Anne Herries - Reunited with the Major

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.

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