Ashes of Pride

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She didn’t gasp or shriek in shock and run inside, the way any other woman might have. She didn’t even jump in surprise.

  For a long moment, Blanche’s gaze held his. Then, slowly and deliberately, she turned so her body faced him, too. The water splashed against her shoulder.

  Neil had his answer. She was completely bare beneath the muslin. Her breasts were outlined by the clinging material. The dark tips thrust against the fine fabric, raising it.

  Her waist really was that small. It wasn’t merely tight-lacing which narrowed it.

  Blanche lowered her arms to her sides, so they did not hide an inch of her. Her gaze was steady.

  It was an invitation. Neil recognized it as easily as if she had shouted it.

  The lust rose in him. It was not the simple ache he had presumed it to be. It was a wild beast, tearing at his insides, making his belly cramp, his heart to work heavily. The thud of every heartbeat echoed in his temples. He could feel his blood surging, hot and sharp, in every vein.

  The soft flesh between his thighs hardened almost instantly, beating with a life of its own.

  Thought dimmed. Good sense vanished.

  It was more than temptation. He felt drunk with it.

  Neil stepped over the low wall and walked across the damp ground to where she stood under the downpour.

  This close, he could feel the heat of her, even as fine drops bounced off her body and sprayed his face.

  Blanche breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling. He saw the beat of her heart in her throat, making it flutter.

  Neil took her arm and drew her to the door. His fingers burned at the touch, even though the muslin was cool against their tips. It was the flesh beneath which scorched him.

  He opened the door wide and stood back. Beyond, he glimpsed a stove and a scarred worktable, piled high with folded pieces of gray wool. Heat which lingered inside washed over him. No wonder she had stepped outside for fresh air.

  Blanche moved past him and stepped up into the house, each step leaving a damp outline of her feet. She turned to wait for him.

  Neil made himself reach for the door latch once more. He met her gaze. “We cannot,” he said gently. “For a dozen reasons, your husband being the least of them, I will not. I would not be the cause of your downfall, Biddy.”

  Blanche didn’t look confused or puzzled. She understood. He could see her awareness in her eyes. For the first time, she tried to cover herself. Her arm lifted, crossing her chest. The other tucked around her hip. “Not even you want me…”

  The bitterness in her voice made his chest ache. Neil held onto the door latch with mighty effort. If he let it go, he would drift into that room and be lost. He should leave right now and not risk temptation any further.

  Only, he could not leave with such sadness dripping from her. The truth must be served. He made himself say the words. “I do want you.” His voice emerged hoarse with strain. “More than I have wanted any other woman.” Even Alice, god rest her soul. “I didn’t know that until just now, but I do. Enough so that if I do not turn and leave right now, I would lower you to floor and take you right here.” He gripped the latch, his knuckles straining. It was an anchor, the only thing holding him upon the doorstep.

  Blanche drew in a breath which shook. She didn’t smile or show feminine delight in his confession. Instead, her chin shifted in an infinitesimal nod. “Thank you,” she whispered. She added, “Go, then.”

  Fighting himself through every inch, Neil shut the door. He rested his hand upon the rough wood, feeling a hot and cold surge of relief and regret. Then, before he could reconsider, he whirled and strode home, his steps growing faster and faster, until he was almost running.

  Running away, he admitted freely. Although how far away would be enough? Not Mrs. Callahan’s boarding house, where he could see Blanche’s house from his attic room.

  Neil suspected that not even Albany would be far enough away from her. The genie he had not been aware even existed was out of the bottle, now.

  Chapter Seven

  Jones tapped on Neil’s door and pushed his head inside. “A gentleman and his wife to see you, sir. They say they’re your cousins, too.”

  Neil raised his brow. “I have many cousins, Jones. Can you be more specific—Never mind.” He put the pen aside and got to his feet and buttoned his jacket. Since the storm, two days ago, summer had returned to its torrid ways once more. It was as if the storm had never happened.

