by Cheryl Holt
* * * *
James tarried behind a stack of crates, furtively observing Amelia, Laura, and Victoria. They were standing next to the wagon that had conveyed their possessions down to the harbor. Their trunks and bags had already been ferried out to the ship. Shortly, they would climb into a long boat and would be rowed out too.
Since the last night they’d dallied, he hadn’t visited her. Though it was bizarre, he’d been angry with her for going, but why wouldn’t she? She’d come to Gibraltar to live with her brother, not to engage in a torrid affair with James.
He’d been angry too that she’d tried to force the issue of their marrying. With her mentioning it, he’d been swamped by the most potent yearning.
What might it have been like to wed her? What if it hadn’t been awful? What if it had been marvelous? Bachelors figured out how to be husbands and fathers every day. Why couldn’t he?
He’d convinced himself that she’d been wise to avoid a maudlin farewell at the wharf. Why trudge to the harbor? Why watch her depart? But he’d been pacing at the stables, his anxiety stirring up the horses so they kicked and snorted and fretted over his distress.
Ultimately, he’d realized he was feeling particularly morose, almost as if his heart was breaking, which was ridiculous.
How could she desert him? Why would she want that?
Of course he hadn’t given her a better option, hadn’t pointed out a better road. Her road led straight to London, and he wouldn’t head there with her.
A sailor gestured to them, apprising them that it was time to climb into the long boat, time to be rowed out to their ship. If James intended to say goodbye to her like a sane adult, it was now or never.
Victoria and Laura trekked down the pier with the sailor, but Amelia hung back, searching the crowd. He was vain enough to suppose she was hunting for him, lest he show up and surprise her.
He emerged from his hiding spot and walked over to her. She smiled such a beautiful smile that it nearly knocked him over. She extended her hands to him, and he hurried over and clasped hold.
“There you are!” She was beaming with joy. “I told you not to see me off, but I was hoping you wouldn’t listen.”
“I should have spent these last two days at your cottage. I should have helped you pack. I should have been with you every minute.”
“It would have made this so much harder.”
“You know I’m an idiot and a fool, right?”
“Oh, yes, I know.”
“You were very brave the other evening, and I’m sorry I can’t oblige you. I’m sure I’ll regret it forever.”
She chuckled. “I will be incredibly obnoxious and agree with you.”
“It will be so quiet after you’re gone.”
“You could still come with us.”
As she voiced the comment, there was a moment where Time seemed to stop, where the Earth ceased spinning on its axis. He could have relented, could have pushed his future in a totally different direction. But not only was he a fool, he was very stupid too.
Why couldn’t he ever choose the correct path? What was wrong with him?
“I can’t, Amelia,” he said. “My life is here. My job is here.” Tears flooded her pretty blue eyes, and he scolded, “Don’t you dare cry or you’ll have me blubbering too.”
“That would be a sight to see. The grand and remarkable Captain Hastings bawling like a baby.”
His broken heart cracked into a dozen tiny pieces.
“Will you write to me?” he asked. “Could we correspond?”
“No. We should have a complete separation. It’s the only way I can bear it.”
At hearing her decision, he was inordinately crushed. “If you ever need anything, contact me immediately. You can always locate me through the army.”
“Thank you, James, but I’ll have my brother to take care of me.”
“You can’t predict what might happen.”
“No, you can’t,” she said, and she sighed. “I’ll think of you in India. I’ll imagine you safe and happy.”
“I will be safe and happy.”
“Don’t let any villains slash you with a saber or stab you with a dagger. You’ve given quite enough flesh to King and country.”
“I will be extra cautious—just for you.”
Their banter dwindled, and an oppressive silence descended. There were a thousand things he’d never told her, but what was the point? They’d arrived at the end of their journey together, and there was no reason to engage in mawkish sentiment.
He thought he loved her though. He thought he might love her until he drew his last breath. He ought to muster his courage and tell her, but he was a coward and couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Goodbye, Captain Hastings,” she murmured.
“Goodbye, Miss Boyle. I’ll miss you every day.”
“And I’ll miss you.”
He hugged her then, and she hugged him back, and they gripped each other as if they were survivors of a hideous, death-defying accident. She was the first to pull away, but then, he’d understood that she was stronger than he was. She emitted a single sob, then ran to the long boat.
“Goodbye,” he said, much more softly.
She was overwrought, and she fell into Victoria’s arms. Victoria steadied her and helped her into the small boat. Victoria flashed James a meager smile, then she climbed in too.
Laura was still standing on the pier. Suddenly, she bolted toward him, and he dropped to a knee, scooped her up, and cradled her to his chest.
She started to cry and, her mouth at his ear, she stunned him by saying, “Come with us. Please?”
“I can’t, honey. My life is in Gibraltar.”
She peered up at him with those poignant eyes of hers.
“Don’t stay here by yourself!” she begged. “You’re terrible at being alone.”
He laughed miserably. “Yes, I am.”
“Come with us! It will never be the same without you. Don’t make us leave you behind.”
It was the closest he’d been to shucking it all off—his world and his career and his horses—but he couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t go with them. He’d told her his life was in Gibraltar, and he’d meant it.
