Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma (3 page)

“We are glad you are here. Jack is chomping at the bit to see his uncle.”

Alex’s imaginative seven-year-old son was one of John’s favorite human beings. However, at the moment, he was not in any mental or emotional condition to deal with the sunny child. “That’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

His brother frowned. “What is it, John? Is it the pain? The doctor left some laudanum.”

“I don’t need laudanum, Alex. And thank you for keeping your vigil. But I need to be alone now.” With the gloom overtaking him, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up any semblance of conversation. Like a wounded bear, he simply wanted to disappear into his den until he could live in the light again.

Standing, Alex laid a hand on his shoulder. “Rest well, brother. I’m glad you’re out of danger.”

As soon as his brother left, John closed his eyes. He was back inside the hospital tent where men were dying all around him, calling out for their mothers. The air hung heavy and hot, smelling of blood and mud. The flies were a scourge. The place was as dark and barbaric as a prison. He longed to die and be done with it.

On reflection, it was easy to understand why men wanted their mothers at such a time. At the moment when death seemed near, all one’s bravado melted away and one was thrown back into vulnerability that only a mother could understand and be trusted with. A dying man needed the illusion of safety in his journey to the next life.

John forced away the darkness by thinking of his own mother. She had died when he was sixteen, leaving a vacuum in his life unusual in one of his class. She had not been a social creature, but a homebody. Her husband had been fond of gaming, parties, and his club. They had lived mostly in London, except for a few months in the summer when they had stayed here at the manor—the manor which was falling down about their ears.

Mama had been beautiful with her dark hair and patrician face. John had inherited her startling eyes. Until he had gone away to school at ten years old, she had been his world, teaching him herself in his nursery and then his schoolroom every day. He remembered her as an enchanting storyteller, making up her own series of tall tales, illustrating them with her watercolors. There had been Billy, the talking beaver, with Mrs. Beaver and the twins, Sophie and Marjorie. When he was older there was Irenie the owl and Horatio the falcon. But his favorite stories had been about the bear cub, Nathaniel. John had his own stuffed Nathaniel bear, with a plaid bow tie. Mama had caused a
papier mâché
tree to be made for his room with a hollow for Nathaniel to live in.

She had made his childhood a magic time. Thinking of her dulled the edge of his melancholy.

He heard his door open slowly. Raising his aching head, he saw a tiny face framed in blonde hair peeking through the opening.

“Cate? Is that you?”

“I am Emma. Papa thaid you are thick.”

He found he very much wanted to see the little creature. “Come in, Emma.”

“I brought you my thepecial blanket,” she said, holding out what looked like a pink fluffy shawl. “Here.” Climbing up onto the dais where the bed sat, she spread the baby blanket over his bandaged arm with elaborate care.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I am certain I will be all better now.”

The little sprite went running from the room. John smiled.

Could it be that the answer to this melancholia and world weariness he had fought so long was a family? Could he leave the blackness behind if he lived, not a soldier’s life, but a life full of people who loved him?

Felicity and Alex were a devoted pair. The attraction between them fairly crackled even after eight years of marriage. And his brother was an exceptionally fond father. His eldest son, Jack, was John’s namesake and an engaging scamp. The twins were shy little misses, but had always succeeded in wrapping Alex around their fingers. The newest babe, Henry, at age seven months, had yet to reveal his personality but was doted upon by everyone.

But would he be a good husband and father with these fits of melancholy? When the blackness was upon him, every tree was leafless, every pebble a boulder, and the sorrows of the world weighed him down with an unending script of misery. Was it really fair to inflict such a flaw upon a family? It had been coming and going ever since he had begun fighting on the Peninsula. So far, he had been able to mask his moods whenever he was on leave, so even Alex knew nothing. Seeing them as a weakness, John’s instinct had always been to hide his times of mental anguish. If he were in better health now, he would disappear on horseback, putting up at inns where he was unknown until his world was habitable again.

Could he confide in Alex? Would his brother think him some kind of mental weakling, hopelessly unhinged? Or was it time he took his brother into his confidence? Maybe Alex could advise him as to whether family responsibilities would make John better or worse. Worn out by his infection and inner turmoil, John fell asleep.

