Chapter 10
How Joshua wished Merry would confide in him and he could ease her burden.
The restraint it cost him to remain silent was almost a physical pain.
Every look, every quiet word from Merry seemed to ask something of him, and yet not the one thing he wanted her to ask.
She had pride enough for ten men. She would fight to the last inch of self-respect before admitting that Barnaby Tremaine’s attentions had cut her to the quick.
Joshua could not bear the thought of her discovering Tremaine’s perfidy in some public way—of being made a spectacle by his deceit. Better by far that she hear it from him, he reflected, even if she despised him for saying it. And yet, he remembered his mother’s counsel.
No, he must not speak—unless she invited it.
He could act, however. He could discover who the lady was upon Tremaine’s arm that morning at church, the same young beauty who had ridden beside him in the sleigh.
Joshua was almost certain now that Tremaine was playing both young ladies false, his confidence built upon a gambler’s instinct that one of the fortunes would fall his way.
He had seen men like that before, in London parlours and in camp tents.
They thrived on risk and did not care who was hurt along the way.
Joshua clinched his teeth. The difference now was that the stakes were not money, but Merry.
And Merry was no man’s second prize.
Still, Joshua’s tortured thoughts continued, he could not expose Tremaine without proof.
If the young lady belonged to another family of means, then there might be whispers in the village or something to be gleaned from the vicar’s wife, whose knowledge of lineage rivalled Debrett’s.
He would begin his inquiries discreetly—it was his occupation, after all.
For today, however, he would do something simpler: he would make Merry smile again.
The ice on the lower lake had been declared sound that morning, and the children were clamouring to skate. It was an occupation that left little room for brooding, and if he could coax Merry onto the ice, perhaps she might forget—for a time—about Tremaine’s intolerable behaviour that morning.
The lake lay in a hollow at the edge of the park, ringed by bare willows, the slender branches of which glimmered with frost. The sky was that clean winter blue that promises both sunlight and cold in equal measure.
The Fielding and Roxton children were already careering across the surface like a barrage of cannon-balls.
Their shrieks of delight echoed against the frozen banks.
Joshua arrived with a coil of rope and a sense of readiness like a good soldier, born more from experience than optimism. No family expedition near a frozen body of water had ever gone entirely without incident.
Merry was there too, of course, her cheeks bright beneath the edge of her fur-lined hood, her skates slung over her arm.
She was laughing with Penelope’s little boy, who was determined to tie his own laces despite the evidence of three failed attempts.
The sight of her—alive with motion, her hair escaping its pins—struck Joshua with sudden, quiet force.
“Uncle Joshua!” cried Roger, sliding perilously near to his knees. “You must come—Father says you can skate faster than anyone in the army!”
“That,” said Joshua dryly, “is because the army pays us to run from danger.”
Merry looked up then, her eyes bright with mischief. “You always did run faster than the rest of us, even when we were children. If I recall correctly, you pushed me straight into the hedge when you tried to pass me on the pond.”
“I did no such thing,” he said, feigning outrage. “You fell of your own accord.”
“You tripped me,” she insisted, her tone all mock severity, “and I have never forgiven you.”
“You forgive easily enough,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You proved it five minutes later by pelting me with snow until I begged for mercy.”
Her laughter warmed the cold air. “I might be persuaded to repeat that victory.”
“Not before a rematch, surely?”
Her brows lifted in challenge. “Do you wish to race with me?”
“I do. Although you may recall the result from the last occasion.”
“Indeed I do,” she said, fastening her skates with brisk efficiency. “You lost.”
“I allowed you to win, Miss Roxton. You were ten, and my honour could withstand the defeat.”
“Then it will not survive today,” she said, rising gracefully. “Children, you shall judge!”
At once, half a dozen small faces turned eagerly toward them, and a chorus of “Race! Race!” filled the frosted air. Joshua sighed, knowing full well he had sealed his fate.
They set off side by side, their skates cutting clean arcs across the ice.
Merry moved with speed and confidence, her cloak flaring behind her like a crimson banner.
He followed close, her laughter floating back to him—bright, reckless…
and free. For a few glorious moments, he forgot the heaviness that had been sitting upon him for days.
