Chapter 8
CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
What did she mean, we would have to see? Did she intend to tell her parents or, even worse, Harriet about the shepherd's croft? This dinner was turning into a disastrous affair when it should have been one of the happiest evenings of my life.
All I wanted to do was speak to Harriet but she sat across from me, bracketed between two men.
Davis—the lucky devil, and a Mr. Vincent Howard, who was the foppish son of Sir Phillip.
I had plenty of chances to look at her, and yet every time I did, she was speaking to one man or the other, and those men seemed quite delighted to have her eyes on them.
Meanwhile, I sat uncomfortably next to Miss Blackwell, the woman I’d been certain I would never see again, only to end up in her home because she was General Blackwell’s daughter.
His daughter.
I was torn between completely ignoring everything that had happened between us and dragging her away somewhere the first moment I could get her alone and making her promise, once again, that no one would ever hear of our scandalous night together.
How many times had the General casually mentioned the skills he taught her or bragged about her intelligence?
Half the men in his company were in love with her and the other half despised her for setting a standard none of them could live up to.
If Blackwell knew I’d been there in that shepherd’s croft with her that night, there would be the very devil to pay.
“I trust your journey to Blackwell was uneventful?” Miss Blackwell said in a voice so sweet I could almost taste it.
I had barely interacted with her the morning I’d woken up to find her in her nightdress, but she’d given me a clear enough picture of who she was, and it wasn’t this dulcet woman who sat so becomingly beside me.
Lieutenant Brookhouse sat on the other side of her, and he leaned forward. “I visited him two days ago before coming here. He took sick, the fool. Trying to ride in the rain.”
I narrowed my eyes at both of them. Miss Blackwell was purposely goading me, and Brookhouse should have had the common courtesy to not make me look weak in front of the general’s daughter.
But common courtesy had never been Brookhouse’s strength, not when he had the opportunity to nettle someone. Typically I enjoyed that aspect of his personality. Even when it was addressed toward me.
But not at the moment.
“Oh.” Miss Blackwell’s mouth turned down in almost believable concern. “You were caught in the rain? It must have been dreadful.”
I might have thought she was an angel when I awoke from delirium to find her watching over me, but now she was trying to impersonate one, and this time, I wouldn’t fall for it.
“Brookhouse is right,” I said stiffly. “I was a fool for trying to continue, and I paid the price.”
“He was abed for days,” Brookhouse piped up. “Cursing the rain and murmuring about a beautiful woman. So you see, my dear Miss Blackwell, we are lucky to have him here at all.”
Miss Blackwell stilled, her quirky smile faltering.
Blast Brookhouse and his loose tongue. Blast me and mine.
I’d promised Miss Blackwell we would forget that night.
I shouldn’t have mentioned her to anyone, but I hadn’t known I would actually meet her.
Had I called her beautiful? She was beautiful, there was no mistake about that, but why would I have bothered to mention that to Brookhouse?
“A beautiful woman?” Miss Blackwell turned to me slowly.
I looked past Miss Blackwell’s questioning eyes and glared at Brookhouse. “I was delirious.”
Brookhouse chuckled, obviously feeling no remorse about bringing up my sickness and my supposed delirium in front of a single young lady. I shook my head. Laughter and smiles were worth almost any price to him, especially if someone else paid it.
However, I did have some information he didn’t. “Brookhouse’s mocking about my foolish decisions on the road made his stay at my home quite unpleasant. I hope your family fared better than I did, Miss Blackwell?”
“Oh,” she turned back to Brookhouse and though I couldn’t see her expression, the gentle slope of her shoulders raised in a shrug. “We were also unfortunate enough to be caught in the storm. It did come on suddenly.”
Watching Brookhouse’s smile falter was as rewarding as any honor or recognition I’d received in the army.
Especially because he didn’t know I’d been the one to lay the trap.
“Blast,” he said, apparently comfortable enough with Miss Blackwell to use the language her father had taught us.
“Now I can’t mock Calder about it anymore. ”
I cleared my throat, partially to cover my laugh, but also to bring Brookhouse’s attention back to me. “We aren’t in the barracks anymore, Brookhouse.”
“Pardon me, Miss Blackwell.”
