Ashes of Pride

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  The terror increased. What was to become of him now? He had spent his entire inheritance buying promotions. Now he had no career and no means to live.

  He was given no chance to consider the matter any further. Hunter force-marched him across the parade ground in front of everyone, Hunter’s hand still about Seymour’s neck.

  Seymour cringed, for fellow officers and enlisted men were upon the parade ground. It felt to him as if the entire regiment was assembled there to witness his humiliation.

  At the gate, Hunter turned Seymour to look at him. He smacked the pistol he had been holding into Seymour’s hand. “If you have any honor at all, if you care about your family’s reputation, then use this as you should. Demonstrate to me and everyone else that I am wrong, that you do have some moral fiber.”

  Hunter shoved him through the gate, making Seymour trip and fall upon his knees in the dirt beyond the gate.

  Hunter stayed behind the gate, his arms crossed.

  Seymour picked himself up, the tears flowing again. His chest hitching, he stumbled back to the house. It was only as he stepped inside and heard the silence that he remembered his wife had left him, too.

  Now he stared at the cold fire, where the silver picture frame still laid.

  No one cared for him. His wife did not. The Fifth had turned its back. His family had discarded him long ago. His elder brother, who was Viscount now, had tossed him from the family home before their father’s body was cold. No one understood that all Seymour had ever wanted was a place to belong. In the Fifth Regiment, he thought he had found that place.

  Now it was lost to him.

  Seymour pulled the pistol Hunter had shoved at him out of his pocket. It was loaded. He rested the muzzle against his temple, the tears running again. Only, it was not his temple where the black, aching emptiness resided. He could use the bullet to wipe the agony away.

  Seymour pressed the gun against his chest, his finger against the trigger, and pulled.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Colonel Hill did not usually rise to his feet to acknowledge men when they came into his office. Neil hid his surprise when Hill got up and stood ramrod straight and returned Neil’s salute.

  “Pull up the chair, if you wish, Williams. The surgeon says it will be a while before you can stand for long without pain.” Hill settled back into his worn captain’s chair.

  As it was true, Neil went over to the wall and picked up the striped chair and settled it in front of the table. “Thank you, Sir.”

  Hill shoved a page across the table. “I made some arrangements while you were recovering. This was delivered only yesterday. Your release orders, Williams, as requested.”

  Neil picked up the page, his heart thudding. The seal at the bottom made it official. He swallowed.

  “Speak freely, Williams,” Hill said. “I can see you biting your tongue, there.”

  Neil lifted the sheet a little. “This is not the way I thought this would happen, sir.”

  “Nor I,” Hill rumbled. “Although if you believe you’re leaving in disgrace or with a stain upon your record, you are wrong.”

  Neil met his gaze. Hill’s didn’t shift away.

  “No man should be able to…to use the rules, the way Seymour did, sir,” Neil said.

  “Quite right,” Hill said. “Perhaps Cardwell has the right idea with his reforms.” He paused. “Do you know what you will do, now?”

  Neil drew a breath, his heart squeezing. “There is something I must settle before I can say for sure.”

  Hill’s gaze shifted for the first time. “I believe the lady is staying with Major Thomsett in Northallerton.”

  “You have been checking up on her, sir?”

  “Major Thomsett wrote to let me know.” Hill cleared his throat. “If there is a need to write to you, what address do I use?”

  Neil drew in a breath and let it out. “Innesford, sir. I intend to go home.”

  WHEN COLONEL HILL DISMISSED HIM for the last time, Neil made his way across the parade ground. It took longer than he expected to walk the few yards, for he was halted every few steps by men rushing up and shaking his hand. They wished him well with various stiff phrases of good luck. It was the look in their eyes, one of warm pride, which startled him, though.

  He walked into the Provost Marshall’s office, thought-filled. Harry smiled at him. “He’s in his office, sir.”

  “Thank you, Harry.”

  “It’s good to see you on your feet, sir,”

  Neil drew in a breath. “It is good to be on my feet,” he admitted. He circled around the high counter and stepped into the back area.

