by Gayle Buck
Lord Kenmare escorted Lady Mary to the drawing room and then stayed to talk with her for some time. She was surprised that he should wish to spend the time in her company when he had expressed the intention of going out after luncheon. They did not speak of anything of moment that she could see, but yet when he at last rose to say that he meant to reassure himself about a couple of household matters before he left, she felt that in some way they had helped each other to momentarily forget their mutual apprehension over the battle raging at that moment.
Abigail came into the drawing room just as the earl was leaving it, and they exchanged greetings in passing. Lady Mary was surprised that Abigail had returned so quickly. “How was your visit with Michele?” she asked casually.
Abigail answered her mother with a subdued air. “It was not as entertaining as I had anticipated.” She was playing absently with the curtains at the window, turned away from her mother.
"Do you wish to tell me about it?” Lady Mary asked softly. She did not falter in her steady employment of rolling bandages, even though the undercurrent in her daughter's voice struck a protective chord within her.
Abigail abandoned the window and placed her hands on the back of a chair. She said quickly, “Sir Lionel brought a rumor to Michele about Viscount Callander. He told her that Lord Randol was dead. And then in the next breath he proposed marriage to Michele! Wasn't that rather horridly unfeeling of him, Mama?"
Lady Mary's fingers had frozen at Abigail's revelation. She resumed rolling the bandage. “Indeed it was, Abigail. I am surprised that Sir Lionel showed so little consideration for one whom I was always persuaded he had a strong partiality for."
Abigail moved her hands restlessly across the back of the chair. “Yes, everyone knew it. He made no secret of his admiration for Michele. In any event, Michele says that she spurned him furiously and he went away all cold and proud and hurt. She allowed me to read the letter that she is sending to him in apology for wounding his feelings.” Abigail reflected a moment, finally saying, “In the same circumstances, I do not think I would have pitied Sir Lionel, for he never gave a thought for the hurt that he inflicted. You will say that Michele is more mature than I am. Isn't that so, Mama?"
"Not at all, Abigail. I think that each of us acts according to her own nature. You might not have been so cruel in your rejection to Sir Lionel's suit and therefore would not have felt the need of apologizing to him,” Lady Mary said. She hardly knew what it was she was saying. Her head was spinning with the distressing rumor of yet another young gentleman gone.
Abigail shook her head swiftly. “Oh, Mama! You don't understand at all. I am so ashamed of myself, don't you see?” A sob seemed to tear its way out of her chest, and she collapsed across the chair's back, crying wildly.
Lady Mary was startled by her daughter's unprecedented upset. “Abby!” She threw aside the lint and went quickly to gather her daughter into her arms. “My dear sweet child, whatever is the matter?"
Abigail clutched at her, still weeping. Her reply came in a series of hiccupping breaths. “Michele is so noble and you are so strong and Lady Cecily is so brave to have a baby. I am the only one who goes about shaking inside, and I am luckier than anybody! I have Bruce safe. I know he is alive and will be well. If what Sir Lionel said is true, Michele has already lost her beloved. We don't even know whether William is coming back! Oh, how I detest this horrid war!"
Lady Mary's throat burned with the effort not to burst into long-denied tears of her own. She said unsteadily, “We are all of us sick of the fighting, darling, and we are all afraid. You are not alone in those sentiments, believe me. I am not the tower of strength you think me. Sometimes I am so terribly afraid—for William, for you, for all of us. As for Lady Cecily, she hasn't any choice in having the baby. Its arrival will not be denied."
Abigail gave a watery giggle. She mopped her eyes. “No, I suppose one cannot simply send it back,” she agreed.
Lady Mary hugged her. “That's my girl. Why do you not go upstairs now to read to Captain McInnes? He must be growing mad at being alone with his own thoughts."
Abigail regarded her mother in utmost surprise. “Go up to a gentleman's bedroom. Mama? But surely ... Whatever would Grandmama say?"
