All through that terrible night she had faced those truths and had examined her own weakness. At eighteen, she had her life still to live; until Charles decided to be rid of her she was tied to him. Those were the facts: She must build a new life around them — but never, never, never would she humble herself before anyone again. His contemptuous dismissal of her had been her birth. She was now a person in her own right, the slave or machine of no one.
As the carriage neared her house, Victoria reflected that she had been true to her vow that night, but her greatest test was upon her. If Charles refused to take her to the Balkans with him she would be powerless. Not all her resolution would get her on the boat if her husband said no. Without the regiment and Letty she would have nothing. In this moment Charles had her in the palm of his hand once more, and she already knew she would sink to begging for his permission, if it became necessary. If he refused she might never see Hugo again.
*
When Charles arrived late for luncheon he found a composed young woman in yellow silk awaiting him, and Victoria was careful to give no hint of the turmoil inside her as she listened to his concise report of the situation.
“I fear the time I can spend with you during the coming days will be curtailed,” he said. “We could not have foreseen this situation, or Rayne would never have allowed the remounts to fall so far behind in standard. Who would have believed we would be plunged into war so suddenly?”
“Who indeed?” she said softly, thinking of one who had.
“We have only enough fit animals to mount half the regiment. Our equipment is not all that could be desired either.” He leaned back and dabbed at his mustache with his napkin. “Apart from those problems I have to provide myself with campaign equipment, tent and two more horses. Ten days until we sail — it will not be half long enough for all that has to be done.”
“I am sorry, Charles, and quite understand that you will be busy.” She tried to keep her voice steady and push down the sudden lightning resurgence of the fear she once had of him, now she was in his hands once again. “Ten days will not be long enough for anyone, but I pity most those troopers who have wives and children they must leave behind with little or no support while they are away.” She allowed a short pause before saying, “I understand that officers may take their wives. I was this morning with Mrs. Markham when her husband arrived with the news. She is this moment preparing for her journey.”
“No doubt,” said Charles airily. “Markham might find it deuced expensive to take her, but even more so to leave her behind. She is rather fond of bonnets, I hear. There will be none where we are going — that is one economy of which he can be certain.”
Victoria saw the subject slipping away and said quickly, “I do not think a shortage of bonnets would weigh with her…with any woman who accompanied her husband. Her only wish would be to see to his comfort and ease his hardship.”
“Oh?” Up went his eyebrows, and she saw the coldness of his eyes. “In what way would she comfort and console him, Victoria?”
She knew he was well aware of her hopes and was baiting her, as he did so often these days. “By ensuring that he had regular meals when his duties were over, by keeping his clothes in good repair and by listening to the confessions and fears he could not impart to another man for fear of being thought a weakling,” she said with as much steadiness as she could muster.
“And?” he prompted.
She began to tremble inwardly. “And by performing the normal duties of a wife.”
“Hmm,” he mused, “I wonder if all those ladies who accompany their husbands regard it as merely ‘the duty of a wife’ as you seem to do. Do you think they do, Victoria?”
She clenched her hands until her wrists ached. He was plainly going to refuse her, so she would put up with no more of his sadistic playing. He had torn off her wings six months ago. If he was about to transfix her with a pin onto green baize, she would make it swift.
“Charles, I feel I could be of great service to you and the regiment at such a time. If you would but consider…”
“Naturally you will be of great service to everyone, Victoria. Rayne gave his consent to my request this morning and expressed his pleasure at the prospect of your continued company.”
She was stunned. “You…you agree to my going?”
A smile twisted his mouth. “When a man has a wife he avails himself of the blessing — however limited it might be.” He rose and made for the door. “I must be on my way.”
Victoria followed him in a daze, unable to believe victory had been handed her on a plate and wondering why Charles should be so determined to take her along. She stood beside him as he fastened the sword belt around his waist and took up the fur busby.
“You will not find campaigning pleasant, Victoria, but your great interest in military affairs should be satisfied by the end of it.”
“My great interest in military affairs has caused your name to be constantly on the lips of men of influence, Charles,” she told him breathlessly, still lost in the wonder of getting her wish.
“Perhaps we should invite the Russian Ambassador to dinner. A word from you might do more than a show of armed strength.”
His caustic comment left her untouched. The joy of knowing that before long she would be with Hugo day after day was enough to cancel out any other feeling she might have.
“With only ten days in which to prepare I doubt I would have time to entertain the Russian Ambassador.”
“Your baggage allowance will be limited to just two trunks, by the way. What you decide to do with your other clothes and personal belongings is your own affair, but your jewels and furs will be deposited in the bank vaults with the silver, the china and paintings. You cannot, of course, take that bitch with you.”
Victoria looked down at Glencoe and felt a spasm of sadness. Parting would be a wrench for them both, but if Hugo meant to send his dogs to Wychbourne she would be in good company. The golden animal had been the recipient of her mistress’s innermost thoughts and resolutions — no one knew Victoria Stanford as that dog did — and part of the girl would be left behind at Wychbourne when she sailed.
“Shall I be allowed to take Renata?”
