The Prodigal Daughter (16 page)

“And quite rightly so. I had no idea you were harboring such ideas, or I would have disabused you of this nonsense in Brussels,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not to minimize Jack’s affections, but he was only truly alive when in battle. You were well acquainted with his normal verve and energy. In the heat of combat, that was doubled. His mind worked twice as fast and his strength grew to Herculean levels. But beyond that, his concentration was total.”

“Is that why you asked how he would have adjusted to peace?”

“Yes. I often thought that he would have made the perfect knight-errant, prowling the land to dispatch villains, rescue damsels in distress, and accomplish deeds of skill and valor. Mundane chores pressed heavily on his shoulders. Anything smacking of routine left him restless. Surely you saw how unhappy he was growing in Vienna, with nothing to do but copy reports and placate politicians.”

“I’m not sure that his job was responsible for that,” she countered. “Much of it was my own fault. Not being privy to my activities, he was impatient with the amount of socializing I was doing. In some respects, I think he felt inferior, given my parentage. Watching me throw myself into the giddy social whirl activated guilt for removing me from those circles. I wanted to tell him it was all for duty – I have no real interest in such a life – but you had forbidden me to reveal that assignment even to Jack.”

“And for good reason. His jealousy over the attention you received was necessary to hide your purpose. Even had I known of your origins, it would have changed nothing. We needed the information you uncovered and there was little hope of obtaining it elsewhere. You’ve an uncanny gift for inspiring people to talk. But do not blame yourself for Jack’s unhappiness. I swear that most of it grew from his own frustrations. And that would have worsened as time passed. I suspect I did him a disservice when I transferred him to my staff, for he was always happier in the field. He was a different man after we left Brussels.”

Amanda nodded, accepting his statement. It was depressing to know that she had been unable to offer her husband contentment, but she was not inclined to argue with Wellington. They chatted a few minutes longer, the duke reiterating his appreciation for her contributions in the late war. Then he took his leave.

It was going to be a very long day. Not only were her emotions in turmoil, but Wellington’s visit had shattered her armor, leaving her powerless to evade the memories. Her teasing comment had been prophetic. She was in for a battle, though of the mind rather than of the body.

The perfect knight-errant...
With his usual acuity, Wellington had captured Jack’s spirit in that one phrase. Challenges were as necessary to him as breathing. What would they have done if Jack had lived?  The duke had retired once the treaties were signed. There was already talk of a position for him in the government. Jack would have rejoined his old regiment. But they were doing nothing of interest, nor was there a chance of new wars now that Napoleon was so far away. Jack’s vivacity would have withered and died under such circumstances. Not even love could have sustained them. He would probably have turned to some other dangerous occupation to fill the void in his life.

How sad that she had never understood his basic nature. Despite her vaunted perspicacity, she had been ignorant of so central a truth, misjudging his relationship with the army. For eight years she had ascribed his devotion to duty as a temporary measure demanded by the grim reality they all faced as Napoleon methodically wrested control of Europe from its rightful governments. Now she realized how blind she had been. He was not fighting for peace. He was battling evil for its own sake, charging into the fray because he delighted in pitting himself against others.

The only other activity that made him truly happy was helping people – finding a home for a family of orphaned Spanish children, rescuing a fellow soldier who had fallen over a cliff and was trapped on a ledge, fishing a pair of peasant lads out of a rain-swollen stream at great risk to himself – the list went on and on. It was one of the things she loved about him, this willingness to ignore his own safety and comfort when someone was in trouble. She was only beginning to understand that his actions were not purely selfless, that he nurtured his own needs by such conduct. Could she have made him happier if she had known that from the beginning? 

They had often talked of her childhood and of her pain from the constant rejection and hatred. Jack was so very understanding. He must have experienced similar situations himself.

The realization hurt. She had taken so much from him – safety, support, love, comfort – but she had given little in return, not even the sympathetic ear that she offered to every other man in the regiment. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.
Forgive me, Jack,
she mouthed silently.
I hadn’t the experience to know that you needed more.

