Reunited with the Major

‘I know you are right, sir,’ she said. ‘I am grateful to you—but I love Robert and he loves me. Even if we have to wait two years, I shall marry him.’

‘Do not think me your enemy,’ Brock said. ‘I speak only out of a desire to protect you. I think you would not like to be cut off from society for your whole life?’

‘As Mama was?’ Rosemarie tilted her chin at him. ‘No, indeed, it was sad for her that she and Papa had only a few friends they could visit who would also visit them. Most of the county people looked down their noses at her, even though Papa treated her as if she were his wife. He would not associate with anyone who ignored Mama—but only a few ladies were kind enough to visit, and they were not out of the top drawer. I think they were all perfectly horrid to behave so.’

‘Well, think seriously about the rest of your life, Rosemarie. Now, I must take you to Mrs Scatterby and leave you with her, for I really do have business of my own that I must attend.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Rosemarie gave him a sunny smile, her petulance forgotten. ‘You have been truly kind, sir. I know you have had much trouble on my behalf.’

‘Nothing was too much trouble,’ Brock assured her. ‘Please, may we leave now? I should like to continue with my plans before the evening is too advanced.’

Rosemarie consented and they went out to the waiting curricle.

* * *

It was a short drive to Samantha’s house. Brock escorted her into the pleasant parlour once more with its pretty satinwood furniture and dainty chairs with satin-covered seats in a pale straw colour. It felt as if he were walking into sunshine and he had a feeling that he would like to stay in its warmth for ever, but dismissed his fancies with a laugh. Samantha had always had a knack for making a house into a welcoming home, even when on campaign with her husband. He introduced the ladies, saw that Sam immediately set her guest at ease and left them to get to know one another.

After he’d made his farewells, Brock set out once more, but this time bound for the countess’s London house. His knock was answered by a serious-looking butler in black, who asked him to step into the downstairs parlour while he enquired whether the countess, Lady Langton or her daughter were at home.

Left to admire some rather lovely paintings on the wall, Brock did his best not to lose patience as the minutes ticked by. Then, at last, the butler returned.

‘Countess Snowdon will see you now, sir. If you will follow me to her parlour.’

Brock inclined his head and followed the stately servant up the main staircase and along the passage to a pair of double doors. He knocked and then threw them open with a flourish, announcing Brock and standing aside to allow him to enter.

Brock’s gaze went immediately to the rather lovely but fragile-looking lady ensconced in an early Georgian wingchair covered in green-striped brocade. He approached and bowed to her, offering his hand.

‘You will forgive me if I do not get up, sir? I am unable to do so without assistance.’

‘You must not think of it, Countess.’ Brock smiled at her. ‘Please forgive me for calling on you out of the blue like this, but I have just returned to town this very day and I learned that my fiancée was staying here as your guest.’

‘Yes, indeed, Cynthia and her mama have so kindly taken pity on me,’ the countess said with her sad sweet smile. ‘She is such a charming girl that I have quite lost my heart to her. I have prevailed on the dear gel to continue her stay for another few weeks and go down to the country with me when we leave next week.’

‘Indeed?’ Brock frowned slightly. ‘I was hoping—but no matter. May I speak with Cynthia, perhaps?’

‘At the moment she, her mama and my son have all gone to the races, I’m afraid. I believe they are to dine informally somewhere and I do not expect them home until quite late this evening.’

‘Oh, that is unfortunate. I was hoping to speak to her—but, of course she did not know I was coming.’ Brock hesitated, sensing something of a reserve in the lady of the house. ‘May I ask you to give Cynthia a message?’

‘Yes, of course. I am sure had she known you intended to call she would have arranged to be in.’

‘I did not know until late this day that Cynthia and her mama were your guests, Countess. I had several calls to make for various reasons and hoped to catch her before she left for any evening engagements.’

‘I believe Cynthia has not made any appointments for the morning. Why do you not call again tomorrow—shall we say at ten o’clock?’

‘Yes, very well. Perhaps Cynthia might like to go driving with me in the park?’ Brock suggested. ‘I shall be here without fail tomorrow morning.’

