“Woman, you shall do as I say!”
“Is this how I should expect a king’s officer to speak to his wife? I was led to believe that there were gentlemen in the army!”
“Caroline, please—”
“I shall not be moved, no matter how much you beg!” On and on it went, with the same result. “My love, do you not see? I cannot—I will not—abandon our people or our belongings. I do not wish to be a burden upon you, but there it is.”
“But dear, I would have you safe with our family in England.”
She touched his cheek. “I know.”
Buford needed to find another way. Consequently, he did what many people would do who possessed his connections. He wrote to Darcy.
* * *
London
“Fitzwilliam! What a pleasant surprise!” cried Mr. Gardiner as the tall, finely dressed husband of his niece was announced. “Come in. May we get you something? Allow me to alert Madeline that you are here.”
“No, Edward, please do not,” answered Darcy. “May we retire to your library? There is a matter of business I should like to discuss with you.”
Edward Gardiner knew something was wrong. “Of course, my boy. Right this way.” In the years since Elizabeth’s marriage to the Master of Pemberley, the Darcy and Gardiner families had grown so close that Christian names had become de rigueur, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner considered Fitzwilliam and Georgiana as a nephew and niece.
After seeing his guest into the library and closing the door, Mr. Gardiner asked, “May I get you something?” To his eyes, something rare happened: Darcy started to fidget. “Fitzwilliam, is something amiss? Out with it, my boy.”
“I am afraid I must ask a favor.”
“Is that all?” the older man exclaimed in relief. “Why, by your countenance, I thought someone died!”
Darcy continued to squirm.
“Come, tell me, man. Whatever it is, you shall have it.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. “It sits ill with me to ask this of you—”
“I know—you would sooner do it yourself. But think nothing of it, my boy,” he said with affection. “We are family.”
Darcy nodded at the truth of this. He reached into his coat pocket, extracted a letter, and handed it to Mr. Gardiner. Falling back into cold politeness, as he always did when he was uncomfortable, he said, “Pray, do me the kindness of reading that letter.”
Mr. Gardiner opened it.
April ——, 1815
Darcy House, London
My dear Darcy,
Lady Buford, our servants, and I arrived safely in Antwerp four days ago. Such a journey from Vienna! One day I shall relate it to you as I consume your best port. Please let Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy know that Lady B is in good health and good spirits. She bore the ordeal without a word of complaint. What a woman! Surely, my friend, we have both been more fortunate than we deserve in our marriages.
Darcy, I have a request of you. It is my wish that Lady B and our people be safely transported back to England. However, passage may not be secured until May at the earliest. With events on the Continent as they are, I am certain you will agree that this situation is intolerable. My wife would stay, but I shall not rest easy until she is under my family’s protection.
I have no contacts that may be of service; but you, with your wide range of investments and interests, might know of some manner of relief. I would not ask this of you were not the situation dire and the safety of those dearest to me at risk. Please be assured that whatever the result, I shall be eternally in your debt, should you make some small inquiries into this matter.
Your obt. servant,
BUFORD
Antwerp
“I see,” said Mr. Gardiner.
“Poor Buford,” said Darcy. “What it must have cost him to write such a letter!”
Mr. Gardiner thought for a minute. “I can have a ship at Antwerp by week’s end—ten days at the most.”
“Edward, I do not know what to say.”
“Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Gardiner softly, “would you do any less for me, were it in your power? Come, give me your answer to Sir John. I shall dispatch it with the ship. It shall wait at dock until our friends are aboard.”
* * *
Antwerp
Darcy’s note had arrived in mid-afternoon. The sailor who delivered it said the ship would sail upon the morning tide the next day. The shipmates he had brought along were to move the baggage and other possessions aboard that night. Sir John assured the messenger that the passengers would arrive in good time in the morning.
Caroline was distressed, knowing she had but one last night with her husband. She reached deep into herself for her control; it would not do to take leave of Sir John crying like a blubbering idiot. By pure strength of will, she was able to face her husband with at least the appearance of composure after the last of the trunks were on their way to the ship.
