The Year of Our Lord, 1831

Dillon Chadwick, Viscount of Dewsbury, stood at the nursery window holding his nephew, Thomas, while watching the entangled coaches in the street below. The elite of London had been arriving for the ball over the past hour.

To his disgruntlement, his sister claimed to be holding this grand event in his honor. She had insisted upon celebrating his return to Parliament when two years before he had almost died after leaving the building. The protesting crowd had been carrying bottled firebombs as well as clubs.

"Look, at that lady, Uncle." Thomas pointed outside. "She's wearing feathers like the Indians do in America."

"Indians do not wear turbans with ostrich feathers. They would be insulted, I would imagine. That looks ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Mother told me I must not insult anyone, so you must be right—however, does your comment insult the woman?"

His lips quivered while he tried to keep his amusement contained. "Is it not the truth? There are times such desires to be fashionable look as if she tried too hard. Though, we would not tell her such to her face. A friend should tell her."

Thomas reached for his uncle's eyepatch and looked beneath it. "Is your patch hiding your scar, or are you trying to be fashionable?"

"Rascal. I would hate for someone to throw up their supper by seeing that scar, so I cover it. It makes me look like a pirate, don't you think?"

The boy tipped his head to the side to study his face. "The beard does that, I think. It would be most fun for you to go to Mother's party wearing a scarf tied around your head. Mama says you wear your hair too long now. Do you wear it that way because your friend, Lord Grey does?"

"Tis not that long, though I did not cut it while sailing with him and his family. Did you know that his wife has taught their children to swordfight? The eldest is Martin, and he's quite skilled for such a young age."

"You told me she had fought pirates before. Father has promised that he will teach me to fight, but I am too young yet. How old is their son?"

Dillon knew he wanted a comparison to hold up to his father. "Martin is a mature ten who began practicing at the age of six. I will buy you a wooden sword, as that is what he uses. His uncles began at that age and were taught by her too. In less than a year, you will be six. But, you have to learn to do as you are told, or I will think you are too young for the responsibility."

"I will do as you say, Uncle. You will see." He gave Dillon a pat on the cheek. "Are you scared to go down to the party?"

"'Tis true that I do not look forward to it, but know I must, or your mother will drag me down there herself."

A childish giggle filled the room. "I want to see her do such a thing. Will you stay?"

"It would be most rude of me to behave like a mischievous boy. Now that you have been shown the arrival of so many, I will go below stairs and rescue your father. He will be quite pleased for the respite to come and kiss you goodnight."

Dillon carried him to his bed and whipped the covers back to drop him on top of the mattress. The boy laughed as he bounced. He wiggled against the pillow and tucked his feet beneath the quilt his uncle pulled up to cover him.

"Kiss my prickly beard like a good boy and hug my neck." Dillon leaned over and the boy did as he'd asked. "Goodnight, lad. I will come by soon and take you for a ride on my horse."

"Make it soon, Uncle."

Dillon nodded to his nephew and walked towards the door. Thomas's nursemaid waited just inside her connecting room. "I'll send Lord and Lady Cumberland up."

"Aye, Milord."

Due to the arriving guests, he chose to enter the ballroom from a different direction. He took the back stairs down to the kitchen. As he stepped inside, heads rose but they did not pause other than to give him a nod. The chaos of the staff was loud as they prepared the food. Dillon used the back door leading outside, walked around the house towards the garden, and took the stairs leading up to the terrace of the ballroom. The fall night was brisk, but not cold.

Torches had been placed outside to light the walkways, the stairs, and the balustrade along the terrace. More light spilled out onto the stone floor from the ballroom.

He tugged at his dress gloves, checked his eyepatch, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. The scars he carried had not been seen by many, other than family, and his close friends. They had grown accustomed to his appearance providing him time to grow less uncomfortable.

Before the attack, he'd had a comely face and a body the ladies welcomed. Now, he had a need to hide the scars. Healing from the incident had taken almost a year of excruciating pain and treatment. He'd been lucky, or so they'd told him. Only one side of his body had been hit by the flash-fire of the bottled bomb catching his clothes afire. One of the brave souls had thrown his coat over him and smothered the flames as the constable's men had gained control of the crowd.

