by Cheryl Holt
Amelia looked over at Laura where she was sitting in the corner. The girl had blossomed significantly since they’d reached London. She talked occasionally, not a lot, but occasionally. She still scrupulously studied her surroundings though, as if wondering whether she might suddenly have to escape danger.
She frequently stared out the window. Victoria had once inquired as to why, and she’d claimed, I’m watching for Captain Hastings.
He’s not ever coming, Victoria had responded. He had a chance to accompany us, but he didn’t want to.
We’ll see, Laura had said, as if she knew a secret Victoria didn’t.
“I’m going out for a few hours,” Amelia told Laura. “Would you like to join me?”
Laura nodded and went to the hooks by the door to grab her own bonnet.
As she tied it on, Amelia asked Victoria, “Will you be all right?”
Amelia worried incessantly about her brother, that he might lose his temper or bark at Victoria without Amelia present to intervene.
Victoria waved her away. “I’ll be fine. Your brother will be fine. Don’t fret about us.”
Amelia hesitated, nearly decided not to venture out after all, but Victoria rose and shooed her out. Then she settled down on the sofa and was enjoying the peace and quiet. Soon, it was shattered though. A loud crash banged overhead, and Evan Boyle bellowed, “Dammit all to Hell!”
She tarried, debating her role in the house, in the family. Should she interfere? Or should she disregard his outburst? Probably, but she wasn’t a cruel person, and she couldn’t ignore another’s suffering.
Chastising herself for a fool, she forced herself up the stairs. She found poor Evan Boyle in his bedchamber, moping in a chair like a whipped dog. He’d pitched a writing tray across the room. It had smashed into the wall, creating a huge mess. Quills and parchment were haphazardly scattered. A jar of ink had tipped onto the rug.
Without requesting permission to enter, she tromped in and picked it all up, especially the ink before it soaked into the fabric and stained it.
“What do you want?” he sullenly asked.
“It sounds as if you’re having a bad morning,” she placidly replied.
“Get out,” he snidely muttered. “I don’t need any of your paltry assistance.”
“I haven’t offered it,” she muttered just as snidely.
She scanned the papers she’d retrieved, and they were from the navy. Evidently, he’d been trying to sign them, but couldn’t manage the elemental task. A great flood of sympathy washed over her, but she tamped it down, letting her exasperation flare instead.
“It’s clear you’re throwing a tantrum,” she said to him. “It’s your constant state. What’s the matter now?”
At her perusing the documents, he looked a tad frightened. “Put those away. There’s a stack over there.”
He gestured to a desk that was buried with unopened letters. She marched over and riffled through the pile, and it was all from the navy.
“You’re falling behind on your correspondence,” she pointed out.
“Which isn’t any of your business at all.”
She snooped in the envelope on the top of the heap, seeing that it was his retirement papers. There was a cover letter too, with the dreaded words, in light of your recent impairment…
She tossed the terrible topic out into the space between them. “They’re demanding you retire.”
“I’m aware of that. I lost a hand, not my eyes or my brain.”
“You know, First Officer Boyle, I really can’t abide surly men.”
“I didn’t ask you to come in here. If you don’t like my attitude, you don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, well, your sister—who is a veritable saint where you’re concerned—is out running errands. I told her I’d look after you while she’s away, but I don’t have the patience for nonsense that she does.”
She dragged a chair over to him, and he watched her warily, as if she might bite. She sat down directly in front of him so he couldn’t avoid her steely gaze.
“Why haven’t you filled these out?” she asked.
He hemmed and hawed, then spat, “Because I bloody well can’t fill them out.”
“I understand completely.” She nodded to the desk. “Are you ready to resign? Have you thought about it? You realize, don’t you, that you can’t continue at your post? Not after you’ve been so severely maimed.”
He glared at her, then glanced away, appearing ashamed. “Yes, I realize it.”
“It must be difficult to think about quitting.”
“Mrs. Bennett, you have no idea.”
“I have some. My husband, General Bennett, often claimed he’d rather be dead than retire. His entire identity revolved around the army. He couldn’t imagine any other way to carry on.”
“Neither can I.” Furiously, he added, “The bastards have offered me ten pounds to compensate me for the loss of my hand. Apparently, that’s what a man’s appendage is worth.”
She scoffed. “No one ever said the navy was staffed by geniuses.”
“You’re correct about that.”
“Come,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“The navy is insisting you go away, but you’re fighting the prospect. It’s killing you—even though you comprehend that your career as a sailor is over.”
“Yes,” he softly concurred.
“You’ve always been loyal and devoted. Your superiors have given you a final command. Will you disobey them?”
“If I comply, what will become of me?” His anguish was heart-breaking. “If I agree, where will I be then?”
“You’ll be here—with your sister and me. We’ll build a new life for you.”
She wanted to say, You’re about to be an uncle, so you need to get your act together!
But that was a conversation for another day.