  Hunter stood at a high, old-fashioned desk, scowling over paperwork.

  “That is very much how I feel about records,” Neil admitted.

  Hunter turned, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Major Williams.”

  “Mister Williams, now.”

  “I heard.” Hunter came toward him, his hand out. “You’re here to say goodbye, then.”

  “I am.” Neil took his hand and squeezed it, and rested his other hand over the top. He met Hunter’s gaze. “Thank you, for everything you did. I have had time to think, lately, and I have realized that, but for your efforts, Seymour would have got his wish and been permanently rid of me.”

  “Which is why I did it,” Hunter replied. “Injustice offends me.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that you manipulated the rules as much as Seymour did?” Neil asked curiously.

  “They’re antiquated rules, fit for an army which no longer exists,” Hunter replied. He gave a small shrug. “The reforms are past due, in my opinion.”

  Neil let go of his hand. “I heard about Seymour. About how it ended.”

  Hunter shrugged and turned back to his desk. “Good riddance to scum, I say.”

  Neil nodded. “What makes it even more astonishing that you should think so is that your sensibilities are not so different from Seymour’s.”

  Hunter grew still. His eyes narrowed. He darted his gaze toward the door. “That is a dangerous accusation to make of an officer,” he said softly.

  Neil shook his head. “Merely an observation,” he said, keeping his tone light. “I am no longer a part of the Fifth, remember.”

  Hunter’s caution did not abate. “How long have you…known?” His voice was very soft.

  “From the first night we dined together,” Neil admitted. “You are not the first man of your persuasions I have met, you see.”

  Hunter relaxed.

  “The only reason I mention it is because I cannot understand why…”

  “Why I would do what I did to Seymour?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes.”

  Hunter shrugged. “There is a vast difference between Seymour and me. I am as capable of warm feelings and empathy and…love—” His gaze shifted to meet Neil’s. “My feelings are not so different from other men. From yours, even. Seymour was incapable of empathy or compassion. He was empty inside.” He gave another small shrug. “He thought only of himself.”

  “He did, indeed.” Neil held out his hand again. “I wish you well, Hunter. I did not expect to find a new friend here. It has been a pleasure knowing you.”

  “As it has been for me, too, Neil Williams.” They shook once more, for the last time.

  THE FIRST MORNING BLANCHE CAME DOWNSTAIRS, Lilly suggested that walking the lands would prove beneficial.

  As Blanche found any occupation which involved sitting still was too much to bear, she tried Lilly’s suggestion. While her thoughts did not calm, her body did find some relief at the simple, mechanical rhythm of walking. If she walked long enough during the day, sleep was not entirely out of the question that night.

  Blanche walked twice a day, only returning to the big house for snatched meals. The evening dinner was the most substantial of all of them, only because she was forced to dress and sit at the table with the family. At first, forcing herself to converse politely was painful. The lively chatter
about the table was distracting, though. It was a shield against her thoughts, which walking was not.

  No one in the house asked Blanche what she intended to do, now she was a widow. Neither Jasper nor Lilly demanded to know when she planned to return to Marblethorpe, where Mama Elisa and Papa Vaughn now lived.

  It was as if the entire house waited, just as Blanche did.

  She didn’t dare hope.

  Instead, she filled her days with mindless walking and her evenings with polite discourse, and tried not to think about the future at all.

  Ten days after Jasper brought her to Northallerton, Neil arrived.

  He sent no word ahead to let anyone know he was coming, or Blanche would have stayed at the house. Instead, she set off on one of her very long walks as usual. Today, she crossed the farmlands and moved deep into the northern moorlands, where nothing but heather and gorse grew, and the wind whipped at her head most days, keening softly.

  As she had yesterday, she did not return to the house for the midday meal. She could wander farther if she stayed out. It was only when the sun lowered in the sky that she reluctantly turned west and headed back toward Northallerton.