He turned at the door. “If you do not you will grow extremely footsore. It is a great shame to take a thoroughbred beast to war, but there is no time to find you another. I doubt there will be a horse of any quality left in the area by morning. If things get bad, I might be glad of the mare myself. Men have been known to have as many as four horses shot under them. War is a dangerous affair, Victoria.”
“I know,” she replied, suddenly remembering Hugo’s description of an occasion when men galloped into a jungle where hidden cannon blew them to pieces. She shivered. Jack Markham’s description of the Balkans in summer might be greatly off target.
*
Three days before they marched off to war, the officers of the garrison at Brighton held a grand farewell ball. It was a brilliant affair that was discussed for years afterward by local residents who remembered the air of reckless excitement, the laughing young men in colorful uniforms, the romantic music and the tears of the young women, many of whom were seeing their loved ones for the last time on this earth.
The ballroom had been decorated with banks of spring flowers that filled the hall with the sweet scent of England and softened the stateliness of walls hung with heavily embossed wallpaper. At vast expense, a huge circular aviary had been placed in the center of the ballroom to house exotic birds from tropical climes which filled the evening with color and liquid warbling. Two bands played the music of Paris and Vienna for the waltzes, polkas and quadrilles, while crystal chandeliers threw brilliant light over the distinguished company below. Aside from local dignitaries, the guest list read like that of a royal garden party. Friends and relations of the military men flooded into Brighton for the occasion, until there was not a hotel room to be had, nor a guest room empty in the elegant houses so soon to be vacated.
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br /> The more impecunious subalterns were hard put to meet the costs incurred by this splendid hospitality, but, already caught in the reckless mood of young men riding out to meet their destiny, they sold some of their possessions to defray the cost and basked in the aura of adulation.
They were the golden boys, England’s heroes, off to defend the oppressed in the name of their own splendid country. They were the sons of those who had shown Napoleon the folly of tangling with the might of Britain, young men who bore the names of some of the noblest families in the land. For a short while creditors gladly tore up outstanding bills; inflexible fathers smiled benevolently upon their wild sons; disapproving mamas were won over; and elusive maidens were willingly captured. The wine was heady; they drank deeply of it. Several months later they were to lie stiff and glassy-eyed in great piles of scarlet and blue, the wine of youth spilled onto foreign soil.
Victoria entered the ballroom with many emotions fighting for predominance within her. Lady Blythe’s histrionics had already put her out of patience with her mother-in-law, and Charity Verewood, whom she had been obliged to entertain as the Blythes’ guest, had aroused the usual antagonism from the moment she arrived. Pride was there in no small measure when she saw the officers of her own regiment in their excessively flattering uniform, gallant and courteous as they danced attention on their partners and showed them the tropical birds between dances. There was sadness, too, at the sight of her cousin Charlotte, whose husband, Captain Jenson, was preparing to march away with his infantry regiment and leave her behind. Poor Charlotte put on an air of sophistication, yet she cared very deeply for the young man she had married only two months before.
It was useless to deny that the overriding emotion that would govern the evening was the sweet pain of knowing that shortly she would see Hugo again. That Lord and Lady Blythe had brought Miss Verewood with them purely because of Hugo was very plain, but Victoria found it a tormenting situation. She did not know the full extent of the quarrel between Charles and his brother, only that Hugo had left Wychbourne on the morning after his desperate drive down Mexford Heights and Charles had not spoken his name since then. That the parents were hoping to bring about a reconciliation between their two sons was fairly evident, but Hugo had sent word excusing himself from dining with them before the ball, as he had only arrived from Ireland late the previous night.
Victoria knew that he could arrive at the ball at any time. It was difficult to calm her heartbeat. She would twirl in the waltz to meet his eyes over her partner’s shoulder; would look up and see him standing in the doorway as he had stood in the dimly lit corridor at Wychbourne; would be returned to her seat by a laughing partner to find him kissing the fingers of Charity Verewood. Victoria’s mind flew back to that ball at Aunt Almeira’s. Charles had said then that the evening only began for him at the supper dance. So it would for her when Hugo came tonight.
He was very late and his arrival was lost in the general mêlée of taking supper. At first Victoria caught only a glimpse of the back of his head through the crush of people. Then the gap closed as guests shifted and cut off her line of vision. She felt a crushing sense of anticlimax. The moment had never come. Why had she not instinctively known he was near? What had happened to that heart stopping exchange of truth between them as their eyes met? How long had he been there?
Charles’s conversation flew past her, as did that of everyone around. In that instant it came home to her how far apart she and Hugo now were — separated by a multitude of barriers. For the past six months he had been in Ireland. She did not know the country, the village, the quarters he had occupied during that time; could not picture any details of his life there. He had slept, awakened, eaten, laughed, danced, hunted…loved? All these things he had done, and she had had no part of them, had no right to any part of them. She should not expect his arrival tonight to be any concern of hers, should not expect that he would report to her the minute he entered the room. He was not committed to her. The truth did not prevent the pain of knowing her whole world was over there across a sea of faces, while she must eat wafers of ham and larks in aspic and he behaved like a stranger.
