by Anne Herries
Samantha knew a little about the secret in Brock’s past. Phipps had hinted at something and Percy had told her that Brock blamed himself for a young lady of his acquaintance being brutally attacked.
‘He was at home on leave, you see, and had his mind on other matters when the girl called on him. He told me that he welcomed her, because she was like a sister to him, gave her refreshments and talked to her about his life in the army—and then she left him to walk home through their woods. Brock never gave a thought to it, because she had walked and played in those same woods all her life in perfect safety—but this time she came to grievous harm and he never forgave himself.’
‘Oh, poor girl,’ Samantha had exclaimed. ‘Yet it was hardly Brock’s fault. How could he have known that she would be attacked?’
‘He couldn’t, but he believes that he ought to have seen her safely home—as perhaps he ought, Sam. I do not think I should have allowed a young, very pretty and innocent girl to walk more than a mile to her home alone.’
‘No, perhaps—but how could he have known it would happen?’
‘No one could have known and she ought to have been safe, but these things do happen at times and Brock feels that he is to blame.’
‘Yes, I do see.’ Samantha had known then that the young and idealistic officer would castigate himself terribly for what had happened to his friend. And now she thought she understood why he’d taken on Rosemarie’s troubles, though he did not know the girl and could not be certain that she’d been quite honest with him. It was his sense of honour, his need to exonerate himself for what had happened that day so long ago.
Samantha liked Rosemarie very much. She was a charming, friendly girl with an eagerness for life that was appealing. Rosemarie was also very determined and Samantha had no doubt that she would lie brazenly if it served her purpose to get what she wanted. Her aunt and uncle were certainly not blameless, for they surely had no right to try and force her into a marriage she did not want—but were they truly as black as Rosemarie painted them? Samantha was not sure, and she thought Brock was in much the same mind.
And if his fiancée was playing him false, or even trying to arouse his jealousy by flirting with Lord Armstrong, he would be hard put to placate her and keep his promise to Rosemarie.
A smile of sympathy touched Samantha’s lips. Poor dear Brock! It looked as if he was in for a rough ride whichever way you looked at it. At least Samantha had been able to help him by taking Rosemarie to live with her, and that was no hardship for she would enjoy having the girl in her home and introducing her to society. Rosemarie was a well brought-up young lady and would not cause her any trouble that way...but she was wilful and if she formed a plan for her marriage to her beloved Robert she might risk anything to carry it out. Samantha would just have to keep a careful eye on her to make sure that she did not cause Brock more trouble than necessary.
Yet did she have the right to interfere? The answer was that she did not. She was nothing more than an acquaintance to Brock and he was merely a man she liked and admired. He would never be anything more, because he was committed to another...and because their shared memories would place a barrier between them. A barrier that was formed of loyalty and grief and could not be lightly put aside.
* * *
Brock sat before the fire in his study staring into the brandy glass in his hand. It was sometimes chilly of an evening and he liked a fire in here every evening, except in the heat of summer, when he was seldom in London. As most of his friends did, he left town in July and went down to the country, either to stay with friends or at his family home. It was still March and he would be in London for a few months now—unless he married and took his bride abroad for some weeks. Paris, perhaps, or Italy? The lakes were beautiful in the summer and cooler than the heat of a city.
His thoughts turned to Cynthia. It was annoying that she’d been out when he’d called for he would have liked to settle things between them. It would be better when the announcement of their wedding had been made and then perhaps this restless feeling would leave him. He ought not even to consider the alternatives, for his promise had been given to Cynthia too many months ago to think of breaking it. He could never do such a thing. He’d asked her to save her reputation and because she’d looked so unhappy...so vulnerable. If he went back on his promise now, what kind of a cad would he be? The only honourable thing to do was to marry the girl, even if he’d never loved her—could never love her as he might have loved another.
Cynthia had not answered immediately when he’d asked and he’d sensed that she’d agreed with some reluctance, possibly because she feared her mama’s anger if she’d been returned to her home with her reputation in tatters. At first she’d been grateful, willing to fall in with his suggestions, though not ready to announce the date of the wedding.
It was only after she’d returned to her home and he’d taken up his own life again, spending most of his time in London with fleeting visits to his own estate and that of his father that he’d found her less pleased to see him, inclined to long silences, often seeming to force herself to greet him with a smile, and perhaps that was his own fault. Brock admitted that he’d not been to visit her as often as he ought, but his life in London suited him and he was always engaged to friends or with his business affairs.
Brock was still working for his old commander, the Duke of Wellington. There were many functions to be arranged for the benefit of soldiers and officers wounded in the duke’s service, and Brock was happy to give his time to such a worthy cause. He also attended diplomatic conferences and travelled to France either with the duke or on behalf of the duke. Every so often he was invited to join the duke at his country home and sometimes to join the Prince Regent’s house party at Brighton. He was well thought of in high circles and Wellington had urged him to go into the diplomatic service, saying that he had skills that were much needed and would do tribute to the post of ambassador in one of the more sensitive areas in which the British had a strong influence.
