Colonel Falwell leaned his prominent chin against one fisted hand, the arm bent, the elbow resting against the arm of his chair. “And your seat?”
“I road at a gallop yesterday.” That had been surprising and reassuring. Life in the army would be far harder if he was unable to ride well.
“A full gallop?”
“No.” The rhythm of his mount’s hooves had barely shifted to that of a gallop, certainly not reaching top speed.
“And your right hand? Is it usable?”
One thing could certainly be said for the army: efficiency always won out over tact. “I cannot grip a quill, sir, but I have been writing a little with my left.” He’d been working on another letter for Marjie, a longer one, and it was taking a great deal of time and effort.
Colonel Falwell nodded but did not comment. Stanley waited. The mantel clock ticked loudly in the silence. Stanley wished the interview were over. He already knew the outcome. Drawing out the inevitable only made the tension worse.
“Are you eager to rejoin your regiment?” Colonel Falwell asked after an uncomfortably long moment had passed.
“I am anxious to return to my duties.” He had rehearsed that answer. He believed in honesty, but one simply didn’t tell a commissioned officer that one would far rather visit the teeth drawer on a daily basis than return to life in the army.
“Ah, but that is not quite the same thing, is it?” Colonel Falwell shifted in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him still, but his gaze locked on Stanley. The man could probably make Wellington himself feel disconcertingly evaluated. “Why did you join the army, Captain Jonquil?”
That was another unexpected question. Stanley found he did not have an immediate answer.
“I know the usual reasons,” Colonel Falwell said, “and I can see any number of them applying in your situation. You are a younger son and are, therefore, obligated to earn your living. The army is a common choice for young gentlemen in your situation. You are also a natural leader.”
Stanley had never thought of himself that way.
“After meeting the earl just now and having known your father for many years before his passing, I believe leadership ability is a common trait amongst you Jonquils.”
“I did not realize you knew my father.”
Falwell nodded. “We had occasion to work together at a time when Parliament had decided the army had quite enough funding, though that was not at all the case. He supported our cause but was a cautious allocator of funds.”
That sounded like Father—giving and compassionate but always very careful.
“There are those who join the army for the glory they anticipate.” Colonel Falwell motioned with his hand, though no one in that category was present. “Those are the men who suffer the greatest disillusionment. I do not, however, believe you are among their ranks. I think you saw the King’s service as a means of doing good in the world.”
Stanley couldn’t prevent shifting in mounting discomfort. That had been one of his chief motivations in purchasing a commission, and it had proven an idealistic dream. He had, perhaps, helped lessen some of the suffering around him, but the good he’d done was frustratingly limited.
“We at Horse Guards have decided your regiment must be the most literate of any in all of His Majesty’s Army.”
“I do not understand.” How had that change of subject come about so suddenly?
“I have received no fewer than thirty letters from men who served with or under you.” Colonel Falwell appeared entirely serious, but something very like amusement lurked in his eyes. “They are worrying themselves into a decline over there in Paris, wondering what has become of you. ‘Is our captain returning?’ ‘Is our captain well?’ They are full of questions and even a few demands. At least half of them informed me that if you were still unwell, I was not to allow you to return. I am not, under any circumstances, to risk your life, limb, or happiness. If I ignore their instructions, I am positive we would soon have an entire outfit of mounted cavalry rushing Horse Guards with sabres drawn.”
“I have never encouraged insubordination.”
“I am not speaking of insubordination, Captain. I am speaking of loyalty.”
Fortitudo per Fidem. Stanley understood loyalty well. Why else would he willingly return to his own personal purgatory?
“You are a force in this army, much the way ‘Daddy Hill’ is. That is what the soldiers call him, is it not?”
Stanley nodded.
“Your men would, as Stone put it, walk into the enemy’s own drawing room if you required it of them. That amount of trust and dedication is invaluable. I will not prolong this interview any longer than needed. May I speak plainly and to the point?”
More plainly than he had been speaking? That would be something, indeed.
“Lord Hill and I agree—and we have discussed this with Wellington as well—that you would be a tremendous asset in the field. We realize that even restored to health, there are limitations to what you can do. Yours would be an organizational and leadership position without the requisite marching and, heaven forbid, combat role, should the need arise.”
It would. Stanley had been a soldier long enough to know that war would come again—if not on the Continent, then elsewhere in the world.
“We are offering you a promotion, Captain Jonquil. You would be made a major, though you will remain with the Thirteenth.”
Stanley’s lungs froze midbreath. He felt his jaw hang open. To be made a major while in his twenties was not merely unexpected—it was almost unprecedented.
“You could have a very decorated career in the army.” Colonel Falwell leaned forward in his chair, his gaze penetrating and focused.
A decorated career in the army. Before he’d joined, before half a decade of warfare, Stanley might have thought that the most tempting morsel that could have been dangled before him. All he could think of in that moment, however, was that a career in the army meant a lifetime of fighting.
“You are walking well. You can ride. You appear well enough to return.”
Stanley almost wished his conscience had been battered enough by war to allow him the luxury of lying. “I believe I am, sir.”
