The Waltzing Widow (30 page)
"What the devil!” Lord Kenmare exclaimed, astonished and disturbed. This behavior was not characteristic of the brave, practical lady that he had learned to love. He was on the point of going upstairs to knock at her door himself when he realized how odd that would look to the household. Lady Mary Spence was a guest in the house, and not even a relative. He could not demand entrance to her rooms. “I suppose that we must bow to her ladyship's wishes and grant her the privacy that she has requested,” he said.
When he was relating the incident later to Lady Cecily, she shook her head. “It is only to be expected, of course."
Lord Kenmare looked at his sister in frowning surprise. “What do you mean, Cecily?"
"Why, don't you see, Robert? Mary has been such a rock through the whole horrid affair. She carried us all, and not once did she allow herself to burden others with her own fears. Pray, do you actually expect her to reverse herself now and burden us with her grief?"
Lord Kenmare sighed. He drew a hand through his thick hair. “Yes, I see. It would not be like her to do so, would it? But to deny admittance to her daughter—that is what has so disturbed me. She has always been available to Abigail. My lord, did you see the girl's face at luncheon? She has been crying her eyes out."
"Perhaps Lady Mary is aware that Abigail has someone else whom she may turn to now beside herself,” Lady Cecily suggested.
Lord Kenmare lifted a dark brow, his blue eyes quizzical. “Indeed! I suppose you are referring to Captain McInnes."
"Exactly so.” Lady Cecily nodded. She smiled at her brother's continued frown. “Come, Robert. Allow Mary to know what she is doing. She will come around, believe me."
It was a day and a half later that Lady Mary finally made an appearance in the dining room. The earl was the first to see her paused in the doorway. He got hastily to his feet. “Lady Mary!"
She entered, pale and composed, and took her usual seat at the table. She did not at first appear to notice the fixed stares of the earl, her daughter, and Captain McInnes, who had also jumped to his feet, and Lady Cecily, or of the butler and footman who stood ready to serve. She placed her napkin on her lap, and only then did she glance around her. She smiled faintly. “I perceive that I have caused some consternation. I do apologize for doing so."
The gentlemen seated themselves again. Abigail reached out and tentatively touched her mother's arm. “Mama? Are you quite all right?"
Lady Mary regarded her daughter. There were shadows in the depths of her gray eyes. “I shall be. But I do not think we shall talk of me this evening. I understand that you and Captain McInnes may have come to an agreement."
Lord Kenmare's brows shot up and he exchanged glances with Lady Cecily. Lady Mary had broached a subject not usually discussed in the presence of persons outside the family, and in the process she had instantly and effectively banished all sympathetic inquiries regarding herself.
Abigail blushed and her eyes flew to the face of the gentleman sitting beside her. “How did you know, Mama?"
"I am not quite so caught up in myself that I do not listen to what Beatrice tells me,” Lady Mary said humorously.
"But we only decided this afternoon and never breathed a word to anyone,” Abigail said, marveling at how certain and accurate was the servants’ grapevine.
Captain McInnes cleared his throat. There was an anxious look in his eyes. “I hope that our decision meets with your approval, my lady."
"I approve most heartily, Captain. I shall at once write the happy news to the viscount and viscountess. Perhaps it will make up a little for what else I must relate to them."
There was a little silence as everyone remembered the earl's somber opinion that William Spence had perished. Abigail broke it, saying brightly, “I should like to be married in London, I think. Grandmama would like it excessively if she could do the thing, of course, and Bruce—Captain McInnes—does not mind a great society wedding."
"Och, no. It is likely the only grand London affair to which I shall ever be invited,” Captain McInnes said. There was laughter all around, doing much to lighten the mood of the company again.
"Very well, I shall throw that particular carrot to your grandmother, Abigail. She shall be delighted, naturally,” Lady Mary said. She suspected that her daughter and future son-in-law had decided upon this course to save her from having to deal with all the details, and she treasured their generosity toward her.
The evening meal was much livelier than it had been the previous two nights. Lady Mary made an effort to appear her usual self, but she could not quite conceal the distance that she felt from everyone. There was almost a clear wall of glass erected between herself and the others that was strikingly noticeable to those who knew her well and which to others would have seemed like a cloak of hauteur. Nevertheless, the company stayed up late playing cards, and when at last good-nights were said, it was nearly midnight.
