The Brigadier's Daughter

by Catherine March

  ‘Sasha, will you marry me?’ he gasped, lifting his head for a moment.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered at once with a sultry, breathless grin, her legs and arms wrapped possessively around his body. ‘Yes, my dearest, darling Reid, again and again and again!’

  Epilogue

  Christmas Day, 1878

  A late dawn broke across the wintry, snow-dusted Dorset hills and glinted amber on the window panes of Appledene Manor. The light strengthened and smoke rose from the chimneys, but this morn, on the one day of the year eagerly awaited and enjoyed by most families, the Appledene servants trod softly, aware that their household was perhaps an exception.

  They had taken the liberty of putting up festive decorations; Mr Shaw, the butler, and Mr Rudd, the estate manager, had gone out into the woods and cut down a pine tree, dragging it homewards through the first flurry of powdery snow ten days ago. They’d put up red ribbons and orange pomanders and Mrs Blake, the cook, had made gingerbread stars with which to decorate the tree, as well as other Christmas delicacies in an effort to tempt the appetite of their pale and wan young mistress. The maid, Dolly, who came up from the village five times a week to help clean the big rambling stone house, could scarce hold back her glowing admiration for the quiet woman who had risked all in the name of love.

  ‘It’s ever so romantic,’ Dolly was heard to murmur often, her voice hushed as Mrs Blake frowned at her. ‘She’s ever so brave, don’t you think?’

  Mrs Blake would cluck her tongue and tell her to be quiet, that her betters’ business was no business of hers. But everyone knew, from the highest lords and ladies of the land to the lowest scullery maid. The scandal a year ago could scarce be contained, and though it had been dealt with, in a quite ruthless yet swift manner, the aftermath was one that the two people at the centre of it had to live with.

  ‘It’s so unfair,’ Dolly muttered, lower lip pouting. ‘They can’t help it if they love each other.’

  ‘Go and take her tea up.’ Mrs Blake added two mince pies to the tea-tray and a sprig of holly, before handing it to Dolly. ‘And don’t you be waking her if she’s still asleep, poor lamb.’

  In her bedroom, dark still as the pale sun glowed behind the closed curtains of heavy blue brocade, Sasha lay in a ball in the middle of the imposing four-poster bed, her knees drawn up, and her cheek pillowed beneath the palm of one hand. She had cried herself to sleep, as she often did, and even the joy of Christmas could do nothing to stir her heart, not when it was so leaden, when every day Reid did not enjoy the comforts of his own home, but a rough cell in a military prison. She did not know where, as Reid had insisted that she not be told, as he did not want her to visit him in such a dire place. She suspected that Uncle Percy knew, but he had refused to divulge any information, insisting that this secret was for her own good and the least they could do to respect Reid’s wishes. She wrote letters, twice a week, and he wrote back to her, though less often, their letters travelling via Uncle Percy. It was he who saw to Sasha’s welfare, providing her with a generous housekeeping and personal allowance, and administering all of Reid’s affairs and investments, so that Reid rested easy in the knowledge that she was not suffering for want of anything, except his freedom, and the desperate need to be together again.

  On returning to St Petersburg, Reid and Sasha had decided that it was best to admit the truth at once, and from the ship they had gone directly to the Embassy and an interview with Sir Stanley Cronin. He had been shocked, and then coldly angry, at their deception, yet his reaction was one that neither Reid nor Sasha had anticipated. Sir Stanley had called for the guard and had had Reid arrested, and told Sasha in no uncertain terms that she was to leave the Embassy immediately and never return. With nowhere else to go, she had gone to Irena’s palace, and though her cousin was no longer in residence, the household was still maintained and the servants relieved to have someone to serve. She had stayed for two weeks, and then followed Reid back to London on a separate ship, where instinctively she had directed her hackney carriage to take her to Roseberry Street, to her home and her family. Here, too, her father had closed the door in her face, outraged at this second act of deception and betrayal, and refused to speak to her. In despair, Sasha had gone to Uncle Percy, and there she had remained, all during the most bitter and distressing weeks of their lives.

