The Memory of Your Kiss (6 page)

Z
achary watched from a secluded doorway as Sydney and the Carstairs family settled into a hired traveling coach. He chastised himself as a lovesick schoolboy, but he couldn’t help himself. He had imagined all last night a number of melodramatic scenes in which he dashed in to rescue her from a dastardly devil who could not possibly appreciate her as he did. Common sense quashed that foolishness.

But he could not stay here in Bath where it seemed every site, every shop, every brick brought to mind something she had said or a certain expression in her face—a raised eyebrow, a dazzling smile. He returned to his quarters, ordered his batman Charlie to pack the few belongings he had there, left notes for Pelham and Harrelson, and he and Charlie set off for London to visit Zachary’s parents. With luck the city would provide sufficient diversion until it was time to report to Devonshire for his cousin’s wedding.

Devonshire. Sydney was from Devonshire. Might he find her after Henry’s wedding and—and, what? Spirit her away? To where? The Peninsula? Ridiculous. Besides, he did not even know her direction and Devonshire covered a vast amount of territory. The Carstairs servants might know where she was, but in light of what he perceived to be Sydney’s own wishes, he could not ask them. No. Best leave matters as they stood.

In time this pain, like that in his leg, would surely fade to a little regretted memory.

In London he visited with his family—his parents and his fifteen-year-old sister Julia. His two brothers were away at school. His other sister, two years older than Zachary, was about to present his parents with their second grandchild. His mother, especially, was preoccupied with this event.

He loved his family dearly, but he was finding the whole domestic scene somewhat oppressive. He tried to avoid doing so, but he kept imagining Sydney in this or that setting: Sydney at dinner with his family, Sydney riding or walking in the park. In unguarded moments images of Sydney intruded—her face, her laugh, the way she toyed with a lock of hair when thoughtful. Never had he been so obsessed by a woman. Good God! Was he in love with her? On three weeks’ acquaintance? Ridiculous.

On his third night in town, he went first to White’s, his father’s favorite of the gentlemen’s clubs, then to Brooks’s. In each of them he encountered men he knew—old schoolmates and fellow military officers who greeted him warmly. He played several hands of whist at Brooks’s, but in general found this night on the town less than satisfying. He told himself it was probably just as well that, immediately following Henry’s wedding, he would report directly to Plymouth to board a ship back to the Peninsula.

Return to the war would shake this out of him.

He had intended to arrive at Paxton Hall in the early afternoon, but, having run into a rainstorm, he did not arrive until very late in the evening. The journey had not been a pleasant one, largely because of the weather. The coach had been stuck in mud at one point and Zachary and Charlie had to lend their shoulders to help get it unstuck. Apart from that, traveling gave him too much time to think. Even when he managed to doze, images of Sydney haunted him.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Henry said as Zachary divested himself of a many-caped greatcoat and handed it to a footman.

“I usually manage to keep my word,” Zachary replied, then was immediately contrite about being so testy. It wasn’t Henry’s fault that Sydney was lost to him. “Sorry. It was a hellish journey.”

“Do come into the library. I have a really fine cognac here.”

“Contraband, of course?”

“Of course.”

Zachary accepted a crystal glass, inhaled the aroma, and sank into
a comfortable leather chair. He looked around to admire the Paxton library. A painting on the ceiling depicted idealized scenes of a bucolic countryside. A large painting over the fireplace showed a fox-hunt with a Paxton ancestor in the foreground. And books. Hundreds of books—and Zachary doubted the present earl had read more than a handful of them. He assumed a tone of mocking censure. “You are aware, are you not, that you are supporting the enemy when you encourage the smugglers?”

“Hah! You know as well as I do that half our intelligence about what the infernal French are up to comes via smuggling operations.”

Zachary laughed. “Trust an Englishman to turn his self-indulgence into a virtuous act of patriotism.”

Henry shrugged and changed the subject. “I am sorry you were so late. You missed meeting Bella. She and her family were here for supper, but they left over an hour ago.”

Zachary raised an eyebrow. “An inspection tour?”

“No. Just a visit, though I did ask her to look over the arrangements for the wedding breakfast to be held in the ballroom.”

