A Christmas Affair (4 page)

“It was in close combat,” Justin began, feeling a trifle awkward. He’d never had to go into detail before, and he was uncertain how much he should tell her. But he did want her and the others to know of their brother’s bravery, and so he forced himself to continue. “We’d ridden out to engage the enemy at some distance from our camp, and we got pinned down by artillery fire. We were attempting to fight our way back when a company of grenadiers attacked our flank. I was knocked down by shrapnel from a one-pounder and would have been killed if it hadn’t been for Daniel. He saved my life.”

Amanda flinched, envisioning the terrible scene. “Did . . . did he suffer?” she asked, praying for the strength to listen.

“No.” Justin saw no reason why he should be completely honest in the matter. “It was over very quickly, and afterward I . . . I was able to see he received a proper burial. I want you to know that.”

“Thank you,” Amanda replied, blinking back tears. She’d heard how a fallen soldier’s body was often left to rot where he lay, while grave robbers and other scavengers picked at the remains. At least Daniel had been spared that final indignation.

“There are some of his personal belongings that I have brought with me,” he continued, relieved by her calm acceptance. “They are out in my carriage and I’ll have my footman fetch them in if you’d like. He also left me this and asked that I give it to you.” He withdrew the packet of letters that he hadn’t let out of his possession in six months and handed it to her. “I gave him my most solemn word that I would give them to you myself.”

She accepted the packet silently, her fingers trembling as she untied the faded ribbon holding the contents together. A
sad smile touched her lips as she recognized the letters she and the other children had sent him. They were wrinkled and somewhat worn, as if the recipient had read them over and over again. The sight of the miniature of their mother made her eyes swim with tears, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She briefly examined the rest of the items, stopping only when she came to the money that had been carefully wrapped in a stained piece of cloth.

“His salary and some other money he . . . er . . . acquired,” Justin explained at her puzzled look. “He wanted you to have it.”

“But where could he have gotten it?” Amanda asked, counting the money in mounting confusion. “There is over a hundred pounds here!”

She made it sound as if it was a huge amount, and then he realized that perhaps to her it was. He cast another look about the parlor, wondering again what impact the lieutenant’s death would have on his family.

“I am not at liberty to tell you,” he said in answer to her question. “I can only assure you that it is his, and that he wanted you to have it.”

“He was gaming,” she guessed, rewrapping the money with loving hands. “And after he solemnly gave me his word he would not.”

Justin smiled at her words, recognizing the love behind the scolding tones. “Yes, he told me you would not approve,” he said, his eyes warming with laughter. “In fact, he seemed most particularly anxious that you not find out.”

“Our stepfather gamed, and it cost us dearly.” Amanda set the packet aside and gave the colonel a shy smile. Now that her emotions were under some semblance of control, she was feeling more the thing, and for the first time she began to notice the tall man sitting opposite her.

He was much younger than she thought a colonel should be, and she put his age as somewhere in his late thirties. His hair was coal-black and worn slightly longer than cur
rent fashion dictated, curling over the collar of his uniform jacket. Beneath his slashing eyebrows his eyes were the color of a deepest amber, and they stared out at her with sharp intelligence.

He was a handsome man, she decided objectively. But the small crescent-shaped scar and the deep lines grooving his face saved him from the charge of being
too
handsome, a sobriquet instinct told her he would find annoying. His complexion was darker than most of the men she was accustomed to seeing, although not quite as dark as one would expect from a man returning after several months on the Peninsula. In fact, she frowned suddenly, in fact now that she thought of it, the colonel was looking decidedly gray.

“Colonel, are you feeling quite the thing?” As usual she spoke without thought, studying him worriedly. “You will forgive my saying so, but you look rather done in.”

“I found the journey here somewhat longer than I had anticipated,” Justin returned coolly, annoyed by her acuity. He disliked being weak as a damned kitten and was unwilling to admit to being less than totally fit.

“But of course, you said you had been wounded!” Amanda leapt to her feet, her hand reaching automatically for the rope pull. “What a terrible hostess you must think me,” she cried, focusing her attention on the mundane requirements of proper hospitality. “Not to offer you so much as a cup of tea, and after all you have done for us!”