Chapter Ten

Norwood stared at the letter, a frown driving furrows across his forehead. The missive was either a glaring example of his grandmother’s deteriorating mental faculties, or it contained an intriguing mystery he would have to solve, for his peace of mind if nothing else.

Congratulations on your impending betrothal, she had written in the flowing script that had characterized her younger days. That made him think she might be improving. I am sure that you will be pleased with your wife. Her mother was one of my goddaughters, you might recall, a loving, caring girl with a vivacious temperament and a delightful sense of humor. I was devastated by her death.

Emily’s mother was Lady Medford’s goddaughter?  He recalled no such thing, but he knew little about his grandmother, especially her early life. Yet Lady Thorne had not mentioned so interesting a connection at dinner that night, and she surely would have known.

His mother, the dowager duchess, had long been acquainted with Thorne’s wife and had waxed almost poetic over her friend when pressing him to attach Lady Emily’s regard. He could translate the accolades well enough – her ladyship was exactly like her grace:  cold, haughty, high in the instep, and undoubtedly selfish and vain as well. His grandmother could never describe the same woman as loving and caring, with a delightful sense of humor. But it was unlikely that her memory was faulty. Though she often forgot present events, her recollections of long ago were clear.

So his grandmother must be referring to the first Lady Thorne, to Lady Amanda’s mother. It made sense. Lady Amanda was so different from the rest of her family that her character must come from her mother. Lady Medford’s description fit her quite well. And he had noted no agitation in his grandmother after Lady Thorne’s death. Thus the professed devastation must have occurred many years before.

He would have to write immediately and straighten out the misunderstanding before false rumors appeared in town. But before setting pen to paper, he collected Debrett’s
Peerage
from Thorne’s library, wanting to verify his assumptions.

He was right. Thorne’s first wife had been Lady Amanda Holburn, second daughter of the Duke of Shumwell. The lady had died delivering a daughter, and Thorne had remarried immediately. That in itself generated a host of new questions, but Norwood pushed them aside. Shumwell’s duchess was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Westcote whose principal seat ran with Broadbanks, seat of the Marquess of Idlebury, who was Lady Medford’s father. The two girls were the same age.

Norwood shook his head. He could see how the confusion had arisen. The second Lady Thorne had routinely referred to Lady Emily as her oldest daughter. If she had ignored the existence of Lady Amanda, his mother would never have heard of the earlier birth. And he had contributed to the confusion. In all his communications with both parent and grandparent, he had never referred to Emily by name, instead calling her Thorne’s eldest chit.

He frowned. The girl had never been real enough to accord her a name, remaining even now a nebulous concept of suitability rather than a living human being. That would have to change. But at least he could rest easy. His grandmother’s faculties were not as impaired as he had feared.

Unbidden memories deepened his frown as he rose to replace the book. It had been an unmistakable flash of attraction he had felt for Mrs. Morrison that day by the stream. He had recognized it at the time and recoiled from it, adhering to duty by offering for Lady Emily lest he be tempted by a low-born commoner. He had buried the feeling under a mountain of self-reproach, but it had now worked its way back into the light of day.

He castigated himself roundly. A flash of lust for a widow was bad enough, but he could not entertain warm thoughts for his future sister-in-law!  Propriety must be outraged. She was ineligible for a mistress and impossible for a spouse. Her conduct was unconventional, exhibiting few of the traits one expected of a lady. She was outspoken to the point of rudeness.

Yet both Humphries and Wellington described her as a good listener. Perhaps it was that quality that he responded to. It was not attraction but comfort. After dealing with his rigid mother for so many years, it was not surprising that he would have confused the two emotions. Lady Amanda would make an interesting relative.

