One Wicked Winter

by Emma V. Leech

  Belle lowered the candlestick and shook her head, infuriated that he couldn’t see it for himself. “That I’m happy, Edward. You make me happy.”

  He gaped at her, his face so incredulous that she almost laughed.

  “That’s a ... a damn lie!” he spluttered, clearly quite unable to believe it.

  Belle threw the candlestick.

  Edward took a hasty step backwards as the missile whistled past his ear. She was improving, Belle thought with satisfaction.

  “I. Never. Lie.”

  “Well, then, you really are insane,” he snapped at her, watching with growing concern as she reached for a rather weighty ormolu clock. She’d best miss with this one, or she might actually kill him. “What in the name of God have I done to make you happy?” he demanded, looking so adorably confused that she was lost.

  Belle laughed, and wondered at his ability to drive her from utter fury to a puddle at his feet in the space of seconds.

  “Oh, Edward,” she said, shaking her head. “When we are together at night, it ... it is the most perfect, the most wonderful thing in the world. At least it is for me,” she added, feeling her happiness ebb as she realised that he may not feel the same. “And when you hold me after, and the few times when you’ve actually troubled to talk to me ... those moments are the most precious of all. As for the rest of it,” she added, her voice rather low and weary now. “I understand. If you need to run away from us all and be by yourself in the woods, then ... then you must do that.” She put down the clock as exhaustion washed over her. “But, at least, let us build you a small shelter or something. A place where you can build yourself a fire and not freeze to death. For my sake.”

  She looked up at him, but Edward was staring at the floor, and she could not read his face in the shadows. Taking her courage in her hands, she crossed the space between and slipped her arms around his waist, looking up into eyes that were full of distress.

  “You would do that ... for me?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “I would do anything for you,” she whispered. “Anything to ... to try and give you some peace, some comfort. Anything to make you understand that you don’t need to keep punishing yourself because you lived.” She leaned into him and rested her head on his chest, hearing the steady thud of his heart. “I love you,” she added, the words so simple yet so terribly complicated at the same time.

  “You really are insane,” he grumbled, but there was a flicker of amusement in his voice now, and Belle smiled against him.

  “Perhaps,” she replied, her voice soft. “But if that is so, I have no desire to be anything else.”

  He let out a breath, and she felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her close. “I don’t deserve you, Belle.”

  “No,” she said, her tone haughty, though she looked up and grinned at him so he could be sure she was teasing. “I don’t suppose you do.”

  The beginnings of a smile flickered over his lips and he bent his head, brushing his mouth against hers in a gentle kiss. “It’s the same for me, Belle,” he whispered, the words so raw and honest that her throat ached. “When we are together. It’s the same for me.”

  Belle sighed and reached up to kiss him again. “Then don’t push me away, Edward. Run away from me if you must, but please ... please promise that you’ll always come back again.”

  He was quiet for a moment, but in the end, she had her answer.

  “I promise.”

  Chapter 27

  “Wherein Christmas Day holds surprises and unexpected gifts.”

  Edward’s intention had been to miss the church service and as much of the Christmas celebrations as was possible. The thought of having to socialise, even with the small number of family members that seemed to encompass more of his brother-in-law’s family than his own, had filled him with panic.

  Yet, this morning, waking with Belle tucked beside him, her soft breath fluttering over his skin, that panic seemed a little further away than it had. He could perhaps endure the day, for Belle’s sake. It would make her happy if he stayed, and God knew it didn’t seem to take much from him to do that.

  How could she profess herself happy after the appalling way she’d been treated? He simply didn’t understand it. Yet he’d seen the sincerity in her eyes, heard the truth in her words when she’d said she loved him. It was humbling, shaming, even, to be so undeserving of such loyalty. Yet she’d promised him nothing he could do could drive her away. There was nothing he could do or say that would make her leave. At the time she’d said it, there was a dark part of him that had wanted to test that theory because he doubted it was true, no matter how much she might think it. But now, upon waking, there was a kind of liberty in knowing that she would always be here. Somehow, the need to drive her away, knowing that he would need to truly break her heart to do so ... Well, he couldn’t do that. He could hurt himself, deprive himself of her love and warmth, but he couldn’t hurt her.

  His head was still a snarled up in a tangle of confusion and panic and fear, and yet underneath it all, there was Belle. Like a guiding light in the dark, Belle would shine and keep him on the path, and even if he veered off course from time to time, she would never waver.

  So that morning, he dressed and accompanied his wife and sister, Aubrey and the Falmouths, to the ancient church in the village of Longwold. He managed to get through the service well enough, as he need only duck his head and make a pretence of listening. He may have mimed to the singing, unable to find the wherewithal to raise his voice in celebration. Not yet, at least. But he actually enjoyed listening to those around him, and was absurdly charmed to discover his wife was tone deaf and quite obviously oblivious to the fact. He greeted all of his neighbours and tenants, and made time to speak to those families whose sons or husbands or fathers had not returned as he had.

