by Baird Wells
Her approval warmed him head to toe, and he dared a peck at her cheek. She leaned into him, then jabbed him with a teasing elbow. “Really, Matthew. There are people everywhere.”
“They'll manage,” he murmured.
She ignored him, leaning forward and squinting to get a better look at something on the second shelf. “What is that?”
He followed her eyes and laughed. “Marbles! True glass ones, at that.” Memories washed over him. “When I was a boy, most of mine were red clay. Once, my uncle Phillips brought me a blue glass marble from Spain. It was my prized possession for as long as I can recall.” He palmed the leather sack, pulling its drawstring neck open a bit farther. Raking a finger between the cool orbs, he peered inside. “Cat's eye, too. Another game your lads can play together. Whenever your gifts actually arrive.”
“If they ever arrive.” They exchanged a knowing glance, and she grabbed the marbles from his hand.
While Kate settled up with the merchant, Matthew took one last look around. It was an easy transition, slipping into the fantasy of buying some small diversion for his own children. A son, tagging behind him through the copses of Highgate, little wooden rifle in hand. Or a daughter perched atop her hobby-horse, insisting her pony go faster.
He had lived by the musket for almost half his life. Faced with battle countless times, he was used to reflecting on his own mortality. For the first time he truly regretted an empty space that soldiering had never filled.
Kate appeared before him, holding her purchases aloft with a serene expression. “Again, I defer entirely to you where other people's boys are concerned.”
Other people's boys.
He studied her, wondering that he had only become keenly aware of his regret over children since meeting her. Kate blinked expectantly, and he shook off the thought, bowing a little. “I am an expert on the subject, as you have observed.”
He took the toys from her, tucking the sack with the Morris board beneath his arm, and stuffed the marbles inside his coat. Kate glanced around, seemingly at no one thing. “Care to explore a bit more of the city, or have you had enough of a day?”
Prying the watch from his waistcoat pocket, he checked the time. “I would see the whole city with you, had we time enough, but we are expected at dinner in less than an hour.”
She groaned, letting him lead her toward the front of the shop. “Expected at dinner? That sounds social, and tiresome.”
“You mean tiring?”
“No,” Kate laughed. “Tiresome. Tiring and boring.”
He shushed her. “I believe you will feel rather differently once we arrive. You take immense pleasure in seeing how your patients are faring.” He enjoyed being obtuse and seeing the rare look of confusion on her face.
She stopped him with a sharp tug at his sleeve, obliging a gentleman behind to dart around or plow them over. “What patient?”
He winked. “You will see.”
“Major Burrell?” Kate deflated a little, her feet pounding harder over the cobblestones. “Dinner with Ty is not exciting. He digs at everybody's business, and then screeches that violin until we're all driven off. You know, he's really quite the virtuoso, but he never picks it up until he's entirely foxed.”
He laughed, only half listening, waiting for her to recognize their surroundings. Any minute now she would surely notice the house, if she would stop watching him while she cursed Tyler and look around.
Kate held up fingers. “...and it must have been two in the morning, but he was determined to read that ridiculous poem. She seemed impressed, but the rest of us nearly creased our faces with yawning.”
Navigating rumbling wagons and the steady flow of people moving across the square, he nodded, glancing again and again at Kate. He waited for the moment she stopped talking and realized what they were about.
Her eyes were squeezed half shut, one small fist shaking. “...but I don't believe for a single minute that he went upstairs to see her antique books. Unless 'antique books' means something else, and with Ty that is entirely possible.” She poked his arm, and he began to laugh.
“Matthew? I don't believe you've heard a single word I've said.”
“Kate.” He bit her name and swept a hand toward the steps, finally catching her attention. “Now, are you a bit more pleased at the prospect of dining out?”
“Where in the world –” She squinted at the door, then glanced around looking momentarily disoriented. “OH! Oh.” Her teeth went to work on her lower lip, communicating her nerves. “Are you certain I should...”
