That produced relieved laughter. Callie rallied enough for a warm smile at their well wishers. “Thank you all. Really, I’m all right except for my ankle.”
A gruff voice asked, “How did you survive, sir?”
“We were on the balcony when the tower exploded,” Gordon said succinctly. “It was a damned near thing, but I remembered an ancient staircase inside the stone wall and we got out just before the inside of the tower collapsed.”
A covered cart driven by Francis approached. When it stopped, Gordon set Callie inside, then climbed in after her. She was more unconscious than not. He pulled his battered coat off and held it over her to block the rain.
As Francis drove them toward the dower house, Gordon saw that the fire had been largely confined to the old tower and the rain was now extinguishing the remaining flames. The lower section of Kingston Court would need some rebuilding at the upper end, but it was fairly undamaged. Fine. Francis could have it.
He had Callie. He needed no more.
Chapter 42
Callie slept the sleep of exhaustion, not waking until dawn. It took her a moment to recognize that she was in the quietly elegant master bedroom of the dower house and Richard was sleeping beside her. The storm had blown over, leaving a sky that was clear and pale blue.
The previous night seemed like a mad dream, but she had vague memories of having her head and ankle bandaged, then being undressed by Richard and put in a dry shift. She’d have to borrow clothing. It occurred to her that she should start a dressmaking business using local women who needed work. She’d design, they’d sew, and ready-made garments could be sold at modest prices in the local markets. Perhaps a shop later. Yes, such a business would be good for all concerned.
With that settled in her mind, Callie wiggled her foot cautiously. Her ankle hurt, but not as much as a broken bone would. Good, just a bad sprain.
Her memories after she’d banged her head during the explosion were clouded, but she remembered what had happened. She shuddered as she recalled how they’d almost died twice over.
But, by God, they had survived! Richard lay with his arm over her waist. There was soot in his blond hair and he needed a shave, but he looked undamaged, so there was no good reason for her to roll over and grab him as if she was drowning and he was her lifeline.
He woke up immediately and his arm tightened around her. “You’re shaking, Catkin. Delayed reaction from last night?”
She nodded and hid her face against his chest. He knew her so well. “I can’t help thinking dower houses are built for the widows of dead lords.” She took a gulp of air. “And I’m so glad that I’m not your widow!”
He gently stroked her hair, which was an appallingly tangled mess. “Is it any comfort that Eldon intended to kill both of us so you wouldn’t have had to survive into widowhood again?”
The thought was so absurd that she had to laugh. “Not much comfort, no. But I like this house and I’m glad we’re here.” Her amusement faded as she wondered how to ask the vital question. “Are you going to be haunted by what you had to do last night?”
He sighed and rolled onto his back. “I wish I hadn’t had to kill my brother. But in my years as a cowardly adventurer, I learned to kill when necessary and without regrets. Eldon needed killing.”
“That he did.” Though Callie wished she’d been the one to do the killing to spare Richard from it. Her mouth twisted. “We talked about returning to the peace and safety of England, but I had a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t be that simple. I wish I hadn’t been right. Do you think our murderous adventures are over now?”
“My intuition isn’t as good as yours, but I think so. Francis was genuinely horrified by Eldon’s actions and isn’t going to try to murder us. You won his heart by wanting to meet his Julie.” Richard hesitated, then continued almost shyly, “I saw last night that the people of the Kingston estate seem to welcome the fact that I’m now Lord Kingston and that lovely Catherine Brooke is my lady. I’m not surprised that you’re remembered fondly, but I am rather surprised that I am, too.”
“You shouldn’t be. Your two older brothers were arrogant bullies. You actually traveled about the estate and talked to people, and listened as if they mattered. They haven’t forgotten.” She chuckled. “Am I imagining it, or when you were carrying me to the carriage did an older woman say that she’d always known we should get married?”
“You’re not imagining it.” There was a smile in Richard’s voice. “It was Mrs. Moore, who runs the shop in the village. She liked wayward children like us.”
“Mrs. Moore, of course! I loved her ginger biscuits. I’ll call on her soon.” Callie was lying on her side so she rested her hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and the soft texture of dark gold hair. He was beautiful and kind and hers. She could not imagine anywhere in the world she would rather be.
“Callie?”
His voice had changed. She lifted her head, wincing a little as the previous night’s injury made itself known. Ignoring the twinge, she said, “Yes, my Lionheart?”
