Chapter Eight
W olf stood silent, looking at the words, but smelled the gunfire and heard the screams. He closed his eyes and pushed the memories away—ten years. Ten years ago, and it was as if it all happened yesterday.
He jolted back to the present when he felt Christina’s hand resting on top of his, stroking it. Glancing down, he realized he unconsciously gripped her hand, which rested on his arm, like a vise. Startled, he quickly released her, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features.
“We should go inside and locate our seats,” he suggested, motioning for her to lead the way.
Wolf and Christina entered the concert hall and were greeted by towering marble columns with intricate carvings. The spacious foyer was aglow with the warm flicker of crystal chandeliers, casting a soft, golden patina over the polished marble floors. Ornate tapestries hung on the walls. Melodious strains of a string quartet tuning their instruments on the stage filtered out to the entrance hall, adding to the anticipation of the evening’s event. People bustling about in their elegant attire added a touch of refinement to the surroundings. As they made their way farther into the hall, Christina halted.
“Miss Hartfield.”
Christina searched the crowd to see who urgently called out her name. Locating the person across the room, the woman beckoned her over.
“Excuse me, Wolf. I think it may be an issue with the program. I shouldn’t be long.” Christina glanced at him with concern.
“You go on along,” he encouraged her. “I’ll see you at my box.”
She hesitated for a moment, then turned. Wolf watched her head across the room.
“Wolfton.”
He turned, his face lighting up with delight at seeing his friend. “Lord Barrington. It is good to see you. What has taken you away from Sommer-by-the-Sea?”
Lord Barrington was one of the commanding officers he and his men encountered on the Peninsula. At a moment when he had thought all was lost, Barrington had appeared. No one would ever understand how certain he had been that all was lost. But Barrington’s appearance had filled him with hope. The unwavering loyalty and bravery of both Barrington and his brigade on the battlefield had made them legends.
“Reynolds may not have been under my command, but he was…” Barrington paused, a shadow of concern crossing his features before he continued, “an outstanding soldier. However, you know that better than I.”
“Yes, he was that.” The last thing Wolf wanted to discuss was Reynolds. “Is Mrs. Bainbridge with you?” He looked past Barrington, anything to change the subject.
“No. Mrs. Bainbridge was unable to join me in London.”
“Ah, there you are.” Wolf and Barrington turned to see Lord and Lady Reynolds approach.
Wolf forced a pleasant smile while all he wanted to do was excuse himself.
“Lord Reynolds, Lady Reynolds, it is good to see you.” Barrington offered a cordial nod.
“My lord, my lady.” Wolf strained as he cleared his throat.
Lord and Lady Reynolds were a distinguished couple. With his chiseled jawline and piercing eyes filled with strength, authority, and pride, Lord Reynolds had a commanding presence. However, as strong as the man was, he could not hide the traces of sorrow. Lady Reynolds was graceful with soft features and a gentle smile touched with melancholy.
This evening, they both attended the bittersweet event honoring their son’s service to the country and the sobering acknowledgment of his absence.
“Excuse me, Lord Wolfton.” Lady Reynolds began. “May I have a word?”
“Of course, my lady.” Wolf led her a few paces away from the others. “How can I be of service?” Despite his outward ease, he fought to control the turmoil inside him.
“Seeing you in the coach next to ours brought back memories of how close you and Thomas were. You were inseparable. The two of you were always up to something, even as you grew older. I recall how much joy Thomas found in playing soldier with you and the other boys in the garden. He’d maneuver around the imaginary enemy’s right while you kept them occupied on the left. Thomas would jump out to catch them off guard and emerge victorious. How he hollered and…” She trailed off.
He shouldn’t have attended this evening. There were too many painful memories, not only for Lady Reynolds, but also for him, just with different interpretations of events.
“I was hoping to get a moment with you. In my bleakest hours, when I think about Thomas’s last moments, it gives me peace that you were with him, fighting by his side. Even after a decade, there are nights when I fear he faced his fate alone. No one should be alone at a time like that,” she murmured. Her hands trembled as tears welled in her eyes. “I wanted to extend my heartfelt thanks for giving me this peace of mind.” She accepted his handkerchief with a grateful smile and dabbed at her eyes.
He handed her a glass of champagne from a passing footman.
She managed a weak smile and took a sip. After a moment, when she was composed, Lady Reynolds drew a deep breath. “We should return to the others.” Wolf nodded, offered her his arm, and they returned to the group.
