For Your Arms Only

by Linden, Caroline

  “Oh.” Mother looked nonplussed. “The army. I see.”

  He hoped not. “I want to be discreet about it, for the family’s sake. They do seem like amiable ladies, and I would hate to bring any more distress to them.” Too late he remembered Miss Turner had not yet given him her blessing, and that he might end up making his inquiries on his own. But she was here tonight—surely a sign that she was considering giving her approval—and he wasn’t waiting on her blessing in any event. He realized he had been watching her for several minutes, and turned away.

  “Of course.” A shadow had fallen over her face. “And that is why you’ve come home, isn’t it. Because the army sent you.”

  The faint sadness in her statement pierced him. Never the truth. Alec bowed his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I came home because of Frederick.”

  Chapter 10

  Cressida found herself having a lovely time as the evening wore on. Most of the guests were pleasant, undemanding people, all polite enough not to comment on the main purpose of the gathering and willing to enjoy the evening. By the time Julia excused herself to go check on the refreshments, Cressida was surprised to realize almost two hours had passed.

  “I’m so glad we came,” Callie said softly beside her.

  “I am, too,” she admitted.

  “And not just to feel pretty again, although that is wonderful.” She moved, setting her rose skirts aflutter as they both admired the glow of candlelight ripple across the silk. “It’s so nice to be out in company.”

  “I’m sure the gentlemen in attendance are thinking the same thing. You really do look beautiful tonight.”

  Her sister had a way of wrinkling her nose just a little, managing to look fetching instead of gruesome. “They are not all looking at me.” She paused. “Major Hayes certainly looks at you a great deal, though.”

  Cressida jerked in surprise. “He does not.”

  “You don’t think so?” Callie was watching him across the room. Cressida glanced at him from under her eyelashes, just in time to realize he was looking her way. He stood by his mother, and as they watched he leaned down and murmured something to her before walking out the back of the room. “I vow, every time I happen to catch a glimpse of him, he’s looking at you in that contemplative way.”

  “Rubbish,” Cressida said with a small, uncomfortable laugh.

  “You look very nice tonight. Perhaps that’s it.”

  “Perhaps he’s contemplating where I might have my pistol hidden.” Callie laughed and Cressida grinned, although she would perish of embarrassment if anyone else knew she had pointed a gun at their host.

  “You always make fun when I suggest a man might be admiring you.”

  She went rigid. “I am sure that is not why he’s looking at me. The very idea is ridiculous.” Ridiculous and dangerous. Just the thought of those piercing eyes turned on her like that…Cressida shivered, then gave her sister a frown to reinforce her statement that it was ridiculous. Even if he did seem to look at her mouth fairly often.

  “I doubt it’s ridiculous, but of course I have no idea,” Callie conceded. “But any time I say such a thing, about anyone, you turn it into a joke.”

  Cressida turned and walked toward the open doors. Callie followed her into the empty hall. “It is a joke. Gentlemen look at you that way, not at me. I don’t mind,” she said as her sister looked at her in reproach. “Truly I don’t.”

  “You must.”

  She shook her head, running her fingers along the edge of the marble table. The hall was quiet and cool, scented with roses. She loved the genteel comfort of this house. Penford managed to be grand without being ostentatious, elegant without being cold, and above all a home, where children were allowed to skip in the corridors and there was always some bit of greenery brightening the rooms. “Not much. You’ve always been prettier than I, and everyone knows it. And you’re also more even-tempered, with a sweeter disposition and a gentler nature, so there’s never much reason for anyone to look at me at all when you’re about.”

  “I don’t think much of that is true, but even if so, it doesn’t stand to reason that every man would prefer me to you.” Cressida snorted, and Callie poked her in the arm with her fan. “Nor should they! And you should not assume they do.”

  Cressida snorted again. She didn’t like this conversation. It wasn’t Callie’s fault she had a knack for turning men away. It was just easier to make sport of them all than to admit out loud that she would in fact not mind being married, if only she could find someone who didn’t treat her like an oddity. She should find a prosperous innkeeper who would be too busy to mind her plain looks and might even welcome her sharp tongue and practical manner.

