Chapter 13
CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
Evelyn Blackwell was a menace for the next three days. I awoke on the sixth day of the house party no closer to understanding Harriet’s heart than I had been when I’d arrived. Actually, I was worse off than when I’d arrived, because at least then I hadn’t been confused.
Harriet treated me with respect, even laughed over a few shared memories when the subject of our time together at Eastmoor was broached by her parents.
But we were never alone. Miss Blackwell hadn’t locked me in my room again, but she’d stayed either by my side or Harriet’s any time I was in Harriet’s company.
The gall of that woman.
But this morning would be different. I could feel it. Three dreary days of rain had confined us to the house, but now the skies were clear, and the house party was finally going to be moving outdoors.
Every private moment Harriet and I had enjoyed at Eastmoor happened outside on long walks, often just after breakfast. Hopefully she remembered our patterns as well as I had, and she would be able to escape the clutches of her dear cousin and meet me in the extensive Blackwell gardens.
After doing a cursory search of the house, which oddly produced no one, I quietly slipped out one of the back doors.
This day couldn’t have happened soon enough.
The two of us needed to have a private conversation.
Brookhouse had asked my opinion of Harriet last night before dinner, and it wasn’t a casual question.
She’d enchanted him with her smiles and quiet dignity.
She was the complete opposite of my audacious friend, but at times I thought I saw her return his interested looks with similar looks of her own.
I could have told him who she was to me. He would have shoved off. But I was no longer certain I had that right. I wouldn’t hold her to a promise she no longer wanted. I owed her that, at least, for the hope she’d given me at a time when I’d needed it the most.
She and the life I imagined us building together was my battle cry every time I was expected to set foot on enemy ground.
Her faith in my abilities to make something of myself—to become a man capable of restoring Applewood and finding my own family to replace the one I’d lost—was exactly the reason I was standing here today, ready to do just that.
But if she had been waiting for me for six years, wouldn’t she have sought me out by now? Even if that meant sneaking away from her overly protective cousin?
If it weren’t for the smiles like the ones she’d given me over breakfast, or the way she caught my eye from across the table sometimes during dinner, I would have left the house party by now, certain she didn’t actually remember me at all.
I inhaled deeply once my foot landed on the cultivated grass of a large natural terrace overlooking an expansive lawn thirty or forty feet below.
I’d been to Blackwell Manor several times in my youth, back when it had been called Blaenffynnon-Llechwedddu, but only inside the home for dinner parties.
Father had spent some time with Mr. Davies, the Welsh owner, hunting and shooting on his lands, but those gatherings had happened when I was away at Sandhurst.
A terraced walkway led down to acres of open land broken only by a small pond on one side closest to the house.
Mounds of earth were scattered near the farthest reaches of the lawn.
Forested walking paths flanked both sides of the open space, connecting in a curved unwooded path just behind the mounds, which must be archery butts.
If I knew the general, those would be used for pistols, not bows.
Perhaps both. He was skilled in all forms of weaponry, and it was no surprise he would want a place to practice here.
These gardens suited General Blackwell. The greenery and the peace of it all made it feel as though wars were oceans away.
My home was a sad contrast. Applewood was overrun.
The lawns, which had never been as extravagant as this one, were covered with bindweed and nettles.
It had been forgotten during a war, and that neglect showed.
How long would it be until it produced this kind of feeling, even if not at such a grand scale?
How long would it be until I felt that the home was mine, and mine alone? How long until I didn’t expect Father to stride through the door complaining about the weather or Arthur and May to tumble into my bedroom begging for me to ride with them?
Applewood was as cold and as empty as the day my family left for the Americas, and now it was rundown as well. Miss Blackwell’s disparaging remarks had hit the mark.
I shook my head. I was a fool to compare what I had to what the general had, or even to what I’d had before. I’d spent the past six years working to get to the point where I was now. I was at a beginning, not an end, and Applewood’s story was only starting to be told.
I couldn’t see anyone on the lawns below the terrace, just as I hadn’t seen anyone in the manor.
Where could everyone be? I strode past a walled garden on my right and down the first level of the terrace.
