Anita Mills (14 page)

“I cannot just run tame here, sir,” she protested weakly. “Lady Sturbridge dislikes me.”

“Being an inventive, resourceful female, you will no doubt discover a way.” He favored her with what he hoped was his most beguiling smile. “Offer to assist her, for I can assure you she is no hand in the sickroom at all. She very nearly cast up her accounts while the quack dug again for the ball. Indeed, but if she had not been avoiding Sturbridge, I think she would have preferred to be nearly anywhere else. Devil of a row they had afterward, anyway.”

“She would sooner discover a viper underfoot than me, sir,” Kitty declared. “And Aunt Bella has such plans for Jess, you see, that she will not approve either.”

“The screaming widgeon? Tell her she wastes her hopes on that head.”

“Well, you
were
a shock to the poor girl, you must admit, for she quite expected to see your cousin,” she pointed out judiciously. “As for Aunt Bella, I must take leave to tell you that once she gets a notion in her head, ’tis nigh to impossible to disabuse her of it. I ought to know—there
is
Sturbridge, after all,” she recalled dryly.

“Ah, yes—the mistake.”

Thinking he was funning with her, she stiffened visibly. “The mistake was you, sir. Charles was the cost.”

“The practical Miss Gordon,” he murmured. “I collect ’tis not a love match, then.”

“You are to collect nothing, my lord. Indeed, but ’tis improper of you to pry.”

“Still, I cannot think you will suit.”

Later, she was to chide herself for a fool, but there was something quite disconcerting in the baron’s gaze. And she was not so green as to be taken in by an obviously accomplished flirt. “Charles and I shall suit very well, for there is a great deal of affection between us,” she insisted.

He sighed. “Well, if ’tis your wish to rule the roost, I suppose you could do worse. Myself, I should prefer some passion in the arrangement, but then I am not a female.”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. “My affairs are none of your concern,” she managed finally through clenched teeth.

“No. No, they are not,” he admitted, disappointing her. “You must pardon the meanderings of a fevered fool.”

Without thinking, she reached to touch his head. “I do not believe you are as warm this morning as you were last night. Perhaps the doctor’s attention … Well, I could not forgive myself if you were to take a turn for the worse.”

“Kitty, dearest, you must not tire the colonel, you know,” Lady Sturbridge chided, coming into the room. “Lud, but you need to be abed yourself.” Turning to Jack, she added a trifle too brightly, “We have to have
such
a care for her health, you know, else she will not be up to the rigors of a wedding next year. Small females simply do not have robust constitutions.”

“Really, but I am quite well, and—”

“So like her, my lord. She fears to admit to weakness, not realizing that we shall love her just as she is.” Dismissing Kitty, she told her, “Do wear your bonnet when you go out, my love, for I could swear I see a spot coming on your nose, and Charles abhors freckles.”

Making a face that the dowager couldn’t see, Kitty turned to address the baron again. “I shall come again to see how you fare, my lord. In the meantime, I shall leave you in Lady Sturbridge’s care,” she added sweetly.

“You will find Charles in the garden with Miss Merriman, my dear. I had him show her the crocuses,” Louise told her. “Such a sweet, lovely girl. Your aunt must be so proud of her.”

Behind her ladyship, Red Jack gave Kitty a look of long suffering, which she wisely chose to ignore. “Well, my lord, I must apologize,” she heard Charles’s mother say as she reached the hallway, “but there was simply no way to keep her away with any civility at all. And I would not for the world slight Charles’s betrothed, you know, but if you shall not wish her to visit, I am sure you have but to mention the matter to Sturbridge.”

“She seems like an amiable girl,” Jack observed noncomittally disappointing Kitty again.

Amiable? Was that all he could think to say? Telling herself it was most impolite to eavesdrop, Kitty forced herself to go on down the stairs.

