Tony gazed at her from the safety of the entryway, hidden from view. She was just as lovely as before, and he had to remind himself how useless his admiration was. No, it would be best to leave here as soon as he could. Leave the house, the village, the foolish dream of happiness. Taking a deep breath, he turned and left, keeping the hated crutches as silent as possible until he returned to the road.
In the middle of the song, something made Phoebe glance up over to the entrance of the church. She shivered, though the building was no colder than before. An indistinct shadow moved across the open doorway, and for no reason, she thought once more of Tony.
* * * *
Phoebe spent the next week in a daze. Her life had not changed at all, yet the house seemed suddenly cramped and confining. It had been six days since Captain Sterling—Tony—had rescued her, and she had dreamed of him every night since. In her dreams, of course, she was a beautiful princess instead of a country mouse, but Tony was still a knight in shining armor, and his scar served as a warning to all evildoers that he was not to be trifled with. Phoebe blushed slightly, remembering that in the dream of last night, he had kissed her after he rescued her. She had little experience of kissing. Only those kisses captured under mistletoe or a few at the village dances after the young men had a little too much punch. Tony’s kiss was different. Skilled, and possessive. Phoebe sighed, wondering how she had let herself run away with such nonsense. Still, it was harmless, since she would never see him again. That thought made her sigh, and feel very alone.
Meanwhile, back in London, Tony fell into a funk that didn’t seem escapable. On the surface, things seemed to be going smoothly. After months of waiting, the doctors at the hospital had expertly fitted him with a false leg, and he could now walk with the aid of only a cane, instead of the crutches. He was fortunate to be an officer, and to have enough to pay for the treatment. Many a soldier would be on crutches for life, or be confined to a chair. Tony knew he should be grateful, but his heart was hollow.
The grey fogs of the city kept everything dark as twilight all day long, and the lights of the buildings barely seemed to pierce the thick blanket. It was possible to get lost on the way from home to the tavern, if one didn’t pay attention. His old companions from the war tried to cheer him up, but Tony was strangely unwilling to be cheered.
“Tony, old boy. Have another glass of brandy, at least. You look like your dog just died.”
He shook his head. “I think I’ll call it a night, lads. I’m rather tired.”
“Still pining after Angela?” another officer asked. He had drunk enough to ask the question without fear. “You’re well rid of her, the callous chit.” The other men, all too aware of the story, muttered agreement.
Tony was about to snap something back, but thought better of it. “She had her reasons,” was all he said. “Good night.” With the aid of his cane, he walked out into the mucky black of the London night. He turned left, toward his lodgings, carefully noting each street crossing. He had not lived in London for several years, and it would take him awhile to relearn the streets, especially if this damnable fog never let up.
As he passed a small alley, he heard a noise. “Hold on,” a voice growled, preventing him from moving forward. “You’d best stop right there. We’ll be relieving you of your coin right now, and your life too, if you make trouble.”
Tony narrowed his eyes, seeing at least two shapes in the shadows. “Is four shilling worth your while, gentlemen? Especially considering I
will
make trouble?”
“Eh, he’s not an old gent,” a second, higher, voice said. To Tony, it asked, “what’s with the cane, then?”
“Trafalgar,” Tony answered shortly.
“You fought Boney?” The second voice materialized into a clearer shape, as the young boy it belonged to stepped up to Tony, whose eyes widened slightly at seeing the youth. Was the child forced to steal? “Aw,” the boy said over his shoulder. “He’s a soldier. This ain’t proper.”
“We need the money,” the shadow argued. Then it stepped forward, becoming an older man, presumably the boy’s father. “This one’s got pension, at least. What do I get from slaving twenty years at the docks? Booted, when they decide I’m not quick enough.”
“I can spare the shillings,” Tony interjected quietly. “Here, lad. See it’s spent on food and not drink.”
“Gin’s only a penny,” the boy argued. “And it warms a body up.”
“It only feels like you’re getting warm.” Tony shook his head, handing the boy four coins. “Food will keep you healthy. You in school, boy?”