“My mother invited us this morning. Both of us.” He would not mention how that had occurred. No sense confessing that a careless line in a note to his mother might, perhaps, have hinted he had not come to Brussels alone. Adelaide had said nothing about it in her reply, but her summons for 'Ld. Webb and Miss K. Foster' to attend dinner said she had noticed. Now he hoped Kate was too distracted to wonder how they had been invited together.
Kate cast a sideways glance at the house. “You don't think we...She's just recovering. Are we imposing on her?”
“I don't care if we are.” He crossed arms against the idea. “She should not have sent the invitation if she did not want the company. In any matter, I was determined to visit her once more before the army moves.”
Kate eyed the door again, as though it could swing open at any moment, revealing the burning maw of hell.
“Miss Foster, are you nervous?” he teased.
She did not acknowledge the jest. “We have changed, Matthew, since the last time we were here. I do not want to offend your mother. I want –” She looked at him, blue eyes wide. “I would like her approval.”
He took Kate's hand, pressing against the fabric of her glove. “You and I have not changed. Our feelings for one another are the same as before.” Matthew squeezed her hand for emphasis. “I have shared your bed, but we have not changed.”
“Matthew,” she whispered, pressing his fingers in return.
He brushed her cheek and tucked her arm back against his side. His mother was thunder and sharp looks, but he knew Kate had made an impression. A good one, by how often Adelaide worked Miss Foster into her letters.
“Come on, then.” Smiling broadly, he tugged Kate toward the door. “Her invitation mentioned me as an aside. She specifically asked for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lady Webb had given Matthew the head of the table, seating herself at his left, directly across from Kate. It would have been a comfortable arrangement except that Lady Louisa, refusing to allow either half to be lopsided, insisted on planting herself at the foot of the table. At eight feet or so, it was not over-long like many formal tables, but it was enough that it put Louisa an awkward distance from the meal, and with her cotton-eared hearing, well outside the sphere of conversation.
Kate noticed that Louisa did not seem to mind. She smiled and nodded at regular and sometimes oddly-timed intervals, chewing and serving herself with the same regal authority she might have felt seated in Matthew's spot. Her occasional well-meaning slights aside, Kate decided the tiny magpie of a woman really was endearing.
Along with Louisa, she too felt skipped by the conversation. For several minutes now, Lady Webb had shared all sorts of news from London with her son. She was not certain Matthew was any more interested than she in what his mother had to say, but at least he could put it into context.
Adelaide was smacking a fist gently against her palm. “...but I said to her, how can you have Uxbridge to the ball and cut his lady? I do not think it can be managed. One half of the rabble or another is sure to stir hard feelings. Poor Lady Richmond!” Lady Webb shook her head at Matthew, rustling the mountain of curls clinging at her crown.
Matthew raked his butter knife against a roll, taking out some frustration on the poor piece of bread. “He is to have his own division, finally. I saw him this afternoon at headquarters, while I was meeting with Lord Grayfield.” He chewed thoughtfully a moment. “We wer
e assembled together at the meeting but I did not have a chance to speak with Uxbridge.”
“And you shouldn't speak to him,” barked Adelaide.
Kate laid her spoon in the bowl, something Matthew and his mother had said bringing her back to the table. “Who is this?”
“Uxbridge.” Lady Webb spit the name with a sneer, as though her soup tasted bad.
She shook her head, still not any clearer on the vitriol brewing between the pair.
Matthew nodded. “He ran off with the wife of Wellington's brother. It has made it impossible for Uxbridge to serve under the duke until recently. They could not be trusted within shooting distance of one another.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously feeling caught by the lingering tension. “If skilled officers were not in short supply, Uxbridge still would not be welcomed. And after today I can attest their truce is a tenuous one.”
Kate felt an uncomfortable fascination with the tale, perhaps because it reminded her a bit of Patrick. “Does he court her still?”
Matthew nodded, working at his plate. “He married her.”
