But lately the blush had gone from her cheeks, and those large candid eyes had grown dark with mistrust, yet, God help him, even her wariness stirred his senses. The oblique edge of sensuality he experienced in performing the daily courtesies, knowing she was nervous of him, was something he shied from facing, yet it was there and too strong for him to resist. He might be ashamed of what he was doing, but he could not bring himself to stop. Small wonder his wife occupied more of his thoughts than a mere shilling-a-day trooper during that tedious court-martial.
The flogging duly awarded, the officers packed away their files and repaired to the mess. The relaxation after a boring duty brought a certain heartiness that helped Charles forget his uneasy problem, and he was laughing carelessly with a senior captain when Hugo burst into the room. His brother came straight across to him, so it was with mild curiosity that he turned to greet him, the smile lingering on his face.
“A word with you, if you please, Charles,” said Hugo.
“Is it important, old fellow?”
“Yes.” The affirmative was as brisk and cool as the nod Hugo gave by way of greeting to the captain standing there. “Will you excuse us, Fanshawe?”
As Captain Fanshawe strolled away, glass in hand, Charles said, “You look darned hot under the collar, Hugo. What has happened to fire you up this time?”
“Nothing of which you would not approve, Charles, since it concerns you.”
Charles narrowed his eyes in sudden speculation through the smoke of the cigar he was smoking. Hugo was alight with real anger, and his manner was aggressive — challenging, almost.
“Whatever can I have done to arouse your formidable temper? I thought you were on late stable duty today?” He leaned an elbow casually on the mantle as he waited for the explanation.
“I have just left Victoria at your home whence I delivered her after she had recovered from a fainting fit outside Markham’s house. It was fortunate that I was there to assist her.”
Charles straightened. “Fainting fit?”
“I am sure even you have heard of such a thing, Charles.” Hugo’s hostility was scarcely veiled.
Charles tilted his chin upward in an unconscious gesture. “Are you saying she fell to the ground in the street?”
“Fortunately, I reached her in time to prevent such a thing happening and escorted her inside, where Markham and his wife did all they could for her.”
“What was my wife doing outside Markham’s house?”
Hugo flung out a hand. “Dammit, Charles, does it matter why she was there? Do you not care that she was taken ill?”
The major stiffened and placed his glass carefully on the table beside him. “When you get heated you always jump to hasty conclusions, Hugo. To feel concern does not necessarily oblige one to lose control of rational behavior. I am merely trying to glean all the facts. You have, after all, assured me that Victoria has recovered and returned to our home.”
Hugo began shaking with his anger. “My God, you are damned cool! Victoria is your wife. Is your first instinct not to go to her as fast as possible?”
“Do not raise your voice, man. My wife’s health need not concern every member of the mess,” snapped Charles.
“I grant you that, but I would suggest it should concern you a great deal more than it appears to.”
“And it seems to concern you a great deal more than it ought.”
Hugo turned a deep red. “What the devil do you mean by that?” he demanded hotly.
Heads were beginning to turn in their direction. Though Charles’s reply was hushed it did not lose its effect.
“Victoria is my wife. I will be obliged if you will leave me to behave as I think fit.” He stubbed out the cigar with unnecessary violence. “I must thank you for doing what any passer-by would have done…but Victoria does not need a champion, Hugo.”
He made to leave, but Hugo gripped his arm fiercely. “I do not think you know what Victoria needs.”
Charles looked pointedly at his own arm where the long fingers held it. “This display highlights your immaturity, Hugo. God knows, we have been treated to far too much of it of late.”
His brother’s icy calm fell on Hugo’s anger like a sudden shower, making him realize how far he had allowed his emotions to carry him along the path to self-betrayal. His hand dropped from Charles’s sleeve. He had no right to question a man’s treatment of his wife. Worse, he had no right to feel as he did about a woman who belonged to someone else. Vaguely aware of eyes watching them over the shoulders of others, he said stiffly, “I am sorry, Charles.”
The major gave a thin smile. “Another apology! I suppose you did see a doctor before you went to Vienna?”
“I believe I complied with all your requests in return for my reinstatement to the regiment” was the formal reply, before Hugo turned and left the mess, his blue pelisse swinging from his shoulders.
Charles excused himself from further duty that day and called for his horse, but his mood was more thoughtful than anxious as he rode back to his wife. An unpleasant and chilling suspicion was beginning to bloom from the seed of a deeply buried whisper he had first heard at Christmas. Leaping pictures of Victoria bending over Hugo to show him the boyhood toys she hung on the tree; of her kneeling in a spread of silk skirts at his feet while her busy hands tore the wrappings from his presents; of her ridiculous drooling over the puppy he had given her — all these reminded him of his own pique at the attention she had given his brother. Surely he had only wanted every ounce of her sweet vivacity for himself. He had not believed his anger was for any other reason, had he?
Slowing Caliban to a walk while he questioned himself, Charles remembered Victoria’s enthusiasm over the times she had spent reading to Hugo and his brother’s improved morale once she began visiting his room. It was only natural that company should cheer him, and who could fail to enjoy his wife’s happy chatter? The thought worming its way into his mind was ridiculous! Good God, Hugo was his brother, a man of honor and loyalty, a man he would trust with his life.