Buford was not deceived. He addressed his small household staff: “Tonight is your last in Belgium. We shall not require you this evening. Here is some money. Roberts, take Miss Abigail out to the finest restaurant in town. ’Tis my farewell gift to you both.”
Roberts and Abigail understood. “Good night, sir,” his man said. “We shall see you in the morning.”
After the servants left, Sir John took Caroline by the hand and led her downstairs. To the owner of the inn, he stated, “Your public rooms are closed for the evening. Name your price.”
The innkeeper struggled between his greed and his fear—Sir John was wearing his sword. Finally, he gave an amount. Buford handed him the money but added, “There will be dinner out of that and your best wine.” The innkeeper sighed—his profit not as great as he hoped—and left to fetch the first bottle.
Sir John turned to his wife. “Play for me?” he asked as he gestured to the pianoforte in the corner.
Caroline nodded and walked over to the instrument. She had no music, so she played from memory. When the wine arrived, Sir John poured two glasses and placed Caroline’s on the pianoforte within her reach. He then retreated to a table and chairs close by and listened attentively.
For an hour, Caroline played and sang for her audience of one—every piece she knew and loved. Never had she performed with such emotion. The instrument was poorly tuned and would have affected the pleasure of the casual listener, but to Sir John it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard. The innkeeper had to fight tears as he served the supper.
Finally, Caroline sounded the final chord. She took a sip of her wine and gracefully moved over to share the meal provided them. For the next half hour, the two ate in contented silence, sometimes holding hands.
Finally, after an after-dinner brandy, Caroline rose, took her husband by the hand, and returned upstairs to their rooms. “Tonight is my gift to you, beloved,” she said to him once the door was closed. “You have given your Caro so much love and pleasure.”
She gave him a gentle kiss, then took two steps backwards and unfastened her gown. After a bit of reaching, she slipped it from her body. Looking Sir John in the eye, she removed the remainder of her garments. Nude, save for the carnelian cameo he had given her, she stepped close to him and began to remove his jacket. Slipping it off, Caroline placed it upon a chair near the window. She then turned her attentions to his neck cloth and shirt.
Once Sir John was bare-chested, Caroline gently pushed him towards the bed until he was forced to sit upon it, and at once, she removed her husband’s shoes and stockings. Caroline then rose and kissed Sir John as her hands unfastened his breeches. The lovers kissed more passionately as Caroline worked the remaining garment down Sir John’s legs, and then urged her husband to recline on the bed. She climbed up on the bed and knelt at his feet.
Caroline slid up his body, kissing the skin as she went, before snuggling into his arms. The pair lay together for a time, resting and caressing each other. Finally, Caroline rose up on her elbow and looked her husband in the eye as she stroked him.
His need as great as hers, he complied eagerly. No preliminaries—he drove himself into her, filling her as she expelled a satisfied gasp. Caroline’s green eyes bore into her husband’s, urging him on. Their coupling was mad, rushed—hands, lips everywhere—until her muscles convulsed around him, her flood triggering his, both crying out in mutual delight.
As they lay spent, Caroline ran her fingertips along his chin while looking into his blue eyes with adoration.
“Rwy’n dy gari di, Johnny.”
“Rwy’n dy gari di, Caro.”
* * *
Sir John awoke before the sunrise to find his wife not in the bed beside him. He turned to see her form near the window, facing out, waiting for the dawn. Wordlessly he left the bed and crossed over to Caroline, embracing her from behind. She leaned against his strong body and softly sighed. Adam and Eve then watched the cruel sun steal the last of the night from them.
* * *
The captain of the merchantman eyed the hourglass as the last of the morning watch drained away. He planned to set sail by two bells in the forenoon watch—nine in the morning, about an hour away—assuming that the special passengers had arrived, of course. By then, the tide should be running.
