Some of the new pastries and breads became popular, other recipes were soon discarded. Feeding the starter for her loaves each day, leaving the loaves to prove, knocking back the dough and finally baking them in the fiery ovens did nothing to change her newly altered life but there was something about the methodical, repetitive tasks that soothed her heart in a way nothing else could manage.
She worked on her recipes, listening to her customers requests and found that rather than foundering, the little store was actually doing even better than it had under her parents. The harder Christine worked, the less she thought about Nate, although in quiet times her heart still ached for him, for his companionship – for someone who would just be there and listen.
As time passed, it grew harder and harder for her to make the regular deliveries to Goldington House. Christine was pleased with the steady business and yet uncomfortable with the constant reminders of Nate and the family she knew would never approve of her.
She never asked after Nate on these strained visits and the duchess never offered any information, much to Christine’s consternation. But, then why should she? It was not as if anyone at the hall knew of their lifelong friendship or their burgeoning feelings for one another.
Christine felt trapped in a kind of limbo. One foot was planted firmly in her new life while the other refused to leave the old one behind. And still, each and every night, she prayed that Nate would return home safely, with words of love on his lips.
Chapter Ten
As dawn broke, Nate and his men made their way through the woods, creeping silently towards Ciudad Rodrigo. They spoke in hushed whispers, only when it was imperative that they speak, each man knowing that their silence was their best weapon. They had not travelled more than two miles when they saw an opening in the trees. Nate beckoned to his men to wait as he crept forwards to investigate. The clearing seemed safe enough. But, every man in the army had heard tales of ambush that made them cautious to trust even their own eyes. Nate slunk closer to the clearing, his eyes darting from side to side, knowing his men would be fanning out around him, covering every line of sight.
A blood curdling yell shattered the silence.
Nate turned to face the direction the sound had come from, a movement so swift he wenched a muscle in his neck. Rubbing it a little, he cautiously moved a little closer. Then another cry filled the air. This time, Nate was sure that it was Wilkins. The lad was a little green, but he had not put the rest of his band at risk if there was no need. Nate rushed to where he had left the young man, and found him lying on the ground, clutching at his belly. Blood was seeping out around his fingers, and his face was as pale as milk. “Frenchies, sir,” he said, barely able to move his lips for the pain and weakness.
Nate wanted to howl at the injustice, but he did not have time to mourn. Wilkins’ attacker had barely been here moments before. He and his men were in danger, and he was not inclined to hang around and wait for encroaching death for himself and the others. “I am sorry, Wilkins,” he said softly.
“Finish the job, sir,” Wilkins pleaded, his eyes wide.
Nate paused for a moment. He was greatly torn. Should he give aid and comfort to a man who only had a few moments of life remaining while they were in the middle of an ambush? There was nothing he could do for Wilkins, but he desperately wished this was not so.
His pause was too long. The glaring face of a Frenchman was staring at him, a peculiar leer on his face. Nate jumped to his feet, pulling out his sword, determined to put up a good fight. As he parried and thrusted, pushing the Frenchman onto the backfoot and out into the open clearing, Nate tried to look around him. His men seemed to be fighting similar battles, each one focused on his own foe.
The Frenchman thrust forward, taking Nate off-guard. He sliced through Nate’s jacket, leaving a long, thin wound. Nate was surprised that it did not hurt, not even a tiny bit. In truth, it simply fired him up to fight harder. They battled on, taking and receiving blows, until Nate finally made the decisive thrust, right through the man’s heart. The Frenchman sank to the ground, one last mutter to himself.
Nate wanted to collapse beside him, but his men still needed help. One or two were grievously injured, but three were still fighting valiantly. Nate pushed forwards, taking on their opponents by their sides, and in no time the French skirmishers were lying on the floor of the clearing, mortally wounded or already dead.
Nate and his men gasped for breath, sinking to their knees, or onto their backsides as they tried to make sense of what had just passed. But he had wounded men, and so Nate did not stop for long. He assessed his casualties and realised that Wilkins had died during the fight. There were men he could get back to camp where they could receive aid from the army doctors.
“Are you sure we should go back?” Sergeant Hendricks asked him as Nate gave the orders to make stretchers and to return. “We have no intelligence to take back.”
“Yes, we do,” Nate said forcefully. “We have information that the French are regularly patrolling this far out from Ciudad Rodrigo, that is valuable to Wellesley. It means they are worried we are coming. We will need to be better prepared and with better munitions than we had at Almeida if we are to take it.”
“But, sir, you are injured, too,” Sergeant Hendricks said, noticing the slashes on Nate’s arms, chest and legs.
“I can walk,” Nate said. “And we need to get out of here, now.”
After a long and difficult journey, once back in the camp, Nate wasted no time in passing on the information they had learned. Wellesley ordered him to the hospital, where Nate finally began to feel the impact of all the blows to his body. The nurses peeled back his jacket and shirt, revealing a network of wounds. “You are lucky none of these was too deep,” one of them said, as she began to bathe them with warm water.
