The Prodigal Daughter

by Allison Lane

  * * * *

  Thorne poured a glass of good French brandy for Wellington and another for himself, holding onto his temper with difficulty.

  “You are going to seriously erode your credit if you continue to ostracize Amanda,” continued the duke. “She is a remarkable lady who cannot possibly succeed in hiding her light under a basket for the rest of her life. When she comes to the attention of society, the first question will be why you have locked her away all these years.”

  “But how can I possibly claim a woman who flouts authority and ignores her duties?”

  “Flouts authority?” Wellington repeated in astonishment. “If my regular troops had followed orders so well, we’d have finished the war a year earlier. And I’ve never seen her shirk a duty, even when it placed stress on her marriage. If you mean that she is different from yourself, I would agree. But where is the harm in that?”

  “Are you actually condoning her unladylike behavior?”

  “How can I not? But I would never call her unladylike. Take a look around you, my lord! It would be a real tragedy if all people were alike. Consider soldiering, for example. Jack Morrison was an able officer. He demonstrated more skill and bravery than any two ordinary men. But if he had had to manage an estate, he would have landed in Bedlam within the month. Now Lord Englewood seems just the opposite. I don’t know him well, but I wager he is an able manager. Yet he would have succumbed in his first battle had he joined us on the Peninsula. I’ve seen too many like him. They are slow, deliberate thinkers who are still mulling over options when the enemy cuts them down.”

  “Are you implying that Amanda is like her husband?”

  “Indubitably. If she had been a man, she might have made an even better soldier than he. And she has the advantage of fitting into many worlds, so she is at home in both war and peace.”

  Thorne turned the talk away from his daughter, but Wellington’s comments remained in his mind.

  * * * *

  “Emily has not been herself the last few days,” complained Lady Thorne when Amanda came to call. They had already disposed of several tenant problems and indulged in a lengthy discussion of the major’s dinner party.

  “In what way?”

  “I do not know exactly, for she rarely talks about herself..” She frowned. “She has always been cool and collected, as one would expect of Thorne’s child. You are the only one who defies his edicts. But a mask of propriety makes it difficult to discover what she is thinking.”

  “Then why do you believe that something is wrong?”

  “Perhaps it is her face. There is the faintest hint of a pucker in her forehead, as if she is anxious about something. Or perhaps thinking deeply about something. But why should that be? She is safely betrothed. It is a match she was very excited about when she returned from town last summer. Norwood was the premier catch of the Season – or of the last half dozen Seasons.”

  “I cannot think why she would have any problem there,” countered Amanda. “He is much like Father. She has always gotten along well with Thorne. And she can hardly be fearful about her duties as his duchess. She has been running the Court since her mother died.”

  “As you say. Perhaps my imagination is running away with me.”

  The subject lapsed, but Amanda wondered about it. On second thought, only Norwood’s facade was like Thorne. Underneath dwelt a much different man. She could not imagine Thorne helping with an amputation. It was true that she had coerced the duke into doing so, but Thorne would not have succumbed. Perhaps Emily had discovered that same difference and did not know what to think of it. Or maybe the problem had nothing to do with her betrothal.

  Amanda gave up and turned her attention elsewhere.

  * * * *

  Lady Thorne was not the only one to wonder at Emily’s odd demeanor. Norwood had also noticed it. Since accepting his suit, she had spent almost no time with him, preferring to flirt with the other gentlemen and escort the ladies around the neighborhood.

  Why? Was she satisfied now that the betrothal was fixed? He had chosen her for a marriage of convenience, knowing that she wanted only his title and wealth, and admitting that his own attraction did not extend beyond her birth and training. There was no pretense of affection on either side. Yet he now had reservations about her coldness. Was this really how he wanted to spend the rest of his life?

  It was a little late to be second-guessing himself, he decided as he listened to Lady Havershoal in the drawing room before dinner. The woman was relating some tale involving society figures he could barely place. For better or worse, his future was settled.

  Perhaps he was overreacting. Emily was the official hostess of this house party. She could not devote her time to a single guest at the expense of the others. But he was receiving less attention than any of them, and it irritated him. He finally decided to mention it.

  “Have I done something to annoy you, Lady Emily?” he asked, moving his horse close to hers when the company was riding the next afternoon.

  “Of course not, your grace,” she responded, sounding surprised at the question. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “You seem to be avoiding me. Surely as your betrothed, I am worthy of more than a simple greeting..” Good Lord, he almost sounded petulant, he scolded himself.

  “I assure you that you are imagining things,” she demurred, suddenly pulling her horse slower so his seemed to forge ahead. Within moments, she had moved to the rear of the group. He could not follow without making a scene. Mentally shrugging, he joined in conversation with Lady Sarah, cutting out Mr. Stevens who had been attending her.

  Emily chided herself for her reaction. Norwood was right. She had been avoiding him, but she could not help it. Despite rigorous training in manners and flirting, she could never think of a word to say to him. He never smiled and was always coldly disapproving of everything. Not that she had allowed that to alter her acceptance of his suit. They would eventually become accustomed to each other. She had a duty to marry well, and there was no better match than the Duke of Norwood. She would be one of the highest-ranking ladies in the realm, the envy of everyone she knew.

