An Officer, Not a Gentleman: A Traditional Regency Romance (Brethren in Arms Book 3)

by Elizabeth Johns

  “Would you mind if I stop here?” Tobin asked. “I can see myself back.”

  Wrexford looked over to where Bridget was, and gave Tobin a smile and a nod.

  “Thank you for the tour,” Tobin said, not knowing what else to say.

  “This place is my pride and joy. I hope it will not be lost,” Wrexford said sadly before urging his horse forward. Tobin slid off his hunter and walked painfully towards Bridget. He might have to trouble her to take some shrapnel out soon.

  Bridget registered the sound of hoof beats in the distance, but did not look up. She did not feel like speaking to anyone. It was desolate out here on the steep, rocky cliffs and it matched her mood perfectly. She was angry with herself for being angry at her father and brother for dying and leaving her in this position. She knew it was irrational, but felt it nonetheless.

  When Tobin appeared next to her on a horse, she was not exactly startled, but neither was she prepared for the leap her heart did at the sight of him.

  “What is wrong, lass?” Tobin asked with a look of concern on his face. “Is this all too much for you?”

  Bridget did not know how long she had been out there. When she had dressed this morning, she had not felt equal to facing Tobin or Wrexford. The hole she felt in her life was so large she did not think it would ever be filled. She wanted to go back to Brussels, where things had been more simple. It was incredible she could think of army life in those terms, but it was what she knew. Now it felt as if she was losing the only person who really knew her and who gave her hope.

  “I do not know how to answer that. I have been thinking.” She watched a wave come in and crash against the rocks below, sending spray some hundred feet into the air.

  “This is a good place to think, I would imagine,” he replied.

  “Tobin, I think we should delay getting married.”

  “The divil ye say. Am I hearing ye right?” His green gaze bored into her. She had fallen deeply in love with him. Did he suspect?

  “You are not mistaken. Everything has changed.” She picked a piece of clover near her hand and began to tear the heart-shaped leaves apart.

  “Including your feelings for me?”

  “That is not a fair question.” She had not expected him to ask it.

  “Is it not? That is how I felt when you asked me to marry you the first time. Here, I thought I would have someone to go through this with me.”

  “A friend,” she whispered.

  “Yes. No one else will understand me the way you do.”

  “I do not know if that is enough.”

  He was scowling. Bridget could feel it without looking up at him. “What about your crazed aunt and cousin?”

  “I have no intention of going anywhere near them. I will wait for the courts to give me what is left of Papa’s estate.”

  Now he was pulling up the clover and looking out over the sea. He was scowling and angry, but still looked more handsome than any other man she had known. She was aching with love for him and could not, in good conscience, marry him before the court ruling.

  “Have you made up your mind, then?”

  “I think it is for the best. You did not really want to marry me, anyway.”

  “Do not be ridiculous, lass. Who would not want to marry you? At least now I can provide you with a proper home.”

  Bridget wanted to scream, but held her frustration inside.

  “My father has planned some grand party to introduce me to the neighbourhood.” Tobin shook his head. “You had better not abandon me. I know you love these things as much as I do.”

  Bridget remembered the first time she had seen Tobin, at the Waverley ball, and smiled with sadness. How much easier things had been then. Had it only been a few weeks? Bridget’s heart sank even further, if that were possible. She knew Tobin would not want a fancy Society life, and neither did she. A simple cottage in the country would do very nicely. Secretly, she prayed that the Crown would deny Wrexford’s request to make Tobin heir.

  “Can we wait to decide, Bridget? You will not leave me to face this alone, will you?”

  She smiled at him. The least she could do was wait. He had done so much for her. She took his hand.

  “Of course not.”

  “I confess,” he said, his devilish smile returning, “I was rather beginning to look forward to being married.”

  Bridget was too, if she were being honest. Tobin held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

  Leading the horse behind them, they walked back holding hands, their fingers entwined. He seemed to be as lost in his thoughts as she was. Bridget was even less certain of what to do now.

  When they arrived back at the house, there was a carriage and four pulling up in front of the majestic façade. Bridget wondered if she could escape up to her room. She was not in a state of mind to be sociable.

  “Should we turn back to the cliffs and pretend we did not see the visitors?” Tobin asked, a sly grin on his face.

  Bridget laughed. “Did you read my mind?”

  “I wish I could admit to such kindness, but the idea was purely selfish on my part. Do you think it will be a visitor only for Wrexford?”

  “I sincerely doubt it, since he paraded you through the village. Word spreads faster than fire in the countryside,” Bridget answered.

  “Very well.” Tobin seemed to groan the words through gritted teeth.

  “Is one of your injuries plaguing you?” Bridget asked as she took the more proper position of placing her hand on Tobin’s arm. Although everyone thought them betrothed, she did not want to cause more reason for talk now that they were within view of the house.

  “There is no point in pretending with you,” Tobin said on a sigh.

  “None at all,” Bridget agreed.

  “It is my cursed thigh. Riding for hours this morning did not help,” he admitted.

