Ashes of Pride

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “You’re looking better,” Jasper said, with a warm smile. “We were a bit concerned about you last night.”

  “It was not a pleasant day, yesterday,” Neil admitted. “Nor the day before that.”

  “Hmm.” Jasper bent his head to look at the volume in Neil’s hands. “Ta Eis Heauton. I only studied Latin a little, but that doesn’t sound anything like it.”

  “It’s Greek,” Neil said, hiding his smile.

  “Marcus Aurelius was Roman.”

  “He wrote his Meditations in Greek.”

  Jasper wrinkled his nose. “There is an English translation here, surely?”

  “I like the book in the original.”

  “If you insist.” Jasper laughed. “I came to see how you were doing and to tell you dinner is at six tonight. It’s shockingly early, but this is a working estate. Oh, and Lilly isn’t here.”

  “She isn’t?” Neil said, mild disappointment touching him. He hadn’t seen his big sister in an exceptionally long time.

  “She ran to London this morning. Family business.” Jasper’s smile remained in place but grew a little strained.

  “We simply can’t stay out of trouble, us Williams,” Neil said, working to keep his tone light.

  “Indeed,” Jasper said in agreement. “Six, tonight. I hope you don’t mind rubbing elbows with small children at the dinner table. Seth and the twins always eat with us.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten with small children,” Neil admitted. “Not since I was one myself.”

  “It isn’t much different from eating at the officers’ mess,” Jasper said and winked. He laughed as he left.

  The rest of the day stayed as the morning had begun. The silence surrounded Neil and time stretched out. He was astonished to realized he was growing sleepy and drifted into a light doze on the sofa in the library. When he woke, a pot of tea and rum cake sat on a small table pulled up beside him.

  Neil put Meditations back on the shelf and reached for Seneca’s works and Epictetus, too. The rest of the day, he spent with the philosophers and poets of old, until dinner was served.

  Eating with children was similar to eating with carefree officers in the mess, yet far more fun. Jasper’s children—Seth, Elise and Anne—were well behaved and insatiably curious. They peppered Neil with questions about the colonies, the aboriginals, kangaroos and black swans. Seth was wild to know more about the barracks at Fenham, the new uniform, the new rifles which the regiment used, and how many wars Neil had fought in. He was disappointed when Neil admitted he had fought in no wars. When Neil showed him the scar on his arm from a stray musket shot, Seth’s spirits recovered.

  The next day would be a repeat of the first, Neil presumed. However, shortly after breakfast, Jasper hailed Neil from the front door, his hand upon the big brass handle. “Walk with me. It’s warm enough you need no other layers.”

  Neil hesitated. “I don’t want to impose…”

  “You won’t. I want to check a gate in the far dale. A tenant farmer says it is broken and can’t be closed anymore.”

  “You walk there?”

  Jasper laughed. “It’s only three miles. It will do you good, soldier. Come along.”

  Neil followed Jasper out of the house and around to the back where a wide gate opened upon a big field. The field was fenced with low stone walls. Jasper set a brisk pace across the dry grasses, which cracked and popped under their feet. The Yorkshire dales were feeling the effects of the long, dry summer, too.

  They walked in silence for a while, the warm air playing over their faces, as Neil fought to keep up with Jasper’s speed. The older man must have sensed Neil’s effort, for he slowed his pace and dropped back beside Neil.

  “How is my old regiment, these days?” Jasper asked.

  “Struggling to cope with the reforms,” Neil confessed. “The barracks is bursting at the seams.”

  “And Colonel Hill?”

  “Silver haired, seventy and doesn’t miss a trick.”

  Jasper grinned. “The Fifth will make it through because of him. Hill has seen more change in his career than Cardwell could ever deliver with an act of Parliament.”

  Neil suspected Jasper was right.

  “Are the reforms and the changes the reason you appeared on our doorstep looking so haggard, Neil?”

