Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

  Snyder eased his gelding to a walk as he approached the Drummond farm. White smoke drifted from the kitchen chimney where their Negro cook no doubt prepared the evening meal. If he was correct in his assessment, she should be the only person home at the moment. Last night, Snyder had overheard that Mrs. Drummond intended to travel to Washington today and Mr. Drummond would be at the Myers’ farm helping to rebuild their damaged house. Snyder had just seen Rose and Amelia ride off on horseback. And since Mr. Reed was not with them, he must be already at the Myers’, assisting Mr. Drummond.

  Snyder smiled at his own ability to accurately assess any situation.

  Heading toward the stable, he loosened his cravat. Sweat broke out on his neck, and he dabbed it with the folds of silk. Blast this infernal heat. Rarely did he venture outside when the sun was at its zenith, but he would gladly endure all the discomfort in the world, if he accomplished his mission. Slipping off his horse, he tied the reins to the post outside the stable. With one glance toward the house, he circled the building, found the door leading to Mr. Reed’s quarters and sneaked inside. The musty smell of mold and hay accosted him. Sunlight filtered through the single dirty window, twirling dust through the air as he scanned the room, looking for something, anything that would prove Mr. Reed’s true identity. He took off his hat, grateful for the cooler air, as his eyes grew accustomed to the shadows. A glimmer drew his gaze to something underneath a cot in the corner. Making his way toward it, he knelt, pulled out a sack and peered behind it. Malevolent delight surged within him, for there lying in the dirt was the silver hilt of a British service sword.

  CHAPTER 17

  Alex rubbed his stiff jaw and gazed at the ducks skimming over the glassy waters of the pond. A mother and seven ducklings. A family. Happy and carefree. He envied them. Rose sat patiently beside him. With the folds of her gown spread like creamy wings over the grass and her golden hair framing her face like a halo, she looked like an angel. She was an angel to him. An angel whose blue eyes gazed at him expectantly making him hesitate to divulge the shame of his youth, hesitate to watch disapproval curve those beautiful lips into a frown, for his story would do nothing to engender her good opinion of him or of his countrymen.

  “Mr. Reed?” Her questioning tone snapped him from his daze.

  He shook his head. “There isn’t much to tell, Miss McGuire. I simply did not want to see you run off so angry.”

  “Well, now that I’ve sat down again, I would like to know more about you.” She glanced toward the trees lining the other side of the pond and sorrow rolled over her face. “Even if I am never to see you again.”

  “Very well.” Alex tied the edges of the cloth sack containing his lunch and set it aside. “My father’s name is Franklin Reed, Viscount Cranleigh, or just Lord Cranleigh to his friends.” He chuckled. “Among his many achievements, he is also a member of Parliament.”

  The corners of her lips tightened, and she lowered her chin as if the news upset her, but then she gave him a timid smile. “Then should we be addressing you as Lord Cranleigh?”

  “No.” Alex returned her smile, happy to see his status did not intimidate her as it often did those of common birth. “The sons of viscounts receive no title.” He plucked a piece of grass and tossed it aside.

  Rose’s forehead wrinkled. “Was your father cruel?”

  Alex leaned back against the tree trunk, amazed at her discernment. “He was not a father at all.” He shrugged. “But I suppose I was not much of a son either.”

  “I cannot imagine that.”

  Her compliment settled on his shoulders like the warmth of the sun filtering through the leaves above them. “I was the prodigal son, Miss McGuire. Got into all sorts of trouble in town. Drank to excess, harassed the watch, caused great embarrassment for my family.” He wouldn’t tell her the rest—consorting with questionable ladies, gambling, and the two nights in prison he’d spent before his father had come to bail him out.

  “Why would you do such things?” She stared at him as if she couldn’t conceive of anyone defying their family in such a way.

  “I was an angry young man.”

  “Angry at what?”

  “My father, my elder brother, life … I don’t know.” Visions of his boyhood antics strolled through his mind like a nightmarish parade, showering him with remorse, yet reminding him of the inward fury and emptiness that had haunted him day and night.

