Scarlet Shadows
Elizabeth Darrell
© Elizabeth Darrell 2000
Elizabeth Darrell has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 2000 by Severn House.
This edition published in 2017 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
PART TWO
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
PART THREE
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
PART ONE
Chapter One
Whenever the Castledons gave a ball, it was Nanny’s custom to indulge her young charges by allowing them to creep onto the gallery in their dressing gowns to see the scene in the hall below. This chilly night in late October 1852 was no exception; the two youngest Castledon children knelt side by side with their faces pressed through the carved wooden balustrade, unseen by guests who danced a lively quadrille.
The children saw nothing of the rich paneling of the walls, the paintings and framed diplomas that hung there, nor the elegant porcelain chandeliers highlighting the only room in the house large enough to allow dancing. Both pairs of eyes were glued to the changing kaleidoscope of color as crinoline swayed between gay scarlet, blue and gold: the boy and girl were intent on the opulently uniformed military men whose presence made the ballroom come alive.
A contingent of officers from the local garrison outside Brighton provided the brave scarlet tunics of foot regiments and the more dashing blue and gold of Hussar jackets with fur-trimmed slung pelisses designed with more thought of impressing the ladies than daunting the enemy. It was on these that the girl had her eyes as the officers took their partners through the dance with the panache for which they were famed, and her head became full of dreams and sighs. The boy stared at the infantrymen in scarlet and thought his own thoughts. For perhaps ten minutes they watched in silence until the girl could contain herself no longer.
“How handsome they are!” she breathed, shiny-eyed.
The boy’s pudgy hands tightened their grip on the balustrade bars. “Dancing!” he exploded with the scorn of a ten-year-old male. “Soldiers are not for dancing, but for fighting wars. They are brave and strong. They fight on and on, even when the cannons are blowing them into little bits, or when they are chopped up by the enemy’s swords.”
The girl fell silent as his horrifying words burst into her dreams and broke them apart. Below her a young Hussar subaltern was laughing into the eyes of his partner, and, as she watched him, the little girl felt a knot form inside her stomach, an anguish she had never before felt and could not identify. With her eyes following the handsome lieutenant, she whispered, “Really into little bits?”
“Yes,” came the unemotional answer. “Arms, legs and heads fly about all over the place. And bits of bodies, too,” he added for effect. “It wouldn’t be a real war otherwise.”
It was too much for the girl’s awakening womanhood. She turned to bury her face in Nanny’s skirts, crying as if her heart would break, but the boy, having received a severe reprimand, stumped back to the nursery, unabashed.
“When I become a soldier, I shall go to war, not waste my time on dancing,” he muttered to himself.
*
The Hussar subaltern who had caught the little girl’s first romantic fancies was certainly far from thoughts of being cut to ribbons by enemy swords. England had been at peace for forty years — practically double his lifetime — and at this moment his head and heart were full of the painful knowledge that he would obey any command from his beautiful partner if, by doing so, she would think more generously of him.
Victoria Castledon, fresh from the schoolroom, had taken the military garrison by storm this summer. There was hardly a subaltern who was not head over ears in love with her and threatening to blow out his brains if she looked at any other man (although Miss Castledon had looked at a great many gentlemen throughout the summer months, without the strength of the garrison bring tragically reduced). Admittedly, Captain Augustus Parchmore had broken his shoulder on the hunting field due, according to the gallant warrior, to his distress on being rebuffed by the young lady, but those who had seen him ride to hounds knew it was more likely a careless seat than a broken heart that had caused his fall.
The Castledon girls were fair and pink-cheeked, but this one, a cousin who had been orphaned as a child, blazed from their midst like a dark velvet rose amid frilly carnations. No fault could be found with her manners, but she had an unusual forthrightness that left matrons clucking and officers charmed. Some females uncharitably suggested that Miss Castledon cultivated this trait to gain favor with the more dashing members of the garrison, but the lovelorn officers could see only fresh innocence in their heroine’s engaging ways.
Now, the summer flirtations, the tantalizing carriage rides, the carefully calculated chance meetings, the words that flattered or shattered, the sun-drenched picnics, the idyll, had ended. Major the Honorable Charles Stanford, heir to Lord Blythe, had finally fallen victim to one of the fair sex, albeit a child of not yet eighteen, and plainly meant to offer her his name and future title. The girl might be half her suitor’s age, but none thought her likely to refuse such an advantageous offer on that count, and even if she had thoughts of doing so, her aunt must surely dissuade her from them. With four daughters of her own to settle advantageously, Almeira Castledon must regard Major Stanford’s offer as a godsend — even if it meant the little cousin beat the two older Misses Castledon to the altar with a coronet, to boot.
Victoria became aware that her partner had grown strangely silent as they swung round in the last figure of the dance.
“If you spoke the truth when you claimed to have been counting the minutes until this quadrille, Mr. Edmunds, you have very soon tired of it. You have not spoken since the gallopade.”
