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child to come ahead of you, and her letters are all that's polite. Was she
left well provided for or shall you see to the old lady's future?"
"Her settlements were generous, I recall. And she very sweetly offered to
move to the dower house as soon as I wish to take up residence, as if I
would throw the poor dear out in the snow. I thought perhaps I would
invite her to return to London with me, if you don't mind too much, when
I go to take care of the business. I'll wait for the weather to warm,
naturally, rather than subject her to dangerous roads and winter storms."
Rowanne was delighted. "That would be just the thing! I am sure she
needs a change of scenery, and I need a chaperone! Oh, not to bear-lead
me or make introductions, you know that, but just for propriety's sake. We
would all be in partial mourning by then, I suppose, so there could be
nothing to offend her, although in all truth she does not sound a priggish
female. We could see that she enjoys herself with the opera and card
parties, quiet entertainments, you know. It's the least we can do. Then
Aunt Cora would not have to bestir herself, or nibble me to death with her
demands that I marry every twiddlepoop and cod's-head she finds."
"Fine, why don't you suggest the visit to her? It would sound more the
thing, coming from you. Oh, by the way, speaking of your beaux, Major
Delverson was wounded again. Seriously, I'm afraid, or he would have
been shipped home with the other casualties. I say, Rowanne, are you all
right? I thought you did not care for the chap?"
"No, Gabe, I am fine. It's just the& the news about Uncle Donald. How
sorry I am we never knew him. Now it is too late."
During that same dreadful winter, while Carey lay swearing to walk
again, when he was conscious enough to do so, his cousins were
celebrating Harry's last days as a bachelor. There was a three-day-long
party with brandy and Birds of Paradise, culminating in a curricle race on
the ice-covered, rutted roads. Harry held the ribbons, Joss blew the tin.
They never saw the mailcoach in the swirling snow. And Carey did not
have to worry any longer about dancing at Harry's wedding.
The Iron General himself came to Carey's bedside to bring the sad news.
By the worst stroke of hellish luck in creation, Major Lord Harmon
Carrisbrooke Delverson, Bart., became His Grace, the new Duke of St.
Dillon.
Chapter Fourteen
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E
verything he knew or loved was gone. His father, his cousins, his
career, his friends. Carey was left with nothing but responsibilities. Even
General Wellesley had seen fit to remind him of his duties before he left
the Peninsula.
"You've been a good officer, lad. Had my doubts at first, I admit. Looked
like you'd use your guts for brains. Wouldn't have lasted long at that fool's
gamble. Now you have an onus, boy, a God-given burden to use those wits,
yes, and the backbone, to serve the country in another way. Not speaking
ill of the dead, but your cousin never took his seat, never cared that the
lands and people who depended on him were cared for except by hired
overseers, never made sure one of the proudest names in the land would
not die out with that last ball you took. Go home, boy, see to your
obligations, raise up more fine lads to serve their country and carry on the
name, and see if you cannot beat some sense into those old fools at the
War Office."
Carey was on his way, his hair white at the temples, his uniform
hanging on his gaunt frame, his cane and Rudd supporting most of his
weight. His heart dead inside him.
The ship docked in Southampton after a miserable crossing. Carey had
to be half carried to the coach that had been sent down to meet them from
Delmere, and the old stableman, Ned, wiped at his eyes with a checkered
kerchief as he whipped up the horses.
They dropped the batman off at Delmere before going on to High
Clyme, over Rudd's protests. "Whatever's there can wait another day, sir,
ah, Your Grace. I didn't nurse you all these months to have you cock your
toes up the first day in England."
"Sergeant, you are sounding like an old woman. As is, I am putting off
Harry's solicitors and bankers as well as the War Office, in order to see
about Suzannah and Emonda. That's where I am going. I rested in the
coach, so don't go clucking like a hen with one chick. Go ask Mrs. Tulliver
to take a few of the holland covers off so we have beds for the night and a
hot meal. Wait till you taste her cooking, Rudd. Good, plain English fare."
"I don't see why you have to be traipsing back and forth, is all. Why
can't we bunk at this High Clyme then, if your wards are there?"
"Emonda's a widow, Rudd. It wouldn't suit her notions of respectability
to have a bachelor under the roof, even one with a game leg and a burning
desire for a hot bath. Knowing my stepaunt, the peagoose would lie awake
all night worrying that I was battle-starved for a woman, and lusting after
the first female with blond hair and pale skin."
Rudd shook his head in disgust and tucked the carriage blanket tighter
around the major, neither of them being used to the chill dank air after
the heat of Spain. Carey tapped his cane on the roof of the coach for Ned
to proceed.
The new duke looked back on the gray stones of his home that was
home no longer. He would have to take up residence at the Abbey, he
supposed. Carey loved that rambling old pile where boys could get lost for
days without a tutor ever finding them but he could not face that yet. He
supposed Delmere would go to his second son, as it had come to his father.
The deuce, he thought, sons.
The hatchments were up at High Clyme. Trust Emonda to get all the
conventions correct. Carey struggled out of the carriage and stood on the
gravel drive contemplating the marble stairs. Blast, there must be twenty
of the bloody things. He shook off the footman who came down to assist
him, feigning desire to look around while he caught his breath.
Before he started the long climb, a girl came tumbling out of the
ornamental maze toward the left of the carriage drive. Suzannah must
have heard the coach pull up and, giggling, hurried to greet her long-lost
half-brother with hell and damnation Heywood Jeffers by her side.
Suzannah stopped when she got closer and had a better look at Carey,
and he thought he read pity on her face so he frowned. Her chin came up
with a determined set as she took Woody's hand and moved forward. She
was lovely, Carey thought, with her black hair curling down her back, a
Delverson through and through. The cawker at her side was wearing
striped pantaloons, b'gad, and he may have filled out some, but young
Jeffers never had grown into his ears. As for that carroty mop and the
freckles, Jupiter, but love was blind.
Then Carey opened his own eyes wider as the pair reached him at the
bottom step. Suzannah's high-necked gray gown was misbuttoned at the
bodice, and her lower lip was swollen. The major grabbed for the sword
that was not by his side and cursed.
Woody stepped forward, offering his hand. "Welcome home, Your
Grace. We have been waiting your arrival to ask your permission to "
Carey sneered at his sister's gown. She blushed. "This is how you wait,
you bastard?" He reached for Woody's outstretched hand with his right,
pulled him forward, and popped him a hard left smack in the middle of
his nose. Woody went down, his claret drawn, and Carey, as was
inevitable, collapsed alongside him. Carey pulled himself up to a sitting
position before the footman could get to him, but sat there on the bottom
step waiting for the pain to subside, watching his sister use the gossoon's
neckcloth to tenderly wipe the blood from the face in her lap. Carey sent
the footman off for water and towels, and so no more of this Cheltenham
tragedy need make the rounds of the neighborhood.
"What are you doing home from school?" he asked his sister in a quiet
tone that would have had many a junior officer quaking in his boots.
Suzannah looked up, her eyes blazingly defiant. "I came to support
Emmy in her hour of need and I will not go back." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]