“Come!” she repeated more firmly. “I’ll guide the quill for you. We’ll sign every document, then it will all be over, and you can cease fretting about it.”
She didn’t supply him with an opportunity to refuse. She simply grabbed his good arm and led him over to the desk. Then she began opening the envelopes, figuring out the import of each one, and pointing to the line where his signature was required.
She would dip the quill, put it in his hand, then hold tight while he scrawled as best he could. When they finished, he shuddered, his body quaking with the implications of what he’d set in motion.
“It’s over,” he murmured.
“Yes, once and for all. It’s done.”
He peered up at her, his gaze tormented. “Don’t call me First Officer Boyle anymore. I don’t wish to be reminded of who I used to be.”
“Oh, be silent, First Officer Boyle. You were gravely wounded and nearly died for your country. I intend to remind you—and everyone I meet—how proud I am of you.”
He tsked with derision. “You’re quite deranged, Mrs. Bennett.”
“I’ve heard it said about me occasionally, especially from my deceased husband. He thought I was mad as a hatter. Now then”—she pulled him to his feet—“I mean this in the very nicest way, but you need a bath.”
“I don’t want to take a bath.”
“Well, we all want you to take one. You’re disgusting, and we can’t bear to be in the same room with you.”
He blushed ten shades of red. “If I remove my clothes, I’ll have to look at my deplorable physical condition. I can’t abide it.”
“You have to start abiding it, and I have decided you have to start today.”
“I can’t…wash,” he seethed. “It’s too humiliating. I can’t even climb in and out of the tub.”
“I will have to help you then, won’t I? I’m amenable. At the moment, I don’t have anything better to do.”
She escorted him down to the kitchen where there was always hot water in the b
asin behind the stove.
* * * *
“You asked to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Hastings. Thank you for being prompt.”
James marched into Mason’s office. Out of all the people who ranked above him at the garrison, Mason was his immediate boss. He rarely spoke to James for any reason and allowed him to carry out his chores with a minimum of hassle and direction.
Ever since Mason had summoned him, he’d been on pins and needles. As far as he was aware, he hadn’t committed any infractions, so it could only indicate he was about to receive news on his transfer to India.
He was so desperate for it to occur.
It had been two lonely months since Amelia had left, and he’d been a mess every second. Prior to her showing up in Gibraltar, he’d felt his life was perfect, but she’d ruined it. She’d made him happy, had made him crave more than he’d been given, and Gibraltar was too small and quiet without her.
He was excited to leave for India, assuming the lengthy ocean voyage would quell his dour mood. Once he was halfway across the globe, he was positive he’d stop missing her.
“Is it about my transfer request?” he inquired, not able to bear the suspense.
“Yes.” Mason grimaced. “I realize you were counting on it, but it’s been denied.”
The announcement was a hard blow. “May I ask why?”
“None of the applications were granted, Hastings. You know how the army is cutting back.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I have a letter for you too.”
James’s pulse raced. Who would contact him? He hoped it wasn’t Brinley, finding herself in trouble and pleading for his assistance, just as he hoped it might be from Amelia. She’d claimed she wouldn’t correspond, but he had to believe she might. Maybe she arrived home to catastrophe. Maybe she needed him!
The letter was tossed in his lap as Mason said, “It’s from your lawyer. Pardon me for opening it, Lord Denby, but he wrote to me first and begged me to personally deliver it. I’m ordering you to start reading your mail—and answering it.”
James winced. Apparently, his pretending was over.
“Thank you for getting it to me,” he mumbled.
“What is this aversion you have to being an earl?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It certainly must be. Most men would celebrate such a windfall. But not you.”
“It’s not a windfall, sir. It’s a bankrupt estate and a slew of debts.”
“An earl’s debts.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“How’s your leg?” Mason suddenly asked.
“My leg?”
“Your wounds. Your scars.” Mason gestured over James’s body. “I was gazing out the window when you approached. You were limping.”
“They hurt, but I can handle it.”
“You don’t look very hale.”
“I’m fine.”
James was lying. They’d had a change in the weather, with thunderstorms rolling through the area. The humid air caused his bones to ache so badly he could barely walk. Each step was a nightmare.
“There have been rumors about more reductions in force,” Mason said.
James froze. “In what divisions?”
“In all of them, but there’s particular interest in dropping the number of cavalry horses. We’re not about to invade Spain anytime soon, so we don’t have to keep quite so many animals at the ready.”
“I see…”
James had figured this was coming, but he’d yearned for it to be much later, after he was on his way to India, the distance making it impossible to yank him back.
“There will be notifications in the next few weeks,” Mason said. “Men who’ve been contemplating retirement will be encouraged to proceed. Those who have a stable situation at home will be urged to muster out. It will save places for those who need places saved.
“I understand.”
Mason was brusque, but fair. He glared at James, his words sinking in, his message conveyed. They’d learned the truth about James being Denby. He had a title and property waiting for him in England. Yes, it was an insolvent pile of rubble, but it was his. He wasn’t being kicked out, but he was getting a very firm shove.
