"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

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Chapter Nine

Simon's head lay back on the pillow and he closed his eyes, or rather his eye. The other was covered by a bandage and he was not yet sure if he had sight in it. The doctor wanted to keep the wound covered. All Simon knew was that the skin was very tight and the right side of his face had a large hole in it.

He'd awoken in London a few days earlier, and he had been laying in a hospital bed receiving visits from comrades, former commanding officers, and nobles, all of whom respected him, and felt sorry for him.

Though Simon did not deserve their pity. This was his own fault. The blood of Lieutenant George Hepburn, the man who had shot him, was on his hands. He should have been paying attention. He should have known the man was struggling. And now he was dead. Simon's actions had left a man dead, a wife widowed, and a daughter fatherless.

Simon sighed. He deserved to die for it. What sort of leader was he?

"Hello, sir," greeted the quiet nurse who had been tending to him. Jane was twenty or so, with bright red hair, and kind brown eyes.

"Hello, Jane," he murmured.

"Do you want me to write to your family today?" Jane asked.

His doctors and his comrades had all been urging him to write to his family to tell them what had happened. Simon was not close to any of his brothers but one, and even then, he did not want to burden James. He was in the early years of his marriage and he had young children. James would surely insist on bringing James to Derbyshire to convalesce but Simon did not want that sort of treatment. He did not deserve it.

"No," he said firmly. "Have you heard from my wife?" he asked her.

Simon had written to his wife of two years the day he had woken. While he would not burden his brother, his wife needed to know. She was the one who had to live with him.

Jane nodded. "Mrs Spencer will be visiting today, sir," she replied. "A letter arrived not too long ago saying that she had arrived in London."

"Good," he breathed. He had not seen Helen in over a year. In their two years, they had only spent a handful of nights together. It was the price an army wife had to pay.

Simon waited an hour before his door opened again and a familiar face entered the room followed by his doctor. Helen looked very worried as she flitted over to his side. He had married Helen on a whim, after only knowing her for a few hours. She was stunningly beautiful and he wanted someone to write to. He could not tell James what went on in the army. His protective older brother would surely find a way to pull him out of danger if he knew. He wanted a wife to confide in, someone to calm him after a nightmare and comfort him when he needed it. He also wanted to be someone that a wife could depend on and love.

Helen's raven black hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her pale blue eyes were surveying him intensely. Her eyebrows were knitted together as she fretted. "What is wrong with him?" she demanded to know, looking up at the doctor. "What happened to you, Simon? They said you were shot, I do not understand!" Helen's small, pale hand carefully reached out to the bandaged side of his face. Her lip trembled. "What happened to you?"

Simon did not know how to reply. How could he tell her that this was his own fault?

"Your husband was incredibly lucky, Mrs Spencer," replied Simon's doctor, Doctor Richardson.

"Lucky?" exclaimed Helen. "How is he lucky?"

"He is alive," replied Doctor Richardson. "A man surviving a shot to the face is practically unheard of. The bullet was lodged in his cheek bone, the bone that stopped the bullet from penetrating his brain. We removed the bullet, and repaired the bone using an autograft. We removed some bone from your husband's hip, ground it into a paste, and we used it to reconstruct the missing piece of cheekbone."

Simon did think the technique remarkable. He had no idea how they knew how to concoct missing bone. Either way, eventually his face would look relatively normal again. Had they not removed the bone from his hip, then his cheek would have caved in.

Helen was not impressed. Instead, she had gone green. She looked around desperately and seized the clean chamber pot beside Simon's bed. She was promptly violently sick. When she was recovered, she sat down in the chair beside his bed and rubbed her temples. "Oh, good God," she exclaimed.

"Mrs Spencer, this is a miracle," Doctor Richardson continued.

"Miracle? His hip is in his cheek!" Helen snapped.

"Helen, please," Simon said weakly.

"It is time to change the bandages, Mrs Spencer. Would you like to leave the room?" Doctor Richardson asked.

Helen stubbornly shook her head. "No, I need to see."

Simon took a deep breath and closed his eye, knowing that however Helen reacted was how he could expect to be treated in future. Doctor Richardson carefully removed the bandage and Simon winced as his tender skin was exposed to the light. His eye was still swollen shut.

All he heard was Helen scrambling for the chamber pot again before emptying the remaining contents in her stomach.