‘I will see that she gets the message,’ Countess Snowdon said graciously.

‘Then I shall leave you, ma’am. I apologise for disturbing you at this hour.’

‘Not at all, Major Brockley. You are very welcome to visit while Cynthia is staying here.’

Brock thanked her and took his leave. The countess had been polite, but he thought cool, a little reserved—almost as if she wished he had not come to call on her guest. Yet why she should feel that way when she knew that Cynthia was engaged to Brock was something he could not fathom.

He wondered if he might find a letter from Cynthia at his house, something that might explain the countess’s coolness. A pile of letters and notes awaited him in his parlour, but he had not yet done more than glance through the top few. He would remedy that as soon as he reached his house.

* * *

Flicking aside the sealed letters, most of which he knew were invitations to dinner or a card evening, with one or two bills from his tailor and wine merchant, Brock came at last to the letter he sought. It was inscribed to him here in Cynthia’s neat hand and smelled faintly of her perfume.

Slitting the seal with a silver paperknife, he read the few lines swiftly. Cynthia had written only to inform him that she would be staying with Countess Snowdon and Lord Armstrong for a few weeks and would be in London from the ninth of the month. Since it was now the sixteenth she had been in London for a week and must wonder why he had not responded, for she must have expected that he was in town. Perhaps the countess believed that he had deliberately ignored her letter and that was the reason for her coolness.

The urgent message that had taken Brock from town had not been something he wished to communicate to Cynthia by letter, and he knew he was guilty of neglect towards the lady he had asked to marry him. It was remiss of him and he had fully intended to beg her pardon this evening, and to arrange a meeting so that they could set the date of the wedding, yet now he discovered that his reluctance was as strong as ever.

He could smell the strong perfume from the letter on his hands and it irritated him. It had not particularly bothered him before this, but now he realised that he did not like such heavy scent. Brock preferred a light flowery fragrance with hints of rose or lavender...similar to one he had smelled earlier that day. He must ask Samantha what kind of perfume she used and purchase some for Cynthia.

Catching himself up, he frowned. No, that would not do, but he would make his preference for light perfumes known to Cynthia one of these days. Leaving his study, he went upstairs and into his dressing room, washing his hands with the soap he preferred. It had stirred his senses when he’d met Samantha Scatterby again that morning, remembering her perfume which she’d never changed and bringing back such good memories. She’d been an inspiration to Colonel Scatterby’s men, his friends and fellow officers. Brock had always thought her the most attractive woman in so many ways, not just her looks which were not exactly beauty, but somehow striking. He’d admired her friendly behaviour towards the junior officers, helping them over their shyness when they came out fresh from England—and her cheerful courage when faced with terrible accommodation and harsh conditions. A soldier’s wife had to cope with all kinds of setbacks, but she’d never complained, never caused her husband the least anxiety.

It would not do to let his thoughts wander. Brock knew that his future was set. He must speak to Cynthia the next day and arrange the date for their wedding...and now he was going to change and visit his club. He must apologise to the friends he’d let down the night he stopped to assist Rosemarie Ross.

He would not think any further about that young lady’s affairs. There would be time enough to visit her uncle and aunt once he’d made his peace with Cynthia.

Chapter Five

‘Have you everything you need, my dear?’ Samantha paused to look about the pretty bedchamber before leaving her guest to retire for the evening. ‘If there should be anything you need, Rosemarie, please ring and my housekeeper will come—or my maid. I do not employ many servants here, just enough to manage the house. My cook, housekeeper, a butler and one footman, my maid and the downstairs maids. I am comfortable enough, but not rich, so I do not live in the style you have perhaps been accustomed to.’

‘This is a lovely room and you have been so kind to me,’ Rosemarie said, and gave her a grateful smile. ‘Lending me your things... This nightgown is exquisite...’

