The Officer and the Proper Lady

by Louise Allen

  Julia digested this, swallowed several forth right comments on the be ha vi our of her father in law, and said, ‘But you like women, don’t you? Not just the sex. That’s why you flirt.’

  ‘True.’ There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth now.

  ‘Are you really worried about reforming for me? I wish you would not: I like you as you are.’

  ‘Loose women as well?’ he asked, eyebrows lifting.

  ‘I hope not, if I am honest,’ she said. ‘But I would be hypocritical if I objected: you married me to save me from being compromised. It is not as though you promised me a love match.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ he said slowly. ‘But I promised you fidelity at the altar. I never meant to marry, I never expected to find a woman who would accept me as I am. There will be no other women, Julia. Only you.’

  ‘Good,’ she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment. ‘I am glad.’

  They did not speak after that, driving in what seemed to Julia to be a companionable silence around the park and back to the house. Not a love match, but no other women either. If Hal said that, then she trusted him. And, of course, it was best to harbour no foolish fantasies about his feelings for her. She had always known that love was too much to hope for in marriage.

  ‘I’m thinking of going to Risinghall,’ Hal remarked at break fast two days later. Julia looked up from her egg, wondering why he had not mentioned his Buckinghamshire estate earlier. ‘It occurred to me while I was shaving,’ he explained, smiling at her. ‘The weather is holding, everything here is quiet. It is about time you saw your new home.’

  And perhaps as we drive down, we can discuss what he expects me to do, she thought. Live in the country while he is posted to goodness knows where? America probably. She dug the point of her spoon into her boiled egg, the certainty stealing over her that she would not be happy to live like that. Other officers’ wives followed their husbands, she knew. It could not be harder than that hovel in Mont St Jean had been. But would Hal allow it?

  ‘Not until Monday, I trust,’ his mother said, cutting across her thoughts. ‘I am sure Julia will not wish to travel on a Sunday.’

  ‘True, Mama. We will do that then, the day after tomorrow, if it will suit you, Julia?’ He drained his coffee and stood up.

  ‘Yes, of course, if that is convenient for Lady Narborough. Hal, might I have a word before you go out?’ She was not going to wait, she decided. They would have this out now.

  ‘Of course. I will be in the library when you are ready.’

  She went to find him twenty minutes later, feeling rather less like a new bride who had woken that morning to her husband’s caresses and more like a candidate for a housekeeper’s position.

  ‘Hal, what are your intentions when your wounds are completely healed?’ she asked without preliminaries, as she sat down on the opposite side of the library desk.

  ‘To go to Horse Guards and ask about my next posting.’ He put down the pen he was holding. ‘I thought a week or so in Buckinghamshire should see me fit. You will like it down there: it is peaceful and very beautiful. One of these days, when I sell out, I think I will start breeding horses there. You can come up to London with me when I return, if you like, or stay.’

  ‘And live here, if I come back?’

  ‘We can find our own town house if you wish,’ he offered. ‘I expect you would like to be close to mother and father and to the Stanegates’ house.’

  ‘I meant, you would not want me to come with you, wherever you are posted?’

  ‘No!’ The idea had never occurred to him, she realized with a sinking heart. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Julia, wasn’t your last experience of military life enough?’

  ‘I would rather know what was happening, share things, see things, than stay here out of touch.’ Out of your life. ‘I would not get in the way or interfere, I promise.’

  ‘I am not worried about you interfering, I am worried about your safety. And your comfort,’ he added.

  ‘Many officers’ wives followed their husband in the Peninsula, I know,’ she retorted. ‘If you teach me to ride, I will be able to get out of danger, won’t I? And as for comfort, I do not expect pampering. I expect to do my duty as your wife and that, I believe, means being with you.’

  ‘Your duty,’ he said flatly. ‘I see.’

  What could she say? That she loved him and could not bear to be parted from him? And then what would he say to cover his dismay at discovering that he had to bear the burden of her emotional attachment as well as his responsibility for her welfare?

  ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I am sorry, Julia, but that is final.’

  I will not argue, not now, she told herself, closing her lips on all the arguments. He can change his mind—he married me when he was determined not to. I just have to find the right approach and the right moment.

  ‘I under stand,’ she said, attempting wifely meekness. Hal narrowed his eyes at her but did not pursue it. ‘I will go and organise an early departure for Monday, shall I?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘That would be best. I will see you at dinner.’ And he went out without dropping the passing kiss on her cheek that had become his custom.

  ‘That was an excellent sermon,’ Lady Narborough remarked, leading her party out of the precincts of St James’s Palace and onto the gravelled walk bordering Green Park. ‘One can never be certain, with the Chapel Royal, if one will be honoured with the Royal dukes and their habit of talking through out the service.’

  Julia, on Hal’s arm, rather thought she would have liked to see one of the corpulent and blunt-spoken brothers of the Regent, but deemed it tactful not to say so.

  Marcus was escorting his mother, while Verity walked with her father in front. ‘Are you sure Father will be all right walking?’ he murmured to his mother. ‘He could have gone with Nell in the barouche. I can still go back to St James’s for a cab.’

  ‘I think the fresh air will do him good.’ Lady Narborough studied her husband’s erect back. ‘His colour is better and he has his stick.’

  As she spoke, Lord Narborough flourished it in greeting and a group that had been walking across the grass towards them waved back.

  ‘The Veryans,’ Hal explained. ‘Viscount Ked din ton is an old friend—a junior colleague of my father’s when…when there was the trouble, and he is Verity’s godfather. I mentioned him the other day.’

  ‘I remember. He wants to give Verity a harp.’ Julia nodded. ‘Those are his daughters, I have seen them with Verity.’

  ‘And Alexander, his son. He’s up at Oxford, a don of sorts, I believe. Mama thinks he would do for Verity.’

  ‘Really?’ Julia studied the young man as he approached. His father was tall, slim and dryly elegant and looked intimidating intelligent. The son was a blurred copy: shorter, plumper, less perfectly tailored, but his pale eyes were as sharp and assessing as his father’s. He certainly did not look like the dashing hero of Verity’s innocent day dreams.

  There was a flurry of introductions. The Misses Veryan talked to Verity about new gowns and ignored Julia. Mr Alexander Veryan positioned himself where he could look at Verity and made rather laboured conversation with Lord and Lady Narborough, and Lord Keddin ton came to shake hands with Julia.

  He had a certain astrin gent charm, Julia decided, and he would probably be excellent company provided one said nothing foolish and did not allow oneself to be intimidated by him. ‘What a very pretty rose,’ she remarked, seeing his button-hole. The slim white bud had petals edged with green.

  ‘Unusual, certainly. Allow me, Mrs Carlow.’ He plucked it from his coat and handed it to Julia.

  ‘Why, thank you, my lord.’ Julia twirled it under her nose, inhaling the sweet apple scent of the rose and the tang of the herb backing it. ‘Rosemary, I would never have thought of that. It goes so well.’ She tucked it into the top button hole of her pelisse as the three of them walked to join the others.

  ‘Very goo
d to see you out and about, sir,’ she heard Alexander Veryan saying in his carrying, lecturer’s voice. ‘Nothing like making an appearance to put a stop to all those rumours.’

  ‘What rumours?’ Lord Narborough said. Hal swore viciously under his breath and took an urgent stride forward.

  ‘Why, about that murder and the hanging all those years ago,’ Alexander went on, apparently unaware of both Carlow sons bearing down on him and of Lady Narborough’s white face. ‘No-one who knows you takes any notice, naturally. Still, nasty to have talk about French spies, just now. Although I do not consider it the slightest bit suspicious that you did nothing at the time—why should you have if the man was guilty?’

  ‘Alexander!’ Lord Keddinton’s voice cut through his son’s chatter. ‘Damn it, do not repeat that vicious garbage.’

  ‘I just thought I’d congratulate Lord Narborough on facing it down—oh, I say, sir! Are you all right?’

