The Tainted Love of a Captain

by Jane Lark

  ‘I thought it would, but it does not. It has made me unhappier.’ If she was honest with anyone, let her be honest with Harry.

  ‘Why, darling?’

  She had loved the sound of that endearment in the stable. She gripped his waist tighter. ‘She does not love me.’ All that Charlie had longed for, for years, was to be held by her mother and that comfort had not been given to her. Yet it had been given to Ginny. The way they excluded her was cruel.

  ‘I am sure you are wrong. I told you in Brighton, it will take time.’

  ‘Then come and meet her and you will see.’

  Charlie had a desire to be proven wrong as she walked Harry upstairs to the attic room. But the desire was a morbid pain in her chest because she knew she was right.

  She knocked on the door as Harry stood with her, holding her hand.

  ‘Who is it?’ The voice was Ginny’s.

  ‘Charlie. I have brought Harry to meet Mama.’ She glanced at him. She wanted him to see and she wanted him to tell her that she was wrong. That she was loved. Perhaps his greater experience of a family would see something she had missed, some silent or subtle understanding that she had missed.

  The door opened. ‘You remember Harry,’ Charlie said to Ginny.

  Ginny nodded and bobbed a curtsey as she would have to any grand stranger.

  Harry gave her his most beautiful smile and bowed his head. But Ginny then turned away from them both without smiling back.

  A sigh of misery and mortification escaped Charlie’s lips as she pulled Harry into the room. Then she swallowed against the pressure of tears in her throat. ‘Mama. I have brought my husband to meet you.’ As her mother looked up, Charlie let go of Harry’s hand and he bowed.

  Her mother stood up to curtsey. ‘Captain.’ She straightened up. Then blushed and looked at Charlie, as if asking her to take Harry away. She did not say she was pleased to meet him or that she was thankful that he had helped Charlie. She did not care that Charlie was safe – that was how Charlie had interpreted this lack of concern for her freedom.

  ‘Are you comfortable, ma’am? Have you everything you need here?’ Harry asked as Charlie’s mother sat again.

  ‘Yes. Thank y’u now that Ginny is safe ‘ere with me. That is all that I wished for.’

  Was that said deliberately to show her disapproval of her eldest daughter? Charlie glanced at Harry. Had he heard the silent dismissal and rejection that she heard? Surely he must see that they did not care for her.

  ‘My brother has said he will find you a cottage of your own.’

  ‘We do not ask for much, only a simple life, Captain, no more than that.’

  Every word her mother uttered felt like condemnation of Charlie’s choices. Was she denouncing Charlie, as though she had sought the wealth of Harry’s family? If she had a chance she would go back and have never climbed into Mark’s carriage and have nothing.

  Charlie looked at her sister. ‘What are you sewing?’ She walked over to her.

  Ginny looked up. ‘It is a cap for Mama.’

  ‘Do na trouble y’ur sister with y’ur doings, Ginny.’

  Your sister… Charlie did not even have a name. She was not a member of her own family. She had lost that place. She had no position in their hearts and no place amongst them. When, seven years ago, she had given up her life for their happiness.

  ‘Charlie.’ Harry beckoned for her quietly to come out of the room as her mother’s eyes dropped to the sewing she worked on too.

  ‘Good day,’ Charlie said on her breath before she turned to leave. There was no answer.

  Harry shut the door in their wake and then he held her as she had longed to be held by her mother.

  He was her family. He cared, and he cared as her family never had. ‘Do you see?’ she whispered.

  He pulled away from her a little. ‘I do see. I am sorry. Your mother should care more for you. I apologise for her ignorance.’

  She struck his shoulder with a gentle slap and laughed quietly. It had been said as a jest. ‘You cannot apologise on her behalf.’

  He smiled. ‘Were you going down to dinner?’ He swept the subject aside then.

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Good, because I am ravenous. We did not stop on the road this afternoon, so we would return earlier.’ He had said in the stable that he did not know how to help; instead she guessed he was attempting distraction.

  ‘When you said you would marry me…. When you took me to the inn and said you would look after me… I thought … That is, I feared…’ She had to know if he really cared. It would break her to pieces if he did not.

  ‘Feared what, darling? Tell me.’ His fingers tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and it tickled her cheek.

  ‘I was afraid that I had trapped you by going to you. That you felt forced, as I once had. That I had forced you into feeling that you had to—’

  ‘Had to help you and marry you…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’ A bark of coarse laughter left his throat at a pitch that her mother must have been able to hear in the room beside them. ‘Believe me, I did not feel forced and I have not been trapped except by—’

  It is just that I love you, Harry,’ Her hand fell on his chest over his heart, ‘and I could not bear it if you came to hate me.’ The statement echoed in every bone and sinew in her body. He was everything to her.

  A smile parted his lips as another sound of amusement rumbled in his chest beneath her palm. ‘Charlie, darling, I love you too. I shall never hate you. You have made me a whole man. I am far more than I could ever be without you.’ His embrace became a grip as he picked her up and then spun her about in a circle on the narrow landing. ‘I discovered that I love you before I left, but I did not have the heart to say it then or in Brighton. I was afraid you were not in a place to hear it and now you have beaten me to it.’

