Chapter 11
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale silver glow through the curtains of Dorothea’s bedchamber. She lay on her back, unmoving, eyes fixed on the canopy above. Sleep had evaded her completely.
She had been lying awake for hours now, ever since her conversation with Dominic earlier that evening.
For one breathless moment, she had believed she had reached him—that the armor he wore so tightly around his heart had cracked, just a little.
But true to form, he had withdrawn again, shuttering his thoughts behind those guarded eyes and carefully measured words.
Her thoughts circled back again and again, looping like a melody she couldn’t silence.
She clutched the blanket tighter to her chest, her senses still haunted by the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air.
It was a stubborn reminder of how close to death she had come.
How Dominic had risked his life to save hers.
How could she not feel something for him after that?
But it wasn’t just gratitude. She knew it, deep down.
She had fallen in love with Dominic long before the fire—back when they were on the Continent, side by side in that dim, makeshift hospital.
In those endless hours of shared silence and whispered confidences, something in her had changed.
He had become more than a wounded soldier. He had become... hers.
The mantel clock chimed once, then again, breaking the silence of the room and marking the slow approach of dawn. She turned towards the sound with a sigh, aware she would greet the morning unrested once more.
A sudden noise cut through the stillness. It was a muffled cry, harsh and fractured. Dorothea sat upright, heart pounding. The sound had come from the adjoining bedchamber. Dominic’s.
Then came another: a garbled shout, and the sound of something—perhaps a pillow—thudding against the floor.
She reached for her wrapper, shrugging it over her shoulders, and walked across the room.
Her bare feet made little sound on the carpet as she approached the door that separated their rooms. Her fingers hesitated on the handle.
Could she go in? It felt like an intrusion.
But another shout shattered her uncertainty.
“No, John! No!”
Her breath caught. John?
Without further thought, she turned the handle and opened the door a fraction, peering into the dim space.
The faint glow of embers in the hearth illuminated the figure of Dominic, twisted in the grip of a nightmare.
His sheets were thrown aside, his brow slick with sweat, his fists clenching and unclenching as he thrashed against invisible demons.
“Dominic,” she called out, stepping into the room.
She crossed to the bed and reached for him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
In a flash, his hand shot out and closed around her wrist, his grip tight. “What do you think you are doing in here?” he growled.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “I thought it best to wake you before your shouting woke the entire household.”
His grip didn’t ease at once, but she saw the confusion in his eyes as he slowly surfaced from the dream. At last, his fingers loosened. “Oh,” he muttered, as if disoriented.
In the quiet that followed, she noticed the ragged rhythm of his breathing and the way his chest heaved beneath his linen nightshirt.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“No,” he answered, the word clipped.
She glanced down. He was still holding her hand. “Who is John?” she asked carefully.
At once, Dominic stiffened. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”
His curt dismissal stung more than she wished to admit. “Can I get you something?” she offered. “Perhaps a warm glass of milk?”
“I don’t need milk,” he snapped, his voice edged in frustration.
“Then what do you need?” she asked, not out of obligation, but because she truly wanted to know.
He sat up in bed, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “Nothing you can give me,” he muttered.
Dorothea nodded, swallowing the ache in her throat. “I see,” she whispered, though it wasn’t the truth at all. She turned to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Dominic said suddenly, his voice quieter. “I should be thanking you for waking me.”
“No thanks are necessary,” she replied, pausing at the doorway.
He studied her. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head. “No. I was already awake.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
She gave him a tired smile. “Sometimes my thoughts are too loud to ignore.”
He let out a soft breath. “I understand that... more than I’d like.”
She hesitated. “Well, I’ll let you return to bed.”
But as she reached for the door, his voice stopped her. “John was the one who saved me.”
Turning back, she asked, “Pardon?”
Dominic’s face was shadowed by memory. “John Cooper. He was in my unit. A good man. Better than most.” He swallowed. “He’s the reason I’m still alive.”
“I’m afraid I never met him.”
