Chapter 17 #2
Stephen sat there, taken aback to find himself an unwilling witness to the scene. Partway through he had decided it would be too mortifying for them all to make his presence known.
Keith shook his head in wonder. “I had no idea. Never guessed you would even consider a man like me. I know I am not good enough for you. But God help me, if I have any chance at all, I will try to be worthy of you.”
“I don’t know if that is possible,” she said. “Now even my brother thinks the worst of you. Pull yourself together, Mr. Keith. For your own sake, not mine.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and fled the room.
Keith remained where he was, watching her go.
Stephen waited a moment, then cleared his throat. Keith turned.
“Sorry. I didn’t know whether to say anything or not.”
Keith walked over and flopped down in the chair across from him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve ruined everything. And didn’t even know there was anything to ruin.”
“What happened?”
“Besides my constant drunkenness, impudence, and crass ways?”
“Yes.”
“Her brother invited me over to Windmere for dinner and cards last night. I drank too much and wagered too much. I lost my money and my supper. I doubt I shall be asked back.”
Stephen winced on behalf of his former lieutenant. “Not one of your more clever maneuvers.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Keith sighed. “I can curb the gambling. It’s fairly easy to resist when I’m broke. But the drinking . . .” He shook his head. “It’s so dashed hard. It’s served at every meal, except breakfast. Everyone drinks.”
“Not everyone.”
“You used to.”
“True.”
“Why don’t you drink anymore, Captain?”
Stephen shrugged. “I saw what it did to me. I didn’t like the man I became and what he was capable of.”
“You, Captain? And what have you ever done that’s so bad? Besides work the devil out of us men and earn the name Captain Black? But that’s no sin.”
“Oh, I have sinned, all right. It’s not something I like to remember, let alone talk about.
I . . . once took advantage of a woman and left her alone to face the consequences, whatever they might be.
” Stephen cringed at the thought of Jenny, as he always did.
“Remember the silversmith’s daughter, in Dublin? ”
“Ah . . .” Keith lifted his chin in acknowledgement.
“I tried to find her later, when I had sobered up and realized what I’d done. But her father’s business had collapsed like so many in those years and no one could tell me where they’d gone. So I could not make amends. But I promised myself I would never do the same again.”
“You did more than most men would have.”
Stephen shifted uneasily. “I hope that isn’t true. Whatever the case, I vowed to abstain from hard drink after that. It wasn’t easy. Especially after a particularly gruesome battle or the death of a friend. When I wanted to forget. . . .”
He grimaced at the memory. “Sometimes I gave in. Sometimes I managed to resist, with fervent prayer and staying clear of the mess tent or the sergeant with the ready bottle. And the more I resisted, the easier it became to resist again.”
He sighed, weary to recall the struggle.
“You see me now. I drink spring water or ask for coffee, tea, or ginger beer. I limit myself to one glass of wine with dinner. I enjoy it, but no more. But when I first stopped, I couldn’t allow myself even that.
For one glass made it too easy to say yes to another, then three, then four. ”
Stephen shook his head in self-deprecation. “I have only been foxed once in the last five years. Care to hazard a guess when? Not after a particularly horrible battle. Not after someone died. But after my own wedding.”
Keith’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. Then he chuckled, shaking his own head. “Poor Marsh. Not the wedding night either of you dreamed of, ay?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Stephen rubbed his neck. “I hated her seeing me like that. I promised her I would never do so again, and I shan’t with God’s help.”
Stephen tilted his head and regarded Keith. “Why do you drink so much? Does the arm still pain you? Or are you trying to forget the war, or . . . ?”
“No. I don’t know. I suppose it helps me act the jolly fool, all bluster and bravado.
Angling for a laugh. Doing anything to keep women, or at least a particular woman, from feeling pity for me.
” He snorted. “Stupid, I know. And apparently I’ve been successful.
Miss Blake doesn’t feel sorry for me. She feels disgust.” Keith shook his dark head.
“That strategy may have won a battle but cost me the war. But I will try. For her sake, I shall give it up.”
“You’ll need help.”
“No, Captain. You’ll be off fighting, or drilling your men. You don’t have time to play nursemaid to me.”
“I wasn’t thinking of me. Ask God to help you. Every day. Every hour. Every time you’re tempted.”
“I haven’t your faith.”
“That may be part of the problem.” Stephen raised a hand. “No, I don’t say it’s the cure. All men struggle with some temptation or another, but God will help you. It would also be wise to have someone keep you accountable. My grandfather, perhaps.”
“The old colonel frightens the wits out of me,” Keith admitted. “But I’ll try.”
“Good.” Stephen rose, then turned back. “And Carlton? You heard Angela. Don’t do it for her—do it because it’s the right thing to do.
Because life is precious and you don’t want to waste it.
Otherwise, if she chooses another man in the end, you’ll go right back to your old ways.
Or if she does marry you, you might be tempted to think, ‘I have her now, what can a few drinks hurt?’ Then you will end up finding out just how much you can hurt your wife and your children. ”
“Like my own father did.”
“Right.”
He pressed Keith’s shoulder in a rare display of affection. “You can do it, Lieutenant. It’s all uphill from here.”
Keith gave a rueful grin. “That’s what I was afraid of.”