My Favorite Major

by Ava Stone; Lydia Dare

  Tristan reached into his pocket, retrieved a vellum card with his name scrawled across it, and handed it to the Irishman. “If by chance Mason does stumble in here, send word to me, will you? I’ll see you generously rewarded.” It was the least he could do, especially as he was fairly certain O’Leary’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take any charity.

  The one-time sergeant frowned as he pocketed the card. “Really that important ya find this friend o’ yours, huh?”

  Tristan shook his head. “Not a friend. The man I’m looking for shot Major Moore in the back a fortnight ago. The authorities are—”

  “Major Moore?” O’Leary’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “This Mason fellow you’re lookin’ for shot Major Moore? Of the 45th?”

  Tristan nodded. “As I said, the authorities are looking for him, but I’d like to find the fellow first.”

  “Aye, I bet ya would.” The Irishman scratched his head. “Shot in the back, ya say?”

  “I’m worried Mason might make another attempt, and I’d like to prevent such an occurrence.”

  O’Leary agreed with a slow incline of his head. “I know quite a few other fellows who would be happy ta look for Mason too. Some o’ them might remember the peacock ya mentioned earlier.” Then he patted his pocket where he’d tucked Tristan’s card away. I can promise ya, Lieutenant, if the coward’s in London, we’ll find him for ya.”

  Philip winced as he tossed on his shirt. His injury still felt tight, but he wasn’t going to get any better staying abed. Doing so would only make him weaker. Amelia wouldn’t like finding him out of his chambers, which was why he needed to dress as quickly as he could and join everyone in the breakfast room before his doting wife could stop him.

  He’d slid his jacket on and managed to button his trousers before he heard a knock at his door. Damn it all to hell. “Yes?” he called.

  “Philip?” Cordie’s voice filtered into the room. “Do you have a moment?”

  Thank God it was Cordie. Philip breathed a sigh of relief as he reached for his cane. He opened the door himself, which earned him a look of astonishment from the countess. “Morning, Cordie.”

  “Dear Heavens!” She gasped. “What are you doing out of bed? Amelia will—”

  “I am done with lying in beds.” He started past his childhood friend towards the steps. “And I’m done with eating in beds. I want a real meal at a real table.”

  Cordie followed him down the corridor. “Do you really think you should be up and around, Philip? Doctor Watts—”

  “Is overly cautious,” Philip finished for her. “I know myself, Cordie. And I know what I need to heal. And lying in bed like an invalid is not it.” He began to carefully descend the stairs. Damn it all. He’d already spent too much time in bed. His leg ached like the devil.

  “But Philip,” she complained from behind him. “I really don’t think now is the best time…”

  But he paid her no attention and simply concentrated on finding each step in front of him. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase, he glanced over his shoulder at the countess. “I do hope breakfast is ready.”

  Cordie frowned at him as she quickly descended the steps at a pace he would never again master. “You aren’t listening to me, Philip Moore.”

  “And you rarely listen to anyone else. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

  She thumped him in the chest. “Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard arrived late last night. I think it would be best—”

  “Amelia’s parents.” His new in-laws.

  “The very ones. That’s why I stopped to see you this morning. Mr. Pritchard isn’t in the best mood and I had thought—”

  “That you’d give him time to adjust to his daughter being married before they met me?”

  She sighed. “I just think it would be best.”

  She was always thinking something. Trying to find the best way to craft any situation to her liking. Philip smiled at her. “What’s done is done, Cordie. They’ll either like and approve of me, or they won’t. Delaying the inevitable only makes it more painful.”

  “They’ve accepted that Amelia has married you. They did so while you were…”

  “Dying,” he supplied.

  “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that.” Then she shook her head. “It isn’t as though they don’t approve of the match, it’s just that…”

  Dear God, he hated it whenever she beat around the bush. “It’s just what?” he prodded, with more bite than he meant. But, damn it to hell, she could frustrate a saint.

  “Well, Amelia hasn’t had the chance to divulge the particulars about Mr. Mason to her parents and…”

  “She’s continuing to let them believe Mason is a trusted neighbor?”