“I’m not surprised. He didn’t take well to attention or praise. But when it mattered most, he was there.” His voice grew rough. “I was broken, bleeding... certain I would die. And John found me. Carried me across the battlefield, even as bullets tore through the air.”
“What happened to him?”
Dominic’s eyes closed, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “He died the next day in battle. A rocket exploded and he died instantly. Alone.”
She stepped closer, instinctively reaching out. “You were wounded. You couldn’t have helped him.”
He opened his eyes, pain shining in their depths. “That doesn’t matter. He saved me, and I wasn’t there when he needed someone most.”
There was no easy answer, no comfort that would erase the guilt etched in his voice. So Dorothea simply reached for his hand again. It was not to drag answers from him, but to offer what comfort she could.
“You’re still here,” she whispered. “And I’m grateful for that.”
Dominic looked down at their joined hands and, for once, didn’t let go. “Why is it fair that I am here but John is not?”
Dorothea’s brows drew together in quiet sorrow. “I cannot say why,” she said. “Some questions have no answers.”
His gaze darkened as it dropped once more to their entwined fingers. “I was ready to die, but I was not prepared to live,” he admitted. “How does one even go on after that?”
Still holding his hand, Dorothea eased herself down beside him on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, bringing her closer to him, close enough to see the exhaustion etched in every line of his face.
“You take one day at a time,” she said. “And then another. You move forward—even when you don’t think you can. Especially then.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s not. It’s never easy. But if you keep looking behind you—if you let yourself live in the past—you’ll never see what’s ahead. You’ll never give yourself the chance to heal.”
Dominic turned his face away, jaw clenched. “How do I accept that I’m here because a braver man died?” he whispered, the confession edged with torment.
“You honor him by living. By making your life matter,” she said, her voice trembling with conviction. “You carry him with you—not as a burden, but as part of your strength.”
A comfortable silence descended over them. After a long moment, he looked back at her, and there was something in his eyes—something raw and searching. “Why are you here?”
Caught off guard, she began, “I heard you shouting. I thought—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. “I mean… why are you here with me? Still. After everything. Why haven’t you walked away?”
The question struck deep, bypassing pretense and landing squarely on truth. She could have told him everything—how she had loved him since France, how her heart twisted every time he looked away, how she ached for the version of him he didn’t believe still existed.
But she knew he wasn’t ready for that kind of truth. Not yet.
So she offered the piece of it he could carry for now. “Because I care about you, Dominic. I always have. And I always will.”
He looked down again at their hands, his fingers tightened around hers once more. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
Her brows rose. “You are?”
A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I don’t know why you look so startled by that.”
“It’s just…” She gave a soft, rueful laugh. “You often seem like you’re barely tolerating me.”
That earned her a full, if weary, smile. “I more than tolerate you, Dorothea.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, returning his smile.
Unexpectedly, Dominic asked, “Would you care to go riding tomorrow?”
Torn between the abrupt change in subject, she replied, “I… um… yes.”
He seemed pleased by her answer. “Before breakfast?”
“I’d like that very much.”
The faint crow of a rooster drifted in from the fields beyond the manor, breaking the quiet with the first herald of dawn. The sound drew her gaze to the window, where the edges of the sky were just beginning to lighten with the promise of morning.
“I should at least try to get some sleep before we go riding,” she said, slipping her hand out of his and rising.
As she walked towards the door, Dominic’s voice trailed behind her. “Thank you, Dorothea.” The words held a sincerity that she had yet to hear from him.
She paused at the open door and turned back to look at him. “You are welcome.”
Dominic smiled at her, and for the first time, it reached his eyes. “Until later.”
With a small nod, Dorothea slipped quietly from the room, the door closing behind her with a gentle click.
Dominic adjusted his cravat as he stared in front of the mirror. The sun was streaming through the long windows in his bedchamber. The faintest hint of lavender lingered in the air, reminding him of Dorothea and the words she had said just hours before.