The Sentimental Soldier

by April Kihlstrom

  George went very pale and then flushed a deep crimson. His voice shook almost as much as the finger he pointed at her as he said, “Young woman I will not be made game of. If you do not wish to confide in me, simply say so. But do not tell me tales even a child would know enough to disbelieve.”

  Prudence tilted up her chin and leaned back against the squabs. “Yes, Lord Darton,” she said with a meekness Harry knew far better than to trust.

  But George did not know her and he merely nodded. “Good. That’s settled then. Obviously you do not wish me to pry and I shan’t. But I do need to know something of what to tell the ton when I am asked about your marriage, Harry.”

  The colonel rubbed his chin and looked at Prudence. “There is some sense to that,” he told her. “If we do not wish to be the cause of foolish speculation, then we must tell them something. What do you wish my brother to say? What should we say?”

  She thought about it for a long moment, then her smile lit up her face and even George seemed taken aback by how much it altered her appearance.

  “We shall say that my uncle wished to take me to the talks on the continent with him but that you and I had met—somewhere—and developed a tendre for one another. I could not bear to be parted from you so I went to Spain instead. And we were married. I would have returned to England alone save that you were wounded and needed me so we returned together.”

  “Yes, but where did the two of you meet?” George demanded of Prudence. “Here in England? I don’t recall seeing you at Almack’s or any other ball.”

  Harry waved a careless hand. “Somewhere. We cannot say precisely where because it is a place I am not supposed to have been. A secret mission, you understand. And indeed,” he said with a fond look at Prudence, “it is the truth.”

  She reached out a hand to him. “So it is,” she agreed.

  George snorted. “Very well. If you want me to tell a Banbury tale, a Banbury tale it shall be. But don’t blame me if it ain’t believed!”

  Chapter 13

  If Lord Darton had been skeptical, his wife Athenia was even more so. To be sure, she was polite enough to Prudence in the drawing room as Harry was settled onto a sofa by the fire. His face was white and drawn with pain from the journey and it had taken two footmen to help carry him up the stairs.

  “Come, my dear, I shall show you to your room. You will no doubt wish to refresh yourself,” Lady Darton said to Prudence.

  “Thank you, I should,” she agreed.

  As they mounted the stairs to the next floor where the bedrooms were all to be found, Prudence said, “I thank you for being so kind to me, Lady Darton. I collect Harry’s letter had not yet reached you and so you cannot have been expecting him to bring home a wife.”

  With each word, Athenia’s back straightened more and more until it seemed ramrod stiff. As was her voice as she replied, “Let us have a clear understanding. You may have cozened my husband with your tale of romance, and I do not dispute that your birth is well enough, but I am not so easily taken in. You will have to show me you are worthy of being Harry’s bride before I shall accept you as such.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Probably not. But you will. The only reason I did not say anything in the drawing room is that I would not distress Harry for the world. Particularly as injured as he is now.”

  Prudence lifted her eyebrows. “But you will distress him if you cause me any trouble, whether it is today or at a later time.”

  “Indeed?” Lady Darton asked, with a sour smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not. If he discovers himself to be mistaken in your character, then he may be grateful to me for taking his part.”

  Now Prudence was confused. She tilted her head to one side as she regarded Lady Darton. After a long moment her expression softened and she almost smiled as she said, “You care about Harry very much, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Lady Darton replied. “It is my duty to do so.”

  Prudence did smile then. She slipped an arm through Lady Darton’s, ignoring that lady’s gasp of outrage. “We both care for Harry and I think it is more than duty on your part. Which makes us friends, even though I know it will take you some time to believe it. For now I am simply grateful that you sent a coach for him and are taking him, indeed both of us, into your home. Harry has been subject to the megrims ever since he was injured and it is more than I can do to raise his spirits out of them. For that I think he needs your help. And Lord Darton’s.”

  By the end of this speech Lady Darton no longer looked quite so angry. She did not smile, perhaps, but there was a hint of softness about her eyes and in her voice.

  “We shall do what we can. And you are welcome in my house.”

  It was a beginning. For now, Prudence thought, that was as much as she could hope to have. Moving in diplomatic circles had taught her to take victory where she could and then retreat to plan her strategy for the next encounter. One had to think like one’s opponent and in Lady Darton’s place Prudence had to admit that she would have been just as suspicious.

  When she had taken off her bonnet and cloak and gloves and brushed the tangles out of her hair, Prudence returned to the drawing room. There she paused in the doorway, watching Harry. His color had started to come back, no doubt aided by the glass of wine in his hand.

  But he was also laughing at something Lord Darton was saying to him and for that Prudence could only be grateful. In spite of herself, in spite of the temper both Lord and Lady Darton had roused in her, she smiled. It was then that Harry turned his head and saw her. A look passed between them and her wayward thoughts could only think of the bed above and how soon Harry would be ready to share it.

  But his thoughts were on other matters. “Come meet the rest of my scapegrace family,” he said, calling her into the room.

  It was only then that Prudence realized there were others present. She went to stand by Harry and he pulled her down to sit beside him on the couch, one comforting—if scandalous—arm about her waist.

