Rondo Allegro (57 page)

She suppressed the memory of that breathed word
Emily
, and said, “We did.”

His voice dropped low. “I—I am so confounded . . .”
He gestured, his fingers tense, his palm up in supplication. “With your
permission, I would so rather wait until we can see one another. To begin with
one another the right way. I know I was . . .”

Her fingers closed on his. “You were a ship captain facing a
war. We can wait as long as you wish.”

He let out his breath. “Thank you. We have had the damndest
beginning, and it’s entirely my fault we know too little of one another. But
this I apprehend so far, you are a woman of sense, and kindness. Good night.”
He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. Then he lifted his voice.
“Perkins?”

The dressing room door opened. “My lord?”

Henry and Anna parted, Perkins leaving the room last and
blowing out the candles.

Out in the hall, Emily, who had followed them upstairs after
a suitable period, stood where she could observe the glow of light under the
separate bedroom doors, and smiled to herself before she passed quietly to her
own room.

The next morning, Anna sensed a different atmosphere in
the house. She had begun a habit of rising after her room warmed, but that
morning she got up before the fire had been lit. She dressed in haste, her
breath frosting between her lips as she wrestled into her clothes. Even those
sturdy kerseymere spencer jackets were not warm enough, and she wore her
thickest cashmere shawl over all, still shivering, when she went down to
breakfast.

Early as she was, she saw by the empty eggshells on a plate
being carried out by Ned, the first footman, that Henry had risen long before,
and was already gone. She sat down and thanked young Thomas Akers, the second
footman who was carefully pouring tea. Of course she ought to have expected
that. Early rising being another shipboard habit.

Emily appeared before Anna had drunk her first sip of tea.
She was dressed exquisitely—and disappointment tightened her face when she saw
only Anna at the table.

But she murmured a pleasant greeting to Anna, and to
Harriet, who burst in a minute later, dressed for riding.

Emily stayed only long enough to drink a single cup of tea,
then she left. Harriet, alone with Anna, was in tearing spirits. She too rushed
through breakfast, then hurried off, pausing only to kiss her mother, and to
mutter, “Cicely and I are riding to meet Jane and Thomas Rackham, to ride over
to the Colbys’.” Where she intended to get a glimpse of Robert Colby.

The dowager smiled cheerfully. Even her spectacles seemed to
gleam, in spite of the dull gray light outside. “Pray tender my respects to
Mrs. Squire Elstead and Mrs. Rackham, dearest. Where is Henry?”

“I saw him with John-Coachman,” Harriet said before she
closed the door.

The dowager nodded, and she turned to Anna to ask what she
thought Henry might want for dinner.

After breakfast, Anna went upstairs to the schoolroom, where
Eleanor was waiting for her. She surprised Harriet there, her hat swinging on
her arm by its ribbons, as she spun the baby Amelia about the room, dancing the
Boulanger as Justina mimicked her steps. The infant laughed, waving her hands.

Eleanor sat at the side with a put-upon air, but when she
perceived Anna, she advanced, all smiles, and they began their lesson.

When they finished, Harriet had gone, and Justina danced
around alone, waving her arms. Nurse had Amelia on her lap. Until now, the
infant had been either asleep or looked at Anna and cried, which Nurse had said
was common with babies presented with a new face.

Perhaps Amelia had seen Anna often enough by now to regard
her as familiar, for this time the baby gave Anna a pink-gummed grin, and waved
her fists. Anna approached cautiously, uncertain what to do. She held out a
hand, and the baby grabbed her finger and tried to convey it to her mouth.

Anna gently freed her finger, looking uncertainly at Nurse,
who laughed silently. “That’s what they all do, straight to the mouth. You did,
too. We all did.” She patted the low bench on which she sat. “Come. Take her
upon your lap.”

Anna obeyed, listening to Nurse’s easy voice instructing
her. It occurred to her that, just as she gave lessons to Eleanor, she was
receiving lessons about infants. Amelia stayed quietly on her lap for a short
time, then leaned toward Nurse, arms out, making fretful noises.

