They both turned their heads as Wrexford spoke up. “Parliament will hear your case this session, before they dismiss for the summer, after all.”
“That is excellent news,” the Duchess said. “Do you foresee any problems?”
“Not since we have the certificate of birth, and my marriage certificate to my other marriage. It proves Tobin was born before the annulment was granted.”
Bridget’s heart sank. Selfishly, she had hoped to keep Tobin as he was.
“I was able to present Tobin to many of the voting members today, and I think they are all satisfied he is competent to fulfil the position.” Wrexford beamed.
“Of course he is,” the Duchess agreed.
“I would like to plan a ball to celebrate the return of my son into my life,” Wrexford announced. “Even if they do not decide to make him my legitimate heir, he will inherit everything else unentailed.”
“I think it is an excellent idea,” Waverley agreed.
“May we host it here?” the Duchess asked.
“That would be splendid,” the Duke agreed. “If you are amenable, Wrexford. I owe Tobin much, and it would bring us great pleasure.”
“Bridget is in mourning, your Grace,” Tobin protested, but Bridget put her hand on his arm.
“That is no reason not to celebrate your being reunited with your father. Please do not refuse on my account.” Not that Wrexford would allow it, she thought with a wry twist of her lips.
“As long as I can make it known I am betrothed to you,” Tobin agreed, though with much reluctance. Bridget knew he did not enjoy balls and other such amusements, but it was to be his future.
Bridget did not answer.
“We must make haste if we are to hold the ball before everyone leaves Town,” the Duchess added.
“My secretary is equal to the task, I have no doubt,” Waverley replied.
“Then I shall consult our invitations and see what day is available,” the Duchess remarked.
Bridget excused herself as soon as was polite after dinner and tea. There was much to think about and do. Sorting through her father’s papers was a start, although she had little hope in that quarter. The solicitor, however, was more promising. Waverley had already given the name to his secretary to investigate, but Bridget felt time was running out, especially if Riordan was searching for the same thing she was.
The next morning, Bridget sent Maria out to buy the morning papers. She did not wish to ask for the Duke’s copies because she knew her reasons would be objectionable to them. Maria was then to go to the agencies and enquire about positions for her, but the maid voiced her displeasure and refused quite categorically. Unfortunately, there was nothing Bridget was really qualified for except nursing. Would any of the hospitals hire her to do such a thing? Surely there were a great number of wounded and injured who had been brought back from Waterloo and needed care, but how could she convince someone to hire her? A lady did not work except for genteel employment as a governess or companion. Besides, anyone who could recommend her was currently in France with the army.
Bridget began to pace around the room with frustration. She wanted to visit the solicitor, but knew she should wait for the Duke’s man to do so. He would get much further than she. Bridget stopped then, when she had an idea. She rang for her maid.
“Maria, please fetch my bonnet and pelisse. We are going out.”
Maria glowered. “Where to now?”
“We are going to visit the soldiers at the infirmary.”
A look of resignation crossed the maid’s face. “I will join you downstairs.”
There had to be someone wounded she knew. Visiting would give her a reason to be there.
Soon they were on their way to St. Bartholomew’s in a hackney cab. Bridget felt guilty, as though she were sneaking about behind Tobin’s back, but it was necessary. Besides, she genuinely did wish to visit the wounded soldiers who were recovering.
The smell of carbolic mixed with gangrenous wounds was like walking into a steaming sewer when they entered St. Bart’s. Maria could not stomach it, so she elected to wait outside. Bridget could not blame her. She had expected it, yet it was horrifying. Breathing through her mouth did not fully mask the odour.
No one took any notice of her presence, so she marched into the ward and began speaking to each of the patients who were awake. It was something she had always done in the camp hospital. There were never enough orderlies for all the work. She straightened pillows, she gave sips of water, changed bandages, and she even held a basin while someone retched. It was somehow comforting to do those things she had done before. Yet nowhere did she see any female attendants or patients.
One voice called out to her. “Miss Murphy?”
“Sergeant Jones,” she said, turning with a smile to a man who was missing both legs.
“How do you do?” she asked.
“I am alive, and that is something,” he answered. “It is nice to see a pretty face for a change.”
She smiled at him, always humbled when someone with dire injuries could maintain a positive outlook. “Who are the surgeons attending here?”
“Dr. Wheeler was the last I saw. He came back on the packet with us.”
“I know him well,” she said. “I will try to find him. Do you need anything, Sergeant?”
“I am hoping to leave here in a day or two. All I want is to go home to Yorkshire to see my missus.”
“Then I will wish you a safe journey,” she said. Bridget moved on to the ward upstairs where she found Dr. Wheeler extracting some shrapnel from a patient. “I had not expected to see you so soon, sir,” she said, coming to stand beside him at the bed.
“Well, I’ll be, Miss Murphy. What are you doing in London, lass? I thought you were off to Ireland.”
“I was there. It is a very long story. You would not happen to need help here, would you?”
“That is the silliest question I have ever heard from you. We always need more hands.”
