Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (35 page)

She loved him
. His heart
thundered, pounding at his temples when he recalled the sweetly forceful way in
which she had spoken the words, telling him he had no choice in the matter. He
had waited, at the garrison, not wanting to confess himself until the right
moment. He realized now that there was no right moment. There was no doubt his
in his mind that Kate had not aimed to tell him when he returned to the house;
it had just spilled out. It was funny now that he had worried she might reject
him when he came to her tent that first night. The idea of being denied had
seemed so plausible to him in the moment, the fear she might not have him. In
hindsight it was obvious their love had built too long for that to be possible.
It had existed unspoken between them, waiting patiently until they stopped scrapping
long enough to notice that it was there. Suddenly the months they had spent at
odds stung like a physical pain. Matthew regretted that their paths had not
crossed years before. The time ahead of them together could be decades and
still not be enough.

He watched her now, crouched in
front of a small boy who was peddling little wooden dolls, asking him something
that stretched his grubby smile from one blushing cheek to the other. Matthew
laughed at himself. She made him feel exactly the same way. It was just the
effect she had.

The glass-front millinery shop a few
doors down from the book sellers stopped Kate clean in her tracks. Entirely out
of his element, he remarked neutrally on the kid gloves and the quantity of
lovely hats in the window. He waved a finger up and down over a yellow silk
abomination, the least appalling bonnet in the bunch. “This one
seems...eye-catching.”

Kate frowned, more with concern than
frustration, as if she worried he had lost his mind. Matthew was certain he had
lost credibility at his questionable taste in head wear. “My sister's head is
far too lovely to be covered, but look at
this
...” She tapped the glass,
indicating a slender fan of pale blue Brussels lace perched on the display.
“Perfect
and
a pun.” She winked, leaving him there confused as the door
banged shut.

Kate was in and out with military
efficiency, holding it up with a delightfully unladylike snort. “Lace
Fann
!”

Matthew rolled his eyes, unable to
resist chuckling. He grabbed her elbow, reeling her in like an unruly child.

De Greir's Toy & Curiosity
Shop.
The sign was not hard to spot. A small group of children stood guard
before a high window framed by the storefront's weathered pine-green pain. They
ogled a yarn-haired doll and lines of meticulously decorated lead soldiers
formed up like Trojans at the base of a wooden rocking horse.

Kate squeezed him arm as they
stepped inside the dimly lit shop. It was immediately obvious that it doubled
as a confectioner and tea merchant to take advantage of the space, which
explained the pungent aroma of earthy pekoe leaves and dried orange peel.

Kate glanced around slowly, voice
hushed. “These wares are probably no different than any in Albany, but somehow
this just feels more...
exciting
.”

Her enthusiasm was catching. Matthew
began studying the toys with a more personal eye. “Whatever you send will have
a story to go with it, no matter how commonplace.”

She laughed. “Have you observed my
letter to Fann? Soon I will be obliged to divide it into volumes. My poor boys
will never get a story.”

She moved off, examining a small
display of jacks and leaving him to stand sentry by the door. He had been
posted to some exotic parts of the world, and it struck him as sad that a toy
shop was likely the most foreign place he had ever been. He shifted foot to
foot, unsure where to put his hands, hovering at the threshold.

A shelf in the back corner, painted
bright blue and towering above a pile of twirling hoops, drew his eye.
Specifically, a deck of cards. On closer inspection he discovered that the
cards were not a game, but an illustrated alphabet. Henry was likely too old
for such lessons. Matthew turned his attention to the rest of what the shelf
had to offer. Red, blue and white painted pegs stood up in a long wooden tray,
lining two sides. He recognized the game immediately as
Nine Men Morris
.
Growing up, his tutor, and on rare occasions his brother, had indulged him in a
game. He had played at every opportunity, and had won with astounding
frequency, to their chagrin. There was something satisfying about forming the
pegs into tidy groups of colors, all the while weaving a strategy to block
one's opponent.

Matthew caught himself reordering
the pieces, forming lines and examining the enemy's position, and mused that
the game was probably responsible for his joining the army.

Kate appeared at his elbow, rocking
onto tiptoes and peering over his shoulder. He pointed to the display with one
hand, taking up a linen bag containing another set. “I used to play this, as a
child. It fosters cleverness without feeling like a lesson. Henry, if he is
anything like his aunt, will enjoy it.” He held the cloth bag out to her.
“Perhaps he can master it with his father, and tutor you when the time comes.”