“I am lucky,” Nate repeated, thinking that he was anything but. He should never have been here. If only his father had not purchased that commission, he could be at home now, with Christine.
Though he was aware that he had grown as a man during his time in commission, he vowed that it was time for his obedience to his parents’ wishes to come to an end. He had no desire to shame them, but this was his life and he had almost lost it today. He would not give up Christine, too. When he got home, he would tell them so – even if it cost him every penny of his inheritance. He had never wanted to be a duke anyway. He was sure that a quiet life as a prosperous baker would suit him quite nicely.
Chapter Eleven
The day of the annual harvest festival finally arrived. Christine and her sisters loaded trays of baked goods onto a hand cart, and trundled it to the village green, happy to be going to an event that promised to be profitable and carefree. A circus had passed through the county a few weeks ago, and the duke had asked if some of the acts would come and perform, for a sizeable fee, of course. Christine marvelled at the acrobats and the jugglers as they made their way around the many stalls, entertaining the village folk.
People had come from all over the county, and the biscuits and cakes Christine and her sisters had baked had proven to be very popular. They were sold out before the clock even struck three. Christine began to stack the baskets back onto the handcart, then sat down in the autumn sunshine at the trestle to count their takings. She looked up when a shadow passed over her.
“Good day, Miss Langdon,” John Greenwood said, smiling down at her. “It seems I am too late to partake of your pies and pastries.”
“I would have kept some for you, Mr Greenwood, had I known you wanted some,” she said with a smile. It felt awkward and unnatural to openly invite his attentions, but she had vowed that it was time for her to move on and so she was determined to try.
John Greenwood was a good man, as well as a fine-looking one. He had promising prospects and could likely provide well for a family in the future. She would be a fool to ignore his advances, even if her heart still hankered after Lord Nathaniel Sheffield.
“You can make it
up to me at the dance, I am sure,” he said cheerfully. “Just a few dances with you is all I ask, and I know it will be sweeter than any fondant.”
She smiled back at him but could not bring herself to respond to such a nauseatingly sweet reply. She was exhausted. Not only had she and her sisters prepared all their treats for sale here at the fair, they had prepared most of the food for the dance tonight as well. However, she looked forward to the idea of a few dances. Dancing was one of the reasons she had agreed to meet Mr Greenwood at the festival, anyway. There had been little enough joy in her life for too long.
“I am not sure about that,” she said finally. “But, I shall go home and take a short nap and hope that I shall be restored enough to dance the night away,” she added trying to sound gay and bright.
It was clear from his delight, that John Greenwood hoped that a few dances that night would offer up hope for a romance to grow between them. It was written on his face as plainly as if he had spoken the words right out loud. He was a fine match to make and she could not help but question her hesitance to give him much of her time. Her lingering love for Nate was no excuse. Was she to carry her torch for him to her grave, never having experienced the riches a married life could give her? It was an unsettling thought, one she had still not resolved adequately when she walked into the village hall on Mr Greenwood’s arm that evening.
Whether he sensed her trepidation or not, Mr Greenwood appeared to be delighted to be partnering Christine. She could sense it even before he spoke. It was in the way his hand rested gently in the small of her back, the way his eyes looked so deeply into her face. There was a longing there, one so acute it was almost a physical thing.
“We fit well together, do you agree?” he asked, as they danced the last dance before supper, his voice thick and rough with feeling.
“We do,” she answered, cautiously.
“Do you know I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen?” he gushed unabashedly.
“Really, Mr Greenwood, there is no need for you to say such things,” she countered quickly. Suddenly, the room was beginning to feel too warm and his hand seemed to hold hers far too tightly.
“But there is,” he insisted. “I believe that the two of us could be really happy together. I would like to court you, if you would be so kind as to consider my suit.”
Christine’s eyes were unfocused, looking through Mr Greenwood rather than at him as he spoke. Thankfully the reel gave her ample moments of time apart from him to gather her thoughts, before they came back together. She could not answer him. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever. She pinned a smile to her face as she made the long walk along the column of dancers, wishing that the music would go just a little slower so she would not have to answer him just yet.
Christine could not help but think of Nate and about how she would feel dancing in Nathaniel’s arms instead of Mr Greenwood’s. Would Nate even attend a local dance such as this one, now? He always had in the past, but there was no way to know how he would behave now if her were here. Everything had changed, and not for the better.
The duke and duchess had made a brief appearance congratulating the farmers and shop owners on a successful year but had disappeared before the music started, as they always did. Nate used to stay and lead the revels. Would Nathaniel be cool toward the tenants at a festival as well, now he was a man grown? Or would he engage in a friendly manner?
Suddenly, she was not at all sure what he would do. She was not sure how well she had ever known him at all. It had been so very long, he would have been changed by the war for sure. Christine doubted he would come home as the loving and playful boy she had once known. After all, she was hardly the wild spirit she had once been, either. Life and unfortunate events always changed people. It was inevitable.