He was not Captain Fielding, soldier or spy, but the boy who had once chased a laughing girl across a winter pond and thought her the very definition of joy.
When they reached the far end of the lake, she spun sharply and came to a stop in a spray of ice. “Admit it,” she said, breathless but triumphant. “You cannot beat me.”
He came to a halt beside her, smiling despite himself. “Perhaps not, but it is a race I would gladly lose again.”
She laughed, the sound soft and unguarded. For that moment she seemed herself again—spirited, radiant and untouched by care. Joshua, watching her, thought with a pang how fiercely he wished to keep her that way.
If he had to stand between her and disappointment, between her and the man who would wound her pride for sport, he would do it without hesitation.
For now, though, he said nothing of Tremaine, nothing of secrets or scandal.
He would let her laugh, and skate, and forget the weight she carried—if only for a single winter morning.
The cheers of their race had no sooner died away than the boys, flushed with excitement, clamoured for their own.
“Let us try!” cried Roger, his nose pink and eyes bright. “Uncle Joshua must race us all the way to the willows and back. Last one across the line is a coward!”
Joshua laughed. “A coward? You had better skate faster than your tongue, young man.”
Within moments, half a dozen boys were lined up upon the ice, their faces alight with anticipation. Merry joined the girls at the edge, calling good-natured encouragement. Joshua crouched with the others.
“Ready!” shouted Merry. “Go!”
They flew forward in a cloud of frost. Joshua hung back slightly, unwilling to rob them of victory but determined to keep watch. Arthur, the youngest, lagged behind at first, but spurred on by laughter and pride, began to push harder, his small legs churning the ice in uneven strokes.
Halfway across, Joshua saw it—the faint ridge of thawed snow refrozen into a shallow seam. He shouted a warning, but Roger’s momentum was too great. The boy’s skate caught, and he went sprawling forward with a cry, landing hard upon his arm.
Merry gasped and was on the ice almost before Joshua reached the child. The boy sat hunched, teeth clenched, his face pale beneath the rosy glow of play.
“It’s his wrist,” Joshua said at once, dropping to one knee. He brushed away the snow and examined the small, trembling hand with practised precision. “Clean break, I’ll wager. We will need to set it straight away before the swelling begins.”
Merry knelt beside him, her expression calm though her breath came fast. “Tell me what to do.”
He glanced at her briefly, meeting those clear, resolute eyes. “Hold his shoulder firmly. I will straighten it quickly.”
She nodded, tightening her hold about the boy’s upper arm, murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear. “There now, Roger, brave boy, look at me—not at him. Keep your eyes on mine.”
Joshua took the wrist in both hands, his grip sure but gentle. “One breath in, lad,” he said quietly, “and let it out.” On the exhale, he drew the limb into alignment with one swift motion. Roger cried out, but held still.
“Well done,” Joshua murmured. “The worst of it is over.”
Merry exhaled shakily, colour returning to her cheeks. “You did that as if you had done it a hundred times.”
“More than I care to count,” he said, giving her a faint smile. “Soldiers are forever breaking something. The trick is to do it quickly before they realize what you are going to do.”
She tore her scarf from around her neck without hesitation. “Here—use this to keep it still.”
Together they worked efficiently, Joshua fashioning a rough splint from two stout twigs fetched by a nearby boy and binding them with Merry’s scarf. Their movements fell into a rhythm—his steadiness and her care combined seamlessly. When it was done, Roger managed a watery grin.
“There, now,” Merry said, brushing a curl from his forehead. “No more heroics for today. You shall dine like a king tonight for your bravery.”
Joshua lifted the child easily into his arms, feeling the weight of the small body settle against his shoulder. Merry skated beside him, steadying the boy’s head against the jostling.
“You are very good with them,” she said softly as they crossed the snow.
“Experience,” he replied. “Half my regiment were still boys.”
She looked up at him then, eyes bright with quiet admiration. “You make even the worst of things seem manageable.”
He met her gaze and felt something stir, more dangerous than gratitude. He only hoped that when the time came to reveal Tremaine’s perfidy, she could still admire something about him.