She grinned, taking the game
excitedly. “How perfect. Fann and Will love games, mostly cards and charades.
Something to play at with Henry...that is brilliant.” She moved two pegs to the
far side of the display board, ruining his advance in a deft maneuver.

Her approval warmed him head to toe,
and he dared a peck at her cheek. She leaned into him, then jabbed him with a
teasing elbow. “Really, Matthew. There are people everywhere.”

“They'll manage,” he murmured.

She ignored him, leaning forward and
squinting to get a better look at something on the second shelf. “What is
that?”

He followed her eyes and laughed.
“Marbles! True glass ones, at that.” Memories washed over him. “When I was a
boy, most of mine were red clay. Once, my uncle Phillips brought me a blue
glass marble from Spain. It was my prized possession for as long as I can
recall.” He palmed the leather sack, pulling its drawstring neck open a bit
farther. Raking a finger between the cool orbs, he peered inside. “Cat's eye,
too. Another game your lads can play together. Whenever your gifts
actually
arrive.”

“If they
ever
arrive.” They
exchanged a knowing glance, and she grabbed the marbles from his hand.

While Kate settled up with the
merchant, Matthew took one last look around. It was an easy transition,
slipping into the fantasy of buying some small diversion for his own children.
A son, tagging behind him through the copses of Highgate, little wooden rifle
in hand. Or a daughter perched atop her hobby-horse, insisting her pony go
faster.

He had lived by the musket for
almost half his life. Faced with battle countless times, he was used to
reflecting on his own mortality. For the first time he truly regretted an empty
space that soldiering had never filled.

Kate appeared before him, holding
her purchases aloft with a serene expression. “Again, I defer entirely to you
where other people's boys are concerned.”

Other people's boys.

He studied her, wondering that he
had only become keenly aware of his regret over children since meeting her.
Kate blinked expectantly, and he shook off the thought, bowing a little. “I am
an expert on the subject, as you have observed.”

He took the toys from her, tucking
the sack with the Morris board beneath his arm, and stuffed the marbles inside
his coat. Kate glanced around, seemingly at no one thing. “Care to explore a
bit more of the city, or have you had enough of a day?”

Prying the watch from his waistcoat
pocket, he checked the time. “I would see the whole city with you, had we time
enough, but we are expected at dinner in less than an hour.”

She groaned, letting him lead her
toward the front of the shop. “
Expected
at dinner? That sounds social,
and tiresome.”

“You mean ti
ring
?”

“No,” Kate laughed. “
Tiresome
.
Tiring and boring.”

He shushed her. “I believe you will
feel rather differently once we arrive. You take immense pleasure in seeing how
your patients are faring.” He enjoyed being obtuse and seeing the rare look of
confusion on her face.

She stopped him with a sharp tug at
his sleeve, obliging a gentleman behind to dart around or plow them over. “What
patient?”

He winked. “You will see.”

“Major Burrell?” Kate deflated a
little, her feet pounding harder over the cobblestones. “Dinner with Ty is not
exciting. He digs at everybody's business, and then screeches that violin until
we're all driven off. You know, he's really quite the virtuoso, but he never
picks it up until he's entirely foxed.”

He laughed, only half listening,
waiting for her to recognize their surroundings. Any minute now she would
surely notice the house, if she would stop watching him while she cursed Tyler
and look around.

Kate held up fingers. “...and it
must have been
two
in the morning, but he was determined to read that
ridiculous poem. She seemed impressed, but the rest of us nearly creased our
faces with yawning.”

Navigating rumbling wagons and the
steady flow of people moving across the square, he nodded, glancing again and
again at Kate. He waited for the moment she stopped talking and realized what
they were about.

Her eyes were squeezed half shut,
one small fist shaking. “...but I don't believe for a single minute that he
went upstairs to see her antique books. Unless 'antique books' means something
else, and with Ty that is entirely possible.” She poked his arm, and he began
to laugh.

“Matthew? I don't believe you've
heard a single word I've said.”

“
Kate
.” He bit her name and
swept a hand toward the steps, finally catching her attention. “Now, are you a
bit more pleased at the prospect of dining out?”

“Where in the world –” She squinted
at the door, then glanced around looking momentarily disoriented. “OH!
Oh
.”
Her teeth went to work on her lower lip, communicating her nerves. “Are you
certain I should...”

“My mother invited us this morning.
Both
of us.” He would not mention how that had occurred. No sense
confessing that a careless line in a note to his mother might, perhaps, have
hinted he had not come to Brussels alone. Adelaide had said nothing about it in
her reply, but her summons for
'Ld. Webb and Miss K. Foster'
to attend
dinner said she had noticed. Now he hoped Kate was too distracted to wonder how
they had been invited together.

