For Love or Honor

by Sarah M. Eden

  Mater turned to Harold, the expectation in her eyes unmistakable.

  “I can be ready to depart in the morning, if that is what you wish,” he said.

  Mater nodded, the lines of her face easing with relief. Instantly, Marjie began formulating a plan. She simply had to find a way to be included in the journey.

  The family removed to the sitting room after their meal. Though there likely was a more elegant way of making her request, Marjie had not the patience to formulate one. She sat beside Mater, took a breath for courage, and pressed forward. “I wish to ask a favor,” she said.

  Mater met her eyes with a gaze deeply kind and maternal. “You wish to join me on my journey to London, I’d wager.”

  She wanted to explain, to lay bare the reasons her own farewell to Stanley had been insufficient. She wanted to reassure Mater that she would not be a burden during the journey. Her words, however, caught in her throat. All she could do was nod and blink back the mingled relief and sadness and worry that sat so heavily upon her mind.

  “I will ask Harold to arrive early,” Mater said. “We will waste not a moment.”

  Marjie rose once more. “I will go begin my preparations, then we need not be delayed.” She left quickly, pushed onward by the hope that she would see her beloved one more time and could tell all that was in her heart. He needed to know that he was loved, and she needed him to understand how precious he was to her.

  Upon reaching her bedchamber, she made a discovery that distracted her from her purpose: a single white rose on her dressing table and a folded, sealed missive beside it.

  Her name was printed in blocky handwriting across the front. He had written to her, just as he had promised. Even before he had promised. The letter had to have been composed before their very brief, all-too-formal leave-taking.

  She opened it, desperate for this small connection to him.

  My dearest Marjie,

  She lowered herself onto her bed, hearing that tender greeting echo in her mind in his voice.

  Writing with my left hand is a slow process. I have begun this letter a full week before Colonel Falwell is scheduled to arrive in the hope that it will be completed before I leave for France.

  I have just now retired for the night after spending the afternoon amongst my fellow soldiers. Did I thank you for that? I’d like to think I did, but am certain I did not do so enough. You have given me something to cling to as I contemplate returning to that life I disliked in so many ways. I had, until this day, forgotten how truly good were the men I served among.

  But still, Marjie noted, he did not say how good he himself was, nor that he had done some good for his men. She was grateful to have helped but felt something of a failure in spite of that small triumph.

  Colonel Falwell has just come and gone, and I find myself preparing to depart. Are you upset with me? I wonder. Perhaps you are disappointed. I hope in time you will understand why I must return.

  She did understand, and she applauded his integrity. If only her circumstances had permitted her to lay claim to that loyalty herself. But life had placed them both in an untenable situation. They could not be together but could not bear to be apart.

  My bedchamber is once again packed and emptied of much that identifies it as having belonged to me. A soldier is, by nature, a nomad, a wanderer without a home. I should have liked to have had one though. I would, if I were able, choose a home with a vast stretch of land in some quiet and peaceful place. I find myself picturing a great many sheep.

  A moment’s laugh bubbled in her heart. She knew him well enough to recognize the remark as a humorous one. She hoped that meant his spirits were not entirely low.

  I shall picture you in a home just like that, joyous and content. In doing so, I will worry for you less and will be at peace, knowing you are happy.

  Take care, my dearest Marjie. Do not allow your sister to torment you with her defensiveness. Give Mater a hug from her “sweet Stanley.” And whatever else you may do, write to me.

  With all my love,

  I remain your affectionate and devoted

  Stanley

  Marjie pressed the letter to her heart and closed her eyes. How perfectly she could picture the pastoral scene he had described. She could see him there as peaceful as he’d imagined she would be in such a setting. He deserved that more than she did. In returning to a life he disliked so much, one that burdened him so strenuously, he was not likely to find the peace he sought. She would content herself with knowing he had that dream of an imaginary sanctuary among the hills to which he might escape.

  She would see him soon. She refused to believe they would be too late. All she asked was one more embrace, a kiss of farewell, and the chance to tell him she loved him. If she could have that, she could, somehow, someday, find a way of making her own peace with the too-often cruel hand of fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “What do you say I skip on across the Channel in the dashing uniform and you stay here and deal with Fallowgill?” Philip slapped a stack of papers onto the desk in front of him and leaned back in his chair with a puff of irritated breath.

  “Trouble in Yorkshire?” Stanley appreciated the diversion. He would report in only two hours and was doing his utmost not to think on it too closely.

  “Actually, in London. One would think that finding an estate manager who was both competent and honest would be a simple undertaking. Either all the desirable candidates have gone into hiding out of fear of being stunned speechless by my sartorial splendor, or London’s hiring houses are capable of presenting to me only men who lack both credentials and common sense.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Philip, but you would encounter a great many incompetent buffoons in the army as well.” Stanley thought of Major Horace-Fulton and smiled despite the encroaching despondency he’d fought all day.

  He was dressed as a major, having been officially awarded that rank the day before. Never had he felt less himself in his uniform. It was as much a mask as the bright, flamboyant clothes Philip wore. He was playing a part and would continue to do so for the rest of his life.