Mr. Gardiner would lose a bit on this run, he thought to himself. The little bit of cargo would in no way cover the expense of the trip, a loss that would only increase if the ship missed the morning tide. He turned and looked over the harbor. Warships and merchantmen, mostly Dutch and British, filled the port and the ways while boats scurried about between them and the docks. Men and matériel were flooding into Antwerp in preparation for war.
A master’s mate cried out, “Eight bells!” and turned the glass. As the last of the bells rang out, a coach pulled alongside. The carriage door opened, and a tall cavalry officer in Dragoon blue stepped out; he turned first to assist a maid and then a lady of consequence. From the other side of the carriage emerged a servant. He and the maid gathered up some carpetbags and stepped towards the gangplank. They were stopped by a mate, who turned to look at the quarterdeck.
The captain called out, “Colonel Buford’s party, sir?”
“Aye,” came the reply from the officer. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”
The captain nodded and called to the boatswain, “See to the passengers, Jones,” pleased that the customs of the sea had been followed by such a landlubber. The boatswain directed a few men to relieve the servants of their burdens as he escorted the maid and valet below decks.
The last to board the ship were the army officer and his wife. The colonel walked up to the ship’s captain, his lady on his arm.
“I am Colonel Sir John Buford. This is my wife, Lady Buford. My man, Roberts, and my wife’s maid, Abigail, have just gone below. I thank you and your employer, Mr. Gardiner, for your kind assistance to my family.”
The captain gave a nod. He may have reached no higher than lieutenant while he was in the Royal Navy, but as captain of a merchant vessel, he bowed to no man whilst on his own quarterdeck. “Very happy to be of service, Sir John, Lady Buford.”
“I deliver into your hands all that is precious to me.”
The captain blinked at the raw emotion in the colonel’s words. “Never fear, sir. I’ll watch over ’em as if they were me own.”
Sir John mumbled his thanks and turned to his wife. Instinctively, the captain turned away to grant the couple what little privacy could be had on a ship’s deck. To his irritation, he saw one of the ship’s boys gawking at the couple.
“Avast there! Get along with ye, or you’ll see the end of the boson’s starter!”
The colonel began to raise his lady’s hand to his lips when she tore loose from his grasp, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him quite openly. The captain was quite embarrassed to witness such a private moment. He felt like an intruder on his own deck. The couple murmured words to each other that sounded to the captain’s ears like Welsh, and then the officer turned and walked down the gangplank to the dock.
“Jones!” called the captain. “Get the ship under way!” The crew leapt to the work of warping the ship out of dock, while the lady moved instinctively to the stern, watching the colonel, who stood by the carriage. Soon the morning air began to fill the sails. At the command, topsails and gallants were dropped and the ship picked up speed.
The lady remained at the ship’s stern until land was out of sight.
* * *
Caroline searched through her carpetbag in the cabin she shared with Abigail, a cabin that had previously belonged to the sailing master. The wind had turned against them, and it would take at least a night of tacking before the ship could pass by the cliffs of Dover.
As she looked for something to sleep in, Caroline came across the items that were used during her monthly courses. She held up the items, a strange thought suddenly occurring to her.
I have not used these for some time. When was the last time? Just before the wedding?
Other thoughts came to her—her sickness in the mornings, her clothes feeling tighter, her breasts becoming tender. Things she had dismissed before as resulting from anxiety, rich food, and intense lovemaking.
Can it be? Am I with child? Could I be carrying John’s child?
All of her life, Caroline dreamed of marrying an important, titled man. Childbirth had never occurred to her. Motherhood, yes, in an obscure manner, but not the actual process of pregnancy and childbirth. Fear and uncertainty flooded her mind, along with a single thought: I must let John know!
But first, she must be certain. She must seek out a physician straight away once she reached London.
* * *
London
Lady Buford was escorted down the gangplank by the captain himself, Roberts and Abigail trailing behind. No sooner had her foot touched land than she heard her name called. Caroline turned and saw Philip and Rebecca Buford waving, standing next to a coach. As her in-laws approached, Caroline thanked the captain for his kindness and took her leave of him. Roberts began to see to the collection of their trunks as Caroline greeted her family.