  “This is my brother Philip, the barrister, and his wife, Emily. This is my brother James and his wife, Juliet. And this is Sir Thomas Levenger and Lady Levenger. Everyone, this is my wife, Prudence.”

  They were all kind. Far kinder than Prudence felt she deserved. And yet she was grateful for Harry’s sake for she could see that it put his mind at rest to see them accept her so readily. It was only Prudence who noticed the reserve in their eyes even as they smiled and greeted her.

  But again, who was she to say they were wrong? If she thought anyone threatened Harry she would have been far more blunt and challenging than these kind people. It was evident they loved Harry, too.

  Again the story was told, such as it was. And again she could see the reservations in their eyes. But they were all polite enough to pretend to believe it. There were more polite words and finally it was Sir Thomas who touched on the matter that worried them all the most.

  “How are you, Harry? Truly? And no false courage now. We want to know, what does the surgeon say about your leg?” he asked, coming to rest a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

  The arm around Prudence’s waist tightened. And she could hear the constraint in his voice as he answered. “The surgeons can tell me very little save that my leg was badly injured and we must wait to see how much use of it I will have when all is said and done.”

  Sir Thomas looked at Prudence and quirked an eyebrow upward. Was that where Harry had learned the trick? She looked at Harry and she looked at Sir Thomas and all she could do was shrug her shoulders and shake her head.

  “I know no more than Harry,” she told him. “The surgeons could tell us no more.”

  “But the Marquess of Wellington says Harry is to sell out his commission,” Lord Darton protested. “Surely he would not say so unless he knew full well the extent of the injury. You need not cavil to tell us the truth, Harry!”

  From the way his eyes widened with dismay, Prudence knew that this was the first Harry had heard any such a thing,
just as it was the first time for her. He was too stunned to speak and so she did so for him.

  In a voice cold as ice she asked, “Where, my lord, did you hear such a calumny? Wellington made no such request of Harry that I heard.”

  “Er, that is, Sir Thomas you tell them!”

  A look of irritation crossed the elder man’s face but he rid himself of it quickly. Instead he looked at Harry, careful to meet his eyes squarely.

  “I have had word that Wellington does not think you will return to his staff. That he does indeed expect you to sell out your commission. But he is not pleased to think this must be so.”

  “And how the devil would you know such a thing?” Harry demanded, his voice shaking.

  Sir Thomas did not even blink. In a soft voice that was meant to be soothing he said gently, “The same way I knew which ship was bringing you home, though I wish someone had thought to mention your bride! Come, I do not mean to distress you, my boy. I hope, we all hope, that you make a full recovery. And if you do, Wellington will welcome you back with great delight.”

  But the damage was already done. Prudence could see the strain in Harry’s face. “Perhaps,” she suggested to the others, “Harry should rest now?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Darton said instantly.

  “We have had a room made up on this level,” Lady Darton added, “so that he need not deal with stairs.”

  Prudence would have gone with him, but Harry’s brothers all crowded around to help him up and she guessed that he would not thank her for hovering. And when they were gone from the room Sir Thomas smiled at her.

  “Wise woman,” he said. “Perhaps Harry chose more shrewdly than we guessed.”

  Prudence wanted to be offended but, as so many had discovered before her, she could not resist that smile. Or the frank and friendly way Lady Levenger slipped an arm around her husband’s waist and added, “Welcome to the family, my dear. We are very happy to have you.”

  * * * *

  Harry didn’t want to lean on his brothers but he found he had no choice. The journey had fatigued him more than he expected and had they not been holding him up, he knew would have fainted.

  But because they were his brothers, they knew better than to offer him sympathy. Instead, they roasted him unmercifully, a kindness for which he was profoundly grateful.

  “What? You are weak as a kitten,” Philip teased. “Your wife did not look such a termagant to me but she seems to have worn you out entirely.”

  “No, no, it is all a ploy to get our sympathy!” James countered. “We are to wait on him hand and foot and do his bidding. I have always known it was his dream to order us about.”

  Even George could not resist. There was, most astonishingly, a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “No, no, I think this is not for our benefit but for that of his wife. Can you not imagine her bending over him, doing whatever he wished, and being most solicitous? Why, I do believe he has hit upon the perfect way to make a wife hold her tongue and show him only tenderness and sweetness.”

  The sight of their utterly staid brother making such a joke was enough to render both Philip and James speechless. But Harry grinned and retaliated in kind.

  “Ah, but George, you would first have to endure the dirt and mud of a battlefield and I do not think you would like it, for it would do horrible things to your clothes.”

  Lord Darton snorted. “Perhaps. But we could send James. He has nothing to do and we could see if it worked with him before Philip and I risked offending our tailors in such a way.”

  “Here, no!” James said holding up a hand in mock fright. “I might miss a ball or card party and offend the hostess forever.”

  “Besides,” Philip chimed in, “Harry has already taken this tack and it really is not the thing to imitate a fellow in such a blatant way. We should have to find some unexceptionable way that no one would realize what we were about. And how could we be certain our wives would not terrorize us, keeping us helpless, rather than tending to us as sweetly as his wife is? Brilliant as Harry’s plan has been, I am not at all sure it would work with Emily.”