  Cordie winced. “Mr. Pritchard isn’t in the best health.”

  Women and their sensibilities. Philip shook his head. “And it would be better for the man to be lied to? I hardly think he would appreciate that. I hardly think he would want to aid the man who murdered his son—”

  A gasp sounded behind Philip, and Cordie’s face turned to ash. “Mr. Pritchard, have you finished your breakfast?” She brushed past Philip towards the breakfast room. “Is there anything else—”

  Philip turned on his heel to find an aged man with wild white hair and brows hunched forwards as though standing straight would be too much of a chore. “What did he say?”

  One would have thought with a man as old as Mr. Pritchard appeared, that his hearing would be poor as well. But it seemed as though that faculty was in perfect working order as the man glowered at Philip.

  “Please, Mr. Pritchard, let us retire to the parlor and wait for Amelia to join us.”

  But the man glanced past her at Philip. “What is this about murder?”

  Amelia sucked in a breath as she heard her father utter the word murder. What in the world was going on in the hallway?

  Across the breakfast table, her mother’s eyes widened in shock. “What’s all this?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Nothing to worry about, Mama,” she said as she rose from her seat. “Stay here.” Then Amelia hastened into the corridor after Papa. Just a few feet away, Cordie stood with… “Philip!” she chastised, stepping further into the hallway. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “This….” Papa pointed a knobby finger in Philip’s direction. “This is your husband?”

  This wasn’t exactly the way she’d planned on introducing Philip to her parents. Of course, she hadn’t planned on seeing her parents at all this morning. Their arrival had been a complete surprise. Still, she found herself nodding as she breezed past her father to Philip’s side. “Papa, this is my husband, Major Philip Moore. Philip, my father, Aldwyn Pritchard.”

  “Let us retire to the parlor, shall we?” Cordie said with feigned brightness and gestured closer to the front of the house with her hand.

  “I want to know,” Papa grumbled, “what you said, young man.”

  Heavens! What had Philip said? Amelia glanced up at her husband, who looked his usual stoic self, as though he lost every bit of warmth and gentleness he possessed when he left his bedchamber.

  Mama took that moment to step into the corridor. “Are we entertaining in the hallway?”

  “We really should adjourn to my green parlor,” Cordie insisted.

  “I think that’s a delightful suggestion, Lady Clayworth,” Mama agreed. “Come along, Al.”

  But Papa stubbornly shook his head as he glowered in Philip’s direction. “I’m not moving one step until you tell me what you said.”

  “Philip, what did you say?” Amelia muttered under her breath.

  Philip heaved a sigh. “You know I was shot in the back—” he pointed towards the front of the house “—right out there?”

  Papa nodded. “Amelia said as much.”

  “But she didn’t tell you the name of my assailant? Or the fact that—”

  “Philip!” Amelia hissed as the ground beneath her feet shifted. He couldn’t tell Papa about Mason
or her suspicions about Alan’s death. Not now, not here, not like this. Papa couldn’t possibly understand. “Please,” she begged.

  “You know who shot you?” Papa asked.

  “I do. Mr. Geoffrey Mason.”

  Papa’s face flamed like nothing Amelia had ever seen before. “You are a liar,” he bit out and shook as though standing had become a chore.

  “I am many things, but a liar is not one of them.”

  “You must be mistaken.” Mama hastened to Papa’s side and held him steady to keep him from tumbling to the ground. “Mr. Mason is a friend of the family. He would never do such a thing. Tell him, Amelia.”

  The corridor fell silent, with all eyes suddenly focused on Amelia. “I…”

  “Tell them, Amelia,” Philip urged when nothing else came out of her mouth. “They have a right to know.”

  Perhaps. But she’d never wanted to be the one who had to tell them. “We don’t know for certain, Papa,” she began. “But—”

  “See!” her father declared. “How dare you impugn an innocent man’s name, Moore? One would think an officer of your standing would be more…upstanding.”

