Authors: Mary Balogh
You know that, don't you?"
She nodded. "I love you."
He patted her shoulders briskly and moved back from her to check the sword at his side and reach for his cap. He was smiling again.
"You'll take the train back to Craybourne tomorrow morning," he said. "You'll be there before dark and Father will have the carriage at the station to meet you. You will be quite safe. Miss Hough-ten will be with you."
"Yes, I'll be quite safe, Julian," she said. "You must
14 Mary Balogh
not worry about me. Go now. It would not do to be late."
"And have to swim after the ship?" he said, grinning. "No, by Jove it wouldn't. My men would not have been so well entertained in a decade." He was opening the door and stepping through it.
There was a moment when panic grabbed at her, when instinct would have had her across the distance between them, grabbing at him for one last kiss, one last goodbye. A moment when she wanted to plead with him to take her with him after all. But she was not a creature of instinct. She was a disciplined, rational being—or so she told herself.
"I'll wave to you from the window," she said.
"Yes, do that, Becka," he said. "Remember that it is only as far as Malta. There is more danger on the streets of England than there will be there."
"Yes," she said.
The door closed.
He was gone.
She stood where she was for a few moments, drawing steadying breaths, resisting the temptation to tear open the door and go hurtling down the stairs after him. She crossed the room to the window on trembling legs instead and looked down.
Most of the red-coated soldiers had disappeared. David stood on the pavement below, facing away from the hotel. She felt a surging of resentment against him. It was his fault that Julian was going away, perhaps to war, perhaps to his death. If David had not bought a commission in the Guards and come home several times looking dashing in his uniform and bringing stories that had sounded unutterably romantic and exciting to a country-bred young man, Julian would not have thought of buying one for himself just before their marriage. Julian had always looked up to David, had always tried to keep up with him and emulate him. Though Rebecca could not imagine why it was so. David had always been wild and thoughtless. Sometimes cruel.
Her lips tightened. Yes, cruel. Flora Ellis had been their playmate and friend all through their growing years. She had been of thoroughly respectable lineage even
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though she was only the daughter of the vicar of Craybourne, whereas Julian was a baronet and David was a viscount and son and heir of an earl.
And yet now Flora was living alone and disgraced with her infant son while David was sailing away with his battalion, unconcerned about their fate. He had refused to marry Flora even though she had been abandoned by her family and ostracized by everyone else for a long time.
For that, Rebecca thought, she would never forgive David.
And then Julian came out of the hotel and joined him, and the two men turned to hurry along the street in the direction of the quay. For a few sickening moments Rebecca thought that he would not look back. But he did, removing his cap and waving it jauntily in the air, grinning up at her. A boy on his way to some exciting adventure, eager to be gone.
Julian. Her husband. Her love. The man she had adored from childhood on. She raised a hand, palm out, though she did not wave it. She did not smile. She stood thus until long after he had disappeared from view. Until there was a knock at the door and it opened behind her.
"Rebecca?" a woman's voice asked softly. "Do you need company?
I'll go away again if you don't."
Rebecca closed her hand upon itself and lowered it. "Don't go away, Louisa," she said. "Let's do something. Let's see what Southampton has to offer by way of shops and other sights, shall we?
We have only the rest of today here to see all that is to be seen."
She turned to smile resolutely at the companion Julian had insisted on employing for her after her first miscarriage well over a year ago.
She no longer resented his decision. She and Louisa Houghten were friends.
******************************************************************
David waited on the street until Julian came out of the hotel and joined him. He was glad he had no wife. He would not relish making the decision of whether to take her or whether to leave her behind.
He did not approve of taking women to war—and contrary to what Lord Aberdeen, the Prime Minister said, he was convinced that there would be war. On the other hand, he did not think
16 Mary Balogh
he would be able to say good-bye to a wife in England, knowing full well that there was a strong chance he would never see her again.
He did not think he would be able to do it. It had been bad enough saying good-bye to Rebecca a few minutes ago. He closed his eyes briefly. Rebecca. Had he pulled her into his arms, or had she come there herself? It did not matter. Throughout their growing years they had been friends and playmates, almost brother and sister for a while. And Julian had been there in the room with them just now. It had been a natural gesture, to hug each other like that.
But God, he would not be able to leave her if she were his wife.
Perhaps he would never see her again.
"Whew!" Julian said, coming up suddenly beside him. "Fresh air.
Let's go, Dave."
"That bad?" David looked at him sympathetically.
"Worse," Julian said. "Women get intense about these things. At least Becka does. But she doesn't ever have the hysterics or anything like that, I must admit. She can always be counted upon to behave like the true lady she is."
They were striding along the street in the direction of the sea. As soon as the tide was favorable, they would be sailing.
"She will not be at the window?" David asked. He would not look back himself.
"By Jove." Julian turned back, swept off his cap, and waved it in the air, grinning cheerfully. "Poor Becka. She still has not recovered her spirits. She wanted that child badly. She feels a failure as a woman and a wife without children, and other nonsense like that."
David remembered the whiteness of her face and the blankness of her eyes when he had called on her a few days after her miscarriage.
"She is better off staying home," Julian said. "Becka wasn't made for the rough life. It's hard leaving her, though. I do love her, Dave, though I know you sometimes doubt it."
David felt his jaw harden. He did not want to pick up the bait—not at the moment.
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"I do," Julian said. "No other woman has ever meant anything to me except Becka. I married her because I love her. There was no other reason."
"You don't have to defend yourself to me," David said. "I am not your keeper, Julian. Not any longer. And it will mean nothing to you if I say I am disappointed in you. It never did.
