Red, Red Rose

by Marjorie Farrell

  He was walking back to his quarters when he heard someone call him. It was George Trowbridge, who had been a few years ahead of him at school. George hadn’t been a friend, but Charlie was happy just to see a familiar face.

  “It’s good to see you, George. I just arrived today and am all at sixes and sevens.”

  “This is your first time out, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I only received my commission last year and we’ve been posted in Sussex until now.”

  “You picked a good time to arrive, Holme. It looks like we’re settled in for the winter and no fighting before the spring. Except for the cold and boredom, it isn’t a bad billeting. Not a wide choice of women, but a few pretty baggages around the baggage, if you know what I mean,” he added with a wink and a leer. “We lowly junior officers don’t dine with Nosey and his family, of course, but Major and Mrs. Gordon have been very good to us poor ‘orphans.’ I am sure you will receive an invitation to dinner.”

  “Major Ian Gordon?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I met him and his family a few years ago when they were on leave in London. He was at Assaye with Wellington, wasn’t he?”

  “He may have been. I know he and his daughter and his wife spent many years in the East.”

  “Is Miss Gordon here in Portugal also?”

  “She’s been following the drum for years, evidently. A good sort of girl, easy to talk to, but not really my type. Too tall and plain, for one thing. But she can put you at your ease, I must say that for her. I say, Holme, here comes Lucas Stanton. You remember him?”

  Charlie turned and hoped that the smile on his face looked like a smile and not the grimace it felt like.

  “ ‘Tis practically a reunion, isn’t it, George?” said Lucas, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. “We’ve got Holme and you and James; oh, and Aston too, though he was hardly at school long enough to count…or learn to count,” Stanton added derisively.

  Charlie disliked very few people, but Lucas Stanton was one of them. “Dislike” was almost too mild a term. The winter would be very long indeed if he had to suffer the company of these men very often. He wondered how Val was coping with Lucas’s presence.

  “Oh, but, Charles, I am sorry.” Lucas was offering him a patently false apology. “Aston is your half-brother, isn’t he? Now how could I have forgotten that? You must excuse me.”

  Charlie was sure that Lucas Stanton had not forgotten a thing, but he accepted the man’s apology as though it were sincere.

  “Aston has turned out surprisingly well, after all, wouldn’t you say, George?”

  George, whom Charlie remembered as a weak-willed follower rather than an instigator of any bullying, tried to make up for the thinly disguised dislike in Stanton’s voice. “Captain Grant thinks very highly of your, uh, brother, Charles.”

  “I am happy to hear it, but I am not at all surprised,” Charlie replied. “Val was always good at fighting tyrants, as I recall,” he said pointedly. “Well, gentlemen, I must get myself settled in. I am looking forward to a dinner at the Gordons.

  No wonder Val had been happy to have been called away from his regiment, if it got him away from the likes of Lucas Stanton, Charlie thought as he walked back to his tent.

  * * * *

  The next morning he attended a briefing for all the officers and after it was over, Major Gordon approached him. “Welcome to the lines, Charlie.”

  “Thank you, Major. It is good to find a familiar face.”

  “Mrs. Gordon and I like to have the young officers in to dine with us occasionally. Will you join us tonight?”

  “I would be very grateful, Major.”

  “We are hoping that your, er, brother will be back in time to make up one of the company.”

  “So am I, Major Gordon.”

  Charlie smiled as he watched the major walk away. No one seemed able to allude to his relationship with Val without some hemming and hawing, as though it were something to be embarrassed about. Well, he’d met with that attitude over the years and he hadn’t let it bother him before, so he was damned if it would now.

  * * * *

  He was out drilling his men when he spied the lone horseman coming down out of the hills. He hoped it might be Val, and as the rider got closer he was sure of it. Both man and horse looked exhausted. Charlie, whose hand was lifted to send his men off on another saber charge, kept it there while he watched his brother ride by. It was only when his own horse gave a little crow-hop that he realized his men had been awaiting his signal and as he swept his hand down and yelled, “Charge!” his feelings almost overwhelmed him. He had missed his brother for twelve long years. Oh, they had written and spent that lovely long day in London together. But he had hoped for something so different when he first had found him. He had hoped they would all become one family.

  Well, he had been young and perhaps foolish to have hoped for that. He was older now and much more aware of the complexities of the situation. But at least they were together again and this time he wasn’t going to let Val’s ridiculous pride separate them.

  * * * *

  Charlie cut his drilling short after warning his men not to be too eager. It was a hard balance to achieve, he told them. They needed to put everything they had into a charge and at the same time not let themselves get swept too far into enemy territory.

  He handed his horse over to one of his corporals and hurried off to change. He was to dine at the Gordons’ and so was Val. He wanted to be at his brother’s tent before Val finished his report.

  * * * *

  Charlie was coming down the row just as Val was lifting his tent flap.

  “Val!”

  Val let the tent flap fall and turned. The man who faced Charlie was not the youth he’d last seen, but a man. A soldier. His face was browned by the sun except for the places where it was reddened from the cold winds that blew through the Portuguese mountains. There was a thin scar that ran from his ear along his jaw and his face was thinner than Charlie remembered. But his eyes were the same clear gray.