"I suspect that the viscountess would swoon at the least hint of such scandal.” Lady Mary smiled slightly. “I have every confidence in you, my dear. And I promise upon my honor that I shall not breathe a word about it to your grandmama."
Abigail kissed her mother quickly. “Thank you. Mama.” She exited the drawing room on her happy errand.
Lady Mary remained standing where she was for some minutes, staring into space. Then, as though her thoughts were too unpleasant to bear, she went over to the pianoforte and ran her fingers over the keys, picking out a playful air that had always served to brighten her spirits. But it was not quite the antidote that she had hoped it would be, and for some unaccountable reason she felt tears in her eyes.
That was how Lord Kenmare found her when he entered. At his quick step, Lady Mary whirled with a gasp. He was startled by the expression of fright on her face, but it was gone so quickly he was uncertain that he had actually seen it. “I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to startle you."
She came forward with a light laugh, hoping that he was not observant enough to note how she blinked against the betraying dampness in her eyes. “It was of no consequence. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I did not hear you immediately, my lord.'’ She studied him a moment, as though debating within herself, then appeared to come to a decision. “My lord, how long was it that you knew of Abigail's attachment to Captain McInnes?"
Lord Kenmare regarded her, surprised by her question. But he could see that it was important to her. “Your daughter confided in me two days ago, my lady. She requested that I ask word of him whenever I had occasion to go out for news.''
Lady Mary turned away. “I see. She never confided in me."
The earl heard the peculiar forlorn note in her voice and he came up behind her. He laid his hands on her shoulders. “When Abigail came to me, she was thinking only of the fact that I was often out searching for news. The impropriety of her request never crossed her mind, and assuredly I do not hold it against her in such times. I am certain that she never meant to slight you, my lady,” he said quietly.
Lady Mary held herself still under the comforting warmth of his hands. She had the oddest wish to turn, to bury her face in his shoulder and burst into tears. But that could not be. She must remain strong. Everyone depended on her. She could not lean even for a moment on someone else, no matter how compassionate his voice or how solid and comforting his nearness, for fear of completely crumbling away. So instead she pinned a smile to her lips. She turned and his hands fell away from her. She felt curiously bereft without their strength. Again, for the third time that day, she felt the hot prick of tears in her eyes. “Silly of me to mind so much, is it not?"
"Not at all.” Lord Kenmare was breathing with deliberate slow control, fighting the urge to catch her up in his arms and kiss away the rare, bruised look of vulnerability in her eyes. He imagined what her reaction would be if he gave in to his shocking impulse to gather her up in his arms and give full rein to his ardor.
Once, he had allowed her to glimpse the extent of his passion for her, and she had turned from him in revulsion. The memory was not a pleasant one and therefore his voice was cooler than he perhaps intended. “I came to inform you that I am going out now to discover what news I can. If you will be so kind to let Cecily know when she wakens, I will be grateful."
"Of course, my lord,” Lady Mary said, forcing the words past the seeming obstruction in her tight throat. She offered her hand to him, and when he took it, she said earnestly, “Take care."
Lord Kenmare permitted himself the liberty of kissing her fingers with a banked passion. “Be assured that I will, my lady,” he said, the timbre of his voice curiously deepened. He turned then and left her, before he could say anyt
hing that he might regret.
Lady Mary stood staring after him, shaken by his graceful intimate salute. For an instant there had been something unmistakably naked in his eyes that she thought she understood. But surely it could not be.
Her fingers still tingled from the touch of his lips and her hand crept up to her cheek, there to be cradled against her face. “Robert,” she whispered.
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Chapter 25
Lord Kenmare left the house just before three o'clock and walked about two miles out of town in the direction of the army. He observed with some surprise the most curious scene he had yet witnessed. Every kind of carriage was on the road, carrying the Sunday population of Brussels out to the suburbs out of the Porte Namur. They were sitting about tables drinking beer and smoking and making merry, as if races or other sports were going on instead of a great pitched battle. But there was a feverishness in the darting eyes, an edge of tension in the laughter, that could not be completely disguised.