The colonel’s gaze narrowed. For several drawn-out minutes, neither of them spoke.
“Report to Horse Guards in one week’s time,” Colonel Falwell said. “You will leave directly from London to your regiment in France.”
“Yes, sir.” Stanley stood, recognizing that the interview had reached its conclusion. He saluted and received one in return.
As he stepped from the library, a weight settled into the pit of his stomach. He’d known his course from the beginning. Yet, fully facing it left him hollow and empty once more.
He reached the stairs. Marjie stood at the top, watching him, pale-faced and still. He couldn’t manage an expression that held any degree of reassurance, so he simply nodded.
Marjie didn’t speak a word. She turned slowly where she stood and disappeared down the corridor.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Marjie refused to cry. She’d known for weeks that Stanley would eventually be leaving. She understood why he had to and would not make doing so harder for him.
She watched two footmen load trunks onto the waiting carriage. Pluck was outside as well, in full uniform, climbing in and out of the carriage. He had been uncharacteristically somber ever since Colonel Falwell’s visit.
“You are worried about him,” Marjie had said the evening before. There had been no need to say to whom she referred; Pluck knew.
“’Course I am. Going back to all that is gonna kill him. Maybe not in the six-feet-underground way, but it’ll kill him. Daddy Hill sent him back here ’cause he was a breath away from bein’ dead inside.”
Marjie had pushed back the panic that had automatically come at those words. The tension in the house had been thick as mud for days, and she’d struggled to prevent herself from adding to it by giving vent to her fears. Stanle
y kept his distance from them all, very much the way he had when he’d first returned to England.
“I ain’t gonna let our cap’n be alone while his soul’s gettin’ chewed up and spit out again.”
“But?” Marjie had sensed there was more.
Pluck had pushed a breath through his teeth. “I don’t wanna go back. I joined the army ’cause I wouldn’t be just another London street maggot or a worthless rumbibber like my da. There was some great guns in the army.” Pluck had smiled a little. “We liked sayin’ that in the artillery, we were all great guns.”
Marjie had allowed a smile as well.
“But I like it here.” Pluck made a vague gesture, obviously indicating Lampton Park. “I like that it’s quiet. And there’s good people here. Here, I ain’t just another piece of useless trash like I was growin’ up, and I ain’t stuck loadin’ guns, waitin’ to be another name on a list o’ dead soldiers.”
“Could you sell out?”
“I could, but I ain’t gonna.” He’d shot a defiant look at her. “I go where he goes.”
Marjie watched Pluck helping with the preparations for their journey, and her heart hurt for him. Were they all doomed to be unhappy?
Unhappiness certainly seemed Stanley’s fate. Returning to his regiment would, as Pluck had said, destroy him. Remaining in England would as well. He would torture himself over what would, to him, amount to dishonorable behavior.
Marjie heard Philip before he ever came into view. A man who sauntered about with a dozen fobs on his watch chain did not move quietly.
“Are they about ready?” he asked, obviously referring to those preparing the carriage.
Marjie nodded.
Philip too had been heavier of spirit. He was accompanying Stanley to Town. He had business that needed attending to that he would prefer to complete before Sorrel’s condition reached the point where he didn’t dare leave her. For once, she had not insisted that she could take care of herself. They all understood that complications were unavoidable and that a happy outcome was far from guaranteed.
“Stanley will be down in a moment.” Philip had apparently noticed her gaze wandering to the staircase.
“I want only to say good-bye.”
Philip nodded. “I know. Only, try to make this easier on him. Stanley is struggling right now, and he needs us to be supportive.”
“I will.” She was determined to.
Philip stepped outside. Marjie could hear him speak to the coachman but could not understand the words. Her gaze returned to the staircase.
Do not make this harder on him, she silently reminded herself. A brief, friendly farewell. A smile. Encouraging. Supportive. She repeated the list several times, reminding herself of the role she must play.
She nearly lost her resolve when she saw Stanley coming down the stairs. To the casual observer, he would have appeared a typical army officer about to rejoin his regiment. His expression, though, was all but blank. Though he did not lean heavily on his stick nor seem to be struggling with his balance, he moved slowly, with an obvious reluctance in his step.
“Do not make this harder on him.” She clasped her hands in front of her to prevent herself from touching him as he approached.
“Are you the footman this morning?” His false lightness pierced her.
She could not manage to respond but tightened her clasp. They stood in heavy silence. Stanley’s gaze moved about the room, lingering a moment on an ormolu plaque of the Jonquil family crest that hung just above the door. Finally, he turned and looked at Marjie but quickly shifted his focus to the carriage just beyond the tall window they stood beside.
“I understand Layton and Marion are taking you to Town for the Season.”
“Yes. In March.” She dreaded it. More balls at which she would be forced to dance with gentlemen she cared nothing for, more evenings spent wondering where Stanley was and if he was well, more loneliness.
Stanley nodded. “I am—” He stopped abruptly. Stanley stood stiff and perfectly upright. She knew the stance; he had become a soldier once more.
She pulled her hands behind her back. Every inch of her longed to simply hold him, to try to find her Stanley beneath the empty expression and rigid posture.
