by Sahara Kelly
“Here you are, darling. Your baby is quite well.” Rosaline bent down and put the chick on the ground, to be fussed over by Henrietta. “What a good mother you are, dear.”
“Er, Rosaline? I believe I have been wounded by that damn bird.”
The eyebrow rose once more. “That damn bird, as you call her, and her offspring here, pretty much guarantees that we’re one more step along the road to financial recovery, my Lord. Kindly put a little more respect into your tone.”
“Really?” He raised his brows in the manner that used to incite terror in young midshipmen.
Unaffected, Rosaline nodded. “Yes. It’s the little triumphs that are important, you know. Each one marks progress. And progress is what we need.” She walked over to him, carefully cradling the eggs. “Were you looking for me, by the way?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I was. I didn’t know, of course, that I would be interrupting—or participating in—a poultry poetry recital, and that event drove my original purpose quite out of my mind.”
“Well, now’s your chance to reveal your purpose…” She got no further since their stroll had brought them to the kitchen entrance, where a familiar figure was about to knock.
“Mr. Farnwell.”
“Yer Lordship, m’Lady.” Farnwell doffed his cap and bowed. “I got yer message. We got things to talk about. Tide’ll be right two nights hence.”
And with those words, Edmund knew his momentary idyll was at an end. “Very well. Let’s go to my office. I’ll have the details if you please.”
Chapter Thirteen
It really was quite amazing, realized Rosaline a few days later, that a trip such as the one her husband was undertaking could be organized with such rapidity.
One visit from Tom Farnwell and sure enough, two days later the crew of the Rose of Ridlington sailed out on their adventure.
It was an adventure to Edmund—that was plain to see. And she took no offense at his excitement, since she knew what it was like for a sailor to miss the sea. Always an observant woman, she’d known when Lord Henry had had enough of dry land. And she’d also known that it had nothing to do with her.
So she was able to view Edmund’s eagerness with understanding, hiding the only issue that troubled her—his safety. With her first husband, the goal had been to hear the door close behind him.
With Edmund, Rosaline’s prayer was to hear the door open so that she could welcome him home.
His crew seemed experienced, though, so that was one worry off her mind. Four men, all skilled seamen; two who were fishermen of some repute, and two more who were ex-Navy. James, when asked, had revealed that he really would be staying behind, not because of his lack of experience, but because Edmund had specifically requested it.
Rosaline had stared at him. “Really?”
“Yes. Your husband said he’d feel better about the trip if he knew I was here at the Chase.”
“But there’s Simon…”
James put a companionable arm around her shoulder. “Who is a great fellow, but has his own duties to attend to. With Richard in London, both Edmund and I agreed that it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands around here.”
Rosaline lifted an eyebrow. “A pair of male hands, I take it.”
“Are you bothered by this?”
She sighed. “No, James. In truth I am happy to have you stay. It’s just that I’m used to doing most things myself. I haven’t ever thought that I needed any kind of other protection.”
“And I’m not here to protect you, Rosaline. I know you well and you’re a match for most situations that might arise.” He hugged her. “Give you a sword and we’d have Napoleon running like the wind.”
She chuckled. “Let’s not go too far with the praise, my dear.”
“Very well. But reassure me that my presence isn’t unwelcome.”
“It’s never unwelcome. You know that.”
“Good. That’s settled.” He moved away. “Now I am promised to help Miss Letitia this morning. She has asked me to assist in a hunt for elderberry plants. I sincerely hope she can first tell me what they look like, or I’m afraid we’ll end up with nightshade instead.” He shook his head ruefully as he gave her a parting wave.
“Good luck with the hunt.” Rosaline waved back.
And realized how empty the house was without Edmund.
Force of habit had her glancing at the massive grandfather clock in the hall. They’d been gone several hours now, having sailed on the tide well before dawn.
She’d been told little about the details, only that they would be heading for Mauve-sur-Mer, a little French village not far from Cherbourg. Edmund had mentioned that the anchorage there was ideal for the Rose, and he was quite happy about the destination.
About the cargo, he said not a word. She wasn’t sure if this was due to the fact that he didn’t know what he was supposed to collect, or he had been asked not to say. Either way, she let it go. Her curiosity had been aroused, of course. But with the nature of this voyage, she felt that it would be better to focus on what was important. She’d find out the rest upon his safe return.
All of which was quite logical and correct, but did nothing to ease that feeling of emptiness she experienced as she walked through the house. Hecate was off somewhere doing whatever it was Hecate did. She’d appear when she was ready and Rosaline had learned not to worry too much about her. She was a unique character, but there seemed to be a solid thread of common sense underlying the mystical air she favored.
Letitia was in James’s company. And that combination fascinated Rosaline. She sensed a developing…something…between them, but wasn’t sure if it was a simple friendship or the beginnings of a deeper relationship. James would be a good match, of course. But he was older, by some eight or nine years. Many would not care, seeing only the uniting of two relatively acceptable families.
But Rosaline, who had been married to a much older man, couldn’t help but wonder if the quietly demure Letitia might benefit from someone younger who could help her explore the fun and excitement she had certainly missed here at Ridlington.