The conversation hummed around him. While outwardly talking about the music and conductor of the evening’s concert, inwardly, he battled with the reality of his actions. Once again, he relived the image of Reynolds taking action. Despite the accolades and praise heaped upon him, Wolf felt a profound sense of worthlessness gnawing at him. With every polite smile and gracious nod, he condemned himself, unable to escape the shadow of his failure as an officer and, more importantly, as a friend.
“I had no idea about your involvement with Lieutenant Reynolds or the war.” He didn’t reply or acknowledge Christina’s remark. “Wolf?”
As Christina pressed him further, Wolf’s silence grew more pronounced until his attitude turned downright icy. His lips formed a thin line, and he fixed her a scathing look, implying the topic was closed for discussion.
She mulled over Wolf’s unexpected connection to Lt. Reynolds, understanding the depths of his involvement. She had met other veterans who grappled with haunting memories, and she suspected this ceremony stirred similar emotions in Wolf. His sudden withdrawal, after previously being so open when he collected her, had left her a bit hurt at first, but now it made sense.
Christina was with him as he engaged in light conversation with others, seemingly unaware of her standing behind him. A nagging thought crossed her mind. Had she overheard Lady Grace correctly? He cuts you out without any notice or reason, as if he doesn’t know you. Was that what Wolf had done?
Here wasn’t the place to discuss it. Perhaps later, when Wolf was more open.
“Miss Hartfield,” Lady Hazelton approached her with a warm smile. “The event is going well. All the seats are filled, and we even have some of the veterans from Lt. Reynolds’s service unit with us tonight.”
As Lady Hazelton continued speaking to her, Christina glanced at her side, expecting to find Wolf there, as he had been moments before. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.
Politely excusing herself, Christina attempted to survey the room for any sign of Wolf. However, Wolf was gone.
Standing by herself in the middle of a sea of people, she felt abandoned, her unease growing with each passing moment.
Richard stood outside the concert entrance, speaking to Ed Dalley, when Wolf rushed past him. The man didn’t see anyone as he pushed people aside to get as far away from the Royal Pavilion as possible. He did catch a glimpse of Wolf’s eyes. They held a haunted look, reminiscent of soldiers who had faced the horrors of battle. They had a distant, almost vacant quality as if he were reliving some unseen torment.
The intensity of Wolf’s gaze, shadowed by an unspoken pain, sent a shiver down Richard’s spine. It was a look that spoke of deep, unhealed wounds and a mind burdened by memories and lies too heavy to bear.
“Excuse me.” Richard glanced into the foyer. “I’m to meet someone. I think they may have already arrived. I’d like to hear more about F&T. I’ll see you at the club.”
Richard entered the foyer. If Wolf was here, so was Christina. The man wouldn’t miss an opportunity to escort her.
Instead of taking time to walk through the crush of people, he started up the grand staircase and stopped in the middle. He had a clear view from here.
He found her. It was as if a ray of sunlight had been cast on her and no one else, glittering in a lavender gown.
Richard hurried down the stairs.
As the chime echoed through the lobby, signaling everyone to take their seats, Christina remained rooted to the spot, her gaze roaming over the room in search of Wolf. With each passing moment, her anticipation turned to apprehension. Indeed, he would seek her out now. Yet, as the crowd gradually thinned and went to their seats, there was still no sign of him. Yes, of course. She was to meet him in his box.
“Good evening, Miss Hartfield,” Richard broke through her thoughts as he approached her. She swung around to face him, almost certain he had brought Wolf. He paused, his brow furrowing with concern. “Has something gone awry?”
Christina managed a strained smile, her disappointment palpable. “Not at all.” Richard was alone.
Richard hesitated, “May I escort you to Wolf’s box?”
Unable to find her voice, Christina simply nodded, allowing Richard to lead her up the grand staircase. As they reached the door to the box, she steeled herself for Wolf’s questioning gaze. Richard grabbed the latch and opened the door. She walked in, only to be met with empty chairs.
“Richard, would you…stay with me, please? I don’t think I could stand everyone staring at me.” She let out a helpless breath. “I can just imagine tomorrow’s broadsheet.”
“You needn’t ask twice. Of course, I’ll stay.”
As the end of the concert approached, a flustered Lady Hazelton hurried into the box. “Oh, dear. He isn’t here,” she whispered urgently, drawing Christina and Richard’s attention.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he could be,” Christina replied, glancing at Richard.
“Nor I, my lady,” Richard added.
Barrington entered the box at that moment, prompting all three to turn toward him.
“He’s not here,” Lady Hazelton reiterated, her expression strained.
“I’ll accept the award on Wolf’s behalf,” Barrington offered, extending his arm to Lady Hazelton. “Shall we return to the stage?”
