The Restless Viscountess

Chapter 9

"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

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Chapter Nine

Simon's head lay back on the pillow and he closed his eyes, or rather his eye. The other was covered by a bandage and he was not yet sure if he had sight in it. The doctor wanted to keep the wound covered. All Simon knew was that the skin was very tight and the right side of his face had a large hole in it.

He'd awoken in London a few days earlier, and he had been laying in a hospital bed receiving visits from comrades, former commanding officers, and nobles, all of whom respected him, and felt sorry for him.

Though Simon did not deserve their pity. This was his own fault. The blood of Lieutenant George Hepburn, the man who had shot him, was on his hands. He should have been paying attention. He should have known the man was struggling. And now he was dead. Simon's actions had left a man dead, a wife widowed, and a daughter fatherless.

Simon sighed. He deserved to die for it. What sort of leader was he?

"Hello, sir," greeted the quiet nurse who had been tending to him. Jane was twenty or so, with bright red hair, and kind brown eyes.

"Hello, Jane," he murmured.

"Do you want me to write to your family today?" Jane asked.

His doctors and his comrades had all been urging him to write to his family to tell them what had happened. Simon was not close to any of his brothers but one, and even then, he did not want to burden James. He was in the early years of his marriage and he had young children. James would surely insist on bringing James to Derbyshire to convalesce but Simon did not want that sort of treatment. He did not deserve it.

"No," he said firmly. "Have you heard from my wife?" he asked her.

Simon had written to his wife of two years the day he had woken. While he would not burden his brother, his wife needed to know. She was the one who had to live with him.

Jane nodded. "Mrs Spencer will be visiting today, sir," she replied. "A letter arrived not too long ago saying that she had arrived in London."

"Good," he breathed. He had not seen Helen in over a year. In their two years, they had only spent a handful of nights together. It was the price an army wife had to pay.

Simon waited an hour before his door opened again and a familiar face entered the room followed by his doctor. Helen looked very worried as she flitted over to his side. He had married Helen on a whim, after only knowing her for a few hours. She was stunningly beautiful and he wanted someone to write to. He could not tell James what went on in the army. His protective older brother would surely find a way to pull him out of danger if he knew. He wanted a wife to confide in, someone to calm him after a nightmare and comfort him when he needed it. He also wanted to be someone that a wife could depend on and love.

Helen's raven black hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her pale blue eyes were surveying him intensely. Her eyebrows were knitted together as she fretted. "What is wrong with him?" she demanded to know, looking up at the doctor. "What happened to you, Simon? They said you were shot, I do not understand!" Helen's small, pale hand carefully reached out to the bandaged side of his face. Her lip trembled. "What happened to you?"

Simon did not know how to reply. How could he tell her that this was his own fault?

"Your husband was incredibly lucky, Mrs Spencer," replied Simon's doctor, Doctor Richardson.