by Diane Gaston
She pulled away. ‘I cannot—’ She backed away from him.
He reached out to touch her again, but withdrew his hand.
She wrapped her own arms around herself. ‘Perhaps we should say goodbye now.’
Now? He was not ready.
‘Please, Captain?’ Her voice rose to a higher pitch. ‘I must do this in a hurry. It is too painful.’
It heartened him that parting from him was painful to her. It convinced him she was as attached to him as he was to her.
‘As you wish.’ Allan could not make himself move, however.
Her eyes creased and her voice turned low. ‘Goodbye, then, Captain.’
‘Goodbye, Marian,’ he murmured in reply.
He bowed and forced himself to walk to the door.
‘Captain!’ She ran to him.
He opened his arms and caught her in a tight embrace. He held her as if he would never release her, never lose the scent of roses that surrounded her, or the softness of her curves, or her courage and resourcefulness.
‘I am so used to being with you,’ she murmured against him. ‘I do not know how to go on without you.’
He held her close. ‘I do not know how I will go along without you, either.’
She pushed away from him again. ‘Go, please. I am all right now.’
‘I will write to you.’ It seemed like not enough to say.
‘Yes. Yes. Just leave now.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Please?’
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
She looked up into his eyes. ‘Godspeed, Captain,’ she whispered. ‘Godspeed.’
Chapter Ten
A week later Marian felt pushed to the limits of her endurance. How ironic that a week at the Hôtel de Flandres had been harder to bear than all the danger and hardship she’d shared with the captain. Her nerves were frayed to ragged threads, and she wished only to scream and hurl breakable objects about the room.
She missed him.
It made no sense that his absence should create such a void. They’d known each other for so short a time.
It did not help that her uncle had insisted upon her presence so he could bully her and order her about. She hated being controlled by him.
He’d discovered that she’d offered to help care for the injured soldiers recuperating in the hotel. ‘It is not seemly for a young lady and well you should know it,’ he’d snapped at her. He’d also refused to allow her to visit the soldiers at the Fentons’ house.
She’d barely existed to her uncle before this, but now she was someone to command, the only person he could command. He was too dependent upon Mrs Vernon to order her about, and her servants took orders only from her.
Miss Blane simply ignored him and did whatever she wanted. She was an intriguing person, very confident and secure in her betrothal to Mrs Vernon’s son. If it weren’t for Ariana Blane’s connection to Uncle Tranville and the Vernons, Marian might have wished to make her a friend.
Marian’s feelings about Mrs Vernon were very muddled. She could not forgive the older woman for the injury to her aunt, but, at the same time, Marian pitied her for remaining attached to a man such as her uncle.
Edwin was irritating, but a distraction. He called frequently and seemed to fall into his childhood habit of depending upon her for companionship. Poor Edwin! He’d inherited the worst from his parents. He was as weak as his mother and as selfish as his father. And he had no desire to improve himself or to help anyone else.
Edwin certainly made no effort to help with the battle’s casualties. He did nothing useful as far as Marian could tell. The only useful task Edwin performed was to deliver his father’s mail.
Each day he visited the regimental office and picked up any mail that came for his father in the regimental packets from London or Paris where the regiment was currently stationed. Then he returned to the office with whatever mail his father wished to send.
This day, Edwin brought his father a letter. Because Mrs Vernon was out on an errand, Uncle Tranville sent for Marian to write his reply.
It was an ordeal. If she asked her uncle to repeat a word, he protested that she should pay better attention. If she asked him to speak slowly, he shouted for her to write faster.
When the silly letter was completed, signed and sealed, he turned to Edwin. ‘This goes back today, do you hear? I want it in the next packet to London.’
Edwin gave him a withering look. ‘Do not be tedious, Father. There won’t be another packet until tomorrow.’
Uncle Tranville sat up in the bed. ‘I want it at the regimental office, today.’
‘Very well.’ Edwin’s manner made it seem as if this was an onerous task instead of a short walk across the Parc.
‘Do you have more need of me?’ Marian kept her voice civil with effort.
‘No. Go.’ He waved her away. ‘You’ve already wearied me excessively.’
She walked out with Edwin. When they were in the hallway, he asked, ‘Would you like to share a glass of claret with me in the drawing room?’
‘I would much prefer to be outside.’ She was feeling like a tethered falcon. All she wanted was to stretch her wings. ‘May I walk with you to the Place Royale?’
‘Can we have some claret first?’ His voice rose in dismay.
‘No, indeed. You drink too much as it is,’ she scolded. ‘Let us leave now.’
She fetched her hat and shawl, and they were off. Soldiers still lounged on the benches, but for the fresh air, not because they were forced to live out of doors. It heartened her that the men were recovering, that they were not abandoned.
Edwin also glanced at the benches. ‘They should order them out of the park. These men have no rank. What if we wanted to sit down?’
‘Edwin, have some compassion!’ She pushed him.
He glowered, but Marian enjoyed the scent of the grass and swish of trees and being away from her uncle.
