ANN
One of the first demands I’d made of Hugh upon becoming his wife was cleanliness. In the infirmary, he was a fanatic for washing—his hands, his instruments, the linens. His patients had greater odds of survival, and he attributed that success largely to soap and water.
After an impossibly long day of fighting medical battles, he would stumble back to our tent, too tired to do more than pull off his boots and tumble onto his cot. Try as he might to wear the aprons of his trade, evidence of his daily struggles accompanied him from the infirmary.
As much to make a separation between his profession and his domicile as to spare my delicate senses, I’d insisted that he wash thoroughly upon leaving his patients. He’d acceded to my wishes, with the result that I learned to love the scent of his honeysuckle soap.
That was the fragrance of Hugh prepared to spend the rest of his day with me, Hugh close and clean.
Even as I drowsed on the monstrosity that was my bed, I knew whose weight dipped the mattress. I bundled close to Hugh’s side, delighted to find that he wore only pajama trousers.
“Est-ce que je t’ai réveillé, ma femme chérie?”
“You did not wake me. I wasn’t quite asleep.” Hugh hadn’t called me his darling wife in that tone for so long, not in any language. The words wedged into one of the many fractures in my heart. “Are Violet and Dunkeld pacing the terrace?”
Hugh moved, and at first I thought he was leaving the bed. He instead shifted to his side to face me.
“I do not care one wretched English farthing what those two are getting up to. They must muddle on as they see fit. I told them not to wait supper on us.”
“I’m not so tired that I would neglect—”
Hugh traced the side of my cheek with one long finger. “I am tired, and I am famished for the company of my wife, but if you tell me to leave this bed, I will.”
Ah, well. The day’s challenges were not over. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Which is different from wanting me to stay, Ann. Are old ghosts in this bed with us?”
His question was so gentle, so sad. I rolled to my back and blinked away the damnable urge to cry. “We aren’t children, Hugh. I have regrets.”
He propped his head on his elbow. “As do I. I should have followed you from camp. I am not much of a tracker, but I knew the countryside was dangerous. I knew that you hadn’t taken more than a few necessities and that you were so damned pretty and stubborn… bad things could and did happen to you when you left me.”
I could not lie to him, not now. “I knew the risks.”
He slipped an arm around my neck and drew me gently into his embrace. “And you are my Ann, so practical and so fierce. You knew the risks, and you took them anyway. Who threatened you?”
How had he put this together? But then, I knew how. Hugh St. Sevier could listen to a man’s heart, assess his breathing, take a good long look at him, ask a few questions, and pluck an accurate diagnosis from a few scraps of information. He excelled at solving puzzles, and I had given him enough pieces to form the picture.
I could distract him temporarily—I wanted to distract us both, badly—but the time had come for trust and truth.
“The men knew when you were in the infirmary,” I said. “The other infantry wives tried to keep an eye on me, but they were busy women, and the men were determined.”
“Not the men,” Hugh said, his hand tracing a familiar pattern on my back. “You were spoken for, and according to the informal rules of camp life, that was that. They might have taunted and bullied you, but not to the point that you’d risk your life trying for the coast.”
“Damn you.” I could have withstood this interrogation had I been anywhere but mashed up against my husband’s chest, his caresses bringing back dear memories I’d never thought to relive.
“Tell me who, Ann. The who is part of the why, and I must know why.”
“I don’t want you to know the why.”
His hand on my back paused, then resumed its magic. “Because,” he said, “you were not only seeing to your own safety. You were also—and most significantly—seeing to mine. You were to accede quietly to repeated rape, lest I meet with an accident some dark night, non?”
Hugh St. Sevier excelled at remaining calm and rational in the midst of tragedy. I’d watched him deliver babies from women who would not live to see the next morning, and his manner had remained as hopeful and constructive as if all were going swimmingly.
He’d explained to fallen soldiers that they would never see again, never dance again, never have children, and he made the awful seem bearable, somehow imparting courage along with bad news.
He was doing that now, willing courage into me, when all I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head and sleep forever.
“My guess,” he said, tucking those covers around my shoulders, “is that Lieutenant Colonel Lord Aloysius Dunacre put this proposition to you. He hated me, and do you know why?”
“Because you were a volunteer, French, and a true gentleman, while he was a vile coward.”
“So it was Dunacre.”