Lord Kenmare was not particularly sleepy, and so remained downstairs for a time after the others had all gone up. He stared into the fire, sipping from time to time from a glass of wine.
When he at last made his way up the stairs, it was the small hours of the morning. He dismissed his sleepy valet after the man helped him off with his boots, saying that he would undress himself. The grateful manservant stumbled off to his bed while Lord Kenmare started to divest himself of his coat. He had tossed it and his cravat aside and half-unbuttoned his shirt when he heard a thundering rap on the door downstairs.
Lord Kenmare threw open the window and looked down at the stranger standing on the front steps. When the man moved his head, the moonlight caught his face. Lord Kenmare exclaimed, “Wilson-Jones!"
Major Wilson-Jones tilted back his head at the earl's voice above him. He gave a wide grin. “Open your doors and your cellar, my lord! I am home!"
The earl dropped the window sash and yanked his dressing gown on over his half-buttoned shirt and breeches. He flew downstairs in his stocking feet to the front door, unbolted it, and threw it open. He and Major Wilson-Jones threw their arms about each other, slapping each other's backs, laughing. When they parted, Lord Kenmare grabbed his brother-in-law's hand and gripped it. “My word, it is good to see you, Wilson-Jones. Come in, come in!” He drew his brother-in-law inside and shut the front door.
A sleepy footman had appeared, attired in his nightshirt, its tails hastily thrust into the top of his breeches. “Bring a bottle of the best Bordeaux and food at once for the major,” Lord Kenmare instructed him. As the footman hurried away, he urged his brother-in-law into the darkened drawing room. Lord Kenmare lit a match and touched the small flame to a branch of candles.
Major Wilson-Jones had gone to the occasional table to pour himself a brandy. As the earl finished with the candles, he limped toward a wing chair.
Lord Kenmare said in quick concern, “You're wounded. I'll send for a doctor at once."
Wilson-Jones waved aside his lordship's concern as he dropped into the chair. “It is a thigh wound only. It plagues me from lack of attention and over-exercise, but it is not a grave wound. Ah, it is deuced wonderful to sink into a chair with cushions! Robert, at this moment the last thing I wish is some impatient physician poking and prodding at my leg.” He toasted the earl with his glass and downed the brandy in a single swallow.
The footman entered with a heavily laden tray in his hands and a dusty bottle held securely under his arm. The major's eyes lit up and he straightened from his slouching position.
"That
is what I need. I am famished with hunger and thirst. I've had nothing but a bit of broth and biscuits since leaving the city six days ago."
Lord Kenmare took the bottle from the footman and immediately broke open the seal. He splashed a liberal amount of the Bordeaux into his brother-in-law's held-out glass. He watched as the major threw back his wine. He held up the bottle and said regretfully, “Pity to waste such a fine vintage on a man who would be just as happy with a tankard of bitter."
Major Wilson-Jones grinned as he attacked the rump of beef on the tray. “A sacrifice indeed,” he said, and then for some time he was too busy devouring the beef to speak.
Lord Kenmare sat on the arm of a wing chair, swinging his foot. “You've a fine son,” he observed in an offhand manner. He was rewarded by his brother-in-law's amazed expression and cessation of chewing.
Major Wilson-Jones swallowed swiftly, nearly choking. “A son, you say? A son!'’ His eyes took on a bemused expression, then suddenly sharpened again. “And Cecily?"
"She came through her confinement with flying colors,'’ Lord Kenmare said, smiling.
Major Wilson-Jones glanced at the ceiling. “I suppose Cecily and the boy are asleep,” he said regretfully.
"Yes, at least for now. The brat invariably tries out his lungs in the early hours, when he so eloquently demands his feedings. You may meet him then,” Lord Kenmare said. He regarded the inroads that his brother-in-law had made in the beef and said dryly, “I see that he comes by his appetite honestly."
Major Wilson-Jones laughed. He held out his empty wineglass. “I shall trouble you for another glass, my lord. I've not yet done, and my throat begs for lubrication!"
"I am entirely at your service, sir,” Lord Kenmare said, tilting the bottle over his brother-in-law's glass. He poured some wine for himself. Lifting the glass, he said with a nod, “Your health, Reginald. I am damned glad to see you alive, you know."
