“Quiet, you bonehead,” Nat said, unable to keep back his own smile. “I don’t want every Nosey Nellie in here to come over and ask what is so funny. You are not to repeat this, Reggie. I swear, if I hear one word—”
“Enough! I have promised to keep my lips sealed, and I shall. Even though it is by far the best story I’ve heard all Season. Lord, what a time the printmakers would have with it. I can see it now: scandalous prints with the two of you hiding behind a potted plant, sealing the deal with a kiss.”
“It was a tree, I tell you. A frigging orange tree. But if I happen to see any such print making the rounds, Reggie, I shall be forced to call you out. And you know I am the better shot.”
“I do, indeed. Reason enough to keep this entertaining tidbit to myself. It’s a shame, really. I could dine out on that tale for months. But seriously, Nat, regardless of the unorthodox way it came about, I think you have chosen wisely. An impetuous choice, but a good one.”
“I am glad you think so.” Nat could not keep the sarcasm from his voice. He did not need anyone’s approval of his choice of bride, not even Kenning’s.
“I like her, Nat, and think she is just the right woman for you. You are alike in many ways, I think.”
“How the devil are we alike? I’m a rough-spoken soldier with no social skills and a sullen nature. She is a lady, born and bred. Gentle and sweet. About as different from me as she could be.”
“She puts herself at a sort of distance from the rest of the world. Because of the limp, no doubt. But you do the same, especially since Waterloo. I don’t know how much she knows about that battle, or what it did to you—hell, I’m not sure I know, and I was there. But I think she understands what it is to have to shield oneself from the world, to guard against showing too much vulnerability. She understands you. And I’m guessing you have a better understanding of her difficulties than many others do. It’s a good match, Nat.”
They did not speak of Philippa again that evening, but Nat never forgot his friend’s words. Was he right about Philippa understanding him because of her lameness? Kenning hadn’t said it outright, but it was clear that he meant they understood each other because each was crippled. One crippled in body, one in mind. Was he right?
He had certainly felt drawn to her enough to hint of his troubles. He could not have, in good conscience, allowed her to agree to a marriage of convenience without knowing something of the truth. And she was smart enough from the beginning to realize his troubles related to Waterloo. She already knew almost as much as Kenning, though she had never asked for details and he’d never offered any. Nat did not want his weakness, his shame, to touch her in any way. He wanted to keep it apart from her.
Yet she did not want to be protected like that. She had been overly protected and patronized her whole life, and did not want that from him. She had said from the first that the reason she was willing to form this alliance with him was because he’d spoken honestly to her, and she hoped their marriage would be based on honesty. If he was to maintain a level of honesty with her, she would soon discover the depth of his pain and his shame. Strangely, that did not bother him as much as he’d expected. He hated for anyone else to know of his weakness, but he did not seem to mind that she would know.
Perhaps because she would understand? Cripple to cripple?
No, he would not accept that word. She wasn’t crippled. She merely had a limp. And he … well, he may be experiencing moments of confusion or weakness, but his mind was not crippled. He still had most of his wits about him, most of the time. Philippa would not give in to her disability, and neither would he, by God. He might not be ready to bare his soul completely to her, but he could learn from her. He could, and would, try to be a better man for her. A man worthy of her.
They entered the park a bit earlier than the fashionable hour to take advantage of the fragile sunshine, the first to be seen after a week of gloomy days. Philippa enjoyed having the parklands to themselves for a short time. She was admiring his profile as he expertly handled the team when he said, “Do you ever drive, Philippa? Are you allowed?”
“There is a groom at Harcott Manor who allows me to drive from time to time, when he can be sure no one will see and report us. William and Mamma have strict orders about such things, as you can imagine. They fear that I will injure myself.”
“What about riding? Do you ride?”
