Valentine

Chapter Twelve

"Theo… Theo! Theo, where are you?" Emily burst through the front door two days later, her urgent cry ascending the stairs to the long gallery where Theo was waiting for Sylvester to join her. He'd agreed to a friendly bout of unarmed combat, but with some reluctance, and she was beginning to suspect he was looking for a way to postpone the engagement.

At Emily's cry, however, she ran from the room, her heart thumping with sudden premonition. It was the first visit by any of her family since the wedding, and as her mother had said the duration of the honeymoon was hers to dictate, she knew that only something desperate would have brought Emily in this unceremonious fashion.

Her sister's face confirmed her fears. Tears poured down Emily's distraught countenance, and her appearance was a far cry from her usual crisp elegance. It had rained heavily in the night, and she was hatless, her hair disheveled, her linen gown splattered, her shoes muddied from where she'd splashed through puddles on the drive.

"What is it?" Theo hurtled down the stairs.

"Edward!" Emily gasped. "It's Edward -"

"Killed?" Theo felt the blood drain from her cheeks, and a sick, leaden dread settled in her belly.

Emily shook her head, but she was crying so hard now that she couldn't speak.

Theo seized her by the shoulders and shook her with desperate urgency. "What happened to him, Emily? For God's sake, tell me!"

"Easy now." Sylvester strode across the hall from the front door. He'd been talking to the head gardener in the shrubbery when his sister-in-law had pelted past them up the driveway, her distress so obvious that he'd followed immediately.

"Easy, Theo," he repeated, taking her waist and moving her to one side. "What's happened?"

"It's Edward," Theo said, now almost as distraught as her sister. "Something's happened to him, but Emily won't tell me."

"Well, screaming isn't going to do anyone any good," he declared, taking Emily's arm and ushering the sobbing girl into the library, leaving Theo to follow.

His firm authority for the moment had a calming effect, and Emily struggled to control her sobs, accepting the large handkerchief he pressed into her hand.

Theo was hopping from foot to foot in despairing impatience as her sister finally controlled herself sufficiently to be coherent.

"Edward's been wounded," Emily at last managed to blurt out.

"Seriously?" Theo was white beneath the sun's bronzing, and the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out in sharp relief. Her eyes were so large with distress, they dwarfed her other features.

"His arm… they amputated his arm," Emily gasped before collapsing onto the sofa in a renewed burst of uncontrollable sobs.

"Oh, no." Theo stood in shock, trying to imagine Edward crippled – a man who loved all physical sports; the friend who'd taught her unarmed combat and how to fence; the friend with whom she'd swum in the cove as a child, scrambled over the cliffs, climbed trees in search of birds' nests, ridden to hounds.

Sylvester moved to the weeping girl on the sofa. Her sobs were beginning to catch in her throat in an alarming fashion, and he was afraid she was about to go into strong hysterics.

"Emily!" He took her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. But her eyes were wild and unseeing. She opened her mouth on a soundless scream.

Sylvester slapped her cheek with calculated force, and the wildness in her eyes was replaced with shock and then recognition. "I do beg your pardon, Emily," he said. "But you were about to go into hysterics."

"Mama always does that," Theo said, her own voice shaky as she struggled with her own distress. "Emily's of a nervous disposition, she can't help it." She sat beside her sister, wrapping her arms around her. Her sister needed her support at the moment more than she herself needed time to come to terms with this news. "Poor sweet, what a terrible shock for you. How did you hear about this?"

"Lady Fairfax." Emily's voice still trembled, but it was clear she was in control of herself again and obviously didn't resent Sylvester's swift intervention. "She came to the dower house. They'd received a letter from Edward's colonel."

"How did it happen?" Sylvester asked calmly, going to the sideboard and filling a glass with ratafia. It wasn't what he would have chosen for shock, but he knew his sister-in-law's tastes.

"A sniper," Emily said, accepting the glass with a tearfully polite smile. "He was shot in the shoulder. But why would they have to amputate his whole arm?"

