Carla Kelly (19 page)

“I understand. Your story goes no farther.” He patted her hand, and tipped her head up a little, because she was staring at the ground when she spoke. “Look me in the eyes, Liria. I know I was paying close attention to the whole story, but I must have missed something. Where did you sin?”

She stared at him. “You don’t think I will have to answer for Badajoz before God’s judgment someday?”

“No! Others will, Liria—maybe I am one—but not you.” He gave her chin a little shake. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Wordlessly, she gave him a fierce hug. He let her cry, but these were different tears. Well, Sergeant, he thought, I guess the good turn never ends, does it?

***

When they returned to the dormitory, Juan was there, perched on a corner of his mother’s desk while Mr. Butterworth serenely catalogued invoices. As Juan jumped down and ran to his mother, the mill owner looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “I trust, Miss Valencia, that you were able to explain that ten shillings?”

“I fear that I am going to be rather high-handed about the whole matter, Mr. Butterworth,” Nez said before she could speak. He held out the artillery ledger to Juan, who ran to him next. “Here, lad,” he said, and picked up the boy. “I believe that Miss Valencia is obliged to continue in her employment with me until we settle the matter.”

“H’mm.” Butterworth peered closer to him. “Your Grace, it appears that you must have . . . ah, well, did you fall down? I should have warned you that the ground in Huddersfield is notoriously unstable.”

“That accounts for it,” Nez said.

“There is a remedy for your eye, sir,” Butterworth continued smoothly. “When you return to the Hart, request a well-done beefsteak. It will come to your table quite raw. Just clap it on, Your Grace.” He laughed, and turned his attention to Liria. “Miss Valencia, if you don’t wish to return to Knare with this clumsy fellow, you may certainly stay here. I do not believe that His Grace will force you to accompany him, if you choose not to.” He whispered confidentially. “I think you’re good for the ten shillings.”

“I choose to return now,” she said quietly. She looked at Nez, then back at Butterworth. “If by chance I choose not to continue as his housekeeper, could I find employment again with you, Mr. Butterworth?”

“You have my word. Would you like me to put that in writing?”

“It isn’t necessary now. I trust you, Mr. Butterworth. Truly, I do.”

Her voice was so calm and peaceful that Nez could only smile into Juan’s neck. The mill owner clapped his hands. “Excellent, Miss Valencia! I propose that you and your son come to my home for dinner tonight. Your Grace, you are invited, too. I know you wish to keep an eye—oh, bad choice of words—on your housekeeper, in the event that she should wish to disappear again still owing you ten shillings.”

“I accept with pleasure,” he said. “I believe I will first return to the Hart to put a cold pack on my eye.”

“Very well, Your Grace. We dine at six.” Butterworth rubbed his hands together. “Now, Miss Valencia, if you will leave a detailed list of duties here, that will be sufficient for the day. What would you say if you pack your belongings now and bring them along to my home tonight? You can stay with us, and His Grace can retrieve you and Juan in the morning.”

Despite the fact that his eye was purple and closed tight, Nez enjoyed his evening in Rumsey with the Butterworths and the Valencias. His cup ran over when Juan asked his mother if he could return to the inn with him. “Of course you may,” she told her son, “if it is agreeable to the senor.”

“It must be,” Juan insisted with just that touch of Valencia in him that made Nez smile. “I have to show him my new drawings.”

“Then, by all means,” she said seriously, even though her eyes gleamed. “You can be the ransom to prevent me from fleeing in the night.”

“Oh, Mama! I know you would not leave me.”

“Never.”

Juan fell asleep promptly on the drive back to the inn. Nez carried him upstairs, and put him in bed, after taking off his shoes and shrugging him out of his jacket. After a moment’s thought, he took from his traveling case the other shoes that the cobbler had repaired, and placed them next to the sleeping child, so he could see them first thing in the morning. I have a housekeeper again, he thought, as he drowsed next to Juan, warm against his back. Sergeant Carr, good night to you, or is it farewell? I intend to tell your Duquesa that I love her and want to marry her. This may not be an easy thing for her. I hope she will let me love her, but I can be patient.

