Loving the Enemy

Chapter 2

Adelaide smiled prettily at her dance partner, Lord Robertson, who returned her to her mother's side. "Thank you, my lord. I thoroughly enjoyed myself."

"As did I." He bowed over her hand, his lips brushing the top of her gloved knuckles. Such an act no longer triggered the flood of emotions that came with the memory of that May Day night when Wyndham nearly had her hand in his. After all, it was commonplace in polite society.

She mentally shook her head to clear her thoughts of him. She knew not why he had occasionally invaded her thoughts at odd times over the years since he'd gone off to fight Napoleon, only that they were unwelcomed.

Tonight, however, she knew why he popped into her mind. Her brother had announced yesterday that his good friend was back from the war and — because Garrett had been able to secure an invitation — would be attending tonight's party.

Her mother's joy had been that of a child being told she could eat her fill of sweets every day for the rest of her life. "Oh, thank the Lord he is back with us!" She'd exclaimed and insisted Garrett ask for him to take tea with them that afternoon. Though he declined on his friend's behalf — much to her relief — citing some nonsense or other, her mother had been in high spirits, and still was, for she hadn't fussed as much with Adelaide's appearance tonight.

Her brother had been equally gleeful, and because she knew him so well, she was aware that the reason for his joy must be something else. He'd declined to divulge the real reason when she confronted him after, only remarking that "Wyndham will eat his words".

She huffed to herself. At least his return had made two people happy. She wouldn't admit it but she was relieved to hear that he was safe. After all, she had seen first-hand the pain of war.

She'd also wondered if he'd look any different after the war. Maybe the loss of a limb. Or an eye. Or some scarring. Remembering her father's tenants — some of whom were boys — who'd returned from the war broken and unable to do any sort of physical labour brought a pain to her heart.

However, he wasn't in the same position as them, and so the effects of a loss wouldn't be so terrible. And it would surely make him less physically attractive.

She sighed. She truly wasn't such a vindictive person but somehow, she always wished Wyndham ill. Did that speak of a blemish on her person or of Wyndham that he drove her to such abominable thoughts?

"Shall I fetch a glass of punch for you, Miss Kendall?" Lord Robertson offered, interrupting her thoughts.

"You're most kind indeed, my lord. Thank you." He departed, in search of a footman with a tray, and she flicked open her fan, lazily waving it in front of her.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Wyndham engaged in conversation with someone. She bit her lip as she noticed his broad shoulders encased in a black evening coat with gleaming gold buttons that wrapped around a striped navy waistcoat that hugged a trim waist. His long legs were wrapped in tan-coloured trousers that seemed to show off every muscle in his legs. He had eschewed the proper dancing footwear for black Hessians that had been polished so well they seemed to shine.

She wondered if it was a nod to his military career since almost no other men wore boots. It was as if he defied the convention and wore what suited him, regardless of the occasion.

A stray thought wandered into her mind — what it would be like to see him in his officer's uniform because she had heard that the men who attended parties in their uniforms cut quite the figure — before she caught herself, shuddering in horror that she entertained such wayward ideas. She knew better than to think of him favourably. Had she forgotten the humiliation he put her through?