  She laughed, smacking his shoulder to make him put her down. ‘I have known that I love you for a long time, but I have been too afraid to say it to you.’

  His hands braced either side of her head. ‘Never be afraid to say anything to me, promise me that…?’

  Yes. Yes. Now Ginny was safe she could promise and everything that he had done for her and her family told her he was trustworthy, her whole heart believed. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Have my family been kind to you?’ He took hold of one of her hands and pulled her into motion.

  ‘So very kind. I love your mother too. She has been especially sweet to me. I want her to be my mother.’

  ‘She is your mother; you are my wife.’

  Charlie laughed, as now he was here the happiness inside her crept up to the top of a full jug. He was a wonderful distraction She did not have her mother’s love, but her sister was safe and Harry was home and she had his family and he loved her. ‘I feel as though that is true.’

  ‘It is true.’

  When they walked into the drawing room, still holding hands, Charlie did not feel uncomfortable as she had felt on the first day. She was proud, as she had known she would be proud. Proud to be Harry’s chosen wife and she was going to be a good wife to him. She would have let go of his hand, but his grip tightened about hers when she tried to let go, so he responded to the embraces of his family one-armed.

  When the greetings ceased, Harry let go of her hand and instead rested his arm about her shoulders.

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ Harry offered.

  ‘Do you want some?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes.’ They walked over to a servant who was filling glasses.

  ‘Charlie.’

  She turned and faced Harry’s father. He must have returned with Harry today.

  ‘I have not properly welcomed you to the family. You must think me very crass. Please, think of me as your father, as much as Harry does.’ He took one of her hands and held it in both of his, in a gesture that implied genuine affection and concern. More affection and concern than her mother showed her.

  It was str
ange that Harry’s family now knew the worst things about her and liked her and welcomed her more, while her own mother…

  ‘Charlie.’ She looked across Harry’s father’s shoulder at the Duke. He had the same colour eyes as Harry, the same eyes as their mother.

  He stepped forward as Harry’s father moved aside and then The Duke held her hand and lifted it so he could kiss the back of her fingers as his eyes expressed concern and compassion. ‘I am very glad that I have been able to assist your family.’

  She bobbed an unpractised curtsey. She would have to ask Harry’s mother to teach her how to do such things. ‘Thank you. Harry said you brought my brother here too. Has he gone upstairs to be with my mother?’

  ‘He asked to see her, but I believe he has now left. He intended returning to his wife.’

  He had not even come to speak to her. A bilious sensation clasped at the back of her throat, strangling her. Not one of her family cared for her—or cared what had happened to her.

  ‘Charlie,’ Harry said, drawing her attention back to him.

  She turned into him, as his arms opened to receive her. ‘Do not cry for him. He does not deserve it. I have met him and I do not like him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you were cursed with such a man as a brother.’

  She pulled away and met his gaze. ‘But I rejoice that I have such a wonderful man as a husband.’

  His brother and his father had drifted away and no one else paid any attention to them, allowing them a subtle privacy.

  Harry pressed his lips down on hers. Love. She could never have imagined this affection and this world and his family… She could still not imagine India.

  ~

  When they lay in bed the emotion in Harry’s heart was a hard pull holding Charlie close to him. He had expressed his love and admiration for her with his body and now he lay sated and smiling into the darkness. He had never imagined loving a woman as he loved Charlie.

  Charlie rolled on to her side, her head shifting from its place on his upper arm to lie on his chest as her fingers brushed across his stomach.

  ‘I think I am with child,’ she whispered into the air. ‘My courses are late.’

  God. His fingers closed about her shoulder instinctively and gripped tight. A child. He had never in his life imagined himself as a father.

  Yet Charlie had been through a lot in the last few days. ‘Could it be the result of worry?’

  She rolled on to her front, her stomach resting on his hip as her palm pressed on his chest, bracing her upper body. ‘No. I want it to be a child.’

  He laughed as his fingers combed through her hair. The colour was dulled by the darkness and the moonlight. He wanted her to be with child too. The shock had receded. It was replaced by longing. ‘Yes. I like the idea of a child. But I still think a few days’ delay in your courses might be worry.’

  ‘How can you know such a thing?’

  ‘Have you not seen how many women I have in my family…’ The conversation had become a teasing exchange, like those they had shared in her little parlour in Brighton.

  ‘They would not speak of such things to you, a man.’

  ‘I did not say they spoke to me. I have ears. I can hear. I have overheard their conversations.’

  Charlie rolled on to her back, her hair brushing his arm again and his chest. ‘Well, I say I am with child.’ He could not see it, and yet he heard the smile in her voice.

  He did not answer. Let her believe it. But he would hold his excitement for a week or two.

  He rolled sideways and kissed her temple. ‘Either way, I love you.’

  ‘And I love you,’ she said in return.

  Yes. He would like to have a child. Love a child. It was a good thought.

  ‘Do you think I will make a good mother, like yours?’

  He kissed her temple again, as he heard the words she had not said: ‘or a bad mother like my own’. Except her mother was not a bad mother to Ginny, to Charlie it must feel like a flaw in herself. ‘You will make a wonderful mother.’