  So why was she not ecstatic over her prospects?

  Her horse lagged behind the other riders as she pondered this question. There had to be something wrong with her, for the thought of marriage filled her with trepidation. If only her mother were still alive. The lady might have explained away her fears. It was not something she could discuss with her grandmother. The woman was too far removed from modern society, and her views never quite accorded with those espoused by Emily’s parents.

  This must be wedding jitters. She would have nine months to adjust to the situation. And what was it that bothered her? Norwood would be an unexceptionable husband. He was looking for a well-trained and well-bred wife to provide an heir, plan his entertainments, and see after his household. His proposal offered her a wider degree of freedom to pursue her own interests than she had anticipated. It would seem the man was a veritable paragon. He would never expect her to show affection for him, just as he would never feel affection for her. It was alien to both of their natures.

  Or was it? Perhaps that was what was bothering her. It was certainly alien to his. She shuddered to recall the icy ennui that had permeated his proposal. Just so would he offer a contract to install a stove in his kitchen or reroof his stable. Surely even a marriage of convenience should involve at least friendship. The future stretched as a lonely eternity.

  But there was nothing she could do about it except pray that he would be less aloof once they were wed. Had her father been wrong to command that she attach the duke? She had automatically obeyed the order, but now she wondered if there wasn’t more to life than duty.

  She had never questioned her father’s edicts in the past, but Amanda had revealed that she had grown to love her own husband. And the emotion evident in her voice as she uttered the words had haunted Emily ever since. Perhaps it was possible for those in her pos
ition to experience love, though she had no idea what such an emotion felt like.

  Her parents decried romanticism, describing it as a myth of the lower orders. Emily had spent only one year in a select academy for high-born young ladies. Though several of the girls had giggled over gothic novels and sighed over the fictional heroes, she had never joined them. It was much too improper. But that meant that she had never even read a description of love.

  She had slipped into the library the previous evening, hoping to find a book that might explain the concept, but the room contained little but collections of sermons. Recalling the Sunday homilies offered by the local vicar – as rigid a man as Thorne himself – she doubted they would help. Nor did a perusal of her Bible. She found comments like love is the fulfilling of the law and love covereth all sins, but nothing to explain either what love was or how it felt.

  Her thoughts abruptly ceased when her horse neighed loudly and lurched into an uncontrolled gallop. She was thrown off balance, the reins pulled from her hands by the unexpected motion. Screaming, she grabbed for the beast’s mane.

  The other riders had disappeared into the forest some minutes earlier. Caught up in her reverie, Emily had fallen nearly a quarter mile behind. Fortunately, Mr. Stevens had noted her lagging progress and had dropped back to find her. When she screamed, he pressed his mount into a canter. Bursting from the forest, he spied her difficulties and cut across a field to intercept her.

  “What happened?” he demanded when he had pulled her to a halt.

  “Gabriel suddenly bolted. He’s never done that before.”

  The horse continued to tremble, even after Emily had dismounted.

  “Hold them,” he ordered, shoving the reins of both their mounts into her hands. He ran his gloved hands over Gabriel’s coat, suddenly stopping and peering closely at the horse’s neck. “A bee,” he announced, pulling out the remains of the stinger.

  “Will he be all right?” asked Emily.

  “He should be. See? He is already calming..” He offered her a leg up, then remounted his own horse.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling gratefully at her friend.

  “It was nothing,” he disclaimed. “But you should not have dropped so far back.”

  “I was thinking and not paying attention,” she admitted in chagrin.

  “Problems?” he asked.

  “Nothing serious. I must refrain from doing so again while riding..” She smiled and turned the conversation to more pleasant topics, but her questions refused to depart, plaguing her with increasing frequency as the days passed. And friends or no, this was not something she could discuss with either Oliver or Victoria.

  * * * *

  Amanda glanced up in surprise when Ellen appeared in the doorway of her sitting room.

  “The Duke of Wellington, ma’am,” announced the maid, awe clear in her voice.

  “Show him in..”

  Though her countenance remained unchanged, the duke’s call was unexpected. She glanced quickly around the room, seeing it through different eyes. It was hardly worthy of hosting a duke. The walls were painted a dark green that she had tried to lighten by installing gold silk draperies and striped covers on the chairs and couch. Her pianoforte occupied a disproportionate amount of space, though she had never minded on her own account. But now she decided the room looked cluttered and gloomy. She should at least have replaced the drooping flowers that decorated a corner of her writing table. But it was too late to repine. The duke’s firm tread had already stopped before her chair.

  “Good morning, Lady Amanda,” Wellington murmured, taking her hand in greeting.

  “Your grace..” She nodded. “But it is just Amanda. I have used no title since marrying Jack.”

  “As you will.”

  “I should have expected you. ‘Tis Wellington weather,” she teased, referring to the night’s torrential rain. “Are we in for a battle?”

  The duke chuckled. “Not to my knowledge. I know it is early for calls, but I am on my way to another house party and wished to speak with you for a few minutes before I go. We had little time to talk at dinner, and you have attended no festivities at the Court.”

