Far Side of the Sea

by Kate Breslin

  She disappeared from view, and still he stood there, his heart pounding with the same conflicting emotions. He’d longed to take her into his arms and forget the world in a fiery kiss, yet his reasoning understood only too well the impossibility of their situation.

  What kind of life would he and Johanna have together? She could never return to Ireland, or go to Britain, for that matter, not without Moira’s past or her own eventually catching up with her. And what about her father, a known traitor who must hide to stay alive?

  “Titan’s teeth.” He ground out the words as he picked up his luggage and headed toward the train station.

  He had a wedding to go to.

  CHAPTER

  31

  STONEBROOKE ESTATE, BEDFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND, MAY 1

  Good morning, Lieutenant Mabry, and what a fine day it is!”

  Albert Goodfellow beamed from the doorway of Colin’s upstairs room, his unruly thatch of red hair slicked back as he carried his peaked cap beneath one arm. His khakis were freshly pressed, every brass button shining, while below his puttees, the hobnailed boots shone with a recent polish.

  Colin had answered the summons half dressed in his uniform, and Deaton, the Earl of Stonebrooke’s stuffy butler, properly averted his eyes. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “No thank you, Deaton. You may go.”

  Once the butler had left, Goodfellow offered him a brisk salute. Colin returned it before stepping back so he could enter. “You’re looking quite sharp, Albert.”

  “Thank you, sir.” A wash of color flooded Goodfellow’s freckled features. “It is an honor to be invited to the wedding of Lord Walenford and your sister.”

  “I daresay your reward for a job well done.” Colin had returned from Paris a week ago to learn that his protégé had admirably kept up with the workload in Hastings.

  “Deaton said you had a personal note to deliver to me?” Colin gave him a backward glance as he went to the chair and grabbed up his pressed shirt, purchased along with his new uniform for the day’s special occasion. In less than two hours, he would stand by Jack’s side in the Cathedral of St. Ives as his sister, Grace, became Lady Walenford, and at some point in the future, the Countess of Stonebrooke.

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal fished through his pockets while his gaze went to the harness and prosthetic still lying on the bed. The perusal failed to disturb Colin as it had before; he could see now that Goodfellow’s expression held only curiosity, not pity or scorn.

  The corporal finally withdrew the folded note, and with a quick snap, he opened the paper before handing it to Colin. “Here you are, sir.”

  Goodfellow’s kind gesture wasn’t lost on him. Colin smiled. “Thank you, Albert.”

  He took the letter, his thoughts flashing back to a conversation he’d had with Johanna in Toulouse, when she had claimed Goodfellow sounded like his namesake.

  Johanna. Colin’s mouth compressed. The effects of her absence still wore on him: a constant tightness in his chest and the ache in his throat that never left him. Over and over his mind conjured her image, the brilliant blue eyes and smooth, fair skin. Lips as pink as roses. And her golden-blond hair, which she could never seem to keep in order.

  Was she still in Barcelona with her father . . . or had she returned to her pigeons at Vernon?

  “Bad news, sir?”

  Colin startled and glanced up to see consternation in his corporal’s expression. He realized he’d been frowning. Quickly, he scanned the contents of the letter:

  Lieutenant Mabry,

  My deepest gratitude for your recent work, and for the duty you now undertake in my stead. Only ask and it shall be granted. Will discuss further over dinner when I return. Best regards. Your friend,

  M.

  A flush of pride rose in him as he recognized the sender. Captain Marcus Weatherford, a man Colin greatly admired, had called him friend. “No, Albert, nothing wrong at all.”

  Abruptly the mantel clock in his room chimed the hour, and Colin glanced at the time. Titan’s teeth! He looked back at the harness on the bed, then at the buttons on his shirt. He had less than fifteen minutes before the earl’s chauffeur was to take him and Jack to the church.

  Glancing over at the tunic, necktie, belt, and boots near the chair, he regretted having turned down Deaton’s offer of a footman to help him dress.

  “May I be of some assistance, Lieutenant?”

