For Love or Honor

by Sarah M. Eden

  Stanley. He stood at the gate, still, dimly lit by the light from the mews, his face turned up into the falling rain.

  “Stanley.” A rush of wind whisked the strangled whisper away. She pulled a breath into her lungs. “Stanley.” Her voice carried.

  He looked in her direction. Could he see her despite the dark of night? Some light spilled out of the house behind her but not much.

  She dashed out from beneath the covered terrace’s protective roof and into the falling rain. Mud and water seeped through her house slippers. She called out his name again.

  He rushed toward her. Marjie braced herself against a sudden gust of wind, shuddering as it cut through her damp dress.

  Stanley reached her in a moment. He wrapped his arms around her and, though he was even wetter than she, his embrace warmed her through. He whispered her name again and again as his lips brushed over her rain-drenched face. She clung to him, only the bite of the wind convincing her that she was not dreaming.

  “You’ve missed your ship.” She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the feeling of his arms around her once more.

  “Yes, entirely,” he said very near her ear. He pressed a kiss to her hair.

  Marjie lifted her hand to touch his rain-drenched face. She could see so little of him. Her fingers ached and shook with cold but told her what her eyes could not with certainty: he was real, and he was there with her.

  “The Triumphant has left.” She fought for clarity despite her heart’s insistence that she not lose a single moment of his company. “Why are you not on board?”

  “I needed to hold you.” His whisper echoed her own pleadings, and a suspicion as horrifying as it was hopeful formed in her mind.

  “You’ve sold your commission?” Hope warred with fear at the thought. “What of your commitment, your loyalty?” He would grow to regret allowing her pleadings to convince him to act against his own conscience. He would resent what he saw as his own dishonorable conduct, and he would come to blame her for it.

  “Tell me you needed me here, Marjie.” He kissed her right eyebrow. “Tell me you needed me to return.” He kissed the other.

  “I needed you before I even knew you.” Why the sudden need for reassurance? Did he not know how desperately she’d longed for someone like him, someone kind, affectionate, and gentle? Or had he realized as much and turned his back on his own convictions as a result? “What have you done, Stanley?”

  Pluck sauntered past, unbothered by the downpour. “Ain’t polite keeping a lady out in the rain,” he said.

  “What has happened, Pluck? He won’t tell me.”

  But the young man continued up the path without explanation, whistling a jaunty tune.

  Marjie turned back to Stanley once more.

  “Come stand under the terrace,” he said. “You are beginning to shiver.”

  He stepped in that direction, but Marjie took firmer hold of his coat and forced him to remain. “What have you done? I am panicking at the possibilities. Are you returning still, only later than planned? I cannot imagine you selling out or, heaven forbid, deserting, but you were supposed to have been on board—”

  He traced the line of her lips with his thumb. “I am soon to become the youngest retired major in the history of the British Army, or very nearly, at least.”

  “Retired?” Her brain had gone entirely numb.

  “In light of all I have done these past years”—a moment of pain passed through Stanley’s words. She ran her hand down his sleeve, urging him to continue while acknowledging the difficulty with which he spoke of his time in the army—“Colonel Falwell, with the backing of Lord Hill and Wellington, has declared my service complete, honorable, and . . . enough.”

  She held her breath, waiting, watching.

  “I have been placed on half pay while the details are finalized. I will undertake some domestic responsibilities on behalf of the army but am otherwise released from my obligation to continue actively in His Majesty’s service.”

  “Retired?” She repeated that word, uncertain what exactly it entailed.

  “Yes, my love.” He held her face tenderly in his hands.

  “How is that different from selling your commission?” She knew that was something he would consider an act of disloyalty.

  “I am not choosing it. I kept my word, and I went back, and they are releasing me.” His words emerged nearly breathless. “I could never have simply walked away, not while they still wanted me there, not while the army still felt I needed to serve.”

  “They no longer feel that?” To know his departure was not viewed as abandoning his duties would make all the difference for him. “They are ending your time there, not you?”

  “Falwell said I have given all that was ever expected of me and more,” he said. “They are releasing me. I can retire without choosing to leave.”

  Her mind continued to spin, struggling to make sense of his return, of his future. “I did not realize that was a possibility.”

  He pushed a strand of her water-soaked hair off her forehead. “It was not a path I could have chosen for myself, so I never considered it. One either sells out or continues to fight. There was never a third option for me.”

  “But you . . . ?” She hardly dared speak the ending she hoped belonged to that sentence.

  “I am done, Marjie. I am done.”

  Her heart pounded hard against her ribs. “Done? You do not have to go back?”

  “I don’t have to go back.”

  “Not ever?”

  His voice caught on his response. “Not ever.”

  A sob escaped her throat. She buried her face in the front of his unbuttoned coat. She slid her arms inside so that she might truly hold him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, and they stood in the rain, the sound of her tears mingling with the rhythm of raindrops.

  “Marjie.” He spoke softly but without the heaviness that had laced through nearly every word he’d uttered in the past weeks. “Even in a siege, we were occasionally allowed to seek shelter in a downpour.” She felt the smallest chuckle in his chest. “Might we at least step beneath the terrace covering now?”

