A Hope Remembered (3 page)

Nearly three years had passed since the day Christian had been shot down during a dogfight with the Germans, but Colin still couldn’t think of his brother without sorrow and regret tightening his chest and constricting his breath. As if a part of him had ceased to function at that exact moment, and yet, he must somehow live and breathe despite the pain.

Things would have been much different, in all their lives, if Christian had lived.

“You are late.” Sir Edward came to stand beside the polished banister. “The earl and his family are already here. We waited in the drawing room for you, but we could delay the meal no longer. How does it look to have you waltz in at your leisure?”

Colin gestured at his flying jacket and trousers. “I could come in now, Father, instead of keeping all of you waiting.”

Sir Edward’s face turned a shade of red Colin hadn’t yet seen, but the twitch of one his blue eyes was an all-too-familiar sign of fury. “You will do no such thing.” He spun toward Colin’s silent valet. “Help him into his dinner clothes, Gibson, and be quick about it.”

“Yes, Sir Edward,” Gibson said with a half bow.

“And when you finally decide to grace us with your presence in the dining room, I expect you to behave, young man.”

His father’s tone allowed no argument, making Colin feel as if he were a child again. He despised that feeling. Without a word, he resumed climbing the stairs. The deep red carpet muffled the sound of his agitated steps. His cap and goggles were gripped so tightly in his palms his fingers began to ache.

He didn’t spare a glance at the ancestral portraits in their gilded frames lining the long hallway to his room. The somber faces were likely to stare back at him with as much disapproval as his father had. He didn’t want this life anymore, never had. Why couldn’t his father accept that?

Once Elmthwaite Hall had meant happiness and security to him. Now the ornate furnishings, the incessant rules, and the inability to do anything on his own reminded him more and more of a prison—one built on tradition and money and expectations. If only he could leave…But he’d given his word to Christian that he wouldn’t abandon the place, and he could not go back on that, especially in his brother’s absence.

Colin tossed his flying gear onto his bed as he entered his room, newly redecorated in brown hues. In the adjoining washroom, he ran cold water in the sink and began vigorously scrubbing the dirt from his face. The shock to his skin helped cool some of his anger. Scrubbed clean, he allowed Gibson to help him change into dinner attire.

“You look well, sir,” Gibson said as he removed imaginary lint with a brush from Colin’s black tailcoat.

Colin fought the urge to peel off the jacket and bow tie. Both felt as restricting as a straitjacket. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d shed the suit in another few hours.

He stared at himself in the full-length mirror. The dark hair and eyes were from his mother, his height from his father. He’d passed Christian up at the age of sixteen, despite his brother being two years older.

I suppose I can’t call you my little brother anymore
, Christian had said that summer. It was one of those rare moments when he’d set aside his usual seriousness to tease Colin. Just as he had the day he’d been killed.

Through the mirror, Colin’s gaze sought out the now blank spot on the wall where someone had hung the grainy newspaper photograph of him and Christian, taken only an hour or so before Christian’s plane, with him inside, had been shot down. Now it seemed as if the two events were separated by mere moments of time. In the first he and Christian were answering questions from the
Daily Mail
reporter and grinning like Charlie Chaplin for their picture, and in the next his brother was gone.

Colin had removed the picture and stuffed it into one of the bureau drawers the instant he arrived home from France. He wanted to remember Christian, but the visual reminder of that fateful day cut too deep to see each time he opened his eyes on a new morning. Even now the memories gripped him like a vise.

A cough from Gibson, thankfully, managed to break the hold of the past. It was time to go down.

“Thank you, Gibson.” It was the least he could say. While Colin despised not being able to do for himself as he’d grown accustomed to during the war, he instinctively understood Gibson took his role of valet seriously. In spite of Colin’s reticence, the older man wanted to fulfill his duty.

Leaving his room, Colin descended the stairs, his hand moving along the banister. How many times had their butler, Martin, scolded him for sliding down the wood? A smile lifted the corners of his mouth at the thought, momentarily dispelling the grief that shrouded him, but the happy recollection faded as Colin paused outside the dining room.