Edwin paused and regarded her with a weary expression. ‘I almost forgot.’ He reached in his coat. ‘I have a letter for you, too. It was sent in care of Father in the packet from Paris. It’s from Landon.’
‘From the captain?’ She snatched it out of Edwin’s hands and gazed at the captain’s clear, confident script on the envelope. ‘I am going to walk back. I want to read it.’
‘Read it here.’ Edwin said. ‘I’ll make these fellows leave the bench.’
‘No, you will not,’ she responded. ‘I’m not taking their seat.’
He lolled his head, like he always did when he thought she’d made a ridiculous statement. He pointed. ‘There’s an empty bench.’
Marian walked quickly across the path to reach it. She sat and immediately broke the seal of the letter. Then she began to read.
‘Aren’t you going to read it out loud?’ Edwin asked in a sarcastic tone.
She poked him gently. ‘Stop jesting. Be quiet so I can read.’
‘This is a bore,’ he complained.
Dear Marian, the letter said. I have only a short time to write this note to inform you that I have successfully rejoined my regiment. We are in Paris, but there is no danger here. I believe the French are as weary of war as we are. There is much beauty in this city. Perhaps I will be lucky enough to have time to visit the museums and sights. I would be even luckier if I could bring you here with me some day. Yours, Allan Landon. P.S. Valour quite misses you, as do I.
Why did it make her want to cry?
Perhaps because it sounded like him. It sounded so dutiful. So perfectly correct.
Except for the whimsical postscript.
‘Let me read it.’ Edwin reached for it.
‘No!’ Marian folded it up and, having no pockets, slipped it down her dress. Next to her heart.
Edwin rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose it is all maudlin and full of declarations of love.’
Is that what she wished? Once she and Domina talked of such things.
She stood. ‘If it were, I would not tell you. Let us be on our way.’ She s
tarted towards the Place Royal.
He hurried after her. ‘You never kept secrets from me before, you know.’
Oh, yes, she had. She had never confided in him. In fact, he had never been very curious to know what she was thinking or feeling. Or doing.
‘Edwin, just stop it! You are making me cross.’ She walked on.
He kept pace with her and kept his lips pressed shut.
They reached the regimental offices.
Edwin opened the door for her. ‘Tell me one thing, Marian.’ He looked angry. ‘Are you going to write back to him?’
She could feel the paper of the letter crackling against her chest. ‘Yes, I am going to write back and I want you to put it with the other mail going to the regiment.’
He glowered at her, but did not refuse.
She decided to give herself a day to think about a reply. At this moment she felt too agitated to know what to say to the Captain. The joy of hearing from him was great, but she still did not know if he wrote out of duty or true regard. She knew he cared about her. Everything in his behaviour told her so. She knew she could make him desire her in that physical way, but did he love her?
Tomorrow her thoughts would be calmer.
With that meagre comfort, she waited until Edwin gave Uncle Tranville’s letter to the proper person.
When Marian’s letter arrived, Allan was more excited than he would dare admit. The fact that she’d written back to him so quickly was some evidence of her attachment. Perhaps they could make theirs a real betrothal. Each day away from her persuaded Allan that he desired that above all things.
Her handwriting was as graceful and as beautiful as she was herself.
Dear Captain, she wrote.
I am very pleased to hear that you arrived in Paris without mishap and that the city offers some enjoyment for you. I remain in good health, but am quite ready to return to England. My uncle insists that I wait until he is able to travel.
She sounded so cold, so impersonal. His spirits sank dismally. He read on.
On the pretext of an errand Miss Blane and I went to check on our soldiers without my uncle’s knowing of it. I am happy to report that they are all doing very well. Five of them have returned to duty. The others await passage home.
Bless Miss Blane. He was glad Marian had an ally in her, even though the actress was, he suspected, as defiant as Marian.
The letter continued. Please tend to your own health, as well. I remain your friend, Marian Pallant.
He rubbed his face. Friend. This was a dreadful letter.
There was a postscript, however. P.S. Please tell Valour that she has quite spoiled me for other horses. Although I do hope she enjoys trotting around France, I wish she will not forget me. Allan smiled.
He immediately sought out pen and ink and sat down to compose a reply.
In the beginning half of this letter, he wrote the barest news of his activities with the regiment and asked dutiful questions about her health and the health of those around her. In the postscript, however, he let Valour tell of the various sights of Paris from a horse’s point of view, of missing her, of wishing they were together.
Over the next few weeks several letters passed between them, the postscripts becoming longer and longer, teeming with humour and hopeful emotions that they might happily see each other again.
This was a new side of Marian to discover. Playful and fanciful, and brave in its own way. Through Valour she more openly expressed her emotions, including worries that ‘Valour’ would tire of her some day, or that ‘Valour’ might feel duty bound to provide her a ride, merely because Marian had cared for her at the peasant’s farm.
Allan-as-Valour wrote back, reassuring her that Valour’s fondest wish was to carry both Allan and Marian on her back again.
Allan could hardly attend to his regimental duties and he bemoaned the free time he had, which seemed more and more difficult to fill. He passed the time by visiting the city’s sights.
