Lost in thought as she was, she nearly missed the man coming up the drive on foot.
Halting, she stared dumbly as he approached. Who was thick enough to walk here on foot in this weather? The sun had risen with her this morning, the first sight of it seen in days, but it had not stayed long enough to melt the now dingy snow. The temperature alone should discourage a lengthy walk.
The figure loomed closer, face burrowed in a coat that had seen too many winters, hat tilted forward to block the wind.
“May I help you?” she asked, her tone more accusatory than cordial.
He missed a step, startled by her voice. It would seem she was not the only one so lost in thought she did not pay attention to her surroundings.
Recovering with a foot shuffle, he looked up. “Milady! A proper welcome for me, yer bein’ here, innit? I never expec’ed such fanfare.”
Of all the people she could see today, Mr. Robert Preston would be the last.
“Our meeting is purely coincidental, I assure you, Mr. Preston. Have you come to call on my husband?
“I were surprised by the missive, but as luck wou’ave it, I’m available. Where’s the good colonel?”
“Missive?” she asked, not liking being at a disadvantage to this shabby creature.
His glassy eyes met hers, accompanied by a smile that inched too slowly across his face. If ladies gambled, she would wager he was in his cups. Laudanum? Gin? She could not say, but he teetered ever so slightly on his feet, his movements lethargic, his expression far too serene.
“The good colonel’s le’er. About trainin’ warhorses. Said were time sensitive. Here I am! Not been on a horse since summer, mind. Itchin’ t’ride. Nothin’ like ridin’ in the cavalry. Nothin’ like it.” His glossed eyes looked away, as though he drifted into a memory or dream.
“My husband invited you to train the horses?”
Politeness was ingrained. She could make a rat feel welcomed and comfortable in a drawing room. And yet her tone and words to this young officer spoke volumes about her feelings and mood.
It was not fair for her to dislike him, but she did. He was grubby, low, and inebriated. What really irritated her was that Duncan had invited him to help with the training but barred her.
Mr. Preston rubbed his nose with a gloved hand. “Show me the way. Eager t’train some warhorses.”
“You should know, he has a special technique. The horses are only to be trained his way.”
The man stared at her as though she were daft. “He’s t’teach me, mind. Not that I need teachin’. I’m a fine cavalry officer in me own right. But if he wants it done proper, I’ll do it. Make the colonel proud.”
“You’ll find him in the stable block. Good day, Mr. Preston.” She dismissed the man with a nod and proceeded to the hall.
Heavy footed, she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber and rang for her maid to change her into a warm day dress. Had she not been so angered, she would have taken Athena for a ride. It was for the best she did not. One ought not ride angry.
Once changed, she made her way to the nursery. Bernard’s chill was improving with far fewer sneezes and sniffles, but he remained in the nursery until Mrs. Eloise gave her consent. Until that happened, Mary made a point to visit throughout each day. She was determined to be the mother her own was not. For hours each day, she played and read, hugging Bernard and kissing the top of his head as often as she could, never wanting him to know a day without love.
Easing the door open, she poked her head in. Bernard was sitting on his bed, rolling the wheeled horse she had given him at their first meeting. Mary tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. What a dear boy. She caught Mrs. Eloise’s attention before Bernard could spot her. The nanny, seated by the window, a book in her hand, waved Mary into the room.
The clunk of the door drew Bernard’s attention.
“Mummy!” he squealed, holding out his arms.
In quick strides, she crossed the room and pulled him into a hug. She buried her face in his hair, not wanting him to see her tears. He had never called her mummy before. And today was a day she needed it most. Dear boy!
Blinking wet eyelashes, she said, “You must be feeling better to be playing with your horse.”
She leaned back and made herself comfortable at the end of his bed. Bernard nodded and pushed the horse to her with an accompanying neigh and snort.
“Where’s Papa?” he asked. “He said we could go riding.”