  “But you had everything—wealth, prestige, family.”

  Alex snorted. “Wealth and prestige, yes. But not family. Not the kind of family you’re thinking of.” Alex glanced toward Mr. Drummond who was laughing with James. “My father was a very stern man. He favored my elder brother, Frederick, and found me lacking in every way.” Alex huffed as he pictured his brilliant, gifted brother sauntering into the family sitting room with the flourish and elegance of a London dandy—and how his father’s eyes would brighten at the sight of him. “Where Frederick was skilled in learning and quick with books, I resisted instruction and bumbled my numbers. Where he was an accomplished horseman, well.” Alex chuckled. “You saw my skill on a horse.”

  Rose smiled and clasped her hands in her lap, yet sorrow lingered in her eyes.

  Alex stretched his back. “So, my dear father, Lord Cranleigh, sent me away to the navy. Obtained a commission for me as a midshipman aboard the HMS Aquilon.”

  “You didn’t wish to go?” Rose’s forehead puckered.

  Alex shook his head. “I had no aspirations to fight silly sea battles across the globe.”

  Rose shifted her gaze to the pond where the mother duck swam into a patch of lily pads and gathered her young around her. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was good for me.” Wind blew a strand of his hair into his face, and Alex flipped it aside. “The discipline, the hard work. I came home to visit my family for a few weeks during the summer of ‘06 and became quite taken with a certain lady.”

  “Oh.” Her tone was one of dismay. Rose glanced at the hands in her lap.

  “There was but one small impediment. She was my brother’s fiancée.” Alex studied her, gauging her reaction.

  “My word.” Rose gasped, but still she would not look at him.

  Certainly the story was no credit to Alex’s character, but the sad tale was a huge part of what had formed him into the man he was today—a huge part of what had driven him to this point. And for some reason, now that he had begun, he wanted Rose to know all of it, to understand him. If she didn’t, if she turned her nose up at him in disdain, he would no doubt grieve, but it would be far easier for him to leave her forever.

  “And worse, the lady encouraged my affections,” he continued. “Toyed with the infatuation of a young man. I was beside myself with love.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Or so I thought.”

  Finally Rose lifted her gaze to his. Nothing but compassion swam in her eyes. “Do not be so hard on yourself. You were but eighteen.”

  Alex glanced down at the grass fluttering in the breeze and swallowed the burning in his throat. “Yes, I was young, and she but a vixen in disguise. At a dinner party at our house, she lured me into the library and showered me with kisses—quite passionate kisses, I might add.”

  A red hue flooded Rose’s cheeks, making her even more adorable.

  “I proposed to her on the spot—asked her to break off her engagement with my brother and run away to Guernsey with me to get married.”

  Rose drew a hand to her mouth.

  “Never fear, Miss McGuire.” Alex gave her a sad smile. “As it turns out, the woman had some sense after all. She laughed at me. Not just a slight giggle, but a rather unladylike chortle.”

  Rose put her hand on his arm. Pain burned in her eyes, but she said nothing.

  Alex stared at the dirt by his boots. “My brother inherited the bulk of the family fortune, you see. And marrying a seaman was beneath her.”

  Rose squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  Alex tore from her grasp and stood.
He stepped toward the pond, turning away from her, not wanting her to see the pain moistening his eyes. He no longer loved the vixen. Hardly ever thought of her. Then why did her rejection still grieve him so?

  He heard Rose get up and felt her presence behind him.

  “She informed my entire family of my silly proposal.” Alex could hear the bitter sarcasm in his own voice. “I dare say, I was on the receiving end of everyone’s jokes for days to come. And oh”—he glanced at her over his shoulder—“my dear brother called me out to a duel.”

  Rose eased beside him. “What did you do?”

  “I nearly killed him.” Alex fisted his hands across his chest. “I begged him not to fight, but his blasted honor”—Alex hung his head—“his blasted honor …” Sorrow choked him, forbidding him to speak.

  Several seconds passed. “What happened?” Rose finally asked.