"To prevent mortification," Sylvester explained, pouring sherry for himself and Theo. "Instant amputation may seem an extreme move, Emily, but it saves life." He saw the blood-soaked tables in the hospital tents, the bins overflowing with amputated limbs, the flickering candlelight, the exhausted, blood-reeking surgeons with their great smoking knives; the anguished screams filled his head.

He kept his voice matter-of-fact. "The French do much better than we do with their wounded, because they discovered early that the sooner an injured limb is removed, the better the chance of survival. Before any battle, or even skirmish, they have hospital tents set up and an army of carts and limbers to remove the wounded from the field the instant a truce is declared. We're learning from them slowly, getting our wounded off the field faster, but still not fast enough. Our butcher's bills in the hospital tents still exceed theirs."

Edward Fairfax, although he probably wouldn't acknowledge it at the moment, was a lucky man if an enlightened surgeon had taken drastic action in time.

"What else did the letter say?" Theo took a gulp of her sherry, fighting to keep the horrifying images from overrunning her mind. Edward in agony, biting a bullet as they sawed through bone and sinew…

She glanced at Emily and realized that her sister's imagination hadn't stretched to those horrors. She told herself that that agony was over for Edward now, so there was no point in morbid imaginings, but the dreadful pictures still played behind her eyes.

"He's coming home," Emily said. "Obviously he'll never be able to fight again."

There were small mercies, Theo thought resolutely, even in tragedy. A crippled Edward was not a body lying inert on a battlefield. "He'll manage," she said. "You know how strong-minded he is. He won't let something like this ruin his life."

Sylvester perched on the edge of the table, regarding the sisters, hearing Theo's struggle to comfort Emily, understanding her struggle to believe in her own reassurances. He knew better than they the devastating effects of amputation. A young man learning to accept that he was no longer whole. How would this Edward Fairfax handle the card that fate had dealt him? Most men were embittered and filled with self-disgust, seeing in the words and gestures of love and support the patronizing charity of people who pitied them. If Emily was expecting her fiance to run into her arms as if nothing had happened, she was in for a rude awakening when the wounded man returned.

Returned to the neighborhood and the close contact he'd always had with the Belmonts. The thought obtruded violently into his musings. "What regiment is he in?"

"Seventh Hussars," Theo replied.

"When did he buy his colors?"

"A year ago."

The Seventh Hussars would probably know nothing of the affairs of the Third Dragoons. A young man in the Seventh Hussars would know nothing of Vimiera. His regiment hadn't been part of that expeditionary force, and Fairfax hadn't been in the army then, anyway. Unless he'd heard something… but why would he have? He'd know nothing of the past of the present Earl of Stoneridge. Even if he'd heard rumors of the scandal of Vimiera, he'd not associate them with Theo's husband. And it was such an old story now, superseded by so many other scandals.

He glanced at Theo, still sitting with her arm around her sister. Her face was set, that firm jaw unwavering. How would such a straightforward, bold creature view a husband tainted with the charge of cowardice? It wasn't difficult to imagine the answer, and it chilled him to the marrow. He told himself again that there was no reason why the dishonorable past should ever rear its head, but he wished Edward Fairfax to the devil.

"How long will it take him to journey from Spain, sir?" Emily asked, her voice much stronger now, although she was twisting his handkerchief convulsively between her hands.

A man weakened by pain and loss of blood would make slow progress unless he had comrades who would look out for him and ensure he found transport in carts and wagons across country until they reached the coast and a naval ship.

"It's hard to say, Emily. Anywhere from a week to a month."

"That's an eternity," Theo muttered, her mind uncannily following Sylvester's along the route of a severely wounded soldier making shift through war-torn Spain. "Come, Emily, we'll walk back to the dower house and talk to Mama. Does she know about this?"

Emily shook her head. "She was out when Lady Fairfax called. Lady Fairfax didn't want to tell me the news without Mama, but she was so upset, she couldn't keep it to herself."

"I can imagine." Theo rose briskly. "I don't know how long I'll be, Stoneridge." Without a backward glance she hustled Emily into the hall.

Sylvester raised an eyebrow at her departing back. Since their wedding she'd been using his first name quite naturally, but it seemed that with the intrusion of the outside world, old habits reasserted themselves. He would have liked to go with them to the dower house, but Theo obviously felt the Belmont women were sufficient unto themselves.

