Chapter Four

The fog was lifting but the snow fell now in clumps and soaked through the dark wool of Stephen's uniform. He had seldom seen such a storm even in the mountains in Spain. With a sigh of relief, he slung his pack and rifle off his shoulder and clapped the knocker on the front door of Summerhill. He still had a key but did not want to take anyone by surprise. He stomped his feet to try to get some feeling back.

The door cracked open. "Not today," old Foster said and moved to push the door closed.

"But—"

"Go 'round to the kitchen." Foster did close the door on him then.

The butler had not recognized him with his watery old eyes. What a joke. Laughing, Stephen hefted his pack again and walked to the back entrance. The maid that opened the door shook her head and began to push it shut. Stephen said the cook's name and the girl said, "Cook is busy. The family is at dinner."

Stephen was stunned. He could open the door and push past her, but what sort of impression would that make? Truth to tell, he had not wanted to arrive unshaven and damp. He turned his frozen steps toward the stable block and eased the door at the end of the aisle between the stalls open. He smelled the sweet scent of hay and heard the horses munching contentedly before he felt the warmth of their bodies. He pulled the door shut quietly, and walking down the row of stalls, was pleased to see both his hunters in their same boxes. They knew him and blew into his hand, whickering to him.

"Who goes there? What are you doing to those horses?"

"Getting a welcome home, Bossley." Stephen saw the stooped old man holding a lantern up and squinting.

"Mister Stephen? I say, how did you get here in this ghastly fog?"

"I walked." Stephen came toward him and was surprised by a warm hug. Old Bossley smelled of hay and sweet feed. The embrace brought back memories. Bossley had taught him to ride, and he spent long hours with the man trying to perfect his skills. Bossley had been a kind and patient teacher though Stephen was not as apt a pupil as Henry.

"Forgive me, sir," Bossley said, seemingly embarrassed at his exuberant welcome. "I was overcome. Let's get you up to the house."

"I have been turned away from both the front door and the back. They must think me a deserter begging for bread."

Bossley stepped back to regard him. "You do look a bit ragged."

"Any chance of some hot water?"

"Aye and a razor. You can shave and wash up in my room while I heat some soup and tea in the grooms' common room."

"Bossley, not a word to anyone that I am back."

"It will be a surprise to some of them. Not a word. It would ease your mother's mind if you could let her know. I could carry a note to the house."

So his mother was alive and apparently well. Stephen blew out a sigh of relief. "I'll think about it. Where are all the lads?"

"Gone off home for the holiday," he grumbled, "leaving me to look after the teams and hunters. His lordship doesn't have to pay them if he gives them the holiday off."

Stephen was not surprised by his father's behavior. The man had never cared if others struggled to survive. Stephen pulled a coin from his pocket and pressed it into the old man's hand. "Here's a sovereign for being faithful and letting me in when no one else would."

"It does my heart good to see you here and well. Your brother said you was wounded."

"Last year. Glad Henry did get some of my letters."

"I do miss him. Wash up and shave, then tell me all."

* * * * *

An hour later Stephen had his feet on the stove in the groom's room telling tales of his adventures and feeling more at home than he ever had in the house those last years before he left. This was how it had been on campaign. This was his life now, not sleeping in a feather bed being waited on. Not hanging garlands of greenery and singing wassail songs in the orchard. If things did not go well here, he still had the army, but before he decided anything, he needed to find out about his mother and Jane.

Bossley refilled his tankard with ale and pursed his lips. "Much as I enjoy your company, you do have to tell them you are back."

Stephen sighed. "Perhaps tomorrow. I shall sleep in the loft tonight and it will be a better bed than I have had for many a day."

"You can have my bed for all that, but why keep your presence a secret?"

"With Henry gone there is no joy left here for me. I can't help feeling somehow guilty about his death."

Bossley looked away. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"How did he die? You can tell me."

"Kitchen gossip. It ought not to be spoken about by anyone."

"Did someone shoot him?"

