Secrets Behind Locked Doors

by Laura Martin

  ‘Every night?’ Louisa asked.

  He nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding and his body ready to fight, as if he were back on the Peninsula.

  His hand that was grasping her wrist moved slowly up her arm until he cupped her shoulder, pulling her even closer towards him. Robert knew kissing her was a bad idea, but he needed the comfort she was offering. A few seconds of her lips on his and he would be able to forget the pain that was piercing his heart.

  He felt her breathing become shallower as she realised his intentions, but she did not pull away. Robert gave in. He brushed his lips against hers, savouring the velvety soft feel of mouth underneath his and the sweet taste of her lips. She was heavenly.

  He allowed his hand to run down her back, caressing the bare skin of her neck before dropping to cup her buttocks through the multiple layers of her dress.

  She was kissing him back. Her lips moved against his and he felt her body soften against him as if they were melting together. Her hand that had been on his cheek snaked round the back of his head and he felt her fingers run through his hair.

  All the time he was kissing her Robert knew he should stop. Someone could come outside and discover them at any minute and then there would be a momentous scandal. Not only that, but he was Louisa’s guardian, he was meant to protect her from advances like this, not inflict them upon her.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away. Louisa’s eyes were glazed over and her cheeks were flushed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I just couldn’t help myself.’

  She smiled at him, almost nervously, and allowed her hand to drop from the back of his head.

  They stood facing each other for a few minutes, neither wanting to be the first one to move away. There was no awkwardness as there had been after their previous kiss. Robert felt surprisingly content. He supposed the guilt would come later.

  ‘I’d like to know more about the war,’ Louisa said quietly. ‘It’s such an important part of your life.’

  Before Robert could answer they were bathed in light as the curtain was held aside and someone stepped out on to the terrace.

  ‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening?’ Mrs Knapwell said as she came to join them. ‘I thought I might find you two out here.’

  Robert looked at her sharply. Did that mean she expected them to be alone in the darkness, with him taking advantage of sweet, innocent Louisa?

  ‘I do love warm summer nights,’ Mrs Knapwell continued, looking up at the sky wistfully, ‘but I always wish the London skies weren’t so hazy. It would be lovely to see the stars.’

  ‘I was just saying the same thing, Mrs Knapwell,’ Louisa said.

  ‘I’m so pleased you could come this evening.’

  Robert nodded. His words always seemed to desert him when faced with Greg Knapwell’s mother’s kindness.

  ‘I don’t see enough of you these days, Lord Fleetwood.’ She turned to Louisa. ‘Lord Fleetwood was always in and out of our house as a boy. He and my son Greg were friends from the very first day at Eton.’

  Robert found himself smiling at the memory. They actually hadn’t been friends from the first day. On the first day Knapwell had punched him and Robert had blackened Knapwell’s left eye. All over some supposed family-themed insult. They’d become friends the day after, a mutual respect blossoming from admiration of each other’s fighting skills.

  ‘I know you miss him nearly as much as I do,’ Mrs Knapwell said quietly.

  Robert felt a lump forming in his throat. He did miss Knapwell. They’d been best friends for twelve years by the time he died. They’d survived school and university and four years of war together.

  ‘Why don’t you rejoin the other guests, my dear?’ Mrs Knapwell said to Louisa. ‘I just want to have a few words with Lord Fleetwood.’

  Louisa looked at him questioningly, the concern she had for him etched on her face.

  He nodded. He didn’t want Louisa to hear whatever it was Mrs Knapwell was about to say.

  Reluctantly Louisa stepped back inside the house. Mrs Knapwell moved closer to him.

  ‘She’s a lovely girl,’ she said.

  Robert nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.

  They stood in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘I know what happened,’ Mrs Knapwell said eventually, ‘and I know you blame yourself for Greg’s death.’

  Robert opened his mouth to speak, but found the words wouldn’t come out.

  ‘You weren’t to blame,’ she said sincerely. ‘Major Dunton told me everything. He told me how you looked after the two of them, protected them time and time again, put your life on the line for them.’

  Robert tried to protest. He’d done what any good commander would have, but in the end he was the reason Knapwell had died.

  Mrs Knapwell held up her hand to stop him. ‘He told me what happened on the day my son died and why you blame yourself.’

  Robert raised his head and looked her in the eye, knowing he needed to see the hatred and disgust she had for him as she confronted him about the part he played in her son’s death.

  Instead he only saw warmth and compassion.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said sincerely. ‘You couldn’t have known you were going to be betrayed, no one could have known. Greg went away to war knowing exactly what could happen. You were not responsible for him and you were not responsible for his death.’

  Robert wanted to take her by the arms and shake her, make her understand it was his fault. Greg would still be alive if it wasn’t for him.

  ‘You need to stop blaming yourself,’ Mrs Knapwell continued. ‘Greg died on the battlefield, but you didn’t. You need to start living your life for the two of you, not building a barricade of guilt and distance between you and the world.’

  She patted him on the arm in a motherly fashion. ‘I don’t blame you for Greg’s death,’ she repeated again, ‘but I do thank you for being such a good friend to him whilst he was alive.’