  “Don’t you recognize me, Val?” Charlie asked with an endearingly diffident smile.

  “Charlie? I knew you were to arrive soon. Was that your regiment I saw drilling when I rode in?”

  “Indeed. With me in command.”

  “With you in command,” Val repeated with a bemused smile. “How could my little brother be old enough to command a cavalry regiment?” Val stepped forward, his hand outstretched. Charlie grasped it and they looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Charlie could feel his own eyes fill, but he’d be damned if he’d let Val see the tears, so he pulled his brother by the hand into a back-pounding embrace. When they finally pulled away from one another, Charlie was surprised and moved to see the sheen of tears in his brother’s eyes.

  “It has been a long time, Charlie. I barely recognized you in your uniform, and with at least another inch of you! You practically tower over me—or is that the boots?” Val teased.

  “It’s all me. My mother’s family ran tall. And it is barely an inch or two—”

  “At least three, my lord,” Val replied with mock servility.

  “Don’t you ‘my lord’ me, Valentine. And if it has been a long time, whose fault is that?” Charlie asked with a smile. Then, with a spark of real anger, he pulled himself away and said, “Damn it, Val, I’ve missed you. Why in God’s name did you run off?”

  “I’ve missed you too, Charlie,” Val replied softly. “But you know why I ran off. I had no choice.”

  “You bloody well did. You could have stayed at school—

  “Hardly!”

  “All right, then, you could have asked Father to send you to Yorkshire. Surely running the estate would have been preferable to a life as a common soldier?”

  “We’ve been over this before, Charlie. It hasn’t been such a bad life these past twelve years,” Val replied mildly. “I’ve learned far more than I would have at Queen’s Hall. And except for the commiss
ion, I did it all on my own.”

  “Oh, Lord, I don’t want to quarrel with you, Val. I am just so happy to see you.”

  “And I, you, little brother. Though not so little and looking very handsome, I might add.” Val gave a rueful grin. “I, on the other hand, look like hell,” he said, looking down at his travel-stained uniform and dirty boots. “Come in while I clean up.”

  “I am dressed for dinner at the Gordons’,” Charlie announced after he sat down on the edge of the cot. “Are you going?”

  Val, who had his face buried in his washing bowl, lifted his head. “I don’t know that I am expected….” He glanced over to the small table that served as his desk. “Perhaps I am. Pass me that piece of paper, will you, Charlie?” Val unfolded it and read it. “It appears I am, though I should excuse myself from this one,” he said, looking down at his trousers in despair. “I think I have a clean uniform….”

  “Do come, Val. We don’t have to stay late, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for days.”

  “Oh, all right, but if I fall asleep at the table, jab me awake, will you?”

  Chapter 11

  As they walked down to the village a half hour later, Charlie stole a glance over at his brother. He was dressed in a clean uniform and looked very handsome in a gypsyish way. His broad shoulders and muscled thighs gave him a solidity, a groundedness that Charlie did not think he himself possessed. But then, Val had been in the infantry these past twelve years. And though he himself was still slender, he filled out his tunic quite satisfactorily, he told himself.

  When they passed two of the village women along the way, Charlie nodded and smiled. He could feel their eyes following and, when he turned, saw their appreciative glances.

  “There are two women who will be dreaming of a handsome English lieutenant tonight, Charlie,” Val joked as he followed his brother’s glance.

  “If they dream of anyone, it will be you.”

  “Me? Not with you next to me. Why, your hair matches the gilt on your epaulets, Charlie!”

  Val meant what he said. His little brother had grown into a classically handsome young man who in almost every way resembled his father. But his nose and his height he got from his mother. It was ironic that the illegitimate son had inherited the earl’s one distinctive feature, Val thought humorously.

  And his father’s pride and reserve, he admitted as he watched Charlie greet the Gordons. Charlie had never lost what had endeared him to Val in the first place: his warm and open nature, which was something else that must have come from his mother.

  James, who had been standing by the fire, came over to greet Charlie after the Gordons’ welcome.

  “It is good to see you, Charlie,” he said quietly.

  “James! It is wonderful you are here,” Charlie replied, taking his hand eagerly.

  “This is the man who broke my sister’s heart by taking a commission, Val,” James teased.

  “Don’t you listen to him. I only danced with the chit twice, James, and you know it.”

  “Ah, but you took her in to supper.”

  “Yes, and bored her to death, I am sure.”

  “You made a great impression on her, Charles.”

  “Stepped on her feet three times if I did it once, James. That’s the impression I made!”

  “And here I thought it a match made in heaven,” said James with mock sadness.

  “Now, now, Lieutenant, Maddie told me about the handsome Viscount Holme who took her in to supper,” said Elspeth, her eyes laughing.

  “Did she also tell you, that in addition to breaking her arch—arch, James, not heart—I spilled punch on her gown?”

  “She may have added a postscript about that, my lord,” Elspeth admitted.

  “It was a few years ago,” protested Charlie. “My awkward period, don’t you know!”

  They all laughed and then Elspeth gestured toward the table. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

  “Are Trowbridge and Stanton not expected, then?” James asked.