  Reid was stripped of his rank at court-martial, and sentenced to two years in a military prison for gross misconduct, deception and improper use of government funds and privileges. She had not been present, although Uncle Percy had, and he assured Sasha that he would do everything possible and in his power to see that Reid would soon be released. The newspapers had printed lurid and only half-true tales of the story, much to their consternation, but there seemed little anyone could do to refute them. Reid refused to be interviewed by a newspaper editor and had to be forcibly restrained from punching the gentleman senseless.

  At Reid’s insistence, Sasha had gone to his family home in Dorset, Appledene Manor, there to hide away from the cruel judgements and harsh punishment of society and her own family. She wrote secretly to her mama, who wrote back to say that she must be patient, and wait until her father and the scandal had cooled, and all would be well again.

  That was more than a year ago, and Sasha had led a quiet, comfortable yet lonely existence in the Dorset countryside. The servants were kind, obedient yet wary, and the village she rarely ventured into. She had missed Georgia’s wedding to Angus Turnbull, the annulment at last finalised, and Reid’s letters were full of plans for their own wedding. But Sasha had missed out on life as it seemed to pass her by. But life had not missed out on her, and had given Sasha a very special gift to sustain her, a precious gift that Reid knew nothing about and every day she had to bite her hand to stop herself from writing to tell him. But Sasha believed that for Reid to know about it now would be torment and unbearable for him, so she kept this secret from him, for his own good.

  Sasha was not asleep, but did not stir when Dolly came in, hesitating by the door and walking softly and setting the tray down on the bedside cabinet. Sasha kept her eyes closed, and felt guilty, but she did not want her day to begin, and the aching pain of it, not just yet. She lay a little longer, and then with a sigh, as a small sound in the room next door roused her, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy of the bed. It was Christmas Day, and she should get up and give thanks and be grateful.

  She lay for a while longer, and then the sound of carriage wheels rumbling and crunching on the gravel driveway roused her. She pushed back the covers and padded barefoot to the window, tweaking the curtains an inch as she peered out, squinting against the glare of light, convinced that it must be Uncle Percy. Though she was greatly fond of him and his care, he was not the one person in the world she longed to see the most. But as she looked out and the carriage came into view from behind a stand of yew trees, she gave a gasp, recognising the Packard family crest emblazoned on the door, and behind there followed a second carriage. Could it be? Sasha gave a little cry, half-wonder, half-joy, and reached for a plaid shawl, throwing it around her shoulders as she tucked her feet into slippers and then ran from the room.

  The carriages came to a halt by the front portico as she descended the stairs, and Mr Shaw walked with slow dignity across the chequered hallway and opened the door. Sasha was almost at the bottom stair when the hallway seemed to fill with people, and she wondered if she should pinch herself, because surely she must be dreaming!

  Her mother came in first, assisted by Philippa, and then came Victoria, carrying a rosy-cheeked infant dressed in a sailor suit, followed closely by Georgia and Angus, and then came her father. Sasha ran across the hall and all was noise and confusion as she kissed and hugged her mother and her sisters, and then turned, with a frightened look upon her thin and pale face, to her father.

  With a choked and gruff cry the Brigadier strode briskly towards her and opened his arms. She flew into them, sobbing against his shoulder as he kissed
her temple and held her tightly, stroking her hair.

  ‘My child, my dearest child, can you ever forgive me?’ He wept, and his wife and daughters looked on in amazement, never in their lives ever witnessing tears from the stern and unyielding Brigadier.

  Sasha cried out, ‘Oh, Papa, there is nothing to forgive! It is I who have done such wrong!’

  ‘No, you have done nothing, except fall in love.’

  For a long few moments, father and daughter hugged one another and then with a laugh they linked arms and no more was said. There was an inaudible sigh of relief from the rest of the family, and then much chattering as they went into the drawing room, as though the past year had never been, no rift and no partings and no sorrow. Georgia was proud to introduce her baby son, George, to his aunt and Sasha was happy to meet him. Then she quickly excused herself and went upstairs to dress and see to her own responsibilities.

  Dolly was kept busy lighting the fires in the bedrooms and the dining room, and rushing up and down the stairs with tea and cake for the guests, while Mr Shaw and the Packard grooms carried in the luggage and the hampers of food they had brought from London. Mrs Blake was relieved to behold these and took delight in preparing a delicious luncheon of turkey and ham and plum pudding.