“Girl? I should scarce call her that,” Louise protested. “Indeed, but I could have wished she were younger.” She sighed expressively and looked away. “Alas, but ’tis not for me to choose whom he weds …” Her voice trailed off, letting him know that Kitty would not have been on any list of her making. “She is so free-mannered, you see. I suppose that comes from being bred in America. How she will manage as Charles’s viscountess, I am sure I do not know. Indeed, but I cringe to think what Sally Jersey will say of her—’Sturbridge’s little savage,’ no doubt.”

“I find her manners refreshing.”

The dowager looked at him sharply. “Oh. Yes, well, ’tis none of my affair, in any event. But I own I could wish she were a trifle taller for the children’s sake.”

“ ’Twould be a pity if she were. There is something about a small female that bears protecting,” he countered with a straight face.

“I suppose.” Louise sighed again. “If only she were not likely to turn brown—the Indian influence, you know.”

“I think Miss Gordon is one of the loveliest females I have ever seen. You son is most fortunate, Lady Sturbridge. In fact, I envy him.”

“You do? But then you are a man, and—” She stopped in midsentence, digesting the possible import of his words, and a slow, almost devious smile warmed her countenance. “Of course you are right, my lord! A most unexceptional girl! Lud, but how I do go on. You must think I do not like Kitty, which is most certainly not the case. Indeed, but I shall enjoy her company while you recover, for I have hopes she means to come every day, especially since you have assured me you do not dislike her.”

“Not at all.”

“Such an amusing, clever girl really. Charles tells me she is a Mistress Sharp at whist. Do you play the game, sir?”

“I am a fair hand at it myself,” he admitted.

“Then you simply must play cards with her, my lord—la, and I have been worrying how to amuse you while you are here. I have but to look to dear Kitty for help with the task. And considering all that has befallen you, I am sure that Charles will understand …”

“I should be pleased to see her,” he murmured, amused by the dowager’s rather abrupt and certainly transparent change of heart.

“And see her you shall,” she promised almost enthusiastically. “Yes, indeed. And I shall insist that she bring Miss Merriman with her, of course. La, but why did I not think of that?”

“I have never favored a three-handed game.”

“What? Oh, I should not dream of that,” she assured him. “Goodness, how I do go on, don’t I? Well, we must see that you get your rest now. Later, I shall have Charles’s man shave you and make you more presentable—make you feel more the thing, you know.”

“Thank you. And I’d have someone write to Haverhill House to apprise my solicitor as to what has happened. Poor fellow must think I have fallen off the earth.”

“Of course. But there is no need to send any servants to attend you, for we are well-staffed here, my lord, and quite capable of the task.”

As she left, he could hear her talking, presumably to herself, congratulating herself on a godsend. He lay back, staring at the ornate ceiling above him, wondering if he ought to save Kitty Gordon from the dragon. And the more he thought on it, the more heroic the mission became. But he was at a disadvantage lying abed—or was he? It was difficult to show to one’s best when one could not do the things one did well, after all, he conceded. But for all her unconventional manners, he’d wager that Kitty Gordon was as tenderhearted as the rest of her sex. That, coupled with the guilt she felt, ought to aid him in his campaign. He certainly had hopes of it, anyway.

“L
UD
, L
OUISE
, but I came as soon as Rollo apprised me,” Isabella murmured, brushing a kiss against Lady Sturbridge’s cheek. “You must be beside yourself with worry over Lord Haverhill. La—Red Jack Rayne!”

“In truth, but I am honored to have him here, dear Bella,” the dowager said, drawing away.

“The poor man! Is there any notion who did this dreadful thing?”

“No, but I—”

“No, I suppose not,” Isabella answered herself quickly. “I own I am surprised to discover they carried him here, you know, for he is distantly related to us. One would think—”

“Distantly related to you? I am sure I have never heard of the connection,” Louise sniffed.

“You forget that the late Lord Haverhill visited us some six years past. Indeed, but I could not help wondering if perhaps ’twas to Rose Farm that the colonel was coming.”

“If he was, he has not mentioned it,” the dowager answered dryly. “What is the relationship, by the by?”