Brock had consulted his father, who had given him his blessing, but still he’d waited—because somehow he did not think that Cynthia would be happy as the wife of a diplomat who might be sent off to the other side of the world at the drop of a hat. Only a certain sort of woman was happy to follow her husband wherever he went...and that was a line of thought best capped and tucked away where it could do no harm.
Sipping his brandy slowly to savour its warming effect, Brock considered his future if he did not enter the diplomatic service. He might stand for a safe Tory seat at the next election, he supposed, but there was little else open to a man who would one day inherit his father’s title and lands.
As yet Lord Brockley was a hale and hearty man who needed little help to run the family estate and would have resented any changes that Brock might have wished to implement. They got on well as father and son, but not as partners in running the family affairs, and Brock had been dedicated to his army career. However, he’d retired from active service after a severe wound to his right leg at the last show in France. Most of the time his limp was barely noticeable, but the wound had at one time become infected and might have ended his life—and his father had only one son. He might not wish him to help with the estate now, but in a few years he would be expected to take over.
It was time, his father had told him, to marry and set up his nursery. If he did not wish to waste his time lounging at the clubs all day or attending the races, Brock needed a career. A man with an active mind and fit body, he had been brooding on his options for a while. He could set up a racing stable, go into a business trading in wine as one or two of his friends had, enter politics or take a post in the diplomatic service.
Not much choice if the truth be told. In time he would settle to the land and the care of a great estate, but he was young enough to want something more challenging. The diplomatic service was his first choice. Wellington
had been pressing for an answer and Brock was almost ready to say yes, but he must first speak to Cynthia.
Of course, there was the matter of Rosemarie’s affairs to settle, but a preliminary chat with his lawyer had reassured him that her estate could easily be protected until she came of age. The aunt and uncle might be difficult, but Brock had not commanded a troop of hardened soldiers for years and learned nothing. He did not anticipate meeting too stern a resistance, once he told them what steps his lawyer was even now putting into place.
No, Rosemarie would cause him little trouble, he was sure. All he had to do was have a nice little talk with Cynthia and decide where their future lay. If she wished to set the date of the wedding and yet felt unable to be a diplomat’s wife, he supposed it must be politics or the racing stables, perhaps both, though he knew that neither would satisfy his need. A soldier’s life had suited him and only something with a challenge attached could take its place.
A grim look on his face, Brock drained his brandy glass and went to bed.
Chapter Six
‘Major Brockley, how pleasant to see you,’ Lady Langton said, offering her hand as he was shown into the very elegant, but rather cold parlour. ‘Cynthia will be down shortly. I thought I would speak to you myself for a moment—if that is convenient?’
‘Yes, of course, Lady Langton. In what way may I serve you?’
‘I shall not beat about the bush, sir. I wish to know your intentions concerning my daughter if you will be so kind as to answer me?’
‘Certainly. My intentions have not altered. It was my hope that I might speak with Cynthia and discover what her thoughts were on the date of the wedding.’
‘I see.’ Lady Langton frowned. ‘And is she to expect you to continue in the same manner once you are married?’
‘I am not sure I understand you, ma’am?’ Brock’s brow furrowed as he caught the inflection in her tone.
‘You have shamefully neglected her,’ Lady Langton said. ‘I do not think I like the idea of my daughter being deserted for much of the time...left in the country to twiddle her thumbs while you gad about all over the show. I have it on good authority, sir, that you have left the country three times this past six months.’
‘Yes, that is quite true,’ Brock said, trying vainly to keep his temper in check. ‘And I dare say I may spend even more of my time travelling or living abroad in future since it is my intention to enter the diplomatic service.’ He regretted the hasty words immediately for it had sounded like an ultimatum and he had not intended it to be so. ‘I should of course expect my wife to accompany me if I chose to live abroad as a diplomat.’
‘Well, really.’ For a moment the outraged mother was speechless. ‘And does my poor daughter know of your intentions, sir?’
‘No, for it has only recently come up,’ Brock told her frankly. ‘I have answered you as you required, ma’am, and now, if you please I should like to speak with Cynthia alone. I have brought my phaeton so that we may drive out together to the park.’
‘I wish to tell you at once that I do not wish my daughter to become the wife of a diplomat if it means she must live abroad.’
‘Should we not leave Cynthia to decide?’
‘Her father would never allow it. Nasty, dirty foreign places where she may catch a terrible disease. No, it will not do. She gave you her word under false pretences for you said nothing of this to her father or Cynthia. I consider that she is free to withdraw without blame.’
‘Mother? What is wrong?’ Cynthia’s voice asked from the threshold. Turning, Brock saw a picture of loveliness, her perfect complexion framed by golden ringlets, her eyes deeply blue. Cynthia was dressed in a becoming green carriage gown with a bonnet of green lined with cream silk and cream roses sewn to the side. It was tied to the side of her face with a large bow of ribbon to match the lining and was most becoming. ‘Brock, how lovely to see you again.’ She advanced with her hand held out, as if they were friends but no more, and allowed him to touch the fingers only before withdrawing it. ‘I wish you had let me know you were in town.’