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘You said I may tell you anything…’ Her breath touched his cheek as her head turned to look at him and her eyes caught the small amount of light in the room and sparkled.

  With tears… His fingers lifted and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Yes, anything.’ His muscle tensed at the thought of what it might be, though. The words she had said in the stable at the inn had remained as ghost-like thoughts.

  ‘I feel guilty, Harry. I always have. I feel as though everything has been my fault and your mother told me that it is not, but my mother… She has always said that it is. That I did wrong when I let him touch me. I blamed you for what happened to Ginny in Brighton because I was upset and I did not want to face how guilty I felt. I knew it was all my fault. If I had never got into that carriage—’

  ‘Charlie. My sweetheart. I know without you telling me that what happened to you was because you felt you had no choice. My mother is right; you have no guilt to bear. What Hillier did is not your sin. He did it.’

  The dampness on her cheek caught on his fingers. ‘As you have spoken, let me speak too. I want to help you. Perhaps my own honesty can do that. I probably should have said this in Brighton. Guilt is the hardest thing for me to bear in my memories of war and that guilt has shut me off from my family too since I returned. I have not known how anyone might love me when I consider myself a sinful black-hearted man. I have kept my mouth closed and not told them about myself because I did not think that any of them would be able to face me.’

  Her hand pressed against his cheek. ‘You are not black-hearted.’

  ‘Wait. Let me tell you it all. I bear guilt too. There were so many things about that awful war that were not what I expected. We lacked ammunition, food and medicine and I watched so many men die. Then, when one of my men was hit in the leg and fell next to me, I could stand no more death. In a moment of madness, I picked him up and carried him away from the field. I made that choice and who knew what other men I might have saved if I had continued fighting those that were attacking us. But I picked one man to save and carried him out of range of the guns and the cannons.’

  ‘That was ki—’

  ‘Listen.’ He covered her lips with his fingertips. He’d never believed he would tell this to anyone, but now he had begun he had to tell it all. ‘I went looking for him a few days later, in the tents that had become hospitals. I always tried to visit my men who were injured, but I wanted to see Martin particularly. I was proud of myself, you see, for saving a life so personally. He was in agony. His leg had been sawn off and the flesh had turned rotten with infection. He was writhing in pain and screaming at me and the wound smelled so badly and looked so awful and there was nothing, no opium or laudanum, to ease his pain and help him remain calm in the hours he had left of life. It took five more days for the infection to claim him. I did not save him from anything. All I did was make his death more difficult. If I had left him on the field to bleed to death or perhaps shot him myself to end his misery it would have been kinder. And who else died because I chose to save Martin when I did not save him at all…’ He swallowed as Charlie wiped his cheek. There was moisture on his skin.

  ‘What else were you to have done? It is not your fault that he died anyway.’

  ‘I do not know what else I might have done. That is the thought that tortures my dreams. But do you see? Your situation is the same. What else were you to have done then? We made choices on the information and the emotions we had then. We thought there would be no harm. It is not your fault, as you tell me it was not mine. You accepted what you thought was a kind offer, nothing more. You had no choice over what came next. There is no fault. Perhaps we should agree to be sad about the consequences but accept that there is nothing we may do to change them.’

  Her body moved and then her lips touched his cheek where she had smeared his tears with the wipe of her thumb, and then she pressed her lips against his, before whispering o
ver them. ‘I accept it was not my fault.’

  ‘I accept it was not my fault that Martin died, either.’

  Chapter 16

  Harry tapped on the door of John’s library. He’d come looking for his brother for a reason. He’d spent his morning busy but contemplatively.

  After breakfast he had spoken with Charlie and his mother, who he’d wanted to talk to about acquiring a ball gown. John and Katherine’s ball was approaching and he wished Charlie to feel as confident as possible.

  She had said she would not attend, trying to avoid the night. He had refuted that and told her, ‘of course she must go to the ball’. If he had been doing what they had planned and taking her to India, it might be her only chance to attend such an event. But he had been thinking all morning about changing his plans.

  There was Charlie to protect and her sister and mother. That was where she was now, with them. They could stay here in England, under John’s protection. They would be safe and yet they would always feel like Harry’s responsibility.

  And one day he hoped he and Charlie would have a child for him to care for too.

  He knocked again when John had not answered. Then he opened the door.

  John was alone.

  ‘Hello,’ Harry said as he walked in.

  John stood up, smiling at him. ‘Hello to you too. Why are you here? You do not usually seek out my company.’

  Harry shrugged. ‘I have changed.’

  His brother walked out from behind his desk. ‘It is surprising what a woman can do…’

  Harry smirked, but that was true and the sentiment that had brought him here.

  ‘Would you like a glass of whiskey.’ John pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. ‘I do not think it too early.’ He put the watch away again. ‘And I think we deserve it after the last few days.’

  Harry smiled fully. He had always liked John, despite his brother’s annoying self-righteous behaviour, but now—now he appreciated his brother far more. He also had a favour to ask.

  He walked across the room as John went to the decanter and upturned two of the glasses on a silver tray, then lifted the glass stopper out of the decanter and poured the whiskey.