  “Elspeth thought a smaller table would be nicer this evening, given that it is Lieutenant Aston’s reunion with his brother,” Mrs. Gordon informed them.

  “I am very grateful for your thoughtfulness, Miss Gordon,” Val said quietly.

  “It is nothing, Lieutenant. Now, Jamie, you sit next to me. Lord Holme, you on my other side so Lieutenant Aston can talk to you more easily.”

  Val was touched by Elspeth’s recognition of his and Charlie’s relationship and thankful he didn’t have to deal with Lucas Stanton tonight. Given how tired he was, it would have been difficult to keep his temper had the man delivered any of his subtle insults.

  “Tell us, Charlie, what was the mood at home when you left?” asked the major.

  “They are laying bets in all the clubs on the prince’s loyalty to his Whig friends if he becomes regent, Major Gordon.”

  “Don’t you mean when, Lieutenant? Surely a Regency is inevitable given the king’s, uh, state of mind.”

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  “If the Whigs come in, then Wellington’s campaign is doomed,” continued the major. “Ach, ‘tis a hard thing to be a soldier with Whiggish tendencies tha’ now,” continued the major, falling into the Scots vernacular.

  “Surely you are not a Republican, though, Major Gordon?”

  “No, no, Charles. I do not think changes brought about by bloodshed ever last. Look what happened in France. In the end, they traded a king for an emperor.”

  “Although we must admit Napoleon kept most of the legislative reforms that came out of the Revolution,” interjected James.

  “But he plays puppet master with all of Europe, James,” Val protested. “Setting his brother on the throne of Spain.”

  “I don’t agree at all with his methods, Val, which is why I am here, but the reforms Joseph Bonaparte would institute in Spain are long overdue, don’t you agree? The Bourbons were hardly a model monarchy,” he added dryly. “What do you think, Charlie?”

  “I am here because I believe that if Boney succeeds in Spain and Portugal, his next step will be to invade England. I confess I haven’t thought much further. I’ve never considered myself a Tory, but if they are willing to stand behind Wellington, then I hope the king undergoes a miraculous recovery!”

  “Well, I think it a shame that you men let yourself be bound by a system that leaves you no choice between Whig and Tory,” said Elspeth. “There is some truth on both sides. Indeed, if I could vote, I’d want someone who could reach beyond party politics, someone who believed in reform, but also saw the necessity of stopping a man who wishes to impose equality by force,” she continued passionately.

  James lifted his glass and, leaning forward, touched it to Elspeth’s. “Hear, hear, Miss Gordon. Perhaps someday women will have the vote and we might see a different society.”

  Elspeth’s cheeks were flushed and a few strands of her hair had escaped as though they shared her passion for freedom. Val thought her fervor lit her from the inside out. The unconventional Miss Gordon was a passionate woman, he thought appreciatively.

  “Shall we return to the parlor, Ian?” asked Mrs. Gordon.

  Val was thankful for the interruption, for he could feel the stirring of desire.

  “Only if you give us some music this evening, Peggy, to lighten our moods,” said her husband. “My wife, who is very talented on the keyboard, has had to make do for these many years, haven’t you, Peggy? Of necessity, she has become very versatile on various portable instruments,” he added proudly, as Mrs. Gordon brought out a small guitar.

  “Stringed instruments, yes, Ian. But Private Ryan is a maestro on the squeezebox. Will you join us later, Patrick?” she asked the orderly, who was in the middle of serving them port.

  “Sure, and I’d be happy to, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Gordon strummed a few chords and then began to play. At first she offered them some plaintive Portuguese tunes, and then a Spanish waltz.

  Val had loved music f
rom childhood, for his mother had had a fortepiano and played regularly. But he hadn’t had much music in his life since then. Pub songs, when George Burton had come home roaring drunk. The village carols. Hymns at Sunday services. And the usual marches and songs of war since he’d joined the army. The combination of the rich port and the sounds of the guitar strings relaxed and worked on him, opening doors that he had closed and locked long ago.

  “I am very drawn to the music of Spain,” Mrs. Gordon confessed, “although it is often in a minor key.”

  “Gi’e us some Bobby Burns, Peggy.”

  She smiled over at her husband. “Here is one that goes along with our dinner table conversation, Ian.”

  Major Gordon possessed a wonderful baritone voice and it was clear that the Gordon family sang together often, Val realized, when Elspeth joined in on the last verses:

  For a’ that, an’ a’ that,

  It’s comin’ yet for a’ that,

  That man to man the world o’er

  Shall brithers be for a’ that.”

  “Another chorus, Mrs. Gordon,” demanded Charlie, flinging his arm over Val’s shoulder as they sang.

  “I’ve never heard that sung before, Major Gordon,” said James, after the last notes rang out.

  “Oh, aye, amongst the Sassenach, Bobby is better known for his love songs, not that they aren’t something to be proud of too.”

  Mrs. Gordon began to strum and nodded at Elspeth, who began in a rich alto voice “Ae Fond Kiss.”

  “Had we never lov’d sae kindly

  we never lov’d sae blindly

  Never met or never parted—

  We had ne’er been broken-hearted.”