by Joan Smith
"No! You mustn't. He didn't do anything wrong. He owes me nothing." Her blush heightened to recall certain parts of her story not told to Elleri. She had not said to what lengths Landon had gone in looking for the letter.
"Does he not? I should like to know why you are as pink as a rose, then," Miss Simons said sagely, and strode into the hallway.
The doctor had applied a plaster over Landon's left brow. It sat at an insouciant angle above the eye, giving him a quizzical air. His face was pale, but his eyes alert. He lay propped up in Miss Simons' bed, giving orders to the two stalwart officials. As the ladies entered, his eyes flew to Vanessa. He smiled, but the knowing Miss Simons did not find on him the smile of a lover. There was something of stiffness, constraint, that was far removed from a man on the verge of an offer. After debating with herself, she had found it possible to give Henry's tentative approval to the match.
"You can go now," Landon said to the men. "I'll be in London tomorrow."
"Not tomorrow," the doctor contradicted. "One day of rest at the minimum. I insist."
"Thank you, Doctor. You can go now too," Landon replied. After the doctor had clucked a few times and left, the colonel turned back to the officials. "Tell Pitt I'll be in London by mid-afternoon tomorrow. You'd better leave right away, Easters. You stay at the jail, George, and make sure Carlisle and Euston are locked up right and tight, till I can get around to them."
The elder gentleman was selected for the easier task of staying at the jail. Even that he had taken into consideration, Vanessa noticed, marveling at his thoroughness. She knew all the details of the Carlisle affair would be handled with equal efficiency. He would be interrogated, probably roughly, to discover what other spy activities he was involved in.
The projected invasion would be handled by military and political experts. Her chore was done, but for the personal one of trying now to hook herself a husband. She had to convince Stanier she had changed, was not just a silly, selfish girl, but a woman, ready to face real life. She wanted that life to be at his side. He would demand much of Mrs. Landon—more than a pretty face and an ability to hold polite parties.
"Well, Colonel," Miss Simons said, walking briskly to the bedside. "What a pity you find yourself in this state. It will delay your doing what you must, and no doubt want, to do."
"It won't delay me long. I can be in London by tomorrow."
"It will be better to come down to Hastings with us as soon as you are able. You will want to speak to Colonel Bradford."
"I will, of course. He will have excellent advice to give me, but it must wait till I have made some arrangements in London."
"What sort of arrangements?" she asked, frowning. "Financial, do you mean?"
"That too. We shall require a good deal more funds than are presently available."
She smiled and nodded, happy to hear funds were available for a high life-style. "There is no reason you cannot stay with us at Levenhurst for the present. Of course you will want your own place eventually."
He blinked, looking from Miss Simons to her very embarrassed niece. "I will live at headquarters," he said.
"What about Vanessa?"
"I assume she will go on living with her father," he answered, mystified.
"Perhaps for a month or two," Miss Simons agreed, but not happily.
He began to understand the drift of the woman's questions and statements. A sly smile settled on his features as he leaned back against the pillows with a sigh of contentment to roast them.
"Longer than that, surely," he said.
"For how long have you in mind?" Elleri asked.
"Till she marries, probably."
"When will that be?"
"That is up to the lady."
"Well, Nessie, there you are!" Miss Simons said, beaming a smile of victory on her niece. "I told you he would do the proper thing. You may set the date yourself." Nessie rolled an angry, repressive eye at her aunt, who was much too happy to see it.
"Tell me, Colonel, are you kin to Jessica Stanier, from Dorchester? She would be your mama?"
"Why, no, she is my aunt. Do you know her?"
"Know her? We are old friends; we made our curtseys together eons ago. Don't ask how long. So you are Jessica's nephew. What was your mama's name?"
"Estelle—she is Jessica's younger sister. Do you know her too?"
"Well, now, that is very odd. I did not recall Jessica had a sister. Your papa—who is he? Not that it matters, my dear colonel. You hold the same rank as Henry Bradford, and at a much younger age. You will end up a general, without a doubt." She smiled benignly, but kept her ears open to hear who his father was too.
"Papa is Sir Charles Landon, from Surrey. Our home is called Ashcliffe."
"Ashcliffe! I have seen it a dozen times in the books. It is a famous old Gothic place."
"Queen Anne, actually."
"One of those periods. Your papa is a scientist, is he not? I am sure I have read of his new contraption used in mines."
"He is very much interested in horticulture. His new strain of rose is often written up."
"Yes, so it was. Roses or engines—I knew I had read something about him. It was the rose for which he was knighted, was it not?" she asked, to pinpoint the "Sir" more closely.
"My father is a baronet, as his ancestors have been for a few centuries."