  He stared into Goodfellow’s knowing expression, recalling with some shame the last time the corporal had offered his help. Colin had bitten his head off.

  Yet Johanna’s easy acceptance of him made him realize he wasn’t so very different, and he’d discovered in the caves that the prosthetic, an aberration he’d once rejected, could also become his strength.

  Despite previous assumptions, Colin understood now that Goodfellow acted only out of kindness, a gesture he himself might have extended to someone else and not given a second thought. He eyed the corporal. “If you wouldn’t mind playing valet, Albert?”

  Goodfellow smiled. “Not at all, sir.”

  Within a few minutes, Colin stood at the cheval glass scrutinizing his reflection. He straightened the lapel of his tunic, his fingers brushing the ribboned medals the corporal had pinned over his left pocket, then adjusted the straps of the saber at his side.

  Colin leaned in to inspect the necktie. “Right proper job on the four-in-hand, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Albert stood off to the side. “You do the uniform proud, Lieutenant.”

  Colin’s smile faltered as his thoughts returned to Johanna and the chasm that lay between them. He went to the bed and withdrew the steel hook from his canvas satchel, the same hook that had saved Petit’s life. Snapping the device into place at his wrist, he picked up the bag and offered it to Goodfellow. “If you would be kind enough to take charge of this for me, Albert. I will have need of it at the reception.” He smiled. “There is a fork in there that I intend to employ at the wedding feast—I’ll not settle for just a bowl of soup.”

  Goodfellow grinned. “Of course, sir.”

  Downstairs, Colin found his father in the main hall, pacing across the carpeted floors. No doubt growing increasingly nervous as he waited for Grace to finish up with her bridal toilette.

  “I’ll see you at the church, sir.” Goodfellow spoke in a low voice as he glanced toward Colin’s father.

  “Thank you for your help, Albert.”

  Smiling, the corporal offered a brief salute before taking his leave. Colin strode to where his father continued his brisk stride back and forth. “I think you may wear a hole in his lordship’s Turkish rug, Father.”

  Patrick Mabry looked up at him, startled. “Colin, my boy! I didn’t realize you were standing there.” He paused, perusing his son from head to toe. “You look very smart, Son.”

  “Thank you, sir. As do you.”

  His father glanced down at his own black tuxedo. “Yes, well, the sooner we start the ball rolling, I say the better.” He grimaced, pulling on his cravat. “I appreciate Lady Bassett’s attendance on your sister with her personal dressmaker, but this is taking a long time!”

  Colin chuckled. “I imagine becoming a future countess does take some preparation. And as your patroness at Swan’s, Lady Bassett will insist on knowing what needs to be done.”

  “Quite right.” His father sighed. “Though it is a bit nerve-wracking, this is a dream come true for your sister.”

  Colin arched a brow. “And for you?”

  “For us both.” His father smiled. “I want Grace’s happiness above all else, and I realized some time ago, she’s got her own mind. But I am not displeased that the man she has set her cap on is a member of the British peerage.” His eyes glistened. “I only wish your mother could have been here to share this time with her.”

  Colin laid his hand on his father’s shoulder. Upon his return from Paris, Colin had chosen to commute back and forth daily from Hastings to his family home in London, a
t least until after the wedding. It was a chance to reacquaint himself with his father and his sister.

  An opportunity he had neglected since his return from the war.

  “You know, Son, you’ve changed.” The older pair of hazel eyes searched his. “You seem more assured, more . . . comfortable with yourself, and with us. How are you sleeping these days?”

  The question gave Colin pause. He realized the nightmares had been gradually receding ever since his journey to Paris. In fact, he hadn’t experienced one of his suffocating dreams since returning from Spain. “Better than I have in some time, Father.”

  “Splendid.” Patrick Mabry looked relieved. “I do not know what happened to you over there in France, but I am glad of it.”

  Johanna happened to me. His throat tightened as he gazed at his father. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now, there is the picture of a dashing father and son duo.”

