Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (49 page)

“What's this?” Matthew made a great
show of unfolding it. The drawing was touching in its simplicity. The large and
small figures were hardly more than stick people, but the waves on the pond and
the little sailboat were perfectly identifiable. His heart stuck in his throat.

Henry pointed out the details.
“We're sailing my ship. Aunt Kate won't mind. We aren't in the navy.”

He folded it reverently, glancing to
William and Fann, and tucking it away. “It is marvelous. I will take it back to
Paris and put it up in my office where I can see it every day.”

William held out a hand. “General,
you are welcome to join us at Chestnut Hill this evening, for dinner.”

He'd had enough. Ty was right in
making him come, and it had been a painful but necessary endeavor, like
scrubbing grit from a wound. But he was done. He needed to be somewhere
familiar, isolated, to grieve and take in all that had passed. “It is my
intention to begin the journey home mid-day today. The stage should be here
directly.”

Fann startled with such force that
she nearly toppled the basket. “Why on earth would you do that?”

William cut the air with his hand.
“Fann, it is not our place –”

Fann shouted down her husband, to
Matthew's surprise. “I do not understand how you can simply leave! What is the
matter with you?” she cried out in anguish.

Matthew understood it well. He and
anguish, along with rage and bitterness, had been fair-weather friends for
months now. “I came here to make peace, Mrs. Livingston. I cannot snuff out my
misery, so why not indulge it? And so I have, thanks to all of you. There is a
little scab on the wound, and now I return home to nurse it.”

Fann's mouth hung open for a moment.
“I do not understand.”

“You have done a more admirable job
of healing – I am not ashamed to admit it. When Kate died, a part of me I had
just come to know died, too. There is no easy mending.”

“What are you –” Fann shook her
head. “Kate, dead?” She launched around the table, fistfuls of skirts still
perilously in range for tripping, closing the distance between them with
admirable grace for how encumbered she was. “You
cannot
leave.” A small
hand curled insistently into his coat sleeve, her eyes filled with tears.
“Kate's not dead, Matthew. She's not – why on earth would you think so? She's
in town, waiting all this time thinking –” A sob tore through her words, and
Fann's head fell against his chest, shoulders wracking. “Thinking you had died,
at Waterloo!”

Whatever feeling he guessed might
have surfaced first, it would not have been anger. But anger it was, not at
Fann or Kate but at his own confusion. His brain was stunned under the weight
of Fann's news. “Where is she? Why would she believe that?”

Her head shook, curls tumbling
wildly. “Soldiers in Antwerp told her that they saw you struck in the head.
Your lines were broken. She didn't know the truth. None of us did, until your
letter arrived last night.”

He
had
been struck in the
head. But what soldiers would have been in town to give her such news?
Deserters
.
A regiment of spineless Hussars, if he had to wager. Still the confusion did
not make sense.

Fann swiped at her eyes, at damp
cheeks, until it dimly occurred to him to offer his handkerchief. He was too
numb to do more.

For a moment, Matthew swore not even
his heart beat. “Kate is gone, Fann. The
Union...
it was lost at sea. I
saw her name. I saw it on the manifest!” He was losing his mind. A black haze
threatened the edge of his vision. His anger blazed higher, protecting him
against vain hope.

Fann's head shook harder, and for a
moment her words came out in an unintelligible jumble. She rubbed a frustrated
hand at her forehead, taking a deep breath. “Kate did not return on the
Union
.
She changed her mind and waited for news in Antwerp. When the courier arrived,
he said your lines were broken. Then some soldiers, deserters I think, told her
you fell and did not recover. So she set sail on the
Spring
that
afternoon, and not of her own volition. She was certain you were dead.”

“Kate was not lost in the storm.” He
was not convincing himself by repeating it. There was no believing, no
accepting what Fann was telling him.

She grabbed fistfuls of his coat.
“She was not aboard the
Union
when it sank.” She pushed against him, as
if trying to press the idea into his flesh. Ironically, he mused, that was
likely the only way he was going to absorb it.

