Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (48 page)

She still owned his soul. For all
his scoffing, he would board the ship tomorrow. Kate would call to him as she
always did, in between dreams or when he was crocked, sweating and tangled in
the bedding, until he set sail.

Matthew studied his pitiful shrine.
If he could derive so much comfort from so little, then perhaps Ty had been
correct. He picked up her narrow braid.

Perhaps it was time to carry her
home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

10 June, 1815 – Brussels

Fann,

I have arrived in Brussels. You
would marvel at how much it resembles home in construction, but not at all in
splendor. There is a different flavor to the city. Of a new place, of course,
but of history past and history being made. Perhaps everything I see and feel
is shaded by being in love. Have I written it already? I am only too happy to
repeat it, forever.

When my general returns this
afternoon I will ask him to take me out so that I can find some little mementos
for you and our boys. I could go out to the shops now, but why do something
alone when I could enjoy Matthew's company? Besides, no man can truly find
purpose unless he has an armload of lady's things to carry.

Do not tease the cares of my
heart! I know you must be laughing at me now, but if you could see how overcome
I am, you would take pity on your dear sister.

All my love to you and our little
family.

-K

He turned the paper over, and her
letter was done. The garrison, Brussels, the battlefield all melted away and he
was once again in Kate's room. Months had flown past in a single night. Morning
glow was creeping in through the windows and over the floorboards, and Matthew
realized just how consumed he had been with her words.

He got up and snatched the bottle of
whiskey John had obligingly left on the bookcase. Falling back into his chair and
eyeing her letter, he popped the cork with a thumb. Matthew began to pour
without guilt or hesitation, without stopping.

The last sheet was only a few lines
at the top, concluding her thoughts from the previous page. A single note was
scrawled at the bottom. It was Kate's hand, but looped hurriedly with a
tell-tale waver to each letter:

June the 15
^th
– I am
late.

He recalled that morning. His
body
recalled that morning, but Matthew could not guess what she had meant.
Late
in leaving Brussels, perhaps. There had been tension vibrating through the
city, a sense of the inevitable. And of course, they'd had the truth of the
matter at Lady Richmond's ball that night.

He exhaled, trying to pour off some
of the emotion raging inside, feelings barely tempered by seven weeks at sea.
Worrying the pages, he raked them back together with unsteady fingers, staring.
There were things in her letter she had never told him, thoughts and feelings
that had blossomed before they were close enough to share. He wished vainly that
there was a hope of ever being the man Kate had described. And for the
thousandth time, he wished she were here.

“General.” Liddy hovered in the
doorway, hands clasped primly over her apron. “Mr. and Mrs. Livingston have
come. Missus is waiting for you in the parlor, sir.”

The carriage had rumbled up at some
point, but he must have been too deep in the letter or his own reflections to
notice. Matthew steeled himself, fanning away the fumes of liquor hanging on
his clothes, righting his hair. When there was nothing left with which to fuss,
he went down to meet Kate's family.

Outside the parlor, he took only a
single breath to steady his nerves. Whatever these people thought of him,
Matthew reminded himself he would be with them a very short time. He also realized
how desperate he was for them to like him. He opened the door and stepped
through.

Fann commanded a little chair beside
the hearth, bathed in morning sunlight, at ease and looking ready to entertain
Lucifer himself, should he walk through the door. She smiled at his entrance.
“General Webb.”

Kate had been right. She really was
the
prettiest
thing he had ever seen. For a moment his heart ached at
it. Kate could not have described her sister more perfectly, impossible as it
had been for him to believe at the time.

Fann was a contrast to Kate, short
and petite, with long willowy limbs. She was fragile and bright like a little
porcelain dancer in her pastel ruffles. Her hair and eyes were Kate's, warm
chestnut and sky blue, but there was an innocent light to Fann's gaze,
testifying she had been spared from the same cares as her sister. Their
similarities ended there. Fann's nose was a pert upturn, mouth narrower, fuller
and doll-like against her baby face. He wagered there was not a cross bone in
her body.

“Mrs. Livingston.” He bowed and
waited, but for what he had no idea.

