The Waltzing Widow

by Gayle Buck

  "Yes, she is,” Lord Kenmare said quietly. The gentlemen returned to the house and he saw the man to the front door.

  When a footman handed the physician a covered basket, he glanced inquiringly at the earl. “What is this, my lord?"

  "Some cheeses and bread and a couple of bottles of good wine. You must keep up the habit of eating, doctor,” Lord Kenmare said.

  The physician laughed, and for once his expression was totally devoid of its underlying tired bitterness. “I thank you most sincerely, my lord. I shall share these with my poor colleagues, who must be cursing my very existence for my shameful desertion of them these last hours."

  "Doctor, whenever you should wish it, there are a meal and a bed for you or any other physicians,” the earl said. He grinned suddenly. “My household would naturally benefit greatly from regular medical expertise, and I prefer that those doctors be alert."

  The physician smiled. “Thank you, my lord. I shall relay your handsome offer of hospitality, and its attendant pleasant conditions. I am certain that it will prove too great a temptation for most of us to resist."

  Lord Kenmare offered his hand, and the physician, recovering from his surprise to be treated thus as a social equal, shook hands with him. Then he left and the earl turned back into the house.

  After a moment of reflection Lord Kenmare went upstairs to Lady Mary's bedroom. He gave a quiet command to the maid, scandalizing the woman by his unorthodox suggestion. But she was too exhausted to object over-strenuously, having sat beside her motionless mistress for too many hours.

  The maid left to go to bed, leaving the earl to sit with Lady Mary. She assuaged her conscience with the reflection that what no one knew would not hurt her mistress's reputation. It was such queer times that it most likely would not matter in any event, she thought.

  Lord Kenmare saw to the fire. Then he seated himself in the chair that the maid had vacated. Thus it was that his was the first face that Lady Mary saw when she at last slowly opened her eyes.

  "My lord.” Her voice was faint but firm.

  He took her hand and folded it gently in his own. He said softly, “Yes, I am here."

  Greater awareness entered her gray eyes. “My lord, was it true? About William, I mean?” she asked lowly.

  The earl's expression altered. There was almost a flicker of fear in his eyes. “I cannot lie to you, my lady. It was true."

  "Yes, of course it was.” She closed her eyes. Before he could panic, she sighed and raised her lids so that she could look at him. “I had so hoped it was all a nightmare. But it is not, is it? The war, the awful cannonade sounding on forever, the wounded and dying in the streets. Abigail's Scot and Michele's fiancé and all the others. And ... and my William."

  She started to cry in great heaving gasps. Lord Kenmare raised her from her pillows and crushed her against him.

  The pain inside him was nearly impossible to bear as he listened to her pitiful sobs. He could feel her slight body racked by deep shudders, and he tightened his arms about her, rocking her slightly as one would a child that had cried out in the night. He spoke to her, not really realizing what it was he was saying. “Oh, my dear. My dear love. If only I could change it all. If only I could love you and protect you from all the unhappiness. Oh, Mary, don't cry."

  But she was heedless of anything other than her sharp loss.

  When at last her wild grief abated, he eased her back down onto her pillows. Lord Kenmare reached over to the bedside table to pour water from a pitcher into the waiting bowl and to wet one of the neatly folded cloths that had been placed there. With the damp cloth he gently wiped her face clean. He gave his own handkerchief to her to blow her nose, and once these simple ablutions were done, he smiled at her and said, “I suppose I must let you rest now.” He made to rise, meaning to call back her maid.

  "Robert!” She caught his hand.

  He looked down at her, startled alike by her use of his Christian name and the desperate appeal in her hold of his fingers. “Why, whatever is it, my lady?"

  "Pray do not leave me. Not just yet,” she begged. Her eyes darted about the quiet room and returned to his face. “You will think me nonsensical. I ... I am a bit fearful of the shadows tonight, you see."

  "Of course I shall stay,” Lord Kenmare said quietly. He settled himself again in the chair and held her hand while she fell asleep. Though she slept, he never once thought of letting go her hand.