  Neil ruffled his hair. There was little left to ruffle, now. “Not in the slightest,” he said. “I cannot argue with a single reform Cardwell has set in motion. The conditions the enlisted men have put up since time immemorial are disgusting. The generals wonder why they cannot recruit men to the flag. They have only to look to the barracks and forts for their answers. My men in the colonies slept in tents and tin sheds, under heat far greater than this measly summer. Some of them died because of it. The rest were sick and weak, yet still expected to finish their duty shift or not get paid. It was barbaric, Jasper…” He drew in a breath, astonished. “I have no idea where this anger comes from,” he admitted. “I haven’t given the reforms a single thought since I returned to England. There has been rather too much to think about otherwise.”

  Jasper nodded. “It is important to you, for reasons you have yet to uncover. Why have you not had time to think about reforms, since you returned?”

  An image of Seymour quivering in fury flashed into his mind. Neil sighed. “There is a reform which is far overdue,” he said bitterly.

  “Which one is that?” Jasper asked, his tone as curious as any of his children’s had been, last night.

  “The purchase of commissions,” Neil said.

  “You purchased yours,” Jasper pointed out. “So did I. It is the only way to become an officer, and has been for centuries.”

  “It allows fools to rise in the ranks, when they’ve done nothing worthy. Men with not a single drop of talent for war lead entire regiments because their family has a full coffer, while men of ability and talent are left in the junior ranks, at the mercy of bastards with axes to grind…” Neil gulped back the black torrent trying to pour from him and rubbed the back of his neck again.

  Jasper didn’t speak at once.

  Neil breathed heavily, throwing off the anger which wanted to spew from him.

  “What is the name of the bastard?” Jasper asked.

  “I wasn’t speaking of anyone in particular,” Neil said quickly.

  “And you are not a junior officer anymore, either. My question still stands,” Jasper said. “Surprise me, if you can.”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Seymour.” Neil hesitated. “Blanche’s husband.”

  “Ah!” Jasper said. He climbed the stile they had reached and waited for Neil to follow him over the wooden structure. “He was not with the Fifth when I was there.”

  “He was not with the Fifth when I was last with them, either,” Neil growled. “And yet he now out ranks me. The man is a dangerous fool who thinks discipline is the only means to generate loyalty.”

  “One of the gung-ho types, yes,” Jasper said. “I’ve often found that men who present a hard front like that are often hiding something behind it.”

  Everything Neil had learned about the man from other officers and from Blanche told him Jasper was right. “As far as I have established, what Seymour hides behind it is a complete lack of substance.”

  “If you say so,” Jasper replied. “If you can catch a glimpse behind the shield, you can often disarm the man. Figuratively, of course.” He laughed.

  Neil rolled his eyes. “You are rather good at that, aren’t you?”

  “At what?”

  “Getting a man to talk about what he shouldn’t.”

  “In your case, it seemed to me you would be better speaking than holding it all in. You have not had a happy time since you arrived back in England, have you? I’m guessing Lieutenant Seymour’s discipline has showered upon you more than once.”

  “He doesn’t like me,” Neil muttered.

  “I’m not surprised. Men like him rarely appreciate being made to feel insu
fficient. I imagine your presence must make him squirm.”

  They walked for another mile before Jasper said, his tone casual. “What do you intend to do about Seymour, Major?”

  “He’s a superior officer. I intend to do whatever he orders.”

  Jasper rolled his eyes. “You are a capable, decorated officer. You know how to move around men like him.”

  Neil did know. There were ways. A word in a fellow officer’s ear, or more than one officer, if necessary. A favor here, a delivered promise there. Lost card games. Coveted bottles of brandy. An introduction to a pretty lady. It was London society, all over again, only there were damn few women, and every man wore a uniform. Instead of reckoning one’s influence and power by the family they were born into or married into, one measured their worth by their rank and decorations. The petty games of one-up-manship were otherwise identical.

  Neil sighed. “I asked to be released, Jasper.”

  Jasper said again, “Ah!” Then, after a few more steps, he added, “You’re tired of it all.”

  “Of everything,” Neil admitted. “I can’t seem to go a day without trouble nipping at my heels. I thought that at home, I could quietly wait for my release orders. I hadn’t been here more than a few hours before it all started up again.”

