The Duke's Daughter (18 page)

He closed his eyes and shook his head. She felt the connection between them break.

David and Alex were right; I always push too far. I never know when to let things be.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

He looked up at her. ‘Don’t be. I wasn’t at the surrender. By the time the retreat of the French had become a rout, the 95th were out on the battlefield, fighting at close range. Wellington no longer needed us to protect him and we were sent to mop up the last pockets of resistance.’

Lucy’s fingers ran over the soft leather glove Avery wore to cover his disfigured hand. He took hold of her fingers.

‘So what happened?’ she ventured.

Avery puffed out his cheeks and then let all the air out in a sudden gush.

‘I got careless. I thought the battle was over. Most French soldiers I encountered were already wounded or looking for a way off the battlefield. What I didn’t count on was the former owner of this deciding he needed one last English soldier to add to his kill.’

He held up the pocket watch before setting it down on the table a foot or so away from him.

‘To this day I don’t know why I picked it up. I saw it on the ground next to a fallen French soldier. I was tired and didn’t check him too closely. I just assumed he was dead. The gold back plate of the watch caught the late afternoon sun and I saw it glinting in the grass. I picked it up and as I did, all hell broke loose.’

He stopped talking and his grip on her hand tightened. Their gazes met and Lucy immediately understood Avery’s silent plea. She nodded. She would take Avery’s secret to the grave. After all she had put him through, she owed him that much at least.

‘He lunged at me with his knife. We fell into a deadly struggle. I won’t go into the full details; suffice to say I had the bayonet from my rifle in my hand. I did what I had to do to survive. It was him or me.’

Lucy closed her eyes as they filled with tears. She knew enough not to press him further. He had killed a man at close quarters, what else needed to be said?

Avery swallowed hard.

‘The last thing I remember with any great clarity was a searing pain in my left hand and stomach. Then I remember falling. When I recovered consciousness it was dark. All I could hear were the groans of other men as they lay dying around me. The stench of canon smoke still hung thick in the air.’

‘Were you in a hospital?’ she asked. A vision of Avery being borne on a stretcher from the battlefield planted itself in her mind.

‘No, I was still on the battlefield. The guns had fallen silent, so I surmised that we had won. I passed out again and when I came around a second time it was some time after dawn the following morning. The smoke had cleared, but the air now reeked of death.’

‘What! How could they have left you on the battlefield injured?’ she exclaimed.

He looked at her. ‘However I attempt to explain this to you, you must not take offence. I am simply trying to give you a glimpse of what the end of a battle is like. The accounts of war tend to exclude the messy aftermath.’

‘Go on,’ she replied.

‘When you have a grand party at home, you have lots of servants to come and clear away the food and the dishes. Everything is left neat and clean. An army doesn’t have that luxury. The medical facilities and personnel are crude to say the least. In fact more men die of infection after the battle than in combat. It is often considered a blessing not to be found by the army medical butchers. It takes days for them to scour the battle site looking for wounded soldiers. The rudimentary treatment they give often hastens a man to his death.’

‘So how long were you left out in the field?’

It had never occurred to her that wounded men would not receive immediate and vital medical assistance. Lucy knew the facts and figures of the battle. She knew when it had started and where the various major skirmishes had taken place, but she knew nothing more than those scant details.

Avery withdrew his hand from hers. ‘Major Barrett’s batman found me late on the second day. I had rolled onto my side during the night and looked for all the world as if I were dead. If he hadn’t recognised the green of my uniform and given me a touch with his boot, I expect I would have remained there and died.’

‘Oh, Avery,’ Lucy whispered.

He picked up the bottle of wine and poured them both a second glass. Lucy wiped away her tears and sat waiting for him to continue.

‘I spent a horrid few days at a makeshift hospital. I don’t remember much of that time, only the screams of other men as they went under the knife to remove bullets.’

‘And you came back on a troop ship? I remember hearing of the crowds at the docks as they unloaded the ships. I wanted to go and see, but my father refused,’ she replied.