While he recuperated in the hospital, he lost a great deal of weight. But his good friends forced him to eat and exercise. His trip upon the seas towards America with Lord Grey and his family had restored him fully. Lord Grey's wife, Gabby, as she preferred to be called, enjoyed playing games with their children and made sure her husband took up the challenges as well. That had also pulled Dillon into the games. They had climbed the ropes, swung out across the deck, and joined them in their daily practice with swords.

During this adventure, he had gained back his weight and strength, and his dark hair had grown long. Strange how one took things for granted until an event took them away. His hair had been singed to the scalp on one side and it had taken time to grow again.

Now that he had been back for a month, he felt the same as he had before the burns. The scars of his efforts to stop those bombs from being thrown were all that was left.

Dillon stood outside the doors to the ballroom looking inside at the crowd. His two good friends, Daniel and Jasper were likely playing cards since they were not mixing with the guests. The sound of music was softly played before the dancing began.

People he hadn't seen in years greeted each other as if time had stopped and nothing had changed. For him, everything was different. He took very little for granted and loved the second chance at life he'd been given. To steady his nerves for the reaction of his peers, he took a breath and headed for the receiving line.

Lawrence Hilcroft, Marquess of Cumberland, stood beside Dillon's sister, Alison. He admired the way Lawrence stood close to her, his left hand behind her waist. She reminded him of their mother, dark hair, dark eyes, and a tall, slender frame. Tonight she wore a dark blue gown with a sapphire tiara framing the top of her coiffure. It didn't appear as if they would be free to tuck their son in for a goodnight kiss if he didn't step up to the receiving line, which he did.

Alison's eyes met his as he stepped beside her. "Is Thomas waiting for us?"

"Master Thomas is in bed, and I did promise to rescue each of you in order for him to receive his hugs. Sneak away, and they will not miss you with my appearance here."

"Good luck." She giggled and hurried away as fast as would be permissible.

Lawrence watched her leave and stepped closer to speak to Dillon "Since most of these people owe you for their escape on that fateful night, they should be thanking you. I doubt they are honorable enough to do so, since that too is part of cowardice, but remember that."

Dillon gave him a slight bow. "I am grateful for your reminder."

The next guest approached and bowed a greeting, but kept glancing at Dillon. "My brother-in-law, Viscount Dewsbury; I believe you know Earl of Drayton."

Dillon bowed his head. "It has been ages, has it not? I don't believe we've seen each other since that day of the riot."

"Uh, yes, you're looking well. How have you been getting on?"

"The hard part is past now. Nice to have seen you." Dillon cut him off by turning his attention to the next guest. Lord Drayton had been spared the chaos that day by running away in fear during the attack, while others had tried to help and stop the violence. Nor had Drayton bothered to inquire about his health during his stay in the hospital or since.

Before that horrid experience, Dillon hadn't thought much about the peers of the realm, other than their political views. Now, he judged the man for his mettle.

A short while later, after greeting many who were pleased to see him, Alison returned and nudged her husband. "Your son wishes to share his excitement. His uncle Dillon has promised him a wooden sword." They both turned to stare and watched him shrug. "You may express your delight with my brother after the party."

Lawrence excused himself and left quickly, but Dillon saw the humor in his eyes as he did so. He continued to greet people as they arrived while standing by his sister. At last, they found a lull, and the guests began to mingle. The dance floor filled up as women and débutantes were swept into a waltz.

Upon his return, Lawrence shared a moment of joviality with his son. To become a swordfighter, he thought it most prudent to learn from Lady Gabby and practice with Martin Howard, at Greystone. He had been most confident that neither his father nor his uncle could possibly be as good with a sword since they had not fought pirates.

Still chuckling, Lawrence led his wife onto the dance floor. Dillon watched the affection they shared and knew it was a blessing. He had witnessed the same between Gabby and Edward. Any woman he found to share such an attachment would have to deal with the scars down his body.

Most of the women he had met did not have that kind of mettle. However, he had met one such lady: a selfless individual who had nursed him through his burns when he first arrived at the hospital. When he'd begun to heal, she had been replaced with another less skilled nurse. But upon occasion, she had stopped to see him and check on his wounds and offer advice to the new nurse.

He had watched this paragon, who resembled an angel with her fair hair and sky blue eyes, as she checked on patients and gave them hope. Before he left the hospital, he had learned her name and was shocked to discover she was a lady of the realm.