There was one more similarity. He
hadn't noticed it until the silence stretched between while they took each
other's measure. Fann cocked her head, managing to look down shyly with her face,
and upward frankly with her eyes. It was a disarming paradox he'd only
experienced with Kate. His heart throbbed.

Finally, she spoke. “I received your
letter last night. I'm sorry nothing was ready. Had it not been so late, I
would have had you sent over to Chestnut Hill to stay with us, instead of your
waiting in an empty house.”

He wanted to tell her it had been
exactly what he needed, like wrapping himself in a blanket against the chill of
her absence, basking in Kate's spirit all around him. It was probably not what
she wished to hear just now, and Matthew knew he could never do it justice with
words. “I passed an agreeable night. Please don't trouble yourself on my
account.”

“Fann?” William appeared in the
hall, craning his neck to see them around the door frame. It had to be William.
Again, Kate had painted a life-like portrait. Will had the carriage of an
officer, straight-backed long strides. A stern mouth was softened by the lines
of a smile, and his eyes snapped to observe everything as he crossed the room,
arm outstretched. “General. This is a pleasant surprise.”

His grasp was firm and familiar as
they shook hands, and Matthew liked him instantly. He began to explain to
William that he would not be offended if they found his sudden arrival
not
so pleasant, but a noise stopped him short. It was a tapping, the unmistakable
click of tiny leather soles clapping against a wood floor. He leaned to see
past William who stepped aside, revealing a tiny shadow in tow behind him.
“Henry, this is General Webb.”

Henry was a miniature gentleman,
from his lopsided tricorn hat to the tails of his coat and breeches that hugged
his knobby knees for dear life. He had Kate and Fann's piercing gaze and his
father's studious countenance, both screwed up just now in serious childlike
appraisal of their guest. He tucked whatever was cradled in his hands beneath
an arm and raised one balled fist to his sandy-blond brow in a perfect salute.

Something in Matthew's heart gave
way, and he blinked back tears, staring down at the boy. “Master Henry.” He
saluted in return, winning a shy smile.

Henry cradled his toy and held it up
for Matthew's inspection. “It's my ship.”

Matthew got down on one knee for
closer inspection. “And a fine vessel, too. Look at that prow, and her stout
mast. Where do you run her?”

“Papa takes me to the pond after
supper,” Henry said, beaming proudly.

“A navy man? Are you to be a sailor
then, Henry?”

“Aunt Kate says the navy is for
criminals and lunatics.”

The laugh that escaped his chest was
an unexpected but welcome gift, and he looked to William who smiled without
apology. “Can you tell he's heard the opinion repeated more than once?”

“That is why we're in the army, is
it not?”

“Precisely,” nodded William.

“Look what I can do!” Henry stomped
his feet in little turns, gaining momentum until the tails of his coat spun
like a dervish.

“Bravo!” Matthew clapped, serving to
increase the boy's speed. Henry's easy joy was a balm to his soul.

Fann swept between them, shaking her
head and ushering Henry to the sofa.

William waved a hand toward his son.
“The time between three and four years of age is something like boarding with
an asylum patient.”

“
William
, honestly.” Fann
rested a tiny hand on Matthew's coat sleeve. “I'm glad that you have come, Lord
Webb.”

William planted a kiss atop his
wife's head. “This is a happy occasion. I will go down and see if Liddy can
manage supper here on late notice.”

She sent him out with a pat, and
Matthew watched their exchange with a measure of dull jealousy.

“It must be odd for your family.
Miss Foster...
Kate
spoke so often, so fondly of you all that I feel
acquainted, though I must seem a complete stranger.”

“No. Oh no, not at all!” Fann
alighted on the sofa beside Henry, who studiously worked his sails, and patted
a chair beside her. “I don't believe there was a single entry in all her
letters that did not mention you. By the end she talked of little else.”

He smiled, remembering for a moment.
“I imagine she talked of little else in the beginning, too, and not as kindly.”

Her mouth curved sympathetically,
and she squeezed his hand on the arm of the chair. “Kate, as you know, has
always been very...honest, in her appraisals.”