  Only, the storm still raged in Neil. It had been two long days, plagued by thoughts which plucked his sinews and boiled his blood. He had stayed away from Stanton Street, taking the long way around to the barracks, and striding out fast to wear away the tension in his body.

  Not even burying himself in the mundane tasks of his day helped relieve the pressure.

  A visit from the family—anyone in the family—was a welcome distraction. Neil moved into the antechamber and came to a halt, delight spearing him. Iefan stood at the fireplace, while Mairin sat upon an upright chair Jones had hastily pulled around from the other empty table. Mairin wore a light lilac dress with sleeves which stopped at her elbows, and waved a pink fan. She looked cool and elegant.

  Iefan’s frock coat and his trousers were made of fine, pale linen in a soft gray color. Neil envied him the cool garments. Army uniforms were always made of wool.

  His cousin leaned heavily against his cane. He had given his wife the single chair, even though he should be the one sitting.

  Neil smiled. “It is so very good to see you!”

  Mairin rose to her feet. “We’re passing through. We were in Kirkaldy with Bridget when Mama’s letter arrived, telling us you were home.”

  Neil shook Iefan’s hand. “Passing through to where? London? The Season is nearly over.”

  “Paris, then the south of France,” Iefan said. “There is a dozen or more design houses to visit, to demonstrate the new tweed patterns.”

  “In this heat?” Neil asked, astonished. “I do not know anything about selling things, but surely sales of winter clothing must be depressed in summer?”

  “Not at all,” Mairin said with a soft laugh. “Everyone must purchase their fabrics for winter now, in order to make their garments before winter arrives.” She hugged Neil, much to Jones’ astonishment. “You look well, brother,” she murmured.

  Neil laughed. He’d forgotten the forwardness of the family. It was the touch of the comfortable and the familiar and he was glad of it. “You must have lunch with me in the dining room. I insist,” he told them.

  “The train leaves tomorrow morning,” Iefan said. “We have time to catch up on your news.”

  It turned out that Neil was the one to do the catching up. He had not realized how much of the family affairs had not been included in the many letters he had received over the years.

  “A letter to Australia has a certain weight and dignity,” Iefan said, digging into his roast beef with relish. “One can’t gossip and fill the pages with trivialities.”

  “Which is exactly what I most want to hear,” Neil complained. “I only wish I’d learned about Cian’s wedding sooner. I missed it by mere weeks. And you two…I cannot believe you are married. I didn’t think you would ever marry, Iefan.”

  Iefan gave a self-conscious laugh, his black eyes gleaming with a warmth which Neil had never seen in them before. “I did not think I would, either. Mairin changed my mind.”

  Mairin’s smile was as warm as the expression in Iefan’s eyes as they looked at each other.

  Neil felt a tightness in his chest. He recognized his envy with a small jolt of surprise. He had always considered himself to be a perpetual bachelor. A military career did not facilitate marriage.

  Only, his military career was coming to an unexpected end and he would be free to do what he wished. He could marry, if he wanted to.

  Neil drank his tea, turning over the novel idea. Only…who would he marry?

  An image of Blanche formed in his mind before he
could thrust the thought away, and with it came another little jolt of surprise. Why would he think of Blanche in association with marriage? What he was feeling was simply a physical attraction, that was all. He had been a long time alone. It was perfectly natural, under the circumstances, to be drawn to her.

  In his thoughts, he deliberately reduced the sweaty, restless nights of aching unfulfillment down to a need for crude coupling. He could not afford to think of his sudden interest in her as anything but a physical itch which required scratching.

  Anyway, she was already married. Even if he was addled enough to consider Blanche as a candidate to be his wife, it was still be impossible. Which he was not considering. Not at all. Blanche was nothing like Alice—

  The thought held still in his mind.

  Blanche was nothing like Alice. She was completely different.

  All these years, Neil had found himself drawn to women with quiet demeanors and pale blonde hair. Women with gentle ways and small smiles. Unconsciously and sometimes with full deliberation, he had sought companionship of ladies who reminded him, even a little, of Alice.

  Was that why he had never been tempted to continue an association once it had borne fruit? Because they were reminders of Alice?