  He did not wait for her reply. He held her close to his side as he guided her back toward the house and up the stairs. He stepped back from her and shrugged out of his greatcoat. She felt the nip of cold in the air more acutely when not within the all-encompassing comfort of Stanley’s embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself as she began to tremble.

  He settled his coat about her shoulders and motioned for her to sit. He took his seat beside her on the backless bench. A light shone in the window behind them. “You should go inside and get warm, of course, but I must explain to you while we have a moment to ourselves.”

  Marjie leaned against him. The rain had not entirely washed away the smell of him.

  “Not being on active duty, I am currently at half pay and will continue at such after I have been granted retirement.”

  What cared she for remuneration details? Stanley was at her side, alive and whole, and he never had to leave again to live a life he despised. In the peace of home and with the support of his family, he could begin to truly heal.

  “I have a small bit of income from my father’s estate, but it is not sufficient to support a wife.”

  Marjie found she quite suddenly cared very much for the particulars of his financial situation.

  “I will require some time to find a position that would allow me to support anyone beyond myself,” he said. “I was always meant for the army and never learned to do anything else. I may find that I have no skills that make me employable.”

  She snuggled closer to him. “Only an hour ago, I would not have believed you could be here with me now, nor that you could have been released from your duties in a way that was both honorable and permanent. I refuse to lose hope now.”

  “Hope.” He smiled a little. “Mater says hope is the strength that comes from faith. I told her I would try to believe that som
ething good was coming, but I could not see how that could be true.”

  “All that is changed.” Marjie laid her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes, praying he understood that she was in earnest. “If I am at all capable of doing so, I will see to it that from this moment forward, hope fills your life to bursting.”

  “My angel,” he whispered before kissing her lingeringly.

  Her heart swelled inside her. Could it all truly be real?

  “Say you will marry me, dearest.” Stanley kissed her again before she could respond. He trailed light, airy kisses along her cheek before resting his jaw against her temple, his hand gently smoothing her damp hair. “A retired major with half a leg and a mangled hand is not precisely a catch, but I will love you all my life, and that life will be worth living again if you are beside me.”

  “I told you I would marry you even if you were a highwayman.” She settled herself into the crook of his arm, her neck bent so her head could rest on his shoulder.

  His arm squeezed her shoulders. “Yes, though I had inquired after your acceptance of a mere farmer.”

  “Either one would be fine with me.” She wished to remain there always but found she was beginning to tremble rather violently in her drenched clothing.

  “Personally, I find farming the far more dapper choice.” Marjie’s head jerked up at the sound of Philip’s voice. He stood just outside the french window Marjie herself had stepped through. “One can cut such a dash dressed as a country squire. Black masks and capes are so melodramatic, don’t you think?” He swung his quizzing glass on its ribbon, eying them both.

  “Stanley is returned.” Marjie blushed at the inanity of the remark.

  “Yes, so a certain cheeky young valet informed me a moment ago.” Philip expertly lobbed his glass into the tiny pocket at the front of his waistcoat and sauntered a bit closer. “From what little I overheard of your conversation, Stanley is about to descend upon Bath.”

  “Bath?” A smile lit Stanley’s tone. Marjie leaned against him once more. His heart had lightened.

  “Is that not where all the retired gentlemen of His Majesty’s Army spend their declining years?” Philip raised an eyebrow. Marjie had seen every one of the Jonquil brothers make that exact face, though Corbin’s rendition was far more subtle and Harold’s bordered on a prediction of divine retribution. “If you have not yet been fitted for a bath chair nor claimed your place at the pump room, I believe I may have a proposition for you.”

  “I do have some duties Horse Guards requires of me.” Stanley sounded quite curious. Marjie had not heard such unfettered anticipation in his voice since their earliest conversations. He was coming to life again!

  “I am not suggesting anything so drastic as to interfere with the workings of the powerful and influential at Horse Guards.” Philip opened his eyes so dramatically wide, Marjie couldn’t help a smile of amusement. “This proposition leans toward the long term, unless you have iron-clad plans for your future.”

  Stanley took hold of Marjie’s hand. “Only one thing is iron-clad.”

  “Perfect.” Philip nodded. “Allow the poor girl to dry off and warm up. I will give you a very brief and undetailed account of my ingenious plan while we seek out Mater. In return, you can explain to me just what brought Colonel Falwell to make such a complete change of position.”

  Stanley helped Marjie to her feet and kissed her hand before escorting her inside once more.

  She kissed him on the cheek when they were obliged to separate.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Marjie smiled. “I love you.” As she turned the corner to climb the stairs to her room, she heard Philip ask Stanley, “Tell me, brother, how do you feel about sheep?”

  ***

  Stanley stood amongst his brothers in the Lampton Park entryway. Mater stood beside Layton, Marion not being in attendance, having been delivered of a very small but blessedly healthy boy only one week earlier. Sorrel leaned upon Philip’s arm, her own health noticeably waning. Corbin’s wife had remained at Havenworth to nurse their daughter through a cold, though Corbin had made the hour-long journey. Jason and Mariposa were scheduled to depart for Thornton Manor the next morning. Harold had, thankfully, divested himself of his clerical robes, though his facial expression hadn’t changed. Charlie, the youngest, had arrived from Cambridge a mere two days earlier with Fennel, Marjie’s brother, whom he’d retrieved from Eton. Marjie’s mother had not come, though none of the Kendrick siblings appeared to have expected her to attend, nor did they seem upset at her absence.

