It is a wretched thing, Colin Craven mused, to fall in love and have your heart broken. Twice. The first time, he hadn’t seen it coming, though his father had.
Mary had been firmly besotted with Dickon since forever, and even if it caused talk, Archibald had bought the boy a commission, alongside Colin.
They’d come up as Majors together, Dickon gaining rank and fame alongside General Jack Seeley and Warrior when he rode with them in several battles.
Colin didn’t begrudge his friend his fame. Dickon was more an unsung hero than anything else, though it had smoothed the way for his marriage, to Mary Lennox of all people.
Mary had laughed outright when people accused her of grabbing at a well-known soldier, only to show them a photograph of her and Dickon as children. It had been hard to watch, though.
He’d loved Mary too, but had never measured up to the lad from Yorkshire.
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