Lord Kenmare neither heard nor saw anything of moment among the crowd, and he turned to retrace his steps. Suddenly a considerable shouting and the pounding of hooves rose behind him, coming rapidly closer. The earl swung around. A regiment of cavalry galloped full speed down the Rue de Namur, heedless of carriages and pedestrians alike.
As others were doing, the earl leapt to one side, narrowly escaping being trampled. In the brief second of their passing, he recognized the cavalry to be the Cumberland Hussars. The cavalry thundered on down the road into the Place Royale, crying out at the top of their lungs that the French were on their heels. The havoc and panic raised by their passage were incredible, and as carriages were untangled and pedestrians dusted themselves off, shouted queries and curses flew through the air. But after several minutes, when no French could be espied in the distance, the Sunday loiterers again settled to their beer and their nervous gossip.
Lord Kenmare strode quickly in the wake of the fleeing cavalry. He entered the great square of the Place Royale, only to pause, gazing upon some hundreds of wounded men who were stretched out on piles of straw. Men and women of upper and working classes alike moved among the wounded, offering soup, coffee and tea, fresh blankets and shirts. “Good God,” he said blankly. He had listened to Lady Mary speak of the wounded, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
"Aye, it is a rare sight indeed. And there will soon enough be more of the same."
Lord Kenmare turned to see who addressed him. A Life Guardsman stood next to him. The soldier was obviously worn out and he sported a bloodied rag about his head. “Here, you need that looked to,” Lord Kenmare said, instinctively looking about for help for the man.
The Life Guardsman shrugged off the earl's concern. He touched the bandage lightly with a dirty finger and grinned crookedly. “This trifle? Believe me, I am damned fortunate compared to some of the other fellows. I'm off to my bivouac for a long and deserved sleep."
Lord Kenmare detained the man for a moment longer. “You've just returned from the field, then. When you left, how was the battle going?"
The Life Guardsman turned around, glancing about to see if anyone was within hearing, and lowered his voice. “Why, my lord, I don't like the appearance of things at all. The French are getting on in such a manner that I don't see what's to stop them.” He saw that his grave words had proved disquieting, and he apologized. “I am sorry, my lord. But that is my honest impression."
Lord Kenmare smiled fleetingly, dispelling his heavy frown. “Quite all right. Look here, you still need to have that wound taken care of. Why do you not return with me to my residence, and I shall have a physician to—"
Suddenly an alarm was raised, drying the words in his mouth. Shouts that the French were entering the city swiftly led to panic. In a moment all was in an uproar. Those who had been attending the wounded ran in all directions. Beside Lord Kenmare, the Life Guardsman bit out a curse and ran toward a party of the Eighty-first Regiment that had remained on duty in the city during the action. Without being totally aware of his actions, the earl followed after him. Lord Kenmare found himself amidst the soldiers, a sword steady in his hand and his heart pumping.
The panic was as quickly over as the one previous, when about seventeen hundred French prisoners appeared under the escort of some British dragoons. Held high above the Horse Guards could be seen two eagles, the distinctive standards of Bonaparte's forces, which had obviously been taken as prizes of the battle. A ragged cheer broke from the throats of those in the square, citizens and wounded alike.
Lord Kenmare looked blankly at the sword in his hand. He had no notion from where he had snatched it up or what he thought to accomplish with it. If the alarm had been authentic, he would have been in the middle of a desperate battle in the Place Royale, while those with a claim on his protection were left to their own devices. His beloved sister and her unborn child. Lady Mary and Abigail, and all the others of his household would have been left to the mercies of the enemy while he indulged in vainglorious heroics.
All at once Lord Kenmare realized that he had been chafing for days at his passive spectator's role, when so many he knew were in the thick of the fight. But his duty had bound him, as it still did, first and foremost to the welfare of his household.
Lord Kenmare gently laid aside the sword beside a wounded officer lying on a pallet of straw. It was time to finish the errand that he had come on so that he could return to the town house. He recalled that he had offered hospitality to the Life Guardsman to whom he had been speaking; but when he looked about for the soldier to give him directions, he did not find him.