  Both men turned to see Jack Benningham descend the stairs, looking resplendent in a black cutaway and matching trousers, his white wing collar shirt sporting a champagne-colored tuxedo vest and cravat. He wore white gloves and carried a black top hat.

  “You’re looking rather well turned out yourself, Son.” Patrick Mabry smiled.

  “I thank you, sir. It’s a relief to know I shall not shame your daughter.” Jack approached to stand beside them and straightened the red rose boutonnière against his lapel. He turned to Colin. “I say, is that a new uniform?”

  Colin looked down at his khakis. “I thought Grace’s wedding would be a good occasion to make a fresh start.”

  “Fresh start, indeed.” Jack glanced at the steel hook and then gave him an approving smile. “I knew you would come around when you were ready. No doubt you will steal my thunder today, giving those dreamy-eyed maids at the church romantic visions of pirates and adventure and being swept away on the high seas.”

  Patrick Mabry chuckled while Colin rolled his eyes and grinned. “And I think you must be suffering from prenuptial hallucinations.”

  “Hardly.” Jack smiled. “I’m as steady as a rock.”

  “What? No last-minute qualms?” Colin’s father eyed him with amusement.

  Jack shrugged. “I imagine most grooms do, but not me.” He bent his head. “Some men wait a lifetime and never find their true love, but I’ve been blessed to find mine. And in these uncertain times, I’ve no intention of wasting another moment without Grace by my side.”

  Moved by his words, Colin allowed himself a moment to imagine a life with Johanna, and a smile touched his lips, thinking of her blue eyes gazing up at him mischievously. “We’ve had quite the adventure together, haven’t we, Lieutenant?”

  Indeed, his future with her would have been a quest that never ended. He recalled with longing their first meeting, when Johanna had arrived wearing men’s trousers and boots, her face all muddy and hair askew . . . and looking lovelier than any woman he had ever seen.

  “Excuse me, your lordship. Your car waits outside.”

  At the sound of Deaton’s voice, Colin raised his head and quit his woolgathering.

  He found Jack and his father watching him with interest. His face grew warm. “Is it time, then? Shall we go?”

  Jack arched a brow and grinned. “If you’re ready.”

  More heat rose above his neck. “I’m not the one getting married.”

  He started for the door while Jack chuckled behind him. Colin glanced back at his father. “We’ll see you and Grace at the church.”

  The Gothic-style cathedral was filled with beautiful spring flowers. Arrangements of pink and white peonies combined with white lilies and green ivy spilling from gold vases near the altar, while smaller posies of white daisies and ivy adorned the ends of the pews.

  The church was already filling up as guests were being led by ushers to their seats.

  Colin stood beside Jack in a side alcove, both of them hidden from view. The vicar would arrive at any moment—their signal to approach the altar.

  His gaze turned toward the bride’s side of the church, and he spied his cousin Dr. Daniel Strom seated beside Great-aunt Florence, who wore a fusty-looking Victorian hat.

  Behind them, he recognized Miss Ruthie Simmons, whose older sister Becky was the chief baker at Swan’s and one of Grace’s bridesmaids. Currently, Miss Simmons had her hands full trying to manage the small child trying to wriggle out of her lap. Young Daisy Danner was the daughter of Grace’s best friend and maid of honor, Miss Clare Danner.

  Gazing at the squirming child, Colin wondered at the father. He thought about Johanna’s growing up alone and ostracized amid taunts and cruel jibes. He hoped the little girl on Ruthie’s lap would never have to know that kind of hardship.

  Beside the pair sat Mr. and Mrs. George Tillman, whom Colin had met yesterday when Grace told him they were attached to Jack’s estate in Kent. The couple had brought with them hothouse roses from Roxwood.

  “Have you got the rings?”

  Colin turned to see Jack looking almost grim as the vicar approached the altar. He fought back a smirk. Solid as a rock. “Still right here in my pocket.”

  Once the vicar took his stance, Colin followed Jack to the front of the church, both men stopping short of the raised dais. The soft strains of wedding music began as the last guests were seated, and suddenly all eyes were upon them.