  Marcus and Hal reached their father as he toppled, his left fist clenched over his heart, his lips blue. Lady Narborough swayed and Lord Ked din ton caught her in his arms as Verity screamed.

  Julia saw a barouche proceeding sedately along the nearest ride and ran, casting aside her prayer book and parasol. ‘Stop! Please stop!’

  When she returned with it, the owner, an elderly widow, urged her two stout footmen to help. Between them they got Lord and Lady Narborough into the carriage, Hal climbed up with the driver and Marcus swung up behind.

  ‘As fast as you can, Roberts!’ the widow called as Hal gave him the direction.

  ‘Go on,’ Julia urged, ‘I’ll bring Verity home.’

  Verity, in tears, was being held firmly to Alexander Veryan’s shoulder. His father looked grim.

  ‘Will you please go and get a cab, Mr Veryan,’ Julia said, disentangling her sobbing sister in law from his arms. ‘We will follow.’

  ‘Miss Carlow needs my support—’

  ‘I feel, sir, that you have done more than enough for one day,’ Julia snapped. ‘Verity, take my handkerchief and blow your nose. Weeping is not going to help. Thank you, my lord.’ Ked din ton handed her her parasol and prayer book as his son hurried off towards the Palace.

  Julia led Verity, hic cup ping into the handkerchief, after him.

  ‘My son was appallingly tactless,’ Lord Ked din ton remarked. ‘I fear that the rather sheltered academic life he leads has not given him the Town bronze necessary to deal with such delicate matters.’

  Julia merely nodded, intent on getting Verity into the hackney carriage before anyone observed her tear-streaked face.

  ‘Please tell Lady Narborough that I stand ready to do whatever is in my power to assist,’ Ked din ton continued as he stood by the open door. ‘Alexander will, of course, write to apologise.’

  ‘Oh, he meant no harm,’ Verity said anxiously. ‘But Julia, please can we go?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you, my lord.’ Julia sat bolt upright away from the dingy squabs and held Verity’s hand as the cab rattled up St James’s Street. Despite the calm face she showed Verity, butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. Hal had told her about these rumours, but he had thought they circulated only amongst a small, discreet group. If the likes of Alexander Veryan was prattling about them, who else was?

  And, anxious though she was for her father in law, Julia realized her greatest fear was for Hal. He would be furiously angry now, set on finding the truth at whatever personal cost. Someone had tried to kill him once—what would happen if Hal threatened them directly?

  By the time they got to the house, Lord Narborough was in bed, the doctor had been summoned, and Hal and Marcus were in heated discussion in the library. Julia took Verity off to the drawing room and tried to keep her distracted until the doctor arrived.

  Finally, Lady Narborough came in and sank onto the chaise. ‘Well, my dears, that was a bad attack, I am afraid. The boys are with him, watching while he sleeps.’

  Verity jumped up to pull the bell for tea, then sat by her mother, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. ‘Poor Papa. I do not under stand why Alexander upset him so. I am sure Alexander did not mean to say anything alarming.’

  ‘It was about some business long ago that has always distressed your father, my dear.’ Lady Narborough patted her daughter’s hand. ‘Would you call your maid and walk round to Bruton Street to let dear Nell know what has happened. She will be worried that Stanegate has not returned home and sending a note may alarm her. Whatever you do, Verity, make sure she stays at home. She must rest, in her condition.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mama.’ Obviously happy to be able to do something, Verity hurried out.

  ‘That wretched, wretched man,’ Lady Narborough said vehemently, the minute the door closed behind her daughter.

  ‘Mr Veryan? He was certainly most tactless,’ Julia agreed.

  ‘No, dear Alexander is simply gauche. An admirable young man, very steady and reliable, but not the so phisticate his father is. He will do excellently for Verity.’ Fortunately Julia managed to control her expression: it seemed she was the only one who felt Alexander Veryan was completely un suitable for her sister in law. But that was hardly the problem just now.