Then she reminded herself that James wasn’t Lord Henry, thank God.
Heading to the small salon where she planned on reviewing some lists for linens and other household items, she glanced once again at the clock.
Ten more minutes had passed.
They’d anticipated a trip of around twelve hours or so, assuming weather and tidal conditions to be as normal as possible, and their arrival should give them an hour of light if all went well.
Noting the use of the terms “assuming” and “should” in Edmund’s comments hadn’t exactly imbued Rosaline with a sense of security, but again she had reminded herself that Edmund, of all people, knew what he was doing when aboard a ship.
So she let him go with a lingering kiss, and a smile on her lips. And if that was followed by a brief private little weep, and some intense prayers, well who was to know?
Nothing would be accomplished by sitting around and driving herself into a fit of the sullens. There were tasks to be done, whether Edmund was there or not. And she could always go and visit Henrietta. A little Wordsworth would probably do them both good.
But before she could gain the privacy of her salon and her lists, Chidwell appeared in her path, looking…fraught. Quite unlike himself, in fact.
“Chidwell? Is everything all right?”
“Well, m’Lady…I don’t know. Really I don’t.”
“What on earth is it?”
“Soldiers, m’Lady. Soldiers.” He was visibly shaken.
“Soldiers? Good grief. Here?”
“Yes, ma’am. And…and…there’s a lot of ‘em.”
*~~*~~*
“Good day to you, my Lady. May I present myself…Lieutenant Mansfield of the 10th Hussars.”
The smart salute that accompanied this greeting was executed with style by the uniformed gentleman standing on the front doorstep of Ridlington Chase. His clothing
dazzled, his buttons shone, his face was adorned with a rather luxuriant mustache, and a dress sword hung gleaming from his thick leather belt.
“Er...good day, Lieutenant Mansfield. Might one inquire as to what is going on here?” She looked over his shoulder. “Not an invasion, I trust?”
Rosaline felt she spoke for both herself and Chidwell, who was apparently suffering from a serious attack of nerves behind her. She swore she could hear his teeth chattering. Of course, given the fact that about fifty of the Lieutenant’s fellow Hussars were at this very moment arrayed in a tidy block on the Chase’s front lawn, Chidwell wasn’t the only one on the brink of an attack of the vapors.
There was a sound, a mixture of a snort and a chuckle. “Goodness no, m’Lady. We are merely reporting in to the Household of the most Honorable Baron Ridlington. We’ll be conducting…er…exercises in the neighborhood for the next few days. It’s protocol for us to declare our presence to the ranking household in the area.” He glanced at her briefly, then reassumed his parade ground stance. “You, Ma’am, are it.”
“I are?” She blinked. “Er…I mean I am?”
“Yes, Ma’am. In the Baron’s absence, the Lady of the House is to be kept informed.”
“How did you…” Rosaline’s voice tapered off. “Damn. You’d better come in, Lieutenant. I have questions.”
At that he took a step back and saluted. “It would be my honor, Ma’am. However, before I can allow myself the pleasure, I must see to my men. With your permission, we’ll bivouac in the field over there. Unless you refuse permission…?”
Since the field he’d indicated held no livestock other than the odd rabbit or two, Rosaline felt she could agree with a clear conscience. “By all means, Lieutenant. Please make whatever arrangements you regard as appropriate.”
“Thank you, m’Lady.” Another salute followed, and she could have sworn his mustache assumed a new rigidity at the same time.
My goodness, the man must have spent years perfecting those moves.
“I will take you up on your kind invitation in two hours, if that will be acceptable?”
“Of course. Perhaps you will care to take tea.”
“A rare treat, Ma’am. You are most gracious.”
And with that—and of course one final salute—the Lieutenant spun on one heel, clicked his boots sharply and marched off down the steps and back to his regiment. Orders were roared, then bellowed and much scrambling ensued.
All of which proved vastly entertaining to Hecate and Letitia, who had been watching the show from the windows in the hall.
“Girls, come away,” Rosaline spoke with some urgency. “The last thing we want is to be inundated with young soldiers looking for…er…”
“Companionship? Affection?” Letitia grinned.
“Oooh…a bit of a cuddle?” Hecate’s lips curled into a giggle.
Rosaline threw up her hands. “I give up. Chidwell’s fainting, you two are lusting, and I’ve a regiment bivouacking in my garden, not to mention I’m taking tea with a Lieutenant who salutes better than a mechanical tin soldier.” She stalked away from her audience. “Whoever said life was dull in the country, never lived at Ridlington Chase.”
“Oh, but…”
“Rosaline, dearest…”
“No, no and no.” Rosaline turned. “Trust me on this, girls. You do not want to encourage those lads.”
Two sets of lips pouted.
“We never have any fun,” sighed Hecate.
“I was only going to offer them some tea. And perhaps a few biscuits,” added Letitia. “You know. In the most motherly of ways.”
Rosaline blinked. Then observed identical twinkles in two pairs of completely different eyes.
“You two will be the death of me, I swear.” She shook her head. “Go away. Enough teasing for today.”
“Very well, dear Rosaline.”
Letitia hurried up, laughing, and hugged her, followed by Hecate.