The reflection left him feeling strangely empty and lacking in some way after the hours of intimacy they'd shared in the last two days.

"What's it like?" Emily asked abruptly, half running to keep up with Theo's hasty stride. Her own future, until this morning so certain and secure, had been abruptly threatened, and the question arose naturally from her own turmoil. "Marriage, I mean. Was it… I mean… is it…"

"It's lovely," Theo said, rescuing her sister from the morass, well aware of what aspect of marriage was concerning her. "But I imagine it helps if one of you knows what's what." She linked her arm through her sister's, saying intently, "You'll find out soon enough, love."

"Oh, but poor Edward!" Tears thickened Emily's voice again. "To have only one arm -"

"Edward will do very well," Theo interrupted, refusing to allow her sister to pity Edward. The one thing he would hate would be pity. "And when it comes to lovemaking, I can assure you one doesn't need two arms. Think of Lord Nelson… one eye and one arm didn't put Lady Hamilton off."

"Oh, you can't think it would matter to me!"

"No, I don't. And Edward will make the best of it, you know he will. And you'll help him to do so."

She spoke with brisk reassurance to forestall another bout of weeping, and in her heart she believed that her old friend wouldn't allow his disability to ruin his life, but she ached to be with him as she thought of how he must be feeling at the moment, so far from the people who would rally round him and give him the strength to come to terms with his injury.

Elinor was waiting for them as they entered the house. Clarissa had told her of Lady Fairfax's visit and Emily's headlong rush to the manor to find her sister. It was a pity that Theo's honeymoon had been disrupted, and with such wretched news, but Elinor knew that Theo couldn't have been kept in the dark about her best friend's tragedy.

As she'd expected, Theo was pale but dry-eyed, supporting her sister, who looked ready to collapse and did so as soon as she saw her mother. Elinor took her into the drawing room, ensconced her on the sofa with smelling salts and a tisane, then firmly ushered Theo out of the house.

"Go back to your husband, now, dear. You'll come to terms with this in your own way, and there's nothing more you can do for Emily that I can't do equally well."

"No, I know." Theo ran a hand through her hair, pushing her fringe off her forehead. Her eyes were clouded, and there was a tremor to the usually firm set of her mouth.

Elinor took her in her arms. "Oh, Mama," Theo said, her grief and anger at the injustice of it all ringing in the simple word. Her mother simply held her, stroking her hair, until Theo pulled back and offered a small, tremulous smile. "I'll manage now," she said, and Elinor knew she would.

"You should talk to Stoneridge about it," she suggested. "He was in the army; he'll know how people manage to cope with these injuries."

Theo frowned. "But he doesn't know Edward. He couldn't possibly know anything about how Edward will be feeling."

"But he will wish to know what you are feeling," Elinor said gravely.

Theo's frown deepened. Sylvester was very good at taking charge of things, and very good at making things happen, witness the fact that she was now Lady Stoneridge. But somehow she couldn't imagine weeping on his shoulder, sharing her innermost feelings with him. She could laugh with him and make love with him, but she didn't think she could cry with him.

Theo walked slowly back to the manor. Perhaps she shouldn't assume that Sylvester could not understand the Belmont grief. She'd married him so that they could all stay together, and in her heart of hearts she knew she expected him to make the effort to become a Belmont. After all, she could never become a Gilbraith. He had taken over the Belmont inheritance, and it was his duty to make himself one of them. But how could he if she didn't include him in the family concerns?

Edward wouldn't have to become an honorary Belmont when he married Emily. Fairfaxes and Belmonts had existed side by side in the Dorsetshire countryside for three generations. There was no competition, no rivalry, no bad blood.

Ah, Edward. Tears welled abruptly, and this time she let them flow. She turned off the driveway, pushing her way through the shrubbery, heading for the rear of the house. She ran down the hill toward the stone bridge over the stream. Her plait thumped against her back, the divided skirt she'd worn for the friendly challenge in the long gallery fluttering around her ankles.