And writing about them to Marian.
Edwin Tranville rubbed the scar on his face as he paced the drawing room waiting for Marian. She rarely cared about seeing him these days. She merely wanted to either send a letter to Landon or see if he had sent her one.
She would not even talk about the letters with him. Hadn’t read him a single one. He’d taken to intercepting them when he could, and had quite perfected the means to unseal and reseal them without her noticing the tampering.
The letters turned sillier as the weeks went on. They made him want to down gallons of Belgian beer. Talking through a horse, indeed. He’d never thought Marian could be so ridiculous.
He had to do something and quick.
There was no enduring having her marry Landon. Even now his father used Landon’s name to jab at him. ‘Landon knows his duty,’ his father repeated often. ‘He is a capital officer. Knows his duty to your cousin, as well…’ Then his father would congratulate himself on his cleverness at so easily marrying Marian off, then he would lament that Edwin was not dutiful, brave or clever.’
Edwin was not greatly disappointed at Marian’s refusal to marry him. She had become much too bossy and he had no wish to hear her proselytise about the evils of drink every day of his life. He’d formed a plan, though, to erase Landon from the scene, a brilliant plan, if he said so himself. He had no doubt he could pull it off and that she would fall for it.
The attendant brought a decanter of claret and Edwin downed two glasses right away.
Marian finally entered the hotel’s drawing room. ‘Hello, Edwin.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Any letters today?’
He seethed at her greeting, the only way she greeted him these days.
‘No letter, I’m afraid.’ He put on a serious face.
Her shoulders sagged.
‘Do not tell me you are fretting.’ He tried to sound concerned for her.
‘I am not fretting.’ Her voice turned low. ‘There is no trouble in Paris, is there? What are they saying at the regimental office?’
He made himself grimace and turn away.
She ran to him and clutched at his arm. ‘What has happened, Edwin? You know something. Is the captain ill? Has he been injured?’
He gave her a sarcastic smile. ‘He is, in fact, very well indeed.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Then what is it?’
He cocked his head. ‘I am not certain I should tell you.’
She faced him. ‘Tell me what?’
He turned away.
‘Tell me what, Edwin?’ Her voice had become frantic.
‘Very well, but do not be angry at me.’ He gave her a direct look. ‘I heard something today.’
‘About the captain?’
Edwin cringed inside. Landon was all she cared about.
‘Yes.’ He paused. He must make it seem as if he did not want to tell her.
‘Edwin.’ She raised her voice. ‘I am losing my patience!’
‘Very well,’ he snapped.
Her eyes flashed at him. ‘Go on.’
He donned his most sympathetic expression. ‘Some of the fellows at the regimental offices were talking about him.’ He could not help but relish this next part. ‘Landon has apparently developed a tendre for a Frenchwoman. She consumes his time, and they are living as—’ he smirked ‘as man and wife.’
Her eyes widened and she stared at him a long time, so long that he began to wonder if she’d seen through him. He poured another glass of claret.
She spun away and stared at one of the walls as if there were something on it to fascinate, something besides a tedious Flemish landscape.
Finally she spoke. ‘I cannot believe this. It is not like him.’
‘Marian, how well do you really know Landon? I’ve served with him in the same regiment for years. I tell you, he is not always the person he pretends to be.’
She sank into a chair.
‘I could have warned you, Marian,’ Edwin said. ‘But I didn’t think you were seriously going to marry him. He is
not the sort to let a mere betrothal bar him from the pleasures of a willing Frenchwoman.’
‘It cannot be true,’ she rasped.
He thought she would believe it more easily than this. He rubbed his scar and drank more claret. Realising he ought to share, he poured her a glass and carried it over to her.
He tried again. ‘It is said Landon has boasted about marrying an heiress and becoming wealthy. He is spending freely.’
‘He would not say such a thing.’ She placed the glass upon the table without even looking at it.
Edwin sat in a nearby chair, drumming on its arm with his fingers.
Time to be bold.
‘If you do not believe me,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to the regimental office. You can ask the fellows there. More than one heard the tale in their correspondence.’
He gambled that she would not take him up on the offer.
She just stared at him, looking very unhappy indeed.
It was quite gratifying.
‘No need for that,’ she said in almost a whisper. ‘But I would like you to wait while I write a letter. Do you mind? I’d like you to take it to the regimental office today to be included in the next packet.’
He pretended to be put out. ‘Very well. I suppose I shall have to call upon Father anyway. See to his mail. Send word when your letter is ready.’
She stood and, without another look at him, walked out of the room with a determined step.
His victory was not entirely sweet. She had not fallen into his arms for comfort, but at least she had believed him.
He rose and finished the rest of the claret.
Allan eagerly opened this latest letter from Marian. He was in the stable, ready to give Valour a nice run. It seemed the best place and time to read it.
Besides, it had just been placed in his hands a few minutes before.
He stood in a ray of sunlight in Valour’s stall and unfolded the paper.
He read:
Dear Captain,
I have given our situation a great deal of thought and have no wish to stand in your way. I know my own mind and have decided we will not suit.