  Alex dared a glance at her. “I disfigured him. Not intentionally of course, but my sword etched a thick scar upon his face and neck.” He drew a line across his own face, indicating the extent of the wound while shame soured in his belly. “Last I heard, he’d become addicted to laudanum, and he suffers daily from severe melancholy.”

  A wisp of Rose’s hair blew across her cheek. Though she uttered not a word, the air between them billowed with her disapproval.

  “After the incident, my father ushered me back to the navy in the middle of the night with the admonition that I was no longer welcome at the Reed estate. He said I was worthless, not his son. I returned to my ship a different man, Miss McGuire.” Alex ran a hand through his hair and gazed at the family of ducks. “I am determined to restore the honor I stole from my family, gain their forgiveness, and perhaps earn the right to return home.”

  Alex swallowed the burning in his throat and drew a deep breath of fresh air, hoping to clear away the memories. He reluctantly faced Rose, expecting to see disapproval in her eyes—pity. But what he saw instead made him want to take her in his arms, deny his country, his heritage, and stay with her forever. Instead, he clenched his fists and took a step back. No. He had promised himself that he would never again make a decision based on flighty emotions. He had learned the hard way that silly sentiments befuddled his mind and led him down a path to destruction. He must always rely on his mind and his good sense. And at the moment both were warning him to run as far away from this precious lady as possible.

  Pain darkened Mr. Reed’s features, and Rose’s heart grew heavy. She wanted to embrace him, to tell him that, despite his youthful indiscretions, he was the most honorable, capable, kind man she’d ever met. Not until this moment did she realize that not everyone had fathers like the wonderful one she had experienced. “Thank you for sharing such intimacies with me, Mr. Reed.” Rose knew it had not been easy to tell her of his shame. “And I no longer believe all British are evil.” She waited until he met her gaze. “Knowing you has convinced me otherwise.”

  At first shock skittered across his eyes, then sorrow, before he lowered his chin.

  A gentle breeze swirled around them, tossing Mr. Reed’s loose hair and cooling the perspiration on Rose’s neck. “You are not worthless, Mr. Reed. I hope you know that now.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not.” The lines on his brow deepened. “I’m not sure what I know anymore.”

  At the risk of losing her own heart, Rose stepped toward him. Instead of a commanding naval officer, he seemed more like a lost, little boy. “I’m sorry for what happened to your brother, but he is the one who challenged you. You can hardly blame yourself.”

  He grimaced. “I could have run away and not met him that morning.”

  “Perhaps.” Rose brushed a curl from her face. “We all make mistakes when we are young and impetuous.” She cringed as memories of her own stupidity rose to taunt her. “My uncle says that God forgives all our sins if we are truly repentant.”

  Alex snorted. “Ruining someone’s life is unforgivable, especially when that someone is your brother.”

  “Your brother was left scarred. He did not lose a leg or an arm or receive some other debilitating injury. It seems to me that his own vanity ruined his life, not you.”

  Alex flinched but then a smile broke upon his lips.

  Rose blinked. “Why are you grinning at me?”

  “Do you never fail to speak what is on your mind?”

  “Why should I?”

  His hazel eyes shifted between hers. “You have me quite befuddled, Miss McGuire.” He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek as if her skin were made of porcelain and he feared to break her.

  Rose’s heart fluttered wildly. Tossing her reservations aside, she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to be loved by such a man. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and released a sigh, his hot breath filling the air between them.

  A soft moan escaped Rose’s lips as her dreams took a turn into possibility.

  But he had said he wanted to restore his family honor and make his father proud. Rose was but a common farm girl. An enemy. She would only bring him shame and worse—further rejection from his family.

  Opening her eyes, she stepped away and turned her back to him.

