laughed at him. “I have missed your humour,” she said.
“And I have missed your laugh.”
“Tell me more.” She blushed, and she didn’t know why. “More about your adventures, I mean.”
“We were at sea one year,” he said. “I thought I was coming back to you – back to England, I mean – but a great gale came up and we were driven into an unknown coastline. I didn’t recognise the language or the people. There was a hint of the Orient about the place, and our pale skin and impractical uniforms were looked upon with great disdain. I will tell you, though, that the things I saw there were so exotic they still dance in my memory today. There were fabrics as deep and bright as the colours of the sunset, and there were smells and aromas in the streets that were rich and filled with unknown spices.”
He went on to tell her about the narrow streets crowded with buskers and shopkeepers, of the monkey he saw running along one of the high terraces overhead, of the jewellery that hung out over the crowd in sparkling elegance, and of the desert all around.
“It was like nothing I have ever seen,” Nigel said quietly. “So empty and vast. A man could love a place like that, but it could also be the stuff of nightmares.”
“Isn’t all love like that?” Margaret asked with a shrug. She saw a flash of something in his eyes. It was almost like pain, but before she could understand it fully, he had returned to his easy charm.
Margaret cleared her throat. “Major Moorhouse seemed quite taken with you,” she said. “And I imagine your act on the battlefield in saving his life wasn’t the only courageous thing you did. Do you have any other dramatic tales to tell me of your feats of valour?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I’ve been telling you tales.”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “You’ve talked about a few amusing anecdotes, clearly trying to protect the delicate ears of a young lady. But you haven’t told me anything really honest about what the war was like. And you certainly haven’t taken the opportunity I have given you to boast about your accomplishments.”
She saw his face harden, not in anger, but in caution.
“My lady, the tales of war are not for –”
“The faint of heart?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “You know me well enough to know that I am not prone to fainting. That, at least, has not changed in your long absence.”
“You misunderstand me,” he said quietly. That look came into his eyes again, the distant expression that told her he was hiding something. “It is not that I fear you will faint or show some manner of weakness. It is just that, for me, war hasn’t been only tales of adventure and excitement. I know that you want me to feel free to boast of all that I have done, but in truth, I feel I spent most of my time trying to survive. And now I wish to forget the things I saw and the things I did.”
Margaret sobered at once. She could see the pain in his eyes, and her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should not have pressed. I do not know anything of war – you are right – I only know you, and I know that you are humble and quiet and would never boast about yourself. I wanted to give you a chance…” She trailed off, feeling foolish. “I see now that there is much I do not understand.”
Nigel looked down at his hands for a moment in silence, and Margaret forced herself to wait quietly. She wanted to encourage him more, to apologise, anything to break the uncomfortable moment. But she knew that he deserved more than those social niceties. When he glanced up again, the faraway look in his eyes had eased.
“You meant no harm,” he said with a weak smile. “I should not have made a lesson out of a mere moment of kindness on your part.”
Margaret reached over and squeezed his arm gently. “You always did make a point of educating me,” she said.
“As if you ever sat for a lesson.” He smiled genuinely this time, and she knew that he had accepted her silent apology, that he was willing to return to normal and let the memories slide away for the moment. Margaret couldn’t help thinking that it might do him some good to talk about the