Pain and futility pierced him in that sudden way they had when he had lost a friend in battle. The future which had seemed so bright, had flown. He had failed to grab onto the light while he could.
Walking through the gravestones was an appropriate occupation for his mood. Life was not kind. For those not of his privileged class life was brutal and short. As he tried to cling to the cliff tops, hopelessness seeped into his soul, loosening his grip. He was being seized by that giant brute Weltzschmerz and held over the black cauldron of affliction.
This was no longer just about losing Miss Haverley. It was a struggle to stay above his own particular brand of hell. For a while she had been his bright angel, but now that the melancholy had him in its grip, the only way he could stay out of the abyss was to get on his horse and literally ride it out.
Walking blindly back through the churchyard, he was glad he had ridden Odysseus instead of going in the family carriage. He had funds in his pocket, though he would probably have ridden off without them. He was far down the highway towards Boston before the hour was over.
Riding Odysseus hard, he let the horse choose the roads. He didn’t care where he went. He didn’t care about anything but outriding the slough of despondency that could drown his soul.
He did not see the green of the landscape, but rather the parched ugliness of the Iberian Peninsula, strewn with blood and bodies. He saw the acres of dead at Waterloo. He felt the searing arrows of loss at the death of his comrades—Nettleton, Fraser, Howard, and so many more. Mostly, he felt the bitter loneliness of survival.
In his state of mind, the dark tunnel that was life had nothing to redeem it.
Somehow after days of bruising riding, strange inns, and disturbed sleep, he and Odysseus arrived in London. He showed up at Willows, burning with fever. He had not thought to eat, only to rest his horse. He’d had little to drink. Tying his steed to the post in front of the townhouse, he knocked at the door and nearly fell inside when the butler answered. The servant recognized him from his former visit, and led him to the morning room.
John had no idea of the day or the time, but soon Alan was with him. Perhaps it was the security of knowing he had arrived somewhere safe that allowed him to collapse.
{ 20 }
Delia hugged to herself her anticipation of an afternoon riding with the major. He had seemed eager to see her and to fix a time to spend time with her. It was difficult to keep her thoughts from careening ahead of this afternoon into the future. Would he kiss her? She was most anxious for him to kiss her.
However, when she thought of anything beyond a kiss—marriage, for instance—her good mood dissolved. If they were ever to marry, it could not be until five years hence, and it was unlikely that the major, or any man, would want to wait that long. But her guardian would not consent to a marriage that would deprive him of the amount of her fortune promised to him by Lord Manchester should they marry.
Cast down by this thought, she ceased looking forward to her afternoon. What could come of it in the end except heartbreak?
When the major did not appear, however, she was deeply puzzled. What could have happened? Did he take a spill from his horse? Had he fallen victim to a sudden attack of melancholy? She was at a loss to explain it. She received no note nor messenger from the manor.
The next day her concern was so great that she decided to take Clarissa with her to the manor to visit the twins. Surely she would find out if there was a problem.
However, their visit with the twins was just that. They saw the girls and Nanny Owen as well as Baby Henry. But they saw no one else from the family. Deeply alarmed, Delia took Clarissa home, none the wiser.
However, soon servants’ gossip came to The Elms. The major had disappeared. Not only did no one know where he had gone, no one knew why he had gone. Delia’s concern was so great that she questioned herself deeply on the subject. What were her feelings on the subject of the major? Did they go deeper than the physical attraction they shared?
If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she was at least a little in love with the man, and had been since she had met him on the highway. At first, it had been a physical attraction. But the more she talked to him and realized how he valued family life and the simple rewards of living in the country, the more she realized that he was unlike anyone she had ever known. Soldiering had taught him to be serious about his existence, to prize the things that were most important. His supposed attraction for Miss Lindsay had troubled her, but now she wondered if he was having second thoughts on that subject.
For the next week, Delia had a hard time settling to anything. She prayed Clarissa and Mr. Aldershott did not notice her distraction. Fortunately, they had moved beyond Egypt and were studying the Greek myths, which Delia had always enjoyed. Clarissa, too, found them fascinating.
What could have caused the major to disappear so completely that he would not inform his family? Could it be related to his melancholia?
While she drew a sketch of the Parthenon for Clarissa, she gave her mind to the problem, trying to remember any similar incidents that might have occurred in her father’s life.
The only thing that occurred to her was that when she was a child, her father would from time to time retreat from the family, shutting himself in his rooms. When he emerged, he looked as though he had been tussling with the devil himself—his hair was long and unkempt, he was thinner, and he had a beard. Within a few days after his reemergence, he would be nearly normal again. Perhaps the major handled his bouts differently. Mayhap he tried to run from them. She prayed within herself that he would come to no harm.
The Grenvilles were not at church the following Sunday, and rumor was rife with the information that the major had been located and that the Grenvilles had gone to him. When she returned home, Delia stooped to inquiring of the housekeeper, Mrs. Teasdale, whether there was any word from the manor about where they had gone. The woman told her that it was her understanding that they had gone to London.