Dunacre, assisted by a few of his toadies. “If it hadn’t been him, then some other fine officer would have got around to threatening me once Dunacre let it be known the game was on. Apparently, a red-haired Scotswoman is more temptation than Britain’s finest heroes can withstand.”
“Bah. Those officers were petty thugs before they bought their colors, and wartime exacerbated their arrogance. Dunacre consulted me regarding his inability to sire children, and I told him that his own intemperance was likely to blame. My honesty made him my enemy, and he took his ire out on you. Did the colonel do more than threaten you, Ann?”
Tears coursed down my cheeks, and all those fractures in my heart coalesced into one, unbearable ache. “He got to me once. I fought him, until he promised he would kill you unless I co-operated. He said the other surgeons resented you, and your death could be blamed on the nearest drunken private. Nobody would care about finding the truth, and without a husband, I would become the camp whore I deserved to be. He meant it, Hugh. He absolutely meant it, and then… I wasn’t sure…”
My husband took a proper hold of me and wrestled me over him. His arms came around me, and for the first time in years, I could hold him in return without a barge-load of deception between us.
“You can be sure, Ann: Fiona is our child and there’s an end to it. Dunacre was sterile, thank God or the devil. He could wreak violence on your person, but he is not Fiona’s father. He is nobody’s father, and that is the least of the punishments he deserved.”
I held on to my husband as if my happiness depended upon his words, because it absolutely did. “You’re certain?”
“As certain as I can be about any medical matter, mon couer,” Hugh said. “Besides, Fiona has my eyes and my mother’s chin, so put your mind at ease. She is our daughter. Did you fear I would not believe you if you told me Dunacre had violated you?”
Hugh was so dear, so precious and brave to put that question to me. “I knew you would believe me.”
“Ah.” He kissed my temple. “I was quite the strutting cock then, wasn’t I? The hotheaded Frenchman, out to take on the world. Dunacre was a commoner for all his courtesy title. He would have faced me on the field of honor and delighted to put a bullet through my heart.”
“Yes, and nobody would have done a thing to hold him accountable for murder.” Much less for rape. I waited, not sure what I wanted from Hugh or he from me. Dunacre, thank a merciful Deity, had fallen at Waterloo, and the rumor was, he’d taken an English bullet ‘gone astray.’
Hugh’s hands framed my face, compelling me to meet his gaze. “In the village today, mon ange, you were brave. You forced those pigheaded Englishmen to admit that their stupid hound races had spun beyond their control and become a bad notion indeed. You did this when I lacked the words and Dunkeld lacked the insights. I was proud of you, I am proud of you. Comprenez-vous?”
I nodded, for I could not speak. Hugh was apparently only getting started.
“When you traveled the length of Britain to find me, to confront the husband you thought dead, because that was the honorable course, you were courageous in a whole different way. I admired your courage then, even as I was dumbfounded by the miracle of finding you alive.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I managed, “but Fiona…”
“Fiona has your spirit,” Hugh said. “She has admitted me into her affections because she has the courage to love and be loved. You gave her that. I don’t know how, I don’t know…”
He stopped and pressed his forehead to mine. “Je suis en admiration devant toi, mon amour. Awe and admiration for you fill me. When that putrid excuse for an officer cornered you between bad and worse choices, you found a way out for us both. You risked your life to keep me from being killed in cold blood, and you humble me with your bravery and generosity.”
He went on in French, showering me with adoration in phrases I could only half translate. He kissed me, too, and I kissed him back with all the passion in me. Then we both fell silent, save for the language of love and pleasure.
I fell asleep in my husband’s arms, exhausted, at peace, and grateful beyond words. A journey I’d started years ago in Spain was finally over, and I was safely returned to the arms of my beloved. We yet faced challenges—all marriages did—but I drifted into dreams, knowing Hugh and I would face those challenges together.
Lady Violet sat along the rail of the riding arena, looking serene and content as I put the mare through her paces. The air held more than a tang of autumn, and the undergrowth bordering the woods was brushed with bright reds and vivid yellows. We had, overnight, moved from late summer into early autumn.
As for Hugh and I… I had put him through his paces the previous night and again before breakfast. I was quite in charity with the world, and with my husband.
“Fiona,” I called, “what do you think of her?”
Fiona sat beside Lady Violet, with an expression that reminded me of Noah Purvis assessing young stock. The gentlemen watched from the rail, though Hugh had offered to try the mare’s paces for me before I climbed aboard.
