His Heart's Delight (19 page)

He spoke like an old soldier. As though he
regretted the missed opportunity of that slow death march with his
comrades. “What are you doing in this part of town, Sergeant?” The
rank was faded and dirty and Morgan hoped that he read it
correctly.

The man nodded. “Sergeant Thomas Tidwell,
sir. Walking is the onliest thing that improves my leg. The doctor
told me that if I keep walking the limp would pass. To tell the
truth, guvnor, I live at Ratcliffe and I am as lost here as you
would be there.”

“I had planned to offer you directions and
pay for a hackney,” Morgan lied glibly.

The man shook his head.

Ratcliffe was on the north side of the Thames
and some distance away, but if walking was his only road to
recovery then Morgan understood why he would prefer the trek. He
made to hand the sergeant a guinea and was not surprised that the
gesture made him feel ashamed.

Sergeant Tidwell took a step back. “I know I
look mean. But my daughter and her man are looking out for me until
I can find work. It’s the coat, sir, I know, but you see, it’s as
close as I can come...” He stopped speaking and set his mouth in a
tight line, unable to go on.

Morgan nodded and handed him the coin again.
“Then buy your daughter something special and use this coin as a
favor to me. For I sincerely wish to impress that lovely young lady
across the street. It was she who asked me to come and thank you
for your service to our country.”

Morgan understood completely when Sergeant
Tidwell frowned in disbelief, for not one other of the
ton
passing close by had acknowledged his existence. He explained, “She
has a young man with Wellesley in Portugal.”

The soldier stared hard across the street,
where Christiana was easy to spot. She stood watching with
undisguised curiosity, her expression full of sympathy, leaning
toward them as though that would enable her to hear their
conversation.

Sergeant Tidwell looked back at Morgan and
now his eyes did fill with tears. He accepted the coin, nodding.
“My daughter and her family live crowded and tight. That’s another
reason for my walking. I will give this to her, I will.” He
pocketed the coin carefully and patted the spot. “And you tell your
young lady, my lord, hearts as sweet as hers make it all
worthwhile.”

He stopped speaking, taking a moment to
control his emotions. “But you best not tell her this, my lord.
Wellseley uses his men like cannon fodder. We will beat the French,
make no mistake, but it will cost, it will cost dear. Not like the
passage at Douro, no matter what is said.” He spoke without anger
but in bitter acceptance of a truth he had witnessed.

“It is quiet there now. We will let that be a
comfort. I will convey your good wishes, Sergeant Tidwell.” What
else could he say? What more could he do?

Morgan directed him back to Ratcliffe, again
offering a hackney, though it seemed insultingly insufficient to a
man who had devoted his whole life to the safety of the ignorant
throngs parading by, himself included.

Even though it meant several more hours
walking, Sergeant Tidwell refused a ride. He insisted that not only
was walking good for his leg, but easier on London Streets than
marching had been in the rough terrain of Portugal.

For his part, Morgan digested a very large
piece of humble pie as he worked his way through the crowd and back
to Christiana. He’d thought her naive and perhaps she was. But it
was that very naïveté, still not covered by too much Town bronze,
which enabled her to see beyond the facade. The sergeant had been
exactly what she suspected, a cashiered soldier hoping for work and
all Morgan could do was hand him a coin in thanks for his
service.

By the time he reached her, she had dried her
eyes, but emotion still echoed in her voice. “Thank you, my lord.
Thank you very much.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. She was
all that was true and dear in his life right now and he was
grateful to the gods for sending her to him. “His name is Sergeant
Tidwell and he lives in Ratcliffe Highway and it is I who thank
you.”

Her smile faded as the silence between them
lengthened. She searched his face with such unguarded intensity
that he wondered if she could actually see into his heart. Not a
happy thought. For it was filled with more dark than light.

“Have we kept you waiting long?”

