His Heart's Delight (26 page)

By the time he reached Green Street, Morgan
felt like a schoolboy intent on his first seduction. He had come up
with a dozen scenarios that would prevent him from seeing
Christiana and had dealt with each of them. Indeed, he’d decided
that even if she had gone so far as to leave Town he would follow
her. He raised his hand to the knocker, but the door was opened
before he could let it fall. The butler stood before him, solemn
and determined.

“I am sorry, my lord, but the Lambert family
is not receiving visitors today.”

Morgan nodded curtly. “I understand that Miss
Christiana is indisposed, but could I please speak with Miss
Lambert.” Yes, that would work. Joanna could be his emissary.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The butler made to close
the door and Morgan stuck his foot out to keep the door from
latching. There must be some peddlers’ blood in his background.
Desperation made for harsh measures.

The butler looked down at his highly polished
boot with some regret. A long ugly scratch ruined the sheen.

“You misunderstand, sir.” The butler
struggled between dignity and humanity. Humanity won. “It is not
you personally. Miss Christiana refuses to see anyone. She had word
today of her neighbor. Richard Wilton died in Spain near Talavera,
these ten days past.”

The door closed even as Morgan murmured all
the right platitudes. His words faded as an iron band circled his
heart and squeezed until it physically hurt. He stood staring at
the door a moment longer.

Oh, God help her. He knew how this hurt. He
could remember all too well. He remembered the horrible disbelief,
the powerlessness; the rage he could barely control when his mother
died and especially when Maddie was gone.

He moved to his curricle and took the reins,
relieved that there were so few abroad this morning.

He remembered the guilt that had overwhelmed
him, for being the one still alive when it had been all his
fault.

He remembered something else too. The resolve
he made then to never feel that kind of loss again. He vowed to
never let anyone close enough to cause that kind of heartache. He
would protect himself from pain by shielding himself from love.

Christiana had rescued him from that
isolation. He wanted to tell her he knew how loss felt. He wanted
to help her. He wanted to ease her pain, hold her and comfort her,
but he knew that right now his presence would only make the pain
worse. He turned back to his curricle and set out for Monksford’s
town house to report the news.

~ ~ ~

It was such a comfort to be home. As the
carriage moved up the drive, Christiana looked out the window and
absorbed every familiar detail. The roses that climbed the
wrought-iron gate were still in bloom and she caught the fragrance
on the breeze. She could see the glint of sunshine on the lake,
barely visible through the trees. To the north she saw the gentle
rise of land behind the house, which protected it from the worst of
winter storms.

She had never talked with Morgan about the
country. Was he committed to life in London or did he plan to spend
time in Wales. Did he even have a house there?

She had never asked because she thought it
made no difference to their relationship. Until that one kiss, she
had been completely blind to her growing feelings for him. And now
she would never have the chance to test those feelings, to see if
they would grow. And that guilty truth brought tears to her eyes as
readily as any other grief she felt.

Papa came out the front door as the coach
drew to a stop. He had the coach door open and was reaching in to
help her down before the coachman could jump down from the box.

“Welcome home, daughter.”

Tears filled her eyes as he took her arm,
patting it with a gentle reassurance she had longed for.

“Your mother tells me that she and Joanna
will only be five more days at Lord Monksford’s and I am to join
them for the last two days of the visit. I am not sure I should
leave you alone.”

Oh, she knew she was home. Papa wasted no
time on chatter, but began with exactly what was on his mind.

“I will be quite all right, Papa. I think
some time by myself is exactly what I need.”

At his doubtful look she could not help but
smile. Indecision was so out of character.

“Papa, I am just come from Monksford and have
no desire to return before the engagement ball. Please, I am not
made of glass. I am more likely to die from the shock of you being
so accommodating than I am to go into a decline.”