“Papa is working today. He’s dreadfully busy, so we must entertain ourselves and wish him all the best.”
He gave a little pout. “He said I must learnter ride if I wanter horse. I wanter rayben. May I?”
Mary wheeled the horse between them, making it rear on hind wheels until Bernard giggled. “A rayben? I’ve met a great many horses, but I’m uncertain I’ve met a rayben.”
“You know. A raaaayben. Papa says they’re temportle.”
“Oh!” she said with a laugh. “An Arabian! Yes, he says they can be temperamental to train. I wouldn’t know, for I’ve never tried. We’ll have to take his word for it, won’t we? If I tell you a secret, will you promise to hold it dear and not say a word?”
A rapid nod followed widening eyes.
“Right,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m going to write to my brother to secure an Arabian for Papa. It’ll be a grand surprise and our little secret. Promise not to tell?”
Bernard’s jaw slackened. “Promise.” Taking the wheeled horse from Mary, he said, “A real rayben. Do I get one too?”
“Oh, darling.” She ruffled his hair. “Not yet. As Papa said, not until you learn to ride. Although, I did see you atop Caesar looking mighty dashing.”
Now that she had said her plan aloud, she could not change her mind. Bernard would be expecting to see an Arabian arrive with his uncle when Drake and Charlotte visited.
As poorly as the day had gone, she wanted to change her mind. One day ought not affect her. Although, as focused as Duncan was on the training, he may not have time for a pleasure horse, at least not until they returned from London. Nevertheless, she wanted to do this for him, just as he had surprised her with the stallion and mares.
Had she known supper would be so disastrous, she never would have written her brother that afternoon.
So late training was Duncan that supper had to be postponed two hours, much to the consternation of the cook and Mary. After a long day with the only opportunity to see her husband being the barring from the stable yard, Mary was in a foul mood. She sat in the drawing room embroidering, her foot tapping a tattoo into the rug.
When the drawing room door opened, she nearly dropped her embroidery. Her concentration had been on what she would say to him rather than the needlework or her surroundings.
Duncan stepped inside, dressed for supper in a handsome ensemble that almost made Mary forget she was annoyed with him. Almost. Until Mr. Preston entered. The man wore the same attire in which he had arrived this morning and smelled so much like a poorly mucked stable stall, she had to wrinkle her nose to keep from sneezing.
Tossing her embroidery onto the table in careless abandon, she stood, her hands folded at her waist.
“Mr. Preston. I hadn’t realized you would be joining us.” Another rude comment she never would have made under normal circumstances.
But then, these were not normal circumstances. In any other situation, she would have welcomed the person as though she had not only expected them but been looking forward to their company. This man, however, was not the company she desired. She had not been consulted. In fact, her opinion had been dismissed, as she recalled sharing with Duncan only yesterday her thoughts on the ensign joining them for dinner.
Duncan stepped forward, a smile on his lips, though the underside of his eyes revealed how exhausted he was from the day.
“Mar
y, love, I’ve invited Robin to join us. I knew you would understand. He’s been an irreplaceable help today. I’ve asked him to come as often as he can to continue to help. As useful as the stablemaster is, he’s unfamiliar with the needs of cavalry. Robin and I spent much of today discussing my techniques.”
“Yer husband’s a right smart man, milady,” Mr. Preston said.
Mary did not respond to either of them. She nodded and proceeded into the dining room, leaving them to follow.
Cook would be up in arms downstairs. Not only two hours late, but now an unexpected guest. Should she wish to serve Duncan cold coffee in the morning, Mary would back her.
Mr. Preston sat at the far end of the table with Duncan, away from Mary, a blessing since he could not insult her olfaction. The dining room table was not large, not like that of Lyonn Manor. Of course, Lyonn Manor also had two dining rooms, a lesser and a formal. Neither of them was as small as the one at Sidwell Hall. She preferred it this way. Well, except for when there was an unpleasant guest. As isolated as she felt at the far end of the table, the proximity with Mr. Preston was still too near.