The murmur of conversation and the smell of food drifted out to him. He hated having to play the part of dutiful heir and disappointing his father even more with his fumbled, halfhearted attempts. Christian had been born to do this, not him.

Colin arranged his face into a casual expression, his only defense, and entered the brightly lit room.

“There you are, Colin.” His mother smiled, her manner warm.

He circled the table and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “Good evening, Mother.”

“Colin,” his father intoned with less congeniality, “I would like to introduce my good friend Lord Weatherly; his wife, Lady Weatherly; and their daughter, Lady Sophia Fitzgerald.”

“Lord Weatherly, Lady Weatherly, welcome.” Colin tipped his head in acknowledgment of the earl and his wife, then turned his gaze on their daughter. Gibson hadn’t been wrong—Lady Sophia was nice to look at, with her artfully arranged blond hair and glittering hazel eyes. “Lady Sophia.”

She held out a gloved hand to him. “Mr. Ashby, a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He bowed over her hand, noting the way she gripped his fingers, confidently, almost possessively, before she released him. Would she prove to be like every other young lady his father had paraded through the house of late? The war had brought a dearth of wealthy, eligible young men, which meant Colin truly had his pick of whom to marry. Only problem was he had yet to find a young woman with more than a pretty face and coy manners to recommend her.

He took a seat beside Lady Sophia. One of the new footmen, hired to replace those who’d been killed in the war, appeared at his elbow with a tray of food. Colin filled his plate and tried to ignore another reminder of how things and people had changed in the last six years. He took a bite, realizing he was famished. Flying typically heightened his appetite.

“Your mother was telling us about your aeroplane.” Lady Sophia leaned toward him as if imparting a great secret.

Colin dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Yes, I enjoy flying.” He schooled his tone to match hers; although he couldn’t help wondering how truly interested she was in planes and flying. Several of the ladies he’d met recently had shown great enthusiasm for his aeroplane until they realized it wouldn’t better their chances with him.

“You were a member of the Royal Flying Corps, correct?” she asked.

He nodded.

“How thrilling.”

Images marched through Colin’s mind—the explosion of artillery, the sinuous line of trenches, the tiny figures strewn like straw over the battlefield. He’d once thought the same thing about being a pilot, until he lost his first friend in a dogfight with the Germans. Colin had watched helpless as the man, shot dead, plummeted to the mud-churned earth in his smoking plane. No,
thrilling
wasn’t the word for it anymore.

He settled for a simple “yes” before taking another bite of food. Sir Edward sent him a hard glare from his spot at the top of the table. Colin didn’t miss the insinuation—he was expected to entertain the earl’s daughter. Swallowing the annoyance clogging his throat, he turned to his dinner guest and inquired with a charming smile, “Tell me, Lady Sophia, how are you enjoying your time in the Lake District?”

“Very much.” She offered him a brilliant smile, which almost made him forgive her naïve comment. Of course someone like her, pampered and sheltered her entire life, couldn’t be expected to understand the atrocities of war. Hadn’t he gone off to fight in part to preserve such innocence, to keep it from being destroyed? “In fact,” she added with a light laugh, “I almost prefer it to London. I love the cooler summer weather and the green fields and mountains.”

“You should see them from a plane.” He regretted the words at once—he hadn’t meant to imply the invitation Lady Sophia would likely read within them.

Sure enough, a glint of triumph lit her eyes. “What a lovely idea, Mr. Ashby. I think flying in your aeroplane would be marvelous.”

Colin studied her flawless face for a hint of sarcasm, but found none. He’d received plenty of terrified exclamations from other girls about his flying. Perhaps there was more to Lady Sophia than he’d surmised.

“I may be able to provide you with an opportunity to fly before you return to London,” he hedged, “if your father agrees, of course.”

A mischievous smile tweaked her red lips. “Then I must make him agree.” She laughed again. Colin smiled in return and felt himself relax slightly. The dinner was going better than he’d expected.

The conversation between their fathers centered around the country’s rising number of unemployed workers and its floundering economy. Colin listened as he ate. He hated the feeling of guilt and helplessness that accompanied the news that so many returning soldiers still couldn’t find jobs. These were the men he’d flown alongside. Yet here he sat with plenty to eat and no fear of the future. If only he could think of some way to help.