  There were three large paddocks to cross before reaching the big yard and working areas, sheds and gardens which surrounded the house. Combined, the three of them spread across the wide, shallow vale the house overlooked.

  Blanche crossed the first, shooing sheep out of the way to reach the stile to climb over the stone wall. She brushed off her hands, for she had not bothered with gloves or a hat, and settled her skirt back into place as she surveyed the next paddock for livestock. She had grown used to sheep, while cows still unnerved her. If a bull was in the paddock, she would go around the entire paddock rather than cross in front of the creature.

  There were no bulls in the paddock today. She could see the out-buildings and staff cottages from this side of the vale, now. She watched as a man in dark clothing climbed down the stile on the side of the paddock closest to Northallerton and moved across the paddock, toward the stile she stood before.

  Blanche’s heart stuttered. Her nerves fizzed and jumped. She knew that walk, the square shoulders, the dark hair. He wasn’t close enough for her to properly see his face, even though he wore no hat. Only, she knew it was Neil, with the same certainty she’d had it was him when she saw him sprawled against the wagon wheel on the parade ground.

  Blanche fought for calm as she moved in his direction. He could only be out here to see her.

  He had come to find her.

  She squashed the hope which wanted to rise. She made herself maintain the steady pace, when she really wanted to fly to meet him. Her heart clanged and jumbled, making her chest ache.

  Neil’s legs outpaced her own. He met her half-way down the slow slope to the middle of the vale.

  “You’re out of uniform,” Blanche breathed, taking in the long, charcoal gray jacket and pants, and the fine white shirt. His tie was as dark as his waistcoat—they were both black, which did not match the jacket and trousers, yet looked remarkably fine all the same.

  “I’ve been decommissioned,” he said. “Biddy…Blanche—”

  “How can you even stand to speak to me?” The question ejected from her, surprising even her.

  Neil’s brows rose. “Why would I not want to?”

  “After what I did to you…what you did for me? My dear god…Neil, how can I ever repay what you have done?” The memories sprang into her mind, bright and clear and horrible. Her tears spilled, hot and hard. “Why did you do it? Why? I could have pleaded my case with the police and perhaps only receive a fine, while you risked…everything!”

  Neil shook his head. “It would have darkened your reputation, Blanche. It would have dogged you the rest of your life, while society gossiped and turned their back on you. Mine was already ruined—I thought, anyway. Why would I not do it? I love you. I couldn’t have stood by and done nothing. It would have destroyed me to do so.”

  Her heart halted. Then it beat extra hard. “You love me…”

  Neil took her face in his hands. “Every single lash I would take again, for you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Knowing you were there, that you made yourself watch—it helped, Blanche. It made me accept what I had denied until then. If Seymour hadn’t…if he were alive, I would still be here, asking you to wait for me to find a way we could be together.” His gaze held hers. “Will you, Blanche? Will you be mine?”

  “Oh, Neil! I have been yours since the first time you kissed me. I’ve been such a fool—I slighted Papa and ignored the family, all so I could have what I believed I wanted and they were right all along. Seymour was rotten to the core. And I put you in such danger, Neil! If you can forgive me, if you say you want me despite my ignorance, then I will work the rest of my life to deserve you.”

  He kissed her, his lips warm, his body strong and big. Blanche wound her arms around his neck as she had wanted to do since he stopped in front of her.

  Neil’s hand rested on her arms. His thumbs stroked, making her flesh ripple beneath the cotton. His eyes were heated. “I would marry you tonight, if I could, Blanche. You are in mourning, though—”

  “I don’t care,” she said swiftly.

  “I do,” he said gently, cupping her jaw. “I won’t start our marriage with gossip shrouding it, my love. One year, as is proper. Say you will wait that long.”

  Blanche drew in a breath and let it out. “Every time I make a hasty decision and act upon it, I have come to regret it. I eloped with Seymour, perhaps the worst mistake of my life. It seems to me I must wait for you, if only to not repeat all my mistakes. A year, Neil, but please…not a day more?”