“We couldn’t resist, dear sister. Your face was…well, just perfect.”
Rosaline rolled her eyes. “Hecate, you might as well make yourself useful and alert the staff as to the status of the regiment outside. And you, Letitia, weren’t you supposed to be hunting elderberries with James?”
“Damn.” Letitia mumbled the oath under her breath. “I completely forgot.” She hurried away.
Rosaline resumed her progress to the salon with a sigh. Right at this moment, a boringly dull list of linens sounded a lot more appealing than it had done ten minutes ago.
Chapter Fourteen
Blissfully unaware that his land had just been invaded by a regiment of the 10th Hussars, Edmund leaned against the ship’s rail and gazed at France.
Not all of it, of course, just the small piece he could see jutting into the Channel. It was quite mundane; a few buildings scattered across the low hills that sloped to the beach, and a cluster of houses, now with lights beginning to flicker, at the mouth of a little estuary. That was Mauve-sur-Mer.
It did not appear to be a country at war, and yet Edmund was only too aware of the turmoil still ongoing under the leadership of Emperor Napoleon.
As far as he knew, Madame Guillotine was a lot less active than she’d been during the Reign of Terror, but it didn’t have to be the threat of death that made people quietly seek an exit from this turbulent little country. And he was here to collect one.
Or two, as it happened.
They’d reached anchor a little later than planned, but it had still been light enough for them to make contact with a small fishing vessel, as per the arrangements.
He did what so many sailors have found themselves doing—leaning against the ship’s rail and waiting. Edmund had been assured that there would be no difficulty—a statement which he took with a large grain of salt.
There were always difficulties, no matter how carefully a plan had been detailed. The Bard of Avon had it right. Things all too often “gang agley”.
“Fog before morn.” Albert Tanner came up to stand beside him.
Edmund sniffed the air. “You’re right, I think. Will it burn off early enough for us to get underway?”
“Dunno. Ask me tomorrer.”
And the mostly silent man walked away, having imparted his knowledge to his captain as per protocol.
Edmund allowed himself a quiet chuckle. Country folk were unique, whether on land or sea. His crew was stalwart, experienced and confined themselves to the fewest words possible. Whether this was because they were well-trained by garrulous wives, or simply didn’t have much to say, Edmund wasn’t sure. He was still pondering that question.
He knew he had often kept his conversation to a minimum, but it certainly wasn’t because he had a wife who never stopped talking.
His thoughts swung to Rosaline, something that tended to happen a lot these days. Now he had time—he could do nothing to hasten the current situation—so for once, there was time to reflect, to think about the changes he’d experienced in the few short months since he’d returned to become the next Baron Ridlington.
Rosaline. Always Rosaline.
He thanked God he’d followed that brief moment of madness and asked her to marry him. He still wasn’t sure why she’d said yes, but his life had begun to improve from that moment. Warmth had begun to return to the Chase, along with a decided increase in the number of smiles per day from its residents.
Was it all because of her?
Maybe, maybe not. But her overall common sense and positive attitude had helped them over the lingering darkness occasioned by the death of his father. And it had certainly pushed them forward into a much better and lighter place. He was already thinking of Ridlington as home—somewhere he wanted to be. It hadn’t been that way for most of his life.
But now, with his wife turning it into something exciting and alluring, no longer a gloomy mausoleum of cold rooms and even colder people, he found himself wishing he were there right at this moment.
With her.
W
atching her eyes reflect her emotions, and waiting for that wicked little smile that she tried to control but let slip through now and again. It enchanted him. As did she.
Darkness slid over the sky, and the stars began to twinkle at him as he stood silent, listening to the ocean, and to his heart.
The sea had been his only love for more years than he could remember, but looking upward into the heavens, he accepted that there was something new in his heart.
Rosaline.
It was an odd moment to realize that one was in love with one’s wife, but there it was. Less than a mile from a foreign shore, on a small packet boat, the Captain admitted the truth to himself.
And smiled.
God, I can’t wait to get home.
*~~*~~*
Rosaline, at about the time that Edmund was making for the French coastline, had other matters to cope with, namely one Lieutenant Mansfield.
He arrived promptly, saluted with a great deal of elegance, removed his tall hat and stuck it under his arm, and followed her into the large salon, where tea had been prepared. Thankfully he’d left his sword in his tent for the informal visit, otherwise he might well have shattered the small table next to the sofa where he seated himself.
That table was already on its last legs, thought Rosaline as she poured tea. It wouldn’t do to have a soldier kill it for good. Poor chap would be terribly upset.
“Milk?”
“Yes please, Ma’am. You’re very kind.”
He was most uncomfortable, she realized, which was a shame. He was probably quite nice when not playing the role of Perfect Military Man.
“Not at all, Lieutenant. We get few guests here at Ridlington, since we are in the process of a lot of restoration and remodeling. As you can probably tell.” She handed him his cup and saucer. “It is pleasant to take a brief respite and chat with a new acquaintance.”
Returning to her chair, she helped herself to tea and placed a tray of Cook’s masterpieces—shortbread biscuits and blackberry tartlets—on the table between them.