Chapter 16
CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
Charlie found me in the stables, waiting for my horse to be saddled, and stopped me with one soulful question.
“You’re leaving?” he asked and I could feel the disappointment in every syllable.
“No,” I lied. Or rather, it wasn’t a lie any longer. The moment he asked the question, I knew I would stay. “I was curious about your father’s horses.”
That made his eyes light up. “That one is Charcoal,” he said of the horse whose nose I rubbed. “He was bred by a Herod stallion.”
He then proceeded to tell me the lineage of each mount. Charlie was—unsurprisingly, given that he was General Blackwell’s son—extremely knowledgeable about horses.
When we reached Scout’s stall, I told him what little I knew of Scout’s breeding.
“Would he like a brush?” Charlie asked, motioning his head to Scout.
“He’d never complain about that.”
Charlie grabbed two brushes and handed me one. I led Scout out of his stall and tied him to a rail. Charlie went right to work brushing down Scout’s neck, and Scout’s skin quivered in response to each stroke.
Scout bumped me with his nose and I started on the other side. We worked silently for several minutes until we reached Scout’s back. “How long have you been riding?” I asked, curious about this young man and how he’d been raised.
“I’ve always ridden,” he said. “Father had me up on a horse from the time I was a babe.”
Just as I’d thought. “Your sister as well?”
I leaned over Scout’s back so I could get a better look at him and caught him shrugging. “Who knows?” he said. “She can ride well enough.”
That was certain to be an understatement. If General Blackwell had taught her to shoot like a soldier, it would follow he would have taught her to ride like one as well.
“Have you ever ridden past Applewood?”
“That ragged ol’ place? Lots of times.”
“That’s my home.”
Charlie’s brushing stopped. “Oh. Sorry. I thought it was deserted.” He hadn’t said anything wrong, but he tried to redeem himself. “It is nice in the spring before the weeds really start growing.”
Deserted. What a terrible word. “No, it’s not deserted. It’s simply resting until it can be woken up again.”
“Don’t you think it has rested long enough?”
I laughed. “I do. I’ve already started waking it. After this house party is over, I hope you will ride there and visit. I can show you my plans.”
“Evelyn will make me bring her. She always wants to ride to Applewood.”
It was my brush’s turn to pause. “She does?”
“She doesn’t like how it is resting.”
Of course she didn’t. Had anything about me ever been pleasing to her?
My invitation, which had seemed harmless enough a moment ago, now held a different weight.
It was one thing to picture Charlie walking into Applewood and the two of us discussing different ways I was planning to improve the house and lands, but to invite Miss Blackwell to do the same?
She was already too entrenched in my life.
I didn’t need the ghost of her haunting the halls of Applewood like she haunted my memory of that shepherd’s croft.
“She might not want to come if I am there. I don’t think your sister likes me at all.”
“She does.” Charlie’s voice rose in my defense. “She sat with you at the waterfall, didn’t she?”
“Only because your parents forced her to.”
Charlie coughed out a short laugh. “My parents can’t force Evelyn to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
My lips quirked into a grin. At least I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t control her. “Don’t tell your father that.”
“He knows. Everybody knows. Evelyn lives her life exactly as she pleases. So she must like you a little, otherwise she never would have come.”
Could that be possible? If so, she had a strange way of showing it. Life would be much easier if she did in fact like me a little—if she could like me enough to trust me to care for Harriet as she deserved. “If I wanted your sister to like me more, what should I do?”
Charlie’s brush stopped again and this time he walked around the front of Scout so he could look me in the eye. “I don’t think you can do anything. She will either like you or she won’t. She is rather fixed in her opinions once she has them.”
Blast.
Charlie must have caught the fall of my face. He bumped a fist into my shoulder. “But I like you,” he stated. “You take good care of your horse.”
I laughed again. Hearing the honesty of a child was a joy I’d been deprived of for too long. “Well, if you happen to let that fact slip to your sister, I wouldn’t complain.”
