by Allison Lane
“I keep seeing that fire,” agreed Norwood. “It froze me for a moment upstairs.”
“How did you get out that night?” she asked.
“Fitch pounded on my door to wake me,” he replied slowly, determined not to allow emotion into his voice. “But by the time I realized what was going on and had dragged on some clothes, the hall was filled with flames. So was the window. I had to break through a locked door into the corner room before I found a window that was clear so I could jump. It overlooked the ravine holding the stream.”
“So that was the picture that returned – the flame-filled window.”
He nodded. “And the hall was burning by the time I got Ben. It was much too similar. How did you awaken so much earlier?”
“Too much war. The smoke triggered my Waterloo nightmare.”
“To the benefit of us all. Ultimately, you saved my life. If I had been roused even two minutes later, I would not have escaped.”
She stared at him for a moment, knowing it was true. She wanted to tell him how terrified she had been when he had been buried beneath that ceiling, but she could not. He was betrothed to her sister. In fact, the announcement would occur on the morrow. His eyes again met hers, and she gasped to see the anguish blazing there. His hand reached out to lightly stroke her own, and she knew her tears showed.
“Help,” begged a strained voice, breaking the spell and returning their attention to the immediate crisis.
Norwood sprang up and caught the man Jem was carrying alone.
“What happened?” the duke demanded sharply.
“A corner of the barn come down, trapping Jacob here. There are several others who were hurt, but he’s the worst. The good news is that I think we’ve got it stopped.”
“Thank heaven,” responded Amanda.
“Dear God!” choked Norwood as he lay Jacob down under the trees. One side of his body was burned, and a broken arm twisted grotesquely.
“Cut his clothes off,” ordered Amanda. “Jem, can someone be spared to fetch blankets from the Court? And Dr. Robinson must be found, if he has not already been summoned.”
“Immediately,” promised Jem.
“Will he survive?” asked Norwood as he helped her spread greasy salve over the burns.
“It is possible, though his chances are not good,” she said softly. “Burns are the worst kind of injury. Deep ones like these frequently turn putrid. If that happens, there is nothing that will save him.”
“Why do you use grease?”
“It seems to help. I suspect that it forms a barrier between the wound and the air. It does not dissipate like liquids do.”
They worked in silence for some time. Amanda finally stood up with a sigh.
“That is all I can do,” she said. “The arm will require Dr. Robinson’s attention. It is too mangled to set it myself.”
More patients were heading their way, for as the fire waned, they could be spared from the fight. Norwood found himself treating burns and wrapping up cuts. Most of the men returned to the farm yard as soon as he was done with them. Ben stirred. Norwood went to sit with the boy for a few minutes when Amanda did not need him.
His mind churned as he glanced around. The shell of the house was growing dark as the flames dwindled inside. Four men and a boy remained in the improvised hospital under the orchard trees. The shouts of those fighting to save the barn had grown less urgent and more tired as the reflected flickering from the farmyard waned.
He thought again about Donne’s powerful words and had to admit that he truly believed them, though he knew that much of the ton did not. But titles were compatible with compassion, and not just for a few pet causes. Wellington had argued fiercely in favor of a pension bill for Peninsula veterans, yet decried Whig efforts to improve the lives of ordinary people. With that thought, the blinders finally fell from his eyes, and he realized that the Whigs were right. It would cause a nine-days-wonder, but he would have to come out as a reformer. He was not the man he had been at the end of the Season, and it was mostly Amanda’s doing. She had challenged him to look outside of himself, to see the world as a collection of people, each with a different position, but all worthwhile. His own high place did not exempt him from being human.
Chapter Sixteen
Norwood was binding Jem’s arm when he felt the farmer stiffen. An elegant coach drew up at the edge of the orchard, disgorging Lord Thorne. The marquess’s face reflected resignation to an unpleasant duty, with no hint of warmth or sympathy. It stiffened even further when he caught sight of Amanda, who was soothing a wailing Ben.
“You are here?” gasped Thorne disapprovingly, his expression changing to shock as he identified Norwood.
“As you see,” said Norwood, drawing Thorne’s attention from Amanda.
“Who had the effrontery to force you into this?” demanded Thorne.
“No one. I volunteered,” said Norwood calmly. “Who could watch a tragedy unfold and not try to avert it? Certainly not I, nor any other who claims to be human. I presume you are also here to offer support and assistance to the family.”
Thorne’s face appeared thunderous, but he could find no rejoinder. Turning abruptly, he went to examine the damage.
“You are lucky to be a duke,” murmured Amanda as Jem departed. “He would have combed your hair with a joint stool if you did not outrank him.”
“He has already done so – when I insisted on summoning you to attend Mr. Stevens. But he would have had no cause three months ago,” admitted Norwood. “I must thank you for your salubrious lessons in compassion. It is a concept I had forgotten, much to my mother’s delight. She is very like your father.”