  “You are astute enough to realize that I am estranged from my family. But I have done little socializing since Jack died in any event. I have only just put off my blacks.”

  “He was a remarkable man,” agreed the duke. “And a damned good officer. All who knew him must miss him, but do not allow that to blight your future, Mrs. Morrison. You are quite remarkable on your own account.”

  “Such flummery. And most unnecessary. I am reconciled to his death. Given his recklessness, it was bound to happen sooner or later. And now that I realize how silly it was to blame myself, I am doing much better.”

  “Blame yourself? How did you arrive at that absurdity?”

  “As if you needed to ask. I know very well that you disapproved of wives on campaign, for domestic problems invariably affect performance. I took great care on the Peninsula to prevent any discord. But we fell into increasing strife in Vienna that continued in Brussels. There was a bitter argument that final day, which is why I missed the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. It was the last time I saw him. He cannot have liked parting on such a note. I had feared that it distracted him from his duty until a friend recently pointed out that a professional like Jack would have considered nothing but the job at hand..” Tears threatened, but she managed to blink them away. She had cried on Wellington’s shoulder once before and could not do so again.

  “And quite rightly so. I had no idea you were harboring such ideas, or I would have disabused you of this nonsense in Brussels,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not to minimize Jack’s affections, but he was only truly alive when in battle. You were well acquainted with his normal verve and energy. In the heat of combat, that was doubled. His mind worked twice as fast and his strength grew to Herculean levels. But beyond that, his concentration was total.”

  “Is that why you asked how he would have adjusted to peace?”

  “Yes. I often thought that he would have made the perfect knight-errant, prowling the land to dispatch villains, rescue damsels in distress, and accomplish deeds of skill and valor. Mundane chores pressed heavily on his shoulders. Anything smacking of routine left him restless. Surely you saw how unhappy he was growing in Vienna, with nothing to do but copy reports and placate politicians.”

  “I’m not sure that his job was responsible for that,” she countered. “Much of it was my own fault. Not being privy to my activities, he was impatient with the amount of socializing I was doing. In some respects, I think he felt inferior, given my parentage. Watching me throw myself into the giddy social whirl activated guilt for removing me from those circles. I wanted to tell him it was all for duty – I have no real interest in such a life – but you had forbidden me to reveal that assignment even to Jack.”

  “And for good reason. His jealousy over the attention you received was necessary to hide your purpose. Even had I known of your origins, it would have changed nothing. We needed the information you uncovered and there was little hope of obtaining it elsewhere. You’ve an uncanny gift for inspiring people to talk. But do not blame yourself for Jack’s unhappiness. I swear that most of it grew from his own frustrations. And that would have worsened as time passed. I suspect I did him a disservice when I transferred him to my staff, for he was always happier in the field. He was a different man after we left Brussels.”

  Amanda nodded, accepting his statement. It was depressing to know that she had been unable to offer her husband contentment, but she was not inclined to argue with Wellington. They chatted a few minutes longer, the duke reiterating his appreciation for her contributions in the late war. Then he took his leave.

  It was going to be a very long day. Not only were her emotions in turmoil, but Wellington’s visit had shattered her armor, leaving her powerless to evade the memories. Her teasing comment had been prophetic. She was in for a battle, though
of the mind rather than of the body.

  The perfect knight-errant... With his usual acuity, Wellington had captured Jack’s spirit in that one phrase. Challenges were as necessary to him as breathing. What would they have done if Jack had lived? The duke had retired once the treaties were signed. There was already talk of a position for him in the government. Jack would have rejoined his old regiment. But they were doing nothing of interest, nor was there a chance of new wars now that Napoleon was so far away. Jack’s vivacity would have withered and died under such circumstances. Not even love could have sustained them. He would probably have turned to some other dangerous occupation to fill the void in his life.

  How sad that she had never understood his basic nature. Despite her vaunted perspicacity, she had been ignorant of so central a truth, misjudging his relationship with the army. For eight years she had ascribed his devotion to duty as a temporary measure demanded by the grim reality they all faced as Napoleon methodically wrested control of Europe from its rightful governments. Now she realized how blind she had been. He was not fighting for peace. He was battling evil for its own sake, charging into the fray because he delighted in pitting himself against others.

  The only other activity that made him truly happy was helping people – finding a home for a family of orphaned Spanish children, rescuing a fellow soldier who had fallen over a cliff and was trapped on a ledge, fishing a pair of peasant lads out of a rain-swollen stream at great risk to himself – the list went on and on. It was one of the things she loved about him, this willingness to ignore his own safety and comfort when someone was in trouble. She was only beginning to understand that his actions were not purely selfless, that he nurtured his own needs by such conduct. Could she have made him happier if she had known that from the beginning?

  They had often talked of her childhood and of her pain from the constant rejection and hatred. Jack was so very understanding. He must have experienced similar situations himself.

  The realization hurt. She had taken so much from him – safety, support, love, comfort – but she had given little in return, not even the sympathetic ear that she offered to every other man in the regiment. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Forgive me, Jack, she mouthed silently. I hadn’t the experience to know that you needed more.