A brisk breeze shivered through her despite the warm layers. Circling a finger around a button, she squinted against the sun, waiting.
Just when she was ready to give up, she heard the thunder of hoofs. On her feet and alert, she watched. The rumble increased, its rhythmic pulse in time with her heartbeat.
Over the hill crested her hero at last. He was magnificent, a powerhouse of masculinity, riding hell for leather on Caesar. She pressed her gloves to her mouth to see him, such a different view from the chamber bound, scruffy, and angry man she had last encountered. He slowed his stallion as he drew closer. Curious, her eyes fell first to his legs. Muscular thighs gripped the horse, housed in form-fitting buckskins tucked into boots so shiny they reflected the world around them. When she looked into his face, she only just stopped herself from licking her lips. His hair was windblown, his cheeks freshly shaven, his smile broad.
He came to a halt within arm’s reach.
“I take it I’ve not upset you beyond forgiveness with my inanity?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her.
“I knew you would come to your senses.” She stroked Caesar’s neck, another glance to his legs.
“Have I surprised you?” He ran a hand down his horse’s neck until he caressed her knuckles.
“The understatement of the year. Am I to know your secret, or shall you keep me in suspense?”
“Alas, there’s nothing to tell. Your mounting platform, coupled with the blacksmith’s chair, has helped me accomplish this, but if you’ve not noticed, my lower half is secured to the horse. I still cannot walk, Mary.”
She heaved a sigh, noticing for the first time the ropes tying his boots to the stirrups. The news was not as disheartening as it might have been. He was, after all, riding his horse. The Duncan she had last encountered was a man determined to be bedridden, and yet here was the Duncan she knew, the colonel to whom her heart belonged. That was heartening news indeed.
“I can’t linger,” he said, Caesar prancing away from her. “I only just managed to escape the escort of my brother and my groom. Thank you, Mary. Thank you for coming.”
“You invited me, didn’t you?” She reached a hand to him.
Taking her hand, he kissed the air above it and said, “My mother will invite you to tea any day now. Unless you want me to wax poetic with more terribly penned sonnets, I suggest you accept it. And if you arrive looking half as fetching as you do today, I’ll tell you about the tingle I feel in my thigh.”
With those enticing words, he winked and turned to canter in the opposite direction, leaving her to wave to his blurry silhouette.
Not but two days later, she received the invitation from Mrs. Georgina Starrett. Tucked inside the letter was another sonnet.
To tea you are invited, love of mine.
The clouds will part. The sun will shine, divine.
The stars envy your beauty, dear; the moon
Moves waves as you move me, tidal typhoon.
Together, we shall ride at dusk and dawn
For all eternity. To you, I’m drawn;
For you, I yearn; for us, I burn; to you
I’m pledged. One word from you, and I’ll pursue.
Be not alarmed by clouds of leaden grey.
Alongside you, I’ll walk with faith; I pray.
Should you begin to doubt sincerity,
Hark now my words of true fidelity.
With each new day, my will grows strong, to be
The man you long to see. But first, some tea.
Mary’s smile lingered through the evening and next morning and still tugged at the corners of her lips when she rode to Cois Greta Park the next day, a groom in tow.
It was not at all the thing to call on neighbors via horse rather than carriage seeing as how she would now smell more like horse than lavender-scented soap and since she would be in her riding habit rather than a visiting dress, but that did not stop her. Such trivialities never stopped her.
The first ten minutes of her visit sped by in a blur. There was little she could concentrate on aside from Duncan. She did admire his new wheeled chair and heard tales of the outdoor Bath chair Mr. Swansbourne was constructing, and Mrs. Georgina Starrett did ask after Mary’s family, among other things; Mary hoped her answers were appropriate, but she could not say with any clarity how or even that she replied to anything said. All her attention remained focused on the gentleman seated across from her. His legs were propped on a footstool, feet crossed, a fine ensemble of emerald silk hugging his frame, an elbow hoisted on the chair arm, a coy smile playing at his lips.
So distracted was she that she missed whatever Colonel Sean Starrett said that preceded he and his wife moving to the window to talk together. Their departure was so unexpected, though she was sure they gave a good excuse for it, that she sat straighter and looked about as though waking from a dream.
Duncan adjusted his seat, leaning forward with a broadening smile. “Alone at last.”
“Yes, I had noticed. Not at all obvious, are they?” Mary smoothed the skirt of her habit with fidgety hands.
“To my disappointment, they’ll not leave us in the room alone. At least we can converse somewhat privately.”
“I don’t see why they can’t leave the room,” she said, reaching for a biscuit. Invited to tea, yet she had not eaten a single bite. “What do they expect you to do? Regain full use of your legs for the sole purpose of ravishing me?”
Duncan threw his head back in laughter, drawing the curious glances of his parents.
After a hasty sample, she added, “My mother, for one, is positive I’ve been somehow compromised by visiting your bedchamber. The fact that you were unconscious and ill makes no never mind to her. I suppose she assumes I took advantage of you, as I would do.”
Another bark of laughter had his parents turning with raised brows and smirks.