Nevertheless, he rode past his house and around the square once more, loath to break off his introspection. Honor and loyalty he would not deny, but Hugo was a man — a human male — and would have been particularly susceptible to feminine gentleness during his blindness…and Victoria was too young to realize the potency of her appeal. His throat began to tighten. Could such a thing have happened before his eyes without his recognizing it? If it had, how far had it gone?
Like a sword that comes through the darkness with the hiss of metal slicing the air, the true reason for Hugo’s departure from Wychbourne slashed at him, never to be dismissed. To see Victoria after two weeks of dark enchantment with her would be more than Hugo could bear. He had run from the enemy, but Charity Verewood was not the woman from whom he had fled. That scene half an hour ago proved what little use fleeing had been. His brother was firmly caught in the coils of worship like most of the junior officers, but he would have to learn to control the state and Charles was in a position to ensure that he did so.
*
When Charles summoned a doctor that afternoon, Victoria was thrown into the greatest agitation, and the shrewd little man had no hesitation in ordering two weeks’ rest in bed. It was not uncommon for brides to be reduced to such a state by selfish husbands, so he left Charles in no doubt that he meant complete rest and emphasized his point by declaring he would call again at the end of that time, when he was persuaded the patient’s health would be vastly improved.
Victoria was not aware of her reprieve until three days had passed with Charles behaving in his most solicitous manner. By the end of the week the color was creeping back into her cheeks and some of her spirit was returning. Her time was much occupied by visitors. The Castledons came frequently, her cousins full of youthful gossip and breathless questions about her new life, which obliged the bride continually to ask the Lord’s forgiveness after they had left.
Letty Markham was the patient’s favorit
e visitor, for she told Victoria all the regimental gossip, including the outcome of the races, most of which Hugo had won quite easily. Since then, an exciting challenge had been issued by one Count Albrecht, captain of Austrian Hussars, to match himself against any rider the British cavalry cared to name, and Hugo had been selected to meet it. The Count had come to England with General Redvers and his staff, so Hugo already knew the man and was familiar with his riding skill. “Neck or nothing” was the general opinion of the Austrian’s methods, Letty told her.
“But Hugo will outdistance him easily,” she added with confidence.
“Is he such a good rider?” asked Victoria.
“Have you never seen him on a horse?” Letty was surprised.
“No. At Wychbourne he was tied to a chair for two weeks, then duty claimed him.”
“Of course,” said Letty tactfully. “Then you must accompany your husband to Chobham for the event, where you will see for yourself. The entire regiment will be turning out to support our rider. The race is fixed for the tenth of May.”
Victoria’s eyes grew wistful. “I shall do all I can to persuade Charles to take me. I should so much like to be there.”
The result of the “prestige race” was a close but stylish win for the British cavalry that heaped more laurels on Hugo as an outstanding horseman, but Victoria was not destined to witness his success.
The doctor returned at the end of two weeks and gave a satisfied nod on seeing her. “Splendid, splendid! You have been the perfect patient, Mrs. Stanford. Now, let me have a look at you and ask a few further questions.”
Fifteen minutes later he went out to Charles, leaving Victoria stunned and overjoyed. The nightmare of social disgrace and the specter of gray fortresses fled before the knowledge of her own excitement. The Blythes must now consider her of the greatest importance, and Charles would surely view her as the perfect wife.
She could well have been the queen whose name she bore when he came to her after hearing the news. There was that same triumphant superlative of physical attributes that had struck her after their wedding as he approached the bed. Without a word he took her in his arms and held her as if she were the most precious thing in his life. It astounded her to mark the glint of dampness in his eyes when he held her away and said huskily, “I had not dared hope for this so soon. No man could have a more beautiful wife. The child she produces will be perfect.” He raised her hands to his lips. “I mean to take the greatest care of you. The very best of everything will hardly be good enough for the mother of my child. You must rest and keep tranquil; visitors will be restricted to those who will not excite you. We cannot afford to run the slightest risk.”
“Charles, Dr. Lawton says it is a perfectly natural condition that does not require me to remain in bed any longer,” she protested. “Will you not take me for a drive this afternoon? I am so bored with this room.”
He shook his head gently. “It will not do for you to expose yourself to the treacherous May winds. Later on, perhaps, when the sun grows a little warmer.” He got up, filled with restless excitement. “Lawson estimates that he will be born just after Christmas. We shall go up to Wychbourne at the beginning of December. It is as well I put in hand the redecoration of the nursery wing.” He struck the palm of his hand with his fist. “By George, my father will rejoice at this news…and Mama also.”
In a fit of rebellion she said, “Why can I not have the child here in my own house? Buckinghamshire is so bleak in December.”
He gave her a patient look. “The Stanford heir must be born at Wychbourne, my love. They always are.”