"Nothing like that. He took a jump wrong on Belarus, a new horse he'd purchased. The horse stumbled and fell, and Henry was thrown. Your brother hit his head."

"He was such a careful rider." Stephen was puzzling over this when the door to the stable creaked open and soft steps came down the row of stalls. Then the sound of someone weeping caused the men to stare at each other. Stephen's feet hit the floor and he put down his mug of ale. When he pushed open the grooms' door and stepped into the alley between the stalls, he saw a girl stroking one of the horses. He approached the small figure as she threw back the hood of her cloak and long brown ringlets trailed down her back. It was Jane.

"Why so many tears on Christmas Eve?" Stephen whispered as he approached.

"Oh," she gasped in surprise, "I thought I was alone. I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes with her gloved hands before turning toward him.

"Who has hurt you?" He almost touched her but didn't know if he had the right.

"I know that voice," she said as if trying to recall how, then a small sound escaped her lips as recognition sunk in. "Stephen!" She rushed into his arms and hugged him as though their lives depended on it. "I did not know you would be here." She pulled back to look at him. "It's truly you, not a ghost?"

"It is really me. You have not changed a bit."

"You have. You seem taller."

Bossley appeared between the rows of stalls with a lantern. "'Tis because he lost so much weight. We'll have him fit in no time."

"He's right." She stepped back to look at him in the light. "You are thin, but you're home." A sudden frown stole the relief from her face. "Do you have to go back?"

"I'm on leave, but the army is marching through France. The war can't last much longer and I will be mustered out or put on half pay."

"Home for good." She grasped his arm and stroked his cheek then stepped back as though she realized her imprudent behavior.

"I hope so. Unless my father really has disowned me."

"Don't joke. He may have done as you suggest. Bertram is here with his mother and he is acting like the heir. Or rather your aunt is acting like her son is the heir."

"Bertram, my foolish cousin? So that's why you were crying."

"Yes. He forced himself on me and very clumsily, I must say. It makes me want to weep."

"So you are not married?"

"Of course not. I promised you I would wait."

Stephen breathed a sigh of relief and let his hand rest on her waist under the cloak. "I recall saying you were too young to make that decision, but since you have waited, what do you want to do now?"

"Punch Bertram in the nose."

"Well that too, but I meant with the rest of our lives. No vows were spoken between us. You were only sixteen, too young to make such a decision, but if your father is agreeable…"

"Yes, yes I would marry you. I will marry only you."

"I am happy you waited for me." He stroked her face with his rough hand and thought again about how much she had stayed the same and how much he had changed.

"With difficulty. They tried to marry me to Henry."

"I know about your parents' plans, but Henry never wrote anything about the future. Henry said he wanted to wait, not marry until it proved the right decision, and he had not felt it would be anytime soon."

"He might have told me, so I would not have worried about how they were throwing us together. He was very attentive but never made any advances."

"Could he have suspected my inclination?" Stephen asked. "I inquired about you in every letter."

"And I asked about you every time I saw him. Don't you see? He was saving me for you."

He sighed and pulled her to rest against his chest. "It's the kind of thing Henry would do."

"Not to interrupt," Bossley croaked, "but I think you both should go to the house And Miss Faraday should go before they mount a search."

Jane sighed and let go of Stephen. "It takes forever for them to have tea. I am safe from discovery. They will think I was fatigued from the trip and have gone to bed. We brought no servants with us so no one will even miss me."

"Still, it is cold out here. Get on with the both of you. Mister Stephen, I'll bring your pack up to the house tomorrow."

Stephen took her arm and the lantern and walked her across the stable yard to the back steps. He put his hand on the latch. "Locked for the night."

"Oh, I had not thought of that."

He smiled and set the lantern down. "Before we go in, there is one thing I want to do."

She stared up at him, her breath making mist in the cold air. He leaned and kissed her, sharing his warmth with her. They stood like that for many minutes even after the kiss ended, embracing each other.

"I don't know what my prospects are, but I will speak to your father."