While all this was going on, behind the stable, Henry stood
next to John-Coachman, whose slow Irish lilt reached back into childhood.
John-Coachman had always seemed this enormous, wise older man, but Henry
reflected now, there was no sign of age in his voice. When he had been hired at
the Manor, and shortly after had thrown Henry onto his first pony, he could not
have been much older than Harriet was now.

He had just finished giving Henry a succinct report on the
state of the stables. No personal observations, only demonstrable facts.

Most of it Henry knew already from the bills at the
solicitor’s. There were no surprises, but it was good to have it all
corroborated.

He had always trusted John-Coachman’s opinions. And so, at
the end, he said, “What did happen to my brother?”

A brief silence was followed by the crunch of gravel, as if
the coachman shifted position, and then came the slow murmur. “It was given out
as an accidental fall while riding. Which was true enough, it was, but you
should probably know that he crammed the fence.”

Henry winced. “Sounds like my brother never changed. Was the
horse damaged?”

“Knees. Chest. I was afraid we might have to shoot him, and
sorry I would have been, for Champion is a great-heart, and I had the training
of him. Her ladyship would have had him shot, but I could see the welts on his
flanks. When I pointed them out, she told me that if he healed, she would sell
him off. I did, and she did.”

“Did he go to a good stable, at least?”

“Oh, yes. Sir Robert Colby wanted him for his eldest boy,
who is a good rider, though at present thinks himself a blood. But he is well
up to Champion, have no fear.”

“Robert? He was a schoolboy when I left. I cannot picture
him in a gaudy waistcoat and pantaloons like some Bond Street beau.
Anno domini
, eh?”

“Will you be riding again, then, my lord?”

“Depends what I find when these damned bandages come off.
Thanks, John-Coachman—though I suppose if I am ‘my lord’ now, it ought to be
Mr. Cassidy.”

John-Coachman uttered a breath of a laugh. “John-Coachman
will do fine. It’s an honest living, and I wear the title with pride.”

“That’s more than I can say for mine, right now.” Henry
smiled, and gestured to Perkins, who he knew was waiting out of earshot to
conduct him back to the house.

o0o

Anna and Henry did not see one another until late
afternoon (it was already dark, something Anna still was unused to) when they
met in their sitting room before readying for dinner.

“Anna,” he said, head tilted slightly as he listened.

“I am here, Lord Northcote.”

He smiled, then attempted to mimic her accent. “
Nort-cout
. When you say it like that,
almost I am resigned to a mantle I never wanted to put on. Will you say my
given name?”

She complied, careful with her pronunciation as always, but
the result made him smile the wider. “
Onn-ree
.
‘Henri’ is a fine fellow, who has a flattering word for everyone, and does not
miss his hammock. Does not even know what a hammock is!”

Anna could not help laughing. “You would find many Frenchmen
disagreeing.”

Henry’s smile flattened, but he said quickly, “No, I can
hear you taking breath to apologize for reminding me. Do not. I cannot see you,
but I feel certain I can safely talk to you about what happened at Cape
Trafalgar, for you were there. You will know a little of how I feel, how we all
feel. The . . . the elation and the grief, sometimes felt in the
same breath.”

“Yes,” she said, remembering that breathed
Emily
, “I thought it was different for
men.”

He was sitting back in his chair, looking tired. “Many will
insist that it is, but sometimes I wonder how very different our emotions are,
underneath the trappings.” He flicked his cravat.

Anna was distracted by the single lock of curly dark hair
hanging over his bandaged eyes. Her fingers tingled; she wanted to brush it
back. But she remembered what he said about waiting until his bandages came
off.

And in any case it was not the right moment. He said, “I
have heard, as you no doubt did, strong men cry for their mothers while under
the surgeon’s knife, whereas I have witnessed two women, the wives of a
gunner’s mate and a bosun respectively, give birth under the worst of
circumstances. One during a hurricano, and t’other a difficult breech birth,
twins, while we were in the midst of a running battle with a French privateer,
and nary a word did either of them say, beyond the necessary.” He grimaced
slightly. “Perhaps this conversation is better saved until I can see you.”

“I will talk to you anytime,” she said quickly, coming to
his side. “About anything you wish.”

“You are not offended at such subjects? I hear all about me
that you are a very fine lady.”