Sylvester saw her from the library window. His instinct was to follow her, and he had one leg over the windowsill before he thought better of it. If she'd wanted his comfort, she could have come to him.

He turned back to the ledgers detailing last year's estate affairs, but he couldn't concentrate. Theo's pale face with the dark smudges of her freckles and her distressed eyes wouldn't leave his internal vision. What kind of man was this Edward Fairfax to inspire such love and friendship from a woman who, Sylvester knew, didn't give lightly of herself?

He was a man coming home with a hero's wound.

He threw down his pen and pushed back his chair with a soft execration, forcing himself to refuse the bitter comparison as it rose ugly in his mind. That had nothing to do with anything. Theo loved Edward Fairfax as one would love a close relative. He was to be her brother-in-law. There was nothing in such a relationship to cause a husband a moment of unease. No sexual passion.

But the power of lust did not last forever. Passion would eventually die without a deep and abiding friendship to water its soil.

But he hadn't married a Belmont because he wanted a deep and abiding friendship in his marriage. He'd married her because he needed what she would bring him… because that tricky old bastard had willed it. That he had ended up with a lively, passionate partner in his bed was merely a wonderful bonus.

Resolutely, he picked up his pen and turned his attention to the column of figures detailing expenditure on tenant housing. The old earl hadn't stinted in this regard, and presumably the new one would be expected to follow in his footsteps. Theo would certainly expect it, but there were extravagances here…

It was an hour before Theo walked back up the hill. Sylvester glanced out the window and saw her as she approached the house. On impulse he leaned out and called to her, and she changed direction, coming up to the window.

Her face was still pale, but she was dry-eyed and calm, although her smile was somewhat distracted.

"Coming in?" he asked cheerfully, leaning over to catch her under the arms, lifting her bodily through the window. Setting her on her feet, he tilted her chin and lightly kissed her mouth. She didn't resist the caress, but her usual response was conspicuously absent.

"How did your mother take the news?" he asked, releasing her.

"As you'd expect," Theo said with a shrug. "She's had her share of tragedy, and I've never seen her give way."

He nodded and tried to find some way of penetrating her distraction. "How about that friendly match you wanted?"

She looked surprised. "But I rather had the impression that you didn't want to do it."

"Well, I don't believe it's appropriate for a husband to wrestle with his wife, if you want the truth. However, just this once…" He smiled, but the invitation fell on stony ground.

Theo shook her head. She didn't feel like playing, and it seemed insensitive of him to suggest it.

"In that case you'll be relieved to know that I've lost interest in the idea myself," she said with a feigned briskness. "I'm going to ride down to the village and see how Granny Moreton's doing. She's been sick for weeks, but she's such a crusty old dame that the villagers aren't as attentive to her as they might be. I'll take her some spearmint tea from the still room and a bottle of rum. She's much better-tempered when she's had a drop or two."

So much for overtures! Sylvester returned to his ledgers as the door closed behind her. He'd tried, and if Theo wouldn't respond, then there was nothing more he could do.

Theo rode into Lulworth, stopping frequently to acknowledge the greetings of the village folk. It struck her that she was treated with an unusual degree of deference since she'd become the Countess of Stoneridge, the women curtsying, the men doffing their hats with meticulous respect. Since these were village folk who for the most part had seen her in and out of scrapes throughout her childhood, had bandaged her scraped knees on occasion, fed her gingerbread and cider on winter afternoons, told her family stories, teased and scolded her as a child, it felt very peculiar and rather uncomfortable.

Her eye fell on a man sitting on the ale bench outside the tavern. She'd not seen him in the village before. He had the pasty, pale skin of a townsman and was staring at her with a rude interest that she'd never before experienced.

"Who's the stranger, Greg?" she asked the innkeeper, who was chatting in the afternoon lull with one of his cronies under the spreading branches of a massive beech tree.

Greg glanced back the way she'd come and spat in the dust. "Peddler, my lady. Says he's passing through, but he's been 'ere a powerful long time for a man on the road, if you asks me."

"Is he staying at the inn?"

"Aye… and pays 'is shot every morning, so I've no complaints."