  “So I am doomed to deal with idiots all my life.” Philip’s amused expression took Stanley back to their childhood. Philip had worn a perpetual grin, by far the happiest of all the brothers. Stanley had often depended on that exact look on his oldest brother’s face when he felt worried or unhappy.

  “You could always abandon your estates and your responsibilities and go live a life of ease and indulgence in the Former Colonies,” he suggested. “I hear that is the order of the day across the water.”

  “And yet, Holy Harry is smitten with an American. That is very nearly blasphemous. I wonder if the archbishop knows.”

  Stanley laughed, and after a moment, Philip’s dry expression broke into a grin.

  “A life of indulgence, you say?” Philip made quite a show of contemplating the suggestion. “I thumb my nose at all my convictions, my responsibilities, and turn my back on everything to which I ought to have been loyal. The idea has merit.”

  They both laughed again, knowing Philip would never choose such an absurd path.

  “Father would have had your hide if you’d even contemplated such a thing.”

  “He walked out on Parliament once,” Philip said. “I’d wager you didn’t know that.”

  Stanley had never heard anything so preposterous.

  “It must have been twenty years ago. The Reign of Terror had ended, but France was far from stable. War was raging on the Continent. There were riots throughout Britain. An air of panic and unease permeated the nation, as well as Parliament.”

  “Father would not have walked out if circumstances were so unsettled.” Stanley knew that with perfect clarity.

  “You wouldn’t think so,” Philip said. “I was young, but I remember everyone seemed a little on edge at that time. Mater was increasing. I was old enough to realize that, but I don’t think any of the rest of you understood.”

 
“Increasing?” That was too long ago for Charlie but would have been after Harold was born.

  Philip nodded. “The child was stillborn. A girl. That, I think, made the loss even harder for Mater. She wrote to Father, but I don’t think she expected him to come, he having committed himself to saving the country.”

  No. Father would not have turned his back on that responsibility.

  “He arrived at the Park a couple of days later. Mater was shocked. I remember Father’s exact words after she said she hadn’t expected him to return. ‘By the stars, Julia. I am the only husband you have! Where else would I be?’

  “I had been with Mater. She had been sitting in the nursery, silently holding Harold. I had no idea what to do. He handed Harold to Nurse and led Mater away. I didn’t see much of either of them for days. Father didn’t return to London for months.”

  But Father had made a commitment to Parliament. He’d abandoned his responsibilities. Stanley stopped the thought the moment it formed. Father had had a responsibility to his family as well.

  “I wish I knew what he said to her during those long weeks.” Philip leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. “How does a husband comfort his wife after the loss a child, especially when enduring that loss himself?”

  Stanley recognized the question beneath the one Philip had posed out loud. “You are thinking of Sorrel.”

  Philip nodded, pain passing over his features. “I spoke with several physicians here in London—I wanted to come partially for that reason. Dr. Habbersham is growing older and told me he does not mean to continue his practice much longer. I need to find another man of medicine for the neighborhood. For Sorrel. I also wanted additional opinions on her current prognosis. I need to know if—” For a moment, Stanley thought Philip might actually cry. His expression held deep worry and barely held-back emotion. “They hold out very little hope. Each one believes she will lose the child.”

  Why was hope in such short supply? Of all things, a person ought to have hope.

  “What am I going to do, Stanley?” Philip’s words were choked to the point of near incomprehensibility. He rubbed his face with his palms, heavy breaths pushing through the cracks between his fingers. “This will tear her apart. I have no idea how to help her. If I could just take all the pain of this away, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. I can’t do a blasted thing.”

  “You will be with her, Philip. That will help.”

  “I’ve made arrangements so that I need not leave the Park for the next few months. My Parliamentary secretary will keep me informed on bills so I can communicate with my colleagues. If I can get my Yorkshire problem sorted out, all the estates should run smoothly without my interference. I hope nothing unforeseen arises. I do not want to have to leave her.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Philip looked up at him.

  “Suppose Fallowgill falls into complete disrepair or Parliament loses its collective mind,” Stanley said. “Even if you could help, you’re needed at home. Father would remind you that you are the only husband she has. That’s where your loyalties lie, Philip. That will give you the strength you need.”

  Philip sighed and nodded. “Strength through loyalty. Sometimes I’m not sure to which loyalty that refers.”

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Jeffers stepped inside the book room. Philip didn’t bother with his dandy persona. “The Dowager Lady Lampton has just arrived.”

  “Mater is here?” Philip sounded as surprised as Stanley felt.

  Before Stanley could summon a single thought to ponder why their mother had traveled all the way to London in the harshness of winter, Mater rushed into the room. His first reaction was panic—Mater looked frantic. He stood as she entered, his heart hammering out a concerned rhythm.

  “Mater, what in heaven’s name—?”

  Mater had her arms around Stanley before Philip even finished the question. “Oh, my sweet Stanley,” she said. “You haven’t left yet.”

  “I have a few minutes remaining.” He had planned to retrieve his belongings and leave within the hour.