He slept well that night, even with the compress on his eye. It still throbbed in the morning, but not with a force to make him grit his teeth. He didn’t want to move. Juan was comfortable against him. He raised up on his elbow to look at the sleeping child. He touched his hair, a shade or two between Liria’s dark hair and blond, with reddish glints. I wonder if you will be tall someday, or short, he thought. Your nose is straight, like Liria’s. Your lips are much thinner, more British. He thought of Liria’s full lips and wondered how pleasant it would be to kiss them. “We shall see,” he murmured. “Your mother is a fine woman.” And you,
mijo,
he thought, you are your own person.

He got up, holding still in a half crouch until his head quit pounding, and went to the window. A hay wain with two little boys perched on top rumbled through the street below, and he thought of his own land, and the harvest going on. There was a time when he couldn’t wait to be away from his land, from his parents, but that time was over now. He looked at Juan, and the love that filled his heart made him swallow hard. It must be a mystery of the universe, how an incident more terrible than anything he could dream of could yield a harvest as beautiful as this child’s life.

He leaned his head against the cool pane of glass at the window. When Libby Ames turned me down and married Tony Cook, I thought my life was over. How did I know it was only beginning? My apologies, Mr. Cook, but I don’t need to rush to you for advice. I only need to look within myself.

His deep feelings kept him silent for the early part of the ride back to Knare. Liria and Juan were seated opposite him in the chaise, and they conversed together quietly. Juan still clutched the shoes that had been his first sight when he woke up. A man could make himself jealous of the way Juan idolized the sergeant, but Nez knew the utter folly of that. I hope I have a lifetime with these two people, he thought. Sergeant Carr had no more than three years, and how well he used his time. Trust an artillerist.

He knew he wanted to talk to Liria, but not while Juan could hear. He closed his eye—one was already shut—and leaned back. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Liria must have wanted to talk, too.

“Senor, do you remember the first time we rode together?”

He opened his eye. Juan was asleep, his head in his mother’s lap. “I was so rude and so eager to find a way to ditch you at the nearest opportunity.” He grinned at her. “Praise the Almighty for chicken pox.”

She laughed softly, and he doubted there would ever be a time in his life when he would take that delightful sound for granted.

“I want to talk to you about that man in the alley, that officer at your dinner table.” She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“Liria, you never need to be ashamed to talk to me about anything. I think it’s safe to say there is not a subject we can’t discuss eye to eye.”

She raised her eyes to his and held her head up. She nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

“Liria, I’ve been thinking of him, too. There isn’t really anything I can do about him. Whatever justice we seek would be in vain. It was war, there were no witnesses that lived. You could accuse him, and he would deny.”

“I know. Tell me this, senor. What is he doing today?”

He leaned back and closed his eye. “Oh, I did not know him well, even then. What did Jim Geddes tell me? I believe he has a majority now, and is returning to Belgium on occupation duty.” He grunted. “I know he found soldiering not to his liking, Liria, if that is any comfort. Maybe he can’t do anything else. I do remember that he transferred to the quartermaster department after Badajoz. He wasn’t even at Waterloo.”

“Those soldiers in the alley?”

He suddenly understood what she wanted to know. “Some probably died at Salamanca, or Burgos, or maybe of disease. I think we all had typhus once or twice. Maybe some survived Waterloo. They’re in the army still, or back on their family’s farms now. Just ordinary men, Liria, in more ordinary times.”

“Then, why?”

The age-old question. He had nothing more than the age-old answer. “I don’t know. Why did I turn my own men loose? I don’t know. Why did Sergeant Carr have to die? I don’t know.” Why do I love you so much, he wanted to add. I don’t know. What is it about people?

He knew she was bright, and somehow he knew she understood his feeble answer, because she nodded, even though there was the finest frown line between her eyes.

“Pues, claro,”
she said. She leaned across her son. “I have also been wondering why you were only a major in the Twentieth. Senor, you are a duke. I knew no Spanish dukes who were only majors.”

It was a good question, one he had considered for years. He knew he had a partial answer after spending so many hours observing his mother’s gardens. He also knew that the answer was more complete, after watching Juan sleep this morning.