  There was young Tommy Green, only twenty-two but had lost an arm at Toulouse; his friend Harold Smith was too badly injured to leave the house, and Edward promised he would call upon him after Christmas. He’d get Puddy to send around a hamper in the meantime to make sure there was food enough for Christmas. Then Henry Morris. Only one of the Morris brothers had returned, and the older brother, Henry, wept when speaking of the loss of his younger sibling. The guilt in the man’s eyes at not having saved his brother, as was his responsibility as the eldest, was palpable. He himself walked with a limp now, after a bullet shattered his knee, so his work as a thatcher was over, as he could no longer climb the ladders and kneel for hours as the job required. Edward had almost bawled himself on hearing all this, but managed to force enough words out to make the young men understand that he would find work for them, not charity, but something they could adapt to, even with their injuries.

  Speaking to Mr and Mrs Abram, however, who had lost all three of their sons to the conflict, had been enough to send his head spinning with panic and guilt. His heart had begun to thud and his skin felt clammy and tight, his mind retreating from the admiration in their eyes, when they had lost so much. They were staring at him, waiting for him to speak, expectation in their eyes, and he felt like he’d turned to stone. He was locked in a cage far away, screaming inside and yet no one could hear him.

  The couple began to look nervous and those around them began to stare and whisper - and then Belle took his hand.

  “Lord Winterbourne still finds the war difficult to speak of,” she said, her voice so calm and full of assurance that he managed to turn towards her, like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. “So many wonderful men, like your sons, were lost, and he feels that loss very deeply indeed. Especially on days like today when we miss those who are gone from us most of all. But perhaps next week, you would like to come to visit us at Longwold? I have been thinking we should do something for those men who have come back wounded, in body or in mind,” she said, looking up at Edward with such an expression of adoration that his heart ached. He took a breath, feeling the panic recede, just a little. “I know that my husband would very much like to star
t some sort of organisation to help the men who have returned and are struggling to find work, and also those families who have lost their bread winner and are unable to make ends meet any longer.” She moved closer to Edward, holding his hand tighter and placing her other hand on his arm, though her attention was fixed on Mr and Mrs Abram. “Do you think perhaps that would be something you’d be interested in helping us organise?”

  Edward managed to tear his attention away from his wife for long enough to see that Mrs Abram was nodding, her eyes bright with tears, but waving a handkerchief to signify her approval, too overcome to speak. Her husband, though, reached out a hand and grasped Edward’s arm.

  “We would be honoured to be a part of any such plans, my lord. We’re right proud to see you back at Longwold, and if I may be so bold, you are a very lucky man, Lord Winterbourne, to have such a wife beside you.”

  Edward swallowed as the cage that had caught him so securely seem to diminish and fade away. He looked down at Belle and found a smile had caught him off guard as he stared down at her lovely face.

  “I could not agree more, Mr Abram,” he said, finding his voice steadier than he’d expected, and quite unable to tear his gaze away.

  ***

  After they had returned to Longwold for breakfast, they were alerted to the sound of raucous singing and headed to the front of the house to be entertained by mummers. A rowdy group had gathered in all manner of outrageous costumes. Their faces were painted and an assortment of hats and garments were decorated with brightly coloured ribbons and painted paper. One fellow had paper fire tied under his chin and large eyes sewn to his hat, and as the play began, it became clear that this was the dragon. In that case, the fellow with the red cross sewn onto the remnants of a tatty old bed sheet was undoubtedly St George. This heroic figure, who was markedly shorter than his fellows, strutted about wielding a wooden sword and shouting about his prowess while the dragon roared and belched intermittently. Belle suspected the wassail cup had been generous among the houses previous to this one.

  It was ridiculous and very funny, especially as near the climax the hero was grievously wounded, but the comical Doctor Quack, who looked even deeper in his cups than the dragon, came to the rescue and patched the wounded soldier up again with much theatricality. Naturally, in the end, St George prevailed and the dragon was slain.

  “I’m not sure the dragon was so much slain as passed out,” Edward whispered to Belle, who chuckled and nodded.

  “If they don’t pick him up again I suspect he may be ornamenting our lawn come Boxing Day,” Belle observed and felt her breath catch as Edward laughed. She stared at him, assured that this was quite the best Christmas she had ever known, as she had made Edward laugh. That was all the present she needed.

  He turned to her and gave her a rueful smile, obviously aware that she had noted his pleasure and his rare burst of laughter. He lifted her hand and raised it to his lips before tucking it under his arm and escorting her and the already boisterous mummers to the kitchens. Here was their wassail cup, for those who could manage it, and a generous table laden with food, and a more tangible thank-you for their entertainment in the form of a fat purse.

  Belle slipped out of the kitchens a little while later, as the company was growing ever more enthusiastic in their celebrations, and Garrett had clearly decided it was time to evict them.

  She’d not been surprised that Edward had left some time ago. He’d endured a lot today, and the noise and jolly company was more than his nerves could stand yet. Deciding it was time she found Charlie, she was relieved to see the man himself hurrying in through the front door, all bundled up in coat and scarf and blowing on his fingers.

  “All ready, m’lady.”

  Belle took a deep breath, suddenly a little panicked that her idea hadn’t been as clever as she believed. Edward had been such a lamb today, what if she ruined it all?