In the army, he had a purpose. He was respected and esteemed for his skills. He had friends who revered him for his bravery, loyalty, and audacity. In Gibraltar, he had everything. In London, he would have nothing at all.
He shook his head. “I can’t, Laura. I’m sorry.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
“I guess I don’t want to then.”
She glared at him, and it was clear she wouldn’t try to change his mind. She’d had a life filled with adults who’d disappointed her. He was simply one more who’d let her down.
She spun and raced to the boat, and she clambered in and snuggled onto the bench with Amelia. The sailor cast off and began rowing out to the ship. Amelia watched him constantly, their gazes locked, as they moved farther and farther away. She and Victoria grinned and waved, but Laura didn’t. She stared straight ahead, braced for whatever would occur next.
He was frozen in his spot, and he didn’t wave back, didn’t give any sign of how disconcerted he was. They reached the ship and climbed on board, and they dawdled at the rail, chattering and gesturing at the town’s various landmarks.
Shortly, whistles blew, and sailors rushed about. Orders were shouted, but he couldn’t hear what they were.
A sail was hoisted, and it caught the wind. The vessel was sleek and well-constructed. It responded quickly, flitting out of the harbor much too fast for James’s liking. Another sail was hoisted, and another, and the ship glided toward the horizon, growing smaller and smaller and smaller until it vanished.
Could Amelia still see him? Could Laura? In case they could, he hurried to the end of the pier, and he waved and waved until his arm was too tired to continue. Then he turned away and proceede
d to his stables so he could be with his horses.
Somehow, it didn’t sound as if it would ever fill the void their departure had already created. What would he do without them?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Evan Boyle sat in the parlor of his childhood home in London. The drapes were closed, the room dark and quiet. It was just how he liked it, which was odd. Previously, he’d been very gregarious, had had scores of friends. He’d never met a person he didn’t like.
He’d sailed the globe in the navy, had relished his rough-and-tumble existence. And of course, his male kin had all been sailors. It was the path set for him before he’d been born, but it had been the perfect path. He’d reveled in the dangers and perils the navy had provided. It had all seemed like a terrifying, satisfying game—until it wasn’t anymore.
What now? What now?
The question flitted past, but he ignored it. What was the point of obsessing over what he couldn’t fix?
He could have put the knocker on the door to announce he was in London, but he didn’t want anyone to discover he was back. He couldn’t stand having visitors and wouldn’t allow them to gape. Nor could he abide the prospect of pitying glances or sympathetic whispers as news of his condition spread. He wouldn’t be a ghoul that rumormongers came to ogle.
In the kitchen, the cook rattled some pans, and he nearly shouted at her to pipe down. The clamor made his head ache, made him jump, made him anxious, and he hated being so weak. He hated being so angry too, but he couldn’t tamp down the rage that burned inside.
On the trip home, a kindly surgeon, who’d treated military men for decades, had assured him he would heal physically but that he would continue to suffer mentally. The man had witnessed the lingering trauma catastrophe could render.
Would Evan always jump and blanch and fret? Would he always seethe with fury? How could that be? Until his recent mishap, he’d been happy and carefree, had been lucky and had lived a charmed life, but now, he was wounded, maimed, and pathetic. Where was that other, better fellow hiding?
He felt as if a stranger had entered his body, as if Evan Boyle had perished on that pirate’s deck. His soul had flitted off to Heaven, and an evil spirit had swooped down and assumed control instead. He was that different, that changed.
A footman tiptoed in, and he waited silently in the doorway until Evan deigned to say, “Yes, what is it?”
“You’re due for more laudanum, Master Boyle. You asked me to remind you.”
“I don’t want any at the moment. Check in an hour.”
“Very good, sir.”
The idiot slithered off to the kitchen where he and the cook would gossip about issues that were none of their business, namely Evan’s wretched attitude and behavior.
On top of all his other problems, he’d developed a precarious addiction to the foul opiate. He couldn’t go without it for even the smallest amount of time. He didn’t need it to numb the pain as he had in the beginning, but he needed it to calm his livid thoughts, to overcome his insomnia.
He wasn’t strong enough to refuse it, and it was another sign of how weak he’d grown. The old Evan, the brawny Evan, would never have succumbed to such a humiliating compulsion.
His anger surged again at his mother and his sister. How dare his mother pass away—without his being home to bury her! How dare Amelia depart without gaining his permission! How dare she be away when he arrived!
On the entire journey to London, he’d sustained himself with the realization that he would soon be with both of them so they could nurse him, but he’d staggered in to the devastating news of his mother’s death and a shuttered, empty house.
He’d like to sprout wings and fly to Gibraltar. He’d reprimand Amelia for leaving him to flounder on his own, and he’d demand she return to take care of him. When would she learn he wasn’t debarking in Gibraltar? And once she was apprised, what would she do?
Gibraltar was a fascinating place, and she’d never traveled anywhere. What if she was enjoying herself so much that she decided to stay there?
He had to write to her, had to tell her how desperately he needed her, but he was certain he’d weep all over the pages. Besides, he couldn’t write anymore.
The surgeon had cut off his hand to save his useless life.