Continuing to chuckle, he studied her, his eyes glinting. Under such scrutiny, she could do little except blush, thankful to be wearing a high-collared habit rather than another of Charlotte’s low-bodice recommendations.
“Before we say anything more, let me begin with this. I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his smile slipping into a more somber expression. “I spoke out of turn the day you called. After all you had done, I lashed out. I can’t apologize enough.”
“Yes, well, you were a bit of a grump. But here I am, and here you are, and that’s now behind us.” With a last nibble of the biscuit, she added, “If you do it again, however, I warn you, I’ll pour scalding water on your head and leave hay in your bed.”
Though he laughed, his features remained serious. “Let’s not beat about the bush today. My parents won’t stand aside forever. I don’t know how to proceed, Mary. I would like to continue my plans to court you, but as you well know, I have little to offer and don’t know if I ever will. You could be looking at a future pushing me about in a wheeled chair. If you would rather draw a line now and remain as friends, I’ll understand. You need only say the word.”
Ah, the conversation had come to this so soon? She had not expected such forthright speech on their first meeting. But then, why should she not have expected it? They had always spoken openly with each other.
“You must understand,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m more than a duke’s daughter. I need for you to see me as more than that. Though the words were said when you were less than your best, there was truth to them. You said you would always feel my inferior. If that’s the case, then we should not proceed. If that’s all you see me as, there’s really no point, is there? I’m a woman with hopes and dreams that go well beyond the aspirations of the sixteen-year-old girl you left behind. If this is to go anywhere, you must see me. In my eyes, this has naught to do with your injury.”
Duncan ran a hand through his hair, frowning. “We hardly know each other any
more. Are we clinging too much to the past, do you think?”
“I do. But I’ll not have the last five years lived in vain. What we once had is enough for me to want to proceed, to fight for what we could have been. At least then, we’ll know. If we learn there’s not enough to sustain a future, we can walk away, but at least we’ll know.”
Nodding, he said, “Always sensible.” Eyes trained on the arm of his chair, he picked at the embroidery on the hem of his sleeve. “The only time I thought of you as the daughter of a duke was when I planned to ask your mother for your hand and knew it would be foolhardy to do so. It was memories of you and our future together, not memories of a duke’s daughter that kept me alive in the darkest moments of war. Granted, the future didn’t contain this.” He swept a hand over his legs. “Would I not be a burden to you?”
“Only if you pouted in bed for the remainder of eternity. You’re no good to me in bed.”
The corners of his lips inched upwards. In a lowered voice he said, “Is that a challenge? I’ll remember you said that.”
With a groan, she covered her eyes with her hand to conceal her embarrassment.
“There is another matter we need to discuss, Mary. It could very well change your mind on whether we should proceed. I can’t delay this any longer, and the fact that it’s been delayed this long is only because of the injury.”
She peeked at him through parted fingers.
His brown eyes trained on her, he continued, “There’s someone I want you to meet. Not today, but soon. I need this meeting to happen. I realize you might not accept the person I plan to introduce to you, but I feel it’s important that you do or at least understand my stance on the situation. Not many women would be understanding or accepting. You’re unlike any woman I know, though, and that gives me hope.”
Her breath hitched. Lowering her hands to her lap, she strangled the tips of her gloves. Of all the topics, this was the last she would have assumed to arise over tea, much less with his parents still in the room, however distant they stood. She knew, of course, exactly which topic he planned to broach. Or she thought she knew.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, I know all about the little boy.”
He sat upright, startled. For a moment he could do nothing but stare.
At length he settled against the chairback, propping an elbow on the arm and resting his cheek against his forefinger. “You know about Bernard?”
“As it happens, I do. There’s no need for a lengthy preamble or explanation. I understand perfectly and can say we’re acquainted. I met him and his nurse not too long ago, though I didn’t know his name until now.” She rather liked his name, however much she resented there was a child not hers to have a name.
“It’s a relief, if I’m honest, that you already know. Though I’m sorry not to have been there for the introductions. If it makes you in any way uncomfortable, his nurse can raise him, and you needn’t be involved, but I do need you to know I plan to raise him as my son. I know it’s too much to hope you’ll accept him, much less want to be a mother to him, but oh, Mary, I do hope.”
At least he was being honest. Most men would hide their by-blows, see the children as a disgrace. In some way, despite his betrayal, she admired him for accepting responsibility and not leaving the child in an orphanage, or worse. She could not, however, answer his hope. Could there ever be a time when she would look at the boy and not see what his existence meant?
When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I don’t know, Duncan. The most I can promise is that I’ll try. I assume he’s illegitimate?” The last word strained from her lips.
These were details she did not want to know, but she could not stop herself from asking. The thought of him marrying while on the continent… she shuddered, feeling ill.
“Yes, there’s no doubt about that.” He laughed, as though telling a joke. “I know such people aren’t acknowledged by society, but I’ll not have him ashamed of his origin. He’s a great boy, Mary. I can’t wait for you to meet him. He has a way with horses, too.”