His eyebrows lifted. The duke had been right in refusing Lucy such an imprudent whim. The sight of badly wounded and dying men was not something a beautiful soul such as Lucy should ever behold.

‘Actually, no, I didn’t come back on one of the troop ships. They brought me back to England on one of His Majesty’s private yachts, the
Sovereign
. Not that I had the opportunity to enjoy any of the comforts it had to offer. I was kept unconscious with laudanum until they got me to Rokewood Park. Fortunately the wound in my hand had not turned septic and they were able to save the fingers. The knife wound to the stomach took a lot longer to heal.’

Lucy looked at the pocket watch, sensing Avery’s gaze as it followed.

‘Ah yes. The pocket watch. When I was finally reunited with my few personal possessions, that little beauty was with them. I didn’t have the heart to tell anyone that it wasn’t mine or that I had killed the man to whom it rightfully belonged. I just kept it. Most ironic thing of all is that it doesn’t work.’

Avery got up from the table and wandered over to the fireplace. He picked up a small log from the fireside basket and stood with his back to her, holding the log just above the flames. When he finally threw the log on the fire, scattering sparks, his shoulders slumped.

Lucy sat silent at the table as Avery’s pain and guilt washed over her. He lifted his head upward.

‘You see, Lucy, my brother Thaxter and I are not so different. Both men without honour,’ he said, turning back to face her.

Lucy pushed the glass of wine away; it had suddenly lost its appeal.

‘Thaxter accepted that he was evil right from the start, I just fought it until the truth was too overwhelming to deny.’

Lucy shook her head. She would never believe that Avery was cut from the same cloth as his dead brother.

‘You are not at all like Thaxter. You have a sense of self-awareness that I don’t think he ever possessed. As for your lack of honour, I think you are wrong,’ she replied.

The Thaxter Fox that she had known would have claimed the pocket watch to be a family heirloom. Something that was his by right. Avery knew the pocket watch belonged elsewhere. The difference between the two brothers was a chasm no admission of guilt could cross.

If Thaxter had been in Avery’s place she knew he would have jumped at the opportunity to seize her dowry, force her to his bed and break her under his will. Avery had kept to their wedding night agreement. He had acted more honourably than many other men would have done under the same circumstances.

They stared at one another for a moment before Lucy decided it was better that she change the subject. She sensed Avery had revealed as much of himself this day as he was able. She would not press him further. Her mother’s words of advice rang in her ears.
Don’t push him, let him come to you.
He has to trust you enough to be comfortable showing you his true self.
She was desperate not to repeat the mistake she had made in the garden at Strathmore House.

‘I have some books if you would like something to read,’ she said.

‘That would be nice. I returned all the books I borrowed from the castle library. I didn’t expect to be going back, and considering my family history of stealing from the homes of other people I made sure to only take what was rightfully mine. And of course the watch.’

He picked up the pocket watch and put it back into his coat pocket. The way he spoke about it, it was as if he expected the previous owner to walk through the door at any moment and demand Avery hand it back. Even after two years of possessing it, it was clear he did not consider it his own.

They cleared the kitchen table, after which Lucy brought a small pile of books into the main room and set them down on a nearby table. Avery picked up the topmost book and read the title.

‘
Adolphe
. Is this new?’ he asked.

Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, it came out late last year. I don’t mind it. Mama says it is a little too melodramatic, but I find it an interesting change from Jane Austen. The only problem is that it is written in French, so you may have problems reading it if your French is not entirely up to scratch.’

He smiled. ‘Yes, well, most of my French vocabulary is not something one puts into print. You may have to read it to me some time.’

She handed him a second book. ‘
Arthur Mervyn
; odd title, but hopefully you haven’t read it. It’s a gothic love story.’

She ignored his raised eyebrows. He took the book and settled into the chair opposite hers in front of the fire.

The rest of the long afternoon was spent in relative silence as they both had their noses firmly planted in their respective books. Once in a while Lucy would sneak a look over the top of her book and catch a glimpse of Avery. His brow was more often than not deeply furrowed as he concentrated on the tome.