‘I was called from town urgently a few days ago and returned only yesterday,’ he said. ‘I had business that kept me until late afternoon—but I fear you had other engagements for the day?’
‘Yes, I had,’ Cynthia agreed, her cheeks pink. ‘Shall we leave? I must be back for luncheon, because we have an appointment for early afternoon—and others right through the evening. I fear I can spare you but two hours at most.’
‘Very well, we should leave, for there is much to discuss,’ Brock said and bowed towards her mother briefly. ‘Pray excuse me, Lady Langton. I have taken note of your comments and will discuss them with my fiancée. Good morning.’
‘Well, really,’ Lady Langton said. ‘Cynthia, remember your duty to your family and do not agree to anything without giving it some thought.’
‘Of course, Mama,’ Cynthia replied and turned to Brock. ‘Shall we go, sir?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Brock escorted her out to the waiting phaeton, telling his groom to stand down. ‘I shall not need you again for two hours. Return to the stables and await me there.’
‘Yes, Major,’ the lad said and touched his cap.
‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ Cynthia said conversationally as Brock let his horses go. ‘When you made no reply to my letter, I realised you must have been out of town. I am glad you have returned before we leave for the countess’s country house for I wished to speak with you.’
‘I, too, wished to speak to you,’ Brock said. ‘I have been mulling the future over in my mind and I believe I have come to a decision, Cynthia. I may have told you that I do occasionally work for Wellington?’
‘Yes, but I thought that was merely a temporary thing.’ Cynthia’s interest was aroused. ‘Charity affairs—that sort of thing?’
‘Also diplomatic missions. I have been asked to join the service and I believe that once I accept I shall be offered an ambassadorship somewhere abroad, though of course, I do not know where. It might be a pleasant place to live, it might not.’
‘Yes, of course, I understand,’ she said calmly. ‘As your wife I should be expected to go with you, I dare say?’
‘Yes, unless it was some godforsaken country in which no decent woman could possibly be expected to live—and if that were to happen, it might mean I was away from you for some years...though such posts tend to be of short duration and many are very pleasant—such as Vienna or Paris. Or perhaps Canada, even India.’
‘Ah, yes, I imagine that was the cause of my mother’s anger. I heard raised voices as I came down the stairs. I must apologise for Mama. It is not her business to question you. I am old enough to make my own decisions.’
‘I had intended to discuss the matter with you—and, of course, the date of our wedding.’
‘If it is to go ahead,’ Cynthia replied thoughtfully. ‘Yet you say your decision is made?’
‘I think it must be,’ Brock said. ‘There is little here for a man of my ambition and energy. Soldiering is no longer a prospect for me. My leg would not stand up to long campaigns, though it is generally no trouble to me. Politics would, I think, be a poor second to the service. I am thought to have certain skills—though I will admit that I failed to use them in your mama’s case and for that I beg your pardon.’
‘No one knows better than I how irritating she can be,’ Cynthia said, and smiled gently. ‘I know she has been angered by what she considered your neglect of me, though if you have been detained on important business it may be that you could not help it. Mama persuaded me to accept Lady Armstrong’s invitation to stay with her in town, but I was a little upset that you did not visit me for so long, Brock.’
He hesitated, then decided that it was time he spoke out. This situation could not continue. ‘I am at fault in thi
s. I own it and beg your pardon. The truth was that I was not at all sure you truly wished for my company on the last two occasions I visited. Was I mistaken—or have you regretted your decision to be my wife?’
‘I think I may have,’ Cynthia replied so frankly that he was taken aback and checked his horses, causing the lead horse to shy slightly. It took him a moment to control it and then he turned into the park and was able to proceed at a leisurely pace.
‘I will draw up and we can talk properly—in the shade of those trees so that we do not impede others.’
‘Yes, please do,’ Cynthia said. ‘Forgive me if I startled you with my frank reply, Major, but I think it best to be honest about these things—do you not agree?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, and brought his horses to a gentle stand. Turning, he smiled at her, thinking how lovely she looked—the ideal wife for any landed gentleman content to divide his time between the family seat and London or Paris. Yet suddenly, that life held no appeal for him and he realised that he needed far more. There would be time enough when he inherited the title to come back and take charge of the estate. ‘Am I to take it that you have changed your mind, Cynthia? Have you discovered that we should not suit?’
‘It is more that I feel we may both have been hasty,’ she said. ‘Spending so much time in the country alone, I have come to the conclusion that I spoke without thinking when I accepted your kind offer. I am fond of you, grateful to you and I believe you would be a good husband—but I do not think I should like to be left alone for long periods, especially in the country. When I marry I wish to spend a good part of my time in London—and being a political hostess would suit me very well. If you thought you could enter politics rather than the diplomatic service, I think I should have been content to be your wife—but I do not wish to travel to strange places where I should know no one and be months away from my family and friends. If I were needed in an emergency, it would be impossible to get here in time. I do not think I could accept that and I do so enjoy meeting my friends, being entertained—all the things I can do in London.’