He was awakened when Felicity looked in on him what seemed a good while later.

“John, dear, are you awake?” she whispered.

Struggling up on his good elbow, he said, “Yes, Felicity. What time is it?”

“It is after nine. We have finished dinner and Mrs. Hopkinson is bringing you some on a tray, if you would like it. It is roast beef and Yorkshire pud. We must build you up.”

“That actually sounds delicious.”

He shook his head, trying to dislodge his mental dullness. Maybe a good meal would help.

“Would you mind lighting some candles in here?” he asked.

“Of course, . I will do it straightaway. I think a bath after your dinner might do you some good as well. It must have been a long time since you’ve had a bath.”

“Yes. Another excellent idea. Between you Emma, you will have me fixed up in no time.”

“Oh! Is that Emma’s blanket? I hope she did not disturb you.”

“She was just what the doctor ordered.”

Felicity smiled. “You are very patient with the children, John. They idolize you, I hope you realize.” She felt his forehead. “Your fever does seem to be a thing of the past. I will send up dinner then. And afterward, Alex’s valet will fix you up with a bath.”

“Thank you, Felicity. You always treat me like a king. Alex married well.”

She laughed. “He did not always think so!”

Before he could question her, she walked out of the room.

Alex had doubted his decision? How could he have? Felicity was everything he could imagine in a wife. Plus she had brought a fortune with her to restore the Manor and the estate. Maybe his brother was not the superior judge of character John had always taken him to be.

The following two days found John much improved in body, if not in spirits. His nerves remained badly frayed, making him irritable and not inclined toward company. However, the third day was fine out, and he realized the worst of his mood was behind him. Perhaps this time, it had been brought on by his physical weakness. Now he just wanted to sit on the terrace, watching the twins play tag on the lawn. Soon, he was instructing Jack on the proper positions for his lead soldiers in the boy’s reenactment of Waterloo.

Felicity emerged from the house, frowning.

“John, the Lindsays have called again. I did not know whether you would wish to visit with them or not. They are in the sitting room, but if you like, I can bring them out here. Otherwise, I will tell them you are not quite up to visitors.”

“Who exactly is calling?” he asked with some weariness.

“Lord and Lady Lindsay and her two eldest daughters, Miss Lindsay and Miss Leticia.”

He sighed. John had not spoken to Alex yet about his mental limitations, but he supposed it would not hurt to see Miss Lindsay again. He was miles away from making a declaration. Indeed, he did not even know if he wished to. He had not been around respectable women much in the past years.

“You may bring them out here,” he said. “But not a long visit, please.”

Soon, Felicity had returned with her guests.

“Oh, Lord John!” Lady Lindsay said. “We were so sorry to hear you have been so ill. We brought a basket of peaches from the orchard. I hope you like peaches?”

“English peaches are the very best,” he said. “It is pleasant to see you all again.”

“Devil of a good show, Waterloo,” Lord Lindsay said. Long, lean, and ascetic looking, he had fought Napoleon in his younger days.

“Yes. I think Boney is finally defeated for good,” John said.

Miss Leticia wandered out onto the lawn to play with the twins. Lady Lindsay and Miss Lindsay seated themselves in the shade while Lord Lindsay surveyed Jack’s battlefield.

“It is the battle of Waterloo,” Jack said proudly. “This is the farmhouse where Uncle John and his men were holding off the enemy.”

“Jolly good,” remarked their neighbor. He listened as Jack elucidated the other details of his reenactment.

Lady Lindsay said, “I understand you will not be going back to the army. We are so glad to have you as a neighbor once more.”

He could not mistake the eager light in the eyes of this matchmaking mama. Looking at Miss Lindsay, he saw that her eyes were cast down and that she was weaving the ribbons on her gown. She was a beauty all right. High cheekbones, shiny, luxurious black hair, rosebud mouth. He could not remember the color of her eyes, but her figure appeared tempting enough.