“You ought to think carefully about the future, Denby.” Mason’s mode of address signaled how far they’d traveled down the road toward James’s resignation. The army no longer viewed him as Captain Hastings. “You love your horses, but if you own an estate, you can train them in England. You don’t have to give it up.”
“No, I guess I don’t,” James miserably responded.
The appointment over, Mason waved him out. James stood to depart, and Mason said, “If you’d ever like my advice about your options, my door is always open.” Then, much too casually, he inquired, “Wasn’t your sister staying with you for a bit?”
“My half-sister, yes. Why?”
“Was she acquainted with that Corpetto fellow who swindled everybody?”
James fibbed with a straight face. “Not that I ever heard of.”
“No one’s accused her flat out, but there’s been gossip flying that she might have been in league with him. People who attended his ball are insisting their jewelry was missing after she visited them.”
“She’s only eighteen,” James said. “I doubt she’d have had the wherewithal to engage in that sort of mischief.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”
“No. We…ah…aren’t close, and we quarreled while she was here.”
Mason stared implacably, leaving James to speculate over what the army had uncovered about Brinley. James couldn’t imagine, but the Corpetto scandal was a huge local embarrassment. It Brinley was linked to the debacle, James would be swept into it too. It was one more nail in his army coffin, one more jab by Mason meant to notify him that his days as a soldier were numbered.
He saluted and staggered out, then he trudged to his barracks. He’d gone to the meeting in his uniform, but he was eager to change into his work clothes before he went to the stables. In case Mason or anyone else was watching, he tried desperately not to limp, but he couldn’t completely hide it.
As he plopped down on his bunk, he breathed a sigh of relief and wondered how much longer he could maintain the deception that he was fine.
India was lost to him, and with that transfer not granted, no others would be. The Gibraltar stables were about to be reduced in size. When that transpired, he’d be chased out against his will, whether he was prepared or not.
Shouldn’t he jump before he was pushed? Wouldn’t that be better? Shouldn’t he retire on his own terms rather than the army’s?
He was feeling very low, wishing Amelia was still in her cottage so he could discuss the issue with her. She’d have exactly the right comment to share that would make his path clear.
You should have left with her, you fool!
The admonition rang in his head—as it had a thousand times since she’d sailed.
He kept thinking of that final afternoon, when Laura had begged him to come with them. She’d recognized—as he had not—that it would be unbearable to have Amelia depart without him.
“Hastings!” someone called.
“Back here,” he yelled.
“Letter from home. Supposedly, it’s urgent.”
The man pitched it over and stomped off. Again, James’s pulse raced.
Two letters in one day! Since he rarely received any correspondence, it was an odd and unsettling occurrence.
It was from an acquaintance, a soldier who’d mustered out after Waterloo. He lived near Denby, and he’d promised to ride by occasionally, to write if there was ever news of which he thought James should be apprised.
So far, the man hadn’t contacted him, but if he’d suddenly bestirred himself, it must be horrid tidings.
“What now?” James muttered to the empty room.
&nbs
p; He broke the seal, and when he read the words that had been penned, he almost fainted—from shock, but from rage too.
Brinley was at Denby Manor! She’d opened it up and had moved in with an Italian fellow, claiming James had authorized it. They were reveling like a king and queen, charging up debts like a pair of aristocrats.
He’d been curious as to where Brinley went after she’d fled Gibraltar. If he’d been debating whether or not to return to England, it was now abundantly obvious that he had no choice. He had to go home and murder her with his bare hands.
Then, if he could find the courage, he might visit Amelia to learn how she was faring. He had to discover if she was missing him as much as he’d been missing her. Would she be glad to see him?
If he packed a bag and sailed to England, he’d have to resign from the army. They’d never agree to a furlough, not when they were slyly trying to push him out the door. Could he do it? Was he ready?
His leg throbbed, his wound shouting out the answer. He wasn’t hale and healthy, and his body kept demanding he remember that fact.
He’d assumed the decision to leave would be too painful to make. But perhaps—just perhaps—it wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Amelia peered out the window into the garden. Evan was seated on a bench with Victoria. They were sitting very close, and their heads were pressed together.
A romance had flared between them, but Amelia wasn’t sure how or when it had happened. She couldn’t decide how she felt about it either. She hadn’t known how to help Evan. When she’d arrived home, he’d been a stranger to her, like a feral animal trapped in a human body.
She’d been completely flummoxed as to how she should handle the situation so, when he’d ranted and raged, she’d merely tried to be patient and understanding.
Victoria had taken a different road entirely. She refused to coddle him, refused to put up with his tantrums or temper. She made him crawl out of bed in the morning, get dressed, and eat regular meals. She was weaning him off the laudanum, making him deal with his correspondence and other important tasks.
Gradually, he was improving. The old Evan was beginning to poke through more and more, and it was mostly due to Victoria’s persistent efforts.