"Never more than I am to find myself still living,” Major Wilson-Jones said. In between more leisurely mouthfuls of beef and frequent attacks on the bottle of Bordeaux, he described his experiences since marching out of Brussels on the previous Thursday. He had been eighteen hours on horseback, he said, and in that time he had had two horses shot out from under him. When he could not procure another mount, he had taken up a fallen man's sword and fought as a common foot soldier.
"It was a near-run thing, I can tell you; the worst action that I have ever seen,” Major Wilson-Jones said somberly. He cracked a huge unintentional yawn.
"I saw the field afterward,” Lord Kenmare said grimly, nodding.
There was a short silence while Major Wilson-Jones gazed into the fire. Just when Lord Kenmare began to think that his brother-in-law had become mesmerized by the flames and fallen asleep, Major Wilson-Jones turned his head. Shadows that had nothing to do with the flickering firelight darkened his eyes. “I do not think that I shall ever be able to form an adequate description of that slaughter, or what I felt to see some thousands of wounded wretches, British and French, dying side by side.''
"There are still some alive. Wounded are being brought in even now, days afterward,” Lord Kenmare said. He thought how inane he sounded, but there were no adequate words that he could offer to his brother-in-law that could possibly erase that haunted look.
Major Wilson-Jones drained his wineglass again, then stared at it as though seeing it for me first time. “I have no doubt that hundreds who were not discovered when the dead were buried and who were unable to crawl to any habitation must have perished from famine,” he said.
Lord Kenmare was wholly sensitive to the aura of pain about his brother-in-law. He wondered as he studied his brooding companion if the kind gentleman of ready laughter that he had once known had perished. Wilson-Jones could not be allowed to submerge himself in such bleak reflections, he thought. Without quite making a conscious decision regarding the matter, he said, “I've a puzzle for you to mull, if you like. An intimate acquaintance of mine has fallen in love with a lady of sterling quality, but he hasn't declared himself to her for fear of having his suit rejected."
Completely diverted from his black reverie, Major Wilson-Jones stared at his lordship. “You, Robert? Why, who is this paragon who has so tied you in knots? Is she known to me?"
Lord Kenmare frowned at him. “My good man, I did say that it was the dilemma of an intimate acquaintance. But yes, you have met the lady in question."
Major Wilson-Jones grinned. “Aye, an intimate acquaintance indeed! I never thought to hear of your invincible heart falling again to Cupid's arrow. I suppose you do not intend to tell me the lady's name?"
"Not at all,” Lord Kenmare said cheerfully.
"I shall discover it from Cecily, then. You cannot possibly have hidden anything from her eagle eyes.'’ Major Wilson-Jones looked thoughtfully at his lordship. “I suppose that you do not actually wish my advice. But I shall give it to you anyway. My lord, make a clean breast of it all to your lady. Life is too precious to waste it in nonsensical fears.'’ He suddenly cracked another yawn. “Lord, but I am tired.” He dropped his head back and in an instant he was asleep.
Lord Kenmare rose to his feet. Quietly he took the wineglass from his brother-in-law's slack fingers. For a long moment he regarded Major Wilson-Jones's haggard face and comatose form. Setting aside the wineglasses, he picked up his brother-in-law's ankles and placed a footstool under his boots. Then he left the drawing room, gently closing the door behind him.
The following morning Major Wilson-Jones limped stiffly out of the drawing room, bleary-eyed and demanding breakfast. Lord Kenmare had persuaded Lady Cecily to come down to the breakfast room for the first time since the birth of the baby. When she heard the major's irascible voice, she paled. Her startled eyes met her brother's laughing gaze for a single second. “Why didn't you tell me?” Then she flew out of the breakfast room, her napkin fluttering to the carpet.
She met Major Wilson-Jones in the entry hall. She threw her arms about his neck, laughing and crying. “Reginald!"
Major Wilson-Jones swung her about in his arms, also laughing.
Lord Kenmare had followed his sister into the hall, flanked by Lady Mary, Abigail, and Captain McInnes. “A fine spectacle indeed!” he said.
From the depth of her husband's arms Lady Cecily looked accusingly at her brother. “You knew! And you never breathed a word to me, when you know how anxious I have been."