He met her gaze, his gray eyes deadly serious. “When I thought we were going to die last night, I belatedly realized how much I love you. Not just as a best friend and companion in mischief, but in every way a man can love a woman.”
He bent his head and brushed her lips with a kiss of exquisite tenderness. “During all of those years of traveling and surviving, I believed I was no longer capable of feeling deeply about anyone. Now I realize that I couldn’t give my heart because it already belonged to you. You were my sanity and my salvation.”
“As you were mine.” She felt a sting of tears forming in her eyes and blinked them back. “After my father wrote that you were dead, I realized you were the love of my life. I couldn’t stop living, and I’ve loved other people in different ways over the years. But I could never love anyone the way I love you.”
He lifted her hand, interlacing their fingers. “I’ve never said this to anyone else, and I never will,” he said with no trace of his habitual humor. “I love you, my dearest girl, now and forever, amen. You bring me peace.”
“And you bring me joy,” she whispered. “We’ve always loved each other, but saying the words makes a difference, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” He gave her a slow, wicked smile. “I believe you said something about our having three children. Since we are both here more or less naked in a very fine bed, isn’t it about time we got to work on that?”
She laughed joyously. “Indeed it is. I’m ready. Are you?”
He was. He absolutely was!
Historical Notes
In the study of American history, the War of 1812 is usually more of a footnote than a major event. Thirty years after the Revolution, the young United States fought Britain again, the results were pretty much a stalemate, and the only noteworthy event was the bombardment of Fort McHenry, which inspired Francis Scott Key’s “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I’m not sure that the average Briton has any awareness of the war at all. But in the US and Canada, the war mattered.
In my hometown of Baltimore, the war is very, very personal. When I first moved here, I was surprised to find a Maryland State holiday called Defenders Day, on September 12. Say what?
It turned out that September 12 was the land part of the Battle of Baltimore, when the militia stopped the advance of British troops at the Battle of North Point, allowing time for the Americans to prepare for the naval part of the battle, which was the defense of the city at Fort McHenry.
The reasons for the war are murky. On the American side, there was a feeling that Britain was dissing our new little republic. The British blockade of the Continent was interfering with our trade with France, and the Royal Navy was impressing sailors from American ships to serve on British vessels. If we fought, we could teach them respect and maybe collect Canada and add it to the United States.
I suspect that in Britain, the fighting was seen as a bloomin’ nuisance—just get those colonia
ls out of the way, please, so Britain could take care of Napoleon. I do know that the issue of impressing American sailors to serve on British ships was taught in my school as a huge infringement of our sovereign rights, but it looked very different after I read Life in Nelson’s Navy, by Dudley Pope. It was a lesson in different points of view.
A good part of the war was fought grimly along the Niagara Frontier between Canada and the United States. The war in the Chesapeake Bay was right on my doorstep and it’s well documented. In my research, I was able to find weather conditions, troop movements, the blowing up of bridges and ammunition dumps, not to mention ministers’ benedictions and idiotic mistakes to weave into my own story.
With Napoleon defeated and exiled to Elba in 1814, battle-seasoned British troops were freed up to sail to North America and administer the spanking those Americans so richly deserved. When the British walked into Washington with no opposition after some American troops had disgraced themselves at the Battle of Bladensburg, they primarily burned government buildings, but one house was used by snipers and burned down, an incident I was able to borrow for my own characters.
The easy occupation of America’s capital was a national humiliation and could have had dire effects on the peace negotiations that were being held in Ghent. After that victory, the Royal Navy, the most powerful in the world, sailed up the Chesapeake Bay, determined to destroy Baltimore. The city was one of the largest and richest in America, and had quite justly earned the label “a nest of pirates,” though Americans preferred the term “privateers.”
The British troops were led by Major General Robert Ross, a distinguished veteran of the Peninsular War. With the might of the empire bearing down on the city, the local citizens, white and black, rich and poor, dug in grimly, because that’s what you do when enemies threaten your home. The territorial instinct is powerful. Earthworks were dug, twenty-two merchant ships were sunk in the mouth of the harbor to prevent the British from entering, and both regular troops and militia took positions and prepared for whatever might come.
The British land invasion retreated after General Ross was shot, the Royal Navy began bombarding Fort McHenry, and the rest of the story is well known. The United States regained its pride by standing firm against the might of the British Empire and the peace negotiations in Europe were concluded with no changes of territory.
It could be called a stalemate, but that doesn’t mean the war had no lasting effects. Both the United States and Canada developed much stronger senses of their national identity, to the extent that the War of 1812 is sometimes called the “second American Revolution.” Having declined to join America, Canada has been a steadfast, invaluable member of the British Empire ever since, and a very good neighbor to the United States.