  Philip’s dark eyes narrowed in annoyance on Amelia, though he spoke loud enough for her parents to hear him. “The police are, even now, searching out Mason, Mr. Pritchard. I assure you he is the fellow.”

  “But that makes no sense,” Mama chimed in. “I cannot believe Mr. Mason would do such a thing. It isn’t in his character.”

  “I believe, as does your daughter, that Mason was unhappy over our betrothal and thought to eliminate me as his competition for her hand.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Mama declared. “Not the Geoffrey Mason we know. He’s not the sort.”

  And years ago, Amelia wouldn’t have believed it either. But her parents were still blind to Geoffrey’s true nature. And with her father’s health, she would have let him believe the best in their neighbor until the very end. The truth might very well kill Papa, and she didn’t want that on her conscience.

  “That man,” Papa’s voice rang out clear and proud, “is like a son to me. Always has been. He was with my son when I couldn’t be. So I think I’ll reserve my judgment until I hear what he has to say, if you don’t mind.” Then he looked at Mama. “I want to retire in our chambers, Helen.”

  “Of course,” Mama replied, shooting Philip and Amelia a look of derision as she offered her arm to Papa to help him walk past the crowd gathered in the hallway.

  Amelia smiled wanly at her parents and then glanced up at her still-healing husband. “Was that necessary?” she asked once her mother and father were out of earshot.

  “Why didn’t you tell them the truth?” he countered.

  “Honestly!” Cordie heaved a sigh. “We truly should adjourn to my parlor. This is not the sort of conversation people should have in corridors.”

  But Amelia paid her new cousin no attention as her eyes were still locked with Philip’s. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Stretching my legs, and I think I’ll take a stroll down Hertford Street.” Then he turned on his heel, albeit slower than he once had.

  Amelia caught up to him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, Philip. Doctor Watts…”

  He stopped in his tracks, and she nearly stumbled into him. “I’m not a child, Amelia. And neither is your father. He deserves the truth. And I deserve the license to make my own decisions.” Then he started once more for the front door.

  “Philip!” she called after him, wishing she could make him stay, but realizing he was in no mood to listen to her wants. “Please be careful.” If any harm should befall him, she didn’t know what she would do.

  Philip stepped outside Clayworth House to find a pair of fellows standing sentry on the stoop. “Pardon me,” he said, still rather annoyed at his wife.

  “Major.” One of the men nodded in greeting. “So good to see you up and about, sir.”

  It was then that Philip recognized the pair. “Corporal Byrne? Private Kelly?” What in the world were two men from the 27th doing on Clayworth’s doorstep?

  “Just Byrne and Kelly these days, sir.” Byrne gestured to his slightly ratty jacket.

  “O’Leary sent us,” Kelly added, as though that was supposed to make sense to Philip.

  “Sergeant O’Leary?”

  “He’s just O’Leary these days too,” Byrne replied. “But when he told us what happened ta ya, we volunteered ta keep an eye on ya.”

  They were guards of some sort? “I haven’t seen O’Leary since Belgium.” The two of them had been in the same surgical tent after the battle. O’Leary had lost arm and been nearly despondent. “How is he?”

  Kelly grinned. “Like a new man since he heard about ya, Major Moore. He’s gathered a slew of us from the 27th, and fellas from other regiments ta help Lieutenant Avery find your villain.”

  “Not ta worry, sir,” Byrne added. “We’ll find that bastard and make sure he pays for his cowardice. On that ya can depend.”

  The men from the 27th were a noble group. Philip nodded at the pair. “I am in your debt.”

  “But there are so many of us in yours, sir. It’s the least we can do,” Byrne said. “Are ya headed somewhere?”

  “Just for a stroll.” He tapped his bad leg with his cane. “It’s best if I walk a bit everyday to stay strong.”

  “You’re leavin’ your wife in there?” Kelly gestured to Clayworth House with his head.

  “Probably best for right now.” After all, he was too irritated to be good company for Amelia at the moment. And he wasn’t sure how long it would be before he was in a better mood.

  Kelly chuckled. “Problems with your wife, huh? I’ll stay here then and keep an eye on the house. Byrne knows more about wives than I do.”