Christiana was so startled by her sister’s
arrival that she jumped in surprise. Morgan controlled his
reactions and forced his voice to calm, though his racing heart
made that difficult. “Yes,” he joked. “You have kept us waiting so
long that we have run out of things to talk about.”

The humor was lost on Joanna, who looked from
one to the other with some concern. Did she think they had argued?
He wanted to assure her, but the chaos of the moment distracted all
of them.

The Lamberts’ chaise stood ready, but it was
soon apparent that it would not hold all their purchases
and
three people.

“We really did not buy that much,” Christiana
announced as much to inform the world as to reassure herself. “It
is only that the items we did choose are so large and clumsy.”

They milled about without purpose until
Morgan took command. “I will call a hackney for Sally and she can
proceed home with the parcels.”

Sally looked delighted at the prospect and
Joanna nodded her appreciation. Morgan gestured to Sally to follow
him and they moved farther down the street, where several hackneys
were waiting.

Monksford handed the ladies into the
Lamberts’ conveyance and watched it move into traffic. Morgan
looked up from his conversation with Sally, but there was no
farewell from the chaise.

By the time Sally was seated, he had paid the
driver and returned to where Monksford stood, the Lamberts’ chaise
was out of sight. Monksford was still watching the mix of vehicles
as though his concentration would keep the ladies from harm.

When finally Monksford turned to him, Morgan
smiled, “Sally has given me exactly the information we need to
surprise the ladies.”

Monksford nodded with only the vaguest
interest and turned toward the curricle. Morgan stayed him. “I
think we will need a few particular items that would best be
purchased here if our costumes are to be equal to our intent.”

The older man closed his eyes and shook his
head. Was it refusal or disbelief? “You actually want me to spend
money so that I can look more foolish than Grimaldi dressed for a
performance?”

“Exactly,” Morgan laughed. “But there are
three consolations. The first is that you can afford it, for I am
not speaking of gold and jewels. Second, we will be only one of a
hundred who feel exactly the same. And third, and by far most
important, appearing a fool to please a lady is a sure way to win
her heart.”

“I had hoped that Miss Lambert was above such
gambits.”

“Most of the time I do believe that she is,
Monksford, but there is something in the London air that empties
our brains just enough to allow for foolishness and fun.”

“The very fact that I am considering this
proposal is proof that it has affected me as well.” Monksford
looked toward the darkening soot-laden sky as though the rain that
threatened was the agent of the god of silliness.

Morgan thumped him on the back. “It will
pass. And with any luck and the consent of her father, you can
contemplate a lifetime of enlivening discussion with Miss
Lambert.”

Did that sound like an insult? He hoped
not.

Monksford looked at him with an unexpected
twinkle in his eye. “You have no idea exactly how
enlivening
those discussions can be.”

As they moved into the great hall of
Schomberg House, Morgan decided that comment was as close to
risqué
as Monksford ever came.

What part of today’s conversation would
Christiana consider worth sharing with her sister? Their growing
friendship? The thrill of the shops? The soldier? He would never
know. The workings of her mind alternately fascinated and
confounded him. As they moved toward the upper level and the
displays of fabric that Schomberg was famous for, Morgan spoke with
sudden inspiration. “Do you have a full staff at your house in
Town?”

T
he silence in the
Lambert chaise lasted only as long as it took to move into the
street and out of earshot of their escorts.

Both sisters spoke at the same time.

“Oh, Christy, I am so sorry.”

“Joanna, I must apologize—” Christiana
stopped. What was Joanna sorry for?

“No, indeed, it is I who must apologize,
Christy. It was wrong of me to leave you with Lord Morgan. I was
certain a few moments’ conversation would set all to rights. Then I
was distracted discussing the masquerade with Lord Monksford. I
suppose I should not have left you alone together for so long, but
I was so sure that seeing him as soon as possible was the solution
to your awkwardness.”

“Rather like getting back on the horse right
after one has fallen off?”

Joanna relaxed a little at the silly
comparison. “I suppose you could think of it that way, Christy. Was
I wrong?”

