Laurel Ames - Playing To Win

“Yes, when you consider that, generally speaking, I like the theater very much. That is the place for grand gestures and impassioned speeches. Real life is something quite different.”

“I’m glad one of us has a firm grasp on reality. These past few months have seemed like a nightmare to me—that is, until I met you.”

“Because of your brother.”

“You understand, then. He thought it was a lark. He expected to come back. But not to even know how he died or where he is buried...”

“How would you feel if he had survived?”

“Alive again.”

“Then pretend that you are your brother, live the life he should have had.”

“Pretending doesn’t work for me. Sooner or later I sober up and discover he’s still gone.” A hole in the road jostled Tony’s shoulder and surprised a grunt of pain from him.

“Then tell yourself that the pain of his death will ease when your shoulder does. If it hurts as much as I think, that will be long enough to grieve.”

“The pain of his death will never go away,” Tony said, in despair. “I’ll never forget.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” Sera said in defeat.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone— I’m sorry...your mother...” He looked anxiously at her.

“I never knew her. But I have watched men die.”

“In Brussels?”

“Yes. They were so stoic, uncomplaining even when they knew.”

“You should not have had to go through that.”

She raised her chin. “I’m glad I stayed, even if all I could do for some of them was make them more comfortable. At least they knew someone cared.”

“You were lucky to have had something to do. You didn’t have to endure that waiting.”

“There is something you can do now that I cannot.”

“What is that?”

“Make sure there is not another war like that. We have lost part of an entire generation. The country cannot afford another such sacrifice.”

“A political career? I hope you have no such ambitions for me. Besides, why should you worry over that?”

“Just because I’m a woman does not mean I don’t think of such things.”

“Then you are more unusual than I thought.”

* * *

They reached Brighton to discover that Marie and Stewart, Tony’s valet, had installed their luggage in the Old Ship Hotel and stood ready to see to their comfort. It was not the most fashionable hotel in Brighton, but these were the best accommodations they could get on short notice. Tempting as the close view of the sea was to Sera, she insisted she had to lie down and rest before dinner.

Tony had not thought her so delicate, but was relieved not to be dragged all over town immediately. Indeed, he lay down himself, and fell into a fast sleep.

Sera was just sneaking out of her room for another look at the ocean when she encountered Stewart in the hall.

“I don’t suppose he has managed to fall asleep?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, but I could wake him, if you—”

“Don’t you dare,” Sera whispered, with a chuckle. “It’s what I was hoping for. Even a short trip like this is bad for him. We really should have waited.”

“He’s very strong, generally speaking,” Stewart said, looking rather surprised at Sera’s perception.

“I know, but for a time we must all conspire to see he gets enough rest. You won’t tell him I’ve sneaked out for a short walk?”

“No, of course not.”

“And let him wake of his own accord. I have taken a sudden liking to dining fashionably late.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Steward said with a smile.

Tony did chide Sera for not waking him, but he was so good-humored after his rest that he only did it jokingly. He ordered dinner for them in the dining room of the hotel, quite expertly she thought, checking by an inquiring look if she approved his choices. She asked him about his younger years, and he talked so unreservedly of Oak Park and his boyhood adventures, she thought they were a fair way toward being on intimate terms by the time he suggested an evening stroll along King’s Road and up the Marine Parade.

They had a pleasant walk, with Tony pointing out buildings he knew, and were on the point of returning to the Ship when a young man, lounging with some of his fellows, approached to say, “My name is Wentworth. You don’t know me, but I was wondering if you were in Belgium.”

“No, I was not,” Tony said coldly.

“The Peninsula, then? I only wanted to know because—”

“Ask my wife any questions you might have about the battle. She was in Brussels.” Tony said it as though it were an accusation, then walked off without her.

Sera thought it was not well done of him.

“I’m sorry,” Wentworth said, in obvious confusion. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed—”

“A natural assumption, I’m sure, but you have managed to set his back up. He was wounded in a duel, and it is not a good idea to cross him,” Sera said hastily, as she ran to catch up with Tony.

“Well, did you fill him in on the latest news?” Tony asked.

“No, I scarcely spoke to him. I thought him quite presumptuous.”

Tony did not offer her his good arm again, so she walked in silence beside him. He parted from her in the hallway and went into his own room without a word. Their rooms were joined by a common sitting room, and she did sit there for a time, even trying to write some letters, but Tony did not emerge. She sensed that she had hurt him, not by anything she had done today, but by revealing her own part in the conflict. It had not occurred to her he would be jealous of it. He was a strange man. When she could not figure out what to say to make him feel better, she said nothing. It was no solution, but at least it did not compound the damage.

* * *

“Perhaps his shoulder still hurts him,” Marie volunteered as Sera sat, rather red-eyed, over her tea the next morning.

“Yes, that must be it. No wonder he sat up drinking then—trying to deaden the pain. I suppose it was a stupid idea to come on a honeymoon with him not fit yet. But Lord Cairnbrooke planned it for us. He said it would be good if we got away from London for a while.” Sera wasn’t sure if this was for their benefit, or to give the talk a chance to settle.

Sera was not yet in love with Tony, but she thought that would come in time. She hadn’t been quite sure what to expect on their wedding night, but she had not expected to be completely ignored. He had never come to her, and she had slept only fitfully.

But she had recovered herself, and was calmly drinking her tea when Tony emerged from his bedroom, looking tired and surly, his brown eyebrows furrowed over his troubled blue eyes as though a headache were gnawing at him. It would be amazing if he didn’t have a headache, if he had indeed consumed as much wine as Stewart had reported to Marie. “They have brought coffee, too, if you would like some,” Sera said brightly.

“Nothing, thank you.” He picked up the newspaper from the table and withdrew behind it so as not to face her. They had conversed so easily before they were married, and even in the carriage on the way, and at dinner, that she had no idea it would be difficult to talk to him now. He seemed like nothing so much as a sulking boy, and she instinctively knew that a display of temper or tears on her part would only make him angry.

“What would you like to do today, Tony?”

“Whatever you wish.” He said it grudgingly, as though it were his duty to do what she wished.

“Perhaps we could just take a walk and look around the town by daylight.”

“Yes, of course, whenever you are ready,” he said from the depths of the paper.

She finished her breakfast in silence, but the bites of toast had a hard time getting past the lump in her throat. She felt herself to be in a tense situation, felt that one wrong word would be enough to endanger their future together. When she had eaten a reasonable amount, she went to put on her hat and gloves. She took her time over this, and was somewhat pleased to see, when she returned to the room, that Tony had at least had some coffee.