It Begins with a Kiss (11 page)

He was thinner. No matter what else she’d closed away, she had never forgotten his body. He was still as hard, his limbs long and elegant, his shoulders broad. Her hands itched to explore that beloved territory. But the well-tailored jacket hung from his once-broad chest, and his hips jutted.

She couldn’t think about that. Nor could she let herself dwell on the fact that this uniform could have been tailored specifically for the Jack he’d been twenty pounds ago.

“There was a dispatch bag on him,” Chambers whispered from a few feet away. “I put his personal things in it and hid it under him before I sought you out.”

Olivia unearthed the bag when she rolled Jack over. “Did you check its contents?”

“No. Wasn’t my business.”

Taking a second, she slung the bag over her shoulder beneath her apron. She’d go through it later, when she had time.

“My lady—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, her arms once again full with Jack’s painfully familiar weight. “I’m holding on to my position by my fingernails. One mention of the Countess of Gracechurch, and even the Duchess of Murther will have to show me the street. Now, that might appeal to you, but it won’t help Jack at all, will it?”

Chambers stopped a few feet away, a bloody, soot-stained Guards’ jacket and officer’s sash in his hands. He opened his mouth as if intent on answering. One look at her obviously made him reconsider.

“I’ll need help getting him back,” he said, handing over the clothing. “The horse is gone.”

She shook her head. “No. You can’t expect it of me.”

“Please,” Chambers said, and she heard his desperation.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for strength. “Try and get him to the road. We’ll be passing by.”

Careful not to further injure him, they slipped his bloody arm into the sleeve and pulled the jacket closed. Olivia was sweating in earnest now. She had to wipe moisture from her eyes as she tied the crimson sash around Jack’s waist and shoved the betraying blue jacket away.

“I’m going back to help my friend now,” she said, climbing to her feet and rubbing her hands on her apron.

Chambers looked up from where he hovered over his former master. “Thank you… Mrs. Grace. I won’t forget it.”

Because she couldn’t help it, Olivia took one final look at Jack. Then, deliberately crushing a spasm of grief, she turned her back on them both and walked away.

Sergeant Harper was waiting around the corner by the north gate, the shotguns resting on his knees, his attention beyond the open gate into the château yard.

“I haven’t had any luck, Sergeant,” Olivia said, hoping he didn’t notice how badly her voice shook. “Have you seen Grace?”

“Yes’m,” he said, motioning with his head. “She went in there. Would you go to her? I got a bad feeling.”

Olivia nodded and walked through the broken, blasted gates into the north courtyard. There were more dead here. More bright red bundles piled in untidy hillocks, more broken hearts. There were others wandering about, blank-faced Guards checking for wounded or just stumbling toward rest. Olivia took a look around, but she didn’t see Grace anywhere among the remains of the outbuildings and great house.

“Grace? Where are you, dear?”

There was a moment of silence, the courtyard thick with smoke and the smell of carnage. Olivia thought she’d never see smoke again without returning to this place.

“I’m here,” Grace called from beyond the shattered house.

And Olivia knew. It was in the flat tone of Grace’s voice. Finality.

Ah, God. Poor thing.

Lifting her skirt away from the blood that puddled in the cobbles, Olivia walked past the still-burning buildings to find another littered courtyard. Grace was there, crouched in the shadow of a little stone chapel, her skirts pooled about her, the hem drenched in more blood. One of the red-coated bodies was in her arms.

She looked up, and Olivia saw the rivers of tears that had scoured away the smoke and grime from Grace’s cheeks. Her expression was calm, though, almost as if she’d finally played out a scene she’d anticipated a thousand times over.

“Oh, Grace,” Olivia said, crouching down beside her friend. “I’m so sorry.”

Grace lifted a small smile. “He knew I’d come. He waited to bid me good-bye,” she said, stroking that lined face that rested so peacefully in her arms. “He was supposed to be back at headquarters, you know. Wellington had detached him to Quartermaster Corps. He was just too old this time. But he wouldn’t allow his boys to face this without him.”

Olivia laid her hand atop Grace’s where it rested on her father’s blood-soaked chest. “Do I say he died as he wanted?”

Grace’s smile grew, and with it the bittersweet light in her eyes. “Indeed you do,” she said. “Thank you.”