‘You will have your own things soon,’ Samantha promised her. ‘My maid is altering a gown for you to wear tomorrow, but we shall visit my seamstress and order you a wardrobe of your own. It is my intention to introduce you to my friends and for that you must have clothes—and I shall love advising you, Rosemarie. You are so pretty and you have a lovely figure. My nightgown is far too long for you, but it will do for one night.’

‘It is very generous of you to take me in like this, Samantha.’

‘Oh, I shall enjoy it. Brock asked it of me and I would never refuse him anything within my power—but you are such a charming girl that it will be a pleasure for me to take you about, my dear. You are like the younger sister I never had.’

‘I was an only child, too,’ Rosemarie said, a wistful look in her eyes. ‘I miss Papa so much—and I wish he had not died.’

‘Yes, of course you do. I was alone and almost penniless after my father died, but his colonel married me and gave me a wonderful life following the drum. He left me this house and the money to live here, and I manage very well. It is unfortunate for you that those who should love and care for you choose to take advantage and try to take what does not belong to them.’

‘My aunt wears Mama’s jewels and does not wish to give them up, and my uncle covets the Manor—but it belongs to me, as do the mills, and I do not see why I should let them take my inheritance and force me to marry a man I dislike.’

‘I do so agree with you. I married a man I cared for, even though he was much older.’ Samantha sighed. ‘We were happy, I believe, but your papa was right. Love is the only true reason to marry. Even then it may not guarantee happiness, but then, life is never perfect, I think.’

‘I am so sorry you lost your husband,’ Rosemarie said. ‘Yet you are so young, you could surely marry again?’

‘Perhaps—if the right man were to ask,’ Samantha said and laughed softly. ‘I do not imagine he will for he loves another, so I must make the most of what I have—and that is a great deal. I am comfortable and want for nothing, and I have many friends, and that is surely enough for anyone.’

‘I want to marry the man I love,’ Rosemarie said, her face shining with earnest feeling. ‘I may be young, but I do know what I want of life and I shall never give him up whatever anyone says. Robert loves me and I love him, why should we part?’

‘Why should you?’ Samantha asked. ‘If you love this man enough and he loves you, then time is on your side. Once you are twenty-one you may do as you please, for your father’s fortune then becomes yours and you will no longer suffer at a guardian’s hands.’

‘But two years is such a long time.’

‘If you will but be patient and enjoy your life, I dare say it will go by in a trice, as it did for me. My years on the Peninsula went too swiftly for my liking.’

‘You had such an exciting life, even if it did end unhappily.’ Rosemarie pulled a face. ‘You do not know how unkind they were to me, ma’am. When I declared that I would marry only a man I loved and refused the Marquis, I was locked in my room and given no supper.’

‘That was unkind of your aunt and uncle.’

‘I do not think it was my aunt’s doing,’ Rosemarie admitted. ‘I am sure that it was my uncle who insisted that I be punished. He was determined that I should do as he ordered. I love Robert and I would hate to marry anyone other than the man I love. Can you understand me?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Samantha said. ‘Now, go to bed, my dear, and sleep well. I find that things often work out so much better than one fears.’

Closing the door on her pretty young guest, Samantha went to her own room and found her maid patiently waiting.

‘You may unhook my gown and then go to bed, Allie,’ she said, smiling at her. ‘I shall not retire immediately, but sit and read in my dressing robe.’

‘Very well, ma’am,’ Allie said and unfastened the tiny buttons at the back of her gown, assisting her to step out of it. She picked it up and walked towards the dressing room. ‘Goodnight, madam.’

‘Goodnight. Now do not spend ages in there brushing my gown, go to bed.’

Samantha sighed as the door of the dressing room closed behind her maid. Allie tended to chat as she prepared one for bed, talking about the clothes for the next day and whatever entertainment her mistress was planning. This evening, Samantha wanted to be quiet, to sit and think peacefully about what had happened that day.

First Brock’s surprising visit that afternoon, just as she’d been thinking of going for a walk in the park, and then his return with the young girl he’d rescued. She wondered if Brock knew just what he’d taken on. Rosemarie was rebellious and had a mind of her own. If she decided that she was going to run off with her soldier, nothing would prevent her—and if Brock tried to stop her, she would lead him a merry dance.