“Succubus!” Adelaide spit the word with such force that Kate had to press a napkin over her face to hold in laughter that transformed to tears at the corner of her eyes.
“Mama, really! At the table?” Matthew's brows knit, but his lips twitched and formed a 'shh' just for Kate's benefit. “It is five years past.”
Lady Webb took up her little trident, spearing her anger into a potato. “It was in every way shocking.” Adelaide swept the air, as though waving off a bad smell. “I do not wish to talk of it anymore.”
Just when Kate assumed it was safe to begin eating again, Adelaide pulled in a dramatic breath, hinting that she did still wish to talk of it, at least indirectly. “My dear Lady Richmond is giving a ball, Miss Foster. That is what ignites all this fuss over Uxbridge. She sent 'round several vouchers yesterday, including one for my son – you will not have been invited, understand, because...” She waved a finger over Kate, as though casting a spell, and made a sympathetic frown.
“Mama means you were not thought of because Lady Richmond has not the slightest inkling who you are.” Matthew's head cocked slightly. “It is not because you dress like the printer's boy when you ride a horse.”
She stopped chewing and pinned him with a look. He lifted his brows, unrepentant until her toe caught the back of his ankle beneath the table.
A few bites passed in silence, broken only by a small clatter of Louisa's china as her head slumped, then snapped up with a snore. Kate wouldn't have minded the quiet, except that a handful of stolen glances at Adelaide left her with no doubt that the woman's gears were turning.
Adelaide was fixing her to her seat with a look that might have been perceptive, or nothing more than her own nerves. “Miss Foster, I was surprised to hear you had come to Brussels. Would you not stay with the army at such a time?”
“Ordinarily, yes. But a doctor has come up to be with the regiment, so my position is a bit tenuous,” she said.
“By your account, that has never been an obstacle to you in the past. Something rather marked has tempted you away, I think...” Adelaide let the words hang a moment, impaling her last bite of potato.
“Mama, is it not convenient, having Miss Foster so close to look after you?” Matthew offered helpfully. His mother only grunted, clearly rejecting the attempt. Kate exchanged a helpless glance with him. The dining room grew warmer, and smaller.
Adelaide was not a dim woman. Her fork clanged sharply against the china of her plate, a warning bell. “Rather marked,” she muttered again.
Kate turned her attention pointedly to her dinner, now cold, and rearranged her last two bites of chicken. “Very marked,” she admitted, with a glance to Matthew.
Adelaide looked satisfied, having pried the small admission from her guest. “Hmm. Where are you staying, during your visit?”
The bite of chicken in her mouth lodged in her throat, and she looked helplessly at Matthew's wide eyes. She had known better than to think her host was finished, but she had been unprepared for that particular direction. Kate cleared the obstruction haltingly, with a lot of unnecessary fuss, and pointed in the vaguest direction possible. “Across the Grand Place.”
“On which street?” Adelaide pressed on, relentless.
“Mmm...”
“Rue Violette? Rue Bouchers?”
Matthew cleared his throat with a sharp cough. “Miss Foster does not know the city as we do, mama.”
“I was not speaking to you, Matthew,” his mother snapped.
Kate tried following his lead. “I really could not tell you, but I know the direction when I see it.”
Gray eyes narrowed to slits as Adelaide's gaze darted from Kate to Matthew and back. Kate gave silent thanks when Louisa's grating breaths grew too loud to ignore, sparing her from further scrutiny. Adelaide straightened in her chair, craning in the dim light of the dining room to see the end of the table. “Louisa, what are you about down there!”
Louisa flailed from sleep, rocking her chair perilously close to tipping her clattering to the floor. “Oh, oh dear!” Her head turned in every direction, owl eyes searching the room for clues as to where she was and what had happened. “Oh,” she yawned, “see what comes of fighting off a sneeze? Drat the rainy weather here.”
Adelaide gave a little scowl, clearly out of sport with all her guests being deceitful. “I hope it is not a cold. Perhaps you should seek your bed. A little rest can only help your constitution.”