“School!” The boy laughed cynically. “You joking? School costs money, and we’re already doin’ this,” he indicated the alley, “to keep fed.”
“Listen up, then. There’s a kitchen for the enlisted men on Apple Street. Do you know it?”
“Aye, I’ve walked by it.”
“Go there tomorrow, and tell the man at the door that Captain Anthony Sterling sent you there, and they’re to give you work if it’s available. What name are you to give them?”
“Captain Anthony Sterling,” the boy repeated clearly.
“Good lad. I can’t guarantee anything, but it’s better than stealing on the street. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy nodded. “You want me to see you home? No one else’ll set on you, not with me around.”
Tony chuckled inwardly at the boy’s confidence, knowing it was probably true. “I’ll be alright, lad. Now get on home. You’ve done a good night’s work.”
Tony continued the few blocks to his rooms, thinking about everything that had happened since his return to England. The British armies had Napoleon on the run, and the glory of England’s triumphs had clearly trickled down even to the lowest depths of society. Yet, what had really been won? People were still starving in the streets. Criminals lurked in the countryside. The army kept England safe from the French, but it couldn’t keep England safe from itself.
Entering his rooms, Tony sighed as he sank onto the patched armchair by the little fireplace. His missing leg ached with the phantom pain the doctors had warned him would never go away. He had paid the price for that safety, and what did it get him? Angela, the woman he had waited so long for, had barely concealed the disgust in her eyes. “You’re just not the same man, Tony,” she had said the day she’d broken off their engagement. It was the leg, and the scar. He was exactly the same person underneath, but Angela wouldn’t hear it. Tony still heard the cold click of the door latch when she had left the hospital room that last time.
He had told his friends he was tired, but sleep was a long time coming. He sat in the chair, staring into the meager flames. Brooding. He closed his eyes, and immediately summoned up the image of Phoebe, looking up at him with that sweet appeal in her eyes. The country had been a pleasant change, with the cold, clear air and the quiet woods. Tony wished he had a reason to go back.
Almost as if by magic, a reason to return to Banstoke Hall materialized the very next day. A letter from Mr Spottiswood arrived by the morning post, explaining that an important document had been missed, and would Captain Sterling be so kind as to return to the village to handle it? Tony, smiling slightly, quickly wrote his reply that doing so would not inconvenience him.
Tony had everything prepared to leave the next morning. The coach ride was uneventful, and Spottiswood was waiting for Tony at the same inn where he had stayed previously. “Captain Sterling, I am glad you could take the time to come out again. I do apologize for not having all the papers ready at once. It is entirely my mistake.”
“I am not put out in the slightest,” Tony assured him. “I was thinking about getting out of London for a few days, anyway.”
“In that case, sir, perhaps you would care to keep Christmas with us at our home? Unless you were expected elsewhere?”
“No,” Tony said shortly. He had no family to speak of, not now.
“Well, you can’t spend the holidays at an inn. Be our guest. And the village always holds a party on the twenty-first. It’s quite the event.”
“Does everyone go?” Would Phoebe be there?
“The whole countryside,” Mr Spottiswood proclaimed.
“Then I suppose I shall join you.” Tony smiled.
* * * *
The evening of the village party arrived with no snowfall, but with a hushed twilight and a windless night. The lamps on the streets flickered merrily, in no fear of being blown out. The children of the village had worked hard to adorn virtually every window and door with holly and mistletoe. At home, Phoebe put her pearl necklace on, the last touch to her outfit. She dreamed that Tony would see her tonight, even though she knew he was far away in London, and had probably already forgotten her.
“The carriage is outside!” Nan called.
“I’m ready,” Phoebe called back. She smoothed down the dress one last time. For the party, she had chosen her best gown, a high-waisted, pale blue muslin in the latest Empire style. Long white gloves covered her arms, since the gown had only tiny cap sleeves. As with all of her clothing, much of it had been sewn at home, and she was grateful that the most popular styles echoed Grecian simplicity, with no fancy corsets or detailed sleeves. She grabbed her wrap from the chair before donning her heavy pelisse and walking downstairs. The only drawback to the beautiful gown was that it was utterly inappropriate for English winters, making the extra wrap very necessary.
