you know him?”

“Had the privilege of patching him up a year or more ago after one of his lunatic escapades. Someone had challenged him to round up all the swans on the Serpentine. A blow from one of those wings can break a man’s arm; in his case he was lucky enough to get off with a badly sprained shoulder. He did it, though. I don’t know how—swans are mean-spirited creatures for all they’re so beautiful. Penned them all in an enclosure he and his friends had set up, until a pair of watchmen threatened to arrest them all.” MacQuarrie snorted. “So they turned them loose on the beadles, but one went after Tris. He was the only one hurt in the aftermath, luckily.”

“Sounds like Tris,” Charles said. “From what I’ve heard, his little games usually don’t hurt anyone but himself.”

“If he were a little more careful about the dares he takes, he wouldn’t get hurt as often as he does,” Mac said. “He’s been lucky so far that he hasn’t done much damage to himself—carriage races and suchlike are bloody dangerous. He’s a regular at Jackson’s and Angelo’s, so he’s got good reflexes—I think that’s what’s saved him so far. Though I haven’t heard much of him lately—your sister seems to be a good influence on him.”

“Oh, I doubt if anyone could have much of an influence on him,” Charles said. “Except his little boy.”

“That would do it,” Mac nodded. “So what did you want to talk to me about? I’m here, and not likely to go anywhere else.”

“You trained in Edinburgh, didn’t you?”

“And where else would a good Scotsman train? The best education in the world, particularly in medicine, my lad. Why? Are you thinking of taking up the caduceus yourself?”

“I am, but I’d rather not have to travel all the way to Edinburgh for it. Can you recommend somewhere a bit closer to home? I’m trying to sell my commission, but since I’ve been promoted to Major, it’s got a bit harder. I don’t want to sell it too cheaply, but since the peace broke out, takers are getting particular.”

“Hold out for the most you can,” MacQuarrie advised, “or sell cheaply to someone you respect.”

“That was my intention,” Charles said. “And none of those who’ve expressed interest are ones I’d like to see taking over my old troops. Even if most of them are now in America under Forrester.”

MacQuarrie beckoned to a waiter, who went away and came back with a glass of whiskey. “Another for you, lad?” he asked, glancing at Charles’s half-drunk wine.

“No, thank you,” Charles said to the man, who nodded and vanished in the way of all good servants.

Mac said, “To be licensed as a physician with the Royal College, you’ll need a few years of classes—the official number is five, but there are ways around it, of course. If you’re interested in surgery, that’s more of an apprenticeship—less prestigious, but more practical, and you’ll be practicing in no time. On the other hand, the poor don’t mind if you don’t have an a FRCP after your name. There are a couple of physicians I know in the process of training at one or another of the hospitals here; they’re desperate for help. I can give you a few letters of introduction, if you like. Or, if you’d be interested, I can work with you myself—I’m affiliated with St. Joseph’s London Hospital in Spitalfields—not the best quarter of town, but you won’t find a more diverse body of patients. Excellent teaching hospital; and if you decide to go for the degree, it’s affiliated with London University. Surgery and medicine, though of course you’ll have to choose. If you pick medicine, I’ve built up a tidy practice outside the military since I’ve been back, and I’d like to have someone worth leaving it to when I retire.”

“I’m interested, and grateful that you are as well.” Charles sipped his wine, then went on, “Some of what I’ve seen during my military career makes me think that there’s more honor in mending a man than in damaging him.”

“I’ve always felt that way.” MacQuarrie studied him from under bristly brows. “I’ve watched your career with great interest since you advocated for that young man—Winstead? Was that his name?”

“Yes,” Charles said. “Gregory Winstead.”

“I never thought he was mad,” Mac said, “but Warren had had it in for him from the beginning. Never understood it—the boy was fine, a good soldier, until Warren took command of his outfit. I didn’t know much about the situation.”

“Warren took a dislike to Greg,” Charles said, “and baited him mercilessly. Greg was a good lad—never said boo to a goose. But Warren wouldn’t be placated, wouldn’t be swayed by reason, and seemed to take delight in how much he could poke at and torment the boy. If anything drove Greg mad, it was Warren.” He swallowed the last of his wine. “Sorry. It still infuriates me, and they’re both dead.”

“I’ve often wondered….” Mac trailed off, staring into his glass.

“Wondered?” Charles prompted.

“Well… see here—you went to public school, did you not?”

“Eton. Yes.”

“And you knew boys who were a… particular kind of bully….”

“Oh, yes,” Charles said softly, coldly. “I knew them. Cowards.”

“Certain things that were said of Warren made me think he enjoyed disciplining his men a little too much. That he
got
a little too much out of the activity, if you know what I mean. And certain… gentler types were meat and drink to that kind of man.” He met Charles’s eyes finally. “As a physician, you’re required to keep the confidence of your patients, no matter how much you personally may be offended by their actions or their beliefs. I’ve always felt it was rather like being a papist priest in the confessional. But I suppose it doesn’t matter now; the boy is dead, and from what I understand has no family to be damaged by the facts.”

“You mean the fact that Gregory was a sodomite,” Charles said calmly. “I knew. He confided in me, even before the business with Warren started. And you’re right—I believe that Warren targeted him because of it. Even though Warren didn’t know—couldn’t have
known
—he suspected it, and that was enough for someone like Warren. And yes, I believe that Warren had leanings that way, and became a bully to compensate for it.”

MacQuarrie leaned back in his chair and studied Charles. “That’s very interesting,” he said thoughtfully. “And Warren pushed the boy just a little too hard, so that all it took was a simple sentence to drive him over the edge?”

“The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back,” Charles said.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. I was too far away to hear. I just saw Greg sitting quietly polishing some harness, and Warren came up and said something. And Greg just went berserk. Tried to strangle Warren with the harness. They took him away screaming, and put him in the local madhouse. And he died there.” Charles rubbed his forehead wearily. “What a waste. He was an excellent soldier, and a good man. If he had been in my company I would have been able to intercede long before it got to that point, but he was in Captain Hanson’s, and Hanson was never one to tolerate interference.” He rubbed his head again. “I should have interfered, and damn the consequences.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Mac said levelly. “It wouldn’t have made a difference in the end, and your career would have been over. And I’m aware of a number of other men that you
did
help, including that one you made your batman, who would have ended up cashiered or worse if you hadn’t been there.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Charles said bleakly.

MacQuarrie nodded. “I know. You’re caught up in the ‘what if’s. But you can’t do that if you plan on making a medical career for yourself. You do your best. You do what you think is right. And you don’t second-guess yourself. That way lies chaos.” He tilted his head. “There are some physicians who are beginning to specialize in mental and emotional disorders. Are you considering moving in that direction?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Charles admitted. “I was focused on getting the training as a generalist first. I don’t know enough about it.”

“Well, I can help you with the generalist part. I’ll send over a list of books to get you started; it would help if you read Latin or Greek….”

“It’s been a few years, but I did have
some
education—Eton, you know. Even if I didn’t go to university.”

“Good. You’ll need to brush up on it, at the very least, to take your examinations in a few years. Most of the classic texts are available in translation. There are also some good German texts which I think we can get that way as well.”

“Ah, there, I have you. I read German better than I speak it, and I’m fluent, thanks to a German nanny. That was why I spent so much time running after Wellington and Castlereagh.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgot. That was why you were in Vienna with Castlereagh. Good. Get the books, and in a week or so I’ll get in touch with you and arrange to have you accompany me on rounds at the hospital. See if it’s something you’d be interested in, talk to the other students, and so on. We’ll deal with your formal education when we get to that point. What’s your direction?”