Olivia wished she could give Grace the time she needed. The hour was getting late, though, and they had a long way to go.

“We need to get him back, dear. I think there are scavengers about.”

Grace’s attention sharpened, and she looked out toward the gates. “Oh, yes,” she said, giving her father a few final pats. “I should have thought of that. You aren’t safe here.”

“Shall I send the sergeant to you?”

“Would you?”

Olivia reached over to wipe the tears that scoured Grace’s cheeks. “I have the most curious urge to wield a shotgun. I think I’ll look quite fearsome, don’t you?”

When he saw Olivia walk out of the big gate, Sergeant Harper secured the reins and set down the guns. He’d known, of course.

“I’ll take over here, Sergeant,” Olivia said. “The general needs you.”

The little man’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “You sure you can manage, ma’am?”

Olivia took a second to stroke the noses of the restless horses. “Mine is not the difficult task, Sergeant. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and hopped down. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be back in a flash, then.”

It was then, oddly, that Olivia finally noticed that the sergeant had only one leg. His left foot was made of wood, and it took him a minute to catch his balance on it. She waited until he marched into the courtyard to attend his general one last time, his limp only slight. Then she climbed up to take his place atop the coachman’s perch.

It was an excellent vantage point. Too excellent, Olivia realized. The unearthly light of the moon sapped the color from the carnage around her. She could no longer identify the uniforms. The dead had lost their identities. They were no longer friend or enemy, just thousands and thousands of boys who would never go home.

Please don’t let Jack be responsible for any of this,
she prayed into the darkness.
Don’t let me betray these fallen boys by helping him.

When Grace returned, it was with an honor guard of six of the surviving Guardsmen who gently carried the general’s body to the carriage, led by Sergeant Harper. Another officer guided a limping Grace by the elbow and was bent over her, talking. Grace nodded, her gaze never leaving the body of her father.

Olivia tightened the reins to calm the horses. Sergeant Harper opened the carriage door, and the men deposited their general inside. After bestowing parting kisses on each of the men, Grace followed. Sergeant Harper climbed up alongside Olivia, and she could see tear tracks on his homely face.

Ah, to have been mourned like that. To have a daughter with the courage to brave a battlefield to search for you. To have a line of battered, smoke-stained soldiers snap off a salute as your hearse door closed and a faithful friend to see you home.

“If you don’t mind, Sergeant,” Olivia said, “I’m not a very good whip. I am a deft hand with a weapon, though. My papa insisted we all be able to hunt. It was his obsession.”

His eyes glassy, the sergeant nodded and took the reins from her. Olivia settled on the seat and arranged the weapons more fully across her lap.

“I thank you, ma’am,” he said. “It’s a good thing you’re doing this day, all right.”

“Nonsense, Sergeant,” she said, shoving her straggling hair out of her face before she thumbed the triggers. “I was merely looking for a bit of adventure.”

With a small smile on his face, he clucked the horses.

They made it no farther than the edge of the orchard before Harper pulled them to a stop. A group of wounded blocked his way. In the center stood Chambers, a pistol in his hand and Jack at his feet. Olivia blinked, momentarily disoriented. For a fraction of a second, she’d forgotten. She saw Jack and felt her courage falter.

“We need a ride,” Chambers said quietly, as if he were indeed an officer who’d bled on this field with the rest. “I’d appreciate your help.”

The sergeant bristled. “Don’t be pointin’ that popper at me, boyo. Lots o’ men are needin’ help this night.”

Chambers lifted the gun. “Good. Then you won’t mind taking a few.”

“I won’t—”

“Please,” Olivia begged, her hand on the sergeant’s arm. “Surely we can help.”

“Olivia?” Grace asked from the carriage, and Olivia turned back to see her friend leaning out of the window.

It was all Olivia could do to look down at that sad, strained face. She could barely speak past the dread of what she had to do.

“These men need a ride,” she said. “Couldn’t we take them up, at least to the field hospital?”

Grace looked up at her, as if she could discern Olivia’s intent by the frail light from the carriage lamps.

“Please, Grace,” Olivia begged. “For me.”

Grace said not another word. She just opened the door and motioned for Chambers to carry Jack inside. Knowing that she had just sealed her own fate, Olivia hopped down to help.

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