  “Come now,” Charlie said, his voice low, clearly understanding the reason for her disquiet. “He can make an effort for Christmas, p’raps, for your sake. But what then, eh? The man needs to keep ‘is ‘ands and ‘ead fully occupied. Now, this notion of yours is a corker. It’s just what ‘e needs, you take it from one who ‘as known him this past ten years.”

  Belle sighed and gave Charlie a resolute nod. “Yes. You’re right of course. Goodness, Charlie, what should I do without you?”

  Charlie put his nose in the air and stroked his chin with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve often asked meself the same question.”

  Belle gave a snort of laughter. “Wretch,” she said, as Charlie grinned at her. “Very well. I shall bring him along right away.”

  “You do that,” he said, replacing his hat and heading back outside again.

  ***

  “Where are we going?” Edward demanded, looking just slightly irritated and a little perturbed by being evicted from a quiet and cosy spot by the fire in his library where he had settled with a glass of cognac and a copy of The Sporting Magazine.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Belle said, keeping a tight hold of his arm, her voice firm. She hoped she sounded excited and not as stomach-churningly nauseated as she felt. Please, God, let her have gotten this right.

  Edward shot her a curious glance that suggested he was hoping much the same thing.

  Leading him around the corner to a fair-sized stone barn, Edward frowned as he realised the interior was lit up against the dull light of the winter’s afternoon. Men’s voices reached them, hollering and shouting and laughing, and Edward halted in his tracks.

  “Please, Edward,” Belle asked, tugging at this arm and trying to get him to move forwards. It was as pointless as shouting at a mountain, if he truly didn’t want to, but his dark eyes flicked to hers with trepidation, and then he carried on.

  Belle beamed at him, delighted, but she could see the urge to turn the other way and bury himself in his library again glinting in his eyes.

  As they entered the barn, Edward exclaimed in surprise, as well he might. At this point, Belle couldn’t tell if it was a happy sound or not.

  Braziers had been lit all around the room, giving light and warming the big space a little against the cold of the December afternoon. Not that the scrawny lad who was stripped to the waist and standing in the middle of a crude ring seemed to care a fig.

  Charlie was there with the leather pads on his hands, shouting instructions, and all around the perimeter were other lads and young men of all ages, weights, and sizes, shouting encouragement of their own kind and waiting for their turn.

  Edward was staring at the sight, his expression puzzled in the extreme. He turned to Belle, who gave him a hesitant smile.

  “It’s not just the men returning from the war who need help, Edward. Many of these boys have lost fathers, brothers, role models who would lead them and show them what it means to be a man. Some of the older ones feel cheated and guilty for not having had the chance to go to war at all, and ... and there is little work to be had.” Edward’s expression hadn’t really changed at all, and so Belle ploughed on. “I heard from my maid, Mary, about her brother, Robert. He got into the most terrible trouble in the village, and it was only the kindness of Mr Abram that meant he didn’t get sent before a magistrate. These boys need a place to go, a way to let off steam, and men that they can respect to tell them what is right and what isn’t.”

  Edward cast her a sceptical glance but he didn’t turn around and walk out, so Belle held her nerve.

  “A boxing club?” he said, his voice sounding far from convinced about the idea.

  “Yes,” she said, grasping his hand. “You can help them, Edward, train them. There may even be some with real talent here, and ... and some of the young men, well, they’d probably make you decent opponents in a short while.”

  Edward blinked at her. “You’re encouraging me to fight?” he said, so obviously shocked that Belle blushed. She remembered his words previously about her scandalous interest in the sport and his thoughts on the
matter, and her confidence took a knock, but she lifted her chin and met his eyes.

  “Yes, I would encourage you to fight, here, where there are rules and I don’t have to fear that Charlie will have to go out in the night and drag your lifeless body from the gutter outside some low bar!”

  Edwards blanched a little, guilt warring with what she thought might be pure annoyance.

  “Yes, Violette told me,” she said, her voice defiant. “But it’s not just that, Edward. This is something I wanted for you. For you to see that you can start afresh, and even make a difference to other people’s lives if you want to. That you don’t have to be the man you were. If that man died at Waterloo, let him rest in peace.” She grasped his hands and willed him to listen, to see that this could be something he could focus on. “You can start again and find whoever it is you want to be now.”

  He was silent, his face unreadable, and Belle’s hopes floundered. She clearly had no idea what she was doing, but carried on nonetheless, though she could hear the doubt in her own voice now. “I hope that you will at least consider the idea. And of course, if you don’t wish me to be a part of it, then I perfectly understand, and I ... I promise that I will not interfere at all.”

  Privately, Belle knew she would keep no such promise and fully intended to spy on her husband at every opportunity. No need to tell him that, though.

  She watched him, now, as another lad stepped up to take his turn in the ring. The noise and enthusiasm of the boys was growing, all of them yelling and bantering, though it seemed good-natured enough. Edward, though, was tense, she could feel the stillness in him and see that he was retreating, that frozen, distant expression she now recognised beginning to take hold.

  Belle squeezed his hands. The young man stepping in the ring was perhaps seventeen and not yet grown into his shoulders, which were broad and strong.