He looked her in the eye for a long moment
and with a nod his indecision vanished. “Just so you know that I am
as mindful of your grief as I am of Joanna’s happiness.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“If you want to talk with me—”

She interrupted him. “Not yet, Papa. Not
now.” She squeezed his hand. “But thank you.”

With her arm in his, Papa escorted her to the
door. “Since you are home, you must explain to Mrs. Purdy how to
prepare that dish we had in London those few days while I was with
you. The fish dish with some kind of white sauce. It is the one
thing from London that I miss.” He rethought that. “Besides you
girls and your mother.”

“Turbot in oyster sauce.” She handed her
pelisse and bonnet to the butler and smiled at him. “How is your
grandson, Purdy?”

“Ben is a wonder, miss. We think he will be
walking anytime now.”

“Oh, but that will keep Hannah busy. May I
call on her tomorrow, perhaps?”

Purdy bowed. “It would be her pleasure,
miss.”

Christiana moved toward the stairway leading
down to the kitchen. “Papa, I think between the two of us, Mrs.
Purdy and I can contrive, but first I will have some tea, if you
please. It may only be a day’s travel from Lord Monksford’s, but my
thirst is just as real for only being a few hours old.”

She turned the corner and proceeded slowly
down the stairs, her body stiff from the long carriage ride. Her
father’s voice carried down to her. “No, no, Purdy, keeping her
busy is the surest way to heal.”

So Papa and Purdy had plans to keep her
occupied. Perhaps Papa was right. She had filled her last days in
London sitting in the window seat in her room on Green Street,
watching life go on. It had not really eased her heart. Nor had the
one or two engagements she had managed. Being surrounded by gaiety
was infinitely more difficult than being alone. It was all so
meaningless. And there was always the fear that she would have to
see Lord Morgan.

At least here at home she cared about the
people, knew their lives and their worries. Please, heaven, here
she would feel something besides the aching empty loss of Morgan
and guilt over her faithlessness to Richard.

Christiana walked into the kitchen. There was
the long scarred wooden table lined with benches, the familiar
earthenware teapot the servants favored, and a plate of the
wonderful biscuits that were Mrs. Purdy’s specialty.

The cook herself stood nearby, her eyes
doubtful.

Christiana barely looked at her, but walked
over to the table and picked up a piece of the shortbread. The
smell of it was everything that was home. With a shaking hand she
tried to take a bite but tears overcame her. She dropped the sweet
and covered her face with her hands. A moment later the redoubtable
Purdy pulled her into a hug, rocking her back and forth as if she
were still a child. Christiana wanted to stay there forever.

Putting her at arm’s length, Purdy nodded.
“You sit and drink some tea and tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Christiana smoothed her
skirts as she sat and Mrs. Purdy poured the tea.

“Whatever you wish.”

That included every detail she could summon
of Joanna’s pending engagement and her travels in Monksford’s very
elaborate coach. Everyone was being so kind to her.

Mrs. Purdy recounted the well-being of each
of her children, all destined for service at Lambert Hill. Neither
one of them mentioned Richard and it was as if the London Season
had never happened. It was a pretense but at the moment a welcome
one. There was nothing here to remind her of Morgan and no one who
knew that she had been such a fool. For the moment coming home
meant leaving her more painful memories behind.

She did her best to eat dinner, to reassure
her father and the Purdys, but eating the food was like stuffing
sawdust in her mouth. Bedtime loomed. But even the invitation of
her room and familiar surroundings was not enough to induce her to
sleep.

It was a warm evening, so she decided on a
walk toward the stable, where there were rumored to be some new
kittens. She had missed this in London: the quiet, the security,
the freedom to wander about in the moonlight.

She smelled the tobacco before she saw him.
Sergeant Tidwell was seated on a stump just outside the stable.

He stood up when she approached and she
walked closer. “Good evening, Sergeant.”

He nodded and made to move back to the
stable. “I meant to thank you for bringing me from Monksford. You
will return tomorrow?”

At first she spoke to his back, but he turned
to her and nodded.