  The day was clear, the weather fine but cold, as expected for December. The roads were not overly muddy, neither were they icy. Stanley wore his uniform, his retirement not yet official and feeling a keen obligation to be true to what remained of his commitment to the army.

  Not one of these happy circumstances compared to the joy he felt simply looking at his Marjie. Her smile lit her eyes as she descended the stairs to where he stood. She loved him in spite of all he’d confessed about his life in the army and his misgivings regarding his conduct there. He had admitted to her that he had not shared all of his experiences, that there were aspects of his service unfit for her to hear. She loved him anyway.

  “Mrs. Jonquil,” he greeted her, unable to resist the urge to call her that yet again.

  She blushed, as she had the first dozen times. She slipped her arm through his.

  “Are you ready to depart?”

  She nodded. “I am sorry I have delayed us a little.”

  “No matter.” Stanley laid his hand atop hers, where it rested on his arm. “We do not have far to travel today. We will make up time during the remaining legs of our journey.”

  Their progress would undoubtedly be slow. Stanley traveled relatively well, but the roads to Yorkshire could not be counted on in the winter. They were journeying by way of two Lampton holdings and a small estate owned by Marion’s cousin, the Marquess of Grenton. Should they find continuing impossible for a time, they would not be holed up at a chance-met inn.

  Stanley hoped the trip was uneventful. Philip had offered him the running of Fallowgill. Though the property was entailed, rendering Philip unable to sell it outright, he had proposed that Stanley use his “skills of leadership and organization” to see if he couldn’t turn a profit there. The undertaking would require time, years, most likely.

  Should Stanley manage to turn Fallowgill around, Philip had pledged, by means of a formal contract, to grant Stanley 50 percent of Fallowgill’s profits. Stanley and Marjie were also to be given use of the manor house. Given enough time, Stanley could save his income and they could find a home of their own.

  Good-byes were offered as they made their way to the door. The wedding ceremony that morning had been small, as both Marjie and Stanley had wished. Only the family remained for farewells.

  Marjie lingered over the hug she shared with her sister. Their relationship had changed in the previous weeks. Sorrel had learned to depend upon her loved ones more. Marjie had accepted that Philip and Mater could be trusted with her sister’s well-being. What had once been a strained connection had soothed into one of acknowledged need and necessary distancing.

  Stanley exchanged a glance with Philip. “She is unwell,” he whispered, indicating Sorrel.

  Philip nodded. “But she wished to see the two of you off.” Philip looked at his wife. The expression on his brother’s face told him beyond a doubt that he was mentally preparing himself for the worst.

  “You fought for years for the peace and safety of your family, Major Jonquil,” Colonel Falwell had said during that fateful interview only a few weeks earlier. “You have earned the right to see them happy. If their happiness requires your presence, then that is what they shall have.”

  As Stanley passed Harold, he found he could not hold back one last request. “Let me know if any visitors arrive in the neighborhood from America.”

  Harold raised his pontific eyebrow. The other broth
ers grinned, even Charlie, whom they had wasted no time informing of their discovery.

  Stanley and Marjie stepped outside toward the waiting carriage.

  Pluck held the carriage door open for them and bowed deeply. “Cap’n. Mrs. Cap’n.”

  No matter that Stanley was no longer a captain, Pluck still called him that. The name he had fashioned for Marjie he spoke with utter deference.

  “I am so pleased you are coming to Fallowgill,” she said.

  Pluck had accepted Stanley’s offer with unfettered enthusiasm. The boy had hardly stopped speaking of it since.

  “I never lived in the country,” Pluck said. “Glad to try my hand at it.”

  The country, Stanley firmly believed, would be a healing balm to them all.

  A warm brick had been placed in the carriage. Stanley climbed in after Marjie and laid his walking stick along the bench opposite them. She snuggled close. He settled a carriage blanket about them both and wrapped his arm around her.

  He allowed a sigh of contentment.

  “Do you realize we first met one year ago today?” she said.

  Stanley brushed the back of his knuckle along her cheek. “I did realize that.”

  “You are happy?”

  “Words cannot express how happy I am, my dearest.”

  Marjie’s arm wound about him. Stanley pulled the blanket more firmly around her.

  “Tell me again about Fallowgill,” she said.

  He had done so many times since Philip had made his offer.

  Stanley leaned his head back against the squabs and closed his eyes, a picture forming there. In his mind, he saw a combination of the few memories he had of the small holding and Philip’s description of it as it stood presently. “Fallowgill lies in a lush green valley. Several streams run through the property. The house sits on a small rise and is surrounded by fields of white sheep. Philip said the nearby village is small and remarkably friendly. York can be reached in a day’s journey. There are no large roadways nor cart paths running nearby. Fallowgill is quiet and fairly remote.”