* * * *
The afternoon crept by with almost palpable slowness until Lady Mary received an urgent summons by Lady Cecily's maid. She rushed upstairs to Lady Cecily's bedroom and saw instantly that the maidservant had not been mistaken. Lady Cecily lay in bed, her face white and beaded with perspiration. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing abnormally quickly, obviously fighting off pain. Lady Mary felt a sinking sensation. In a lowered voice she told the maid, “Quickly, order someone to go for the physician. And tell them in the kitchen to put water on to boil."
"Yes, my lady,” the maid gasped. With a last rolling glance toward her mistress, she rushed from the bedroom.
Lady Mary went up to the bed. She touched her friend's shoulder and said gently, “Cecily, why ever did you not tell me?"
Lady Cecily's eyes flew open. Reflected in the brown depths was relief, shaded by rueful amusement. “I did not want to set about another wild rumor,” she said.
Lady Mary spluttered on a genuine laugh. She was amazed by the uplift of her spirits from an exercise that had become a rarity for them all in the last thirty-six hours. “You silly peagoose,” she said affectionately. She turned to the washstand and wet a towel in the cool water. Gently she touched it to the prostrate woman's hot face, and Lady Cecily sighed with the relief it brought.
The minutes ticked by on the bedroom clock. The maid returned to whisper that a physician could not be got. Lady Mary's eyes flashed. Thinking swiftly, she ordered a message that a physician or a midwife was needed immediately to be carried to the house she had leased for the Season. If anyone could find the medical help that Lady Cecily required, it would be the housekeeper Berthe, she thought hopefully. Thereafter she set herself to the task of making Lady Cecily as comfortable as it was in her power to do.
The clock ticked on inexorably, marking the shortening intervals. Still there was no word, even as Lady Cecily was rapidly approaching the point where the midwife would be required.
Lady Mary thought that she had never spent a worse vigil than this one. The passing hours were made even less bearable by the continued absence of the earl. For some reason she felt certain that if he had been at the town house and had known of his sister's sudden confinement, there would now be a physician in attendance.
With another quick glance at the clock, Lady Mary hoped that the earl had not fallen afoul of di
fficulty.
Lady Cecily's thoughts were an echo of her own, for she said with a hint of fretfulness, “I do hope that Robert is safe. He has been gone now for hours."
"I trust that he is,” Lady Mary said, outwardly calm. But her eyes did not see the towel that she was once again wringing out, rather she was looking inwardly at all that her imagination was conjuring up to account for the earl's extended absence.
"Mary."
She looked around, startled by the imperative demand inherent in Lady Cecily's normally soft voice.
"Mary, I wish you to tell me the truth,” Lady Cecily said. “I have seen—at least, I have thought I have seen—a certain light in your eyes whenever you gaze on my brother. Are you in love with him?"
Lady Mary felt herself flush. Denial was on the point of her tongue. But there was such poignant appeal in Lady Cecily's steady gaze that she could not withstand it. It seemed that this ragged time had torn aside all protective layers and would leave them with only naked honesty. She said in a low voice, “Yes, I am."
Lady Cecily let go a long sigh. “How perfectly wonderful. I am so glad."
"Is it wonderful?” Lady Mary asked, with a sad little smile. She would not say so to Lady Cecily, for her heart could not bear for her to do so, but she still harbored doubts that Lord Kenmare thought of or saw her as anything more than Abigail's mother. He had desired her, true, but she had made herself so very available, and there was no doubt of his virility. Even now she inwardly shivered, feeling the echo of all that he had called up in her.
"Of course it is. Robert has needed someone sincere and sweet and marvelous for a very long time,” Lady Cecily said. She saw that her words had not made the impression that she had intended and she realized the reason. “Mary, he cares deeply for you. I know that he does."
"Perhaps.” Lady Mary bent her attention once more to her task of wiping the perspiration from Lady Cecily's brow, making it obvious that she preferred to leave the topic behind. But she could not so easily turn aside her own thoughts.