“Philip, Rebecca, I am so happy to see you! Thank you for coming.”
“Thank us?” cried her brother. “What sort of foolishness is that? Of course we are here. You are a Buford, you know.” After kissing her on both cheeks in the French style, he excused himself to help Roberts. There was that informality again, thought Caroline.
“Caroline,” said Rebecca, “are you well? You look a bit flushed.”
Caroline reminded herself that she would have to become accustomed to the Bufords’ abruptness. She prevaricated. “I am well, Rebecca, I thank you—only desirous to get home.”
“Very well, my dear.” Mrs. Buford then called out to her husband. “Philip, Caroline is tired and wishes to go to the house!”
Caroline was taken aback. What? But I said—
“Very well, my dear. Take the coach—bring the maid with you. Roberts and I shall see to all this baggage. I shall meet you at Buford House. Farewell!”
* * *
“Caroline, my dear,” said Mrs. Albertine Buford as she embraced her daughter-in-law and kissed her on both cheeks.
“Mrs. Buford—I mean, Mother Buford, I am glad to be here,” answered Caroline. She then looked beyond the old woman and gasped.
“I see you have noticed our little surprise, yes?” Mother Buford said with a smile. Standing in the sitting room were Louisa Hurst and Jane Bingley. Caroline dashed to embrace her sisters with tears in her eyes.
After exchanging kisses and tears, Caroline asked about her brothers. “They will join us at dinner, will they not, Louisa?” answered Jane as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “They wanted us to have a bit of time to ourselves. But there is someone who wishes very much to see you.” She turned to a maid who was holding Susan Bingley. Caroline’s tears were redoubled as she took her goddaughter in her arms.
* * *
The physician was requested two days later,
and Caroline received him in her bedroom. “Congratulations, my lady,” said Mr. Wexley as he finished his examination. “You are indeed with child and everything seems to be progressing well.”
Caroline could not decide whether or not she was happy. “When will the baby come, Mr. Wexley?”
“Oh, I believe we should look for the happy event somewhere around the first week of November. Nothing to worry about now. Do not tire yourself, and eat well. That is my usual recommendation. Your confinement will not be for some time yet.” He paused and looked hard at her. “I must say, after everything you say you went through on your journey home, well… if there was any danger, it is passed already.”
An hour later, Caroline shared the news with the Buford ladies. Both were delighted with Caroline’s report and showered the expectant mother with kind words and affection. Though she found it hard to believe, Caroline was coming to the opinion that the two ladies actually liked her.
The response of Louisa and Jane was as joyful as expected. Charles was silly, and even Hurst said something kind. The Buford, Bingley, and Hurst families were sitting down to tea when the Darcys were announced.
Is this a tea party or a ball at Almack’s? thought Caroline with a bit of impatience.
Mother Buford noticed Caroline’s mood. She leaned over and whispered, “Good friends are like good wine—they should be enjoyed at every occasion. Life is too short to stand upon propriety, my dear, especially in times like these.”
Lady Buford considered her mother-in-law thoughtfully.
* * *
Col. Sir John Buford
——nd Lt. Dragoons, Antwerp, Belgium
My dearest love,
Forgive the delay of this letter. Our party arrived safely in London four days ago. We were met by Philip and Rebecca, who took us home to Buford House.
This morning, two soldiers from your regiment came with written instructions to gather up your uniforms, necessities, sword, and equipment—your “kit,” I believe one of them called it. No sooner had I escorted them to your rooms than Colonel Fitzwilliam was announced. He was kind enough to assist me to supervise the packing. He told me that he has already been in contact with your second-in-command, and he shall see to it personally that your saddle and other equipment arrive safely in Belgium. I am happy you will have the company of such an amusing and thoughtful friend as the colonel while you are away from your home and those who dearly love you.
The Three Colonels Page 17