  He watched the firelight play across her drowsing face and he must have dozed a little himself, because he was roused by the maid's touch at his shoulder. He blinked up at the woman, then looked quickly down at Lady Mary. Her face was serene in repose, and beneath the coverlet her breast rose and fell rhythmically.

  "I shall sit with her ladyship now, my lord,” the maid whispered.

  He nodded. He rose stiffly from the chair and went away to his own bedroom.

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  Chapter 29

  Abigail was naturally alarmed and upset by her mother's collapse. She was only partially soothed by hearing from her mother's maid that Lady Mary seemed to be resting. She looked to the Earl of Kenmare for an explanation, but until the following morning he completely forgot her request to speak with him. When he recalled it, he asked that Abigail join him in the study downstairs.

  Abigail came in and seated herself, looking up at him rather anxiously. “Pray, what did the physician say about my mother?"

  Lord Kenmare sat down on the edge of the desk. “He said that Lady Mary is suffering a nervous collapse, but with proper rest and care he expected her to recover completely."

  Abigail's expression reflected her relief. “I thought it must be something of the sort. Mama always appears so strong and capable. Others grow used to relying upon her to an extraordinary measure, but she never complains. But I know that this hideous war, and especially William's continued absence, have placed a dire strain upon her spirit."

  Lord Kenmare sighed. “Abigail, possibly I should speak to you about your brother."

  "Yes, my lord?” She looked up with a clear, steady gaze.

  Lord Kenmare went to sit with her on the settee. He took her hand, saying gravely, “What I must say is difficult.” He felt her stiffen beside him. “Abigail, I have been unable to locate William or, indeed, any word of him. It is as though he has dropped off the edge of the world."

  "You mean that you believe he is dead.'’ Abigail made a flat statement of it, her voice tight.

  "I very much fear that may be the truth of it,” Lord Kenmare said very gently.

  "You told Mama this, didn't you?” Abigail's eyes glittered with anger and something else. She pulled her hand free of his. “I shall not believe it, do you hear? I shall not believe it until I have myself seen my brother's lifeless body and laid it in the ground,” she said furiously.

  "Abby...” For the first time he used the diminutive of her name as he reached out to capture her hand once more.

  Abigail leapt up, rounding on him. Her hands were doubled into fists held rigid to her sides. “I shall never believe it!"

  She whisked herself off to the study and ran blindly up the stairs, not stopping until she had thrown open the door of Captain McInnes's bedroom. She stood just inside, standing stiffly, her breast heaving.

  Captain McInnes regarded her in astonishment and alarm, at once perceiving her distress. “Abigail! Why, whatever has occurred, lass?"

  Abigail told him in a clipped, staccato fashion what the earl had said. “But I refuse to believe for even one moment that William is dead.” Her voice faltered on the last word.

  Suddenly her cornflower-blue eyes were awash with tears. “Oh, Bruce!” She rushed across the carpet and threw herself to the floor beside the bed, her arms and head across the coverlet.

  "Hush, lass,” he murmured comfortingly. With his good arm he drew her up so that she half-reclined against him. “We will keep the faith for your brother for a wee bit longer."

  After luncheon, Lor
d Kenmare sent up an inquiry asking if he might visit with Lady Mary in her sitting room later that day. He was told to his surprise that her ladyship had requested that she have no visitors. “Her ladyship is not wanting to see anyone, my lord. My lady told me all quiet-like that she wished to be alone for a time,” the maid said. Beatrice's expression was troubled. “She has refused already to see Miss Abigail, and now she has locked the door even against me."

  "What the devil!” Lord Kenmare exclaimed, astonished and disturbed. This behavior was not characteristic of the brave, practical lady that he had learned to love. He was on the point of going upstairs to knock at her door himself when he realized how odd that would look to the household. Lady Mary Spence was a guest in the house, and not even a relative. He could not demand entrance to her rooms. “I suppose that we must bow to her ladyship's wishes and grant her the privacy that she has requested,” he said.

  When he was relating the incident later to Lady Cecily, she shook her head. “It is only to be expected, of course."

  Lord Kenmare looked at his sister in frowning surprise. “What do you mean, Cecily?"

  "Why, don't you see, Robert? Mary has been such a rock through the whole horrid affair. She carried us all, and not once did she allow herself to burden others with her own fears. Pray, do you actually expect her to reverse herself now and burden us with her grief?"