Whatever spirits he had left, whatever self-worth remained, completely evaporated. If his own wife could not look at him, how could anyone else?

Doctor Richardson tended to Simon while Helen gagged and wretched. The good doctor looked heartbreakingly sympathetic. Simon wondered if he was married, and if something like this had happened to him, would his wife react like this?

"I will give the two of you some privacy," Doctor Richardson said quietly. "If you have any questions regarding your husband's care after he is released from hospital, then please see me, Mrs Spencer."

Now that he was properly covered, Simon looked at Helen. She was crying and she looked ashen.

"I am sorry," she sobbed, "I am so sorry, but I cannot." She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

Simon awoke with a start, covered in sweat from yet another nightmare. That was one that he had not had in a while. Usually the terrors surrounded the actually shooting. He had long tried to forget Helen Spencer.

The memory of his wife running from his hospital room as though it were on fire was not one he liked to think of. He would never forget the way she looked at him. There was pure revulsion in her eyes.

Though it turned out that Helen had not been planning on staying with Simon long anyway. She had been planning on running away with her lover before she had received word of Simon's injury.

To add insult to injury, she sent for him on her deathbed. She had given birth to her lover's son and was dying. The man had disappeared and she needed to give the baby to someone. She needed him to have a name.

Simon wanted to turn his back on Helen, who still shied away from his face, but he could not turn his back on the boy. Helen called him Harry, and then she died. Simon did all he could for the boy at the time. He gave him a good name, and he paid to have him cared for by the midwife who had delivered him. She was a kind woman, one willing to deliver a bastard child. Harry Spencer was three years old, and by the monthly letters he received, Harry was doing well.

Simon climbed out of bed and went over to his wash basin. He poured the cool water from the pitcher into the basin and proceeded to splash his face, wiping away the sweat. His fingers passed over the coarse scar. The tissue surrounding it was tough, and it felt impossibly marred. He would be forever grateful to Doctor Richardson. He had created bone. The man was like God. Whatever he had done had given him a normal face. A scar was a small price to pay for that.

However, the internal trauma, the guilt and anguish, was always there. It would never go away.

It was October twentieth, the day of the christening. Simon opened his drapes and saw that the sun was rising. He would not go back to sleep. When he turned around, he was glad to see that James and Simone were not cowering in the corner. He had not woken them, thank goodness.

He was very quiet at breakfast, and knew James and Rebecca noticed, but thankfully they did not pry. To uncover all of Simon's demons would take a lifetime. He was not sure he would ever encounter someone who would be that patient with him.

But they were to attend a christening, a happy occasion. Today was not the day to be down on oneself. Simon dressed in his red coat, just as he was expected to on special occasions. He combed his hair neatly. He usually wore it unkempt in an attempt to conceal some of the scar. He would not today. He was sure it was some sort of sin to hide one's true self in church. He placed his shako on his head and then went downstairs to join his family, ready to travel to the Ascot village church.

Simon took a seat in the second row next to James. Rebecca and children were on the other side of them. In front of them were the Earl and Countess of Montrose, Nate and Charlotte, and their children.

As soon as everyone was seated, the vicar stood at the altar and asked for silence. He smiled at the congregation and said, "It has been my honour as the vicar of this church to christen and baptise two generations of this congregation. It is my honour today to christen and baptise Aurelia and Ana Wilde, the second set of Wilde twin daughters to be welcomed into our loving arms." The vicar gathered David and Elena, who held their babies, as well as Alexandra and Imogen ready to commence the christening. "No sign of the godfather?" he asked Elena quietly, though the first few rows could hear him.

Elena sadly shook her head.

"Shall we have a stand in?" the vicar suggested.

"No, Joaquín is godfather, even if he has to make his promises from Spain," Elena said stubbornly.

The good vicar chose not to argue with her. Simon understood that Elena had been quite stressed these last few weeks. Perhaps the vicar thought it wise to just agree with her.

The vicar began the service by asking the twins' parents and godparents to declare that they believe in God, and that the children would be brought up following Jesus.

Alexandra and Imogen then took the babies to make their promises to care for and guide Aurelia and Ana.

Together, with David and Elena, they all promised on the twins' behalf, to turn away from everything evil and sinful, and instead turn towards Christ.

Imogen had been standing for a long time, and Simon could see that she was struggling while holding Aurelia, or was it Ana? He could not remember which twin was which, but still, he could tell Imogen was becoming increasingly exhausted. She was not about to give up, though. She looked very determined as she made her promises.