  “Don’t you want to marry? Ever?”

  The smart retort was on her lips. Cressida swallowed it and forced herself to be honest. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind, if the right man…” She glanced at Callie and sighed. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have been thinking about our problems and how we might solve them. If one of us were to marry—”

  Cressida felt a flicker of panic, but gave Callie a withering glare to hide it. “You’ve been listening to Granny again.”

  “No,” said her sister quietly. “I arrived at this myself. Cressida, what are we going to do? If one of us married a well-situated man, we would be provided for. Granny would be provided for.” That was true; they had Granny to think of as well, Granny with her wandering mind and failing body. “I confess, it is a daunting thought”—Callie’s voice faltered—“but I’m selfish not to consider it.”

  “But to whom?” They were whispering now, huddled close to each other. Cressida clasped her sister’s hands. “Is there someone you admire?”

  Callie blushed. “N-No, not in particular, but I think—I think I must look. And you must as well. We neither of us want to end as poor spinsters, I think.”

  Except that Callie was already a widow. Cressida was the spinster, and she hadn’t Callie’s reason to be skittish about marriage. “I intend to speak to Mrs. Blatchford in Marston about taking in work.”

  “Taking in sewing isn’t going to support all of us,” Callie pointed out. Cressida fell silent. For a moment they just stood in somber contemplation of their future.

  “Well, this needn’t ruin our evening.” Cressida shook herself and squeezed her sister’s hand. “We can’t change anything tonight, so we might as well be merry.”

  “No.” Callie glanced around the hall. “This is an odd place to discuss such a thing, I suppose.”

  “Very,” Cressida agreed dryly.

  “Well. Shall we go back?”

  She shook her head. “I want to see the garden at night. I’ll return in a moment.” Callie smiled and went back into the drawing room. Cressida slid her fingers once more along the marble table, catching up a few rose petals that had fallen. She brought them to her face and breathed in the soft, wild scent as she went through the back of the hall to the door to the terrace.

  “Would you like one?”

  She froze, petals clutched guiltily in her fist. She dared a glance behind her, but the major was nowhere to be seen, even though his voice had sounded very near. Then she saw him just around the corner at the foot of the back stairs, down on one knee with a small plate in his outstretched hand. Two tiny pairs of slippers scrambled out of sight, and a little girl’s voice said, “Mama said we mustn’t.”

  “Hmm.” As Cressida watched, he selected a tiny cake, little larger than a thimble, from the plate and popped it into his mouth. “Did she also say you must stay in bed?” The little girls, who must be his nieces, said nothing. “These are very good,” the major added. “I wouldn’t blame anyone who wanted just one.”

  She should go. She was eavesdropping, and spying, and Granny would be horrified at her. Cressida knew all this even as she stayed where she was. There was something in the major’s voice that entranced her and kept her silent and still.

  A small hand crept out and took
one of the cakes, then another one. The major ate another delicacy from his plate, a smile on his lips. Cressida wet her lips and swallowed. She had grudgingly admitted he was handsome even when he was somber and doing his best to provoke her temper. Now he was at ease and at home, and Cressida thought she would be in serious danger if he ever looked at her that way. Not that it was likely, but her conversation with Callie had fixed her thoughts on men and marriage and made her wonder, what if…It was bad luck the major happened to be the first handsome, unmarried, smiling man she saw, Cressida told herself. She didn’t even like him…just the way he smiled that small, secret smile for two little girls sneaking out of bed.

  “Do you like the party so far?” he asked them. One pair of slippers slid back into view as the owner leaned forward to take another treat. Major Hayes silently extended the plate, and she took another. Cressida saw the gleam of blond curls; that was Patience, the older girl.

  “Not much,” she said. “We like to see dancing, and no one is dancing.”

  “No.” He looked down for a second. “I don’t think Grandmama meant it to be that sort of party.”

