“That’s not so unusual,” Philip replied.
Stanley did not once turn his attention to the stage. Instead, he watched the exchange between Marjie and Lord Devereaux.
“The late Lord Techney was nearly two decades older than his wife,” Philip whispered.
“Wife?” Stanley’s eyes snapped to Philip. “Things lean that way?”
Philip shrugged. “I don’t know if it is as serious as all that, but they have been very good for each other.”
“Good in what way?” Stanley’s gaze returned to Marjie.
“Marjie is not one for superficial friendships,” Philip said. “The ton, on the other hand, specializes in empty associations. So Marjie has been a little lonely. Lord Devereaux has struggled since losing his wife. His required period of full mourning ended more than two years ago, and yet he has not been seen anywhere other than Parliament. That is, until this past month or so. Marjie appears to have helped him begin to work through his grief.”
“Like his guardian angel.” Stanley tried to breathe through the tension in his lungs. Throughout the past six months, he had thought of Marjie as his guardian angel.
“Most of Society is quite interested in the outcome of their association,” Philip said. “Speculation is rife. Most, I think, feel they will eventually make a match of it.”
Stanley didn’t hear a single word spoken on the stage below. Philip had gone back to whispering with Sorrel. Stanley’s eyes stayed on Marjie and Lord Devereaux, who never ran short on topics of conversation. They appeared wholly charmed by each other.
Stanley had told himself again and again during the months before Waterloo and the excruciating recuperation afterward that Marjie deserved better than him. She ought to marry a man who did not have blood on his hands, a man who wasn’t a cripple, who wasn’t so mutilated he could no longer write a simple sentence.
His angel had found someone better.
The pain of cracking skin told Stanley just how tightly he had wrapped his fingers around the arm of his chair. His heart thudded high in his chest, tattooing out a rhythm of grief. He couldn’t watch them any longer. He groped in the dark, searching for his walking stick.
“Stanley?” Philip’s whisper was loud enough to be heard over the pounding in Stanley’s ears.
“I’m tired. I’m returning to Lampton House.”
“On foot?” Philip asked.
“Don’t be an idiot.” Stanley rose as quickly as he could to his feet, using his chair for balance, then corrected his posture to that of a career soldier. “I will send the carriage back for you.”
“You’re certain you want to go by yourself?”
“I doubt the few miles across London will be any more dangerous than six years on the front lines,” Stanley said. “I’ll have Pluck read me a bedtime story if I have nightmares afterward.”
“You are very suddenly in a bad mood,” Philip said.
“I—I’m only tired,” Stanley said and moved toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t you wish to say good-bye to Marjie?” Philip had followed him to the back of the box.
Stanley resisted the urge to look back toward the front of the box where Marjie sat. She, no doubt, would still be talking with him. He did not wish to see that any longer.
“If she asks”—the word if sat sour in his mouth—“tell her I was—”
“Tired?”
“Exactly. Deuced tired of this whole blasted mess.”
“I didn’t think the actors were that horrible,” Philip said.
“Not the play,” Stanley grumbled.
“Then what ‘blasted mess’?”
Stanley shook his head, feeling as weary as he’d claimed to be. He was tired of it all. “Life, Philip. Life.”
Chapter Five
Marjie had no idea why she was crying. Judging from the look on Lord Devereaux’s face, neither did he.
“Have I said something to upset you?” he asked, forehead creased, his expression growing ever more confused.
“Not at all. I am not even certain why I am crying.” She wiped at the tears that refused to stop. Thankfully, no one else in the drawing room seemed to have noticed. Explaining the downpour would have been both difficult and embarrassing. “I suppose I am a little weary. We were out late last night.”
“Yes, I know. You were worn to a thread when you left the theatre. That is the chief reason I asked how your day had been. I hadn’t meant to upset you with the question.”
The tears picked up pace. Marjie almost laughed out loud at the look of near horror on Lord Devereaux’s face. Why did gentlemen panic at the sight of tears? “I have had a difficult day,” she confessed, attempting to smile.