She was a very strong woman, that Imogen. She marvelled Simon. She was someone that had been told from birth that she was never going to work, that her life was to be forever halted by her condition, but she was not about to let that stop her. She was trying, trying to better herself, trying to be stronger for herself.

She was the definition of perseverance.

He enjoyed the look of determination in her hazel eyes. He could see it from where she stood. She actually looked very pretty. She was very small and delicate, but she dressed perfectly for her figure. She wore a lovely shade of blue, and she had her blonde hair swept up in a curly up-do. She looked stunning, actually.

Good God, did he fancy her?

He shied away from fancying women. He did not ever want to go through the rejection that he went through with Helen. Any affection he ever felt for someone would always be one sided. His face was not destined for happily ever after.

Despite all of his little personal rules, he did indeed fancy Imogen. What a hopeless exploit that would be. The pretty little thing standing at the altar deserved much more than what Simon could give her. He was a tortured, tarnished soul, and she was an innocent, young lady who deserved the world.

The vicar then crossed both Aurelia and Ana's foreheads and said, "Christ claims you for his own. Receive the sign of his cross. Do not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified."

The vicar then moved on to baptise the girls. He told the congregation that this was to wash away all sins to begin a new life of God. The girls did not enjoy this part and they started to fuss and cry. Alexandra and Imogen did their best to keep them calm.

"Ana Sofía," said the vicar, "I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Imogen then brought Aurelia forward. "Aurelia Marisol," he continued as he baptised Aurelia, "I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Just before the anointing was to begin, the christening was disturbed by the opening of the church doors. Simon craned his neck to see who had arrived late.

It was a man that Simon did not recognise, though why would he? He did not know half the people in the church. He had an olive complexion and dark hair and eyes. His gaze was fixated on the family at the altar. He was dressed impeccably, regally. His red velvet coat was adorned with that looked like golden buttons and embellishments. He was attended by two young men, servants, Simon presumed.

But who was he? And why was he arriving late?

His first question was quickly answered by Elena, who let out a gleeful scream, something that was not usually heard in a church. "Joaquín!" she cried out as she sprinted down the aisle, holding up her skirt.

Joaquín grinned as he received Elena, pulling her into a tight hug. "¡Mis disculpas!" he said sincerely to Elena. He then looked up at the displeased vicar and the confused congregation. "I am sorry for interrupting the service everyone. I have been travelling for a long time to attend this christening and when I arrived at the house they told me that the christening was commencing." He spoke very good English, albeit heavily accented. He was a Spanish relative of Elena's. Did this mean that he was royal?

"Sit up straight, children," James whispered to his kin, "you are in the presence of a king."

Simon stiffened. King? Even he corrected his posture.

Elena brought Joaquín down the aisle to stand beside Alexandra and Imogen who held the babies. "The godfather is here, vicar," Elena said excitedly. "Continue please."

The vicar was stunted for a moment before he began to commence the anointing. Simon could not help but notice the way that the King and Alexandra were looking at each other. She looked like she was about to faint from happiness and he looked as though he were seeing the sun after a year of darkness.

If only it were that easy for him.

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Hope you liked it :)

I've just got to thank everyone for your kind words on the last chapter! Your responses to the plagiarism were truly humbling and I'm glad you all have my back:)

There were a couple of questions on the last chapter:

1. The Spanish

I don't speak Spanish fluently, but my mum taught me a lot so I can get by with speaking and understanding but I'm hopeless at writing it so she helped me with that. My mum learned Spanish when she was living in London. Before my parents met my mum was living at the Y in London and at the time, three Spanish girls were living there too. Every morning they would cook something fabulous for breakfast and my mum would sit at the kitchen table listening to them and one day they included her in the conversation and voila, the Spanish :P

2. My family and friends and Wattpad

No, nobody knows about me and Wattpad, but how tempted am I to tell them! Whenever I'm on Wattpad and I see that one of my stories has ticked over 100,000 reads or something I just want to tell my mum but I don't. I so wanted to tell them when I was #1 but the truth is I'm embarassed. I'm so proud to share my work with you all and I'm really proud of what I write, but so much of my writing is so personal and the people that know me best would see that.

Anyway, I'll be happy to keep writing for you if you'll have me <3