I was about to follow the crook in the path to continue lower when I noticed a wooden structure through the trees on my right.
It would be the perfect place to have a private conversation had Harriet come outside for one.
I walked toward it, and only got a few feet before the sound of a soft feminine voice floated toward me. Muffled laughter followed, which meant if Harriet was there, she wasn’t alone. Still, these were the first sounds of life I’d heard since breakfast. I continued on.
A turn in the path revealed a rustic summer house with a thatched roof and only three walls.
General Blackwell and his wife sat on a carved wooden bench.
Miss Blackwell and her brother sat on a cushion on the rough wooden floor just in front of the bench.
The general was the only one of the four who sat completely upright, but he was doing so in a relaxed way I was unused to.
Mrs. Blackwell leaned into him with her feet curled up underneath her.
In her hand, she held a book, and she was reading out loud to Miss Blackwell and her younger brother.
Charlie? Wasn’t it? He’d been at tea and a few other gatherings, but unfortunately for him, the women doted on him and he hadn’t had a chance to socialize much with the men.
I remembered all too well that awkward age of feeling too old for the nursery but not old enough to be included in formal dinners.
I couldn’t make out the individual words Mrs. Blackwell was reading, but her cadence felt like poetry.
Those not reading gazed out at the view before them. I turned, and though the trees blocked some of my prospect, from their vantage point they would have an excellent view of the pond and the lawn beyond it.
Mrs. Blackwell leaned forward and raised her voice enough for me to catch the words “‘Who ran to help me when I fell—”
Both of her children rolled their heads to the side.
Charlie threw himself to the ground, his head landing in his sister’s lap, and I could almost hear his groan even though from this distance it was only my imagination.
“My mother.” They answered in unison, their exasperation carrying their voices to my ears.
Mrs. Blackwell leaned forward and ruffled her son’s hair and then relaxed back onto General Blackwell’s shoulder and continued reading in softer tones.
All the while, the general, who I’d only seen standing at attention, commanding a room, or as he had been last night hosting a social gathering, looked half asleep, his eyes heavily lidded and his shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on his wife’s knee which in turn rested on his thigh.
Miss Blackwell sat up on her cushion and fixed her brother’s hair, pushing it back into some semblance of order.
But once order was reached, she didn’t pull her hand away—she continued gliding her fingers through it, absentmindedly, as if it was the most mundane thing in the world to be that close with another human being.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those movements.
The hypnotic, unconscious rhythm of her fingers in her brother’s hair.
Ghost-like points slinked up the back of my neck and onto my scalp.
I resisted the urge to touch my head and make certain no ghost or other personage stood at my back. What the blazes was wrong with me?
The soft morning breeze calmed and the rustling of wind through the trees came to a halt.
In the newfound silence Mrs. Blackwell’s words rang clear.
It would be much harder to escape without notice in this stillness.
I cursed myself for not turning around the moment I saw them.
This was an intimate family moment and I didn’t belong anywhere near it.
Did those four individuals know how fortunate they were to have each other? An ache opened in my chest, large enough to shorten my breath.
I turned away—whether they heard me or not, I needed to get away from this scene.
“Captain Calder,” General Blackwell’s voice boomed from behind me. I grimaced, but my shoulders straightened from habit. I took as deep a breath as my strangely suffering lungs would allow and turned back around. He lifted his hand from his wife’s knee and beckoned to me. “Come join us.”
Mrs. Blackwell lowered her feet and straightened, a broad smile on her face.
I’d ruined their moment, but Mrs. Blackwell didn’t seem to mind. “Yes, come,” she said, waving me toward them as enthusiastically as the general had. “Evelyn picked some blackberries this morning, and we have more than enough to share.”
Evelyn.
The tenderness of that name on her mother’s tongue struck a chord of longing I thought I had buried long ago.
Had it been six years since I’d heard a mother call her child by name?
Certainly not. I’d spent most of that time in barracks, but not all of it.
I must have heard a mother speak her child’s name at some point.
I’d probably even heard Mrs. Blackwell call her daughter by name during this house party.