“Tell me.” That had become something of a regular expression between the two of them.
They had first met at a ball. Marjie had seen him sitting beside a pillar, alone, his spirits clearly depressed. Her heart had gone out to him; she had been feeling precisely the same way. Although Society would have condemned the forwardness of it, Marjie had made her way covertly around the room to where he’d sat and taken the seat beside him. His discomfort had been evident, but only a moment’s conversation had overcome the awkwardness of their unconventional introduction.
She had learned that he was returning to Society for the first time in more than three years since his wife had died. He had not been at all certain of the wisdom of attending the ball. Not having his wife beside him at the very events she had once attended with him had proven far harder than he had anticipated. Marjie had told him of Stanley and how she missed him most during evenings just like that one.
The next evening he found her at a musicale. The Duke of Hartley, an acquaintance of Philip’s and one of Lord Devereaux’s closest friends, performed the required formal introductions. She and Lord Devereaux spent many an evening in one another’s company, understanding, often silently, the loneliness the other endured. Whenever either noticed the other appeared particularly burdened, the phrase “Tell me” became a lifeline of compassion and empathy.
“I am worried about him,” Marjie said, coming back to the present.
“Captain Jonquil?”
She nodded even as she forced the tears to stop. She simply could not break down again in a drawing room filled with half a dozen people in attendance for Sorrel’s at-home.
“He left so suddenly last night,” she said.
“Yes, I noticed his rather abrupt departure.” Lord Devereaux had the oddest look on his face, as though Stanley’s leaving had been almost expected and he found it a little amusing. “The daggers I could feel being thrown at the back of my head quite suddenly disappeared.”
“Daggers?” What an odd thing to say.
Lord Devereaux didn’t explain. “And does the good captain seem well today?” He sighed. “Here come the tears again.”
Marjie shook her head at herself. “I am afraid I am a very emotional person. My sister finds me exhausting and regularly tells me so.”
“You may tell your sister I find you delightful.”
“She would never believe you.” Marjie laughed lightly. She took a shaky breath and a moment to regain her composure. Lord Devereaux was a very patient and kind man, precisely the sort of gentleman she had always wished her father had been. “I believe I am under control now.”
“For the moment, at least.”
She smiled at him. “You’re teasing me.”
“Only a little,” he said. “I think you need to be teased. Obviously, you have been far too often distressed lately.”
Marjie sighed but, remarkably, didn’t feel a single tear threatening to spill. “I simply don’t know what to make of the change in him.”
“Has he been unkind to you?” Lord Devereaux’s tone grew concerned.
“He has not been kind nor unkind. He has been absolutely nothing.” Marjie twisted her handkerchief around her fingers. “He does not speak to me or seek me out. He seldom even looks at me. I don’t know if
he is unwell or if his experiences changed him or if—if he does not—” If he does not care for me anymore. She couldn’t force the words out.
Lord Devereaux took hold of her hand, his grasp light and comforting. “I learned through difficult experience that it does not do to ask ‘What if?’ What will be, will be. Only when you allow yourself to stop worrying over those things you cannot control will you truly have any hope in your life.”
“Hope should lessen one’s worries,” Marjie said. Sorrel had told her that.
Lord Devereaux squeezed her hand and released it. She glanced up at him. His expression had grown sad once more—he was thinking of his wife again and missing her.
“I am sorry to be burdening you with my concerns,” Marjie said. “I know you have enough of your own.”
“Time spent with a friend is never a burden.” And yet his words and expression were not light.
“You must be eager to accept the Duchess of Hartley’s invitation to her Christmas house party.” Marjie knew he was anything but eager, but she further knew attending would do him a world of good.
“The fact that I am even considering attending is remarkably uncharacteristic,” Lord Devereaux said. “I doubt Her Grace has yet recovered from the shock of not receiving an immediate denial from me.”
“I hope you do go,” Marjie said. “It would be a very merry way to spend the Christmas season.”
“Merry is not my usual style.”
“I think it once was.”
