by Rose Pearson
“I have only had a small glass, and thereafter, you refused to give me any more,” he stated, ferociously. “Although why you would deny a Duke such a thing, I cannot say.” He hoped that his words might be enough to convince them to allow him a little more brandy but the two men remained entirely impassive. Apparently, his title and status as a Duke held no sway over them.
“As I said, Your Grace, we are just coming into shore.” The first man began to pick up a few of Stephen’s things which he had not put into his trunk, having decided not to make any effort to aid them in their desire to have him safely to shore and on his way back to the estate. “Peters will help you to the deck.”
Peters, whom Stephen realized was the name of the second man – he had not been much good with names during this voyage since he was very often in his cups, and when he was not, had been nursing a very painful head – came closer to him and grasped his arm firmly, pulling him to his feet.
Stephen growled and made to wrench his arm from Peter’s firm grip, only for the floor to move under his feet and make him stumble slightly as he tried to remain standing.
“It is this way, Your Grace.”
Peter’s expression held no sympathy, no understanding. Instead, it was lined with frustration and irritation which Stephen knew would be directed solely towards him. He had not made this journey easy for any of them. He had drunk and gambled and done whatever he could to try and prevent himself from thinking about what would be waiting for him back in England. Even now, he could feel himself shrink back from setting foot on England’s shores, wanting to remain on board the ship despite the stink and the stench and the cramped quarters that came with it. Perhaps, if he could go back to India, they might reconsider. He could tell them that all was well, that his estate was in hand and he was now free to return back to the army.
A groan escaped his mouth as he was pulled towards the small steps that would lead to the deck. There was no hope of returning to the army, not now. He knew that all too well. They were determined to be rid of him, and so, therefore, he must go without complaint. He had done wrong in losing his temper and striking out at Colonel Fitchley, and therefore, there would not be an easy way back. As much as he did not wish it, as much as he did not want to face it, Stephen knew that there was no other choice for him but to return home.
“The fresh air should do you good.”
Stephen braced himself and climbed the stairs without too much difficulty, although at one point, Peters had to push hard at his back in order to keep him steady. Nausea climbed up his throat as he finally reached the deck, feeling the cold, salty air hit him across the face. Behind him, Peters drew in a long, loud breath and sighed contentedly.
“There we are now, Lord Carrington,” he said, slapping Stephen hard on the back before urging him forward to stand closer to the rail so as to take in the sights. “There is England. We have returned.”
There was a joy in Peter’s voice that Stephen did not feel. He did not want to be here. He did not want to set foot in England, nor did he want to go back to his estate and see his children again. It was not something that brought him any pleasure. Instead, it brought fear and dread with it, his mind begging him for a way to clear out the thoughts and memories from it.
If only I could have had that brandy.
Stephen could feel his mind becoming clearer by the minute and he hated that the fog of liquor that had surrounded him was already dissipating.
“We shall get something to drink the moment we disembark,” Peters said, firmly. “You need something in you to sober you up. We do not have any intentions of allowing you to cast up your accounts in the carriage, Your Grace.”
This was said with a slightly mocking tone and, as much as Stephen wanted to say something to put the man in his place, to remind him of who he was, there came no immediate response to his mind. Instead, he simply held onto the rail and let his jaw set, aware that his anger was quickly fading away, back to the fear that now knotted his stomach.
He hated himself for that. He did not want to be afraid, did not want to let himself feel scared about returning home, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to rid himself of it.
“We are home.”
Peters’ sigh caught Stephen’s attention and he glanced across at the officer, seeing the small smile lighting his features and realizing that, for most of those aboard the ship, this was the end of what had been a very long and arduous journey. They were glad to be here, glad to be home. But he could bring up no feelings of happiness nor delight. Instead, there was such a cloying panic, knowing that soon, he would have to face his demons once again.
“London has not changed.”
Stephen closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the places he knew so well.
“Do you see it different, Your Grace?”
“I do not care,” Stephen replied, gruffly, not wanting to engage with either man in conversation. He was battling with his own tumultuous emotions and did not have time to listen or respond to their remarks.
Setting his feet back on England’s soil had been more difficult than he had anticipated. He had stood on the board that had taken him from the ship to dry land and had been entirely unable to take a step from that board onto the ground.
He had forced a good many others to wait as he had looked down at the ground and felt his heart hammering furiously in his chest. There had been shouts of frustration and angry words being directed at him, but they had all faded away as though they came from some distance away. It had been too much of a step to take, too much to even consider doing – and then before he could protest or think on it any longer, Peters had given him a shove and he had stumbled off the board, almost falling on his face into the dirt.
The raucous laughter behind him had grated on his already taut nerves and he had wanted to shout furiously up into Peters’ face. But as his heart had been beating so furiously and his face had been burning with such mortification, he had found himself unable to say a single thing.
Neither Peters nor Higgins – which was the name of the other officer, apparently – seemed to know nor care what it was he felt about returning home. They were simply enjoying being back amongst those they knew, already talking delightedly about what they would do now that they were back in London. Stephen felt no such joy. There was nothing for him here. Even though his estate was less than half a day’s ride from London, he would not return here willingly. There were too many ghosts ready to pull him into the darkness.