“I take it she approved?”

“Yes. Bella is not hard to please.” Henry emitted a derisive laugh. “I will not face the sorts of problems in this marriage that plague our prince and future king.”

“His troubles are largely of his own making. He never has treated his wife with the degree of respect a wife rightly deserves.”

Henry gave him an oblique look. “Princess Caroline is not blameless, you know. Her behavior often has tongues wagging.”

“I daresay she retaliates in the only way she knows how—or can—when he so openly flaunts his mistresses.”

Henry laughed. “You’re right. The prince is not a paragon of discretion.”

Realizing that this conversation might veer into an area Henry could find uncomfortable, Zachary changed the subject to a safer area of public discourse: the ongoing conflict between the king’s conservative Tory government and the Whigs, supported by the monarch’s rebellious heir.

Well after midnight they finished the bottle of cognac and Zachary was feeling quite mellow as they said their good-nights. The drink had not truly worked its magic: His last thought before sleep overtook him was of Sydney.

The next morning Zachary donned his dress uniform and sat in Paxton’s best carriage opposite his cousin who was dressed in the fashionable pantaloons and tailed coat of formal town wear. Zachary thought the care Henry had taken in his appearance might indicate a deal of respect for his Bella beyond what he demonstrated in casual conversation about his bride.

As the two cousins stood at the altar of the parish church, Zachary looked over the small group assembled to witness the ceremony. He guessed there were, perhaps, thirty people gathered here. Well, Henry had said it was to be a small, private affair. Then his glance fell on two members of the group on the bride’s side of the church. Herbert Carstairs and his mother. What were they doing here? Was Sydney here too? Might he see her again? He looked more closely at the guests, but did not see her.

Suddenly it hit him. Sydney—his Sydney—had been promised to another before her sojourn in Bath. In one of those intuitive moments that suspend time, it occurred to him that Henry’s Bella could be his Sydney.
Please, God, no!
Feeling as though some giant had dealt him a blow to the midriff, he sucked in a deep breath, but he had no time to adjust to that horrifying idea before he saw her. Sydney, preceded by her cousin Celia, appeared on the arm of a tall, thin man with a shock of white hair. But it was Sydney who commanded Zachary’s attention. Sydney in an ivory silk gown, the style of which even he recognized as belonging to a bygone era. She was, quite simply, beautiful. As he looked closely at her face, he thought he detected signs of fatigue or stress—a tenseness about her eyes and mouth. Then her gaze went from Henry to him and he saw a wisp of a sad smile of recognition.

Had she known all along? Had Bath been a weird sort of game she played? Those trips about town? All those hours together? A grotesque joke at his expense? Just an adventure before settling into the humdrum of married life? The interlude that had affected him so profoundly had been a charade to her. He recalled her response to his kiss. No. That at least had been genuine. Maybe.

Anger and doubt assailed him. So long as her future had been a vague unknown, he had accepted it. But now? His own cousin? He thought fleetingly of making a scene when the minister got to that part about “anyone who had objections to this union.” He winced inwardly
as her father placed Sydney’s hand in Henry’s. Zachary recalled clearly the feel of that hand in his own.

Then the bride’s father stepped into place as the clergyman announced the intention of this man and this woman, Henry Matthew Alistair Laughton and Sydney Isabella Waverly, to enter into the holy state of matrimony. Well, that explained the confusion over her name. Zachary struggled to maintain his composure, drawing upon years of experience in observing military decorum—of not flinching in seeing a man flogged, of fighting on, directing others even when a friend’s death rattle seemed to drown out all other noises of battle.

He could do this. He would do it.

And somehow he did, even to the point of handing Henry the heirloom ring at the proper moment and watching, fascinated, seeing only their hands as Henry slipped it on her finger. He stood stoically as Henry kissed her. Then the bridal party retired to the vestry to sign the church registry, first Henry, then his bride. As Sydney handed the pen to Zachary, their hands touched and, for just a moment, his gaze held hers. Was it regret or resignation he saw there? Or was that merely what he wanted to see? He signed quickly and handed the pen to Celia.

Then it was over.