The drawing room had thinned of all visitors except Lord Devereaux. Sorrel sat on the sofa reading a book. Philip had left at some point.
“When do you leave Town?” Marjie asked.
“At the end of the week,” Lord Devereaux said. “I have delayed my departure longer than usual.”
“Will you be attending Lord and Lady Techney’s ball tomorrow evening?” Marjie asked. She hoped he would be.
“Yes, it will be my social swan song for the remainder of the year,” Lord Devereaux said. “I hope you will save a dance for me.”
“Save a dance?” Marjie smiled. “Do you really think I will so suddenly be in demand?”
“Pardon me for saying so, but I sincerely hope not.” Lord Devereaux looked a little embarrassed by the admission. “I would miss your company if you spent the entire evening being squired about by all the young bucks of the ton.”
“Captain Jonquil will not be dancing,” Marjie said. “Perhaps he will sit with us and you will finally have a chance to truly know him.” Lord Devereaux had expressed a desire to meet Stanley but had not been granted the opportunity beyond the very brief introductions the evening before.
“I suspect, Miss Kendrick, that Captain Jonquil would not care to sit with the two of us.”
“Why not?” She was absolutely certain Stanley and Lord Devereaux would like each other.
Lord Devereaux smiled briefly. “My dear girl.” He shook his head. “Sometimes you are far too sweet natured for your own good.”
“Sorrel always says I am too vexing for my own good.”
“I think I need to have a talk with your sister. She does not appreciate you enough.”
“That is a very kind thing to say.”
Something seemed to catch his attention, and Lord Devereaux’s gaze shifted away from her. “Captain Jonquil,” he said, rising to his feet.
Marjie turned. Stanley stood not ten feet from them, leaning on his walking stick, his eyes locking with hers. He never allowed his gaze to linger, a tendency he had acquired since their separation in March. She couldn’t look away, the unexpected contact entirely capturing her.
Abruptly, his gaze darted to Lord Devereaux. Stanley bent at the waist, though he seemed unable to make the required bow. “Lord Devereaux.”
Stanley’s eyes returned to Marjie, and she had to concentrate on simply breathing. The shadows of illness still marred his face, but his eyes were as captivating and beautiful as ever. “Miss Kendrick.” Again he managed a semblance of a bow.
“Good afternoon,” Marjie said.
“You’ve been crying,” Stanley said.
“Only a little,” Marjie said.
“Why was she crying?” Stanley’s gaze skewered Lord Devereaux. His question sounded far more like a demand.
Lord Devereaux didn’t flinch, didn’t look remotely intimidated. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Me?” Stanley looked and sounded confused. Marjie was confused herself. “I haven’t been anywhere near her all day.”
“Thank you for making my point,” Lord Devereaux said.
“Ah, Lord Devereaux. I hoped you were still here.” Philip’s voice cut through the thick tension. “Could I have a moment?”
“Certainly.” Lord Devereaux turned back to Marjie. “Miss Kendrick, it has been a pleasure, as always.” He bowed over her hand. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening.”
“As do I,” Marjie said.
Lord Devereaux made his farewells to Sorrel. He gave Stanley a look that could be described only as a challenge as he passed. What had come over him? Lord Devereaux was generally very quiet and even-tempered.
“Where are you going tomorrow evening?” Stanley asked.
“Tomorrow evening?” Her eyes returned to him once more.
“Lord Devereaux said he would see you tomorrow.” Stanley’s brow pinched as he watched her.
“Lord and Lady Techney’s ball.” She resisted the urge to smooth his forehead with her finger. A man who, by his own admission, hadn’t been near her all day would likely not welcome such liberties. “He will be attending, and so will we.”
Stanley did not look away, neither did he speak.
“Lord Devereaux does not ever dance, and I seldom do.” Marjie tended to ramble under the influence of uncertainty. “At most balls, we spend a lot of time simply sitting and talking. I told him I thought you might enjoy joining us, but he seemed to think differently. I can’t understand it. He seemed to wish to make your acquaintance when I told him you had returned home, but just now, he was a little unwelcoming when I suggested you could sit with us tomorrow evening. It was almost as if he didn’t want you there.”