By the end of the first course, the two gentlemen had all but forgotten her presence. They talked of the training mostly and Duncan’s vision for the remaining time. From what she could glean, she had a fairly accurate visual of what he planned for the London demonstration, although without knowing the methods, she could not recreate the training.
When her patience wore thin at being ignored, she cleared her throat in dramatic overture. “Mr. Preston. What brings you to the Swanson’s, and how long do you plan to stay?”
He wiped his mouth with the linen. Wiped. Mary shuddered at his table manners. A heathen if ever she saw one.
“Robin, milady. Mr. Preston’s me father. I’m just Robin.”
“Yes, well, ‘just Robin,’ what brings you to Durham?” Her posture adjusted to oppose his, her spine straighter than normal, her chin higher than ever, her lips pressed tightly.
How her mother could shake a man in his boots with a single stare, she could not say, but she wished in this moment she could summon such powers of persuasion. Finding her inner Catherine was not something she had ever before wished.
Eyes narrowed, she glared at him as he spoke.
“Convalescin, milady. Home’s too small’n’noisy. Me mum’s family may be well t’do, but me mum run off with her true love, a miner, as t’were. She’s me uncle’s favorite sister. He’s what bought me commission, me uncle. I were proper grateful.”
“And…” Mary’s voice trailed off, hoping he would answer her questions. When he did not, she asked, “That brings you to Durham why, exactly? And for how long? You don’t appear to be injured.”
“It’s in me head, innit.”
“I see.” She did not see.
Her eyes flicked from Duncan to “just Robin.” Duncan’s head bobbed as he listened. From his expression, however tired, she gathered he saw what the man meant. She did not.
The man added, “Me uncle’s house is quiet. Gives a man a chance to think. Gotta’ quiet the noise in the old noggin.”
“Quite.” She returned her attention to her meal.
Mr. Preston was not finished. It seemed once the man began, he could not stop.
“Me aunt wants me out. But it weren’t her house. If me uncle says I stay, I stay. I don’t wa’a be where I’m not wan’ed. Don’t suppose you have room for a guest?”
“No,” she said before Duncan could feel hospitable. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Preston. My family arrives within the week.”
That brought the conversation around to the family visit, which, given it was her family, should have included her. Alas, their guest turned to Duncan to ask about the family, leaving her out of the conversation once more.
She listened to the conversations that followed, bored and excluded. Neither tried to include her. In some cases, she could understand, such as the stories of soldiers they both knew. Once supper concluded, she was shocked to find they planned to stay behind with port and cigars. Without her.
That may be the life to which most women were accustomed, but not Mary. Mary had always been one of the men, so to speak, unless other ladies were present, and then she would entertain them while the men shared private conversation. There were no other ladies present this time. And yet it was made clear the men would join her in the drawing room after port and cigars. Join her. She was ousted from the room.
In a sulk, she returned to the drawing room and wrenched her embroidery off the table. Had there been a pianoforte, she would have played the most obnoxious tune of her repertoire to annoy them from the other room. To that end, she needed to purchase a pianoforte for the hall. How were they to teach Bernard to play? Or entertain guests? Or annoy husbands and ensigns? She would use dowry money if she had to. McLarren would know what was best.
For ten whole minutes, she stabbed at her woman’s work, taking out her frustration on the unsuspecting muslin. When she dropped her needle the third time, she huffed. Tossing the tambour back on the table, she returned to the dining room door, pressing her ear against the wood. Not the most ladylike of behaviors, but no one had ever accused her of possessing ladylike qualities.
“And I said to him,” Duncan was explaining, “‘Your knapsack will be lighter.’”
Mr. Preston howled with laughter at whatever the joke had been. “That’s why you made it, sir. You’ve a sense of humor.”
“What are your plans, Robin? Are you returning or selling out?”