“Oh, I’m rarely shocked by the language my father’s men use.
” She placed a slim hand on the table next to Brookhouse’s dinner plate, and his eyes caught the movement.
I gripped the side of my chair, resisting the sudden and inexplicable urge to move her hand away from him and out of his sight.
While resting ungloved on the blue flowered linen, it looked so feminine and soft, but Brookhouse didn’t know that when I first saw that hand, it had been expertly holding a pistol as she waited for me to make one wrong move.
She turned to look at me and I tore my gaze from that contradiction of a hand of hers.
“I know army men can be very different in private than they are in company. And personally,” the corner of her lip twisted up, “I’d rather they be consistent. ”
She turned decidedly back to Brookhouse.
She’d obviously meant that comment about consistency to me, but why?
That whole night was a blur, but from what I’d remembered of the morning, she’d started out wary and distrustful with that gun in her hand, but she’d moved from that to concern.
She’d been willing to risk her own reputation to keep me safe.
How had I gone from someone she was willing to protect to once again being someone she didn’t trust?
The finality of her turn made it clear that she was going to spend the rest of the evening speaking with Brookhouse.
Which should be a relief. She was a distraction when what I really needed to be doing was getting Harriet’s attention, even if it was from across the table.
In truth, other than the fact that she was Harriet’s cousin, and General Blackwell’s daughter, it shouldn’t matter what Miss Blackwell thought of me.
Harriet was still in conversation with Davis, and I could only wait for her glance for so long before my stare became suspicious.
I turned to the woman on my left. She was an older woman who was hard of hearing.
It was an interesting way to form a house party.
Two eligible young ladies and four young men.
The numbers were even, but Mrs. Gwendowen at my side was one of two elderly widows who balanced the scale.
It seems the Blackwells hadn’t wanted much competition for their daughter at this house party.
Well, I would do my part and entertain the widows when I wasn’t able to converse with Harriet.
I would be one less gentleman vying for Miss Blackwell’s hand.
Even if secretly I had an obligation to it.
But my obligation to Harriet took precedence over my obligation to Miss Blackwell, both in time and in affection.
Mrs. Gwendowen was pleasant enough company, even if her words were soft spoken enough to be overpowered by Brookhouse’s occasional bursts of laughter. Was Miss Blackwell that entertaining? Even if she was, it was unbecoming of him to be quite so easily amused by the general’s daughter.
By the time dinner finished, I was blasted tired. I’d had nearly a week to recover from my fever, but it had been a rough bout and I was still feeling the effects.
Half an hour later, I sat in the smoking room tapping a toe inside my shoe, wishing the time would pass faster.
I came here for Harriet, not Brookhouse and Davis.
They were good friends, but I’d spent the last six years with men.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off the door in hopes the butler would open it so we could rejoin the ladies.
“Do you need to be somewhere?” Brookhouse asked.
I huffed. “No, of course not.”
“Still not used to the stillness of peace time, are you?” Davis chuckled and put out his cigar. “You’re a gentleman now. Time to accustom yourself to the quietness of the finer things in life.”
I felt anything but still. I was on edge. When we did rejoin the women within the freedom of a drawing room, who would I seek out first? Harriet? She must be hoping for some time together after six years apart as much as I was.
But how could I, in good conscience, pursue her publicly without ascertaining Miss Blackwell’s promise not to expose me to her father or to anyone at this house party?
I wouldn’t put Harriet through any scandal.
She had been kindness itself when I needed it most, and I would rather never marry her than tarnish her name.
Even if not marrying her—when she was the one thing that kept me fighting and hopeful even in the worst conditions while fighting Napoleon—would feel as though the deposed emperor had won after all.
I had to deal with Miss Blackwell first. Only when I had her guarantee could I renew my attentions to Harriet.
A three-week house party should afford us enough time to be engaged by the end of it and I would finally be able to start on my plans to restore Applewood and make a family of my own.
I might never get Arthur and May back on English soil, but I would be part of a family again—one I wouldn’t let be torn apart.
The door opened and I practically jumped from my seat.
If I reached the women first, I might find Miss Blackwell alone.
I had to make her understand the importance of keeping our night together a secret.
And then I would trust that she had the same honor as her father, and would keep her word if I asked it of her.