This setting must be throwing me off balance.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said quickly. The sooner I could leave them to their familial peace, the better. “I was exploring the grounds.”
“Please interrupt.” Charlie sounded desperate. He pulled his head away from his sister’s hand. “Mother was reading us poems about mothers again,” he said with a groan. It was the precise tone I’d imagined earlier. “We have heard them far too many times.”
Miss Blackwell put her hand on Charlie’s shoulder and pulled him back close to her.
I tore my eyes away from them and glanced at the general. “The grounds here are quite impressive. Did I see archery butts farther down the path?”
General Blackwell smiled. “You did. Haven’t you seen the grounds before?”
I shook my head. “Not the back gardens.”
“Well, I’m grateful the house alone was enough for you to recommend it to me.
It has been a blessing. Now that the weather is cooperating, we will have to get you out for target practice.
You were quite the shot when we served together in Walcheren.
We will have to see if your aim is good enough to best my Evelyn’s. ”
“Or mine,” Charlie piped up. “I’m almost as good as Evelyn now.”
General Blackwell’s friendly inclusion righted the hollow aching in my chest. This family didn’t mind the intrusion.
It was obvious they had moments like this often enough to take them for granted.
I allowed myself another glance at Miss Blackwell and her brother, but she’d put her hands back in Charlie’s hair and the feeling at the nape of my neck returned. What was wrong with me?
Miss Blackwell’s hands suddenly stilled partway through her brother’s hair. I pulled my eyes away from them to find her watching me with her gray eyes. Blast it all, I must have been staring. She pulled her hand out of Charlie’s hair and put it behind her back with a flash of panic in her eyes.
Why?
Those imaginings of mine—the feeling of those same fingers in my hair—they were simply imaginings. They had to be.
“Don’t let us keep you,” Miss Blackwell said, with remarkable calmness. That flash of panic was gone, tucked away as neatly as her hand. “Blackwell is a beautiful estate.”
“Evelyn, Charlie,” her mother said. “If you are so determined to avoid my underappreciated readings, why don’t you show Captain Calder the grounds?”
Miss Blackwell’s head whipped toward Mrs. Blackwell, eyes wide and mouth pinched together, her feelings quite obvious on her face. She did everything but whisper “no.”
Charlie, on the other hand, jumped up. “Have you seen the waterfall?”
I smiled at him, grateful to have someone other than his sister to interact with.
She was a distraction I dealt with much more efficiently when I wasn’t looking at her.
He was older than Arthur had been the last time I’d seen him, but not by much.
Perhaps twelve? There were many years between Miss Blackwell and her brother, but they looked so similar, with the same gray eyes and brown hair.
Charlie’s had a little bit more of a golden hue, but that would probably darken over time.
It was obvious that, unlike me and my siblings, these two shared the same mother.
“I didn’t even know there was a waterfall. ”
“It’s at the bottom on the other side of the terrace. Come.” He grabbed my right hand with both of his and pulled me away from the summer house. His hands were colder than mine, and his touch light. Still a child’s hands, but only just.
Arthur’s hands had to be as big and as rough as mine now. I’d practically raised him and May after their mother passed away, and one day I held his hand for the last time without even knowing it.
If Arthur and May came back now, would I even recognize them? They would be so grown.
Charlie dropped my hand and strode forward. I followed him and didn’t look back to see if Miss Blackwell was going to join us. Hopefully not. I had a bad habit of either bristling under her scrutiny or reliving the memory of her curled up against the wall in her nightclothes with a gun in her hand.
It was impossible to be comfortable when she was near.
We connected to the main path leading down. From the corner of my eye, a flash of blue made me turn my head.
Miss Blackwell was following us, but from the scowl on her face, she wasn’t happy about it.
This woman had aggravated me nonstop for the past few days, all with the smile of a hostess on her face.
She’d haunted me even longer, but my thoughts of that mysterious woman in white were incongruous with the woman who marched unenthusiastically toward me now. My mouth curved up in a smile.
At least I wasn’t the only one uncomfortable.