Delia was greatly relieved that he had been found. But she knew the major disliked London. Whatever was he doing there? But, there was another disquieting matter that was requiring her attention.
Mr. Aldershott was becoming very particular in his attentions. He had started to request that she take her evening meal with him. To begin with, their conversations were strained, as he seemed to have little to say that did not involve Clarissa.
One evening, however, he asked her to tell him about her family.
“We were a very happy family, for the most part, sir. However, my parents and my only sibling, my brother, died about eighteen months ago.”
“And did you have no place to go? Is that why you became a governess?”
“I have other family, but I prefer my independence,” she said.
“You are a very fine governess, certainly, but surely you aspire to have a family of your own someday?” His tone was hearty and his eyes pierced hers, as though he might see the answer there. Delia found it very uncomfortable. She was not at all attracted to the man.
“Perhaps,” she said. Then, feeling she had left the matter far too open, she added, “But I am very content as a governess.”
“Surely you wish for an establishment of your own! For the freedom to pursue your own interests!”
She looked down at her plate, pushing vegetables onto her fork with unnecessary energy. “Women seldom have complete freedom. My situation here is very comfortable. I like your sister a great deal. And no one could ask for a more tractable, entrancing child than Clarissa.”
He smiled. “I am very glad you are so comfortable. That pleases me more than you might guess.”
She continued in her responsibilities, the major still very much on her mind. Her visits with Mrs. Scott kept her in touch with the doings of the neighborhood, as the lady had several faithful callers.
One evening, after listening to a particularly dry sermon, Clarissa’s aunt said, “I have heard that Lord John has returned
to Grenville Manor this afternoon. His disappearance is not being explained, but it is certainly being discussed. You are a friend of the family. Tell a curious old woman you know something about it!”
“But I know nothing,” she said. “I am as much in the dark as anyone. Lady Grenville does not confide in me.”
“I think there is something very havey-cavey about the whole incident,” Mrs. Scott said.
“I am only glad that he is home safely. He is not injured in any way, is he?”
“No. Apparently he is fine as five pence.”
Delia cast the lady a wicked glance. “Perhaps if you send him a note, he will pay you a visit. Then you can ask him about it all yourself.”
She harumphed. “You can tease all you want, but I mean to find out the truth somehow.”
That evening, Mr. Aldershott asked her to join him in his library after dinner. Delia preceded him through the door in some anxiety, having an idea what the conversation would consist of.
She was wrong.
“Miss Haverley, I have made inquiries regarding your family. You will no doubt not be surprised to learn that there is no family such as you described among the gentle folk of Kent. I have formed a favorable opinion of your character, however, and do not think that you are deceiving the people in this neighborhood for a deleterious reason.”
Delia was filled with dismay. Looking down at her lap, away from the man’s suddenly harsh countenance, she could not think of a single thing to say.
He went on. “For reasons of my own, I should wish you to tell me the truth concerning your identity. Believe me, it shall go no further.”
Delia’s eyes grew large and, despite her efforts at control, filled with tears. “I did not take this masquerade on a whim,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “If you should betray me, it is possible that I may come to harm, Mr. Aldershott.”
His face relaxed into gentleness. In a low, fervent voice, he replied, “Believe me, it is my intention that you should never come to any harm again.”
“Everything I told you about my family is true. It is only my name and rank that are different. I am Lady Cordelia Frensham. I grew up in Dorset.”
He nodded. “And your father’s name?”
“He was Gerald Frensham, eighth Earl of Sudbury,” Delia said, holding up her head with pride.
“Ah! The renowned Whig gentleman. I know nothing but good of him.”
“He was a very fine man.”
“He and your mother were killed in a carriage accident, as I recall. You have my condolences, Lady Cordelia.”
“Please do not call me that. Miss Haverley will do adequately.”
“As you wish. Now, will you please confide the reason for your deception?”
For a moment, she battled inside herself. Then, raising her chin, she said, “It is something I wish to keep private. Now that you know my true identity, you can decide whether to dismiss me. But you should know that my reasons for deceiving you will not result in harm to anyone.”
This reply obviously did not sit well with Mr. Aldershott. He frowned and tapped his fingers on the desk before him. “Tell me this: Do your reasons involve anything criminal?”
“Certainly not!” she replied, sitting as tall as possible in her chair.
“Very well,” he said. “I suppose I must be satisfied.”
“Please do not undertake any investigations in this matter, sir. If my location is revealed, my circumstances could become dire.” She did not want to imagine her uncle in a fury. In spite of herself, she shrank back in her chair.
“You are in trouble. I would not be a gentleman if I did not seek to assist you.”
“There is not a thing you can do, Mr. Aldershott, believe me.”
“Not even to offer you marriage?”
Though Delia had halfway expected this development, the timing surprised her. Her hand went to her throat. “That, I am afraid, is impossible at present.”
Leaning across his desk, he fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “Are you already married, Miss—or should I call you ma’am?”
Startled, she sat back but lifted her chin. “Certainly not!”
“Then what exactly is the nature of your problem?”
“My guardian has made other arrangements for my marriage and will not give his consent to a marriage with anyone else.”