  Lord Kenmare sighed. He drew a hand through his thick hair. “Yes, I see. It would not be like her to do so, would it? But to deny admittance to her daughter—that is what has so disturbed me. She has always been available to Abigail. My lord, did you see the girl's face at luncheon? She has been crying her eyes out."

  "Perhaps Lady Mary is aware that Abigail has someone else whom she may turn to now beside herself,” Lady Cecily suggested.

  Lord Kenmare lifted a dark brow, his blue eyes quizzical. “Indeed! I suppose you are referring to Captain McInnes."

  "Exactly so.” Lady Cecily nodded. She smiled at her brother's continued frown. “Come, Robert. Allow Mary to know what she is doing. She will come around, believe me."

  It was a day and a half later that Lady Mary finally made an appearance in the dining room. The earl was the first to see her paused in the doorway. He got hastily to his feet. “Lady Mary!"

  She entered, pale and composed, and took her usual seat at the table. She did not at first appear to notice the fixed stares of the earl, her daughter, and Captain McInnes, who had also jumped to his feet, and Lady Cecily, or of the butler and footman who stood ready to serve. She placed her napkin on her lap, and only then did she glance around her. She smiled faintly. “I perceive that I have caused some consternation. I do apologize for doing so."

  The gentlemen seated themselves again. Abigail reached out and tentatively touched her mother's arm. “Mama? Are you quite all right?"

  Lady Mary regarded her daughter. There were shadows in the depths of her gray eyes. “I shall be. But I do not think we shall talk of me this evening. I understand that you and Captain McInnes may have come to an agreement."

  Lord Kenmare's brows shot up and he exchanged glances with Lady Cecily. Lady Mary had broached a subject not usually discussed in the presence of persons outside the family, and in the process she had instantly and effectively banished all sympathetic inquiries regarding herself.

  Abigail blushed and her eyes flew to the face of the gentleman sitting beside her. “How did you know, Mama?"

  "I am not quite so caught up in myself that I do not listen to what Beatrice tells me,” Lady Mary said humorously.

  "But we only decided this afternoon and never breathed a word to anyone,” Abigail said, marveling at how certain and accurate was the servants’ grapevine.

  Captain McInnes cleared his throat. There was an anxious look in his eyes. “I hope that our decision meets with your approval, my lady."

  "I approve most heartily, Captain. I shall at once write the happy news to the viscount and viscountess. Perhaps it will make up a little for what else I must relate to them."

  There was a little silence as everyone remembered the earl's somber opinion that William Spence had perished. Abigail broke it, saying brightly, “I should like to be married in London, I think. Grandmama would like it excessively if she could do the thing, of course, and Bruce—Captain McInnes—does not mind a great society wedding."

  "Och, no. It is likely the only grand London affair to which I shall ever be invited,” Captain McInnes said. There was laughter all around, doing much to lighten the mood of the company again.

  "Very well, I shall throw that particular carrot to your grandmother, Abigail. She shall be delighted, naturally,” Lady Mary said. She suspected that her daughter and future son-in-law had decided upon this course to save her from having to deal with all the details, and she treasured their generosity toward her.

  The evening meal was much livelier than it had been the previous two nights. Lady Mary made an effort to appear her usual self, but she could not quite conceal the distance that she felt from everyone. There was almost a clear wall of glass erected between herself and the others that was strikingly noticeable to those who knew her well and which to others would have seemed like a cloak of hauteur. Nevertheless, the company stayed up late playing cards, and when at last good-nights were said, it was nearly midnight.

  Lord Kenmare was not particularly sleepy, and so remained downstairs for a time after the others had all gone up. He stared into the fire, sipping from time to time from a glass of wine.

  When he at last made his way up the stairs, it was the small hours of the morning. He dismissed his sleepy valet after the man helped him off with his boots, saying that he would undress himself. The grateful manservant stumbled off to his bed while Lord Kenmare started to divest himself of his coat. He had tossed it and his cravat aside and half-unbuttoned his shirt when he heard a thundering rap on the door downstairs.