“I think that different feelings are
involved.” Christiana warmed to the debate. “With a fall from a
horse, one has to deal with fear, but in a personal situation one
must confront”—she paused—“embarrassment.”

“And what is embarrassment, but fear based on
social error?” Joanna waved her fan in emphasis.

“I can never win a philosophical discussion
with you, so I am not even going to try.”

“But, Christy, I would so prefer it to an
argument.”

“There is no argument coming, though I can
see why you would think so. It appears that I have picked arguments
with my two dearest friends today.” She bit back a smile. Would
that all disagreements could result in a truer friendship the way
her words with Lord Morgan had.

“You and I were not arguing, Christy. It is
merely that your nerves were overset.” Joanna dismissed that
casually, but leaned closer with wide eyes and an uneasy smile.
“Did you really argue with Lord Morgan?”

“Well, yes, but only for a moment. Then he
found some silly way to tease me out of it.”

“Then everything is all right between you?”
Joanna spoke with a hopeful nod.

“Why of course.” Though in all honesty that
wordless communion they had shared before Monksford and Joanna had
interrupted them did stir a vague discomfort. For a moment, she
felt as though she were the only person in his world. Was that
disloyal to Richard or simply a part of Morgan’s charm?

“Everything is well between us, but oh,
Joanna”— she drew a deep breath—“men can be so difficult to
understand.”

“Indeed, so Mama always says. But is it that
surprising? They see the world from an entirely different
perspective. The very fact they go away to school and come to
London on their own guarantees that.”

The chaise bumped up against a curb and both
of them reached out to brace themselves. The sound of some vehicle
approaching too fast and with obvious carelessness drew their
attention. They could hear more than they could see, though, as a
much larger carriage pulled close to theirs blocked the view.
Voices raised in anger followed the racers but soon the street was
back to the usual hubbub of a late afternoon.

Christiana very much wanted to know what had
happened, but not without someone to protect her. “Would you truly
like to be in Town on your own, Joanna?”

“Of course not. I was never prepared for it..
There are other things, though. Opportunities George had that Papa
never even thought to offer us. I would have liked more schooling,
to read languages besides French, and see the great art in Italy. I
would have liked to go to Jamaica, too. I think I would have
preferred to learn more about architecture than needlepoint.”

She stopped speaking, but Christiana could
see the list continued on in her head for a moment. Joanna looked
up and tapped her sister on the arm with her fan. “What would you
wish for?”

“If I had the same opportunities as a man?”
Christiana mulled it over and was hard-pressed to come up with
something she wanted that she did not already have. Then she
remembered Richard. “If I had the same opportunities then I could
be in Portugal right now.”

“Exactly.”

“But, Joanna, only to you will I admit that I
have no desire to be in Portugal, not right now. I want very much
to be exactly where I am. Here in London for the Season.” It was
the truth. Why did it sound so shallow? “Of course, I would be
enjoying it much more if Richard were here and safe.”

“Would you really?” Joanna asked with a
knowing smile.

“Well, no, because then I would not have met
Lord Morgan and Richard hates to dance and he would lose money
gambling which we need to establish our household. But to admit
that I am happier here without Richard is shockingly selfish, is it
not?”

“No.” Joanna made the single word a long,
considering sentence. “Or at least no more selfish than Richard is.
He had the choice. He had no need to purchase his colors at this
precise moment. He could have waited until the Season was over, but
he dislikes the city and he only dances when you insist.

“And because he is a man, he could choose to
do whatever he wants. He had to know sharing the Season with you
would have made for a lifetime of memories, but he chose to go
early to Portugal instead. Which proves my point completely.”

Christiana sat in awed silence. Joanna made
it sound as though Richard was the selfish one. It was the second
time today that someone had made her failings seem virtuous.

“You are too kind, Jo.” She raised her hand
when her sister would have spoken. “Do you have these sorts of
discussions with Lord Monksford?”