“ ’Twas by marriage—some years back. But it does not signify now,” Isabella added hastily. “More to the point, my dear Louise, is what I can do to aid you, for I know this arrival has caught you unwares, and—”

“It was a shock, I own, but we shall manage.”

“Well, if you find yourself overset, you have but to call on me, for with the younger girls gone to boarding school, there is more than enough room to accommodate the colonel at Rose Farm.”

The dowager’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you suggesting that you have more room than I? Or that you are more capable than I of attending to a guest?” she demanded awfully.

“Lud, no! You mistake me, my dear Louise. But as he is a relation of ours, however distantly, I thought I should offer.”

“Nonsense.”

“Well, when he is up and about, I should hope he means to visit Rose Farm.”

“ ’Twill be an age before he goes anywhere—I had it of Dr. Ellis myself.”

“Ellis? Louise, you ought to have had Crawford. I for one would not refine on anything Dr. Ellis said. My late husband, dear Mr. Merriman, was of the opinion that Ellis is more than a trifle crack-brained.”

The dowager, who held much the same opinion, nonetheless felt it incumbent upon herself to defend him. “I am sure that there are many more significant people who hold him in-esteem,” she retorted stiffly.

“Still, I would that you called in Crawford. Indeed, if you would have me pay for the consult—”

“Of all the—the
brass,
Isabella Merriman! When I have need—” She stopped short at the sight of her son, with Kitty on one arm and Jessica on the other, coming in from the garden. Clamping her mouth shut, she managed to hold her tongue. One brangle with Charles was more than enough.

“Oh, I collect you have company, Mama,” he observed mildly. “Mrs. Merriman.”

“What did you think of the crocuses? Are they not lovely despite all the rain?” Louise asked Jessica.

“Lovely, madam.”

“Charles, I would that you discovered what Pennyman is doing, and if ’tis more needlework, tell her I have need of her this instant.” Her temper in check, she turned again to Mrs. Merriman. “You and Pennyman simply must view them before you go. The poor dear ruins her eyes with her infernal stitching, so the air will do her good.”

“Finally got the clunch of a groom to understand I want the horses walked,” Roland explained to his mother as he joined them. “Your servant, Lady Sturbridge,” he murmured, bowing over Louise’s hand.

“Such pretty manners your children have, Isabella dear. The Merriman manners, I daresay.”

Unaware his mother had just been delivered a set down, Roland beamed. “Try to be a credit to m’family. Well, now that everyone’s here, I think I shall look in on Red Jack—Haverhill, I mean.”

“The poor man is terribly overtaxed, I fear,” Louise murmured. “I don’t think he ought to be disturbed again today.”

“What?” Roland fairly howled. Appealing to Charles, he said plaintively, “I made two trips over, and it don’t seem right—I mean, I’m the only one as
wants
to see him, I’ll be bound. Besides, I ain’t ready to make two trips back just yet.”

“Roland!”

“Sorry, Mama—but I ain’t. Couldn’t speak with him last night for the commotion, and now—”

“What commotion?”

Unwilling to remind anyone of her part in the previous night’s fiasco, the dowager relented quickly. “Kitty dearest, perhaps you could take your cousin up, after all,” she suggested. “I know that you will not let him tire the colonel overmuch, will you?” As they left, she turned to Isabella, astounding Charles by adding, “I shall so enjoy having Kitty here—such a lovely girl—and such refreshing manners. You simply must allow her to come over more often, particularly now that I have need of her.”

“Well, I—”

“As Charles’s betrothed, her presence will not be remarked, I am sure, and I expect the colonel will find
youthful
company more to his liking, don’t you think?” Louise continued pointedly. “Indeed, but if you would wish to send Miss Merriman also, I daresay that between them they will be able to keep him tolerably amused as he mends.”

Ignoring the barb, Isabella forced herself to smile. After all, she’d managed to insinuate her daughter into the house at least. “Well, I see no harm to it—no harm at all. Jessica has many accomplishments,” she said proudly. “I am sure the colonel will appreciate her company.”