Charlie pulled his lips to one side and his eyebrows furrowed. Concern rimmed his irises. “Are you trying to court Evelyn?”
What? “No,” I stated firmly. “Quite the opposite.”
“Good. She’s never liked any of the men who try to court her.”
“Have there been a lot?”
Charlie groaned. “Too many. And I had to listen to her complain about each and every one. She only wants someone to ride and shoot with. Compliments and flowers make her very angry.”
Another grin rose to my mouth, picturing the poor men who had tried such tactics with Miss Blackwell.
They were twice over fools, first for allowing Miss Blackwell’s beauty, good humor, and fascinating allure to overshadow her obvious pride and stubbornness, and second for thinking such mundane things could sway her affections.
The clatter of carriages sounded in the sweep. Charlie grabbed my brush and lay both of ours down on the table. Harriet had returned earlier than I expected. We dashed to the front of the house to greet the guests upon their return.
I glanced around the sweep. For once, Miss Blackwell was nowhere to be found.
Harriet was in one of those carriages, and I would be able to speak to her without opposition.
The carriage stopped. Through the open curtain I could see Mrs. Pryor in the first carriage.
Surely her daughter would ride with her.
The footmen opened the door and then I stepped forward to assist Mrs. Pryor from the carriage.
“Oh,” she said when she saw my uplifted hand. “Thank you, Captain Calder.”
I smiled warmly at her. She was an older version of her daughter, polite and pleasant, with hair still dark with only a few hints of gray. “You’re welcome,” I said with a grin and then turned to help my original object.
But Charlie, that little devil, had followed my lead and had his hand up ready to assist Harriet. I couldn’t very well push him aside, as much as I wanted to. Harriet took his hand and emerged through the door.
I may not have her hand, but when her foot touched the ground after a quick thank you to Charlie, she looked up and our eyes met.
I held her gaze, waiting for my pulse to quicken and my chest to tighten in response to finally having the chance to speak to her .
. . not alone, exactly, but at least not with Miss Blackwell lingering about and listening to my every word.
This was the woman I was going to marry.
Her softly dimpled smile lifted and still I held her gaze, looking for that connection, waiting for her eyes to brighten the way they always had in my dreams, but they stayed steady.
This was also a victory, wasn’t it? What did eyes sparking even look like? What had I expected?
In the end, something even better happened, for she directed Charlie to walk toward me. “Miss Pryor,” I said with a slow bow. “I hope your visit to Peak Hollow was pleasant.”
“It was, thank you,” she grinned. “And we’ve brought another guest. Could you perhaps assist her out of the carriage?”
Another guest? I hadn’t been aware of anyone else planning on attending the house party. But if Harriet wanted me to help this new visitor out of the carriage, then of course I would. “I’m happy to.”
The hand that grabbed my outstretched one was small and gloved but had an iron grip. I looked up to see an elderly but spry woman in a mobcap under her bonnet. She stepped down with the confidence of a rooster striding into a henhouse.
Mr. Pryor followed soon after. “Ah, Captain Calder,” he said when his foot hit the ground. “I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Wickerton. She was in Peak Hollow and assured us General Blackwell was expecting her.”
“Captain Calder.” Mrs. Wickerton glanced back at my friends who were exiting the other carriage. “Another officer. What a delight.” Her small mouth curved up into a smile and with excitable hands she pulled a small book from her reticule. “I’m certain I’ve heard that name before.”
“My family owns an estate nearby,” I suggested helpfully.
Her hands paused and she jerked her head back up in my direction. “Applewood?” She spoke the word in one brief puff of air.
“Yes. Do you know it?”
She opened her book, speaking while also thumbing through pages. “Your estate has been woefully empty for years. It is a disservice to the county. But never mind, I assume this means you will be returning and taking up residence soon?”
“It does.”
She reached the back of her book and mumbled “Cadry . . . Cainsworth . . . ah, Calder, here you are, page eighty-seven.”