“Don’t know. Nothin’ else to do. What’s a man like me t’do? I’ve nothin’ but the Army. If I had somethin’, I would sell out. Can’t close my eyes without seeing it all. How do you do it?”
Mary could hear the creak of a chair, someone shifting position.
“It’s all about having a mission. When my attention is focused, I’m too preoccupied to remember.”
The clink of glass, a bout of silence, another clink.
“Laudanum helps, I’ve found,” Mr. Preston said. “One drop and the dreams stop. Don’t suppose you have any? Feelin’ the old cramp. Shoulda brought me bottle. Could use a drop in me wine.”
“Afraid not, Robin. I had enough of it under physician orders. When I first arrived, I instructed the steward remove all bottles from the hall, assuming there were any. Have you tried focusing your attention elsewhere? The horse training may help.”
“You’ve the grand life, sir. A wife and family and all. How old’s the boy? Memory’s not what it used to be.”
“Three. He turned three in July. Mary wants to hire a tutor soon.”
“I woulda’ liked a tutor. Couldn’t afford one, not on a miner’s salary, not with twelve kids to feed.”
She could hear Duncan’s chuckle from the other side of the door.
“I told her a village education would do.”
“Cor. Wha’ you do that for?”
“To antagonize her. I had a village education, you know. Wasn’t because my parents couldn’t afford a tutor but because they thought it would humble me. I want the best for my boy, Robin. He’ll have the finest tutor I can afford. Don’t let on to Mary, though. I want to tease her about it some more before I consent.”
“You’re a lucky man, sir. If I had a family, wouldn’t go back.”
Another creak of a chair.
“I enjoyed it,” Duncan replied. “It wasn’t roses and sunshine, but I was good at what I did. I would have returned had it not been for the injury. I hadn’t planned on leaving when I did, still had a few more years in me.”
Mary stepped back from the door, not wanting to hear more. She studied the wood grain. It took all her might not to weep in the doorframe. He had not planned on leaving the Army. He was to leave her waiting several more years. He would have returned. Never had Mary felt so small, so insignificant, so unwanted.
&nbs
p; Picking up her embroidery, she took it upstairs, leaving the men to entertain themselves for the remainder of the evening.
Sunlight reflected in the puddles of melted snow. From the look of the turn in weather, there would be no snow for the twelve days of Christmas, merely the leftover sludge from the snow of earlier in the month.
Duncan hated that her family would be seeing the park at its worst, covered in frosted mud and remnants of dirty snow. They were due to arrive two days after Christmas Day, wanting to celebrate the day of with their family, the Earl and Countess of Roddam. They would then spend the remaining days of Christmas at Sidwell Hall before arriving at their ultimate destination in Durham for the charity concert on Twelfth Night.
Had it not been for the demands of the training, he would have packed up his little family to spend Christmas Eve with his parents and brother’s family, and then Christmas Day with her family and cousin. As it was, he could not afford to lose the time.
The training was the most important. He had to prove to the Army his technique was superior. Once they contracted him to breed and train warhorses, all would be well. He could relax and work at his own pace. Mary’s ideas for training instructors was nothing short of brilliant, and he would be able to do that once this contract was signed. If he botched this opportunity, they would lose the chance. He would not allow her dream to wither because of his own negligence.
He worked hard that day from sunrise to sunset. Robin helped. The man may be a laudanum addict—for reasons only a fellow soldier could understand—but he was a damn fine cavalryman. He knew the moves and necessary training. Further to his credit, though he arrived both mornings in a laudanum daze, he did not drink a drop all through training, remaining focused on his task.
It did not take long for Duncan to explain and demonstrate his technique to the young ensign, the light touches that would make all the difference in the horses understanding the commands and moving as agile as a dancer. It was good, especially, to have someone who understood the battlefield to help ready the horses for the noises, sights, and smells, something Duncan alone could not recreate with authenticity.
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