Louisa nodded, obviously relieved at her companion's suggestion. She was already squashing another yawn against her palm. “Lord Webb, I wish you Godspeed in the days to come and Miss Foster,” she came around the table to rest a hand on Kate's shoulder. “It was very lovely to see you again, and what a charming figure you have. So feminine...”
Kate smiled, recalling Louisa's concern over her traveling clothes, and pressed a hand to hers. “I am flattered that you noticed, Lady Louisa.”
Louisa nodded, yawning her way from the room. Adelaide clucked a sympathetic tongue as the door closed. “She has taken such excellent care of me these last weeks. Wearing herself out in spite of my protests.” She frowned, voice quiet as though speaking more to herself. “If I snip at her, it is only for her own good.”
Kate was touched that Adelaide allowed her a small glimpse inside her walls. She appreciated more than ever how similar Matthew was to his mother.
She had not asked Adelaide about her surgery, deciding that was a subject more appropriately broached by Matthew. Since arriving he had not mentioned it, and Lady Adelaide herself had volunteered nothing. Now, he finally took his mother's hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips. “How are you getting on now?”
Adelaide was silent a long time, just the crackle of the fireplace passing and Matthew's nervous breaths filling the room. She fiddled with her napkin, not meeting their eyes as she cleared her throat. “Very well. There is no infection and I am –” She pressed fingers to her lips, looking uncomfortable. “I begin to feel whole again. It is just the memory of it. At times I was certain my body could bear no more, that the pain would wash me into senselessness.” Delicate shoulders hunched up, as though she could shrug off the horror. “But the hands of the six men fixing me to the table would grip tighter, dragging me into consciousness again and again.” She pulled in a ragged breath. “It was done blessedly quick, though I did not feel it at the time.”
Kate's stomach churned just think of it, the mechanics of reaching the afflicted organ, and then to lie restrained, face covered and aware of every hack or slice. It was the very definition of bravery to endure surgery.
Eyes wet, Lady Webb reached across the table to claim her hand. “Your surgeon found a malignancy. He assures me I would not have lasted past this time next year.” Her fingers trembled against Kate's hand, her words no more than a rough whisper. “I owe you, Miss Foster. Very dearly.”
Kate tried and failed to fight bac
k her own tears. “My task was the easiest. I am happier than I can say that you are well.” She gave Adelaide's hand a firm squeeze and glanced to Matthew, who watched them silently. He did not need to say a word for her to understand the gratitude in his eyes.
* * *
While Kate finished her coffee, he walked his mother to her room. She was slow on the staircase, wobbling like a newborn foal, but she was getting better. There was no gift to equal it, and he owed everything to Kate. To repay her was an impossible goal, but he would treasure her with the last breath in his body.
He grasped the knob and swung her door open, then bent and pressed a kiss to his mother's forehead. “Good night, mama.”
She patted his cheek, pecking him there. “Will I see you again?”
Matthew shook his head at the question. “Of course. I will call again, before we march.”
She clutched at her breast, doubling a little. He grasped her shoulders, looking his mother over. “What is the matter? I'll get Kate.” She had exerted herself, inviting them to dinner. She never rested properly, and he had no doubt she only followed whichever of the surgeon's instructions suited her.
“No, no.” Her arms circled him, warm across his back as she patted his shoulder, and despite the difference in their frames he was ten years old again. “I just have the most dreadful premonitions, now and then.”
He fought the tremor from his words. “The last thing you ought to do is to worry.” He hugged her tighter. “This is no different than any other engagement, mama. Not in practice. The whole of all we have done so far has prepared the army for what is coming. And Miss Foster will be at hand, to put me back together should things go amiss.”
She pulled away, staring until he drew back a step. “Be careful how you go on, Matthew.”
Unthinking, he crossed his arms. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you should think of Caroline,” she warned.
“I don't give a damn about Caroline,” he spit, meaning it to his bones.