“Yes. Ah—there you are, Pennyman—I was about to send Charles up for you,” Louise said brightly, drawing the elderly woman into their midst. “Well, now that you are here, perhaps you will wish to take Mrs. Merriman for a turn about the gardens—and I would you showed her the greenhouse also, for Joseph has started some of the loveliest plants.”

“Oh, I should like to see them also,” Jessica admitted.

“Not you, dear—I will have Charles show them to you tomorrow. For now, I think you ought to fetch your brother back before he tires the colonel. Perhaps you and Rollo and Charles could take the carriage into the village to apprise the vicar that Haverhill is here. I am sure he will wish to remember the colonel in Sunday’s prayers, after all.”

“But should not Kitty be the one to go?” Jessica asked. Even as she said it, she could have bitten her tongue for her foolishness. “But I suppose—”

“Dear me, no! I have need of Kitty here today, for now that your mama is here, we should be putting our heads together over this wedding, don’t you think?” the dowager answered slyly. “I mean, there is so much to do, after all, and if they have hopes of a winter wedding, we shall have to rush as it is.”

Charles frowned. “Mama, if Mrs. Merriman is in the garden, I cannot think there will be much planning done.”

“Foolish me! I did not mean she was to stay there all day, Charles. Did I say that? I meant that perhaps we could all share a cold nuncheon when you are come back from the village. And whilst you are gone,
after
she has seen my lovely flowers, Isabella and I shall have a cose about the wedding.
I am positively full of ideas, I assure you. Madame Cecile shall do Kitty’s trousseau, for I own I have some influence there—though ’tis doubtful her services can be had before autumn … well, there
is
time, anyway, so that will not signify.”

“Really, Louise, but we are capable of tending to the matter ourselves,” Isabella said stiffly.

“Of course you are! Did I imply you are not?” the dowager asked soothingly. “ ’Twas not my intent, I assure you. Indeed, but I merely meant to offer my assistance.”

Unmollified, yet not wishing to throw a spoke in the wheel of what could only be considered an advantageous marriage for Kitty, Isabella addressed Mrs. Pennyman. “Indeed, but a turn about the garden would be most welcome,” she managed. “Then we shall come to terms over the wedding at nuncheon,” she added to Louise.

Jessica climbed the stairs, feeling quite guilty but nonetheless grateful for the chance to accompany Sturbridge even if it meant the vexatious company of her younger brother. And if she had to allow her mother to think she was throwing her cap over the windmill for Haverhill, she would do it. She stopped outside the bedchamber and listened. Roland’s voice carried through the partially opened door.

“Things might have been different, don’t you think, if Prince Jerome had held his division back rather than attacking the Prussians and the British Guards first? I mean, they were so badly cut up by the artillery, they lost fifteen hundred Frogs in the first forty minutes, don’t you know?”

“No.”

“No? How can you say so? The losses was awful, as I read ’em.”

“Very true, but they were not deterred by that. The telling point was that Wellington did not commit any more troops than were needed to hold the positions until Bülow and the rest of the Prussian army moved.”

“I know, but—”

“ ’Twas a stroke of brilliance on Wellington’s part rather than an error by the French.”

“But I read where the Frogs’ morale was low after it,” Rollo protested.

“Not until they realized we were being reinforced by both Blucher and Bülow—only then did Boney know he’d made his battle plans on the wrong information,” the colonel answered. “Napoleon’s mistake was in continuing the battle at that juncture. What Jerome and Reille did, while foolish, was not the great blunder of Waterloo.”

“But Napoleon’s twelve-pounders nearly won the day,” Roland reminded him. “Read of that also.”

“It was a bloody awful sight,” Red Jack conceded, “and even the Peninsular veterans were surprised by the ferocity of the French artillery. There were twenty-four cannon, each with more than a mile range. ’Twas the mud that saved us there, for many of the shells burst and lay where they fell. Had the ground been dry, they would have ricocheted and taken a greater toll. In the end, ’twas mostly the Belgians who fell to the cannonfire.”

“I would that I had been there,” the younger man said wistfully. “I would that I had seen the glory of it all.”