"I make sure he would have received a knighthood had it not been for the baronetcy. Have you many brothers?"
"Just one, an elder brother, who will inherit Ashcliffe," he said, shattering her dreams of being able to call Nessa "Lady Landon." "The only son seldom enters the Army, you know," he pointed out, while his glance slid to Vanessa, to gauge her reaction to his announcement. She was so ashamed of her aunt's display that she looked quite discomfited.
"It is no matter. Vanessa will get Levenhurst, so you will always have a roof over your head." She considered the likelihood of Landon's being soon a general, of his father's baronetcy and the joy of showing Mrs. Fischer a picture of Ashcliffe, and accepted him.
"I shall leave you two alone now. Remember, Nessie, ten minutes. I doubt it will take that long," she added, with an arch and encouraging smile to the invalid.
Vanessa turned bright pink, and examined the farthest corner of the floor with a studious interest. Her aunt went at a lively gait out the door, to begin drawing up a list of wedding guests.
"You must not mind Auntie," was Vanessa's first humble speech. She rattled on to change the topic. "What does the doctor say? Did he have to remove a bullet?"
"No, it only grazed the skin. My skull was too hard to allow it to penetrate. I expect there is a bent bullet about the room somewhere, ruined from having collided with my head. You struck your blow at the wrong part of the anatomy when you attacked me with the clock."
"Where would be a more vulnerable spot?" she asked, trying to match his light tone. "I enquire in case I have to prevent you from ravishing me another time.''
"The heart," he answered, with a bold smile. "Pull yourself up a chair, Vanessa. I am obliged to be as uncivil as ever in not doing it for you, but I hold my condition responsible. You must not blame it on the coarsening influence of the Army. The sawbones tells me I must not get up for a few hours."
"He said a day at the minimum," she reminded him, choosing to ignore his little taunt.
"I am too busy to malinger for more than eight hours, but I must have a little sleep. It begins to look as though a new embargo has been laid on me as well. I did not realize I was expected to make an honest woman of you, after your sufferings at Carlisle's hands."
"If I am ruined, then I prefer to remain so, rather than be redeemed by him."
"Of course I did add my mite. Did I ever apologize for ripping the dress off you?"
"I cannot imagine how you came to overlook anything. No, you did not, sir."
"I am sorry. At gunpoint is not my favorite way to undress a lady."
"Don't smirk like that. I'm not going to ask you what is.
"
"You'll see soon enough," he warned, reaching for her fingers. Whatever his way, she knew it would be efficient.
"My aunt is a foolish old lady. Pay no heed to her nattering. I don't."
"I have observed that unladylike strain of self-will in you. I believe I have—er, mentioned it."
"At some length. You were right."
"No, I was angry, and jealous as a green cow. I deserved to have my ears boxed for that boyish display of bad manners."
"There was some truth in it. I was raised badly, but not by Papa. He was seldom home. When he was, I was treated more strictly. He spanked me—once. It is recorded in Aunt Elleri's annals as the brutality of the decade. I was playing with some of his papers, and he turned me over his knee and gave me a good whopping."
"Not a bad chastisement. I have frequently felt the compulsion to do the same thing to you these past few days. Several other things as well," he added, pulling her up from the chair. He patted the edge of the bed, for her to sit beside him. She perched precariously on the edge of the mattress.
"I did behave like a child, but I have changed. The old Vanessa would not have gone after Carlisle—come here, I mean, to catch him. I really feel I have grown up—matured, I mean—remarkably in the last few days," she said earnestly, while he smiled fondly on her.
"Before this rapidly aging female turns gray on me, there was something else I wanted to do, besides spank you. I think you are just the right age for it now," he said, pulling her into his arms, to kiss her till her head spun. His fingers played on her neck, stroking her hair, then caressing her cheeks, as she drew away from him. With a slight pressure, he pulled her back. "Don't go yet. That was just for the bullet. You still owe me for the clock." He kissed her again, with a gentle passion that surprised her. She was beguiled by this gentleness in a violent man.
"I am not always a vicious brute, you know," he said. "A soldier needs a wife more than most men, to refine and—subdue him—his wilder nature, I mean."
"I don't want to be just a refinement in your life, Stanier. A diversion, I mean."
"My sweetest heart, diversion is the only enjoyable part of our life in the military. We don't like killing our fellowmen, contrary to popular opinion. You will prevent my becoming a boor, and I will prevent your diverting any other officer but me. How's that for a good bargain on my part?" he asked, laughing at his selfishness.
"It sounds fine to me," she said happily.
"Me too. Divert me, Vanessa."
Copyright © 1983 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.