  Colin stood straight and tall beside the groom, his silver hook resting at his side. He had paid his dues in the war, enduring horrors most of the people in the congregation could never imagine. Yet he was no different from anyone else. He had a right to be here among them, to be judged and accepted for the kind of man he was, and not by his wounds.

  He felt a tug at his side and looked down to see little Daisy had grabbed hold of the hook with her small fingers, looking extremely pleased with herself and perfectly at home as she stood in the front alongside the best man and the groom.

  Colin grinned at her, and when he looked up, a number of people were smiling or chuckling. Ruthie Simmons, her face as red as Jack’s rose boutonnière, hurried over and eyed him apologetically before whisking the child back to her seat.

  Suddenly the notes of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” rose from the pipe organ into the lofty heights of the church, and Colin brought himself to attention. A wistful sense of happiness washed over him, knowing his sister and Jack were about to become man and wife.

  The wedding reception was held in Stonebrooke’s grand hall, and while the food was relatively simple, there was plenty to be had. With the current rationing, the four-tiered champagne wedding cake was the only real evidence of extravagance, and slices were shared with the wounded in the hospital wing that the Earl and Countess of Stonebrooke had generously provided for the war effort.

  Seated at a place of honor near the wedding couple, Colin eyed the long row of well-dressed nobility at the table, and the snowy white linen, crystal, and silver gracing each gold-lined porcelain plate. Then he glanced at his sister, who had changed from her white satin wedding gown into a green dinner dress that matched the color of the sizeable new emerald on her finger. Having given the requisite wedding toast before dinner, Colin now saw the love reflected in her expression as she gazed at his blond brother-in-law seated beside her.

  Soon the new Lady Walenford and her husband would depart for a brief honeymoon in Scotland, and while Colin knew Grace’s life as a viscountess would be exciting and challenging, he had no doubt that the love she and Jack shared would overcome all.

  Love is patient, love is kind . . . love never fails . . . He thought of the other verses from 1 Corinthians 13. And if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. . . .

  He had claimed to Johanna to have that kind of faith . . . but what about love?

  It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. . . .

  Johanna had loved him, Colin understood, and she’d been willing to sacrifice that love for the truth.


  And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. . . .

  Love: all important, making the impossible possible. Why then did he continue to resist the song hammering in his heart for the woman he had loved in Barcelona? Duty and love . . .

  As if outside himself, Colin stared at his father’s proud smile across the table. A happy day for Patrick Mabry: his daughter wed and his son finally returned to him, body and spirit.

  He and his father had bridged the gap of their previous estrangement, but Colin still had no desire to take his sister’s place as floor manager at Swan’s, and he was grateful Father respected his decision.

  “So who will be driving the motorcar now, I wonder?”

  Becky Simmons had made the joking remark, as Colin’s sister had been Jack Benningham’s chauffeur for a time. The guests chuckled while Grace looked down the table at her friend, green eyes filled with mischief. “I will have charge of the car, of course.”

  “I think not.” The humor in Jack’s voice belied his decree as he pulled her to him.

  “Well, I would never wish to defy you, Husband.” She lowered her gaze, a smile on her lips. “But I believe it only fair that we vote on it. Don’t you agree?”

  Her words clearly amused him. “Our votes would only end in a tie, my love. How is that a compromise?”

  “But don’t you see?” She beamed at him. “You just agreed to meet me halfway, and soon I shall sway you completely over to my side.”

  He gave a shout of laughter and took her into his arms. “Indeed, Wife. I have learned never to doubt your abilities.” Leaning in, he kissed her soundly, and the table erupted in merry applause. Colin grinned. Yes, Grace and Johanna would like each other.

  Another of the women piped up—Miss Lucy Young, who had once worked with Grace in the Women’s Forage Corps at Kent. “Better that she d-drive, my lord, than sit at home d-doing needlepoint, or she may accidentally sew herself inside the cushion cover.”