  “Very likely it is a piece of shrapnel surfacing. I should take a look at it.” She pulled off her glove and placed the back of her hand on his forehead and then his cheek. “You are a bit warm. Fevers often accompany irritated wounds. You will most likely experience this for some years.”

  Tobin nodded. He knew that from stories of other soldiers. “But first, we must brace ourselves to do the pretty. Who do you think it will be?” he asked. “A nosy vicar’s wife? Are they not often the town gossip?”

  Bridget laughed. Her brother had been the only other one to amuse her so. “Indeed, or the great lady of the county, since your father has no wife.”

  “Shall we wager on it?” His eyes were dancing with merriment.

  “Ladies do not wager.” She clicked her tongue with mock scorn. When they were alone like this and enjoying the absurd, she wondered if they would do all right together no matter poor or wealthy, titled or not. Was it wrong of her not to want to share him?

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he said as they reached the terrace steps.

  She was afraid to voice her thoughts, but they poured out anyway. “I am afraid things will change too much,” she confessed.

  “They already have, mo álainn. Please do not lose heart on me. I cannot face this without you.” He bent down and was kissing her lightly on the cheek when the door opened.

  “There you are at last!” Wrexford exclaimed. “Come in and meet my sister, Lady Butler. She lives on a nearby estate.”

  Tobin and Bridget exchanged glances and he gave her a slight wink. Entering through the terrace doors, Bridget saw a very fine lady, garbed in an ensemble clearly from one of London’s finest modistes. Unfortunately, she was not alone. There were two young women with her. One was a beautiful, dainty blonde with ringlets for miles. She blushed when Tobin was introduced to her. The other girl was equally pretty with bright red hair and large blue eyes. Bridget suddenly felt very shabby in her mourning blacks. She had dyed her last practical gowns, not wanting to spend the little money she had on a new wardrobe.

  They exchanged curtsies when Bridget was introduced and she did not mi
ss the militant gleam in their eyes when Lord Wrexford said Bridget was Tobin’s betrothed.

  “It is hard to believe you are Wrexford’s eldest son. I do not believe Father ever mentioned you or your first wife before,” Lady Butler said.

  “Father was a tyrant,” Wrexford said, “but what is done is done, and I do not wish to speak ill of the dead. I only hope things can be rectified now.”

  “We will be leaving for London soon,” the lady announced. “We were there in the spring and Ruby had many admirers.”

  “I have no doubt,” Wrexford said, not rising to his sister’s bait. “I intend to take my son and his wife to London after the wedding, if they are amenable. They should be presented at court and to Society by me.”

  The ladies smiled falsely. Bridget wondered if anyone else sensed it. Men often missed women’s subtleties.

  Begrudgingly, Bridget had to admit she liked Wrexford, but she knew enough about women to know she could do without his sister or her daughters. Perhaps she should suggest they visit Dungarvan. She happened to know someone who was desperate for a wife, she thought ungraciously.

  Chapter 15

  After a tedious dinner with his new aunt and cousins, Tobin felt wretched. His body was burning and aching like the devil and he was so warm he could not get comfortable. Night-time was becoming something he dreaded though, because the terrors of war crept in. He escorted Bridget to her room but decided to wait until morning to ask her to look at his leg. She had other ideas.

  “Goodnight, mo álainn,” he said as he kissed her cheek at her door.

  “Not yet. You need to have your leg ready for dancing.”

  He felt a scowl pinch his face. “I was hoping to use it as an excuse.”

  “Perhaps you will, but not before I see if there is something I can do. Go and make yourself presentable and I will fetch my medical bag.”

  Tobin was exhausted, but she was right. The longer they delayed, the more it would fester.

  Tobin took off his coat, waistcoat and boots and then did his best to expose his wounds discreetly for Bridget to examine them. He still marvelled at her medical abilities.

  She knocked on the adjoining door in their suite of rooms and, entering at his bidding, placed a bag next to him on the bed.

  “I have brought you some of your father’s best whiskey with his complements,” she said with a mischievous grin.

  “I think I was fortunate to have been unconscious the last time you went digging into my body.”

  “Undoubtedly,” she agreed, “but as I do not tend to render you insensible this time, you had best fortify yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and took a healthy drink. It was not enough. Just watching her remove her instruments and dip them in the hot water that a servant had provided was enough to make him queasy. He drew on the bottle of Irish nectar. The Scots always claimed their whisky was the best, but Tobin preferred the smoother taste of the Irish to the mossy dirt flavour the men in skirts wore. To each his own, he thought.

  “Take a deep breath,” Bridget’s voice commanded and Tobin obeyed.

  “As ucht Dé, woman!”

  “I know, and I am sorry, but a large piece of a cannon ball is trying to surface. I do not know how I could have missed this before.” She frowned and two lines formed between her brows. Tobin reached up to smooth them out, but he found himself pawing at her face instead.

  She laughed. It was a sweet sound.

  “Are you ready? I need to prod again,” she warned.

  Tobin held up a finger, well he thought it was a finger but he was seeing more than one. He took another healthy drink and then nodded.

  Curses again. Who was ever ready for that?

  “I almost have it,” she said and kept going.