“You should canter her the other direction,” Fiona called. “Horses need equal exercise on both sides. Papa always canters Charlemagne both directions.”
“My daughter is an equestrienne,” Hugh said.
“She gets that from her mother,” Dunkeld muttered, deepening his burr in an imitation of our blacksmith.
“I get it from myself,” Fiona retorted, “and from Mama and Papa, both. We all love horses in my family.”
“So do I,” Lady Violet said, brushing the end of Fiona’s braid across the child’s nose. “Your mama’s excellent seat makes me long for the saddle.”
I circled the mare in an elegant pirouette. “You must not tease the gentlemen, my lady. Your longing to ride has them both looking terrified. This horse is an utter delight. Fiona, would you like to sit in the saddle at the walk after I do a bit more in the canter?”
Fiona bounded to her feet and was halfway up the fence rails before Hugh caught her about the middle.
“Patience, child. You cannot tell your mother to canter left and then bolt into the arena like a confused rabbit.”
For form’s sake, I made a few tidy circles at the canter. The mare was perfection, light to the aids, quiet, and athletic. She was everything wonderful on four hooves, or perhaps she reflected my sanguine mood.
I dismounted, lingering only a moment in Hugh’s arms before he tossed Fiona into the saddle. He and Dunkeld undertook the complicated business of lecturing Fiona on every aspect of staying atop a standing horse, while I assumed the place beside Violet.
“Fiona must be a very patient child,” Violet said, “to put up with both of them holding forth at once.”
“She gets that from her mother.” We exchanged smiles, and I marveled that Violet and I could share such a casual joke.
“You have monsieur sorted out, then?” her ladyship asked, and my marveling went in a different direction.
“When will you put Dunkeld out of his misery?”
“Touché. Your situation with St. Sevier is none of my business, I know, but you are both so clearly… at peace, happy, beyond happy. You took St. Ivo’s hound races in hand, and that has somehow put matters between you and St. Sevier right.”
“Matters between me and my husband were never far wrong.” He’d understood why I’d left him in Spain, and more than that, he appreciated what had lain behind my choice. I wasn’t about to air that linen with her ladyship. Not yet, maybe not ever.
“Minor misunderstandings,” her ladyship said. “Dunkeld and I have had our share.” Her voice was wistful as she watched Dunkeld shorten the sidesaddle’s single stirrup to accommodate Fiona’s small size.
“But you and the marquess are beyond that now,” I observed. “You worry that if you lose this baby, he will regret marrying you. For his part, he fears that you will be the one saddled with regrets.” I did not know Dunkeld well, but he struck me as uncomplicated. He loved and fought fiercely and from principle. He could laugh at himself, and he was at heart profoundly kind.
Also in love with her ladyship.
“I was Freddie Belmaine’s disappointment of a wife,” Violet said quietly. “I could never be disappointed in Dunkeld, but he…”
“We are none of us perfect, my lady, and that man is head over arse for you. You approach the time when your child can safely leave the womb, and you will soon be out of excuses. Trust him. Trust your heart.”
She had no tart reply for me, and I realized how difficult her position had become. The one person she’d relied on earlier in life—her great friend, Sebastian MacHeath—had gone off to war in a fit of temper nobody had explained to her. She’d taken a husband like the dutiful daughter she’d tried to be, and that fellow had gone off to the brothels, the horse races, and the house parties in a fit of male stupidity, when his young wife had needed him badly.
Worse yet, Belmaine had gone off to claim his celestial wings before reaching the cordial accommodation phase of married life.
And then Hugh…
“Dunkeld loves you,” I said again, not sure why I needed to emphasize the point. “He will never fail you, and that means, if you fail him, he will still love you. You will weather the difficulties as a couple.”
The gentlemen were allowing Fiona to fit her hands around both reins as the mare toddled forth at a placid walk. Hugh paced beside the horse, while Dunkeld kept a hand on the bridle, and all the while, one or the other man offered a stream of instruction.
“You and Hugh are truly sorted out, aren’t you? Both of you, together.”
“You worry for him still. Does that bother you?”
“A little.”
“Worry over him all you like. He is the father of your child and one of the most loyal friends you will ever have. He is also my beloved husband, and I flatter myself that my sentiments are returned. I wish I could sketch this.”