If you’d like to learn more about the war in the Chesapeake, the classic history is Walter Lord’s excellent The Dawn’s Early Light: The Climactic Shaping of “the Land of the Free” During the Hazardous Events of 1814 in Washington, Baltimore, and London. Another fine book is Steve Vogel’s Through the Perilous Fight: From the Burning of Washington to the Star-Spangled Banner: The Six Weeks That Saved the Nation.
One last note: coal seam fires are real and can burn for decades or even centuries. The fire in Centralia, Pennsylvania, has been burning since the 1960s and caused the entire town to be evacuated.
Please read on for an excerpt from Mary Jo Putney’s next Rogues Redeemed novel,
Once a Pirate.
London, Autumn, 1814
Lord and Lady Lawrence were enjoying a pleasant afternoon in the library when the letter arrived. The butler himself delivered it to the earl. Sylvia Lawrence glanced up and saw that the missive was wrapped in stained oilcloth and must have traveled a long way. “Is that a letter from Rory?” she asked eagerly. “We haven’t heard from her in such a long time! Is she coming home?”
Her husband unwrapped the letter and read it with a deepening frown. Then he swore with the vibrant profanity that only one person ever invoked. “Your daughter, Lady Aurora Octavia Lawrence, has gone and done it this time!”
“She’s your daughter, too,” Sylvia pointed out as she began to worry. “What’s wrong?”
The earl snarled, “The letter is from the British consul in Algiers. Your damned daughter was captured by Barbary pirates and they’re demanding an outrageous ransom to return her!”
Sylvia gasped as levity was replaced by horror. “How is that possible? I thought the Barbary pirates had given up their thieving ways after the Americans blasted their cities to pieces.”
“The pirates of Barbary are not great believers in treaties,” her husband said bitterly. “The consul says she’s unhurt, but she’s locked in a harem and will be sold into slavery unless she’s ransomed.” His voice rose. “Twenty thousand pounds! Twenty thousand pounds!”
He slapped the letter onto the desk, sending a fine goose quill pen flying. “Well, they can damned well keep her! I’m not paying a ha’penny to get the girl back.”
“Geoffrey, you can’t possibly mean that!” Sylvia gasped. “Our youngest daughter! Rory was the delight of your life.”
“Until she grew up—she’s been nothing but trouble ever since.” He scowled at Sylvia. “She won’t make a proper marriage and she’s spent most of the money intended for her portion on her travels. She’s a clever minx. Let her get out of this scrape on her own. I can’t afford her anymore.”
“She’s our daughter!”
“You think I don’t know that?” His initial rage was cooling to even more dangerous icy anger, but there was pain in his eyes. “We may be aristocrats, but we don’t have unlimited funds, Sylvia. I’m still paying off debts left over from my father’s time. And you had to have eight children, all of whom have had to be established.”
“You had something to do with that!” she snapped. “We’ve been blessed with eight healthy, charming, intelligent offspring. Which of them would you give up?”
His eyes narrowed. “None. But should we rob their futures to pay for the foolish behavior of the youngest?”
Sylvia bit her lip because that was a hard argument to counter. “But slavery in Barbary, Geoffrey! That’s not a scrape, it’s disaster! Just think of the atrocities she might suffer.”
His expression was unyielding. “She’s pretty enough to avoid the worst atrocities. She’ll probably end up as chief wife of the Dey of Algiers. That’s my last word, Sylvia. Rory has made her bed, and now she must lie in it with whatever man is willing to pay her price.”
The countess cringed at the words. Geoffrey was generally quite reasonable—for a man—but when he made up his mind, he was unyielding. He wouldn’t lift a finger to help Rory.
But the same was not true of Rory’s mother. She closed her eyes, shuddering as images of her youngest filled her mind. She loved all her children deeply, but Rory had been such a golden, happy baby. That was why Sylvia had insisted on the name Aurora, for the dawn.
Aurora had quickly become Rory as her daughter grew into laughter and mischief. Yes, she sometimes got into trouble, but that was because of her appetite for life. There was no malice in her.
Geoffrey might leave her to rot in Barbary, but that didn’t mean Sylvia would do the same. She’d heard of a man who was good at dealing with difficult situations. An aristocrat with connections to people in all walks of life. She’d call on him in the morning. Perhaps—pray God!—he knew someone who could bring her daughter home.
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