“She called me an ass.”

“At least once, yes.” Fann didn't
bother to stifle her giggle.

He settled deeper into the chair,
realizing that Fann was privy to all he had just read in Kate's letters.
Intimate, personal things, but the idea did not unsettle him. He felt
liberated, and, for the first time in anguish-filled months, there was someone
with whom he could commiserate. Matthew examined the room, wondering at how
comfortable and familiar it felt to sit there. “This is a striking house.”

“We grew up here, and our father
left the property in Kate's capable hands. It was her sanctuary, when Patrick...”
Her voice trailed into sad silence.

He understood, hating the memory,
the idea.

Fann glanced beside her, seeming to
remember Henry when he made a
shush
, creating an imaginary wave for his
ship. “Henry, you do not have to sit. Run on down to Papa and ask him to take
you outside, now that the morning chill has passed.”

“I will take him.” The offer jumped
to Matthew's lips before he had a moment to consider what he was getting into.
Children did not fall into his area of expertise, but suddenly he was eager for
the chance.

Fann smiled, waving a hand in the
air. “You needn't trouble yourself.”

“I insist. Master Henry has a fine
vessel. Proud lines and fast, I'd wager. A man ought to have an opportunity to
show off such a lovely craft.”

Henry did not share Fann's
reservation. His little hand curled into Matthew's cuff, hauling for all he was
worth toward the door. “Come on! You'll sit on my favorite rock so you can see
better. Mister Smith might come, if you're quiet. He's a pond frog. He's got a
yellow spot on his head, like a fancy hat.”

Matthew laughed in earnest at the
boy's endearing ramble, letting Henry pull him along, content in the knowledge
he could have no better guide.

*          *          *

Wrapped around William's arm, Fann
watched Henry clap at something the general said.

The pair crouched together and
Matthew pointed to a spot on the horizon, and Henry's little head bobbed in
reply.

Beside her, William shifted from
foot to foot, the way he always did when mulling something over. “I'm a bit
thrown off by General Webb. Did you expect him to be so dour?”

“Not in the slightest.” Kate had
described him as being serious, formal on occasion. The man before her had the
demeanor of frayed rope, struggling to hold together its few remaining strands.
“Truly William, I think something is wrong. He has not asked about Kate once.”

“Does he know that she's believed
him dead all this time? Have you told him? Perhaps he's only a bit rattled.”

Fann shook her head, noting the
defeated sag of Matthew's shoulders as he trailed behind Henry back to the
house. “I thought she would arrive before us. Or at any moment now, so I did
not see the point. It seemed wiser to have her explain, than to worry him.” She
had assumed Kate's joy at seeing Matthew would undo the confusion more than
anything she could say. Matthew would have questions, undoubtedly, and Kate was
the most qualified to answer them.

Will pressed a hand against the
window pane. “Look at the poor man's face. Seems too late for that.”

A terrible thought struck her. Impossible,
she argued, except that it might explain so much of the general's demeanor. “Oh
William, what if he's come with bad news? Do you think he's changed his mind?”
Would he cross an entire ocean, when a letter could suffice? If Kate's letters
had taught her anything, it was that General Webb was an honorable man. Perhaps
it had been the right thing, in his view.

Will took her hand, and sighed. “I
suppose we ought to reckon that out before she arrives.”

*          *          *

“You'll not escape me!”

There was stomping, and a boyish
squeal in reply to Will's bellowing. Matthew entered the dining room just in
time to see Henry hoisted onto his father's shoulder, flailing his limbs for
all he was worth. Fann, gracefully posed at the head of the table, did not
engage in their mirth. She stood over a deep basket, worrying her lip in an
imitation of her sister.

He drew up short, unnoticed, and
watched her. She was not Kate, but in the low light of early morning, with her
face tipped down, it was an easy thing to imagine.

William spun around, caught sight of
him, and broke the spell. “Lord Webb.”

Plunging free and onto his feet,
Henry charged up and made his little salute. Then he tugged a crumpled sheet of
paper from his tiny great-coat and held it out.