  By this time they had managed to maneuver Harry into the room and help him into the bed. Wilkins stood respectfully to the side, watching the roasting with patent approval in his eyes.

  James set the cane close to Harry’s hand. “In case you find the need to get up on your own later,” he explained.

  And then there was nothing more to be done. The pillows had been fluffed twice and the coverlet settled just so. The three men looked at one another with uncertainty. It was Harry’s soft voice that put them at ease.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I am more grateful than you can know to have such wonderful fellows for brothers. No, I shan’t embarrass you further except to say that it is good to be home. And I expect to bedevil all of you before I am done.”

  They laughed, then, at these last words. And with a few more crude jests and abjurations for Harry to rest, they shuffled out of the room, reluctant to leave him alone. They glanced at Wilkins but he only shrugged.

  “Go! Leave me!” Harry ordered. “I am tired of seeing the lot of you!”

  They went, and Harry knew it was because they could see the fatigue in his face. As he lay back against the pillows he felt the strongest urge to curse his fate, to rail against what could not be changed.

  But he did not. Instead, as Wilkins quietly drew the curtains and straightened a few things, Harry pondered his future. To be sure, there was a slight chance he would recover completely. In which case matters were simple. He would be back with Wellington the moment the surgeons pronounced him well enough to do so.

  But what if he did not? He could not, would not contemplate a lifetime of idle dissipation.

  Even as he tried to wrestle with the problem, Harry slipped into sleep. And that was how Prudence found him, some time later. He never saw her or felt her hand on his brow. He slept too deeply for that. Nor did he hear her ask Wilkins how he did or hear the soft reply that all was as well as might be expected.

  Chapter 14

  Prudence was just leaving her room to go down to dinner when she heard the noises. Giggling and shushing noises. Feet running in the hallway above. Intrigued, she began to climb up the stairs. Before she reached the next floor she was confronted by four faces that stared at her avidly. There were two boys and two girls, ranging in age, she guessed, from eight to two years old. The baby ought not to have been out of the nursery. But then none of them should have been out of the nursery at this hour of the day.

  “Are you Uncle Harry’s wife?” the eldest boy asked.

  Prudence nodded.

  “We want to see him.”

  She blinked. All four faces regarded her with grim determination. More than one lower lip trembled.

  “Is he going to die?”

  That was the girl, and impulsively Prudence swept her up into a hug. “No! Of course not!” she said, shocked that the child would think such a thing.

  But they all did. She could see it in their faces. Without thinking about it, she sat down on the top step of the stairs so that they could crowd around her.

  “Your Uncle Harry is going to be fine,” she said. “He’s been hurt and the surgeon says it will take time to heal. There may be some things he can never do, but he isn’t going to die.”

  “Is he going to be crippled?”

  Prudence took a deep breath. Clearly there was only one thing to do. Gathering up the youngest child in her arms and holding out her hand to the second youngest she said, “Why don’t I take you to see him and you can judge for yourself how serious his condition might be.”

  The younger kids came readily but the eldest held back. “We’re not supposed to bother him,” he told her.

  Her smile softened even more. “It’s all right,” she answered gently. “If anyone says you ought not to be there I shall say that I gave you direct orders to come and raise your uncle’s spirits, okay?”

  “Will it?” the second o
ldest child, a girl, asked anxiously.

  Prudence nodded. “I truly think it will.”

  She couldn’t know that for sure, of course. Perhaps Harry found his nephews and nieces a confounded nuisance. She only knew that they were upset and worried and she was doing the one thing that might reassure them. And that, at the moment, was all that seemed to matter.

  Of course, what seemed so simple upstairs became far more complicated when she reached the drawing room and found not only Harry, but Lord and Lady Darton there. At the sight of them, Lady Darton rose to her feet.

  “You were supposed to stay upstairs, children. Uncle Harry isn’t well.”

  “Oh, let them come see him,” Lord Darton countered carelessly. “I suppose they can do no harm if they spend just a few minutes with him.”

  Prudence noted that Harry visibly braced himself and even looked a trifle pale as he stared at the children. What on earth was wrong with everyone? Instantly she made a decision. She stopped the children before they could run into the room, as they clearly intended to do.

  With a firm but friendly voice she said, “You must all go in quietly. No running. And no clambering upon your Uncle Harry’s lap. I shall expect your assistance in seeing to it that he is not discomforted in any way. Can I count on all of you?”

  They stared at her, she thought, with such astonishment that it was as though she had suddenly overturned their world. And as if they meant to disobey.

  “If you don’t,” she said, raising her eyebrows and planting one hand on each hip, “it’s straight back upstairs you shall go! And not another chance to see your Uncle Harry while we are staying here.”

  For a long moment, matters hung in the balance. She had never, Prudence thought, faced a more hostile crowd. But then, suddenly the eldest drew in a deep breath, drew himself up straight.

  “I promise we shall be careful. And none of you,” he told his siblings in a stern voice, “are to cause Uncle Harry the least distress.”