  They had no future together.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Reed. I insist you leave tonight. Go back to your ship and leave me and my family alone. You don’t belong here. I don’t want you here.” Then grabbing her skirts, she marched away before he saw the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Alex kicked a boot full of hay into the air and took up a pace across the dirt floor of his servant’s quarters. More like a horse’s stall for all its comforts. Then again, the workers in his father’s house had far better sleeping quarters than what he’d seen of the Drummond family’s chambers. He huffed. It was not the dirt floor or hay-stuffed mattress or the meager furnishings that caused Alex’s stomach to fold in on itself. No, it was the look of ardor burning in Rose’s crisp blue eyes earlier that day and the way she’d leaned into his caress and moaned softly.

  As if she cared for him.

  As if her affections for him went beyond mere friendship. Even the anger in her voice as she stormed away and told him she didn’t want him to stay, bespoke of opposite feelings within.

  Alex reached the log wall and spun about. He passed by the lantern flickering on the table and glanced out the window to see only darkness beyond.

  He should be gone already.

  As soon as he and Mr. Drummond had returned, Alex had begged off from supper and any additional duties with an excuse of utter exhaustion. The elderly man had not questioned the statement, but he had gripped Alex’s shoulders in a hearty embrace and thanked him for his toil. And something else … he had said he would pray for Alex.

  Too tired to ask why and unsure he wished to hear the answer, Alex had simply nodded and walked off—away from the rustic American preacher who used to be a thief—and the man who had been more of a father to Alex these past few weeks than his own had been in the many years he’d lived at home.

  Intending to grab his sack and sword and slip out into the night, Alex, instead, found himself an hour later clearing a trail of pounded dirt across the hay-strewn ground of his quarters. His gut contorted, his heart constricted, and he struggled to release each breath. He should leave. He must leave.

  Yet the thought of going back to his ship and being forced to fight against these Americans, these people whom he’d come to admire—and some even love—caused bile to rise in his throat. He shook off a sudden chill that shuddered over him and scanned the room, seeking the source. Yet he found no holes in the walls nor open window or door that would allow a breeze to enter. The hot, humid air swamped back over him, and he ran his sleeve over his forehead and swerved around to trek across the room again.

  If Rose returned his affections. If she could overcome his nationality, his heritage, then maybe … maybe Alex could become one of these backwoods Americans. And once accepted as such, his presence would no longer endanger this precious
family.

  He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his flesh. He was either a fool or completely mad for even entertaining such a thought.

  Perhaps both.

  He stopped pacing and fell into the chair beside the table. Leaning forward, he dropped his head into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “What do you want, Alex?”

  The whisper rang ominous and clear, and yet it came from nowhere. Alex lifted his head. Perhaps he had gone mad, indeed. But the question remained. What did he want? Honor, position, power, fortune like his father possessed? Was his father happy? Alex searched his memories and found no moment of joy in his childhood home, no smiles upon his parents’ lips, no gentle touches or embraces. Then why, when he had been so miserable as a child, did he seek after the same things? Alex shook his head.

  “I love you, son.”

  Tears burned behind Alex’s eyes as the silent words drifted over him. Son. Such an endearing yet powerful term, implying an affection and a bond that could never be broken. He remembered what Mr. Drummond had said about how God spoke to him—from deep within him.

  Exactly where this voice seemed to originate.

  Alex’s breath halted in his throat. “God?” he spoke into the still air, then felt foolish and lowered his chin. Why would God bother with him? Yet hadn’t God answered his prayer last night asking for the chance to speak to Mr. Drummond?

  A cold chill enveloped Alex, jarring his senses. No, nothing but a coincidence. Yet hope sparked a tiny flame within him that God would actually speak to him. That he did care for Alex like a father cared for a son.

  “Lord, if You are listening, tell me what to do. If I stay, I’ll lose everything I’ve ever worked for and bring further disgrace to my family. If I go …” Alex hesitated.

  “You’ll lose all that I have to offer you.”

  Offer me? God had something for him? Alex stood and took up a pace again to settle his nerves. His mind played tricks on him. The voice surely rose from his scrambled imaginings. He threw back his shoulders, wincing at the ache that stretched across them like a tightrope. The pain of his sore muscles seemed to jar him back to reality. Back to the honor and duty of a British naval officer and the son of a viscount. He had to leave, and he had to do it now or he feared he never would.