“I cannot imagine enjoying life insulated from other people. Nor can I remain aloof from those whose birth is below my own. Not that I think we should erase the class boundaries, but it is possible to treat those lower than oneself with dignity and respect. And one can learn lessons from them. It was Granny Gossich who taught me to care.”
“Would there were more like you.”
“Has your mother always been so cold?” she asked, pursuing that flash of camaraderie she had felt before.
“Always. She was the perfect match for my father. If anything, he was worse.”
“Yet you spent years patterning your behavior after them.”
“I must have been mad. But I needed the façade at the time.”
“To cover your pain?”
He nodded.
“That is understandable. Your only mistake was in forgetting that it was, in fact, a facade.”
“So wise. I wish—”
“No you don’t,” she interrupted firmly. “Just live the remainder your life with compassion, your grace. And teach Emily to care. The capacity is there, but she has lived for seventeen years under Thorne’s thumb. You will need patience..” She went to check on Jacob and Rob, leaving him with Ben.
As Thorne spoke with Mr. Wilson, he glanced often at Norwood. Even from the orchard, Norwood could see that his posture had relaxed, lending him a less dutiful look.
Dr. Robinson arrived at last, shaking his head over Jacob, but opining that perhaps he would pull through. Ben had not re-injured the leg, but he had several burns that would torment him in the days ahead.
When Thorne moved on to talk to the other men, Mr. Wilson headed hesitantly for the orchard.
“My condolences, sir, on the loss of your home,” offered Norwood.
The farmer shrugged. “How can I ever repay you for saving my son, your grace?” he asked, tears evident in his eyes.
“It was nothing,” said Norwood.
“It’s a saint, you are,” declared Wilson fervently. “Why would a duke risk his life for the child of a tenant?”
Norwood was feeling very uncomfortable under such obvious emotion, but a glance at Amanda stayed any argument. “A title is an empty thing unless one cares about the world,” he said slowly. “And that includes caring about one’s fellow man. Besides,” he added, trying for lig
hter tone, “I met the scamp several days ago. The world would be a poorer place without him in it.”
Mr. Wilson seemed surprised, but he did not ask questions. After a few more words, he collected Ben so he could return him to the rest of his family.
Amanda was packing her bag into the gig when the marquess returned.
“May I escort you home?” Thorne asked Amanda.
She raised her brows in surprise, but nodded.
The marquess glanced at Norwood. “My carriage will return you to the Court, then collect me in town.”
Norwood nodded, speculation lighting his eyes.
* * * *
Thorne remained silent for the first mile. “How did you come to be there?” he asked at last.
“I saw the smoke and knew they would need help..” She kept her eyes on the road and her concentration on controlling her horse.
“Your mother would have done the same,” he observed softly, no censure evident in his voice.
“Another reason you have always disliked her.”
“So I have always believed,” he replied slowly. “And yet, I can no longer do so. It was a terrible shock to see you that day in the library, Amanda. You look exactly like her. She was always the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“What fustian is this, Father?” she scoffed. “My looks are passable, but no one in his right mind would call me beautiful.”
“Then I belong in Bedlam. There is more to beauty than looks, Amanda. Your mother’s spirit shone with a radiance that I cannot describe. You are the same. If only I had been more understanding, perhaps we could have been happier, but I was not. It never occurred to me that what I admired most about her arose from those very traits that I had been taught were inconsistent with my position.”
Amanda felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and fought them down. “You loved her..” It was not a question.
“Yes, though I did not realize it myself and would never have admitted it if I had. She was the joy of my life, yet I made her life a living hell and ultimately killed her..” His voice broke.
She glanced surreptitiously at his face, shocked to discover that he, too, was on the verge of tears.
“You cannot blame yourself for that, surely,” she protested. “Women die in childbirth every day.”
“But if she had been happier, she might have lived. If I had been there, she might have lived.”
“Tell me about it,” she urged him softly. If there was any truth in his self-accusation, she had to know. But more importantly, if he was deluding himself, she must remove his guilt. She sensed that they were on the verge of a new relationship. It gave her hope, at the same time filling her with terror. She had resigned herself to lifelong antagonism. There was no guarantee that she was capable of changing.
In the dark of the gently rocking gig, Thorne found it easier to talk than if they were facing each other in a brightly lit drawing room. “My upbringing was very strict,” he began softly. “You may remember my father. From the day I was born, he drilled me on the behavior expected of one who would become the Marquess of Thorne. His word was law. Even my mother could not bend his will. One of his strictures was that displaying emotion was indicative of low breeding.”
Amanda nodded silently. She had often been on the receiving end of that edict.
He continued, almost to himself. “I did not meet your mother until after the betrothal was arranged. The future of my father’s line was far too important to trust to Fate, so he researched her breeding and upbringing until he was satisfied that she would make an impeccable marchioness. He was as appalled as I to discover too late that she harbored traits that ran counter to all of his dictates. I had been too well taught to question his fury at being thus deceived.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, Amanda’s heart breaking for her father. In a way, he had been worse served by his father than she had been. She now saw that much of his mother’s compassion was present in her son, but it had been completely suppressed in the course of his childhood.