Harry Edmunds was jolted back to the present to meet laughing reproach in a pair of large brown eyes, but his reply held none of the banter with which she had spoken.
“You must know by now that the pleasure of your company makes many a fellow lost for words, Miss Castledon.”
Victoria reveled in such speeches from young suitors. She had never wondered whether they were sincere. Flirting was a delightful game she had discovered — a game too new to be marred by thoughts of heartaches and shattered hopes. She could not resist tormenting him further.
“Dear me, if that is the case I must consider retiring, at once. It would never do for my aunt to have a completely silent company at her ball.”
“Better that than have no company at all. For that is what would happen if the loveliest creature present were to retire.”
Victoria felt a small pang then, and the smile died on her lips. She had entertained foolish dreams of Harry Edmunds for one whole month in the summer, when his sweep of dark hair and merry blue eyes had filled her thoughts, but he was only a subaltern, and Aunt Almeira had very firmly put an end to his hopes and Victoria’s youthful infatuation. Nevertheless, there was still an element about him that called to the young girl with disturbing persistence, and she looked up at him from her sweeping curtsy, feeling it quite strongly.
“How absurd you are, sometimes.”
The young offic
er looked unhappier than ever and gazed down at her with an expression she did not recognize. “I beg you not to laugh at me. That would be the final blow.”
She was dismayed. “I…I did not mean to…”
“If it is absurd to see only you in a room full of people, to listen only for the sound of your voice, to know the day will be empty unless you appear, then I am absurd,” he went on huskily, taking her hand in both his gloved ones as she rose from her curtsy. “Miss Castledon… Victoria…tonight will see an end to my impossible hopes, but I swear I shall be your devoted slave as long as I live.”
Thrown into complete bewilderment she had no idea why he was suddenly showing such excess of feeling in so public a place, but she was soft-hearted enough to know he was completely vulnerable to the slightest hurt if she did not treat him with kindness.
“I am very flattered and grateful,” she told him, “but I do not see what tonight has to do with it that it will make our friendship in any way different.”
For answer, he gripped her hand tighter. There was desperation in his voice. “I know they think the match brilliant — and I daresay it is — but it is more than a fellow can bear to see a sweet beautiful creature…” He broke off and tried to take hold of himself. “You will be out of my reach forever, but if there is ever any service I can perform for you, if ever you are desperate for someone to turn to, swear you will call on me wherever I am.”
With her heart thudding against her bodice, Victoria suddenly became aware that retiring dancers had left them isolated in the center of the room, and eyes were watching the highly provocative scene they must be providing.
“Please,” she whispered urgently, “we are being observed.” She tried to wrest her hand free of his, but he would not let her go. “Mr. Edmunds, I beg you to escort me from the floor.”
Pale with emotion he went on. “Swear you will call on me if you ever need help,” he insisted.
“Yes, yes, but I shall need help immediately if you do not take me to my aunt this minute.”
Letting out a great sigh he obediently offered his arm for her gloved hand. “This has been the most wonderful and most painful night of my life. I shall never forget it.”
Wishing the distance to her aunt shorter, Victoria walked beside her partner across a polished floor that looked immense now that she realized almost every eye in the room was upon her. Apart from the fact that Harry Edmunds had just behaved with immoderate ardor before the assembled company, it was surprisingly clear in a flash that there was an element of expectancy about the evening, after all. Had he been right to adopt an attitude that suggested he was never going to see her again and that she was about to be thrown into a state of great peril? Her legs became a little trembly, and did not improve when she saw the anger in Aunt Almeira’s eyes, and the red spots in her cheeks.
“I had begun to think you had forgotten the direction of my chair, Mr. Edmunds,” the matron said icily.
“My apologies, ma’am,” the lieutenant began.
“I felt a little overcome after the exertions of the dance, Aunt,” Victoria put in quickly, knowing the poor young man was unable to offer any excuse for his behavior. “Mr. Edmunds kindly supported me until I felt sufficiently recovered.”
“Really?” Aunt Almeira was not appeased. “From here one would have thought Mr. Edmunds to have been under the greater affliction. You do not look at all well, young man,” she told him. “I shall understand if you feel obliged to withdraw very shortly.”
It was a directive to leave the ball from a very angry hostess — one that could not be ignored. Growing even paler, Harry Edmunds made his bows at the Castledon ladies with meticulous politeness. Then he turned to Victoria and said with an air of drama, “Goodbye, Miss Castledon.”
She watched as he walked away, feeling a small shock because he had said goodbye instead of good night. She was very fond of him still, and the evening had become less enjoyable because of the incident. She turned to her aunt intending to ask why she had been so unkind to him. She did not have the chance to speak.
“How could you have allowed such a thing to happen?” hissed Aunt Almeira. “Was it your intention to make yourself the subject of gossip, and ruin all I have worked for? Right there in the middle of the room! I have seldom felt so mortified. What Major Stanford thought I dare not contemplate.”