  Robert couldn’t even begin to make sense of what she was saying. He’d been convinced she would blame him for her son’s death. He was responsible, no matter what she said. If it wasn’t for him, Knapwell probably wouldn’t even have joined up, let alone be dead. He’d be out enjoying himself, flirting with young women or playing cards at a club.

  ‘I know you aren’t going to be able to start living again overnight,’ Mrs Knapwell said, ‘but I can’t stand to see you wasting your life, cutting yourself off from the world. It’s not what Greg would have wanted for you.’

  Robert thought of his friend’s happy demeanour and knew Knapwell wouldn’t have held any resentment towards him. He would have forgiven him in an instant, but even so, that didn’t mean Robert could forgive himself.

  ‘Miss Turnhill is a lovely young woman and she cares a lot about you. Why don’t you talk to her about it?’

  She gave him another motherly pat on the arm, then turned to walk inside. Just before she pulled back the curtain she turned back to him.

  ‘My husband and I were only blessed with one child,’ she said softly, ‘but when Greg brought you home with him for the holidays I felt as though we had gained another. I lost one son in the war, I don’t want to have lost two.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  They travelled home in silence. Louisa wasn’t sure what Mrs Knapwell had said to Robert, but whatever it was it had affected him deeply. Their hostess had reentered the lounge a good fifteen minutes before Robert. When he’d stepped back into the room he looked stunned and troubled, but not overly upset. Louisa had excused herself immediately from the conversation she was having with Lady Grey and had gone straight to his side.

  ‘We should leave,’ he’d said gruffly.

  Louisa hadn�
�t argued. She’d quickly made her way over to their hostess, thanked her for a lovely evening and then joined Robert out in the hall. Within minutes they were seated in his carriage and speeding through the streets of London.

  She glanced at Robert for what felt like the hundredth time. He was frowning deeply, as if trying to think something troubling through in his head. She wished she could help. She wished he would share what he was worrying about with her, but she knew what he needed now was time and space to think.

  So instead of saying anything Louisa sat back and relived the moment on the terrace when Robert had kissed her. She’d been more prepared for it than before, it had seemed natural, right somehow. He’d run his hand up her arm and pulled her towards him. Then he’d lowered his mouth onto hers and kissed her tenderly. It had been a kiss filled with warmth and gentleness, but with an underlying thrum of desire and passion.

  It confused her more than their kiss the day before. That had been heated and almost animalistic. It was the kiss of two people who desired each other. Today Robert had kissed her as though he loved her.

  Louisa quashed the thought immediately. He didn’t love her. Of that she was sure. What did she know about love? No one had shown any sort of love towards her for nine years. Thinking Robert kissed her with love was just wishful thinking, nothing more.

  She glanced across at him. He was still frowning, lost in his own world. She wondered again what Mrs Knapwell had said on the terrace, what had triggered his desire to escape so suddenly and why he was so quiet and withdrawn now.

  They pulled up outside Robert’s house. As the carriage came to a halt Robert looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers with such an intensity Louisa felt a shiver run through her body.

  Wordlessly he helped her down from the carriage and followed her inside. Once they were alone in the hallway he seemed to hesitate, as if unsure what to do next. Louisa stood still, not wanting to interrupt his decision making.

  ‘Will you have a drink with me in my study?’ Robert asked, almost formally.

  Louisa nodded. She followed him into her favourite room of the house. She supposed she liked it because it had Robert’s personality stamped all over it, from the comfortable leather chairs to the books that lined the walls.

  Silently Robert poured two glasses of whisky. He handed one to Louisa and motioned for her to sit down. He remained standing.

  ‘Do you want to talk?’ Louisa asked gently.

  She took a sip of the whisky and grimaced. The fiery liquid burned her throat and sat heavily in her stomach. She set the glass down on the small table by her side and turned back to Robert. He still hadn’t answered her.

  ‘Or we can just sit together?’ she suggested, patting the space on the sofa next to her.

  He sank down on to the cushion, still looking distractedly around him. Louisa wondered what he was thinking about.

  ‘Would you like to hear about the war?’ he asked quietly.

  Louisa nodded. ‘Only if you would like to tell me about it.’

  ‘I think maybe I should,’ he said. ‘Mrs Knapwell said something to me this evening that made me realise that keeping everything inside maybe wasn’t the best idea.’

  Louisa reached out and took his hand firmly in hers.

  ‘I think Mrs Knapwell is a very wise woman.’

  ‘By the time I’ve finished you might hate me,’ Robert said, ‘but please promise me you won’t leave because of what I’ve done.’

  ‘I promise,’ Louisa said simply.

  Now wasn’t about her. She had to forget her fears and her worries. Right now she had to be strong for the man who had rescued her from a life of misery. It was the least she could do.

  ‘I met Knapwell on our first day at Eton,’ Robert stated. ‘He punched me, I gave him a black eye.’

  Louisa frowned. She was sure Mrs Knapwell had said they’d been friends from the very first at Eton.