“I am relieved to hear it, because I need a position,” she said, deciding to be candid.
Dr. Wheeler looked up at her, frowning. “This is no place for you to be employed, lass. It is not a camp hospital. There are no female attendants to my knowledge.”
Yet she was acceptable as a volunteer? “Perhaps we could change that,” she said softly.
He stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “I will see what I can do. I thought your father would have left you provided for.”
“He thought he did,” she answered. There was really nothing else to say. “I will come back here tomorrow.”
Chapter 18
A ball? In his honour? Tobin shook his head. The Duchess had announced it only five days ago, that being the one evening without any major conflicts before the ton departed en masse for the country. It was too much to be borne, especially if Bridget could not attend.
Tobin had not seen Bridget in those five days. Every day he had called, but she had been out visiting the sick, the Duchess said. That she would seek out the wounded soldiers surprised him not at all, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was avoiding him. She had not been dining with the family. Jamison had been busy with preparations for the ball so had not yet visited the solicitor.
Today was the ball, where he was to be paraded before the beau monde. He could not wait to have the agonies over and done. Somehow, he was more nervous than he had been before his first battle.
Wrexford’s appeal had been approved by Parliament, he had informed him before leaving on some important errand. Tobin wanted to tell Bridget himself. Only she would understand his feelings. Hopefully, now she would have no more reservations about marrying and he could talk her out of her silly notions about setting him free. He was now a viscount, of all things—even if it was a courtesy title—and the heir to a wealthy earldom. Over the past week, his father had been tutoring him on estate management and his responsibilities. Tobin’s head felt as if it would explode with the knowledge, not to mention
the shrapnel damage. He prayed fervently that Wrexford lived to be a hundred. How was he to survive an entire ball as the guest of honour if he could not slink back into the corner… or have Bridget by his side?
He donned his dress regimentals, the blue of the Guards, wondering if he would go back. If it was the only way to woo her, he would do it. Bridget’s absence had made it impossible to court her properly but he had an idea, even though she might kill him for it later.
He arrived early at Waverley Place and the family was upstairs, finishing their ablutions, and the servants were downstairs, taking an early dinner, so Tobin walked through the surprisingly quiet house. The ballroom doors were flung open, as were the terrace doors, to let what little breeze existed flow through the house. The wooden floor was polished to a high shine and the room has been transformed into an inside garden. Greenery and red roses covered every available surface and filled every pot. The mirrored wall opposite the doors magnified the effect. Soon the candles would be lit and they would make the room appear bathed in sunshine. This is all for me. He shook his head, still disbelieving his change in circumstances. However, there was one constant: he wanted none of it if Bridget would not be by his side.
Was she upstairs, dressing? He was told she would be present at the formal dinner but not the ball. It was only appropriate, he supposed, but he did not like it.
Reasoning with himself that he would have no other opportunity for private conversation with her, he made his way upstairs to the door of her chambers. He knocked lightly and heard her voice bid him enter.
She was sitting on a pale blue chaise longue next to the window, looking out over the rear gardens. She did not turn her head to look at him. Few people could look as beautiful as she in mourning, but it only accentuated her porcelain skin and ebony hair. She wore an evening gown of a high-waisted, fashionable style but in unrelieved black. There was no jewellery adorning her neck or ears. Tobin admired her elegant profile and thought she deserved to be a lady in truth. He could finally give that to her, but he could not fathom doing it for anyone else. He waited for her to turn and notice him. That it took a few minutes was an attestation to her distraction. What was on her mind?
Her head turned and she smiled sadly, as though she had been contemplating something distasteful.
“Tobin.”
He walked into the room, closing the door behind him. Propriety be hanged. “I brought these for you.” He held out some gardenias to her. He could not see or walk by them without thinking of her scent.
She took them and held them to her nose. “Thank you. That is thoughtful of you.”
“I would have brought you a nosegay, but I did not think you could wear it.”
She shook her head. “I heard the news… my lord.”
Her dark blue eyes looked up and the anguish he saw there hurt him more than any of the wounds he had on his body.
“Mo grá.” He went down on his knees before her and took her hands in his without thought for any creases he might be placing in his uniform. “What is it?”
She searched his face and ran her fingers down his cheek. “It is nothing. I am pleased for you.”
“Bugger me. I want you to be happy for us.”
She swallowed hard and he had a sinking feeling, but the gong sounded for dinner and there was no more time to finish pouring his heart out to her.
“May we speak later? I have many things I wish to say.”
She took his hand but did not answer. He walked her downstairs to the drawing room, where a few guests waited who had been invited to the formal dinner before the ball.
“Mam!” he said with boyish excitement as he saw his mother, looking like the lady she was born to be, dressed in a beautiful blue gown that made her look twenty years younger. Of course, she was a beautiful woman. Her smile lit up her face. She was on his father’s arm and Wrexford was looking down at her with such tenderness that Tobin felt his throat tighten. He walked towards them and kissed her on the cheek. “You came.”
“I promised I would,” she answered with a twinkle in her eye.