At first Samantha had thought he must have fallen for the girl, but his manner towards her, which was almost avuncular, had convinced her that it was nothing of the kind. Brock had always been chivalrous and generous to a fault. Samantha herself had been on the receiving end of many kindnesses from him when they were campaigning in Spain. He’d rescued that poor girl when she was lying close to exhaustion and now considered that he must do all in his power to help her. She could only hope that he would not lay up a lot of trouble for himself. Yet something told her that Rosemarie had a will of her own. Her uncle was wrong to try and force her into a marriage she could not tolerate, yet he had probably believed it was a good one. Samantha was not at all sure that Rosemarie had told them the whole truth—or perhaps she had merely exaggerated her wrongs a little?

Samantha wondered what Brock’s fiancée would think of the business. Would she accept it as just something that her very generous husband-to-be would do for a girl he considered vulnerable—or would she think Rosemarie a threat to her own happiness as Brock’s wife?

Brock’s wife... Samantha quelled the slight spurt of jealous indignation that flared inside her as she remembered the last time she’d seen that lady. From the way that Miss Langton had shamelessly flirted with and encouraged Lord Armstrong’s attentions that particular evening, she did not deserve her good fortune. How could she behave so if she intended to marry Brock? Samantha had wished that she might warn him of the way his intended had looked up into the eyes of her charming escort, but to say things that would come as a shock and might cause him pain would be unforgivable, and so she had held her tongue. It was not, after all, Samantha’s business to report on another lady’s behaviour, which might merely be high spirits at a ball.

Miss Langton might just have been flirting a little and meant nothing by her smiles and teasing. Having seen her only the once in Lord Armstrong’s company, Samantha knew it would be unfair to judge. It must be for Brock to discover his fiancée’s thoughts and nothing she could say or do would lessen the pain if he loved her and discovered she had played him false.

Samantha thought her a vain cold girl, but perhaps that was because she hardly knew her. She was probably very pleasant once you got past formal terms. Yet if she cared for Brock how could she come to London and he know nothing of it?

Was he in love with Cynthia Langton? They seemed to have been engaged a long time and yet no notice of the wedding had appeared in the papers. Surely, a man in love would not wait so many months. Yet perhaps that was only wishful thinking on Samantha’s part?

Did Cynthia care for him or merely the fact that he was wealthy and heir to an even larger estate? What did she know of the real man who lay beneath the surface? Did she even know of the dangers he’d faced during the war—did she care what made him the man he was?

Samantha knew a little about the secret in Brock’s past. Phipps had hinted at something and Percy had told her that Brock blamed himself for a young lady of his acquaintance being brutally attacked.

‘He was at home on leave, you see, and had his mind on other matters when the girl called on him. He told me that he welcomed her, because she was like a sister to him, gave her refreshments and talked to her about his life in the army—and then she left him to walk home through their woods. Brock never gave a thought to it, because she had walked and played in those same woods all her life in perfect safety—but this time she came to grievous harm and he never forgave himself.’

‘Oh, poor girl,’ Samantha had exclaimed. ‘Yet it was hardly Brock’s fault. How could he have known that she would be attacked?’

‘He couldn’t, but he believes that he ought to have seen her safely home—as perhaps he ought, Sam. I do not think I should have allowed a young, very pretty and innocent girl to walk more than a mile to her home alone.’

‘No, perhaps—but how could he have known it would happen?’

‘No one could have known and she ought to have been safe, but these things do happen at times and Brock feels that he is to blame.’

‘Yes, I do see.’ Samantha had known then that the young and idealistic officer would castigate himself terribly for what had happened to his friend. And now she thought she understood why he’d taken on Rosemarie’s troubles, though he did not know the girl and could not be certain that she’d been quite honest with him. It was his sense of honour, his need to exonerate himself for what had happened that day so long ago.