  Was that why this heated interest in Blanche had come as a surprise to him?

  “Oh dear,” Mairin said softly. “I recognize that absent look in Neil’s eyes. We’ve bored him with domestic talk.”

  Neil shook himself and looked at the pair. “No, I’m sorry. There are some…I was thinking of…a matter on my desk. I apologize.” He reached for the sugar bowl. “You should call upon Blanche while you are here. She would welcome the company.”

  Mairin blinked. “Blanche is here in Newcastle?”

  Neil lowered the sugar bowl. “How is it you didn’t know that?”

  Iefan glanced around the room and lowered his voice. “Blanche eloped. You must have heard that, surely?”

  Neil sat back. “No,” he said. “I didn’t. Did Uncle Vaughn not approve of the match?” He couldn’t help but think of Seymour and his tyrannical ways and wonder if Vaughn might have been right in his assessment.

  “No one knows much about Seymour’s family,” Iefan said. “Uncle Vaughn wanted to learn more about them. Blanche wanted an immediate wedding.”

  “We thought it was because of the usual reason for hasty weddings,” Mairin added, her voice just as low. “After they eloped, there were no letters—at least, not to me or Bridget, or even Annalies. Perhaps Catrin knew where Blanche settled, although no one has seen her for months and months, either. Then she and Daniel suddenly married, in March, and disappeared again.”

  “They attended Cian’s wedding,” Iefan reminded her.

  “Then they left, right after. I’m waiting for Iefan to hear from his mother where they have settled, so I can write.” Mairin looked vexed.

  “Catrin and Daniel…” Neil shook his head. “Now, that is a match I could have predicted. They took their time sorting it out, didn’t they?”

  Iefan laughed. “It took near disaster for Daniel to understand what Catrin always knew.”

  “You might say the same about yourself,” Mairin pointed out, her tone crisp.

  Iefan’s smile faded. His expression was sober. “It was a true disaster, love of my life.” He caught her fingers in his. “Such was the depth of my blindness.”

  Neil studied the tea in his cup and considered taking a second lump of sugar.

  “Perhaps you can tell us where to find Blanche, Neil?” Mairin asked.

  He looked up. “Stanton Street.” He frowned. “Although, you must brace yourselves. Seymour is…” He hesitated.

  Alarmed, Mairin sat forward. “He is kind to her, is he not?”

  “Kind enough, I suppose. He has put a roof over her head and means to eat and clothe herself. There are men who fail to provide that much, God knows.” Neil could not prevent the bitter note in his voice. He shook his head. “You will see for yourselves, anyway.”

  Iefan frowned. “You don’t like him,” he concluded.

  Neil shook his head. “It isn’t that straight-forward. He’s a superior officer.”

  “Ah…!” Iefan said. “Is he a good officer?”

  The question cut to the heart of it. As a former officer himself, Iefan understood. Neil grimaced.

  “What does that mean, brother?” Mairin asked.

  Iefan picked up her hand. “It means he won’t impugn the reputation of a brother officer. We must learn for ourselves. We’ll visit Blanche for afternoon tea.” He kissed her hand.

  Mairin nodded, pleased.

  Iefan’s glance met Neil’s. He gave the smallest of nods.

  Neil relaxed.

  When the lunch meal was finished, Neil hugged Mairin once more and kissed her cheek. The old, familiar ways of the family were returning in a rush.

  Iefan surprised him by shaking his hand and then pulling him closer for a stiff embrace, too. “We’re more than cousins now,” Iefan added. “And I’ve spent far too long ignoring the family.”

  “You have,” Neil agreed. He didn’t know Iefan well, yet the nod and the silent assurance Iefan had given him concerning Blanche had been most welcome support. Neil knew Iefan could be relied upon, which was a pleasant surprise. He had not been aware of the man’s solid character before today. “You should come for a longer visit, soon,” he added.

  Mairin rested her hand on Neil’s arm. “Or you could come to visit us wherever we happen to be, when you are released. Stay with us, while you consider your future. Innesford will be deserted for months yet. Cian and Eleanore are sailing the world and stopping where they want, for as long as they want.”