“That is perfectly all right, Miss Lawrence,” he began, anxious to be on his way now that he had fulfilled his obligation. He was beginning to shake and realized he was about to succumb to the fever he had picked up in the field hospital. The thought of being reduced to such a state was an anathema to him, and he struggled to rise from his chair.

“There is no need, I promise you. It is already grown rather late, and I must be on my way if I am to make the inn by—”

“Nonsense!” She cast him an indignant scowl. “I won’t
hear of you staying anywhere but with us. We have plenty of rooms available, which is more than can be said of The Hare and Hound.”

“The Hare and Hound?” Justin repeated weakly.

“The nearest inn. It is in the village some two miles from here, and I doubt you’ll be successful in finding lodging. ’Tis but two weeks before Christmas, you know, and there’s not a room to be let.”

He’d forgotten it was so close to the holidays. Blast it, Justin cursed silently. The wench was right; he would be lucky if there was a private room to be found between here and London. In the next moment he was shaking off the very notion of defeat. His pockets were deep enough to insure the cooperation of even the most harried of innkeepers, and if worse came to worst, he could spread out his blanket before the inn’s fireplace. God knew he’d slept in even worse places over the last three years.

“That is very kind of you, Miss Lawrence,” he said, his voice firm with resolution. “But I really must be on my way. I am expected at my brother’s home in London and I —”

“Ah, there you are, Linsley.” Amanda ignored his protestations as she smiled at the elderly butler who had come in response to her summons. “Kindly have Cook prepare the colonel and I a nice tea, and then have the footman prepare rooms for our guest and his servants. They will be passing the night with us.”

“Miss Lawrence,” Justin tried again, this time using the same sharp tones he used to scold his troops, “I have told you, there is no need. Edward is expecting me, and I —”

“The Red Room, Miss,” Linsley suggested, paying the stern-faced colonel no mind. He knew his mistress too well to be of a mind to ignore her orders. “ ’Tis not as large as the old master’s rooms, but it’s a dashed sight warmer.”

“Excellent, Linsley, thank you.” She nodded her approval. “You might also inform Cook to move dinner back one hour, I . . . I have some news I must share with my family.”

Linsley’s face puckered. “The . . . the young master, miss?” he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

“Yes.” Amanda had to steel herself to say the words. “Colonel Stockton has just informed me that Daniel has fallen in the Battle of Vitoria. He . . . he is dead.”

The old butler made a choking sound and then drew back his frail shoulders. “Shall I tell the other servants?”

“If you would be so kind.” Amanda knew the duty should fall to her, but it was more than she could bear. “I would also appreciate it if you would have one of the footmen fetch the vicar.”

“Yes miss.” Linsley inclined his head and then quietly withdrew, his gait shuffling and tired as he closed the door behind him.

Justin stared after him for a few moments and then turned to Miss Lawrence. “Are you certain you wish me to remain here?” he asked, crossing the room to take her hand. “You and your family should be alone in your grief; I will only be in the way.”

“No, never think that,” Amanda replied quickly, her smile brightly determined as she faced him. “Besides, Daniel would want you here. Please? If only for this night,” she added when it looked as if he would refuse.

Justin hesitated, torn between his need to get away and the appeal in Miss Lawrence’s deep brown eyes. In the space of the half hour or so they had spent in each other’s company, he felt he had grown to know her rather well, and he could imagine how much it vexed a woman of her obvious pride and temperament to beg a favor of any man.

“Very well, Miss Lawrence,” he capitulated, deciding it would do him no harm to grant her this one request. “For the one night, then. But on the morrow I really must be on my way.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Amanda’s shoulders slumped in relief. She wasn’t certain why she was so determined the colonel remain; she only knew that she was. “Now, if you
will pardon me, I must go and speak with the others. Would you like tea served here or in your room?”

“My room, if you please” Justin answered, deciding it might be prudent to lie down for a bit. The room was beginning to sway and dip in a most alarming manner, and he knew the sooner he was abed, the better. He only prayed his valet still had some of the medicine the doctor had prescribed from his last attack. Army doctors were bad enough, but he’d be damned if he’d have a country physician quacking him.

“Very well, Colonel.” Amanda gave him a gracious smile. “We dine at seven. Until then, sir, I bid you
adieu.”