“There’s that old place!” he heard Higgins exclaim and, much to his own frustration, Stephen opened his eyes and looked directly out of the window.
His heart ripped from his chest and flung itself from him. His breath caught, his agony burning hot as it tore him apart. There was Almacks. That was what Higgins had been speaking of. Almacks, the very place where he had first met Martha. He could still see her now, walking into the room with almost an ethereal air about her. The beauty of her eyes and the gentleness of her manner had captured his heart in only a few moments, pulling him towards her with such a fervency that he had been unable to do anything else.
How desperately he had gone from one friend to the next in the hope of finding someone who could introduce him to her! Thankfully, he had soon found someone to do so and from that very moment, he had known that she was to be his wife.
And now here he was, returning to England without her.
“Hyde Park’s the place to go if you want to be seen,” Peters commented, clearly unaware of just how distressed Stephen was. “It’ll be busy in a few hours’ time – not that we’ll be here.”
Higgins chuckled, and Stephen flinched. The sound was entirely at odds with all that he was feeling and it gnawed away at him, making his pain all the worse.
“We can return tomorrow,” Higgins suggested. Peters made a sound of agreement. “We don’t have to report to anyone until two days from now. No reason why we can’t enjoy ourselves a little.”
Stephe
n let out a groan and put his head in his hands.
“You shouldn’t have had so much brandy last night, Lord Carrington,” Peters stated, without even a trace of sympathy in his words. “I thought someone with your habits would know full well the consequences of drinking too much.”
Stephen squeezed his eyes closed tightly, biting back his first, sharp response. “I need something,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can’t go on to the estate like this.”
Again, Higgins chuckled, and Stephen winced.
“We’ll be stopping at an inn soon enough,” he said, jovially. “I know your estate is only half a day’s ride but we’ll not make it there before dark. We’ll stop somewhere soon enough and then rise early in the morning so you’re back with your children within the first few hours of the morning.”
This all sounded quite pleasing to them, Stephen supposed, lifting his head but keeping one hand over his eyes. Peters and Higgins were just doing as they had been directed. And to them, a warm meal, cozy bed and another day to do as they pleased once they had placed him home, must seem quite wonderful. He, on the other hand, could think of nothing worse. He did not want to go home. He did not want to see his children. He did not want to be constantly reminded about all that had gone before.
“Might I be permitted to have some brandy at this inn of yours?” he asked, dropping his hand from his eyes and glaring at Peters. “Or am I to be denied that also?”
Peters exchanged a look with Higgins, clearly neither of them impressed by his harsh tone.
“I think you might have a little, Your Grace,” Peters said, eventually, as Higgins nodded his agreement. “But you will be watched carefully. Colonel Fitchley was very clear. We are not to permit you to arrive home in an inebriated fashion and that is precisely what we intend to do.”
Stephen groaned aloud, feeling as though he were being treated like a very small child who did not know what was best for them.
“A measure of thankfulness would not go awry,” Higgins said, with a note of mirth in his voice as though he knew full well the frustration they were causing Stephen. “After all, Your Grace, it is not every gentleman who is brought home safely by two other officers.”
Stephen turned his face to the window and stared out at the London streets, refusing to answer. His stomach churned uncomfortably and his hands tightened into fists before loosening again. They did not know the difficulties he faced, nor the torment in his mind. All he wanted to do was drink until his mind no longer turned over the horrors that had gone before. Until his heart stopped aching with the sharp pain that continually stabbed at it. He wanted to forget Martha, forget India, forget his past, even if only for a time.
“I shall be grateful for a little brandy,” he muttered, not looking at either man. “I thank you.”
There was a short silence and Stephen allowed himself a small, rueful smile. If Peters and Higgins were to permit him to have a little brandy, then there might also come the opportunity to encourage them to take a little also. And he knew full well that once a man began to have a little brandy, he might go on to have more. And then, mayhap, a little more. If he was careful, he might very well be able to have as much brandy as he wished, and then he might be able to rid his mind of these tormenting thoughts for a time. Maybe he might be able to find the courage to place himself back into the carriage in the morning in order to face his staff, his estate, and his children.
All he had to do was wait.
Chapter Four
“Do be quick.”
Jenny’s stomach was in knots as she hurried both John and Mary out of the schoolroom and down the staircase. They had both been remarkably silent this morning and they were certainly more willing to do as she asked. This, she was certain, came from the knowledge that their father was due to arrive home that morning. Mrs. Blaine had received a note from someone named Peters, who had stated that they would return with the Duke by eleven o’clock in the morning. There was someone stationed at the gates to alert them to his arrival, but as yet, no sign of the carriage had been seen.
“Why must we go out and wait in the cold?” Mary complained, her face a little paler than usual. “Father will not mind if we are inside, I am quite certain.”