  It was a wonderful Christmas day, and Sasha was flushed with happiness as her family gathered around her, but throughout it all her heart was heavy as she thought of Reid in prison and wondered how he fared and what he was doing. Uncle Percy might still have come down to Dorset to see her, but she hoped that instead he was spending the day with Reid, and keeping him good company with a bottle of port and some nourishing food.

  The daylight had almost gone and the lamps lit when, for the second time that day, Sasha heard the sound of carriage wheels on the driveway. She wondered who it could be, sure that it must be Uncle Percy after all, and indeed she could hear the sound of his voice as he greeted Mr Shaw, and she glanced nervously to her father, who looked somewhat grim. Then the drawing-room door opened and Uncle Percy came in, greeting them all jovially.

  ‘Happy Christmas, my dear Sasha.’ He stooped and kissed her cheek. ‘Forgive me that I have not had time to wrap your Christmas gift, but it was far too large and cumbersome!’

  He swept his arm towards the door and through it walked a man she had been thinking about only moments before.

  ‘Reid!’ With a shriek she ran to him, and he grinned as she flung herself at him. ‘Reid, my darling! I can’t believe it!’

  Reid laughed and clasped her tightly in his arms as he whirled her around in a circle and then bent his head and kissed her lips. They embraced, and kissed, and embraced again, Sasha stroking her palm over his much-beloved face, noting that he was thinner and in need of a shave and a good hair cut, but at least he seemed well enough.

  She glanced over his shoulder at Uncle Percy. ‘How on earth did you manage it?’ And then her face paled and she frowned with sudden fear. ‘Is it only for today? Must you go back—?’

  ‘No, no, my dear,’ Uncle Percy rushed to reassure her. ‘I have been petitioning the Queen for Reid’s release all these months, and at last she has listened. There were a number of non-violent, high-society prisoners released today and we were fortunate that Reid was one of them.’

  ‘Can you bear to have me?’ Reid laughed as he held her face between the palms of his hands and his eyes devoured her, noting every curve and colour of her soft, flushed face. ‘An ex-con?’

  Sasha tisked and frowned at him. ‘Nonsense, you are no more a criminal than—than anyone else here!’

  Angus echoed her sentiment with a hear-hear, repeated in various degrees of volume about the room.

  Reid returned his gaze to Sasha, tilting his head to one side and looking at her with a slightly puzzled air. ‘You are even more beautiful than I remember,’ he whispered, ‘yet somehow different, I can’t quite—’

  Sasha smiled, and reached up to lay her forefinger on his lips, taking his hand and leading him to where her mother lay upon a sofa, with a young baby wrapped and sleeping peacefully upon her lap.

  With tears in her eyes Sasha whispered, ‘She is three months old, and she is ours.’

  Reid caught his breath and then dropped to one knee as he knelt down and gently moved aside the soft fold of the blanket his daughter was wrapped in, to see her sweet and tender face, so like her mother’s. He thought for the first time in his life he would not be able to hold back the tears that spiked the back of his eyes, and he was right.

  His voice was choked as blindly he reached for Sasha’s hand and kissed her knuckles, with reverence and awe and shame that for his pleasure she had borne this child, alone and outcast. After a moment he composed himself and asked, ‘What is her name?’

  ‘Her name is Hope.’ Sasha stroked his fair hair as he knelt and stared at his daughter.

  Her grandmother moved and lifted the small bundle, offering Reid his daughter. He stood up. Gently he placed his large hands beneath the baby and cradled her to his chest, before shifting her into the crook of his arm and with his other arm drawing Sasha in close to his side. They gazed at their daughter in wonder, and then at each other, and then suddenly Uncle Percy and the Brigadier were breaking open bottles of champagne; the noise woke the baby and startled young George, who both started to cry. Everyone was laughing and talking, while Reid and Sasha stood as though they were alone on a deserted beach, their eyes only for each other, until glasses of champagne were handed to each of them and they all turned to the Brigadier as he called for attention.

  He raised his glass. ‘To Reid and Sasha!’

  The salute was echoed by everyone, and though it was not yet their wedding day, it was only a few months later that they stood amongst spring blossoms and sunshine at the altar of the Church of St Ann, and before God and all their family and the cream of London society made their vows to become husband and wife.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-1583-2

  THE BRIGADIER’S DAUGHTER

  Copyright © 2009 by Catherine March

  First North American Publication 2011

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