“Oh, I love to ride. When I am atop a horse I feel like a whole person. His legs become mine, and I see the world from a grand height. It is thrilling to me. I am allowed an occasional ride at Harcott, but only on the slowest, gentlest mare, and only with an army of grooms and family members with me. It is all very sedate. Too sedate for the very smart habit I had made last year. Green velvet with lots of gold braiding. And a jaunty little hat with a feather that curves around my face. I look quite dashing in it, I’ll have you know.”
He smiled, and said, “More than merely dashing, I’d guess.” He slid her a glance that raked her up and down in a most disconcerting manner. A tingly sort of heat trickled down her spine like warm honey. “And now you are going to tell me that same groom sometimes sneaks you out alone on a more spirited horse.”
Philippa laughed. “He does indeed. Not often, for fear of losing his job. But I can coax him into allowing me a good ride from time to time.”
“I should like to see you ride. When we are married, I will buy you a proper horse and we will ride about the estate together. I might even challenge you to a race or two. And you shall have as many dashing habits as you please.”
All at once, there was a lump in her throat so high and hard she couldn’t swallow, could barely even breathe. He was promising a level of freedom she’d never been allowed. Did he know how much that meant to her?
What a gift he was.
She ought to have known she would fall in love with him. He grabbed a small corner of her heart the moment he’d said she had a hell of a limp, and said it without any sympathy at all, merely as a statement of fact. Other women might have preferred words of love and devotion. Philippa much preferred a man who treated her like an ordinary woman with no disability, and no man had ever done so. Until Nat Beckwith. To him, it seemed her displaced hip was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. She had always treated it that way. She knew her limitations, but otherwise went about day-to-day living just as everyone else did. As best she could anyway, with well-meaning people constantly behaving as though she were an invalid and could do nothing for herself. When a man finally came along who refused to treat her with kid gloves, she was bound to fall in love with him. And, of course, she had done so. She was now thoroughly, irrevocably, head over heels in love with him.
“And in the meantime,” he said, “I see no reason why you shouldn’t have the pleasure of driving now and then. Would you like to take the ribbons now?”
“You are a wicked man, sir, tempting me with all my favorite things.”
He held out the reins to her and she took them. He kept a loose hold for a moment, until he saw that she knew how to manage the team, then allowed her full control. Philippa thought her face might crack from smiling. To have the power of such a fine team in her own hands was exhilarating, and more fun than she’d had in an age.
Life with Captain Beckwith was going to be breathtaking.
She would like to have given the horses their heads for a time, but the park had begun to fill up with the usual afternoon crowd. It was to be a dignified drive. This time.
Several people passed by in carriages or on horseback and nodded in their direction. Some even stopped to exchange a few words. The whole time, Nat allowed her to keep the reins, and showed no discomfort at being driven by a woman. When an officer in uniform rode up, introduced as Captain Baird, he joked about Nat relinquishing control to a female.
“I am in very capable hands, Baird,” he said, “as you see. Miss Reynolds could have managed a supply wagon with ease.”
“I do not doubt it. We could have used you in
Spain, ma’am. It was good to see you at the club last night, Beckwith. You have been too long absent.” After a few more pleasantries, he bowed to Philippa and rode on.
She handed the reins back to him. “I have had too much fun for one day. You will spoil me, sir.”
He gave her a look that said he understood her true motive. “Silly woman. You can drive whenever you want. You need only ask.”
“I know. Thank you, Nat.
He gave a mock bow. “Your servant, ma’am.”
“I did not know you were part of a military club,” she said. “It must have been nice to be among your fellow officers once again. Men who’ve been through the war with you.”
He did not answer, but merely lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal acknowledgement of the question. She watched him closely, but he kept his eyes straight ahead, his lips in a tight line.
“You did not enjoy it at all, did you?”
He shook his head. “You know I dislike social situations, especially loud and boisterous ones.”
It was more than that, she knew, but did not press him. She sat quietly at his side on the carriage seat. After long, silent moments, he said, “I don’t fit in.”
She looked at him, pleased that he said anything at all, hoping he would say more.