“We do what we must in order to greet your father and welcome him back home,” Jenny insisted, a little surprised to hear Mary speak to her in such a calm manner, even if she was complaining. “He has had a long journey and therefore needs to know we are glad that he has returned.” She shot a quick glance towards John, whose eyes were fixed to the floor, clearly unwilling to engage in conversation. She had no idea what he was feeling, nor what he must be thinking about seeing his father again after such a long time. She could only pray that the Duke would acknowledge his children and show some sort of relief or gladness over seeing them again. To reject them now, to turn away from them or barely acknowledge them, would bring the children more pain than they were already enduring.
“The carriage!”
Mrs. Blaine suddenly appeared by the front door, beckoning to them.
“The carriage has been seen!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “Do hurry now, Miss Edgington.”
Her heart beating a little more quickly, Jenny ushered the children towards the door and encouraged them to stand outside, in between two rows of staff. She held herself somewhat stiffly, not at all sure what to expect of Lord Carrington. She knew that Lady Matthews had written to him to inform him of the changes that had occurred in his absence but, having never received a written confirmation from him that he approved of her, Jenny found herself somewhat anxious.
“Do try and remember that your father has had a long and tiring journey,” she whispered to the children, who were both now staring at the carriage with wide eyes, all trace of scorn or frustration gone from their faces. “You must not expect him to be overt in his emotions.” She could not quite tell why she was saying such a thing to the children, forcing herself to silence instead of saying more. Was she trying to protect them in some way? Did she think that the Duke would be disinclined toward his children in some way and was, therefore, trying to protect them? Closing her eyes and drawing in a long breath, Jenny set her shoulders and forced a gentle smile to her lips. There was no need for concern.
“We are home at last!”
The Duke’s loud voice startled her, the smile already fading from her face. As he stuck his head out of the carriage, she was shocked at the way his broad grin seemed to slide from one side of his face to the other. He did not make a move to climb out of the carriage. Instead, his eyes slid from one side of the assembled group to the other. Stunned, she realized he was in his cups, for it seemed he could not quite contemplate the two small steps that had been placed there for him, ready to help him to the ground.
“For goodness sake, Carrington.”
Another man pushed past the Duke and descended to the ground. Turning around, he reached out one hand to grasp the Duke’s arm and practically hauled the Duke to the ground.
“Miss Edgington.”
Jenny, pulled from her shock by the sound of Mary’s quiet voice, looked down at her at once. “Yes, Mary?” she asked, a little surprised to see the girl looking up at her with wide eyes, no longer showing any sign of being difficult or demanding.
“What is wrong with my father?”
Jenny hesitated, not quite certain what to say. Mary’s hand grasped the edge of her skirt as the Duke hollered aloud at the uncomfortable way he was being taken from the carriage. Jenny felt her heart go out to the girl. “He is just overtired,” she said, by way of excuse. “I think he will be quite all right once he has rested.”
“Or the sea has made him unsteady,” said John, his eyes fixed steadily upon his father. “When we came off the boat, I could not walk in a straight line for a few days.”
Jenny blinked rapidly, not having expected such a comment from John, who had made it his intention to rid the house of her ever since she had set foot in the house. He was changed in a
moment at the sight of his father, clearly upset at the appearance of the man he had thought so much about but yet not spoken of to anyone for some time.
“That must be it,” Jenny agreed, calmly. “You remembered how you felt, John, and that must now be considered when it comes to understanding your father.” She winced inwardly at the loud guffaws that now came from the Duke, who was leaning heavily on a second man that she had not seen emerge from the carriage. With his other hand, he held onto the carriage door, seemingly unwilling to let it go. “It has been a long journey, as I said.”
Mrs. Blaine shot Jenny a look that told her she too was disgusted by the Duke’s manner, her eyes straying to the children for a moment. As much as she struggled with John and Mary’s behavior, Jenny knew that what she had told her about her own grief and her struggles thereafter, helped Mrs. Blaine to understand why they behaved in such a fashion. There was softness within her that the children had not yet managed to beat out, and Jenny was grateful for that. The children would need Jenny’s guidance and support now that their father had returned and, in turn, Jenny would need the support of Mrs. Blaine! It would be to her that she would cry out her troubles, her struggles, and her sorrow.
“It seems Mr. Thomas was quite correct in his assessment,” she murmured to Mrs. Blaine so that the children could not hear. “I do not know whether or not to take the children back inside.”
Mrs. Blaine frowned. “He has looked at them but has not approached as yet,” she said, softly, as the Duke continued to hold onto the carriage door, with the two men urging him to let go of it. “Mayhap he cannot.”
Jenny frowned. That was quite possible, given that the Duke seemed incapable of standing upright on his own. Just how much liquor he must have imbibed was quite beyond her reckoning, and why he would do such a thing knowing that he was to return to his home and, specifically to his children, she could not understand. She let her eyes rest on him, seeing him look first at John and then at Mary, although the wide grin still rested on his face. He made no attempt to approach them and did not even call their names or give them a greeting. Instead, his gaze turned away and he said something incomprehensible to one of the other two men.