Samantha liked Rosemarie very much. She was a charming, friendly girl with an eagerness for life that was appealing. Rosemarie was also very determined and Samantha had no doubt that she would lie brazenly if it served her purpose to get what she wanted. Her aunt and uncle were certainly not blameless, for they surely had no right to try and force her into a marriage she did not want—but were they truly as black as Rosemarie painted them? Samantha was not sure, and she thought Brock was in much the same mind.

And if his fiancée was playing him false, or even trying to arouse his jealousy by flirting with Lord Armstrong, he would be hard put to placate her and keep his promise to Rosemarie.

A smile of sympathy touched Samantha’s lips. Poor dear Brock! It looked as if he was in for a rough ride whichever way you looked at it. At least Samantha had been able to help him by taking Rosemarie to live with her, and that was no hardship for she would enjoy having the girl in her home and introducing her to society. Rosemarie was a well brought-up young lady and would not cause her any trouble that way...but she was wilful and if she formed a plan for her marriage to her beloved Robert she might risk anything to carry it out. Samantha would just have to keep a careful eye on her to make sure that she did not cause Brock more trouble than necessary.

Yet did she have the right to interfere? The answer was that she did not. She was nothing more than an acquaintance to Brock and he was merely a man she liked and admired. He would never be anything more, because he was committed to another...and because their shared memories would place a barrier between them. A barrier that was formed of loyalty and grief and could not be lightly put aside.

* * *

Brock sat before the fire in his study staring into the brandy glass in his hand. It was sometimes chilly of an evening and he liked a fire in here every evening, except in the heat of summer, when he was seldom in London. As most of his friends did, he left town in July and went down to the country, either to stay with friends or at his family home. It was still March and he would be in London for a few months now—unless he married and took his bride abroad for some weeks. Paris, perhaps, or Italy? The lakes were beautiful in the summer and cooler than the heat of a city.

His thoughts turned to Cynthia. It was annoying that she’d been out when he’d called for he would have liked to settle things between them. It would be better when the announcement of their wedding had been made and then perhaps this restless feeling would leave him. He ought not even to consider the alternatives, for his promise had been given to Cynthia too many months ago to think of breaking it. He could never do such a thing. He’d asked her to save her reputation and because she’d looked so unhappy...so vulnerable. If he went back on his promise now, what kind of a cad would he be? The only honourable thing to do was to marry the girl, even if he’d never loved her—could never love her as he might have loved another.

Cynthia had not answered immediately when he’d asked and he’d sensed that she’d agreed with some reluctance, possibly because she feared her mama’s anger if she’d been returned to her home with her reputation in tatters. At first she’d been grateful, willing to fall in with his suggestions, though not ready to announce the date of the wedding.

It was only after she’d returned to her home and he’d taken up his own life again, spending most of his time in London with fleeting visits to his own estate and that of his father that he’d found her less pleased to see him, inclined to long silences, often seeming to force herself to greet him with a smile, and perhaps that was his own fault. Brock admitted that he’d not been to visit her as often as he ought, but his life in London suited him and he was always engaged to friends or with his business affairs.

Brock was still working for his old commander, the Duke of Wellington. There were many functions to be arranged for the benefit of soldiers and officers wounded in the duke’s service, and Brock was happy to give his time to such a worthy cause. He also attended diplomatic conferences and travelled to France either with the duke or on behalf of the duke. Every so often he was invited to join the duke at his country home and sometimes to join the Prince Regent’s house party at Brighton. He was well thought of in high circles and Wellington had urged him to go into the diplomatic service, saying that he had skills that were much needed and would do tribute to the post of ambassador in one of the more sensitive areas in which the British had a strong influence.

Brock had consulted his father, who had given him his blessing, but still he’d waited—because somehow he did not think that Cynthia would be happy as the wife of a diplomat who might be sent off to the other side of the world at the drop of a hat. Only a certain sort of woman was happy to follow her husband wherever he went...and that was a line of thought best capped and tucked away where it could do no harm.

Sipping his brandy slowly to savour its warming effect, Brock considered his future if he did not enter the diplomatic service. He might stand for a safe Tory seat at the next election, he supposed, but there was little else open to a man who would one day inherit his father’s title and lands.