In the meantime, he must tackle the job of getting to know his betrothed. No matter how dutiful the girl was, she could not be happy spending her life with an aloof stranger. The thought sent his mind off in a new direction. Why was he concerned whether she was happy?  He had deliberately chosen a woman who would not interfere with his routine. She had asked him for nothing, yet here he was, wondering how to make her life enjoyable.

It was Lady Amanda’s fault. She had awakened a concern for others that he had discarded years before. He doubted if he could lay it to rest any time soon, so he must find a way to satisfy his wife. Perhaps they could become friends.

Having reached that decision, he turned his thoughts to the morrow. Geoffrey might be interested in shooting over a piece of moor that Thorne claimed was loaded with partridge.

* * * *

Amanda was walking home, having called on a tenant child who was suffering from a chill, when Thorne caught up to her. To her surprise, he dismounted and mutely fell into step beside her.

She had not seen him since the major’s dinner party and had no desire to face him again. Their meetings had never been congenial. Yet she held her tongue. He seemed different – almost uncertain. An odd wave of sympathy swept through her and she stifled a gasp. Spending his life in constant disapproval could not have been pleasant. The only kindred spirit in his world had been his second wife. Was he lonely?  But she immediately scoffed at so ridiculous a notion. The Marquess of Thorne needed no one. The only characteristic he had shared with his wife was icy aloofness.

“Good afternoon, Amanda,” he said after five minutes had passed in silence.

“Father,” she responded. Until she knew what had prompted this odd behavior, she was determined to remain detached.

“It occurred to me at dinner the other night that perhaps I misjudged your departure..” His voice revealed a continuing struggle between honesty and stubborn pride.

She glanced at his impassive face but made no reply. What could she say?  If he was looking for an argument, let him start it.

“Why did you leave?” he asked at last.

“I refused to wed a brutal man who would have beaten me every day of my life whether I deserved it or not.”

“Fontbury?”  He sounded surprised.

“Surely you knew that much about him,” she scoffed, then brought her tone under control again. “The one time he visited here, he struck down and permanently crippled the stable boy for allowing his horse to sidle while he was mounting, ran Ned Taylor into the ditch for not removing himself from the road when Fontbury approached, and ravished Mrs. Sutler – you might remember how pretty she was.”

Thorne blanched, but it was not his nature to admit either ignorance or fault. “So you eloped with a half-pay soldier. Did he expect to acquire a large dowry?”

“An unworthy question,” she said, not adding
even for you
, though the words hung in the air between them. “You know he never asked you for so much as a penny-piece. We were friends. He could not stomach consigning me to so evil a man, so he offered to take care of me himself. And he did.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Recovering from injuries. He had been gravely wounded in Buenos Aires. After we married, we spent several months with his great-uncle while he regained the rest of his strength..” She shrugged.

Another silence stretched. Thorne’s horse clopped along behind them, its hooves the only sound in the still air. Not a whisper of a breeze ruffled the leaves. It seemed the entire world held its breath, amazed at the marquess’s unusual behavior. Amanda glanced toward the woods and distant stream. Neither bird nor bee fanned the air. Time hung suspended as if they had stumbled into a dream. She returned her eyes to the road, negotiating a corner and starting downhill.

“Was he unable to provide a home for you here while he was in Spain?” Thorne asked at last, censure threading the words though he was noticeably trying to control it.

“The question never arose. Jack’s life was the army. Either I could remain behind, lonely and fearful for his life and health, or I could join him. I chose the latter.”

“Did Wellington exaggerate your own activities?” he asked after another pause.

“He made them sound more glamorous than they really were,” she said with a shrug. “I knew quite a bit about healing even before I married Jack. It was better for everyone if I bound up simple injuries immediately after battles instead of forcing the men to wait hours – or even days – until the surgeons had seen to the serious wounds. Not until Waterloo did I work directly with the doctors. But the number of casualties that day was so high, they drafted anyone with even modest skills. Society ladies who would normally faint at the sight of blood were treating the wounded on the streets of Brussels.”