“They make a wonderful picture, don’t they? They won’t let her fall…” Violet’s breath caught, and she shaded her eyes. “Motherhood makes a watering pot of me. Do tears weigh eight pounds per gallon, do you think?”
“I think love is the dearest burden and the lightest joy. Have you had any distressing symptoms during your stay here, my lady?”
“A tendency to fret over nothing and a passing desire to tear off Dunkeld’s clothes.”
Ah, well, then. “I believe both are normal, given your situation, but indulging in the latter is ill-advised until well after the baby arrives. Three months at least.”
“Drat the luck. I guess that leaves the fretting.”
“And putting your feet up. How many years do you suppose it will be before they allow Fiona to steer that mare on her own?”
“Dunkeld wants to get her a pony. Does she have godparents?”
My answer was irrelevant. As I watched Dunkeld let go of the bridle, I realized Fiona had godparents, and that was a fine thing.
“You are truly at peace regarding my situation with Hugh?” I asked.
Fiona bounced a little in the saddle, and the mare obligingly stepped forth with one iota more energy, while Hugh continued to pace parallel to Fiona’s knee.
“No,” Violet said after a moment. “I am not merely at peace. I am happy for you, and for Hugh, and for Fiona. I’m not just saying that.”
“Your days of just saying anything are probably gone forever. Mine certainly are, and good riddance. Any recurrence of troubling symptoms, my lady?” She hadn’t exactly answered the question on my first try.
“For pity’s sake, call me Violet, and no. Putting my feet up and impersonating a gouty dowager have yielded some benefits.”
Her ladyship was also taking plenty of walks with Lord Dunkeld at her side, and she was free from the meddlesome attentions of family. The marquess was less fretful for having brought Violet to Belle Terre, and that, too, had doubtless contributed to her ladyship’s wellbeing.
In some odd way, this visit had also been a tonic for me and Hugh.
“Have you set a date?” I asked.
Her gaze was on the trio in the arena. Dunkeld now walked ahead of the mare, but he faced backward, keeping Fiona in his sight at all times.
“Barring the unforeseen, we will marry thirty days hence,” Lady Violet said. “Autumn is a beautiful season, and we ought to have Ashmore ready for company by then. Sebastian has a special license, and I…”
“Yes, my lady?”
“I have loved him since I first spotted him lounging in the boughs of one my favorite trees and he bade me to climb up and enjoy the view with him.”
Her brothers would doubtless have told her girls weren’t to climb trees at all, and her father would have lectured her endlessly about decorum and maintaining standards.
“Did you?”
“Of course, though Sebastian was perched a good fifteen feet higher than I’d ever dared climb. He was right though, the view was marvelous.”
The view was marvelous indeed. “Are you trying to decide whether to invite us to the wedding? You need not. You must do what you and Dunkeld think best.” I could speak for Hugh to that extent. He would want Violet and her marquess to make of their wedding day what they pleased—as I did—and to blazes with maintaining standards.
“Sebastian and I are agreed that you and St. Sevier must be our honored guests. My brothers Mitchell and Felix will be on hand with their wives, but we also want our friends with us. We want… you. I know we’re asking a lot, but as you said, I’m through with platitudes and pleasantries for the sake of propriety. Please say you’ll come.”
“We will come, and not for the sake of appearances. We will come to celebrate with you, and to keep your family from driving you to Bedlam.”
“Thank you. Sebastian says we’ll winter here in the south, so you’ll probably be seeing more of us than you’d anticipated.”
That announcement had the ring of a dignified apology, which was the outside of too much. Of course, Hugh and I would want to be nearby when the baby was born.
“Violet, cease fretting. I value my friends, few in number though they are. Do you suppose I will ever be allowed back on that mare?”
Hugh had taken a step away from the horse, and Fiona was actually steering her mount, who plodded along like the good-natured soul she clearly was.
“You have already got back on the horse, Ann St. Sevier. One knows the look and one rejoices at your good fortune.”
“On second thought, perhaps you’d best decamp for Scotland at first light.”
We both started laughing. Our menfolk smiled at us, and Fiona waved with one hand. Lady Violet was right, I was back on the horse, and she had finally climbed the last of the distance needed to join her marquess.
The views were wonderful, and at that moment, life was wonderful. Violet and I and our dear fellows had more adventures in store, but that, as her ladyship would say, is a tale for another time.