He was standing, and then he was on
the ground, the oak floor planks smarting his backside. Fann dropped to her
knees, bracing his shoulder. Wet trails painted both her cheeks, mirroring his
own.

“I'm sorry, so sorry I didn't speak
up earlier. I had no idea...” Her fingers pressed heat through his gloves and
into frozen hands.

He threw his hat to the rug, raking
fingers through his hair again and again, until the last pass when he buried
his face in his hands. His breath came faster, gasps now, while hope surged
inside. Months of suffering, grieving. All the time he had been in agony, Kate
had been suffering, too. She'd thought he was never coming, and he wouldn't
have, if not for Ty. That was perhaps the worst twist of all.

“Where?” It was all he could manage.

“I put the address in your basket. I
wrote her as soon as I got your letter but she has not answered. The doctor
who's taken her on in Albany keeps her busy till all hours.”

He forgot propriety, grabbed Fann
and crushed her close, vaguely aware of William and Henry frozen in disbelief.
How irrational, that he was more upset by a night spent two hours apart than
months at a thousand miles. She could have been in his arms a day earlier.

A coach jostled up outside, rattling
to a stop with a great deal of snorting, and a '
whoa
!' Lucky for
everyone, since he could not have sat there waiting for another minute. Its
arrival had spared William negotiating the sale of a horse.

He stood and pulled Fann up with
him. “You cannot imagine the good you have just done.”

Sniffling, she smiled and clasped
his hands. “Someone has to keep my sister from dying of stubbornness. I suppose
I am the most qualified. If she had simply written your mother, or the
Major...” Fann laughed through her tears, swiping at her eyes with one arm and
pushing him toward the door with the other. “Go! Every moment you waste here is
a moment you could be telling her how infuriating she is.”

“You've read my thoughts.” He
grabbed the basket, fumbling with his hat while trying to press William's hand
and hug Fann one last time “Mrs. Livingston –”

“
Go!
”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The coach shuddered to a stop on a
wide corner in front of the Hudson Arms, Albany's stage hub. It was a tall,
red-brick inn that boasted more cobblestone out front than most of the city's
other visible streets combined. Matthew guessed it was for the comfort and
convenience of the perpetual crowd of passengers out front, to keep them from
the mud while awaiting their stage. He had occupied his mind with a whole
string of similar inconsequential thoughts during the trip, anything to
maintain his composure.

He gifted Fann's basket to the
driver, also giving him some extra coin to see his trunk stowed until he could
attend to it. Springing down, he unfolded Fann's little slip of directions,
pausing on the platform to read them and gain his bearings. It was nearly
impossible to concentrate on any detail. He glanced up past the gaggle of
waiting travelers, spotting the weathered steeple she had described. As he was
puzzling out the next line, surveying the area, he became acutely aware of a
pair of eyes on him from the front of the crowd. A woman, and a
comely
one at that, watched him, head cocked under a sky-blue velvet bonnet. There was
no ignoring her beauty, her womanly figure helped along by the cut of her blue
velvet coat and the soft printed white muslin gown beneath. He smiled, a polite
acknowledgment. She cocked her head further, and smiled back.

It was the smile that stopped his
heart.

Matthew knew his mouth hung open,
but he could only stand and stare disbelieving until she stepped forward. He
reanimated, moving forward, making up enough ground that he met her in the
middle of the lane. His heart had known it was she before his mind had fully
grasped it.

Delicate hands slipped into his as
if they belonged there, and he pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes
and breathing her deep.

“Kate.”

*          *          *

Twining arms around his neck and not
giving a damn who saw, Kate wondered how she had ever doubted. That Matthew was
alive, that he would come. Fleeing Antwerp, certain that he was lost and the
French were at her heels, the worst had seemed so plausible, so real. Now, she
felt foolish.

“There were moments when I did not
believe I could go on without you.” She studied him, heart pounding, waiting
for some sign that he understood.