“You promised you would come for the wedding.”
“So I did.” His mother looked towards Bridget and her eyes narrowed a little with apparent concern.
“Miss Murphy.” His mother curtsied.
Bridget returned the courtesy. “Mrs. Brennan.”
“Lady Wrexford,” Lord Wrexford corrected.
“My felicitations,” Bridget said, clearly distracted. “If you will excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with.”
“Is something the matter, son?” his mother asked softly as they watched Bridget walk over to the Duke and Duchess.
“I wish I knew, Mam. I do not think she is happy about all of this.”
His mother’s hand was on his arm. “Be patient with her, she has lost much and I can certainly understand how this would be overwhelming.” She looked over her shoulder to where Wrexford was now conversing with someone else and lowered her voice. “I do not know if I will ever become used to being called Lady Wrexford after all this time.”
“He looks at you as though he adores you,” Tobin remarked. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“It is a little late for regrets now, dearest, and I would do anything for you. However, he has been everything that is gracious and perhaps it will be pleasant, even at my age.”
“He has certainly tried to make up for lost time with me,” Tobin admitted, surprising himself. “I only hope I have not gained one family only to lose another.”
“You love her,” his mother stated.
“Of course I do.”
“Then fight for her, son,” Wrexford said behind his ear. “Do not be a coward like I was.”
Wrexford’s words echoed in his ear all through dinner and after. Something was going on, and Tobin had to determine what it was before it was too late. This had to be resolved, and he knew he needed Jamison’s help.
Bridget sat through dinner going through the motions and forcing smiles, although her heart was heavy. She listened to the news about Tobin until she lost her appetite, even though she was delighted for Tobin and his reunited family.
“Tobin was born before the annulment. Everyone seemed to think the request reasonable since I am the last in the line. It did not hurt, either, that Wellington and Waverley spoke up on his behalf.” Lord Wrexford beamed and raised his glass to the Duke.
If it was not that, then others were hinting about an upcoming wedding. Bridget had finally obtained an audience with her father’s solicitor the day prior. She would have the town house, which might sell for a thousand pounds, but her dowry was gone. He apologised profusely, but could not explain how or to where it had disappeared since the bank had released the funds. Without any income, Bridget could not afford to keep the house. She might be able to purchase a small cottage somewhere in the country and live off of the percents, but the fact was, she was poor. Dr. Wheeler had found her a private nursing position, but it would require moving to Norfolk and giving up Maria.
After dinner, Bridget slipped away while the rest of the extended family went to greet the ton arrivals in a receiving line. Bridget could see everything from the floor above. Potted palms and flowers decorated even this hidden alcove and the matching one at the other end where the musicians prepared to play. The Duchess had told her about the secret alcove if she wished to observe or listen.
Bridget did not wish, really, but she could not seem to stay away. Everything was ready for her departure, including a letter to Tobin. It had taken her hours to write it after starting afresh five times. The cream of Society filed through the doors for well over an hour before the dancing began, all seemingly eager to welcome this long-lost son into their bosom. What Bridget would not give to have Tobin watching this with her and exchanging derogatory remarks about the fickle nature of Society! From illegitimate and poor to a wealthy heir—it was too much to absorb. Those who would not have acknowledged him on the street a month ago wer
e now throwing their daughters in his path. No doubt Tobin was miserable now, but he would adjust to his new position in time, and with some lady bred to it. Much though Bridget would like to pretend she was up to the task, neither she nor Tobin were, and now she had nothing to bring to the marriage.
Tobin looked magnificent in his dress regimentals. Besides his height, he filled out every inch to perfection, and his dark hair and green eyes stood out even from here. He was not the only one in uniform, but all others paled in comparison to him. Bridget watched as lady after lady was introduced to Lord Kilmorgan, many blatant in their assessments and approvals. Tobin was now one of the most eligible bachelors, and the mamas wanted an advantage over those who had been so unfortunate to leave early for the country.
The musicians struck up a tune and the ball began. Beautiful gowns in a rainbow of colours twirled around the room in cadence with the tunes. Bridget thought back to her first dance with Tobin, the one Patrick had orchestrated. Tobin’s charm and devilish grin had ensnared her from the first moment. When she thought back to how bold she had been with him, she almost could not believe it. If only things could go back to the way they were before. A tear dropped from her eye and she wiped it away. He was so very dear.
Her hiding spot was like an echo chamber, with voices wafting straight to her ears.
Three women gossiped openly; there was no surprise there.
“He is a taking thing, though I always have been soft for a man in uniform.”
“I heard they are all Catholic.”
“No, no, you have it all wrong. That is why the marriage was annulled in the first place. I heard Lord and Lady Wrexford had to remarry in the Anglican Church to make this all valid again.”
“So this makes the second marriage and the dead Kilmorgan illegitimate.”
“Apparently, but they are not alive to care, now, are they?”
Bridget heard that conversation more than once.
“Here he comes; smile, you look a fright. You must engage him to dance,” a conniving mother warned.
An Officer, Not a Gentleman Page 17