“Thank you,” Lady Hazelton replied, accepting Barrington’s arm as they left the box.
At the last chord of the music, the audience erupted into applause. The master of ceremonies stepped onto the stage, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, guests and honored patrons, may I have your attention, please?” The room quieted as all eyes were drawn toward him. “It is my pleasure and privilege to welcome you this evening. Tonight, we gather to pay tribute to bravery, honor, and sacrifice as we recognize the valiant deeds of our heroes and honor their memory. I’m honored to present Lord Barrington, who will bestow tonight’s honors.”
The master of ceremonies gestured toward the wings, signaling Lord Barrington to enter.
Barrington, well-known to the ton, emerged from the wings, the retired commander every inch of the soldier he was and remained.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Barrington began, steady and resolute. “In the throes of the Battle of Barrosa in 1811, The English forces were commanded to hold a nearly impossible position. That the order was difficult didn’t stop our brave men. They followed their orders and responded with determination and bravery. They held the area for hours while other units, my own included, hurried to them. Of the twenty-five men on that duty, two survived the barrage, but only one walked away.”
He continued, recounting Lieutenant Thomas Reynolds’s heroic deeds, whose posthumous honor was a tribute to his valor and selflessness on the battlefield. Lord Reynolds, visibly moved, accepted the award with gratitude and pride.
“Thank you, Lord Barrington, for your service and all you did for Thomas.” He turned to the audience. “Tonight, we gather not only to honor the memory of my son, Lieutenant Thomas Reynolds”—Lord Reynolds paused to steady his voice—“but also to recognize another brave man who stood alongside him on the battlefield.”
“Captain Marcus, Viscount Wolfton, whose steadfast support and courage were invaluable during the Battle of Barrosa. His presence provided comfort and strength to my son and his fellow soldiers in their darkest hours. Though the outcome was tragic, his unwavering commitment to duty and his comrades did not go unnoticed. On a personal note,” Lord Reynold’s voice wavered and cracked with emotion. Barrington stepped to his side for support.
Lord Reynolds took a steadying breath and let it out. He glanced at the audience and then continued, “We honor and appreciate his bravery and selflessness, which epitomize the noblest ideals of honor and heroism.”
Barrington accepted the award on Wolfton’s behalf, promising to ensure its delivery. With a final thank you and good night, Reynolds and Barrington left the stage, signaling the end of the evening’s events.
After letting the crush of people leave, Christina and Richard left the box. They didn’t speak. The last thing she wanted to do was to go outside and find Wolf waiting for her in his carriage or, worse, find the carriage gone and have no way to return to Gower Street.
They found a crowded lobby and decided to let the crowd thin out. Christina nervously fingered the fringe on her shawl as she and Richard sat and waited. Afraid she would damage the garment, she placed her shawl on the back of the cushioned bench.
Richard maintained a semblance of a conversation, though Christina’s thoughts were elsewhere. Where was Wolf?
“We should have heard something by now,” Richard remarked, casting a concerned glance at Christina. He raised his hand to put his arm around her, comfort her, and hesitated. Instead, he let it fall to his side.
“I know,” she replied softly. “I have a feeling that something’s not right.”
Their conversation faded into silence as they watched the crowd dwindle, each lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Richard stood and extended his hand to Christina. “My carriage is outside. I’ll take you back to Hartfield House.”
Christina nodded gratefully and accepted his hand with a small smile. “Thank you, Richard,” she murmured.
Wolf climbed the side stairs to the concert hall, the trickle of people still leaving the building. He remembered to return after several hours of aimless wandering. He convinced himself that Christina was engrossed in the concert and would hardly note his absence. Now, he was eager to speak to her. Once he explained, she would understand. Gathering a forced smile, he reentered the hall and hurried to his box—empty.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured under his breath as he wove his way through the last of the crowd on the staircase and entered the lobby. The space was now sparsely populated. His heart sank as he surveyed the area. His eyes caught a sheen. There, on the back of a cushioned bench, lay her beautiful shawl. He swiftly snatched it up and dashed outside to the carriages.
He found his carriage waiting for him and hurried to it. Christina must be waiting for him there. He opened the door. Empty.
He glanced at the shawl. She was the last person he wanted to hurt, but he knew he had. He turned to his driver.
“Miss Hartfield left in Mr. St. John’s carriage. Where to, my lord?”
He couldn’t bring himself to answer, his mind a whirlwind of regret. He let Christina down as he did Lt. Reynolds.
“Home,” he finally told his driver as he got inside.