I blinked.
She opened her book to page eighty-seven and read the entry under her breath. Then she lifted her beady eyes back up to me. “You led a counterattack to close the gates of Hougoumont and made quite the name for yourself. You also received a monetary reward.”
Who was this woman, and what the devil was that book in her hand?
“Mrs. Wickerton likes to keep abreast of all the happenings in Derbyshire,” Mr. Pryor explained.
“All the happenings,” Brookhouse reiterated from behind her.
“Shouldn’t we all?” Mrs. Wickerton asked. “Isn’t it our duty to care for and watch out for one another? If not, how would we know who to pray for and who to reprove when admonition is called for?”
Brookhouse leaned over to me and added under his breath, “And who would inform the neighbors?”
Mrs. Wickerton replaced her unnerving book and tapped my elbow. “Now, Captain Calder, please escort me into the house. I’d like to inform the general of my arrival.”
And so I did, my sliver of opportunity stolen by a petite woman with a fierce hold on my arm.
It was very clear when we stepped into the hall that Mrs. Wickerton had not in fact been expected at the house party. General and Mrs. Blackwell tried to hide their surprise behind pleasant smiles, but I caught the glances between them when she was announced.
The addition of Mrs. Wickerton meant a shuffling of seats at dinner, but I still ended up across from Harriet and beside Miss Blackwell.
The whole of dinner felt off somehow, as if the rest of us had become quite comfortable with each other these past five days and our new addition wasn’t able to slide in unnoticed.
She sat on the same side of the table as Miss Blackwell and me, but closer to General Blackwell, and although she seemed to dominate much of the conversation there, we weren’t close enough to participate in it.
I leaned toward Miss Blackwell. Her dinner dress was a pale ivory silk with a wide neckline—wide enough to expose all of her brushstroke mark.
I kept my eyes forward. That mark was probably another reason all those men Charlie had mentioned were fascinated by her.
But I wasn’t a fool. I wouldn’t be beguiled by such things.
“Is she a very good friend of the family?” I asked.
She brought her head closer to mine, her fingers toying with the tablecloth between us.
“She is a good friend to everyone in Derbyshire.” She turned and I lost my resolve to keep looking forward.
I met her gaze only inches from my own, her eyes sparked with a conspiratorial light. “At least according to her.”
It was easy to infer what she meant by that. “So you are to be inundated by another guest you despise?”
“I don’t despise Mrs. Wickerton. She is a decided busybody, as you will soon find out, but she is also in a position of need, having no permanent residence that I know of. Therefore, she requires kindness.”
“And I do not.”
Her eyes flashed to the scar on my eyebrow and then returned to mine. “Not since the day we met, Captain. But I don’t despise you either.”
I searched those gray eyes of hers. “I suppose even despising me would require too much effort on your part.”
“Apparently so.”
She turned back to her food and I to mine, but her admission rattled about in my brain. Had something changed? If it had, it was by no effort on my part. My eyes narrowed in on the food on my plate, still untouched. Was it possible Miss Blackwell knew of Harriet’s promise?
It would be a good thing, wouldn’t it, if she did?
It could mean several good things. Perhaps I would now get more time with Harriet. Perhaps Harriet was ready for all of the house party to know of our attachment. I glanced over at Brookhouse. Miss Blackwell was speaking to him, but his eyes were focused on Harriet across the table.
Harriet was deep in conversation with Davis, but her eyes glanced up for a moment, found Brookhouse’s and then glanced back down.
What was going on there?
Despite my progress with Miss Blackwell, I was broody when the women left. Davis didn’t help matters by telling Brookhouse how grateful Miss Pryor had been for his help when choosing ribbons in Peak Hollow that morning.
If Harriet was going to confide in someone about our entanglement, perhaps she should have told Brookhouse. He seemed far too interested in her.
There was nothing I could say, though. I had no official right, and so I drank my brandy and kept my mouth shut.