"Well, there you are wrong," Julian said, his good humor deserting him for once. "Your good opinion always mattered to me, Dave.
More than Father's. I have always admired your self-control and your strength of character.''
"Strength!" David laughed harshly. "A fine way I had of showing it.
Allowing you to manipulate me all through boyhood."
Julian winced. "That was not a kind word to choose, Dave," he said. "You're still angry because of that woman you saw me with in London a week or so ago. She meant less than nothing to me. She was just a whore. I wouldn't even recognize her now if you were to set her before me. It was just that Becka has been ill since losing this child, and even before she lost it I was having to go easy because of her losing the last one.''
David made a sound of impatience and contempt.
"I love her," Julian said mulishly.
"Your marriage is your own concern," David said. "If you choose to risk hurting Rebecca, I can't stop you. But don't expect me ever to lie or cover up for you again. I think I did it one too many times.
Perhaps it would have been better for Rebecca to have known the truth before she married you."
"About Flora?" Julian said. "By Jove, that was a mess, Dave. I'll always be grateful, but you don't need to keep bringing it up."
"You promised me then," David said.
"Yes, I know." Julian flashed a smile at him. "Promises like that just aren't easy to keep. For you, perhaps. You don't seem to need women the way I do. But I mean to reform. From this moment on there is only Becka. God, that was agonizing back at the hotel room, Dave. There is never going to be anyone else. Are you satisfied? I do love her, you know.''
David did not answer for a while. He was thankful to see that they were approaching their destination. The quayside was thronged with red-coated Guardsmen and clinging, sobbing women. "Yes, Julian,"
he said at last. "I know that."
It was true too. It was small consolation, but it was true.
Malta and the Crimea, 1854
Life on Malta was tedious. There had been a surge of energy and eager anticipation when the men left England, an expectation that at last they would see action. But action was slow in coming. Although Britain and Prance declared war on Russia at the end of March, another two months were to pass before the British forces were moved closer to the scene of possible hostilities.
They had to make their own action. But because there was not much to be made, boredom was widespread. Only a few of the men managed to ward it off. Captain Cardwell was one of them. He began an affair with Cynthia Scherer, wife of Captain Sir George Scherer of the First Coldstream Guards.
It was not a particularly secret affair. Nothing much was in army life. Perhaps the only officer of either the Third Grenadiers or the First Coldstream who did not know about it after the first week or so was Captain Scherer himself. The couple were at least discreet enough to carry on their affair while he was busy about his duties.
No one thought of telling him. Even apart from the fact that it would not have been the honorable thing to do, there was the fact that everyone iiked Julian Card-well. His sunny nature and warm charm were appealing even to his men. No one censured his behavior openly and probably very few privately. Julian was the sort of man who needed women, and everyone knew that his wife's delicate health had forced him to leave her behind in England.
Major Lord Tavistock stayed tight-lipped about the affair for three whole weeks, although he shared a billet with Julian. It was none of his concern, he told himself.
Besides, he knew from long experience what Julian's reaction would be if he did give in to the temptation to remonstrate with him. There would be the charming boyish smile and the assurance that Cynthia Scherer meant nothing to him. There would be the renewed assurance that he loved Rebecca and was going to be faithful to her from that moment on. And the damnable thing was that Julian would mean every word of what he said—as he always did. No, he would stay out of it, David decided.
And yet all his resolutions were thrown to the wind when he arrived back at his billet from a meeting earlier than expected one afternoon to find that he had walked in only scant moments after what would undoubtedly have been an extremely embarrassing scene.
He came to an abrupt halt in the doorway and stared pointedly at Julian on the bed.
Julian smiled his engaging smile. "Would you be so good as to wait outside for a few minutes, old chap?" he asked.
By the time David, his back to the door of the room, heard the woman leave, he was white with fury. He had been telling himself for longer than five minutes to go away and find something else to do for a while, to forget about it, not to get involved. But he knew he was going to do just that, just as he always did.
"This is not to happen again," he said curtly when he was back inside the room, the door firmly closed behind him. He convinced himself that his outrage was purely over the use that had been made of his room. His anger was justified.
Julian was reclining on his untidy bed, only half dressed, his hands clasped behind his head. He grinned. "Are those orders from a superior officer?" he asked. "Sorry, old chap, that scene was not in the best of good taste, was it? I was not expecting you."
"She is a married woman," David said. Though that was not the real cause of his fury at all just as the fact that they had used his room for their bedding was not.
"I suppose that is better than carrying on with someone's virgin daughter," Julian said. "Come on, Dave, you have to admit the truth of that.''
"It would not be the first time," David said, unbuck-
Tangled21
ling his sword belt and setting it and his sword on the table.
"A low blow," Julian said, grimacing. "I have always regretted that mistake. You know that, Dave. It happened in a moment of thoughtless passion. I wish you wouldn't keep reminding me."
"Your life has been made up of moments of thoughtless passion,"
David said coldly. "I thought perhaps you would grow up, Julian. I thought perhaps marriage to Rebecca would mature you. You seemed fond enough of her. But you have been married for more than two years and you are twenty-four years old and there is no sign yet of any change for the better.''
He sounded like a moralizing, killjoy judge, David thought, and resented the fact that Julian always seemed to bring out that side of him—and cursed himself for not having walked away from the sight of Julian and Lady Scherer in bed together.
Julian swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt. "Your trouble, Dave," he said, stung, "is that you never learned that life is to be enjoyed. I honestly don't know how you can handle celibacy—you
are
celibate, I assume? I certainly wouldn't recommend any of the whores hereabouts unless you want an alternative to dying from cholera or dysentery or battle wounds."