Charlotte Louise Dolan (6 page)

The other woman had come up on her left side, and Elizabeth was sorely tempted to keep the right side of her face turned away from the “devastated” Lady Emily, but by repeating to herself that a St. John is not a coward, she gathered enough courage to turn and face the other woman.

If there had been the slightest sign of true sympathy in Lady Emily’s face, it would have been bearable, but the glint of triumph in the back of her eyes made the words of condolence ring false. Elizabeth knew with a sinking heart that the details of this encounter would be spread all over town by evening.

The other woman babbled more words of spurious sympathy, ending with “But how is it you are in London now? I would have thought ...” She broke off abruptly.

That I would have locked myself in a nunnery, Elizabeth completed the thought. “My husband and I have come to town to attend the wedding of his cousin, the Duke of Colthurst,” she said calmly. “And now, if you will excuse me, I see that he has finished his business.” Leaving the other woman with her jaw hanging open, Elizabeth rejoined the captain and they left the jewelers without any further harassment.

* * * *

A week later Elizabeth sat alone in a pew in St. George’s, her back rigid and her hands clasped in her lap in an attempt to keep them from trembling. Her attention was not at all on the couple being married, or on her husband, who was standing beside his cousin at the altar.

The days in London had flown by at a shocking rate. True to his word, Darius had given her driving lessons and been pleased to discover in her an apt pupil. She, on the other hand, had delighted in coaxing the kind man she now knew her husband to be out from the behind the mask of emotionless soldier.

One day while driving in the park, they had come upon the duke in his carriage, and Darius had introduced her to his cousin and his cousin’s bride-to-be, Amelia Haccombe.

The family resemblance between the two men had been quite pronounced, but to Elizabeth it seemed as if Algernon was but a poor imitation of her husband. The duke was not quite as tall, not quite as well-built, not quite as handsome, but more important, he did not seem to have the intelligence and inner strength of character that Darius did. Anyone not knowing the two of them would have assumed her husband was the duke, but Elizabeth was only relieved that such was not the case.

The fiancée, who was petite with black ringlets, a flawless complexion, and a dainty rosebud of a mouth, seemed fully aware of her own good looks, but hers was a pouting type of beauty that did not particularly appeal to Elizabeth, since it hinted at a willfulness and selfishness of character.

Although the affection between Darius and his cousin was quite apparent and more brotherly than cousinly, Elizabeth did not feel she would ever develop more than a superficial relationship with Amelia, which was rather a disappointment.

* * * *

“She trapped him into the marriage, you know, by playing upon his sense of honor.”

“I can understand him giving her a little something, like a diamond bracelet, but certainly she should not have held out for the St. John name.”

The cruel words recalled Elizabeth to the present. Ever since the wedding began, the two women behind her had been conversing in low tones. Now their voices were raised enough that she could hear them easily, and it took her only a moment to realize they were talking about her.

“What is more amazing to me, is that she is parading around town without so much as a veil. You would think she would stay home out of common decency and respect for other people’s sensibilities.”

Elizabeth had thought she was doing a good job all week ignoring the stares and the whispers that followed her whenever she went out in public with her husband, but nothing had prepared her for this. There did not seem to be any defense to protect her from the maliciousness of the attack, and it was only worsened by the knowledge that others in the immediate’ vicinity doubtless were also listening intently to the continuing flow of vitriolic words.

The ceremony finally at an end, the guests stood up, and compelled by curiosity, Elizabeth turned to see who the two women were. She was met by cold stares from two of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. In their eyes was the knowledge that they had known from the beginning who she was and that their cruelty had been deliberate.

Unable to withstand their animosity by herself, she worked her way through the crowd, trying to hide her growing panic. When she finally reached the protection of her husband’s side, her relief was short-lived. The two women had had the audacity to follow her.

Before she could recover from the shock, her husband was introducing them to her as his sisters, Lady Vawdry and Lady Dromfield.

The rest of the wedding festivities were a nightmare for Elizabeth, who was only able to maintain her poise by planning exactly what she would say to her husband when she had him alone.

Her chance did not come until they were in the carriage returning to her aunt’s house. “Why did you never mention that you had two sisters? I assume there are only two, or may I look forward to meeting others?” Her tone was cool and composed, but the look he gave her in return was frigid and chilled her to the bone.

“Because it is not a requirement that my wife have anything to do with my sisters. If you wish to give them the cut direct, you have my blessing.”

“And have you any other relatives lurking around that I should be warned about? A mother perhaps?”

“My mother is dead, so the only thing that need bother you about her is the gossip. Since helpful people will no doubt be eager to fill you in on every detail, you might as well hear it from me. She was very like my sisters, and played my father false on every possible occasion. There has been considerable speculation that he was not the father of his wife’s daughters, although thank God I am the spitting image of him, so there has never been any doubt in that quarter.

“The experts disagree as to how many duels were fought in defense of my mother’s nonexistent honor—some make it seven, while others count eight. Suffice it to say that my father never felt the need to participate, but then they were together very little during their marriage.”

He was staring straight ahead while he talked, and appeared so hard that Elizabeth didn’t even try to offer him words of comfort, which he would undoubtedly have rejected out of hand.

“When I was ten, my mother remarried, to a rich old man who had made his fortune in trade, and I was sent to live with my father’s cousin, or rather, the duke came and took me away over my mother’s objections.

“Less than a year later, my stepfather came home to find his wife in bed with his groom. He shot the groom, strangled my mother, then hung himself. The family managed to hush it up, and the official cause of death for all three was listed as a carriage accident.”

He turned and looked at her, and there was no warmth in his expression. “Whatever gossip you hear about my mother, be prepared to accept it as the truth and count yourself lucky that she was exceedingly clever, because fully half of what she did is not public knowledge.”