He raked a curl from her face,
brushing her cheek. “I told you, I am always with you. That will never change,
Kate of my heart.”

The moment he pulled her in, wrapped
arms around her, the worry blew away like dust. She clutched at Matthew with
every bit of sorrow and regret she had suffered for months, letting his love
chase it off. His arms squeezed tighter, and then he stiffened. Kate smiled
into his chest. She'd wondered how long he would take to notice.

“What the devil...” Matthew broke
their embrace as though she had scorched him, looking her up and down with
disbelief. If ever there were a moment when all his promises would be put to
the test, Kate decided this was it. If Matthew rejected her now, it would break
her forever.

She stood completely still, worrying
her lip, letting Matthew come around to the idea. Finally, he extended a
hesitant arm, pressing his palm to her stomach and pulling away. Then, he
replaced the gesture with two caressing hands, mapping the shape of her
protruding belly which was now almost beyond concealing.

“My God, Kate.” His words were soft,
barely a whisper, nearly drowned by the clamor of voices and wagons all around.

She rested a hand over his and
nodded, words stolen by the humbled expression in his eyes.

“I am late,” he muttered.

Late to Albany, late in coming to
find her? Confused, Kate shook her head. “What?”

Finally, he met her eyes, face drawn
up in tense lines. “The last line of your letter. '
I am late'
. You knew
in Brussels. Why did you not tell me?”
            Guilt seeped into their moment at his frown. “I
suspected
. I
do not think I knew until your mother and I arrived in Ruisbroek. I started to
turn back, but when I asked for the date...I could not return to the front
pregnant.” She squeezed his hands tighter.

“But, even so...” Matthew continued
glancing from her stomach to her face, openly in shock. “You should have told
me you suspected.”

“It was the last thing you needed to
worry over. Your mother's recovery and Caroline and the battle – I wanted a
peaceful moment. A right moment.”

His smile was as warm as a sunrise.
“This one is perfect.”

“Matthew –”

Just as quickly, he scowled. “How
long have you been standing here?” He was suddenly General Webb, snapping after
her through camp, tapping his foot.

Kate bit her lip, fighting a smile,
with a good idea of what was coming. “I don't know. A quarter of an hour,
perhaps, before you arrived.”

He snatched her hand, looking around
them. “Why are you standing? You should be sitting. Is there a bench? Why are
there no benches in this Godforsaken place?”

She choked back a laugh while he
pulled her to the front of the inn. “We spent the bench budget on musket balls,
driving out the people who demanded benches.”

“Hush,” he tossed back. To the two
young men lounging on the bench they approached, Matthew was less courteous. He
stabbed at them with a very aristocratic finger. “My lady wishes to
sit
.”

They scrambled up, slipping past
Matthew with mumbled apologies. She laughed, rolling her eyes, heart swelling
with joy as he settled beside her. “If this is how you plan to behave,” she
teased, “perhaps we
should
spend the next few months on separate
continents.”

He grinned, pecking her cheek. “I
have not begun to make myself infuriating. You have no idea the state of
overbearing I can manage when I feel it is merited.”

“Oh, no, I'm very much acquainted
with it.” She brushed fingers over Matthew's features, remembering the feel of
every plane and angle, conscious all the while that they were drawing more and
more attention. After so many months apart, there was no end to touching him,
and that was becoming a bit of a problem just now. “I've been staying in town
these last few weeks,” she volunteered. “Aiding a new doctor who's just come up
from Virginia.”

“Oh?” He was clearly confused by her
rapid change of topic.

“I have been staying in town
here
,
at the Hudson Arms.” She picked the key from her coat pocket, pressing the cool
iron meaningfully into his palm.

“Oh?” His eyes widened. “
Oh
.”

“Oh.” She nodded firmly. “Let's go
up.” Having learned her lesson, Kate sat patiently until Matthew stood and
reached down to help her.

He took her hand and smiled, and
suddenly the world was perfect. Matthew brought his lips to her ear. “Let's.”