“She lived for fifteen months after our marriage,” Thorne continued, his voice harshening in self-reproach. “Not a day went by that I didn’t castigate her for something, and I know that my father did likewise. She grew to fear my presence. My God! How much pain did I cause her? I think it was the fear that finally convinced me that I hated her, and so I redoubled my efforts to mold her into the proper lady I thought I wanted. But like you, she refused to break. Her intransigence led to almost daily battles – between us, between her and my father, between me and my father. In retrospect, I should have insisted on living elsewhere, on allowing her to be the mistress of her own home instead of a resident in my father’s. Perhaps her influence would have softened me and things might have been different.”
“It is too late to change the past, Father,” Amanda murmured soothingly. “Whatever decisions were made are beyond rectifying..” It was difficult to picture her larger-than-life father under the thumb of another man, but the memories of her grandfather – who had died when she was ten – fit his narrative.
He ignored her remark. “The last battle was a shouting match that must have been overheard by nearly every servant in the house..” He sighed. “I don’t even remember what it was about. Something trivial, I’ve no doubt. I stormed away in the blackest temper I ever remember, and rode the moor for hours cursing fate, cursing her, cursing God, and whoever else came to mind. I nearly foundered my horse, finally stopping to allow him to rest when I stumbled across an abandoned hut about fifteen miles from here. But the exertions of the day left me so exhausted that once my temper cooled, I fell asleep.”
Amanda shivered, knowing what was to come.
“I did not return home until nearly noon the next day,” he said, voice again cracking. “The butler informed me that my wife had been brought to bed of a daughter and had died an hour earlier. Her last words were a plea to see me.”
She ignored his stifled sob, unable to speak without revealing that her own face was covered with tears. The silence stretched until they were nearly at Middleford. “How does that make you responsible?” she asked at last.
“I wondered if her death was my punishment for mistreating her so badly,” he said. “The thought even crossed my mind that she was taken to rescue her from further pain.”
“I doubt it.”
“Whatever the reason, I learned nothing from the experience,” he stated coldly. “In the weeks that followed, I honed her faults until I rejoiced at being delivered from so unsuitable a wife.”
“It is a common way of dealing with grief, unfortunately,” said Amanda. “One transforms the pain into something easier to bear.”
“You make me sound human,” he said ironically.
“We are all human.”
“The process intensified once I married again. This time, I attended the London Season so that there would be no more unpleasant surprises, deliberately choosing a woman who met all my father’s ideals for a marchioness. There was no reason to expect that anything would mar the future. But thoughts of Amanda kept returning, often wistfully. I repeated the litany of her faults with more diligence, furious that my wayward mind could compare the perfect wife unfavorably with the imperfect one. It took several years before I banished her from my life. By then, it was obvious that you had inherited most of her character. And so I began the process again, trying to force you into the pattern that I believed to be essential to a highborn lady.”
She arrived home, pulling the gig up before her stable so the boy could unharness the horse. They spoke no more until they were ensconced in her sitting room with a tea tray and some sandwiches.
“It is too late to change the past, Father,” she reminded him again, “though I thank you for sharing it with me. It explains much.”
“Some of the mistakes of the past can be rectified, Amanda,” he countered. “I was wrong in many of my judgments of you, and I was wrong in expelling you from the family. There is sha
me in admitting that all the world recognizes your excellence and condemns me for cruel stubbornness. There is even more shame that it took two dukes singing your praises before I would come to my senses, but I believe I have now done so. If you choose it, I would welcome your return.”
Amanda smiled, tears again stinging her eyes. “I would like to know you better,” she said softly. “But I cannot allow you to assume all the blame for this rift. My own behavior was far worse than was necessary. I often flouted your edicts, not because I preferred another course but merely to aggravate you.”
“The stubbornness you inherited from me, I fear..” He sighed.
“Very likely. But I would beg forgiveness for my behavior. You would not have recognized me in Spain, willingly adhering to the strictest regulations, even through discomfort and fear.”
Pain flashed across Thorne’s face.
“Not to worry, Father. I survived intact. And I will gladly rejoin the family. But you must not expect me to move permanently into your world. I am happy with the life I have chosen.”
“There are two things I would ask you to consider. This is unpardonably late, but I would like you to attend the ball tomorrow night where Emily’s betrothal will be announced.”
“I would be delighted,” she agreed.
“The other concerns your allowance. I would prefer to settle upon you the amount that I had set aside for your dowry. It would bring in more than the paltry sum I grudgingly allowed you that day and would free you of all of my strictures.”
“It is something we can discuss later,” said Amanda. “In fact, I would welcome your advice on several financial matters. Jack’s great-uncle died two years ago. The man’s solicitor called this morning. It seems George left his entire estate to Jack, so it is now mine. Some legal difficulties and challenges to the various wills were resolved recently, and the authorities finally discovered my direction.”
“How much is involved?” asked Thorne in surprise.
“Beau Cime and investments that return about five thousand a year.”