Nothing more was said during the ride home, although once Elizabeth tentatively tried putting her hand on his arm. It was like touching a statue made of cold marble, and he gave no sign that he was even aware of her presence beside him in the carriage, so that finally she replaced her hand in her lap.

Somehow or other, she resolved, on the trip to Oakhaven she would find a way to break down the walls he had erected around himself, and try to undo some of the damage caused by his mother and sisters.

Such was not to be. Upon arriving home, the sight that greeted them was her husband’s luggage, packed and standing in the foyer.

“Your orders is come, Capt’n,” Munke reported. “The dispatches is ready for you to pick up at the War Office, and you’re to leave immediately to join Wellington. I’ve taken the liberty, ma’am, of sending for your brother to join you.”

Elizabeth wanted to plead with her husband not to leave her like this, not with the coldness between them, but she held her tongue and watched him depart without giving her even the formality of a token kiss.

She waited on the steps until the carriage was out of sight, then retired to her room, locked both the doors, and indulged herself in a fit of crying.

The next morning she learned that there was to be no baby, but she had no tears left—she had shed them all the day before, when she discovered she loved this soldier she had married.

The postman had been paid extra to deliver the mail to Oakhaven, so Mrs. St. John would not be put to the bother of picking it up in the village, and today, as usual, despite the November nip in the air, she was watching for him and met him by the gate.

“Good morning, Mr. Williams.”

She never asked him directly, but he knew from the eager expectancy what she wanted to know.

“Morning, ma’am. A letter from your brother, and Squire Higgens sent over some copies of the London papers he thought might interest you.” He handed her the bundle and watched the light fade from her eyes.

“Perhaps tomorrow there will be more,” he offered, but he knew neither of them honestly expected tomorrow to be different. Saying his good-byes, he continued on his rounds, but his thoughts stayed with the lady he had left behind.

No one in the village had met her husband, but Captain St. John had not made himself popular there. Even allowing for the fact that he was busy soldiering could not excuse his behavior. Not a single letter had he ever written his good wife in all the months they had been apart, although she wrote him regularly twice a week.

Nicholas, now, he was a good boy, and had always been well-liked in the village, by both the gentry and the common folk.

As soon as he turned twenty-one, he had gone off to be a soldier, too, which was a pity, but then somebody had to put Boney in his place; Wellington couldn’t do it alone. He needed strong young men like Nicholas, who from reports was doing his duty in a way to make them all proud.
He
found time to write to his sister, though, which made her husband’s silence all the more difficult to explain away.

It was a good thing Mrs. St. John’s little cousin had come to stay with her, so she wouldn’t have to bear this waiting alone.

* * * *

“Are the casualty lists there?” Dorie asked.

“Just a minute, I’m checking.” Elizabeth had opened the letter from her brother, but the date was over a month old, so she had tossed it aside for a moment. The last newspaper the squire had sent over several days previous had contained the information that there had been some kind of military action at Arroyo de Molinos on the twenty-first of October, and General Hill had defeated the French under Girard, but no details had been available. She had been in a state of anxiety ever since, in regard both to her husband and to her brother, who was a lieutenant in the same company.

“This paper gives more information about the fighting at least.” Quickly she scanned the list of regiments that had been involved in the conflict. “Yes, his company took part in the engagement, but there are no lists of casualties.”

She dropped that paper and snatched up the next, and her heart stopped beating momentarily when she saw the familiar small print of endless names. Almost unable to breathe from dread, she carefully checked line by line, name by name, knowing that all over England mothers and wives and sisters and sweethearts would be crying in grief when they found the names of their particular soldiers.

She reached the end of the list without finding either a Captain St. John or a Lieutenant Goldsborough and felt a measure of relief. It was tempered, however, by the fact that November was already well advanced.

All they really knew was that three weeks ago Darius and Nicholas had been alive and unwounded. Anything could have happened in the meantime.

She picked up the third newspaper and read aloud the account of a battle on the twenty-fifth of October in which General Blake had been defeated. Even knowing that Darius’s regiment was nowhere near Sagunta did little to lighten her deep anxiety, which she was always careful to hide from Dorie.

The letter from Nicholas contained nothing about battles or fighting, but did include a request for more woolen socks, knitted a little longer than the last pair they had sent him, and an account of a fellow officer who had traded his gold watch for a suckling pig, which he had then roasted and eaten in its entirety, making himself not only very ill but also very unpopular with the other men.

Leaving Dorie to begin the knitting, Elizabeth retired to the study to write some letters.

My dear husband:

We have been having an exciting time in the village the past few days. Sunday when the sexton went to ring the church bell, he could not do so. Upon climbing up into the belfry, he discovered that an unknown party or parties had tied the bell rope around the beam, so that no matter how hard it was pulled, the bell could not be rung.

The squire, acting as magistrate, began an investigation, and no one was surprised when the culprit turned out to be his youngest son, Jeremy, who is quite renowned for his ingenuity. There was great consternation in the vicarage, however, when it was discovered that the vicar’s son Matthew had aided and abetted Jeremy.

Elizabeth paused a moment before continuing. It was becoming harder and harder to write to her husband since she had no way of knowing if he appreciated hearing from her. In all the long months of silence, she had not been able to cure herself of longing for even the briefest note, but the only news she had of him was in her brother’s letters, and they contained little more than the information that the captain was in good health and much respected by his men.

Nor could she reveal to Darius her constant fears for his well-being. A soldier going into battle did not need to have his mind distracted by worries about the people left at home. Being thus limited in subject matter, her letters were composed of nothing more than the trivia of everyday life in a small village in Somerset, which seemed so unimportant compared to the world-shaking events of which her husband and brother were a part.