*          *          *

Whole again, Kate snuggled further
back against Matthew's chest, too content to spoil the moment by hinting that
his continual stroking of her bump was beginning to grate in the most touching
way. After a few more minutes, he pulled away, tipping her onto her back and
propping on an elbow to lean over her. “That did not cause you any
discomfort...”

She almost laughed at his sudden
concern, except that it sprang from deep in his eyes as he searched her face.
Brushing her lips over his, Kate shook her head. “Only that we do not have more
time.”

“My ship leaves at two o'clock.” He
did not close the sentence, letting it hang meaningfully between them with a
look Kate had never seen on his face. She scooted farther up the bed, studying
him and trying to decode his expression. “You are staring at me as though
you've never seen me before.”

“And so I haven't. Not you.
You
are the mother of my child.” His palm pressed again to her stomach, and the
last of her resistance melted under his hand.

“I love you Matthew, and I was
selfish about what that means. I will go to London and make the best of it, to
be with you. Anything to not be apart again.” She meant it, every word, with
all her heart.

His lips on hers were slow,
demanding her promise. Then he pulled back and smiled. “You do not have to live
in London, Kate. I am posted to Paris. My orders are indefinite. No less than
three years, by my guess.” His knuckles brushed the hair from her temple. “Does
France suit you any better?”

Paris
. It was not London, or
Albany. Neutral, full of change and excitement. Possibility. A new city, for
her new life with Matthew. Content, she exhaled slowly. “It suits me
perfectly.”

“And you will not have to play
second fiddle to a viscountess, now that I am an earl. A viscountess owes
you
that deference.”

A lifetime must have passed for him
in three months. “What else happened while we were apart? Tell me everything
now. My heart can't survive another shock.”

He looked into her eyes, his gaze a
strange mix of warmth and gravity. “I want to marry you the moment we arrive in
France.”

Her heart thundered at the news,
almost painfully. In a single day, she had been elevated to pure elation from
the depths of misery. It was nearly too much, and tears threatened at the
corners of her eyes. “Is that a proposal?” she said, fighting for control.

Frowning, Matthew drew up off his
arm, half-sitting. “Will you have me or not?” he demanded.

Snagging arms around his neck, Kate
pulled him back to answer first with a kiss. “Of course I will. Where on earth
are you going to find a
clergyman
who'll agree?” She patted a stomach
that would be well beyond concealing when they reached Paris seven weeks from
now.

He rolled from the mattress,
gathering and sorting their abandoned garments, pelting her with articles of
clothing. “Any man of the cloth will agree. We just have to be honest with him
and tell the truth.”

As if she did not know him better.
“Which is...”

He turned back, grinning in triumph
at his own cleverness. “That you are my dead brother's widow, and I must offer
you my protection.”

“You cannot lie to a man of God,
Matthew! You'll go to hell.” Laughter was not helping her argument.

He stopped dressing and stood before
her, taking her hand. “I would risk it, Kate, to end the day with you as my wife.”

“Hmm.” She pulled free, wriggling
into her shift just in time to hide a smile. “Let's save eternal damnation for
when all else fails.”

He snatched up his watch from
somewhere under the bed and snapped open the cover. “Twenty minutes, and we
need to be underway. Should you write your sister, let her know that you are
not coming home?”

Smoothing her skirts, Kate met
Matthew's eyes and shook her head. “She will not be expecting me to come back.”

“How is that?”

“Call it sisterly intuition,” she
said, shrugging into her coat. She did not bother fastening satin frogs that
had already started straining at her midsection a week earlier.

Matthew dusted her bonnet and
settled it on her head, tying the ribbons slowly. “This reminds me...” He
pulled the bundle of letters from his coat pocket, bound with his blue-gray
ribbon. “Would you like these back?”

She smiled and grabbed his hand,
pulling him to the door. “Keep them. I don't need them.”

He laughed as she dragged him along
behind. “Why not?”

“Because,” she shouted, his nervous
grip tightening on her wrist as they bounced down the stairs, “for the rest of
our adventure, we'll be together!”