“Miss Langdon, please,” Mr Greenwood begged, as he took her hand once more and they nodded to the couple opposite them in the square. “At least listen to what I have to say. I so desperately want to make you happy!”
“I am sorry,” Christine said, as the music finally came to a close. She curtseyed, as he bowed. “I cannot talk of these things. Not tonight. I am so very tired. I am not thinking clearly at all.”
“Well then let me escort you home,” he said urgently, his face tight and full of concern. “Please allow me to do that and perhaps we can speak on things a little more. “
“No,” she insisted, backing away from him, “I am sorry, but not tonight. As I said I am tired. I cannot talk about this at the moment. I will think about what you have said, Mr Greenwood. I will do that much. I promise.”
With nothing left to say and the tears beginning to tighten her throat, Christine turned and fled. She overheard the curious whispers as she went, and understood that this was a thing the villagers would talk about. She understood, too, that she might well have just put in jeopardy her only real chance at happiness with a family of her own. Her love for Nathaniel, and their life-long friendship – the one thing that had ever given her consolation and acceptance - and her inability to give it up, might very well be the thing that would ruin her life completely.
Chapter Twelve
The carriage drove through the village slowly. Considering it was so late, there were more people milling around the streets than normal. Nate had not thought much on what had been happening here at home, but as he looked at the fallen red and gold leaves, he realised the villagers were celebrating the harvest. He was half tempted to stop the carriage and go and join them. He had always loved the parties in the village so much more than any of his mother’s dull balls and soirees at Goldington House.
His left arm twinged a little as he shrugged off his travelling blanket and moved to gaze out the window. He smiled, a sad and regretful smile, as he made his way past the bakery. He could only assume that Christine and her family would all be at the festivities, dancing and laughing with their friends. Much as he longed to see his old friend, he had much to do first.
Leaning back on the seat, Nate pondered the changes he would one day implement, when he finally took control of his inheritance – that is, if he would be permitted to do so. As his driver swung the carriage up the long and winding driveway to Goldington House, Nathaniel began to feel a little nervous. He had so much he needed to say, but now he was here he feared that he would not stand up for himself. He had always stepped back at his father’s gruff ire.
“Good gads,” he whispered to himself with half a mind to turn the carriage around and just go straight to Christine’s side and beg her to run away with him. Gretna Green seemed like a perfect solution when he thought of the alternatives.
He could not help his mixed emotions about this return to the fold. As the driver drew the carriage to a halt, Nate could see that the grand oak doors were flung wide, and the staff had been lined up as a guard of honour. The staff rarely welcomed any of the family en masse. Only when the estate had been empty for an extended period of time was this type of welcome provided. Perhaps his parents had missed him while he had been away. One thing was for sure, he would know the truth of that matter very soon.
At the very centre of the doorway stood his parents. Nate wished he could say he had missed them, but he had rarely thought of them other to rue the day they had purchased his commission for him. But, in so many ways, he hoped that would make what he had to say to them easier to accomplish. Straightening his cravat, he waited for his valet to open the carriage door. Nate nodded to him respectfully then bounded up the steps to greet his parents.
“Mama,” Nathaniel said formally, as he took her hands in his and kissed her on each cheek. Then he looked to her left and nodded. “Papa.” Nathaniel shook his father’s hand and received a firm slap on the back in return. Nate winced as his father’s hand connected with just one of his many newly formed scars.
“Welcome home, Nathaniel, my son. I cannot tell you how glad we are that you are home safe and sound.” Nate was surprised to see that, up close, his father looked pale. He had definit
ely garnered more wrinkles across his brow and he seemed tired.
“It is good to be back home,” Nate said, surprised to realise that he meant it. “I am done with war. I look forward to quiet time to rest and recover.”
“Are your injuries so very bad?” His mother’s voice sounded anxious and worried. “When you were mentioned in Dispatches, your father said they spoke of you in glowing terms, but though they said you would be coming home injured there was no news as to how bad it was.”
“Mama, I was involved in a small skirmish. There was some sword-fighting and I took a few blows,” Nate said, not wanting to make it less, or more, than what it was. “I could have stayed there, but Wellesley wished to send a man he could trust with a plea to parliament. I stopped in London on my way here to handle that task.”
His mother looked aghast, but also proud that her son had been entrusted with a message from the Duke of Wellington himself. “But I thought you were to be behind the lines, your father assured me it would be so,” she said, wringing her hands anxiously.
Suddenly, Nate realised that despite everything he had ever believed, his parents did indeed love him dearly. They, like so many of their class, just did not know how to express that love. He felt a surge of protective affection for them both. Neither needed to know of the troubles and trials he had faced. Neither truly wanted to. They just needed to know he was safe home.
His father proved that, as he shifted the subject ever so subtly. “Then you will be in need of a hot bath, and a couple of snifters of our finest brandy,” he said, taking his wife’s arm and ushering her inside.
Broken Boundaries: A Sweet Regency Romance Page 6