The one time he caught her staring at him, she swore he winked at her. She forced herself to dampen down any hope. They had made progress, that much was true. Now she needed to heed all caution, to hold back her reckless nature. She would only have herself to blame if she tried to force the pace and Avery once more retreated at the onset of her advance.

Afternoon wore into evening. The deep shadows from the tall rock face crept across the ground outside as the sun slowly set.

‘Supper?’ Avery said.

Lucy stretched her arms out wide, wriggling her fingers to get some feeling back into them.

‘Lovely. What can I do?’

‘It depends on what you would like,’ he replied.

She rubbed her eyes and closed her book. The long afternoon had left her in a strange frame of mind. Tired, but more than that, it left her reflective of her current situation. Something had to change.

Earlier that day she had been sure of how things should be, of what she wanted. Having listened to Avery talk about his life, she was no longer certain that she was what he needed.

‘A little of the remaining bread and perhaps some dried fruit and cheese. I am not that hungry,’ she replied.

He smiled. ‘I noticed a nice port in the cellar when we went to have a look earlier. Do you think your father would mind if we partook of it?’

‘Well, I won’t tell him if you don’t,’ Lucy replied.

‘What time is it?’ Lucy asked several hours and glasses of port later.

Avery shrugged his shoulders. ‘I haven’t the foggiest, but I would say it is late,’ he replied.

The fire still burned fiercely in the grate, but the candles they had lit earlier in the evening were burning down to a thumb of wax.

‘Are you coming to bed?’ he asked.

Lucy gave him an odd look.

‘I shall sleep on the furs by the fire a little later. There are things I need to do before I turn in.’

Avery went into the kitchen and poured some warm water from the kettle into a wash bowl. He scrubbed his hands and face clean, then sat down on the low wooden bench.

‘That was a really silly thing to have said,’ he muttered, clasping his hands together.

He was annoyed with himself for having made such a light comment about his wife’s sleeping habits. If she really was his wife in more than name, he would have every right to ask when she was going to bed. Instead, she had accepted that he would continue to treat her as an acquaintance and given him the response the situation deserved.

Something had changed tonight. They had spent hours talking as friends. Sharing stories. It reminded him of the last time they had been simply friends. The day in the bookshop. It seemed an eternity ago.

When he made a slight jest Lucy had laughed. Not just a titter, but an open and hearty laugh. The reflection of the fire flames in her eyes had made them sparkle.

In all the time he had known her, he could not remember her laughing in his presence. At parties and balls before their marriage, he had seen her openly smile. But not since.

Something shifted within him, giving him pause. He was the reason for the dulling of Lucy’s soul.

He rubbed his tired face and pushed away the foolish notion. It was the end of a long day; he really should get some sleep. He went back into the bedroom, but stopped. It was nonsensical for her to sleep on a pile of furs when there was a perfectly good bed for her to sleep in. And it was big enough that they would not require the use of a bolster to keep away from one another.

Out in the main room, Lucy was busy piling more wood on the fire when Avery returned. She picked up the empty basket next to the fireplace and balanced it on her hip.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

She nodded toward the door.

‘More firewood. It helps to bring it in from outside to dry out by the fireside for a day or so before using it. A couple of trips and we should have enough wood to get us through the next day.’

He reached out and took the basket from her.

‘You shouldn’t have to lug wood, it doesn’t fit your station.’

Lucy frowned.

‘You clearly haven’t seen my brothers and me out chopping and carrying wood at the castle. Papa makes us all do it, even Emma. He says it serves as a reminder of how fortunate a life we all have.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. And it works. David chops wood at his estate at Sharnbrook. He says it keeps him strong. Clarice, for some reason, says she likes to sit and watch him.’

Avery chuckled. Knowing David Radley, he expected the wood-chopping display he gave his wife was the prelude to other activities. What girl wouldn’t fall for a man showing off his muscular prowess? He also doubted that David would ask Lord Langham’s daughter to carry wood.