“More properly speaking, I was a marquess then, because my father was still alive and held the title now mine.” It was his turn to look at the floor, until Liria cleared her throat and made him look up. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. The moment was so intimate that he thought he could not breathe and live at the same time. When the moment passed, he continued. “I played a stupid prank at Brasenose, and he summoned me home. He told me he had purchased me a commission as a major in the regiment of a friend of his. I was furious to be just a major! He could have bought me at least a lieutenant colonelcy; I knew he could afford it. Oh, Liria, I even confronted him about it, and there we were shouting at each other. What must you think?”

“You’ll remember I had brothers,” she replied, and leaned back when Juan stirred.

“Ah, yes. You’ll appreciate this: He sent me a letter that I opened on the crossing to La Coruña. He told me that he bought me a lower rank so I could learn something before I commanded a regiment. He wrote that he hoped a sergeant would teach me something before I died of stupidity. Luckily, several did.”

“I do appreciate that, senor,” she agreed. “But you stayed a brigade major.”

“It’s slightly different, my dear. It was a staff position, rather than line, and I worked with three regiments. I chose that, Liria, because the position involved skill in organizing.”

“Something you’re good at.”

“Why, thank you! At Badajoz I was commanding a regiment after the colonel died.” He sighed. “And you can tell I still had much to learn there, can’t you?”

She shifted Juan slightly so she could move across and sit beside him. She hesitated for the smallest moment then took his hand and held it tight. “Did you learn?” she asked, her voice as firm as her grip.

“I did. Liria, I did.”

“Claro,”
she said, and resumed her seat opposite him. “Your father was right.”

The final realization came to him with such force that he had to look out the window until his vision cleared. “It’s odd, Liria. My father was a remote man, given to sudden anger, unpredictable. He never treated my mother very well. She was a poor mother, with little regard for her offspring.” It was his turn to take a seat beside her, much closer because Juan filled up the rest of the space. “For all his faults, he did the right thing and kept me alive in Spain. For all hers, she left a beautiful garden that overwhelms my heart every time I look at it.” He moved back across the chaise. “I suppose we are all a collection of good and bad parts. I can forgive them for not being perfect parents.”

The silence was long. He looked out the window and counted several mile posts.

“Are you saying I should forgive my father?” she asked. “And that officer? And the soldiers? And my sister Blanca?”

He shrugged. “Someday, maybe. If you can. I don’t think there is a rush on the matter, though.” He reached across and touched her hand, running his fingers lightly over it. “I’m ten years older than you, and I’m just getting a glimmer. I suspect—I can’t prove it—that there is even time enough in the eternities to keep working on the problem.”

It seemed to be enough. She relaxed visibly, then eventually leaned against the cushion and closed her eyes. He watched her hand that rested so lightly on her son, noticing that when the chaise hit a bump and the seat jostled, her hand tightened, even as she slept. Mothers and children, he thought, then remembered the sight of Libby Cook asleep in the chair, with her hands curved protectively around her belly. With an ache that he felt through his whole body, he yearned for his mother’s flower gardens, which he knew now were her arms around him.

They lunched quickly at a nondescript inn and changed horses. “We’ll be home at dark,” he said, and she hurried Juan to finish his soup.

“I think I do not want to travel ever again,” Juan told her.

“Nor I,” she said. “I have done enough traveling for two lifetimes,
mijo.
”

You don’t have to leave Knare again, he thought, and he smiled into his reflection in the window. Good. Now I have merely to gather the courage to ask you to be my wife. Juan, as much as I love you, go back to sleep.

He knew it would not take long. Juan curled up next to him this time.

“Liria, I . . . I . . .” He knew he could not continue, not now. How do I propose marriage to a woman who has every reason to want to stay far from men? Will she want the body that comes along with another title, a beautiful home, a sterling future for her son? Would I? He paused, disgusted with himself, and thought of his own rallying speech to Amos Yore about Betty Gilbert. Which reminds me, he thought.

“Liria, I am going to close the armory. It’s too upsetting to you.”