  His expression was hot and full of promise. “A year and not a moment longer,” he agreed, “for even I cannot stand a delay greater than that.” He released her arms around his neck and took her hand. “Let’s go home.”

  “Yes,” she sighed, for now she could go home.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Great Family Gathering. Innesford, Cornwall. September 1872 (two months later).

  Peter was surprised twice over when Annalies appeared before him. She plucked the crochet mallet from his hand and gave it to Morgan. “May I speak with you?”

  “Of course you may,” Peter said. He looked around the garden, for a place where they could withdraw to speak. There was nowhere—just about everyone in the families was here, this year, and they were all out enjoying the mild warmth of the cloudless, still day.

  “The maze,” he said.

  They moved across the lawn, stepped around the pavilion, where Travers and his staff were setting up for lunch, and around the corner of the house to the maze. Instead of heading directly for the center and the stone bench there, Peter led Annalies around the blind corners, into the small dead-end on the north side of the maze. No one else would think to go there.

  He turned to her. “I am surprised you are here at the gather this year, Lisa Grace,” he told her. “And doubly surprised you want to speak to me.”

  “You stopped writing to me,” Annalies replied. “That is why I sought you out now.”

  Peter’s chest tightened. He held his jaw together until he could control his words. “It is no longer appropriate for me to write to you,” he told her gently. “Blackwood would not approve, if he knew.”

  Lisa Grace’s face fell. Her radiance dimmed a little. “Not even as a cousin, Peter?”

  He cleared his throat. “You wanted to speak to me?” he reminded her.

  Lisa Grace twisted her hands together. She wore no gloves, as usual. Blue paint stained her thumbnail. “I cannot tell the rest of the family. I wanted you to know…” She hesitated. “You know about Cian’s plans to sell the townhouse on Park Avenue, do you not?”

  “Neil mentioned he would be managing the sale for Cian.” Peter paused. “I suppose you will look for accommodations suitable for a single lady, somewhere close to the art galleries, hmm? Mama Natasha knows all of society. She wi
ll find a family you can live with, so you remain in your precious London.” He couldn’t prevent the dry note emerging.

  “I already have lodgings,” Lisa Grace said. “That is what I wanted to tell you about.”

  Peter laughed. “You arranged your own?” It was daring and just like Lisa Grace to forge ahead, reputation be damned.

  “Tobias Blackwood has offered to let me live with him,” Lisa Grace replied.

  For a moment, all sounds grew muffled. The sun dimmed. Peter’s lips felt numb. “With him…” he repeated. “Lisa Grace, you are utterly and completely mad if you think your mother would ever approve of you sharing accommodations with a man—”

  She shook her head. “I will not simply be sharing accommodations,” she said gently.

  Horror burst through him. “You cannot,” he croaked, his throat seizing. “You will destroy the family. Even this family could not withstand such disgrace. Reconsider, I beg you.”

  Lisa Grace gave him a small smile, her full lips rueful. “It is already done, Peter. Last week, in fact.”

  He actually staggered. He thrust his foot out, to remain standing, although his head was light. “You cannot!” he repeated helplessly. “You will force everyone to cut you off. You will shame your mother and Seth’s name, and he died to preserve it, Lisa Grace! How can you do this?” He gripped his hands into tight fists, to stop himself from shaking her. “We have scandals aplenty in this family, god knows, but this…it is too public!”

  Lisa Grace made a vexed sound. “I am not completely without reason,” she told him. “There is a family, with a matron, living in the house, too. I intend to tell no one about my living arrangements. Not even the family.”

  “Just me,” he croaked. His head hurt. His heart, too.

  “And you cannot tell anyone, Peter. Promise me.”

  He stared at her, horror building. “Why even tell me?” His voice was strained. “If you intend to cover this up, then why…why expose me to it?”

  Her glorious eyes grew troubled. “You have been such a great and true friend, Peter. I wanted…I supposed I wanted your blessing.”