But no. There was still the wedding breakfast. For the return trip to the Hall, he found himself in a carriage with Henry’s younger sisters with whom he had only this morning become acquainted. They reminded him of his own sister, Julia, and he only half listened as the two girls giggled and gushed over the beauty of the bride and the ceremony itself. They were polite in trying to include him in their conversation and he was pleased to be able to respond in a normal tone.

Unlike Zachary, Sydney had been prepared for their meeting again—and the circumstances under which it would occur. She had spent a mostly sleepless night before that long, long journey down the aisle of her father’s church. She had worked hard to school her emotions since her sojourn in Bath. Then yesterday, in an instant, all that effort had been shattered.

Along with her father, Geoffrey and Marybeth, her aunt Harriet and her cousins, she had visited Paxton Hall in part to check on seating arrangements at the post-wedding breakfast. After showing the
visitors the more public rooms of the Hall, Lord Paxton accompanied Sydney and her aunt to the ballroom, leaving the vicar and the younger visitors in the music room with his sisters. In the ballroom, they found a long table at one end of the room, with a number of smaller tables spread along the side walls, each providing seating for eight people.

The room itself was magnificent. One long wall had several large windows and two sets of double French doors leading to a large and well-tended garden. Opposite that wall were three large tapestries between which were large mirrors that would at night reflect the light from two large chandeliers. The other walls were covered in green and gold embossed silk; the painted ceiling, like the tapestries, depicted scenes from Greek mythology.

“What a beautiful room,” Aunt Harriet exclaimed. “I remember attending a ball here soon after my brother moved to Devonshire. You have done a marvelous job of preserving it, my lord.”

“My father had the tapestries cleaned and mended. They date from the fifteenth century. And, please, Mrs. Carstairs, call me Henry. We are to be family, after all.”

“Why, thank you. Then I shall be
your
aunt Harriet as well as Sydney’s.”

Henry smiled and shook his head, but looked with affection at his fiancée. “I am forcing myself to think of her as Sydney. To me, she has always been Bella. I keep forgetting.”

They all smiled at this, then Sydney, observing the linens, fine china, and table decorations, said, “I had not realized this breakfast would be quite such an elaborate affair. There must be a hundred places set here!” She felt a little overwhelmed and some of her trepidation must have shown in her voice.

“Never mind, my dear. Stevenson and Roberts, along with Mrs. Knight, have everything in hand,” Henry assured her, naming his steward, the butler, and the housekeeper. “Besides, you know almost everyone—tenant farmers, Paxton Hall servants, village people, and so on.”

With a gentle hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the head table and began to point out who would sit where. Sydney took it all in, but only half listened until he said “—my cousin Zachary, here, next to you—”

“Your cousin
who
?”

“Zachary. Zachary Quintin. His mother is my aunt. You will like him. Army man. With Wellington.”

“I—I know him,” Sydney said.

“You do?”

“We met in Bath,” she said, trying to quell the surprise and panic she felt with knowing that Zachary would see her being married.

“What a small world it is,” Aunt Harriet said. “Lieutenant Quintin is a particular friend of my son.”

“Had I known you were going to Bath, Bella—uh, Sydney—I would certainly have made him known to you,” Henry said.

“It happened very quickly,” Sydney said, still trying to absorb this news. Zachary. He would be here. Tomorrow. Oh, dear God.

Aunt Harriet cast Sydney a questioning look, then launched into babbling about soldiers coming to Bath to convalesce from war wounds. Sydney was grateful for time to pull herself together and wondered just how much her keen-eyed aunt knew of what had passed between her and Zachary.

“Such a pity so many of them must return to the battlefields,” her aunt was saying.

“But are we not lucky to have them performing as they do for our sake?” Henry said.

“Indubitably,” Aunt Harriet said.

When the three of them rejoined the others, Sydney had herself under control and could marvel with the others about the coincidence of Zachary Quintin’s being Henry Laughton’s cousin.

“My grandfather, the sixth earl, disapproved of his daughter’s marriage to a man he thought of a ‘nabob’ and because of that, my father was never very close to his sister,” Henry explained. “Sad, isn’t it, what happens to some families?”