Marjie wasn’t certain that was quite the right interpretation of Lord Devereaux’s reaction, but it was the best she could manage. He certainly hadn’t agreed that Stanley would enjoy the arrangement.
“I’d wager he doesn’t want me there.” Stanley spoke so quietly Marjie wondered if she was meant to overhear. His eyes had swung to the door Lord Devereaux had left through, his expression thoughtful. “What did he do to make you cry, Marjie?”
“He didn’t make me cry. He simply asked me a question I wasn’t expecting.”
Stanley grew quite still. “He asked you a question? One that made you cry?”
Every ounce of color drained from his face. Marjie reached out in anticipation of a collapse. His glove pulled tight around the top of his walking stick, and his posture grew rigid.
“Stanley?” She touched his arm.
He still did not look at her. “Did you answer him?”
Had she answered the question? “Not entirely,” she said. “But I imagine he’ll ask me again.”
“What will your answer be?” His eyes bored into hers.
What would she answer the next time Lord Devereaux asked about her day? “I hope I will have a very positive answer.”
His hand caught hers, and his searching blue eyes grew intent upon her face. “But you aren’t certain that’s how you’ll answer?”
“No.” How was she supposed to know how some future day would go?
“Excuse me.” He pulled away without explanation or preamble. His bow, though less graceful than Lord Devereaux’s, was everything that was correct and proper.
Not another word between them was spoken. Stanley turned and walked unevenly out of the room.
Chapter Six
“Oh, you’re just so dashing in yer uniform, Cap’n Jonquil.” Pluck flipped an imaginary lock of h
air behind his shoulder and batted his eyelashes. Stanley was absolutely certain Pluck’s voice hadn’t been so piercingly high in a decade or more. “I’d be honored iffen ye’d sit beside me at this bang-up ball we’re attendin’.”
Stanley kept himself from smiling right up until Pluck started prancing around the room, humming several octaves above what was natural. Stanley actually laughed out loud when Pluck attempted a flitting leap.
“Oh, Cap’n, yer lyrical laughter is just music to me dainty, girlie ears!”
“It’s a very good thing you didn’t enact something like this on the Continent,” Stanley said. “The rest of the artillery would have strapped you to the cannons.”
“They’d have laughed till they wet themselves,” Pluck said. “Those boys was always laughin’ at somethin’ or other.”
“I know. We could hear the gunners laughing all night long.” Stanley turned toward his mirror, checking his appearance again. His face had filled out a little since his return, though he still wouldn’t be considered healthy looking by any stretch of the imagination. “I always wondered what was so blasted funny about gunpowder and exploding balls of lead.”
“We weren’t laughin’ about guns, Cap’n.” Pluck didn’t actually roll his eyes, but he sounded very much as if he had.
“What, then, were you laughing about?” Stanley asked. War was not at all funny.
“Stories from growin’ up. Jokes we’d heard along the way.” Pluck moved closer and gave Stanley a look over. “Most of us was from London—street kids—ye know. We seen some funny things, heard some jokes that’d make a man laugh till he cried, but not the sort ye’d tell to yer mum.”
“I would imagine not.”
Pluck straightened Stanley’s collar, then looked him up and down. “Ye look a regular rum duke, Cap’n,” he said.
Stanley doubted he cut such a handsome figure as all that.
In the next instant, Pluck’s expression showed similar doubt. “That walking stick’s something of a sorry sight. Thing ain’t even straight. Makes ye look pathetic, it does.”
“Yes, but less pathetic than I would look sprawled in a heap on the floor.” Stanley limped away. He didn’t need to be reminded of the picture he made. Lord Devereaux would be reminder enough. The man was almost ten years older than Stanley but looked younger than he did. Lord Devereaux was fit and would be considered handsome. And apparently, he and Marjie were far more than friends, despite Philip’s explanation at the theatre earlier that week.
For Love or Honor Page 4