  “I thought all parties had dancing.” Patience reached for the plate again, her prior reluctance fading quickly. “They used to, before Papa died.”

  The major inhaled audibly. “I am sure there will be dancing again soon. Your papa would want you to be happy and see dancing, and someday dance yourself.”

  “I don’t know how to dance!” She giggled.

  “You will learn,” he told her. “And you, too, Grace.”

  There was a rush of whispering in high, sweet childish voices. A second, smaller, pair of feet slipped into view. Grace, Marianne’s younger daughter, reached out and took a cake from the plate.

  “Don’t tell Mama we said so,” said Patience. “We aren’t to bother you, Mama said.” She stopped abruptly.

  “And you are not bothering me.” Major Hayes put the depleted plate of cakes on the floor. “But you made me think of dancing, and now I want to dance more than anything. Will you dance with me, Miss Patience?”

  She giggled again. “No!”

  He drew back. “No?”

  “No!” she said again, happily.

  He sighed, then turned to her sister. “Will you dance with me, Miss Grace?”

  To Cressida’s surprise, the tiny girl slid off the stair and put up her arms. He got to his feet and took her little hands in his, twirling her in circles and making her white nightgown bell out around her. A wide, nervous smile brightened her face, and then Patience jumped in, clapping her hands until her uncle gave her one hand and twirled her around, too. Both little girls stayed quiet, as if mindful they would be sent to bed if their mother discovered them, although their giggles grew louder as the major spun them in wider circles and finally scooped up Patience and swung her off her feet. Then he swung Grace, and Cressida felt her heart wobble at the open grin he wore. This was a side of the major she had never seen, and didn’t expect.

  After he had swung them each a few times, he set them back down. “You had best run along to bed now,” he said. “Dancing wears a fellow out.”

  “It was fun!” said Patience, hopping up and down in excitement. “You won’t tell Mama we were out of bed, will you?”

  “Not unless she asks me directly. Now go, before she finds out on her own.”

  “Oh! Come, Grace,” she said, taking her little sister’s hand. “Good night, Uncle!” With more giggling and some thumping, the girls disappeared up the stairs.

  Cressida belatedly realized she should slip away, but before she could take a step, the major had turned in her direction.

  “Would you also like to dance, Miss Turner?”

  Her face burned. “Oh, n-no,” she stammered. “I—I am sorry, I did not mean to spy. I was just in search of a breath of fresh air…”

  He smiled, and made no mention of the fact that she could have gotten to the garden directly from the drawing room. “Ah. I should hate to keep you from it.” He swept out one hand in wordless invitation, and she ducked her head and hurried past him, to the back of the house and out the door there. It would be better if he didn’t follow her; it would certainly be easier for her. But she knew he would, and wasn’t at all surprised when his footsteps sounded behind her on the flagstones.

  “So, have you made up your mind yet about me?”

  She gave a guilty start. Alec prowled a step closer. He found he could bear the scorn and distrust well enough from almost everyone else, but for some reason he felt compelled to press her on the issue. Perhaps it was the way that, despite the guilty start, she was still standing her ground, looking up at him with her chin raised and her eyes glowing. Everyone else glanced away to avoid his gaze or looked in fear of their lives if he spoke to them. His own nieces had first looked at him as if he were an ogre come to eat them, until he offered the plate of sweets. At least Miss Turner wasn’t afraid of him.

  “I am still considering,” was her pert reply.

  Alec clasped his hands behind him and hid a smile. He definitely liked this woman—beyond reason, most likely. “I see. Tonight you have me at your mercy. What are your reservations?”

  Her eyes darted past him to the bright windows of the drawing room. The murmur of conversation and laughter spilled into the dark night. “You are not at my mercy. You don’t have to speak to me at all.”

  “Perhaps I would like to speak to you.” More than she might guess, and far more than he would ever let on.

  She rolled that lower lip between her teeth. Alec, who had watched her do it again and again when he drove her into town, almost held his breath as he watched. “Perhaps you’re just hiding here to avoid the other guests.”