“I can’t abide all the back-slapping,” he said, “the singing, the toasts, and the are-we-not-magnificent-heroes attitudes. No one wants to actually speak of the war. Of the particulars of battle, I mean. They only want to speak of the glory of victory, not the costs. No one else …”
He clamped his lips together and shook his head as though he had no more to say on the subject, perhaps even thinking he’d said too much. But Philippa did not want to let the moment pass. She wanted him to know he could confide in her.
“No one else suffers as you do?”
He turned sharply and glared at her beneath deeply furrowed brows. “What do you know of my so-called suffering?”
“Very little, to be sure. But I know you struggle with demons of some kind. You told me so yourself. And since you spent most of your adult life soldiering, it is logical that your demons are war demons.”
He nodded, but said nothing.
“I do not know what you may have experienced,” she continued, “but it is clear to me that whatever it was affected you deeply. And you think because your fellow officers do not speak of it, that they were not similarly affected. You are wrong, though. You are not alone in your pain.”
His frown deepened. “How do you know? How can you possibly know?”
“Because anyone who lived through the carnage of a fierce battle and came out unmoved would not be human. He would be an unfeeling automaton, without heart or soul. I doubt you would describe your friends in that way.”
“No, of course not. They are all good, honorable men.”
“Then they, too, have been affected by the wars. They just hide it better, that’s all. And are too proud to speak of it. Men can be foolish creatures at times.”
He did not respond, and returned his gaze to the path ahead. His brow remained furrowed, but not so much in anger. Instead he looked pensive. Philippa hoped he was considering her words.
“Please do not think you are alone in this, Nat. We are all human and fraught with frailties. Some are permanent, like my bent hip. Others are temporary and ultimately overcome. You will overcome yours. One day you will wake up and realize those demons are gone. Then, you can stop fighting them and live in peace again.”
He turned toward her once more and said, “I hope you are right, Philippa, though I fear any such peace will be a long time coming.”
“Then we shall wait for it together, and rejoice together when it comes.”
He gazed at her intently, a slight frown on his face, then said, “If we were not on a public road in a crowded park, I would kiss you right now.”
“And I would let you.”
He smiled. “Later, then.”
Oh, she hoped so.
The next evening, Nat escorted Philippa and her mother to a musical evening at the home of his sister Eugenia, Lady Thorpe. At his insistence, Genie had agreed not to patronize Philippa or her lameness, and she had been as good as her word. She’d been all that was kind and gracious, and Philippa had in turn charmed her. Within five minutes, they seemed to be fast friends.
“I like her, Nat,” Genie whispered when Philippa was engaged in conversation with her friend Lillian Faulkner. “One is tempted to condescend to her lameness, but she does not encourage it, does she? She is no shrinking violet. And she makes me laugh.”
“Me, too.”
“Does she? Oh, I am so pleased to hear it. You have been too somber for too long. I do hope this is a serious courtship, Nat. You really should marry her. She will do you a world of good, I think.”
“I intend to marry her,” Nat said. “But her mother insists that we endure an entire godforsaken Season before we may do so. Lady Reynolds is a slave to appearances and Rules.”
“So are most of us, my dear. But I am very pleased at your plans. You must allow me to hold a betrothal ball when you are ready to announce. Dearne House is much too stuffy, as is our brother. Our ballroom is much more comfortable. Oh, but wait. Perhaps a ball is inappropriate when the betrothed couple cannot lead the dancing. Should I arrange a large dinner party instead?”
“That is dashed good of you to offer, Genie. Go ahead and plan a ball. Philippa and I met at a ball. It is fitting that we should celebrate our engagement at one. Talk to Lady Reynolds about it. She will want to help with the planning.”
When Philippa joined him again and he told her of Genie’s ball, she beamed with pleasure. “How very kind of her. What a lovely family you have, Nat.”