Her dance program had been filled soon after her arrival, and her partner for the first dance after the supper interval somehow managed to find her in the crowd and bowed before her. She took his arm and walked beside him onto the floor, exchanging the same kind of remarks she had made to most of her partners. Couples broke away from the solid mass to walk into the ballroom, and, in the shifting pattern, her partner led her right into the path of a tall captain of Hussars who was talking to a girl of classic beauty with fair braids around her head.
There was no time for Victoria to prepare herself. Her eyes flew to his, but he gave a barely perceptible nod of polite acknowledgment before turning back to his partner. She felt her cheeks flame with color as she took her place in the dance. Her humiliation had been beneath the eyes of Charity Verewood.
*
Hugo had dragged himself to the ball out of a sense of duty to his parents. After delaying his arrival as long as possible, all his arguments with his conscience had been of no avail, and he had surrendered to the better side of his nature. As he walked the short distance to the ballroom he told himself this evening was sure to rate on his list of disasters. His father had indicated that he and Lady Blythe were anxious to repair the division between their two sons before they went off to war, and he could not deny the request. He did not feel that a ball was the right occasion for such a vain hope, however.
The words he and Charles had exchanged could never be withdrawn or completely forgotten. Even allowing for the emotional heat of the moment, their brotherhood was shattered forever.
After six months, what could a man say to another who held him responsible for the loss of his son and the near death of his wife? What could a man say when he was guilty, not only of that but of coveting the woman he had very nearly killed? What could a man say when he still could not forgive the slur of his honor in the suggestion that he had made assignations behind his brother’s back?
The memory of that dawn at Wychbourne lived with Hugo wherever he went and whatever he did. Guilt had layered upon him as the weeks passed until he was bowed down with it. During those months he had received news of Victoria through the Markhams. Outwardly she appeared to have recovered complete health and vitality and was the toast of Brighton once more. He loved her, so was glad; he loved her, so was consumed with jealousy of all those who could receive her smiles and share her company. The tiny hamlet where he was garrisoned had never seemed so lonely and bleak as it had all through that dreadful winter. His quarters were crowded and damp, the road became a sea of mud after November, there was no hunting, and the only other officer was an effeminate cornet called McKay, who was hardly congenial company for a man of his own type.
The outbreak of war had been his release, although his prophesies had proved sadly true with regard to the lack of readiness throughout the army. He was glad to rejoin the regiment for some real campaigning — riding against his own countrymen with a drawn sword was not to his taste. Not the least consideration was that sailing orders would relieve him of the obligation to his family that was proving so difficult Unable to go to Wychbourne any more, he could do nothing but write regular letters, to which he received dramatic outbursts from Lady Blythe in reply and saner missives from his father that were underlined with regret. He supposed rejoining the regiment must go some way toward healing the breach between himself and Charles. Comrades-in-arms must surely put aside past quarrels.
Yet, as he walked beneath the covered entrance to the ballroom, Hugo was a man at his most vulnerable. Ahead of him lay a battery of hidden guns, and the ground he must cross to reach them was hostile and covered with obstacles. He was entering unarmed to face this and must somehow acquit himself with distinction. He knew himself for a coward. The prospect of behaving as he must to Victoria alone almost brought about a retreat.
He saw her
almost immediately as his brother led her into the supper room at the far end, and he halted just inside the door when Lord Dovedale greeted him with pleasure.
“Greetings, Hugo. So the little men in green have not made away with you after all.”
Hugo smiled, abstracted. The sudden heat and vivid color after the night chill brought about the giddiness he had sometimes experienced since that business with his eyes.
“Good to see you, Anthony. Splendid, is it not?”
Lord Dovedale knew he did not mean the ball. “Cannot wait to have a crack at them, old fellow. Saw your people a moment ago, by the way.” He grinned knowingly. “You have kept remarkably close about a golden-haired beauty who is awaiting your arrival with such impatience. Damn nearly consoled her myself.”
“Eh?” Hugo was startled.
“Miss Verewood, old boy. I was presented, but it was all too clear no one would do but the gallant Captain Esterly.”
Damn, thought Hugo in despair, at this unforeseen obstacle. How can they expect me to make a decision now?
There was no time to brood on this, for the thinning crowds showed him his parents and Charity, who spotted him immediately. He made his bows to the ladies and received a warm handshake from his father.
“Forgive my lateness, Mama. Bad weather delayed the crossing so that we did not reach barracks until late last night.”
Lady Blythe, in black watered silk with the Stanford emeralds cushioned upon her plump breast, sighed delicately.
“I must be grateful for any time with my sons that the Lord grants me before they are torn from my bosom. The trials of a mother are not generally appreciated. I shall need all my courage in the coming days.”
“I think you need not worry on my account, Mama,” he said dutifully.
“Not worry!” she cried. “Even now you look dreadfully pale. I suppose that the sea voyage made you ill, as usual. What will you do on this wretched journey?”
“I shall survive,” he said shortly, but before he could turn the conversation, Charity said in her clear tones, “I know of an excellent remedy for the miseries of sea travel, Captain Esterly. I will tell you of it before you leave.”
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