  Tobin continued to let out strings of muttered Gaelic.

  “It is a good thing my ears are not delicate, Tobin. You would put the most hardened sailor to the blush,” she chided.

  “Most ladies would have swooned into a heap on the floor,” he slurred. “And most ladies would not be performing surgery either,” he said, rather shrewdly in his own estimation.

  “An excellent point. If your new cousins are the standard for the ladylike ideal, I will pass on the nomenclature.”

  “They were quite ghastly,” he agreed.

  “Now I must cleanse your wound. I will take the whiskey, if you please.”

  Tobin held the bottle to his chest. “No. You will not waste this on my leg. Find something else.”

  Bridget glared at him, her hands on her hips.

  “You look like me mam when you do that,” he remarked. “Speaking of whom, I am to go and see her tomorrow.”

  Bridget walked across the room, pulled on the bell-rope and asked the servant to find her some less fine spirits.

  She sat on the side of the bed while they waited. “Does your mother live close to here?”

  “Less than a day’s ride, I should think.”

  “So you will be back in time for your father’s celebration?”

  “We. We will go to visit me mam. About the celebration… I asked Wrexford to postpone it since you do not want to marry me any more.” He rather thought he might be pouting, but he was beginning to feel very sleepy. Even so, he noticed she did not say anything.

  The servant entered with another bottle and Bridget proceeded to burn him as surely as if she had held a hot iron to his leg. Perhaps that was what she was doing. Later, he vaguely remembered her wrapping his leg and tucking him in like a small child, with a kiss to his forehead.

  The next day they set out for County Kilkenny. Tobin was nervous. They were silent for some time as they rode through the village in Wrexford’s luxurious travelling barouche. Tobin was still dumbfounded by the thought that he might own this or his own carriage one day. What would his mam think when they arrived at her cottage?

  “How is your leg this morning?” Bridget asked, interrupting his rapidly maudlin-turning thoughts.

  “Much better, thank you. Did I say aught to bring you to the blush last night?”

  “Nothing unforgivable, or that I have not heard before, I assure you.”

  “I am not sure if that is a relief or not,” he muttered.

  She smiled as she watched out of the window. Tobin could not say why he had insisted she come, but it had been her suggestion and for some reason it was important that she know where he came from if she truly wanted to marry. Although, he reflected morosely, even that was no longer a certainty.

  “What is your mother like?” Bridget asked.

  Tobin had to think. It was not easy to describe one’s parents. “She is kind but tough; gentle but firm, hard-working and fair.”

  “She sounds like an ideal person, though I might describe you just the same.”

  Tobin cast a sceptical look her way. “And I you… though beautiful and compassionate come to mind when I think of you or look at you.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Do you intend to tell her what is happening?”

  “I have not decided. I suppose I want to see how she is.”

  “That is fair, but her life will change enormously.”

  “Aye, and I do not think she will like it.”

  “And how will she feel about becoming Lady Wrexford?”

  Tobin stared at Bridget. “I do not know.”

  “If the marriage is reinstated, would she not be married again to your father?”

  He gave a curt nod. “Perhaps, but let us not put the cart before the horse. Maybe it is not necessary to upset her unnecessarily.”

  Bridget remained quiet, giving him some much needed time to think, even though her presence comforted him. Everything was happening so fast. Did she sense it too? Was that her hesitation? She had become distant, but was it him, their situation, or her grief? It was often hard for soldiers to return to civilian life, and she might be no different. Yet what could he do about it? When she had mentioned postponing the wedding, a sense of panic and loss had hit him in
side. If she did not wish for all of this, then neither did he. Quickly he was realizing it was more important to have her than anything else.

  Tobin must have fallen asleep with his wondering, for when he awoke, the carriage was slowing to a halt.

  He looked out of the window to see the familiar but strange cottage where he had been brought up. It seemed so much smaller now. The white stone was covered with ivy and the thatched roof was the same, but the trees were thicker and taller and the rose gardens were almost unruly with their riotous summer blooms. A deep pain inside made him want to turn and flee like a coward, but Bridget was there beside him.

  “It is beautiful. I have dreamed of owning a house such as this one day.”

  “So meagre?” he asked doubtfully.

  “It looks like heaven compared to most of our billeting over the years.”

  Tobin could not argue with that.

  “Do you want to go in alone?”

  “No,” he replied immediately. He was using her as a shield, but she had become his rock; his comfort.

  She reached around him and released the door. “Go on, then.”

  Tobin winced as he stepped down. Hours and hours in a carriage, no matter how luxurious, did not help a wounded leg be less stiff. He managed to straighten his face before he helped Bridget down.

  She was looking up and smiling over his shoulder. Tobin swallowed hard and turned.

  “Tobin?”

  “Mam?” he questioned, but before she could respond she was in his arms.

  Bridget felt very much as if she were intruding as she watched mother and son embrace. How could Tobin have doubted his mother’s love? Although, she admitted, it was easy for Bridget to say that when she had never been the bastard child, or had a stepfather having been forced to raise her. No, she could not accurately put herself in Tobin’s shoes.