The relationship between them improved, for Charles was so careful for his child, his love-making became more gentle and less frequent, and it was not long before Victoria learned to escape it by inventing a headache or a bout of sickness. With that powerful weapon in her hands she regained her looks and confidence, although each day brought the hope of seeing Hugo, and each day it was dashed.
Charles cherished her beyond the dreams of any woman. He brought her flowers, chocolates, trinkets — even an ermine cape — but he would not escort her to Chobham for the famous race. Neither did he invite Hugo to the house, and she knew he would not come unasked. They gave a dinner party for the married officers that excluded Hugo because he was single; they entertained Charles’s friends and Hugo was not asked because Charles maintained he would feel out of place among so many senior officers. They were all invited to the Castledons’, but Captain Esterly was put on unexpected guard duty at the Royal Pavilion on the very night of the dinner party.
Several calls on Letty Markham failed to coincide with one from Hugo, and daily walks brought no glimpse of him. Just when it seemed her only chance would be on her eighteenth birthday two weeks later, Charles brought home news that threw her into something near despondency.
“I dislike disappointing you, my dearest, for you have been looking forward to your birthday party, but I have to tell you that one of the guests will be unable to be present.”
“Oh?” She grew suddenly still.
“There has been further trouble in Ireland — riots and other kinds of violence — and the regiment was ordered to send a squadron immediately to reinforce the small garrison we already have there. Hugo departs with them tonight.”
“Hugo does not command a squadron. He is only a very junior captain.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How well informed you are on the details of the regiment, my dear. You will be an asset to me in the years to come.”
“But why has Hugo been sent?” she persisted.
“He is a very promising officer, and this is a wonderful opportunity for him to take command.” He gave a light laugh. “Hugo has always been such a bloodthirsty fellow. He will be in his element putting down rioting peasants.”
“Is there not some danger in the duty?” she asked, wondering desperately how her husband could have found out the secret they had tried to hide.
“Certainly there is danger…but Hugo will thrive on it. Colonel Rayne felt it would be his chance to show what he can do under stress.”
As a final test of her suspicions she said, “Could you not have persuaded the colonel to send someone else, Charles?”
His smile faded. “Why? Hugo is always saber-rattling. Let him put his theories into practice. They are only Irish peasants, my dear, and my brother is a soldier by profession. Do you not have confidence in his ability to command?”
Hugo’s banishment — for she could think of it in no other way — heralded the end of Victoria’s short period of peace. Several weeks later the pretended headaches and sickness became reality and, as her pregnancy progressed, plagued her more and more. To add to her depression, Letty Markham was called away in the middle of the summer to tend her papa during a serious illness, and Aunt Almeira was thrown into feverish entertaining, caused by the double engagement of Lavinia and Charlotte, who were, naturally, her first concern.
Feeling suddenly desperately alone with Charles, who was growing more and more anxious over her as time went on, she read the newspapers every day for any word on the riots in Ireland. The original outbreak had been put down, but the extra troops were to remain to keep the peace. There seemed no likelihood of Hugo returning to Brighton that year.
In September, Victoria had a short spell of improved health. Then she caught a chill that sapped her strength so severely that Charles decided she needed the fresh air of the country and not the damp seaside atmosphere. Nothing could persuade him to change his mind: He would take her to Wychbourne as soon as she was fit to travel.
In the middle of October they went up to Buckinghamshire in the family carriage that had been sent down to Brighton. An outbreak of cholera in London, plus his wife’s dislike of trains, had dictated Charles’s choice of a means of travel, but Victoria’s heart sank as each milestone passed the window. Charles found it necessary to harangue the coachman most of the way in a most irritating fashion. To add to that, the backache that plagu
ed Victoria so often these days made the long drive interminable.
On arrival this time she was only too glad to be allowed to go straight to her room to rest. Since Charles was only staying over the weekend, she asked to occupy her usual apartments rather than Charles’s own suite, which was heavily furnished and on the north side of the house overlooking the orchards. He gave his consent, feeling that it was wise to bow to her whims when possible, and she slept in the familiar bed for most of the afternoon before waking at dusk when the haunting half-light beguiled her for a moment into thinking it was another time, another year.
Thinking the reunion with Charles’s parents would be most pleasant, under the circumstances, Victoria soon found her mistake when dinner began. It reminded her of the first one she had eaten in this house — for she found herself being discussed once more as if she were not there. Aunt Sophy could not join them due to a chill, but Victoria was the only one who missed her company. Once again, they all sat a dozen yards apart around the long table in a room that grew progressively colder as the long meal went on.
The one topic of conversation was the coming child. Lady Blythe began with the arrangements that had been made for the christening to be conducted in the private chapel, then went into great detail about the repair of the christening robe to be worn by the boy. That subject led to talk of the cradle being made in the village by a craftsman who had supplied cribs for all the notable Buckinghamshire families over the past five decades.
“Do you mean Monk, Mama?” asked Charles.
“Naturally. Who else would do for our child but the master craftsman? I have also placed an order for a rocking horse. No, my dear, do not look at me like that,” she cooed at her son. “Your old horse will not do for him. It has never been safe since Hugo broke its back legs. We cannot have your son risking a fall like his.”
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