Theo frowned. Folk passed through Lulworth often enough, but they didn't remain aimlessly in the village. Abruptly, she remembered the mystery of Zeus's saddle. Even Sylvester was now convinced that no one in his own stables had been responsible. "Is he doing business among the farms?"

"Not that I know of, Lady Theo. Haven't even seen 'is pack. But 'e's generous enough in the taproom of an evening and can tell a good story."

"Odd," Theo murmured, nudging Dulcie into a walk again. "Good day to you, Greg."

It was silly to allow her imagination to run away with her. But someone had set out to injure the Earl of Stoneridge. Why? What kind of dreadful grudge could someone bear him to warrant such a vicious revenge? Her husband had spent thirty-five years in the world before he'd crossed her life. How could she ever expect to know everything about him? She thought of Edward… she thought how well she knew him, well enough to be a part of his agony now, even at such a distance. She couldn't imagine ever reaching such an emotional closeness with her husband. He was a stranger in so many ways. The thought chilled her and she pushed it away. Things could change.

The peddler, well aware that he'd been the subject of the conversation, decided he was close to outstaying his welcome in Lulworth. He'd planted his mantraps in the undergrowth on the manor approach to Webster's Pond, and perhaps it was time to move on to the next village, staking out the traps at dawn until they caught what they were intended to catch.

Of course, it was always possible they'd snap up another victim by accident, but poachers got what they deserved. An accidental victim, however, would be spared the bullet in the head… or perhaps "spared" wasn't the correct word. The bullet would put a man out of his misery when the vicious teeth bit into bone and sinew. Gamekeepers had been known to leave men screaming in those traps for days sometimes before loss of blood brought an end to their suffering.

The peddler grinned, picking his teeth. He'd enjoyed a succulent rabbit stew for his midday meal. That Mrs. Woods was a cook to steal a man's heart away. He'd be sorry to move on.

Theo completed her afternoon's business and rode home, still unable to come to terms with the image of a disabled Edward. He was such a sportsman, so agile and swift, a superb marksman, a bruising rider to hounds, such a physical being…

Tears blinded her again, and she hurried across the hall and upstairs, heading straight for her old room, feeling the need to touch childhood memories that would bring Edward alive for her.

Foster, who knew everything that occurred under the roof of Stoneridge Manor, informed his lordship, when asked, that he would find Lady Theo in her old bedroom. The butler's face was impassive, his tone as politely distant as always, but Sylvester could read his unease beneath the tranquil tones.

"Thank you, Foster. You've heard the news about Lieutenant Fairfax?"

"Yes, my lord. A great tragedy. Mr. Fairfax is a fine gentleman… one of the finest, if I might be so bold." Foster straightened a stack of papers on the library desk. "He'll make Lady Emily a fine husband."

"I'm sure," Sylvester said, going to the door. He strode up the stairs. Outside Theo's door he hesitated, wondering why he was pursuing her when she'd made it so clear that she wanted to be left alone. But something wouldn't let him walk away. She was his wife when all was said and done, and she was in pain.

Quietly, he lifted the latch and eased the door open. Theo was sitting on the window seat, her forehead resting against the panes, her body very still.

He was about to close the door again, when she said without turning her head, "Sylvester?"

"May I come in?"

"If you wish."

There was no welcome in the flat statement, it was much more "If you must."

Regretting his impulse, he left her without another word, closing the door quietly. He was an intrusion on her grief, an irrelevancy when it came to her beloved friend's agonies. Well, he'd know better another time.

He went back to the library and the ledgers, telling himself that if comforting his wife was one marital obligation he didn't have, he should be grateful. Somehow, though, he couldn't be convinced. He kept thinking of Edward Fairfax. Theo wouldn't have rejected solace from that quarter.

Alone, Theo rocked herself on the window seat, hugging her breasts with crossed arms. Why had she sent him away so coldly? She didn't know, except that she couldn't imagine opening her soul to him. It wasn't that kind of marriage.

A great wave of sorrow engulfed her, and her head drooped against the window again, the glass cool against her hot forehead as she wept, no longer sure whether she wept for Edward or for herself.