"No matter what he says I will marry no one but you. Now, shall I knock?"

"No need. I have a key."

After seeing Jane to her room, Stephen went down the hall to his quarters. He lit a branch of candles, then put the lantern out. He drew the dust covers off the furniture and stretched out on the bed. So much had changed in the last half hour. Jane loved him, had always loved him, and been faithful with no prospect of marriage. Whatever else the morning had in store he could count on that. Still he puzzled over Henry and why he apparently had shielded Jane from marriage with him or anyone else.

Henry had written but never hinted at his plans. Perhaps he had been unsure of Stephen's feelings. No letter ever reached him from his father or mother. When he thought back over their lives here, his father had been cold to him only those last few years. Probably why Henry had taken him under his wing. His mother had not shown a preference between her sons. He would never broach such a subject with his father but his mother he could ask. Stephen found a nightshirt in the drawer, and took off his uniform coat. For the first time in months he would sleep in a bed.

Before he could change, his door cracked open and his mother slipped inside and ran to him. She was in a dark robe and slippers, her golden hair braided for the night. He could see silver threads in it but she still looked incredibly beautiful.

"Jane told you," he said.

His mother hugged him tightly.

"She did not think I should spend Christmas Eve without having my only wish fulfilled. Jane came to say goodnight and broke the news. She is a caring girl."

"I arrived late and did not want to disturb anyone. I found her in the stable."

"She loves you and has held out against marriage to Henry or anyone else."

"I am sorry I was not here for you when Henry died."

Between her tears she kissed his face and finally let him seat her on his bed while he took the straight chair.

"You are here now. That is what matters. I don't sleep much anymore, but I will sleep tonight knowing you are safe. Christmas has been empty without you."

"Then I'm glad Jane told you. I did not want to shock you."

"It is your father who will be shocked. He has had you dead and buried these many months."

"He changed so much before I left, as though he wanted to be rid of me. Was it something I did?"

"No, that wasn't it." She looked away as though the truth proved too gruesome to relate.

"Why then? I confess after being turned away by old Foster at the front door and the larder girl at the back, I began to think I wasn't wanted."

"I may as well tell you." She gave a profound sigh. "He doubts you are his son."

The statement caught Stephen like a physical blow. He jerked in the chair and it creaked. "But that's ridiculous."

"I know. I loved only him. That all seems dead to me now. The marriage that once seemed perfect crumbled before my eyes. I gave him two sons, and suddenly he decided he didn't want to own one of them." Her tears were flowing freely now and Stephen came to sit beside her and hold her. "It's your blue eyes and gold hair, like mine used to be, that he holds against you."

"And you had to face this all alone," he said.

"Henry knew and stood up for me. It's the thing they argued about the most."

"Good old Henry. How bitter for you. How hard for you to have to face his loss without me."

"Your father's temper worsened after Henry's death. I think it overset his reason. No one was as shocked as I when he invited the Faradays here as usual. I'm not sure how he will behave once he sees you are alive."

"I wrote to you every week. I never knew if you were receiving the letters or not."

She dropped her arms and stared at him. "I didn't receive your letters. So you received none of mine?"

"None."

"Henry heard from you on a regular basis and shared with me until... Then it ended."

"I wrote every chance I could. They can't all have been lost."

She looked up at him and tears began to flow again. "Your father must have thrown your letters to me away, and the ones I put on the hall table to go to you. I should have sent a servant to the village with them."

Stephen held her as she wept. His father had accused his mother of infidelity, which proved a horrific accusation for a woman to bear, then cut her off from him.

"You are home now and very authoritative looking. Perhaps you can convince him he was wrong."

"I haven't changed that much, have I?"

"Yes, your face is creased with care, your skin is burnt by the sun. Your hair looks much like mine did when I was younger, but he never accepted you favored my looks. Perhaps, he simply doesn't remember."

"I'll make him believe you." Stephen was not quite sure how he would accomplish this, but he had to convince his father that his mother had not betrayed him.