Kate cast a sideways glance at the
house. “You don't think we...She's just recovering. Are we imposing on her?”

“I don't care if we are.” He crossed
arms against the idea. “She should not have sent the invitation if she did not
want the company. In any matter, I was determined to visit her once more before
the army moves.”

Kate eyed the door again, as though
it could swing open at any moment, revealing the burning maw of hell.

“Miss Foster, are you
nervous
?”
he teased.

She did not acknowledge the jest.
“We have changed, Matthew, since the last time we were here. I do not want to
offend your mother. I want –” She looked at him, blue eyes wide. “I would like
her approval.”

He took Kate's hand, pressing
against the fabric of her glove. “You and I have not changed. Our feelings for
one another are the same as before.” Matthew squeezed her hand for emphasis. “I
have shared your bed, but
we
have not changed.”

“
Matthew,
” she whispered,
pressing his fingers in return.

He brushed her cheek and tucked her
arm back against his side. His mother was thunder and sharp looks, but he knew
Kate had made an impression. A good one, by how often Adelaide worked Miss
Foster into her letters.

“Come on, then.” Smiling broadly, he
tugged Kate toward the door. “Her invitation mentioned me as an aside. She
specifically asked for
you.
”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Lady Webb had given Matthew the head
of the table, seating herself at his left, directly across from Kate. It would have
been a comfortable arrangement except that Lady Louisa, refusing to allow
either half to be lopsided, insisted on planting herself at the foot of the
table. At eight feet or so, it was not over-long like many formal tables, but
it was enough that it put Louisa an awkward distance from the meal, and with
her cotton-eared hearing, well outside the sphere of conversation.

Kate noticed that Louisa did not
seem to mind. She smiled and nodded at regular and sometimes oddly-timed
intervals, chewing and serving herself with the same regal authority she might
have felt seated in Matthew's spot. Her occasional well-meaning slights aside,
Kate decided the tiny magpie of a woman really was endearing.

Along with Louisa, she too felt
skipped by the conversation. For several minutes now, Lady Webb had shared all
sorts of news from London with her son. She was not certain Matthew was any
more interested than she in what his mother had to say, but at least he could
put it into context.

Adelaide was smacking a fist gently
against her palm. “...but I said to her, how can you have Uxbridge to the ball
and cut his lady? I do not think it can be managed. One half of the rabble or
another is sure to stir hard feelings. Poor Lady Richmond!” Lady Webb shook her
head at Matthew, rustling the mountain of curls clinging at her crown.

Matthew raked his butter knife
against a roll, taking out some frustration on the poor piece of bread. “He is
to have his own division, finally. I saw him this afternoon at headquarters,
while I was meeting with Lord Grayfield.” He chewed thoughtfully a moment. “We
were assembled together at the meeting but I did not have a chance to speak
with Uxbridge.”

“And you shouldn't speak to him,”
barked Adelaide.

Kate laid her spoon in the bowl,
something Matthew and his mother had said bringing her back to the table. “Who
is this?”

“Uxbridge.” Lady Webb spit the name
with a sneer, as though her soup tasted bad.

She shook her head, still not any
clearer on the vitriol brewing between the pair.

Matthew nodded. “He ran off with the
wife of Wellington's brother. It has made it impossible for Uxbridge to serve
under the duke until recently. They could not be trusted within shooting
distance of one another.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously feeling
caught by the lingering tension. “If skilled officers were not in short supply,
Uxbridge still would not be welcomed. And after today I can attest their truce
is a tenuous one.”

Kate felt an uncomfortable
fascination with the tale, perhaps because it reminded her a bit of Patrick.
“Does he court her still?”

Matthew nodded, working at his
plate. “He married her.”

“Succubus!” Adelaide spit the word
with such force that Kate had to press a napkin over her face to hold in
laughter that transformed to tears at the corner of her eyes.

“Mama, really! At the table?”
Matthew's brows knit, but his lips twitched and formed a 'shh' just for Kate's
benefit. “It is five years past.”

Lady Webb took up her little
trident, spearing her anger into a potato. “It was in every way shocking.”
Adelaide swept the air, as though waving off a bad smell. “I do not wish to
talk of it anymore.”

Just when Kate assumed it was safe
to begin eating again, Adelaide pulled in a dramatic breath, hinting that she
did still wish to talk of it, at least indirectly. “My dear Lady Richmond is
giving a ball, Miss Foster. That is what ignites all this fuss over Uxbridge.
She sent 'round several vouchers yesterday, including one for my son – you will
not have been invited, understand, because...” She waved a finger over Kate, as
though casting a spell, and made a sympathetic frown.