  Philip shook his head. “Really, it’s not necessary. I won’t be gone very long.”

  But Byrne scoffed. “Lieutenant Avery told us that if we let the bastard near ya, he’d have our arses. Better safe than sorry, Major.”

  Tristan was behind this? And O’Leary? “Does Lady Clayworth know you’re camped out on her front stoop?” After all, the pair did look a bit like ruffians, and they were Irish, and though Philip didn’t question their honor, the same couldn’t be said for most living in London. They might have all of Mayfair in an uproar if they remained at their post much longer.

  Kelly shrugged. “Lieutenant Avery said we were ta stand right here.”

  “Why don’t we have you stand right inside instead? We’ll get you some fresh coffee and—”

  “I don’t know if the lieutenant would like that.”

  Philip smiled at the pair. “He sent you to guard my wife and me?”

  The Irishmen nodded.

  “Well, I’d feel better if you were inside, rather than out.” He opened the door and gestured the pair over the threshold. “Come on. We’d best get you introduced to Higgins anyway, so he doesn’t call the watch on you.”

  Byrne and Kelly exchanged an uncertain look.

  “Do I need to make it an order?”

  Kelly chuckled once more. “We’re not in the army anymore, Major. But if ya want us inside, we’ll go inside.”

  Philip opened the front door and stepped back into Clayworth House. He’d only been gone a moment, but now Higgins stood in the entryway as though he’d been conjured up. The butler must have been hiding behind a potted palm during the unfortunate encounter with Amelia’s parents. Philip nodded at Clayworth’s trusted servant. “Higgins, Mr. Kelly here has been sent by Lieutenant Avery to keep an eye on things today. Get him settled in the parlor with some coffee, will you?”

  “Of course, Major,” the butler replied as though nothing surprised him anymore.

  Then Philip met Byrne’s eyes. “I won’t be long, just enough to stretch my legs.” And to ease his temper. Who knew how long that would take?

  Byrne grinned as though he somehow heard Philip’s unsaid thoughts. “Ya can take as long as ya need, sir. I won’t le
ave your side.”

  They started off amiably down Hertford Street, and Byrne cocked his head towards Philip. “A word of advice for a newly married man, Major.” When Philip turned his attention to the Irishman, Byrne grinned. “No matter what you’ve done, no matter that you’re most likely right about whatever it is, ya have ta fall on your knees before your wife and tell her you’re sorry.”

  Philip snorted, which only made Byrne laugh.

  “I’m tellin’ ya the truth, sir. If ya want her warmin’ your bed, ya need ta apologize for things ya have done, things you’re doin’, and things ya haven’t even thought of doin’ yet. Mark me words.”

  Amelia warming his bed. Damn, he did want that. But he was not about to apologize for speaking the truth.

  Amelia massaged her temples with her fingers, hoping to stave off a headache. What an unfortunate turn of events had occurred this morning. If only she’d been able to warn Philip about her parents. If only he hadn’t mentioned the word ‘murder’ in front of her father. If only Papa was capable of hearing the truth.

  “Try not to fret,” Cordie said as she slid beside Amelia on the settee. “There’s always a bit of adjustment with the merging of two families.”

  A mirthless laugh escaped Amelia. “I don’t think that was an adjustment.” Her father would never approve of Philip now.

  Cordie squeezed her hand. “You should have seen the spectaclethat occurred when Brendan and I arrived at Bayhurst Court after we said our vows.”

  “You eloped,” Amelia muttered. She’d heard the rumors even in Wales.

  Cordie nodded. “Something no one who knows Brendan would ever imagine him doing, but he was saving me from my own foolishness.”

  “Was your family very angry?” That would certainly explain the sideshow comment.

  “My mother is always angry.” Then a bemused smile settled on Cordie’s face. “But my brothers were relieved I’d eloped with Brendan and not Lord Haversham. When we arrived at Bayhurst, all three of my brothers were in residence as well as my mother, who had already alienated poor Thomas and insulted Rosamund beyond measure.”