  Robert saw her frown and explained, ‘After that we developed a mutual respect that blossomed into friendship. By the end of the first term we were inseparable.’

  Louisa tried to picture Robert as a child, going to school for the first time. She wondered if he was quite so serious back then.

  ‘My mother had died when I was very young and when I was fourteen my father passed away. That Christmas, Knapwell took me home to his family and they treated me like one of their own.’

  Louisa could imagine the kindly Mrs Knapwell taking a mourning orphan boy into her family fold. She would try to help ease the pain of spending his first Christmas without a family.

  ‘He became more of a brother than a friend. When we left Eton we both went to Cambridge to study—that was where we met Dunton.’

  He paused for a second, and Louisa smiled at him encouragingly. She knew he had a long story to tell her and it would be cathartic to finally confide what had happened in someone, but soon it was going to get harder for him, more painful.

  ‘When we were all in our final year at Cambridge we started hearing more and more about the war. We went to a few political discussions, but it was mainly undergraduates giving their opinions on what was happening miles away.’ He looked away for a second. ‘I didn’t like what Napoleon was trying to do. Every country has the right to independence, not to be ruled by some foreign dictator, sitting in a decadent palace thousands of miles away whilst the people starve.’

  Louisa could see the passion and conviction in his eyes and knew if the situation arose again he would make the same decision; he would go off to war.

  ‘I decided to join the army, went along and bought my commission the day I graduated. I didn’t have a father to talk me out of it, no one to tell me I was being selfish leaving the estate to fend for itself.’

  ‘And the others?’ Louisa asked.

  ‘Knapwell joined immediately; as soon as he found out I was going to fight he wanted to come with me. Said I’d get myself killed if he wasn’t there to keep an eye on me.’

  ‘And Dunton?’

  ‘He bought his commission a few days later. He was always more level-headed than Knapwell, thought everything through thoroughly. But as a second son he knew he’d have to either join the army or find himself a profession. He decided to join us.’

  Robert lapsed into silence. Louisa wondered if he was remembering the time when the three friends had been together, before their ideals had been crushed by the realities of war.

  ‘We had some basic training, nothing much more than how to hold a sword and fire a musket, and then we were sent to Portugal. We travelled with the men we’d be fighting with, those under our command. By the time we reached our destination we knew them all well enough.’

  Louisa leant forwards ever so slightly. Robert was getting into the flow of telling his story and was less hesitant now. She could already tell it was good for him, sharing the memories.

  ‘We fought a few battles, lost some men. Suddenly it was all rather real. It wasn’t an academic debate over whether Napoleon should be forced out of Portugal. It was a fight to the death in a muddy field.’

  Louisa couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful it must have been. For three young men used to all the luxuries of life to be thrown into such a scenario must have been a shock. No wonder so many came home from the war mere shells of their former selves.

  ‘After a few months we started having some success. We implemented a new way of fighting, drilled the men in the importance of keeping in formation, that breaking rank meant the breakdown of order and losing the battle.’

  She smiled at the thought of Robert going in and improving the age-old ways of warfare. His analytical brain and ordered way of thinking would have served him well in that situation.

  ‘A few of the high-ranking officers thought they might be able to use me and my men in one of the light infantry units. We would sco
ut ahead of the main body of the army, find and exploit any weaknesses in the enemy’s lines. Often we would engage much larger forces than ours, but our men were well trained and we’d selected the best fighters. Normally we came out on top.’

  Louisa could hear the note of pride in his voice. Robert would have been proud to lead such brave and talented men. He’d served his country and looked after the men in his unit.

  Robert fell silent. Louisa could tell they had reached the difficult part of the story. Everything he’d told her so far was just the setting, the background information to some terrible event that had changed Robert for ever.

  ‘On the fifteenth of September we came across a village,’ Robert said, seeming to change the direction of his story suddenly. ‘St Mamede. A few locals hadn’t fled the village and seemed welcoming, supplying us with food and beds for the night.’

  Louisa felt his grip tighten on her hand and squeezed back reassuringly.

  ‘Ana Mendez was the daughter of a farmer. She showed us around the village, helped us find beds for all our men, encouraged the other residents to give us food.’

  Louisa knew as soon as Robert had said her name they had been lovers. She felt jealous of this foreign woman who had held Robert’s heart, even if it was only for a brief period of time.

  ‘She persuaded us to stay in the village for a few days, recuperating. We’d been marching and fighting for two months solidly and the men needed a rest.’

  Louisa knew Robert wouldn’t have made the decision to stay based on his own desires for this woman. He’d have considered what was best for all his men, putting his own needs to one side, and then decided.

  ‘By that time we’d become quite famous amongst the enemy. We were known for our lightning-speed attacks and our ability to take on much bigger forces than our own and still win. We didn’t know it at the time, but the enemy had offered a reward for anyone who helped to destroy us.’

  Louisa felt the first dawning of realisation. They’d been betrayed.

  ‘We spent two weeks in St Mamede. The men were well rested and by that point we were almost ready to move on. We had new orders and the plan was to march east at dawn the next morning.’