  ‘Who then, ma’am, is rousing your ire?’ She poured tea and placed a cup beside her mother in law.

  ‘Wardale,’ Lady Narborough almost spat the name.

  ‘Nell’s father, Lord Leybourne? The man who was hanged for the murder?’

  ‘Oh, I do my best to keep my lips closed for dear Nell’s sake, and I know she cannot believe other than that he was innocent—he was her father after all and she is loyal. But he was fornicating with Hebden’s wife, he wrote letters as good as accusing George of the most dreadful things—and he would not admit his own guilt! So poor George had the added burden of having to support the truth in the face of those denials. It broke his health, almost broke his spirit.’ Lady Narborough stirred cream into her tea as though stabbing the long-dead man.

  ‘I know I did right to keep that letter from him,’ she murmured. ‘Goodness knows what poison Will Wardale would have spread with those final words.’

  ‘A last letter?’ Julia put her own cup down with a rattle. ‘From Nell’s father? And you did not read it, ma’am?’

  ‘Read it? I did not so much as open it.’

  ‘So it was destroyed,’ Julia sat back with a sigh. It could have held a clue, something that Hal might interpret. But it was too late now.

  ‘Destroyed it? Oh no. I did not feel I should do that.’

  Julia sat up again, trying to speak calmly. ‘So what happened to it?’

  ‘Why, it is in my file of old letters.’ Lady Narborough appeared to focus on her properly at last. ‘You think it might be helpful?’

  ‘Perhaps, ma’am. If you could give it to Hal and Marcus to read—’

  ‘No.’ The older woman got up. ‘There might be something it to distress them and I certainly do not want to read it. You must.’ She swept out leaving Julia staring after her.

  ‘Me?’ she said faintly into the empty room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘There.’ Lady Narborough thrust a sealed letter into Julia’s hands. ‘Read it and see.’

  The paper was of poor quality, yellowing and dirty. The seal was just a brittle lump of candle wax that splintered under Julia’s fingers. She pressed it open and read.

  Carl George,

  They’ll becoming for me soon, so this is the end. I haven’t slept all night, racking my brains—as though the months in here have not given me time enough for that.

  And it seems to me that per haps I was wrong about you. If I was not, you’ll read this and laugh at the poor gullible fool that I am. All I know for certain is that I did not kill Kit, that I am not a spy. And I think I know you—we’ve been friends long enough, damn it—to finally accept you think you are doing what is right, the honourable thing, you stub born principled prig. God, I’ve been angry with you George, but I am going to die in an hour, I can’t
go to my death angry at my oldest friend.

  Because you genuinely believe I’m guilty, don’t you, George? And, if I am guilty, your sense of honour tells you that justice must take its course. I’m an adulterer, I admit that, but nothing else, I swear to you on my children’s souls.

  So listen, George, and do this for me and for Catherine and the children. Look after them—I’ve written the address where they will go at the foot of this—show it to Catherine, she’ll take your help then. And find who killed Kit, who the spy is—because Kit must have been close, the clever devil. Too close to live.

  That drunk of a par son will be here soon to pray over me, so good bye, George. I hope I am right about you, finally.

  Will.

  Julia stared at the desperate scrawl in the faded brown ink. They could not show this to Lord Narborough, it would kill him, and she must prevent the other woman reading it and realizing she had snatched away help from the surviving Wardales.

  ‘What does it say?’ her mother in law asked, her voice fearful. She did not hold out her hand for it.

  ‘That he is innocent,’ Julia said, swallowing hard against the tears that were blocking her throat. This was Nell’s father’s last testament. The stench of the prison, the fear soaked into the stones of the cell, seemed to ooze out of the paper, but so did the spirit of the man who had written those words. She believed him.

  ‘May I give this to Hal?’ she asked when she had her voice under control again.

  ‘Yes, if you think it will help.’ Lady Narborough drank the last of her cold tea and got to her feet. ‘I will go up to George again, you talk to Hal and Marcus, my dear; I will send them down. I do not care what you do, just do not let George see that letter.’