“This is the reason you do not want him to know where you are? Why you are living under an assumed name?”
“Partly, yes. When I am five and twenty, his guardianship will come to an end, but I do not expect any man to wait that long to marry me.”
“And marriage to your uncle’s choice is disagreeable to you?”
“Infinitely,” she said.
Drumming his fingers on the desk, Mr. Aldershott said, “I see. And you would not let me write to your uncle and request his permission for your hand?”
Alarm raced through her. “No, Mr. Aldershott! Please, no. He would not consent, and he must not know where I am!”
The man’s eyes softened. “He used you cruelly? He tried to force you into this distasteful marriage?”
She bowed her head, clutching her hands together and closing her eyes. “Yes.”
This would never do. He must not perceive her as a victim. Summoning courage from somewhere in her depths, she rose from her chair and stood as tall as she could. “I would ask you, as a gentleman, to honor my confidence.”
“I must tell you,” he said, rising also, “as a gentleman, I would not want to bring harm upon you. Indeed, I would do anything in my power to help you.”
She swallowed and looked up at him. “Your employment is the very greatest thing you can do to help me. You are exceedingly kind. Now if you will excuse me, I will go to Mrs. Scott for my evening visit.”
“You are excused.”
{ 21 }
When John regained consciousness, he did not recognize his surroundings. All the drapes were pulled closed, a low fire burned in the grate, and his bed was large and comfortable. This was no wayside inn.
He pulled himself up on his elbows and it was then that he realized there was a figure sitting in the corner.
“I will call the doctor, your lordship,” said the man dressed in servant’s garb. “Meanwhile, perhaps you will take some water.”
He indicated the pitcher and glass arranged on the bedside table. John was suddenly aware of ravaging thirst. He drank down a glass immediately. Slowly, it dawned on him that he was in Alan’s house. His memory of his arrival was very hazy.
In a moment, his brother-in-law was beside him. “Are there bandits on your heels?” he asked. “What is all this about, John?”
“Not bandits,” John said, exhausted. “Devils. Why are you not at the clinic?”
“It is the middle of the night.”
“Oh.”
“Is something wrong with Anabella? With the children?”
“No. Sorry if you thought that. It is me. I am ashamed to tell you this, but it is nothing but a fit of melancholia. I find the one thing that helps is to ride.”
“You must drink plenty of water. You arrived here in a fever. And melancholia is no little thing. I only wish I had a solution for it.”
“So do I. Believe me.”
“How long have you suffered?”
“These last four years,” John said, slumping back on the pillows. “I believe it to have been brought on by the aftermath of battle.”
“And this time?”
He squirmed. “I’d rather not discuss it. It was nothing as horrific as battle.”
“It must have been something major, to have set off such an episode.”
“I’ll get over it.” He pulled back the covers and started to leave the bed. “I have no idea how long I’ve been gone. Alex and Felicity must be beside themselves with worry.”
“I’ll send a note off to them in the morning, post haste. Meanwhile, you must rest, John. At the moment, you are exhausted and still a bit feverish. How is the melancholia? Do y
ou wish to discuss it?”
“No. I have climbed out of it. It is just a bad memory.”
“I wish we knew more about these things,” Alan said. “But I am glad you ended up here.”
“It was Odysseus. I don’t have much memory of the ride.”
“I think on some level, you must have guided him. Now, for practical matters. I will go write my letter and you must bathe and have a shave. Do you have fresh clothing in your saddlebag?”
“No.”
“I will lend you clean clothes. I think you will feel better when you have bathed and dressed.”
In the days that transpired before Alex and Felicity arrived, John was left much to his own devices. He shunned the club but spent a lot of time walking in Green and Hyde Parks. In the evenings, he played chess with Alan. The doctor did not pry. He did not even ask about his wife once his curiosity and concerns about his children were allayed.
John did a thorough check of Odysseus and determined that the horse had not come to any harm during the frantic race through the countryside. He felt rather like a small child as he considered Alex and Felicity’s insistence that they come to London to bring him home in the carriage.
As the horror of the melancholy faded, he considered the trigger that had brought it about. The loss of that bright spot in his life. What was he to do about his feelings for Miss Haverley?
From what he had gathered, Aldershott was a dull sort. He could not imagine that she would be happy with him. But then, he did not know anything of her true circumstances. Maybe the precariousness of her situation dictated that she marry the first person who asked her.
And he asked himself again whether she would want to be tied to someone with his obvious limitations. The fact was, however, that she definitely ameliorated his melancholia. And she was familiar with it, since her father suffered.
From his powerful reaction to seeing her on Aldershott’s arm, he had no choice but to admit to himself that he had tender feelings for her. Could he be in love? He hardly knew her. How did one know if one was in love? John felt strongly protective feelings for Miss Haverley. And thinking of her married to and living with another man was insupportable. The fact was, his world looked seriously grim without her in it. She was not averse to him, he was almost certain. There had been a physical bond between them as they danced, had there not? Or was he the only one who had felt it?
Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma Page 13
