The Complete Regency Surrender Collection. Louise Allen

      Will was beginning to fear that Penny had been correct in her suggestion that he use a Bath chair. If he lacked the strength to walk across his own room, there was no way he could manage the stairs to the ground floor without help from the servants. If he had to stagger to get down them, it would take all his energy to avoid the indignity of being carried back upstairs after.

      As if it was not enough to lose memory and strength, he seemed prone to nerves—he started at the least little thing. He’d lain in bed, straining to hear the conversation in the hall, as Penny assured the mysterious Justine that everything would be fine. As he’d done so, he was overcome with the fear that the family was plotting against him, with the stranger. Even the entrance of his valet, with clean linen and shaving gear, set his heart to pounding. He’d been so sure of himself, before. Perhaps the blow had addled his brain, and the confidence would never return.

      He refused to believe it. He would not spend the rest of his life hiding in his room and starting at shadows. If he worked to make it so, his life might be as it once was.

      But now, he had a wife.

      He did not wish to think of her, either. After he’d composed himself, it was a comfort to see his valet, Stewart. It was good to be clean, shaved and dressed in something other than a nightshirt. But it embarrassed him that he’d had to be helped into a sitting position and moved about like a mannequin when his limbs would not stay steady enough to help with trousers and coat.

      His man had made no comment on it, other than to examine his cheek and remark that her ladyship was nearly as good with a razor as he, and might have made an excellent valet, had God blessed her enough to make her male.

      ‘She shaved me?’ Why did it bother him to imagine that graceful hand holding the blade to his throat?

      Stewart smiled. ‘She did everything for you, my lord. She was so attentive that all breathed a sigh of relief when she was not in the room. We feared she would exhaust herself with the effort.’

      The man had said all as though he referred to both servants and family. It seemed that everyone in the house was taken with the love and dedication that the mysterious Justine had brought to her nursing. ‘What else do the servants say of my new wife?’ If there was any below-stairs gossip, Stewart would know of it. Hopefully, he owed enough loyalty to his master to give an honest opinion.

      The man broke out in a grin. ‘She is quite the finest woman in Wales, my lord. Gentle and kind, with a way about her that makes all in the household easy about the change. She has not spent much time with us, as yet. Your brother deemed it easier to keep you here than in your own home.’ Will smiled to himself. For the first time in the discussion, there was the slightest hint of disapproval, and it was because a duke had the gall to overrule his servants in doing what was best for him.

      Stewart was smiling again. ‘We shall soon have you back with us, now that you are better, and all will be right again. And we shall have her ladyship as well.’ The smile grew even broader, as though this addition was not so much a bother as the candied violet on top of a sweet.

      Very well, then. All of Wales adored his wife. Logic dictated that he should as well. Had it not been pleasant to see her face, to hear her voice and to feel her gentle touch as he awoke? If he was still whole in body, he should have found it arousing to think that this lovely creature was familiar with the most intimate features of his anatomy. Those soft white hands had touched him as a lover, even as he’d lain helpless.

      ‘Be careful, my lord.’ His shudder at the thought had brought a caution from Stewart, whose scissors hovered near to Will’s ear as the hair around it was trimmed.

      Will took a deep breath and steadied himself. ‘That is my intention, Stewart. From now on, I will be very careful, indeed.’

      * * *

      Despite the difficulties involved, Will took supper in the dining room with the family. Though his legs were still too watery to hold him, he could not stand the thought of a meal on a bed tray. Nor could he repress the nagging suspicion that if he was absent, he would be the main topic of conversation. On his way to the ground floor, he held tight to the stair rail and managed to ward off the sudden vertigo as he walked. A footman supported his other arm. While crossing the hall, he’d tried and rejected a walking stick, for his arms were not strong enough to hold it. By God, he would practise in his room, all day if necessary. He would be himself again.

      Once he was seated at the dinner table, he felt almost normal. He’d practised sitting up in a chair until he was sure he was steady. And while he might not have an appetite for all the courses, he was still damned hungry. According to Stewart, they’d been giving him nothing but gruel from a pap cup for weeks. The very act of holding knife and fork was enough to raise his spirits, though the use of them was problematic.

      It was after dropping yet another bite of fish, as he tried to guide it to his mouth, that he realised the hush that had fallen over the table. They were all watching him intently, as he ate.

      He threw his fork aside. ‘It is not any easier, when one is being stared at, you know.’

      ‘Perhaps, if I were to cut your...’ The woman, Justine, was leaning towards his plate, ready to slice his food as though he were too young to manage it himself.

      ‘Certainly not,’ he barked at her. In response, there was a nervous shifting of the other diners and his brother cleared his throat, as though to remind Will of his manners.

      ‘I am sorry,’ he grumbled. He was annoyed with her offer and even more so with himself for behaving like a lout. ‘It is difficult.’

      ‘Soon it will be easier,’ she promised and signalled a footman, whispering a request.

      With that, another course appeared, just for him. A ragout of beef had been poured into a tankard and there was a soft bit of bread as well. It was peasant fare and his table manners were a match for it. His hands shook as he brought the mug to his mouth and he wiped away any spillage with the bread. It embarrassed him to be so careless. But the others at table seemed so happy that he could eat at all, they ignored the manner of it and conversation returned to normal.

      He could feel his strength returning with each bite. By the time he had finished, his hands had stopped shaking and he felt warm and comfortably full inside. Though it annoyed him to have to do so, he gave Justine a brief nod of thanks.

      In response, she gave a modest incline of her head as if saying it was her honour to serve him. He might not know what to make of her sudden appearance in his life, but she seemed to feel no such confusion. Though she barely looked at him over dinner, she was ever aware of his needs and quick to see them tended to. The moment she’d realised his problem, she had moved to help him, while allowing him some small amount of dignity.

      Would it be so bad to find that he had married a beauty willing to devote her life to his health and happiness? Tonight, she was wearing a dinner gown of moss-green silk. It might have seemed dull on another woman, but it brought out the colour of her eyes. The cut was lower than her day dress had been, but still quite modest. While it revealed a graceful neck and smooth shoulders, the hint of bosom visible made a man wonder all the more about the rest of her. And on her head was the same starched cap from the afternoon, hiding most of her curled hair.

      It was hardly fair that he could not remember knowing her before she’d put on the modest trappings of marriage and covered her head. His brother’s wife rarely bothered with such things. But that was less from a desire to display her white-blonde hair and more from a total uninterest in fashion.

      In Justine’s case, such attire felt less like modesty and more like a desire to hide something that he most wanted to see. It was the same for her pretty eyes that were cast down at her food instead of looking at him, and her beautiful voice, which did not speak unless spoken to. She was like a closed book, careful not to reveal too much. She stayed so quiet and still until the dessert was cleared away. Then she offered a curtsy and retired to the sitting room with Penny, leaving the men alone with their port.

      ‘Can you manage the glass?’ Adam asked, pouring for