  “And you think hiding away in some far corner of the world will make it all stop?” Jasper asked. A sour note sounded in his voice.

  “That is what you did, isn’t it? Hide away?” Neil recalled only now that Jasper had once been Raymond’s butler.

  “Running a big house isn’t remotely hiding away.”

  “Becoming a butler is hiding. No one sees butlers,” Neil pointed out.

  “Except in your family, they do,” Jasper said. “That was my very fortunate mistake. Only, I wasn’t hiding in a literal sense. I was hiding in here.” He tapped his head. “And here.” He touched his chest. “Until I stopped doing that, trouble dogged me, too.”

  Neil rolled his eyes. “Words.”

  Jasper halted. Neil turned back to face him. Jasper shook his head. “You spent all day yesterday in the company of the ancient stoics, yet you haven’t listened to any of them. Marcus Aurelius said ‘Willing acceptance—now, at this very moment—of all external events. That’s all you need.’.”

  “Stoics make terrible soldiers,” Neil pointed out.

  “They make superior leaders.” Jasper said.

  Neil stared at him. His heart was racing, although he wasn’t sure why.

  Jasper tilted his head. “You had peace and quiet yesterday. Tell me now, without thinking through your answer, how did you find it?”

  “Tedious,” Neil replied. His jaw sagged.

  Jasper smiled and walked on.

  The Wakefield Townhouse, St. James Square, St. James, London

  EMMA WINCED AT THE BRIGHT light shining through the big arched window over the top of the stair landing. She gripped the banister rail tightly as she descended to the main floor. At the bottom, she tugged her wrapper more firmly around her, only now aware of the lateness of the hour. The only sound in the house was the murmur of men discussing legal matters in the library.

  Then she heard the chink of china. A cup being returned to a saucer. Emma’s throat contracted at the thought of strong tea, with cream and sugar. A great deal of tea.

  The sound came from the dining room, so perhaps the hour was not as late as she thought. Emma moved swiftly across the hall and turned through the arch which gave on to the long dining room with its narrow table. She came to a halt under the archway, astonishment rippling through her, as Mama Elisa and Papa Vaughn looked up.

  Emma’s cousin Lilly sat beside Mama Elisa, too. Sharla was at the end of the table, as usual. Everyone was reading. The women all had books open in front of them. Papa had the Times newspaper spread before him.

  Everyone drank tea. The table was bare of everything but a small tray with the big teapot on it.

  “Mama! Papa! What on earth are you doing in London?” Emma said. “Why didn’t you warn me you were coming?”

  Sharla got to her feet and smoothed down the green silk morning gown. “I will leave you to your affairs. The children need me.” She rested her hand on Lilly’s shoulder. Lilly looked up at Sharla and smiled as she squeezed Sharla’s fingers.

  Sharla gave Emma a small smile as she passed her in the archway. Emma thought her smile was somewhat strained. Given the odd domestic arrangements in this house, a little strain was understandable.

  Her father lowered the newspaper and turned in his chair so he was facing her. “Perhaps you should have a seat, Emma. It is time we spoke frankly.”

  “More than time,” Mama Elisa said. She shut her book with a small thud and put it down.

  Emma’s middle squeezed, with a distinct sinking sensation. The disapproval in their eyes warned her the conversation would not be a happy one. But then, most of the conversations she’d had with members of the family had been unhappy ones, lately.

  Emma pulled her wrapper back into place, even though it was already laying correctly. “May I please have a cup of tea?” She lowered herself gingerly into the chair.

  “If you would like tea, you must pour it for yourself,” Mama Elisa replied.

  Emma didn’t want to get to her feet again. She stayed where she was. “Why is Lilly here, if this is to be a frank conversation?” She glanced at Papa Vaughn. He was always the one to speak for everyone in the room.

  “I am here because Aunt Elisa and Uncle Vaughn have kept me informed about your behavior lately and I did not like what I heard,” Lilly said.

  Emma was on the brink of asking how her parents knew anything at all. Then the answer came to her. Sharla must have reported back to them.

