Carla Kelly - A Regency Officer's Wedding

Bright nodded. ‘Let me tell you that he was brave. My surgeon and I sat with him throughout the entire ordeal. That is no lie. He suffered, but he did not suffer alone. Mercifully, towards the end, he went into a coma and was no longer conscious. Any of us in the fleet would have envied the conclusion, my lord, and that is no lie.’

The marquis nodded, and sipped his tea in silence. When he spoke again, he addressed the admiral in a kindlier tone. ‘Look here, lad. What you need is a good steward to make all those onerous arrangements.’ He made a face. ‘I have been in that house a grand total of once, and never took my wife there. You are obviously married to a tolerant lady.’

‘I am realising that more as each day passes,’ Bright said, with a sidelong look at Sally that pinked her cheeks. ‘I fear my credit will not last for ever, though, no matter how charming she thinks I am. A good steward, eh?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He leaned towards Bright. ‘If you don’t think I am an old meddler, I may have such a fellow. He’s been the under-steward here for several years and I think he is chafing to advance. May I send him your way? On approval, of course.’

‘My lord, I would be honoured.’ He touched Sally under the chin with his hook, which made her smile. ‘And my dear lady would be relieved.’

The marquis turned almost-fatherly eyes on her. ‘Lord, how she blushes! I didn’t know anyone blushed any more.’

They stayed a few more minutes. The admiral shook his head at staying for luncheon. ‘We have overstretched our welcome, Lord Brimley,’ he said in apology. ‘I did want to meet my neighbours, though.’

‘And you will both return, I trust,’ the marquis replied as he rose to his feet. He smiled at Sally, taking her by both hands. ‘Can you not convince your husband to stay for luncheon?’

Sally looked at the admiral, but he shook his head. ‘Not this time, my lord. Please do ask us again, though.’

Bright was silent after they left, looking neither right nor left until they were out of sight of the manor, and any prying eyes. When they turned the bend in the lane, he suddenly sank to his knees. His hat fell off as he leaned forwards. Astonished, Sally knelt beside him, her hand across his back. To her horror, he began to sob.

There was a roadside bench not far from the lane. Murmuring nonsensicals to him, she took him by the arm and helped him there, where he leaned back, his face pale and bleak. ‘You couldn’t manage one more minute there, could you?’ she asked.

He shook his head as the tears streamed down his face. He seemed not to mind that she saw them. What do I do? she asked herself, and then knew the answer. Without a word, she gathered him close to her, saying nothing because she had no words to ease his pain, only her body. She held him close and smoothed down his hair.

‘You haven’t forgotten one of them, have you?’ she asked.

He shook his head, unable to speak. She sat there, the admiral as tight in her arms as she had ever held her son. As she breathed the pleasant scent of his hair, it occurred to Sally that during the whole of his terrible ordeal with the lords of the Admiralty, Andrew had never let her console him, as she consoled this man she barely knew. And look what happened to you, Andy, she thought, as she held Admiral Bright. Maybe you should have done what this man is doing. Look what we have lost.

‘You must think me a very big fool,’ the admiral said, his voice still muffled against her breast.

‘I think nothing of the kind,’ she said gently. Truth to tell, she had felt the calculus around her heart loosen a bit. ‘I cannot imagine the burden you have carried through all those decades of war.’

He sat up, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket. ‘I’m an attractive specimen,’ he murmured, not looking at her. ‘Do I wipe my eyes or blow my nose?’ He cursed unguardedly. ‘Pardon me.’ He pressed the cloth against his eyes, then blew his nose. ‘He caught me broadside, Sophie. I had no idea who Lord Brimley was.’

He looked at her then, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Without even pausing to think, she touched his face. So quick she barely felt it, he kissed her palm.

‘Wasn’t I the kind man to marry you to lift your burdens?’ he said. ‘Oh, the irony. I don’t suppose you knew what you were getting into.’

‘Did you?’ she asked. Does anyone? she asked herself, feeling suddenly greener than the greenest bride.

They sat there in silence. ‘Penny for your thoughts, Sophie,’ he said finally. He stood up and pulled her to her feet, offering her his arm again as they turned towards their own manor.

She had no idea how to put into words what she was feeling, or if she even understood the emotions that tugged at her like a ship swinging on its anchor. ‘I suppose you are thinking that life on land is complicated.’

‘But what are you thinking?’ he persisted.

‘Precisely that,’ she said, a little surprised at him. ‘I don’t know that I was even thinking about myself.’

‘Thank you, then,’ he replied. ‘I doubt I deserve such attention.’

She was happy he seemed content to walk in silence. I think I have learned something this morning, she told herself as she matched her stride to his—not a hard matter, because they were much the same height. Maybe I am learning that my troubles are not the only ones in the world.

It was something to consider, and she wanted a moment alone to think about it. To her gratification, the admiral asked if she wouldn’t mind spending the afternoon by herself, as he wanted to go down to the beach and think about things. ‘Not at all,’ she told him. ‘Shall I ask Starkey to serve you luncheon on the beach?’

He nodded. ‘Have him put it in a hamper. You don’t mind?’

‘I just said I didn’t,’ she assured him. ‘Charles, if we are to rub along together, you need to take me at my word.’

‘I suppose I must,’ he agreed.

She ate her luncheon on the terrace, which Starkey had swept clear, then went upstairs to count the sheets in Lord Hudley’s linen closet—prosaic work that suited her mood. Thank goodness he had an ample supply was her first thought, then she blushed to think of all the activity on all the beds in the manor, at least once a year, when he held his orgies. No wonder he had sheets, and good ones, too. It was the same with pillowslips and towels. The old rascal practically ran a hotel for geriatric roués just like him.

The admiral hadn’t returned by dinner. After a solitary meal in the breakfast room, she asked Starkey about it.

‘He likes his solitude, ma’am, when he’s troubled,’ Starkey said.

She could tell by the look he gave her that Starkey considered her at fault for the admiral’s mood. Let him think what he will, she decided, after an evening alone in the sitting room, where she made lists of projects for the house and tried to ignore the cupids overhead, with their amorous contortions.

To her bemusement, she did not sleep until she heard Bright’s footsteps on the stairs. She sat up in bed, her arms around her knees, as she heard him approach her door, stand there a moment, then cross the hall to his own room. She lay down then, wondering if he had changed his mind about their arrangement. She knew he was embarrassed about his tears and doubted he had ever cried in the presence of anyone, much less a woman. ‘Well, I cannot help that,’ she murmured prosaically, as she composed herself for sleep.

She wondered if she would sleep, considering last night’s adventure with the old gentleman from Northumberland. Hopefully, he was well on his way home. What was that he had called her—‘his fair Cyprian’? She smiled to herself, pleased that for one night at least, she was not thinking of ruin or poverty, or where her next meal was coming from.