  “As you are?” As hoped, her lips parted at the counterattack, rosy pink and glistening. Perfect. He moved a step closer.

  “Well…yes.”

  He grinned. He liked her all the more for admitting it. “Then we are bound together in secrecy by our guilty consciences.”

  She pressed her lips into a line, then stopped fighting it and gave him a sheepish smile. “I suppose we are.”

  Alec turned to face the garden and put his head back to look at the night sky—anything to keep from staring at her mouth. “What makes you dread the guests inside?” He could almost hear her stiffen. “I dislike being watched so closely, as if people expect a violent outburst at any moment. The curate’s wife looked as though she was making a list of sins I might commit this very evening.”

  There was only silence beside him. Alec didn’t glance her way, so he had no idea of her expression, but perhaps that ploy hadn’t worked. He did want Miss Turner’s cooperation. He wanted to be done with this assignment as soon as possible, and her assistance would make things much easier. And if she came to like him a little better…Alec couldn’t deny an unwarranted desire for that. So instead of just asking questions, he volunteered information. Nothing she couldn’t guess on her own, but a peace offering of sorts, after the way he had quizzed her the other day.

  But she didn’t reply. Alec gave a silent sigh. “I had forgotten how beautiful these gardens are at night,” he murmured. “My mother always let it run a bit wild, and as a boy I imagined it an enchanted forest.” The silence endured. He started to leave. “I shan’t disturb your enjoyment of them.”

  “An enchanted forest?” she said softly, stepping up beside him. “Enchanted by whom?”

  He smiled ruefully. “An evil witch, I’m afraid. The vines there”—he gestured toward a towering wisteria, silver-spangled in the moonlight—“I imagined an angry monster, like a hydra. The roses in the center were a Scylla, and in the pond lurked a Leviathan, ready to slither out and drag me down if I went too close. I, of course, was a valiant hero come to battle them all.”

  She darted a guarded glance at him. “That was very good of you, to protect the household from such dangers.”

  “I always thought so. Once I went fishing for the Leviathan. I pictured myself hauling it
into the house like a hunting trophy. But just as I lowered my line into the water, a frog jumped in, right where I had cast the hook and was leaning over to check my progress. I fell headfirst into the pond, then bolted into the house dripping wet and covered with moss.” This time she did laugh, though quietly and stifled.

  “The poor frog.” She was definitely entertained by this. Alec caught the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

  “Perhaps, but those roses truly are a Scylla. I fell into their vicious grasp many times, and was thoroughly scratched.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Rather like the guests inside.”

  “I suppose one could look at it that way,” he replied in the same easy tone. “Though the scratches run somewhat deeper.”

  For another several minutes they stood in silence. “I hate that everyone knows we’ve fallen into debt,” she finally said, very softly. “I hate being poor, and I hate everyone pitying us because Papa’s disappeared. I know some think he’s just abandoned us.”

  Alec pictured the curate’s wife, with her primly pursed mouth and sanctimonious eyes. “You don’t believe he has.”

  She shook her head. “No. Whatever failings Papa has, he wouldn’t abandon us. I don’t believe so, at any rate.” She paused. “What do you think has happened to him?”

  It was a thorny question. “I was not told much,” he said carefully. “Only what you wrote Hastings, in fact. You and your sister told me more than he did, and even with that…I shouldn’t like to form an idea that may prove wrong. I can only assure you that I have no other object than to discover the truth, and I would not have agreed to that if I didn’t fully intend to succeed.”

  Cressida studied him, tall and imposing despite his neutral expression and even tone of voice. He had a way of holding so still, he seemed a shadow himself. If not for the white of his cravat and waistcoat, he would be entirely dark. He was still an enigma, but she couldn’t shake the image of him swinging his young nieces and smiling so openly. She wet her lips again. “What do you plan to do? I cannot think how you will proceed when we, who know Papa and his habits, have been unable to get word of him.”