To see the look in his eyes when talking about the boy nearly broke her heart. He may never have another child. She may never have one of her own. Together, they may never have one. And there he sat, a twinkle of pride in his eyes over a boy that was not of their union.
She stifled her sob and asked more questions she did not want the answer to. “Do you—do you miss his mother?”
Brows crinkled, he eyed her quizzically. “I hardly knew her. She was one of the camp followers.”
“Hardly knew—” Mary bristled.
What a wretched thing to say! How foul! How, how roguish!
“I’m not so naïve that I don’t know about camp followers,” she said, “but to say you hardly knew her is, well, is the outside of cruel.”
“I meant no disrespect to her, believe me. She wasn’t what you think. A camp follower, yes, but camp followers aren’t what I think you think they are. We’re a community, and everyone has a role. The women who follow us are supportive, help treat wounds, do the laundry, cook the meals, and other tasks. The children that travel with us are especially fortunate because they’re raised by the whole of the community, everyone looking after each other. I imagine this is how my siblings grew up when following the drum with Papa. As an officer, I had few dealings with the followers, though. I spoke with her only a handful of times.”
“Enough times, it seems,” Mary muttered.
She did not want to turn this into an argument, but he had caught her off guard.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said. “Even had I never met her, I would still pursue this course. The boy needs a father, and he took to me right away. What else could I do but take him with me?”
“Did she have no say in it, then?” Mary’s words were sharp as steel. This was not at all going how she had rehearsed.
“She died of a fever, Mary. We endured a harsh winter that took many men, as well as women. It’s a miracle Bernard survived, but he’s a resilient chap.” Leaning forward, he added, “I’m not blind; I can see you’re not happy about this. Just because I want to raise him doesn’t mean you have to be involved. I had hoped, well, never mind. Let’s talk about something else, then, shall we?”
“How can I be happy about it? I’m not saying I won’t be open minded. I’m here, aren’t I? Even after meeting him, I’m here. But no, I’m not happy about it. He is the symbol of your betrayal, and I’ll not forget that easily. It is difficult enough to know you could not wait for me, but to have the evidence everyday reminding me …” Her words trailed off.
“Wait.” He held up his hands to keep her from interrupting. “Are we having two different conversations? Devil take it, I believe we are. Oh, Mary. Oh, my darling Mary. You said you met him and the nurse and needed no further explanation. I thought you knew. I thought something was said. I—oh, for heaven’s sake. Bernard is not my child, Mary. I have never been unfaithful to you. I’ve never so much as thought about being unfaithful. My day rises and sets on you. Bernard is not mine, but I fully intend to raise him as my own son, and all I could think of while convalescing in London was us raising him together.”
Before he finished, Mary had already pulled out a handkerchief and began to sob noisily into the linen and lace. Out of the corner of teary eyes, she saw him wave away his parents as they approached, concerned.
“Bernard is the son of one of the camp followers, a young girl named Eleanor. There’s no way to say delicately that the father could be any one of a handful of soldiers, but before her death, one of the fellows had taken a shine to her and the boy, a young ensign named Philip. They intended to marry after the campaign. Life had other plans. We lost her to fever and Philip to a skirmish on the border of France. Bernard had no one. He had taken to me, and I to him, and what could I do? I know he’s illegitimate, but I don’t give a fig. He’s my son, and that’s all there is
to it.”
Though her sobs softened, Mary’s tears continued to rain rivers down her cheeks. There were no words to express her relief. And the boy—that poor boy!
“Mary?” The softness of his voice caressed her skin as gentle as a touch.
Looking up to see him reaching a hand to her, she nodded, wiped her eyes, and clasped his hand in hers.
“I have never been nor ever will be unfaithful to you.” He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. “My only concern was raising an illegitimate child as my own. I worried you would object.”
“No,” she said, squeezing his hand. “No, I don’t object. I wholeheartedly do not object. And I want to meet him, though not today. I might frighten him in this state.”
Duncan dazzled her with a smile.
It was not until she was halfway home that she realized they had not once spoken of his condition. She had half a mind to turn around and demand a full report. Knowing she would join them all for dinner in another two days kept her riding home. After meeting Bernard, she would demand to hear about the tingle in his thigh he alluded to the day prior. What a tease not to tell her!
Chapter 13
Duncan, comfortably seated in his wheeled chair, made his best impression of an elephant trumpeting.
“Elephant!” Bernard shrieked. Leaping onto Duncan’s lap, he said, “My turn! Roar, roar, roar!” Hands turned to paws, fingers to claws, and teeth to gnashing fangs for the full effect.
“Hmm. Let me think.” Duncan tapped a finger to his chin.
“Roar!” Bernard bounced on Duncan’s legs.
“A tiger?”
“No! A lion!” Jumping off his papa’s lap, the boy pounced around the room in imitation of a lion.
“Oh, yes. I see the difference now between a lion and tiger. How could I have made such a mistake?” There was nothing else to do but laugh.
As Bernard rounded the room, the drawing room door opened to the butler’s sober expression, the corners of the man’s mouth twitching in telling contradiction.
The Colonel and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 4) Page 13