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consideration persuaded her that it would be pointless to rely on Millicent’s returning to pick her up. Her basket laden down with a stoneware jar of ginger and two weighty volumes of Mr. John Brand’s Observations on Popular Antiquities, she set out to walk the four hilly miles to Grove Park.
    An hour later she paused to rest on a stile, wishing heartily that she had thought to return the books to the shop for Anne to fetch another day. She was hot and tired, and her grey gown was white with dust from the road. There was still a mile or more to go, though at least it would be pleasanter walking from here as she knew a short cut across the fields.
    A rumble of wheels drew her eyes back the way she had come in the hope of a ride in a farmer’s cart. However, the vehicle that appeared, though dusty as herself, was a smart curricle bearing two gentlemen with a groom up behind. To her surprise it drew up beside her and the driver hailed her.
    “Do you know the way to Farleigh Grange, girl?” he demanded in a well-remembered voice.
    She looked up into the grey eyes of the soldier from the Four Feathers.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    The accommodations at the Four Feathers had not been such as to encourage the major and his friend to linger. As soon as the doctor from Canterbury had pronounced Bernard fit to travel, Chris went into the town and hired the most comfortable chaise he could find, regardless of expense.
    “I saved money on the horses.” He grinned at his friend’s expression as he helped him into the carriage. “I know you prefer to travel behind a dashing team, but this sorry pair of nags will ensure that our coachman does not try to give the go-by to anything else on the road this time.”
    Bernard snorted. “We’ll be lucky to reach London this day week.”
    “Two days. Dr. Benson made me promise to go slow, and I think him a good man. At least he knows his limitations and did not try to take the shrapnel out of you.”
    Chris recalled the girl with green eyes who had recommended the doctor. Her face had faded from his memory, leaving a niggling annoyance with himself for not expressing his gratitude while he had the chance. He shrugged. It was too late now.
    Bernard settled back against the cushions, his face strained. “I’m weak as a kitten again, dammit. Cousin Martha will adore having someone to nurse.”
    “Miss Cartwright will certainly not want another guest in her house at such a time. I shall easily find lodgings once I have seen my banker.”
    “You’ll do no such thing. Do you want to insult my only living relative?”
    They wrangled amicably as the chaise crawled towards London.
    It was late afternoon on the next day when they rumbled over the cobbles of Marylebone. Grey slate roofs gleamed in the sun after a passing shower. The chaise pulled up before a tall, narrow terrace house.
    A maid opened the door to Chris’s urgent knock.
    “Is your mistress at home?” he demanded. “I’ve brought her cousin, Captain Cartwright, and he’s in queer stirrups.”
    Martha Cartwright, as short and plump and rosy as her house was tall and narrow and grey, clucked distractedly over the limp form of her young cousin as Chris and her manservant bore him in. However, she proved to be an excellent practical nurse and in no time he was made as comfortable as possible, in the chamber next to her own.
    “So I shall hear if he wakes in the night,” she told Chris, pouring him a generous glass of brandy. “He’s exhausted, poor lamb, but tomorrow will be soon enough for doctors. Bless you, Major, for bringing him to me. I’ve had the back room made up and you’ll be staying as long as you’re in town, I hope.”
    Chris accepted gratefully, and for the first time in months he slept the clock round without one ear cocked for a change in Bernard’s breathing.
    In the morning, he walked across Mayfair and St. James’s to Whitehall. London at the beginning of July was hot and dusty, and traffic was scarce in