“Amelia?” Amanda poked her head into her sister’s room some six hours later, her expression anxious when she saw the small figure huddled on the bed. “Dearest, aren’t you dressed yet? ’Tis almost seven o’clock.”

“Oh, Amanda, how can I even think of eating when Daniel is dead?” Amelia sobbed, dabbing at her swollen eyes with a crumpled handkerchief. “I . . . I vow my heart is breaking!” And a fresh stream of tears flowed from her eyes.

Amanda bit back a sigh and made her way to her sister’s bed. As she expected, the overly sensitive girl had taken Daniel’s death the hardest of all. She had broken down completely upon hearing the news, carrying on in such a manner that Amanda had been forced to give her a mild dose of laudanum.

The twins had also been deeply affected, their identical blue eyes filling with tears as they struggled manfully not to cry. Little Belinda, God bless her, had taken the news best of all, crying only a little when Amanda had told her.

“But he is with Mama and Papa now,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a chubby fist. “And so I know that he is safe.”

Aunt Elizabeth, of course, had said nothing when
Amanda told her. She’d merely inclined her head; but Amanda had seen the smug sparkle in her malevolent dark eyes, and she had longed to shake her.

“I know you are upset, Amelia,” Amanda said, rubbing a gentle hand down the younger girl’s back. “But we must be brave now. We have a guest, remember? And after all his kindness, it would not do for us to shirk our duties.”

“I suppose so,” Amelia said after a few moments, delicately blowing her nose into her handkerchief. “And . . . and it is what Daniel would expect of us, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is precisely what Daniel would expect of us.” Amanda’s voice was husky. “The colonel was his commanding officer, remember? Daniel would expect us to show him every courtesy.”

That was all it took to bring Amelia to her feet. Her sense of duty, while nowhere as extreme as her beloved elder sister’s, was still deeply ingrained, and she didn’t want to disgrace her brother in any fashion. She crossed the room to sit before her tiered mirror, sniffing in dismay at the sight of her blotched face.

“Oh, dear, I do look a fright,” she said, picking up her brush and running it through the tangled gold of her curls. “The colonel will think me a quiz if I meet him looking like this.”

“Try splashing cold water on your face,” Amanda advised, hiding a relieved smile as she watched Amelia arrange her hair. Her sister wasn’t vain by any means, but she did take shy pride in her appearance. The fact that she could worry over her looks meant that she was slowly recovering from the terrible shock of Daniel’s death.

“What . . . what do you think I should wear?” The younger girl shot her a worried look. “I don’t have any black gowns, and my purple gown is much too gay for mourning.”

“I’m sure the colonel won’t expect to see us rigged out in full black” came the reply as Amanda investigated the contents of her sister’s wardrobe. She shoved aside several
dresses as unsuitable before extracting a simple gown of midnight-blue silk. “Wear this,” she said, handing it to Amelia. “ ’Tis a trifle out of fashion, but I am sure our guest is too well-bred to comment on it. At least, I pray that he is.” And she glanced down at her own gown, last worn while in mourning for her mother and stepfather some six years earlier.

The subject of mourning and how she would outfit her family was much on Amanda’s mind as she made her way to the dining room. The vicar agreed with her request for a simple memorial ceremony in the village church, so at least she didn’t have the expense of the funeral costumes; but that still left the rest of the proper year of mourning to worry about.

Amanda acknowledged that in the light of the more serious problems facing her family, these concerns could at best be described as petty. But she could do nothing about the future or what would become of them should Aunt Elizabeth throw them out, and she could do something about this. And she needed to do something, she realized with growing desperation. The others depended upon her to take care of them, and she was determined to do just that. No matter what happened she
would
take care of her family; on that one point she was resolved.

Halfway through the simple dinner of roast beef and capons Justin realized he had committed a tactical error in leaving his room. The heavy sleep he had enjoyed earlier in the afternoon only served to heighten the effects of the fever, and he was now suffering the full-blown symptoms of the virulent disease. His head ached, his stomach churned with nausea, and he felt as if he were being slowly roasted alive. But worst of all was the increasing sense of weakness that grew ever more debilitating as the meal progressed.