“How is your leg?”

“Mending better now that I have work, thank
you, miss.”

“You’re quite welcome.” She hesitated. “But
you know it was Lord Morgan and Lord Monksford who found you
employment.”

“As you say, miss.” He smiled and bobbed his
head.

She turned to walk back to the house and then
glanced back. He was on the stump once again. “Sergeant?”

“Yes, miss.”

She walked closer, looking at the paving
stones at her feet. “Would you tell me, please, what was it like in
Portugal?”

He looked hesitant so she explained a bit
more. “I know no one who has been there. I thought perhaps knowing
a little of the life there would make it easier to understand.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but understand
what?”

She breathed a laugh and shrugged. “Life?”
She paused a moment. “And death.”

The sergeant shook his head. “Oh, miss, it’s
not my place.”

“Oh, I suppose not in the ordinary course of
things, Sergeant, but you do know more about such things than I
ever will.”

He relented. “It was hot in the summer and
cold in the winter and had more rocks on the roads than any god
could have created.”

“Yes, I can imagine that made for long, long
days.” But that was not really what she wanted to know.

“Miss, I can tell you about the officers and
their lives. They train and lead in battles but they spend a good
part of their days doing the same things they would do at home,
they gamble and hunt and ride.”

She nodded, expecting that he would say it
was hardly his place to give any more details.

“I will tell you this though, beggin’ your
pardon. The good and the brave are not only on the battlefield.
Your Lord Morgan Braedon did more for me in one day than any
officer ever did in my twenty years of wearing the King’s
uniform.”

“Oh, Lord Morgan is not ‘mine.’ Not in the
way you mean.”

“Yes, miss, he is.” He was so intent on his
conviction that any obsequiousness was gone. “He came up to me that
day only because you asked him to. That makes him as much yours as
any man who would leave you to fight in Portugal. He knew it was
important to you and so he went beyond what you asked him to do. He
found me work and he made sure my leg was tended to. He did it all
when he never knew you would know. He is a brave and noble
gentleman, miss.”

Was he saying that Morgan was more worthy of
her admiration than Richard? She could hardly ask him.

“Miss, I am being bold and I beg your pardon,
but it is the only way I know. I spent too many years with men who
wanted the nub of the thing and nothing else.”

She nodded her permission.

“I see you grieve and want you to know that
he died doing what he wanted. Could a man ask for more?”

She shrugged.

“We all have somethin’ we regret. We learn to
live with it.”

Was he talking about himself, her, or
Richard? Perhaps it applied to all of them.

The sergeant stood taller with his own
military version of polite humility. “No insult meant, miss. I best
be leaving now.”

“No insult taken, Sergeant. Thank you. I
thank you for your insight.”

He nodded with a jerky bow and turned, and
moved quickly back to the stable.

Watching his hurried progress actually made
her smile. It was an unusual conversation, but in its way a small
gift from a comforting God.

Everyone has something to regret.
The
phrase echoed in her mind as she walked back to the house. She knew
that, had grasped it sometime ago but lost sight of it lately. Now
she was part of the group who faced a loss that would change her
life. It was hardly an exclusive club, though some of her dearest
friends were members: the dowager duchess, Morgan Braedon.

She found some solace in that. If only
because other people went on and built lives of meaning and
purpose. Why should she be any different?

Christiana walked into the front hall. It was
dark and quiet. She was so tired her head ached, and for once sleep
came with a welcoming oblivion.

To her surprise work helped as well. The
second night at home she actually slept the night through, having
exhausted herself by working with young Purdy in the kitchen
garden. And for the two nights following she slept better than she
had in weeks.

~ ~ ~

That ended the day she went to Wilton Way to
pay a formal condolence call on Sir Howard Wilton. Papa had been to
see Richard’s father before, but he insisted on coming with her
this time as well. She was not about to object. It would be a
difficult enough visit with his company; without him it would have
been hideous.