The carriage passed through the village, with its merry decorations, and out again to the fields and forests. By tradition, the village party was always held at one of the larger manors in the area. This year, Lord Meredith offered the use of his family’s home, the palatial Fordham House. As the carriage pulled up to the front doors, Phoebe was dazzled by the light pouring out of every window. The family walked inside the house, overwhelmed by the smells of goose, mulled cider, and spices. It seemed half the village was already there, and Phoebe, after greeting the silver-haired Lord Meredith and his wife, standing by the entrance with smiles for everyone, was quickly drawn to the ballroom, where several of her friends hailed her.
Shortly afterward, the family of Mr Spottiswood, accompanied by Tony, arrived. Spottiswood knew everyone, pausing to speak with many on the way in, but he discreetly introduced Tony only as a friend of the family, sparing him the scrutiny that would have come down on him had people known the truth.
Thinking that a low profile would be best, Tony had chosen to wear simple clothing, with a dark navy jacket. Although it did not look like his old dress uniform, it was similar enough in cut and color that he did not feel uncomfortable. A swift glance in the mirror confirmed what he already knew; no one would notice what he wore when the side of his face took all the attention, drawing his expression into a permanent sneer. But other than that, his forced reliance on the cane was the only thing that suggested he was not just like any other gentleman at the party. As he entered the larger ballroom alongside the Spottiswood family, several inquisitive glances were sent his way. The scar on his face began to itch, as it did when he felt he was being watched. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to deal with the mass of merry people in the hall.
* * * *
The clocks marched on toward midnight. Despite the gaiety and laughter filling the house, Phoebe began to wish she were back at home. She avoided these types of entertainments because people invariably looked at her whenever she walked, and she of course could not dance, and dancing was the chief entertainment. But it was tradition, after all. She could hardly stay away.
Tired of being a wallflower, Phoebe decided to slip away and explore the manor. The stately building was one of the largest in the area, and parts of it dated back to the Norman conquest. She walked down the quiet hall, peeking in doorways as she passed them. At one, she saw a wall of books. Curious, she put her hand on the heavy door and opened it wider, revealing an impressive library in the room beyond. Closing the door behind her, she stepped in, looking at all the volumes in wonder. The rows of books disappeared behind a corner, where Phoebe heard the click of one billiard ball hitting another. The L-shaped room must be half library, half game room. She rounded the corner and stopped in shock.
“Captain Sterling!”
Tony, cue in hand, straightened up to see the face of the woman he’d been trying hard not to dream of. “Miss Hartridge,” he said, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe.
“I thought I told you to call me Phoebe,” she said, advancing toward him with a smile.
“I thought I told you to call me Tony,” he returned. He placed the cue stick on the table.
Phoebe held out both arms to him, forgetting until the last moment that this was the real Captain Sterling, not her dream knight. But Tony, also in a daze, captured one hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss it. The scent of flowers and honey swirled around him.
“Tony,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“I was called back to sign some more papers. I have been staying with Mr Spottiswood. He invited me to accompany him and his family to tonight’s entertainment.”
“So why are you hiding in the library?”
Tony smiled wryly. “I find dancing does not hold the appeal it used to.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said, unconsciously glancing down at his feet. Seeing a false leg where there had once been nothing, she frowned. “But you look perfect.” She finally noticed a cane leaning against the bookcase closest to the table. “Like new.”
Tony hardly knew what to say to that, but Phoebe went on. “I’m terrified of dancing, as well. But I’ve never been able to do it, so I suppose I can’t miss it.”
“Why not?”
“My leg. I can’t keep the rhythm, and I feel everyone’s looking at me.”
“They probably are, since you’re so lovely,” Tony said, honesty trumping propriety. Phoebe blushed, rose spreading over her fair skin. “You are very kind.”
“I am not kind,” Tony returned. “The truth has nothing to do with kindness.”
Still blushing, Phoebe glanced toward the billiards table. “Is there much challenge to playing solitaire?”