“Mama means you were not thought of
because Lady Richmond has not the slightest inkling who you are.” Matthew's
head cocked slightly. “It is not because you dress like the printer's boy when
you ride a horse.”

She stopped chewing and pinned him
with a look. He lifted his brows, unrepentant until her toe caught the back of
his ankle beneath the table.

A few bites passed in silence,
broken only by a small clatter of Louisa's china as her head slumped, then
snapped up with a snore. Kate wouldn't have minded the quiet, except that a
handful of stolen glances at Adelaide left her with no doubt that the woman's
gears were turning.

Adelaide was fixing her to her seat
with a look that might have been perceptive, or nothing more than her own
nerves. “Miss Foster, I was surprised to hear you had come to Brussels. Would
you not stay with the army at such a time?”

“Ordinarily, yes. But a doctor has
come up to be with the regiment, so my position is a bit tenuous,” she said.

“By your account, that has never
been an obstacle to you in the past. Something rather marked has tempted you
away, I think...” Adelaide let the words hang a moment, impaling her last bite
of potato.

“Mama, is it not convenient, having
Miss Foster so close to look after you?” Matthew offered helpfully. His mother
only grunted, clearly rejecting the attempt. Kate exchanged a helpless glance
with him. The dining room grew warmer, and smaller.

Adelaide was
not
a dim woman.
Her fork clanged sharply against the china of her plate, a warning bell.
“Rather marked,” she muttered again.

Kate turned her attention pointedly
to her dinner, now cold, and rearranged her last two bites of chicken. “Very
marked,” she admitted, with a glance to Matthew.

Adelaide looked satisfied, having
pried the small admission from her guest. “Hmm. Where are you staying, during
your visit?”

The bite of chicken in her mouth
lodged in her throat, and she looked helplessly at Matthew's wide eyes. She had
known better than to think her host was finished, but she had been unprepared
for
that
particular direction. Kate cleared the obstruction haltingly,
with a lot of unnecessary fuss, and pointed in the vaguest direction possible.
“Across the Grand Place.”

“On which street?” Adelaide pressed
on, relentless.

“Mmm...”

“Rue Violette? Rue Bouchers?”

Matthew cleared his throat with a
sharp cough. “Miss Foster does not know the city as we do, mama.”

“I was not speaking to
you
,
Matthew,” his mother snapped.

Kate tried following his lead. “I
really could not tell you, but I know the direction when I see it.”

Gray eyes narrowed to slits as
Adelaide's gaze darted from Kate to Matthew and back. Kate gave silent thanks
when Louisa's grating breaths grew too loud to ignore, sparing her from further
scrutiny. Adelaide straightened in her chair, craning in the dim light of the
dining room to see the end of the table. “Louisa, what are you about down
there!”

Louisa flailed from sleep, rocking
her chair perilously close to tipping her clattering to the floor. “Oh, oh
dear!” Her head turned in every direction, owl eyes searching the room for
clues as to where she was and what had happened. “Oh,” she yawned, “see what
comes of fighting off a sneeze? Drat the rainy weather here.”

Adelaide gave a little scowl,
clearly out of sport with all her guests being deceitful. “I hope it is not a
cold. Perhaps you should seek your bed. A little rest can only help your
constitution.”

Louisa nodded, obviously relieved at
her companion's suggestion. She was already squashing another yawn against her
palm. “Lord Webb, I wish you Godspeed in the days to come and Miss Foster,” she
came around the table to rest a hand on Kate's shoulder. “It was very lovely to
see you again, and what a charming figure you have. So feminine...”

Kate smiled, recalling Louisa's
concern over her traveling clothes, and pressed a hand to hers. “I am flattered
that you noticed, Lady Louisa.”

Louisa nodded, yawning her way from
the room. Adelaide clucked a sympathetic tongue as the door closed. “She has
taken such excellent care of me these last weeks. Wearing herself out in spite
of my protests.” She frowned, voice quiet as though speaking more to herself.
“If I snip at her, it is only for her own good.”

Kate was touched that Adelaide allowed
her a small glimpse inside her walls. She appreciated more than ever how
similar Matthew was to his mother.

She had not asked Adelaide about her
surgery, deciding that was a subject more appropriately broached by Matthew.
Since arriving he had not mentioned it, and Lady Adelaide herself had
volunteered nothing. Now, he finally took his mother's hand, pressing her
knuckles to his lips. “How are you getting on now?”