  “Philip.” Mater skewered Philip with a look of warning that echoed a thousand different moments from their childhood. “I am about to be a gushing, weeping mother, and you had best not have anything to say about it.”

  Philip stood in stunned silence.

  “As a matter of fact,” Mater said, “I would very much appreciate your leaving us in privacy for a moment.”

  “Of course.” Philip crossed to her. He kissed their mother on her cheek and left as she had requested.

  Mater watched her eldest son, then turned to face Stanley once more. She looked concerned, perhaps even a little confused. “Has he been crying?”

  Stanley nodded. “A little. He is worried about Sorrel.”

  “Yes. Hers is a situation not likely to end happily.” Mater’s voice filled with empathy, something Stanley would not have fully appreciated before Philip’s revealing conversation. “She has a good husband though, and that will help. Our Philip has grown into a very fine gentleman. All of you boys have.”

  Stanley didn’t know about that. Very fine gentlemen did not, he imagined, kill people nor send men to their deaths. He had not done so in cold blood nor with any degree of murderous intent. That was some consolation.

  “Are you well, Mater?” He did not like the signs of fatigue and worry in her face.

  “I had to tell you because I did not when you left.” She touched his face with her hand. “I love you, my boy. You have ever been a comfort to me, and my heart aches to know you will be so very far away. I worry over you, over your well-being and your safety, and, most importantly, your happiness.” Tears flowed freely down her face.

  Stanley watched her, astonished. Mater did not cry often and not ever copiously.

  “I am proud to have a son who is honorable, and I would never, ever ask you to compromise your integrity. Still, I wish with all my heart you did not have to go. Returning to that life will be so hard on you. It will be horrible for me as well. You bring me such joy and comfort, and without you here, I know I will struggle to feel that happiness. I did when you left the first time, and I did when you returned to the Continent in March.”

  Pain stabbed at Stanley’s heart. He was hurting his mother, of whom he’d designated himself protector from the time he was a young child. He had to return to the army. He was needed and expected and committed. Yet doing so would hurt her.

  “I did not say anything when you left the Park because I feared burdening you, but you need to know. Above all else, you must know I love you.”

  Stanley kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He’d done so ever since he was tall enough to reach. They stood, her weeping into his handkerchief, hers having already become too soggy to be useful, and he holding her in a tight embrace.

  “I have to go back, Mater.” How often had he said that over the last week, both to himself and to others? Father had often said that doing the right thing was not always easy. Stanley had not been prepared for just how difficult it was proving. “I pledged my loyalty to the kingdom in this way. I cannot break that pledge.”

  “I know.” Mater spoke steadier than before. “Fortitudo per Fidem.”

  “It is a powerful creed.”

  She stepped back and met his eye. “Harold told me once that he thinks the family might be mistranslating those words. He takes great pride in his grasp of Latin, you know.”

  “He takes great pride in a lot of things,” Stanley said rather out of the side of his mouth.

  Mater bit her lips, clearly holding back a laugh. “Watching him grow into his role will be . . . interesting.”

  Yet another thing Stanley would be missing. “What objection does Harold have to our interpretation?”

  “Fidem, he insists, can and should be interpreted as ‘loyalty,’ but there is another translation he feels is just as important, just as crucial.”

  Stanley set his mind back to his long-ago instruction in Latin but co
uld not remember another meaning.

  “Faith,” Mater said. “Strength through faith.”

  Stanley had not once thought of the family creed in those terms, and his mind would not, for a moment, wrap itself around this new version.

  “‘Strength through loyalty,’ loyalty to one another, to causes we believe in, to those things and people and ideals to which we pledge our devotion. It is and always will be an important and necessary character trait of any good and upright person,” Mater said. “But ‘strength through faith,’ faith in the promise of a brighter tomorrow, faith in the impact of a life well lived, and, my dear, sweet Stanley, faith in yourself, in your goodness, dear heavens, your deep and abiding goodness . . . That is just as important, just as crucial. Live your life with integrity, my boy, but do not live it without hope.”

  He breathed back the emotion that emerged, keeping himself steady for her sake. “You are asking me to be optimistic.”

  “I am asking you to believe.”

  “Each of us boys learned long ago that when our Mater tells us to do something, we do not argue.”

  “See that you don’t.” She smiled tremulously. “I love you, Stanley. I love you so very much. I did not want to make your farewell any harder than it had to be, but I needed to tell you that. I could not let you leave without doing so.”

  He could not even find the words to respond. No matter where life took him, no matter his struggles to believe in himself and the path life had put him on, a man needed to know his mother loved him.

  “I will require another hug and a kiss before you leave,” she said as if warning him, “but there is one more farewell that needs to be remade.” She turned back to face the door. “Come in, child. I have never seen Stanley stunned into such complete silence. You’ll have no difficulty saying whatever it is you wish to say.”

  Stanley followed his mother’s gaze directly to Marjie. Neither of them moved as Mater left, but they watched each other silently. By far, the most difficult and uncomfortable leave-taking had been with his angel. He’d wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words to do so. He’d desperately longed to hold and kiss her, but he’d been afraid he would fall to pieces if he so much as touched her.