  “Is it true you over indulged in champagne? In public?” Elisa asked, her voice strained.

  Lisa Grace’s exhibition had only been a few days ago. Sharla must have written to them the moment she heard about it.

  Emma drew herself to her feet, moving carefully. “I must have some tea,” she declared.

  “I have no doubt of that,” her father said, his tone dry. “Go ahead. We can wait.” There was a false patient note in his voice.

  Emma scowled and moved along the table until she could reach the teapot. There were more upturned cups on the tray. She righted one, settled it on the saucer and poured, her throat squeezing again at the scent of the good, strong tea.

  Cream and sugar—lots of sugar this morning—then she returned to her seat. The intervening moments had given her a chance to think. As soon as she settled on her chair, she said, “It’s all well and good railing at me about public behavior, when you know perfectly well that if you would just allow me to be presented at court, then I would not be in public in the first place. I would be in private drawing rooms and dining rooms, and we would not be having this conversation.”

  “Do you think to force Elisa and Vaughn into presenting you, with this risky behavior, Emma?” Lilly asked.

  Emma scowled at her. Really, why was Lilly here? She had always been a stick-in-the-mud. Perhaps that was why. Not that Lilly’s disapproval meant anything to Emma.

  She turned her gaze back to Vaughn, the decision maker. “I am nineteen, Papa. Most debutantes are married and have had babies by nineteen. Why can I not be presented?”

  She had asked this question dozens of times over the years. Every time, her parents had side-stepped the question, until the last few times, when Papa had flatly refused to consider the matter, or to discuss it ever again.

  He had shouted, that last time—and Emma had never seen him shout, before.

  He did not shout today. The fine wrinkles over his brow creased deeper as he considered her. “Are you quite sure you want the truth, Emma? You will not like it.”

  Emma caught her breath. “You really mean it? You will tell me the truth?”

  “Consider, Emma,” Elisa said softly. “Would knowing the truth make a difference to you? Would knowing why we will not present you
change the way you behave? Think hard, little one, because once we speak of this, we cannot take it back.”

  Emma dug the tips of her fingers into her temples. “Are you asking me to agree to behave like a proper lady in exchange for the truth?”

  “No, they are not,” Lilly said quickly. “The truth will be given to you without qualifications or provisos. Everyone deserves the truth…if they want it. That is all Aunt Elisa is asking you—if you are sure you want a truth you will not like.”

  Emma’s heart beat heavily. The note in Lilly’s voice rang solemnly. It stirred wariness in Emma, making her properly consider the question, instead of demanding answers at once, and in full.

  Did she really want the truth? Would it make any difference? She would not be presented at court, whether she knew the reason why or not. Would knowing why change anything?

  “Why are you so determined to be presented, Emma?” Papa asked.

  “Why can I not have what every girl and woman I know has?” Emma replied. “Lisa Grace is invited to absolutely everything. So is Catrin, although she doesn’t even bother with the ton. They get to wear beautiful dresses and dance and have suppers and watch the rowing in August.”

  “You have a wardrobe stuffed full of pretty dresses,” Elisa pointed out. “And you are most certainly invited to soirees and dinners and more.”

  “I am not one of them!” Emma cried. “Not really. I can feel it. They invite me because of Daddy and you, yet they never introduce their sons to me.” She drew in a breath which shuddered. “What is wrong with me?” she whispered, her eyes stinging.

  Elisa gave a soft sound which was almost a moan. Papa patted her hand and straightened in his chair. “Yes, it is time you knew the truth, darling one,” he said gently. “I did not know how much the lack of it hurt you and for that I am sorry.”

  Emma blinked hard. She hated crying. It was something the giggling debutantes did, to earn the sympathy of the dukes they pursued, and not a single tear they shed was genuine.

  “Lilly?” Vaughn said.

  Lilly put down her teacup. “The reason you cannot be presented at court is simple, Emma. You are a foster child, with parentage which is unknown among society. More than that, you were born out of wedlock. You are an illegitimate child.”