Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
DECEIT
Emily!
She was here in London. Not in some wooden fort or in a mud-brick house, not on some far-distant isle or on a ship still pitching on the vast ocean on the way to the antipodes, but here.
Right here in London! He had ached for so long to know where she was, and she had been almost before his eyes this whole time.
But why had she not written to tell him? Why had she run? Why was she not as pleased to see him as he was to see her? For there was no disguising the fact that she had been shocked and most unhappy to discover him standing there.
He scanned the swirling crowd to try to find her, to run after her.
But she had vanished into the sea of people.
Her dress had been—from the quick glimpse he had had of it—elegant but unremarkable.
Likewise, her hair was an ordinary colour, and unadorned with any particular accoutrements that would make her easy to find.
Her unprepossessing appearance belied her remarkable personality.
Sadly, one’s incandescent character did not stand out to the eye in a busy ballroom.
He peered again across the space but saw nothing.
The band was tuning up again; it was time to claim his next partner for the second set.
She was easier to find, having spotted him as he stood against the column, and she was now walking towards him.
He made the effort to greet her and bowed as he took her gloved hand to lead her to the floor.
This dance was more of a chore than his first. Now he was distracted and unsettled.
How could he pay attention to the steps and Miss Gillingham’s trite conversation when Emily was out there somewhere, wishing to be anywhere but near him?
He wished for nothing more than to run from the reel and search the room, person by person, until he found his friend.
He needed to speak with her, to ask her what had caused her most unexpected reaction.
Where could she be? But it would be the height of rudeness to abandon his partner; he would not be a good friend to Emily were he to treat another lady so shabbily.
He just caught himself from tripping over his own feet as his thoughts flailed wildly in his head, and he forced a smile at the young lady across from him.
It took far too long for the dance to reach its final cadence.
The line at the refreshments table seemed endless, and the precarious journey back across the room to deliver Miss Gillingham’s glass of lemonade as fraught with danger as the narrow channel into Bermuda.
And then it was time for his final dance with Mrs Deakins, the brigadier’s wife.
It was well over an hour before he was at last free.
By now, if Emily wished to avoid him, she most certainly would have left the ball.
If his heart had been broken before, it was doubly so now.
Still, this understanding did not prevent him from wandering through the space in the desperate hope that she had remained.
There was a lady with the right colour hair, but not her pleasing figure.
There was one with an engaging laugh, but not her warm hazel eyes.
Everywhere he hoped to see her, she was not. It was futile. She had surely left.
“Fitzwilliam!” He spun about at the sound of his name on familiar lips.
“Colonel Barrow!” He gave a smart salute and then shook the offered hand.
“Barrow will do. We’re both colonels now. No need for titles. Grand to see you again. The rank suits you. You look good. How is the command?”
Barrow was not looking so healthy. His face was pale under the lingering red of his sunburn, and he had lost weight. His uniform hung loose on his frame. But his grin was wide and free, and his eyes, the same shade of hazel as his daughter’s, shone brightly in the candlelight.
“I am well. I find I quite fancy the authority. The endless forms and documents, on the other hand…” he chuckled and Barrow laughed with him.
“Indeed! There I have to agree.”
“But how are you, sir? I had no idea that you were back in England. I must know what has happened since we said our good-byes.” And he must know what had happened to Emily.
From Barrow’s friendly greeting, it was not some inadvertent slight to the family that had caused her distress.
The father seemed most genuinely pleased to see him.
“Can’t really talk for long now, Fitzwilliam.
The wife took Emily home earlier—poor girl was overcome from the heat in here—and I am ordered back soon as well.
We know who the commanding officer in our home is.
I stayed only to have a talk with my general in the cards room yonder.
But before you head back to your camp, do come by.
Tomorrow? We will have a drink and a good long talk. I’ve missed your plain sense!”
“It would be a pleasure.” And it would be.
He did not miss Barrow as he missed Emily, but he had always enjoyed the man’s company in Bermuda, and it would be no hardship to partake of such again.
He hoped that Emily might be there, that she could explain to him what had caused her to run, and that, if necessary, he could apologise for whatever he had done to engender such a strange reaction.
“We are staying at the Harrow apartments for the time being. Do you know them? Good. I shall be there from about three o’clock on, after my day at the War Office is over.
Mrs Barrow will be delighted to see you again—one of the few joys of being back in Jolly Old, eh?
Tomorrow, Fitzwilliam! I quite depend upon it! ”
He gave Richard a quick salute and strode towards the door. His step was precise, but it lacked the energy Richard knew from Bermuda. Something untoward had happened to his friend.
Richard did not dance again that evening.
His spirits had been brought low, and he had little taste for the activity.
The very thought of standing across from some lady he knew not and making pleasant chit-chat with her whilst the band strummed and bowed and piped their sprightly tunes turned his stomach.
He wished to sit with a large drink and brood.
With little other appetite, he found the few people to whom he must still pay respects, said the appropriate words, and then slunk out the doorway to return to his quarters and pour himself a glass of brandy from Darcy’s excellent collection.
The next afternoon he found the Barrows’ apartments and rapped smartly on the door.
The building was more a row of narrow houses than a single building like the Albany was, situated on a quiet street in a respectable but unassuming part of town.
Richard suspected that each front housed two homes, one on the ground floor and one up above.
This was proven so when he entered the small hallway, for beside the doorway that stood open for him was a narrow stairwell leading up to another abode.
The colonel himself came to greet him and ushered him into a small but comfortable sitting room.
From what Richard could see, there was a back section to the suite, with some bedrooms and a washing room, and another room off to one side that might be used for dining.
There was most likely a kitchen in a lower storey, as well as the coal room and chambers for a maid and cook.
Colonel Barrow ushered Richard to a comfortable chair and then went to call his wife.
Mrs Barrow entered from the back. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she greeted him warmly.
Richard leapt to his feet. He almost expected her to give him a welcoming hug.
Her face was rosy, and her smile shone through her eyes.
“Shall I order up some tea?” Yes, the kitchens must be in the basement.
“Mrs Barrow, what a delight to see you again. No, no tea for me, thank you. I had no idea of you being in England. Please, I must hear what has happened. This is all quite a surprise!”
Mrs Barrow furrowed her forehead. “What? Did Emily not tell you? I thought you had agreed to write. I am so sorry she is not here right now; we had business with the chandler that she had to see to. Perhaps she will return whilst you are still here today.”
This was disappointing. He had so hoped to see Emily, to ask what was amiss.
He had little doubt that her decision to deal with the chandler now was no accident.
It was clear she wished to avoid him, but for what reason, he wished he knew.
Instead, he asked his hosts about their relocation to England.
Mrs Barrow excused herself, leaving the two colonels to talk without reserve.
“Have you heard anything of the matter?” Barrow asked, referring to the mess they had left in Bermuda.
“Only that the entire command at the Dockyard has been replaced. Whitehall wished to start again with a clean slate to manage the regiment there. But I had no news of where you had gone, no matter how hard I sought it.”
Barrow rose stiffly from his chair and walked over to a cabinet, from which he withdrew two glasses and a carafe of amber liquid. He poured the drinks and handed one to Richard before reclaiming his seat with a sigh of relief. He was not well; that much was evident.
“It is as you said. I was disappointed to leave Bermuda, but I always knew it was not a permanent posting. However, I had wished to leave by my own volition. But that is nothing. As military men, we know we are sent where we are best needed and not where we wish to be.”
Richard nodded. He had never been posted to where he wished to be!