“You haven’t met them all yet. Genie’s the best of the lot. One or two of the others are downright harridans. Did I mention I have seven sisters?”
Philippa chuckled. “No, you did not.”
“Worse, I am the youngest. A battalion of girls between Dearne and me. Damnation. Speak of the devil. Here comes Dearne himself, looking very lordly and imposing. That’s his wife, Adelaide, beside him. Buck up, my girl, you are about to be introduced.”
As his brother approached, people milling about waiting for the concert to begin stepped out of his path as though he were the Regent himself. Dearne had that way about him, an air of importance that sat comfortably upon his shoulders. He’d been trained from boyhood to assume the earldom, and it showed.
Nat sketched a bow. “Dearne. Adelaide. Good to see you both. Allow me to present Miss Reynolds.” Turning to Philippa, he added, “This is my brother, Lord Dearne, and his wife, Lady Dearne.”
Philippa made a creditable curtsy. She must have been made to practice for years. One would hardly know she was lame. The fact that she favored her right hip was barely noticeable.
“Lord Dearne, Lady Dearne. I am pleased to meet more members of Captain Beckwith’s family.”
“And we are delighted to meet you,” Adelaide said, offering a warm smile. “What a pretty dress. That shade of blue is the perfect complement to your lovely hair.” She took Philippa’s arm and steered her toward the music room. “Come, you must tell me the name of your modiste. I am most envious of the set of your sleeves.”
And the two of them disappeared into the next room.
“Why do I get the feeling,” Nat said, “that Philippa has been ushered out for your benefit? Did you ask Adelaide to sweep her away?”
“I would hardly call it a sweep,” Dearne said, his brow furrowed into a deep frown. “That would require speed and grace, which your Miss Reynolds is sadly unable to accomplish.”
“Careful, Frederick. You’re a tick away from being out of line.”
“I only meant to express regret that the poor girl’s disability makes it difficult for her to move quickly.”
“And your point?”
Dearne shrugged. “I simply mention it to remind you that many other unattached young ladies po
ssess graces that Miss Reynolds will never be able to achieve. I trust you will give your attention to some of them.”
“You told me to look about for a bride,” Nat said. “I looked, and found Miss Reynolds. I intend to look no further.”
Dearne’s face grew red with rage. He disliked being defied, though in fact, Nat had not defied him. He’d done precisely as asked.
“Have you deliberately set out to thwart me, Nathaniel?”
“Quite the opposite, old boy. I am thwarting my own desires to address yours. I did not come to London willingly, did I? Ah, the musicians are tuning up. Let us find the ladies and hope that the soprano does not screech like camp trull.”
Dearne mumbled something about coarse language that Nat chose to ignore as they entered the music room. He sought out Philippa’s distinctive hair, and found her seated with her mother and Adelaide.
After introductions were made, Lady Reynolds, who was positively beaming, turned to Dearne and said, “My lord, I am beyond thrilled. Your countess has done us the very great honor of inviting Philippa and me to spend a few days at your villa in Richmond.”
Dearne glowered at his wife. “Has she indeed?”
“Yes,” Adelaide said, “I thought it would provide an opportunity for us all to become better acquainted. It is not our primary residence, Lady Reynolds, which is, of course, the earl’s seat in Wiltshire. Nunbridge Park was built in the last century when it was fashionable to have a country home within easy reach of Town, so it is close enough that we will not lose too many days of the Season. Three or fours days at most, I should think. We shall invite your sons, Sir William and Mr. Edgar Reynolds, as well as whichever of Dearne’s sisters is available. And Nathaniel, of course. It will be a cozy gathering, nothing formal. Please call on me tomorrow and we shall discuss the schedule and guest list.”
Dearne uttered an exasperated huff. “It appears a fait accompli, my dear. You seem to have matters well in hand.”
“Naturally. Come and sit down, Dearne. The music is about to begin. Nathaniel, you will wish to sit beside Miss Reynolds.”
It Happened One Season Page 35
