Amy gave him a reproachful look. "Mama needs to rest. She was at the hospital almost all night."

"And your father fought a battle yesterday," Catherine said mildly. "I'll go make breakfast."

She moved past her husband to go outside. Under the odors of horse and mud was the musky scent of perfume. After the pursuit of the French was called off, Colin must have visited his current lady friend, a lusty widow in Salamanca.

Her maid-of-all-work was the wife of a sergeant in Colin's company and would not arrive for at least an hour, so Catherine knelt by the fire herself. She laid twigs on the embers, wearily thinking how her life had turned out so differently from her dreams. When she'd married Colin at the age of sixteen, she'd believed in romantic love and high adventure. Instead she had found loneliness and dying boys like Jem.

Impatiently she got to her feet and hung the kettle over the fire. There was no place in her life for self-pity. If there was sorrow in her nursing work, there was also the satisfaction of knowing she was doing something that truly mattered. Though she didn't have the marriage she had hoped for, she and Colin had learned to rub along tolerably well. As for love-well, she had Amy. A pity she would never have any other children.

Mouth tight, she told herself what a lucky woman she was.

Chapter 2

Penreith, Wales

March 1815

Michael Kenyon neatly ticked off the last item on his list. The new mining machinery was working well, his recently hired estate manager was doing an excellent job, and his other businesses were running smoothly.

Since he had accomplished his other goals, it was time to look for a wife.

He rose from his desk and went to gaze at the mist-shrouded landscape. He had loved this dramatically beautiful valley and weathered stone manor from the moment he had seen them. Still, there was no denying that Wales in winter could be a lonely place, even for a man who was finally at peace with himself.