During the voyage, infection had festered in his wounds. He’d been delirious and dying, so it had been the only appropriate course, but he hadn’t been aware of the calamity until much later.
He no longer had a hand on the end of his arm, and he wished he was dead! That was the gist of it. The only reason he wasn’t was because he was too much of a coward to kill himself.
A carriage stopped out front, and he pushed himself to his feet and went over to peek out the drapes. He’d been so meticulous about concealing his presence, and he hoped it was someone who was lost and had pulled up at the wrong address.
A more disturbing prospect unnerved him. What if it was a sailor from the naval office, charged with forcing him to fill out his resignation papers? There was no other choice, but at the notion, he was sick at heart.
A beautiful woman emerged from the vehicle. She was striking and voluptuous, with blond hair and a curvaceous figure. She reached in and lifted a young girl down to the ground. The girl was pretty too, short and slender with white-blond hair, so she resembled an angel or a fairy.
Then…
Amelia climbed out. She stared up at the house and tossed a comment to her companions, and they all laughed. He was swamped by such a wave of relief that he began to blubber like a baby. He stumbled over to the door, opened it, and practically fell into her arms.
She was home. Finally. Everything would be fine now. He just knew it.
* * * *
Victoria loafed in the Boyle’s comfortable parlor. It was a lovely residence, and she was delighted to be living in it.
Their homecoming had been as they’d expected, but not as they’d expected too. They’d grasped that Evan Boyle would be there and that he’d been injured, but they hadn’t had any idea of how dire his condition actually was. They’d been so excited to arrive that they hadn’t fully considered the situation they would face. They hadn’t wanted to admit that such a dashing fellow could be laid low.
But Victoria had been General Bennett’s wife for most of a decade. One of her jobs had been to visit the wounded. She’d observed more maiming than any woman ought to witness, and medical treatment was so brutal and ineffective. She couldn’t count the number of men she’d met who had lost limbs, with surgeons insisting it was the only means to save a life.
Every single man who’d endured that fate had whispered to her that he would rather be dead. Evan Boyle was no different.
He was thin as a rail, so emaciated he looked like a scarecrow. He was angry and abrupt too, was impatient and grouchy, and Victoria suspected he was imbibing too much laudanum as well. She and Laura tiptoed around, keeping out of his way so they didn’t aggravate him to the point where he’d order them off the premises.
Victoria was determined to remain with Amelia, both because she had no other option, but also because—if Victoria was correct in her assessment—Amelia was about to have her own dilemma to deal with. She would need Victoria’s help to stagger through it.
As if Victoria had conjured her up by thinking about her so intensely, Amelia trudged down the stairs. She’d donned her cloak and bonnet and was ready to head off on her errands.
“If you’re dressed to go out,” Victoria said, “you must be feeling better.”
Amelia sighed. “I must have caught a bug on the ship. I can’t seem to shake my nausea.”
“Yes, it has been quite persistent.”
“I’m glad it hasn’t affected you.”
Victoria bit down a snort. “So am I.”
“Cook fed me some dry toast. I’m much improved.”
Victoria stared at Amelia, and she swallowed down so many words that they were choking her.
<
br /> Amelia had been ill the whole voyage, with the nausea kicking in from the very first morning, and she’d convinced herself that it was seasickness. She’d constantly remarked that it hadn’t bothered her once on the trip to Gibraltar, but it had plagued her all the way back.
Victoria kept waiting for her to figure it out. In the alternative, she was trying to deduce how long she should delay in explaining what was occurring. James had previously mentioned to Victoria that he didn’t believe he could sire any children, but obviously, he’d been wrong.
He had to be apprised, and he had to sail to England and do the right thing. Yet he was departing for India as soon as his transfer was granted. After he traipsed off across the world, there would be no stopping him.
Victoria wanted to cluck her tongue and scold them. James was a reckless idiot, but Amelia wasn’t. How had she fallen into such a trap? Then again, James Hastings was a trap in which any female would love to be ensnared.
“Where’s your brother?” Victoria asked.
“Just crawling out of bed.”
“Would you like me to check on him while you’re away?”
“No. If he needs anything, I’m sure he’ll shout at the servants.”
They chuckled, but grimly. Amelia was very gentle with him. She was tolerant of his fits and overly-solicitous of his demands, but Victoria thought they should take a firmer hand. It wasn’t beneficial for him to be coddled, wasn’t helpful to pretend his life hadn’t been totally changed, that his career wasn’t over.
Amelia tolerated him as he raged and insulted, but Victoria would like to whack him alongside the head and tell him to buck up and quit feeling sorry for himself. He was a military man, a naval hero. He was used to obeying orders, used to persevering through tough circumstances. This was the worst he’d ever face, and she was certain—if he had reasons to push himself—he would recuperate more rapidly.
It wasn’t her place to comment though, so she didn’t voice any of the advice she was dying to share.
Amelia looked over at Laura where she was sitting in the corner. The girl had blossomed significantly since they’d reached London. She talked occasionally, not a lot, but occasionally. She still scrupulously studied her surroundings though, as if wondering whether she might suddenly have to escape danger.