“Glory?” Jack snorted derisively. “There was no glory there—nor anywhere else I fought. ’Twas smoke and fire and the screams of wounded and dying men and animals. ’Twas hell on earth, and nothing less.”

“But we won,” Roland reminded him proudly.

“We won, and for that we ought to be thankful. But never say what we did was glorious, for ’twas not. I can still see in my nightmares the charge of Uxbridge’s cavalry—and of the Union Brigade. The flower of our cavalry saved the middle of the line, all right, but in their pursuit of your glory they were destroyed. Will Ponsonby fell at their head needlessly.”

“But—”

“Speak no more of war to me, for I’d forget it all,” Jack said, his voice low. “I saw my friends fell, I carried the dying
back to our line too many times to count, and I saw the folly of those who thought glory worth dying for.”

“Read of it—of every battle—”

“Oh, Rollo, cut line!” Kitty snapped, exasperated by her cousin’s unwillingness to let the matter drop. “The man is too ill to be bothered with this.”

“Dash it, Kit, but I been waiting years—years! I read every word that was written about him. I—”

Jack shook his head wearily. “Words on paper can never convey the horror. If the numbers in dispatches had faces, the public would rise up and demand an end to every war.”

To Roland, it was as though his hero had admitted to heresy and he could not accept it. “But you yourself was wounded—aye, and decorated by the Crown for it.”

“ ’Tis ludicrous to be honored for living when so many died.”

“You are too modest merely. We all read of how you—”

“I said I had no wish to speak of it,” Jack cut in curtly, then relented as the younger man’s face fell. “Maybe another day ’twill not pain me so much, but just now I’d not remember what I saw.”

“Rollo—” Kitty’s voice warned her cousin to have done.

“La, Rollo, but you are sent for,” Jessica said, opening the door wider. “You and Charles and I are to go into the village, while Mama and Kitty discuss wedding plans with Lady Sturbridge.”

“I just got here!” Roland cried. “Me and Red Jack—”

“Lord Haverhill is overtired, Rollo,” Kitty announced, rising. “Indeed, but he looks more than a trifle out of sorts just now.”

“Dash it, Kit!”

“Oh, come on, Rollo,” Jessica urged him. “Let the poor man mend. I daresay there will be more than enough time to regale him with what you know of the military ere he goes back to London.”

“Females! They got no notion of a man’s interests! It ain’t right for a man to be plagued with a houseful of ’em!” Roland declared forcefully. Then, looking down, he could see that his idol’s eyes were closed. “Daresay you
are
overtired, ain’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry for it,” the young man mumbled. “Didn’t mean—”

“You can come back,” the baron murmured. “Another time.”

“You mean it? I say, deuced good of you, sir! Be back tomorrow and every day after—and if you don’t want to talk about battles, we’ll think of something else,” Roland promised. “You hear that, Kit? He wants me to come back!”

“I heard.”

She hung back until the other two had left. “I am sorry, my lord. ’Tis just that Rollo has always wanted to be a soldier, and you are a particular hero to him.”

“I know.” He reached a hand to her. “I’d have you sit again, for I’d not face the demons alone.”

It was the second time she’d heard him speak of demons. Sinking back into the chair, she leaned closer, for he spoke at little more than a whisper. “You are far too tired, my lord,” she said softly as she clasped his hand.

“I’ve been in worse case.”

“You feel guilt that others died and you did not, I suppose, but you must not look on it like that, you know. If you did not fall, there was a reason for it.”

“Is this to be a sermon, Miss Gordon? For if it is, I can do without it.”

“No, not a sermon precisely. But I do believe that if you were spared, ’twas because the Almighty was not quite done with you yet.”

“He’s been rather close-lipped with His plans,” he muttered. “Damned if I can discover anything.” A harsh, almost derisive laugh shook his shoulders. “ ’Tis more like the devil’s jest, don’t you think? Red Jack Rayne, a baron—’tis funny.” He coughed, then winced, paling. “Don’t feel like a baron. Feel like a deuced infant.”