Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

closed the wardrobe with a sigh and sat back down on her bed. It did not matter, she told herself. Her arms ached from last night's digging, and she did not wish to repeat the process.
    So what was she to do today?
    She turned her head to stare at the steady hands of the gilt clock on her dresser. It was not even teatime yet. My goodness, the days went ponderously slow in Staffordshire. In London, she would have already attended one or perhaps two functions, frittering away her time with idle chatter and insipid gossip. Thank goodness that part of her life was over.
    Of course, now that she was in Staffordshire, she was merely frittering away her time doing absolutely nothing except feeling bored. She tapped her fingers together. What exactly did a free, unfettered spinster do with her time?
    The morning's correspondence had brought some relief to the tedium. She fingered the missive from her sometimes friend, Reginald, Lord Kyle, and re-read his message. It began with the usual on-dits from London, nothing that she cared to know or follow, though she did manage to read every word at least twice. It was only at the end that his correspondence shifted to the odd.
    Staffordshire must be overrun with madmen. I fear I sent one to your doorstep in the form of a major recently released from hospital. The other is a man I call Uncle Latimer. You would know him as Lord Blakesly the elder (the younger one being both presumptuous with the title and an idiot to boot). Have you heard anything of him?
    It ended with the usual farewells, mixed with dry comments about his difficult tailor. Sophia knew nothing of Lord Blakesly the elder, though she absolutely agreed with Kyle's assessment of the younger. As for the realization that Reginald was responsible for directing the major to her here, she had every intention of chiding him for it when next they spoke. She would have written him a letter stating her opinion, but her escritoire was currently buried in the side yard.
    What struck her as particularly odd was that Reginald considered the major insane. True, Lord Kyle clubbed all military men as madmen. Swordplay and bullets tended to disrupt one's attire, and that, to Reginald's thinking, was proof of a weak mind. But perhaps he had a point. The major had just recovered from a severe illness. Perhaps it had weakened his normal reason.
    But he had not seemed mad last night, she thought with a sigh. Indeed, he had looked magnificent riding in on his huge stallion. At first, she had thought him a conjured spirit, tall and dark, like King Arthur riding to battle. The torchlight had turned his brown locks to a reddish gold like a magical helmet. And when he had bellowed at her, all she could think of was keeping the spell alive so that he would remain by her side.
    There was no spell, of course. Only the major, still as handsome and commanding as ever, even after his illness. Even now, she could hardly believe it was him. Alive and seemingly unhurt. I am well ; that's what he had said.
    He was well, but she remembered all too clearly the hours spent by his bedside. The pain that had wracked his body. The agony of watching his strength slip away. And then that horrible moment when they told her he'd died. She could not stop her tears even now, despite the sure knowledge that he was alive.
    But the Major was not some mythical creature, she reminded herself. He was a man. A man who had been desperately hurt. Who even now could catch another fever. What if last night's events had reopened his wound? What if he had returned only to die again? Only to abandon her once more? She did not want to need someone, to want someone, who might slip away so easily. She did not want to hurt like that again. Her body clenched at the horrors she envisioned. And yet, at the same time, she kept remembering how glorious he had seemed last night. How strong.
    Yet how forceful and opinionated! He was as bad as the worst of the condescending fops who graced the London