“What do you think of the unemployment of our brave soldiers, Lady Sophia?” Colin glanced at her. Would she respond with the intelligence and compassion he hoped?

She frowned. “It’s most unfortunate. All those men without jobs.” Colin nodded in approval until she continued, “I am grateful they are home and the war is over, though. Now we can put the fighting behind us.”

“Almost as if it never happened?” he murmured. There were times the war felt more like a long, horrible nightmare. Something one could simply shake off as unreal in the bright light of morning. But when Colin walked past Christian’s empty room, the truth of what he’d seen and experienced in France would hit him with all the force of a German Fokker biplane. In those moments his life at home felt like the dream, and the war the reality.

“Why dwell on the unpleasantness,” Lady Sophia intoned, breaking into Colin’s troubled thoughts, “especially in such a pretty place like Elmthwaite Hall? Here one can almost believe such a horrid thing as war doesn’t exist at all.” She took a sip of her wine. “I’m quite ready to talk about much more rewarding topics of conversation.”

He had to force his next question through clenching teeth. “Such as?”

Once again, his hopes of finding a woman not given over to frivolity had been dashed. How many more of these meaningless conversations, dinners, and weekend house guests would he have to endure before his father realized there wasn’t a single young lady that piqued Colin’s genuine interest?

“We could talk about fashion or jazz music or dancing. It’s wonderful to have dance partners again. Though some of the men can’t dance like they used to, what with their injuries and all.” She placed her hand on Colin’s sleeve, her gaze flirtatious. “Thank goodness you made it back in one piece, Mr. Ashby. We shall have no trouble dancing, you and I.”

Sharp anger rose inside him, tightening his collar as effectively as his bow tie. The war and its effects, which Lady Sophia could so easily dismiss, had forever changed his life and the lives of thousands of other soldiers. Colin would never understand how people could so easily brush those sacrifices aside just because the fighting had ended.

“I’m glad to hear your mind is again at ease, Lady Sophia,” he ground out despite his hardened jaw, “with all this war nonsense over. I shall be sure to thank the Good Lord tonight that I didn’t lose life nor limb, so that I might continue dancing.” The room felt suddenly too hot and confining. He threw down his napkin, unable to bear the thought of remaining a moment longer. “It is a shame, though, that my brother did not fare as well. He was the better dancer, you see.”

He rose from his chair. “Please forgive me, Lord and Lady Weatherly. Lady Sophia.” At least she had the decency to blush. “I’m afraid I have urgent business to attend to.”

“What’s this, Colin?” The anger in Sir Edward’s blue eyes belied his causal tone. “The ladies haven’t yet retired to the drawing room.”

“I am sorry, Father. It cannot wait.”

Colin noted his mother’s deflated expression with a prick of guilt before he spun on his heel and marched out of the dining room. He paused long enough in his escape to undo his bow tie and loosen the chokehold of his collar. At last able to breathe again, he moved toward the stairs but stopped when he spied Martin at the front door.

“I am sorry,” the butler said in firm tones, “but I cannot disturb Sir Edward.”

Though Colin didn’t catch the person’s reply, the voice was decidedly feminine.

“You may call again in the morning. Good night.” Martin began to close the door.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Colin strode forward. “Hold on a moment, Martin. Who’s come to call this late?”

The older man stepped back and gave Colin a slight bow. “Master Colin.” Martin persisted in using the childish title. Colin had long ago given up correcting him—he’d likely be “Master Colin” until he died, even after he became baronet.

Colin peered out the door. A young woman stood in the pool of light from the entry. She looked to be a few years younger than himself, though she exuded an air of dignity that disguised her true age. Her coat and dress, while tidy, had clearly seen better days. Beneath her wide-brimmed hat, her red hair had been gathered into an attractive knot, which extenuated her slender neck.

A glance beyond her into the still brightly lit evening showed no waiting wagon or automobile. She’d clearly come here alone. But why? Strangers were rare in Larksbeck, and even more so at Elmthwaite Hall.