Stanley spoke again. “I want you to—No. I need you to be happy, Marjie. I need to know that you are going on with your life.”
Going on with her life? Did Stanley not realize that he was too integral a part of her life for it to simply go on without him? Do not make this harder for him. She didn’t speak, didn’t move.
“Will you write to me still and tell me how you are?” He finally looked at her. The bleakness in his eyes drained Marjie of every lingering hope she had. Until that moment, until she saw the pain he couldn’t completely hide, she had held on to the possibility that he would find some joy in his career and in the life that stretched out ahead of him.
“Of course I will.” She would write him epistle-length letters filled with completely fabricated reassurances of her happiness if it would bring him some measure of comfort. Knowing as she did that her letters had given him strength to survive, she would never cease writing to him.
Pluck poked his head inside. “Time to go, Cap’n.” He left as quickly as he’d come.
Stanley stood still, watching Marjie. She didn’t move either.
Don’t make this harder, she kept telling herself, even as every instinct in her strained to hold him there.
“I have to go.” He still did not move.
Marjie nodded. “Please be careful, Stanley.” She had no idea how she managed the words without crying.
“I will. And I’ll write to you, though the letters won’t be long.” He raised his gloved right hand, grimacing as he did.
“I will be happy to receive anything you send me.” She sounded far more impersonal than she’d intended, but she knew if she allowed herself even a hint of emotion, she would completely break down.
“I have no idea when I will see you again, but—” Stanley’s gaze slid away again. “I just wanted to say that—that I—”
Please tell me you love me. She needed to hear it but didn’t ask. She would ease his way even if doing so required a stilted and disconnected farewell.
A footman came up the front steps to the door and opened it wide.
“I have to go now.” Stanley’s voice was quiet, empty.
“Good-bye, Stanley.”
His eyes met hers. Marjie waited, silently pleading for some words of affection, but he didn’t speak again. He simply nodded and left.
***
Dinner was a solemn affair, and not for Marjie only. Sorrel felt too ill to join them. Mariposa and Jason were the only Jonquils who had not yet departed following The Gathering several days earlier. Marion was near enough to her confinement that Layton remained at Farland Meadows. Only Harold, who had joined them for dinner, spoke. He quoted and expounded upon the thirty-first Psalm until Marjie was ready to strangle him.
Mariposa saved her the trouble. “We had a rooster once that was very much like Señor Harold,” she said to no one in particular. “He made a great deal of noise and spoke very much, though almost no one heeded him.” She lifted a forkful of fish but paused before putting it in her mouth. “He was delicious.”
Jason sputtered but managed to hold back a laugh. Marjie genuinely smiled for the first time in days.
Harold raised an obviously disapproving eyebrow and continued eating in blessed silence.
Marjie liked Harold, for the most part. He had a good heart, as all the brothers did, but he also had the unfortunate tendency to become prosy. At that moment, the family needed compassion more than sermonizing.
Mater, who had not spoken a word all day, quite suddenly broke her silence. “I cannot bear this.” A thread of determination ran through her words. “I have been a horrid, unfeeling mother.”
“Mater?” Jason’s confusion echoed Marjie’s and, based on the looks on the others’ faces, everyone else’s as we
ll. “How can you say such a thing?”
“I tried to not be emotional or to appear upset. I tried to ease his way. Stanley was unhappy enough. I tried to be impersonal as Philip suggested so as not to add to Stanley’s struggles. But I am his mother, by the stars. There should be nothing impersonal about that.” She set her fork down with an audible clink.
Mariposa nodded with her characteristic conviction. “Philip is a man.” She waved a hand, dismissing and condemning all in one gesture. “These men, they do not understand anything.”
Again, Harold’s eyebrow lifted. Jason grinned.
“‘Act like your heart is made of stone,’ Philip says to you. ‘Señor Stanley will be happier if his family treats him like a rag they will not miss at all.’ I told Philip that he was, of all the men in the world, the most stupid. I threw my arms around Stanley and wept because my heart was weeping. You English, you are too afraid of emotions. You fight against your feelings.” Mariposa shook her head and shrugged. “Of all things, a person ought to feel. Without feelings, what are we? We are nothing more than moving paintings.”
Like a rag they will not miss at all. Marjie had stood stoically as she’d made her farewells, saying nothing personal or tender, simply stating that she would read his letters. Stanley must wonder if she cared for him at all.
“I have to see him once more.” Mater looked from Jason to Harold and back again. “Please, boys. One of you must accompany me to London. I would be but a day behind him and could arrive, God willing, before he departs for the Continent.”
“Of course you must go,” Mariposa said. “This is not a question.”
“I cannot leave Sorrel, but she is not well enough to travel.” Mater’s brow furrowed at the complication. “And Marion is near her time. Layton will worry.”
“Mariposa and I will stay here,” Jason said. Marjie had thought, from the moment they were introduced, that Jason had the voice of a barrister—logical, calm, and very persuasive. “We will send to Havenworth for Clara. Being a mother already, she will know what is to be done should either of our sisters-in-law have need while you are away.”
For Love or Honor Page 21