She gave a little laugh. “After the orlop? As for the fine
lady, I do my best to play the role—” She cut herself off, appalled. That was
coming far too close to the truth that she had promised not to reveal.

Henry smiled, clearly with no thought of the theater. “You
are probably more deedy at your role than I am at mine. But one thing that
bolsters my confidence, I might not be able to strut about London like a Bond
Street beau in the way my brother did, but already the tangle of family debt is
considerably less.” He lifted a hand.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” she said.

“Yes?”

“It is the rooms the servants are obliged to live in. Did
you know they have no fire, none at all?”

Henry could have retorted,
Any more than we had on shipboard
, but he was ashamed of the
thought. “I did not,” he said. “I have never been up there. Is it bad, then?”

“Mrs. Diggory did not take me up there. I would not have
thought of it either had not Parrette told me. I have been up there since.
Their rooms are no bigger than those little corners the lieutenants live in,
but these people have to spend their entire lives there. I would like very much
to amend that.”

“Then we shall do so, come spring.” He smiled. “Take your
time to plan it any way you wish. Commencing construction before winter begins
would convince them my brains were permanently addled.”

“Begins?” she repeated, horrified.

Henry laughed ruefully. “I suppose it isn’t funny, but you
have no notion of a proper winter, do you? Well, we shall wait a few months,
but until then, content yourself with this: I expect that your Parrette, and
the others, find ways to warmth or they would not have survived this long. And
I can give orders to that effect, to make certain.”

The door opened, and Perkins poked his head in. “It wants
twenty minutes before the hour, my lord,” he said in a faintly accusing tone.

“And Parrette will be awaiting me,” Anna murmured, crossing
the room to the opposite door.

“We will talk again, after the tea is drunk,” Henry said.
“Shall we?”

“I will look forward to it,” she said.

And so it was. Dinner passed pleasantly. Afterward, though
the dowager hurriedly suggested music, as if to ward off any unpleasant scenes,
there was nothing to hurry for. Henry sat back and listened to his mother play,
and Emily sing, with a polite smile. Tea was drunk, and the dowager asked her
son if he had any wishes with respect to the holidays.

“I have been gone so long that I am completely out of
habit,” he said. “Make your plans. Accept what invitations you will on my
behalf. You and my wife may arrange it between you. You have only to tell me
when to put on my coat and hat, and I shall get myself down to the carriage at
your hour.”

Emily smiled composedly. Once he had loved her, and his
anger over that house on Hallam Street convinced her that he still retained
something of that passion.

She had expected him to return to heel when she snapped her
fingers, and had been disappointed of that, but on reflection she discovered
that Henry was far more interesting now. He had gone out, traveled, fought, and
learned to command. He possessed wealth that he had not squandered at the
gambling tables, or on his own pleasures.

To crown it all, he made no mention of his dreadful
instrument. Nor did he display transports while listening. Another few such
evenings, and she was confident that cards might be safely introduced, no, that
would not suit, until Henry’s bandages came off. She might lead conversation,
or find a fashionable book to read aloud, and so a gradual return to a civilized
pastime.

o0o

The family retired in the best of tempers when they parted
for the evening; Henry’s head ached, but that ache, it seemed, was his constant
companion anymore. At least he was not as weak as he had been those initial,
endless days: he had only had to withdraw once to lie quiet for a time.

Henry was proud of all he’d managed to get done in spite of
his weakness. When Anna entered their sitting room, he told her about his day:
after his tour of the stables he had met with Pratt, the gardener, promising
that all his hirelings were to be brought back.

He had also, with Perkins’ help, begun to sort through the
sheaf of bills flung into the escritoire.

“It is as well I had London to prepare me,” he said grimly.
“My brother had not paid his tailor in a year, and yet the week before he died
he had sent to order another two dozen shirts. When would he have time to wear
them all? I cannot say these things before my mother, of course, because John
was her son, too, and though
she
never played favorites, bless her, she must feel his loss. Only a blackguard
would speak publicly as I speak safely in private now. If I do not say
anything, it festers like a bad wound, and as you never knew him, it cannot
mean anything. Am I right? What do you say? I wish I could see you.”