  Lord Kenmare threw open the window and looked down at the stranger standing on the front steps. When the man moved his head, the moonlight caught his face. Lord Kenmare exclaimed, “Wilson-Jones!"

  Major Wilson-Jones tilted back his head at the earl's voice above him. He gave a wide grin. “Open your doors and your cellar, my lord! I am home!"

  The earl dropped the window sash and yanked his dressing gown on over his half-buttoned shirt and breeches. He flew downstairs in his stocking feet to the front door, unbolted it, and threw it open. He and Major Wilson-Jones threw their arms about each other, slapping each other's backs, laughing. When they parted, Lord Kenmare grabbed his brother-in-law's hand and gripped it. “My word, it is good to see you, Wilson-Jones. Come in, come in!” He drew his brother-in-law inside and shut the front door.

  A sleepy footman had appeared, attired in his nightshirt, its tails hastily thrust into the top of his breeches. “Bring a bottle of the best Bordeaux and food at once for the major,” Lord Kenmare instructed him. As the footman hurried away, he urged his brother-in-law into the darkened drawing room. Lord Kenmare lit a match and touched the small flame to a branch of candles.

  Major Wilson-Jones had gone to the occasional table to pour himself a brandy. As the earl finished with the candles, he limped toward a wing chair.

  Lord Kenmare said in quick concern, “You're wounded. I'll send for a doctor at once."

  Wilson-Jones waved aside his lordship's concern as he dropped into the chair. “It is a thigh wound only. It plagues me from lack of attention and over-exercise, but it is not a grave wound. Ah, it is deuced wonderful to sink into a chair with cushions! Robert, at this moment the last thing I wish is some impatient physician poking and prodding at my leg.” He toasted the earl with his glass and downed the brandy in a single swallow.

  The footman entered with a heavily laden tray in his hands and a dusty bottle held securely under his arm. The major's eyes lit up and he straightened from his slouching position. "That is what I need. I am famished with hunger and thirst. I've had nothing but a bit of broth and biscuits since leaving t
he city six days ago."

  Lord Kenmare took the bottle from the footman and immediately broke open the seal. He splashed a liberal amount of the Bordeaux into his brother-in-law's held-out glass. He watched as the major threw back his wine. He held up the bottle and said regretfully, “Pity to waste such a fine vintage on a man who would be just as happy with a tankard of bitter."

  Major Wilson-Jones grinned as he attacked the rump of beef on the tray. “A sacrifice indeed,” he said, and then for some time he was too busy devouring the beef to speak.

  Lord Kenmare sat on the arm of a wing chair, swinging his foot. “You've a fine son,” he observed in an offhand manner. He was rewarded by his brother-in-law's amazed expression and cessation of chewing.

  Major Wilson-Jones swallowed swiftly, nearly choking. “A son, you say? A son!'’ His eyes took on a bemused expression, then suddenly sharpened again. “And Cecily?"

  "She came through her confinement with flying colors,'’ Lord Kenmare said, smiling.

  Major Wilson-Jones glanced at the ceiling. “I suppose Cecily and the boy are asleep,” he said regretfully.

  "Yes, at least for now. The brat invariably tries out his lungs in the early hours, when he so eloquently demands his feedings. You may meet him then,” Lord Kenmare said. He regarded the inroads that his brother-in-law had made in the beef and said dryly, “I see that he comes by his appetite honestly."

  Major Wilson-Jones laughed. He held out his empty wineglass. “I shall trouble you for another glass, my lord. I've not yet done, and my throat begs for lubrication!"

  "I am entirely at your service, sir,” Lord Kenmare said, tilting the bottle over his brother-in-law's glass. He poured some wine for himself. Lifting the glass, he said with a nod, “Your health, Reginald. I am damned glad to see you alive, you know."

  "Never more than I am to find myself still living,” Major Wilson-Jones said. In between more leisurely mouthfuls of beef and frequent attacks on the bottle of Bordeaux, he described his experiences since marching out of Brussels on the previous Thursday. He had been eighteen hours on horseback, he said, and in that time he had had two horses shot out from under him. When he could not procure another mount, he had taken up a fallen man's sword and fought as a common foot soldier.