Adelaide was silent a long time,
just the crackle of the fireplace passing and Matthew's nervous breaths filling
the room. She fiddled with her napkin, not meeting their eyes as she cleared
her throat. “Very well. There is no infection and I am –” She pressed fingers
to her lips, looking uncomfortable. “I begin to feel whole again. It is just
the memory of it. At times I was certain my body could bear no more, that the
pain would wash me into senselessness.” Delicate shoulders hunched up, as
though she could shrug off the horror. “But the hands of the six men fixing me
to the table would grip tighter, dragging me into consciousness again and
again.” She pulled in a ragged breath. “It
was
done blessedly quick,
though I did not feel it at the time.”

Kate's stomach churned just think of
it, the mechanics of reaching the afflicted organ, and then to lie restrained,
face covered and aware of every hack or slice. It was the very definition of
bravery to endure surgery.

Eyes wet, Lady Webb reached across
the table to claim her hand. “Your surgeon found a malignancy. He assures me I
would not have lasted past this time next year.” Her fingers trembled against
Kate's hand, her words no more than a rough whisper. “I owe you, Miss Foster.
Very dearly.”

Kate tried and failed to fight back
her own tears. “My task was the easiest. I am happier than I can say that you
are well.” She gave Adelaide's hand a firm squeeze and glanced to Matthew, who
watched them silently. He did not need to say a word for her to understand the
gratitude in his eyes.

*          *          *

While Kate finished her coffee, he
walked his mother to her room. She was slow on the staircase, wobbling like a
newborn foal, but she
was
getting better. There was no gift to equal it,
and he owed everything to Kate. To repay her was an impossible goal, but he
would treasure her with the last breath in his body.

He grasped the knob and swung her
door open, then bent and pressed a kiss to his mother's forehead. “Good night,
mama.”

She patted his cheek, pecking him
there. “Will I see you again?”

Matthew shook his head at the
question. “Of course. I will call again, before we march.”

She clutched at her breast, doubling
a little. He grasped her shoulders, looking his mother over. “What is the
matter? I'll get Kate.” She had exerted herself, inviting them to dinner. She
never rested properly, and he had no doubt she only followed whichever of the
surgeon's instructions suited her.

“No, no.” Her arms circled him, warm
across his back as she patted his shoulder, and despite the difference in their
frames he was ten years old again. “I just have the most dreadful premonitions,
now and then.”

He fought the tremor from his words.
“The last thing you ought to do is to worry.” He hugged her tighter. “This is
no different than any other engagement, mama. Not in practice. The whole of all
we have done so far has prepared the army for what is coming. And Miss Foster
will be at hand, to put me back together should things go amiss.”

She pulled away, staring until he
drew back a step. “Be careful how you go on, Matthew.”

Unthinking, he crossed his arms.
“Meaning?”

“Meaning you should think of
Caroline,” she warned.

“I don't give a damn about
Caroline,” he spit, meaning it to his bones.

“You should. For now, she will keep
silent. Caroline will not so much as hint at your petition for divorce at her
own expense. It could not be done without revealing her bed-baiting of Major
Pitt.” She clutched at his sleeve. “Let her catch the slightest whisper of Miss
Foster, and she will paint you as an unfaithful husband who has abandoned her.
All of London will trample itself to offer her a hankie.”

He bristled at the idea. “I win its
wars and bury its dead. I'm not sure I give a fig otherwise what London thinks
of me.”

She jabbed a finger toward the
stairs. “But you should give a fig about Miss Foster, if you ever intend to
make her your wife. Such a blemish would be grossly unfair to her.”

Matthew caught a defensive snap to
his mother's words and tried not to smile. “Mama, do you
like
her?”

She sniffed, folding her arms. “She
is plain-spoken and over-familiar.”

“I cannot argue with you on that score.”

“Too tall and too much figure to be
popular in her beauty,” she snapped.

If he wanted an admission, he was
going to have to drag it from her. “I rather think she is bit thin. Campaign
rations.”

She drew up, brows veeing together.
“Attend, Matthew. I did not say she is not
handsome.
”

It took a saint's discipline to not
laugh as she danced around the matter. He crossed his arms tighter, stomping a
boot against the marble. “You like her or you do not.”

A breath hissed between her lips,
and Matthew knew he had finally won. “She is clever, I'll grant you. Possessed
of tremendous compassion. And I could spend half a day listening to her stories
of the native peoples in America. So savage and heroic!” She glared. “Byron
could take a lesson.”