Did her retiring disposition signal shyness, disinterest, or a cold nature? Until this bout of matchmaking, he had always found her mother a cool, imperious woman with no patience for or interest in young boys, such as he had been. Did the daughter take after the mother?

“I hope Miss Haverley made it to you safely?” he asked.

“Miss Haverley?” Lady Lindsay drew back, brow furrowed until she placed the name. “Oh! You mean the governess! Yes. Thank you for your assistance in that matter. I am sorry if she troubled you.”

Her dismissal of the game little woman irritated him. He persisted. “She was no trouble. I hope she is proving satisfactory?”

“She will do, I suppose. Although she does spend a great deal of time out of doors with my girls. It seems she is vastly fond of nature. I only hope she will not ruin their complexions.”

“I understand that is what parasols are for,” he said.

“Well, yes. When they remember them, that is. Tell me, do you intend to remain at the Manor, or will you be off for London?” Lady Lindsay asked.

“I am situated here for the time being, though I have a project in mind that may take me to London in the future. How about you, Lady Lindsay? Shall you be doing the Little Season this autumn?”

He caught a slight frown on her face as she looked at Miss Lindsay. “Most likely. Marianne has several suitors on her string and is in great demand. She longs for London.”

“And what is it that draws you to London, Miss Lindsay? Balls, routs, beaux?” John asked.

She flashed him a look, and he was surprised to read impatience. He saw now that her eyes were dark brown. “I find the country… lacking in amusements, I must confess,” she said.

“It is incredibly appealing after war,” he returned.

“Oh,” she said, shrugging. “I am sure you are right.”

Felicity led the housekeeper out onto the terrace. Mrs. Hopkinson was carrying a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and glasses.

An imp prompted him. “I am tempted to make my home in the country. My brother is taking me on as estate agent.”

“I thought you said you would be going to London,” Miss Lindsay said, her tone carrying reproach.

“I have a scheme in mind that may call me there from time to time, but Lincolnshire is my home. There is nothing like the green of England. Are you fond of poetry, Miss Lindsay?”

Her dark eyes flashed surprise. “Oh… of course!”

“The poems of Wordsworth provided great solace to me on that parched Peninsula.”

“Marianne adores Wordsworth,” her mother said.

Lord Lindsay rejoined them with Jack and partook of the lemonade. “Lady Grenville, you have a fine lad here. He will make a good soldier.”

Felicity smiled at him and said smoothly, “It is to be hoped there will not be any more wars in the near future. Jack is heir to the earldom.”

The man cleared his throat. “I have no heir, more’s the pity. But then, my estate is not entailed. It will go to Marianne’s husband.”

With this very obvious carrot dangling before him, John struggled to remember the viscount’s lineage. He had a vague idea that King George had bestowed the peer’s title for valor during the war.

Lady Lindsay was holding a handkerchief to her eye with delicacy. “The viscountcy will die with my husband. I think it is unjust.”

So why would they be satisfied with marrying their eldest daughter to a second son with only a courtesy title? If her husband was to inherit the Lindsay estate, why did they not want a title for her? Had she been unable to tempt an appropriate aristocrat into marriage?

“It is all a hum,” his lordship said. “I was not born to the title. The important thing is property. That is what makes a gentleman. And Marianne will inherit the property.”

This was an unlooked-for wrinkle. He had become opposed to the idea of a life of leisure as the only existence for a proper gentleman. He did not especially wish to inherit a fortune and do nothing but attend the Season with its everlasting entertainments, dwell in boredom in the summer months, attend house parties in the fall and winter, and start all over in the spring. Why should he live a life of frivolity when his men didn’t have a decent place to live and enough to eat, crammed as they were into the filthy housing of the East End?

He had learned the hard way what a difficulty it was to stay alive and what a bloody cost was paid so that the leisure class could live as they did, carelessly risking their necks in curricle races and their fortunes at the gaming tables every day in order to avoid being bored. If he were ever to marry Miss Lindsay, he would want to remain in Lincolnshire for most of the year, overseeing the working of his own land, caring for his tenants, updating farming techniques. He would want his children around him. Would the woman be happier in the country once she had a husband and family?