“Major Stanford?” echoed Victoria. “Why should Major Stanford be considered? It is visually the ladies who make a week-long topic of conversation from a small incident. Gentlemen are, fortunately, much more sensible.”
Mrs. Castledon puffed herself up with indignation, then remembered that one should always appear as if nothing had happened under such circumstances, and smiled at Mrs. Ponsonby-Grayle before saying to her niece under her breath, “Gentlemen are not always so sensible when a matter concerns them very closely. And I advise you to mind your tongue, Victoria. It is not a delightful trait in a young female to find her putting forward comments that are distinctly argumentative. I earnestly recommend you to spend the next few minutes acquiring a more conciliatory manner. If the damage has not already been done you will need to present your most gentle and amiable face to the major when he comes to partner you in the supper dance. With the right response you might yet save the day, but I vow it will break my heart if this disgraceful affair with a young man I discouraged some months ago were to persuade the major to cry off. We should none of us be able to hold up our heads in society again, and your cousins would suffer, as a result.”
In a flash, the answer to the puzzle confronted Victoria — why Harry Edmunds had bidden her a tragic farewell; why her aunt was so very put out; why tonight was different from any other. Harry had known, so had her aunt and all those watching her walk from the floor with the desperately unhappy lieutenant — everyone had known except herself that Major the Honorable Charles Stanford planned to declare himself tonight.
She did, indeed, mind her tongue, but not from any heed of her aunt’s words. Feeling the breath in her lungs was not sufficient, she sat trying to cope with her discovery, young Harry Edmunds forgotten in thoughts of the man with whom her aunt could find no fault. When would he choose to speak? What would he say? How must she answer? It had come upon her so suddenly, it was impossible not to feel a heady sense of importance — an almost regal sensation. Looking around the ballroom she held her head just a little higher in an unconscious movement as she thought of being chosen from all the young females who were present by a man countless mamas had tried to snare for their daughters.
Tall, blond, handsome, and distinguished. She got that far in her mental description of the Honorable Charles Stanford, then paused. Add wealth and breeding to the list, and women like Aunt Almeira looked no further — but her aunt was not expected to marry him. Victoria knew so little about her suitor. He had beautiful manners — even if he appeared a little stiff after the high-spirited junior officers — and anticipated a lady’s desires to perfection. A shady spot was always conveniently near on a picnic, a bouquet chosen in just the right color to match a dress or bonnet, a dinner was invariably selected to suit the most fastidious palate, and a box at the theater was always free from drafts.
Although he was not exactly amusing, one was never bored in Major Stanford’s company, for he was an extremely cultured and well-traveled man, and Victoria realized that she liked him mainly because there was nothing to actually dislike about him. But there were two things about the future Lord Blythe that distinguished him from other gentlemen she liked. No one else had pursued her quite so relentlessly, and no other male acquaintance had behaved with such correctness yet had so filled her with such breathless timidity. To be truthful, she was slightly in awe of the man whom everyone expected to offer for her very shortly. There was something about the fleeting expressions in his pale blue eyes that set prickles of ice upon her skin whenever she thought about them.
“Victoria! Major Stanford is approaching. Pray iron out that awful frown and give some sig
n of the honor his attention affords you.”
At her aunt’s words the room sprang into color and shape, the genteel laughter and chatter that had faded on the wings of her daydream were around Victoria once more, and the warmth from the great log fire dispelled the momentary chill. An obedient reply sprang to her lips, but her thoughts were still wayward. For the first time this evening she looked at her aunt. She saw an elderly matron in maroon silk with an evening cap of ruched ribbons set upon gray sausage curls. She seemed quite sincere in her request. Could it be that Almeira Castledon had reached her vast age without discovering that a gentleman considered it an honor if a lady paid him attention, not the other way around? The simpering smile she had fixed upon her lips persuaded Victoria it must be so. Feeling a great deal wiser than her aunt, she turned to watch the major approach for the supper dance.
Charles Stanford was every inch a military aristocrat, from the proud set of his head to the assurance with which he crossed the room. A hundred or more speculating eyes turned in his direction might not have existed for all the notice he gave them, and Victoria attempted to match his nonchalance. Fighting the temptation to cast down her eyes, she even managed what she hoped was a cool smile. She would play the part to the full.
“You granted me the pleasure of the supper dance, Miss Castledon,” he said with an elegant half-bow.
Victoria consulted her dance-card to suggest that she was not at all sure who was taking her to supper, then looked up wide-eyed.
“So I did, Major Stanford. I must confess I had not realized the time had passed so quickly. Can the evening really be half-flown?”
The major rose gallantly to the occasion. “On my part, the evening has only just begun.” He favored Mrs. Castledon with a smile. “Not through any lack of entertainment, I assure you, ma’am.”
Aunt Almeira glowed. “I perfectly understand, sir. When one is young, the success of the party does not always depend on what a hostess may provide.”
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