  “I may well do that,” Neil said. “My future looks rather empty right now.”

  “Ha!” Iefan said, as he put the cane under his arm. “We will fix that. Mairin will parade every debutante and pretty single lady in Europe in front of you, while I ply you with the best Cognac in France. You will pine for quiet when we’re done.”

  Neil laughed. It was a very pleasant note to part upon.

  He had Jones escort the couple to the front gate, while he returned to his office. A large parcel sat upon his desk. The attached card carried his name, in a small, flourish-filled hand.

  Neil,

  Three days as promised and not a moment more. Now you may keep your quarters.

  B.

  Neil’s heart squeezed. She had made the uniform, despite the moment after the storm. And she had met the deadline, too. Blanche must have spent the entire three days doing nothing but stitch the garments. She had not fit the uniform against him—the storm had interrupted that plan. She must have relied purely upon her notes and the rough measurements she had taken in the yard.

  Neil untied the string and let the brown paper fall open.

  The uniform looked as good as any other officers’. The black braid was properly curled, the seams just as straight. The buttons gleamed dully.

  Neil touched the wool, marveling. It would have been perfectly understandable if Blanche had chosen not to complete the uniform. Many ladies might have taken his rejection as an insult, or a belittling of their womanhood, or simply refused to make the garments as a way of returning the hurt.

  Blanche had done none of those things. Instead, she had finished the garments, abiding by her promise.

  It occurred to Neil that Blanche’s character was as solid and reliable as Iefan’s…and just as unexpected.

  Jones took a half step into the room. “Captain and Mrs. Davies safely away, sir. I see you found a tailor, then.”

  “I did,” Neil said, wrapping the gray wool once more. “One I have no intention of sharing with the regiment, Jones. Reliable tailors are too hard to come by.”

  “You won’t put it on now, sir?”

  “I’ve already been fined this morning. I’d rather wait until tomorrow.” He would have to try on the new uniform, first, to ensure it fit properly. He could not afford to earn mo
re of Seymour’s wrath from unnecessary wrinkles or the incorrect hang of the sleeves. Although he suspected the uniform would hang as precisely as it was meant to.

  Jones grinned. “Back to the stores inventory, then?”

  “Back to the inventories, yes.” Neil returned to work, his thoughts churning.

  WHEN BLANCHE OPENED THE DOOR to find Iefan and Mairin on the step, her surprise was so great it made her heart ache. She pressed the heel of her hand over her breast, stepping back. “Sweet lord!”

  Mairin gave her a warm smile. “You must blame your lack of letters for the surprise, cousin. I had no address to use to let you know we would be here. Neil told us where to find you. We could not pass through Newcastle without speaking to you, first. May we come in? We won’t linger for long, I promise. It is market day, and I would like to wander the stalls again before the day ends.”

  Blanche put her fingers to her lips. Mairin was speaking in French and it was smooth and almost completely accent free, with none of the harsh gutturals and heavy consonants which English speakers used. It was pure Parisian French.

  Then Mairin’s request registered. “Come in? Here?” Blanche’s cheeks bloomed hot. Why had she said that?

  Iefan’s smile was warm. “Would you like to walk with us, instead?” he asked, his tone kindly. His French was as pure as Mairin’s.

  Blanche tilted her head. “You have changed, haven’t you? I scarcely believed Annalies, yet it is true.”

  Mairin laughed. “A bullet in the leg does change one, although in one respect, he has not changed at all. His leg is hurting, Blanche, although he will not admit it. May we sit for a while, until he can walk without reeling once more?”

  Dismay speared her. Blanche pushed the door open wide. “Oh, how inconsiderate of me. Please, yes, come in. Sit. I will put…” She halted the words and said instead, “I will see to tea, if you would like a cup?”

  The two stepped into the room. Blanche patted the tall back of the wing chair. “Here, Iefan. Please, sit. Mairin, let me take the basket. It looks heavy.”