Home Is the Sailor (7 page)

She nodded absently, and Amelia followed Will out as Davy drew a chair up to his mother’s bedside. Once in the hall she said, “Thank you so much for bringing my brother home. Having him here to comfort her will help, I think. I believe she has been fearful ever since he was wounded last year, afraid that she would never see him again.”

“I feared that myself, for a time,” Will admitted. “But your brother is a strong man, and very determined.”

They had moved a few steps along the hall, into the open gallery. She turned to regard him steadily. “Is he really well, Captain? He seems thinner than I ever remember seeing him.”

“Indeed he is, but his health is much improved. Perhaps it’s as well that he did not return here immediately, because for a time he did look ...”
He looked white as a new sail, wasting away, he could barely keep food down
….Swamped by the memories, Will ran out of conversation. “I thought we had lost him,” he said baldly. “Please forgive me, my lady, but your brother is my dearest friend and I wished—I still wish—that I had taken the bullet myself.”

She put a hand on his arm. “I knew we should be friends,” she said warmly. “Davy is the dearest of my brothers, and I am so glad he has you to look after him.”

“You are too kind.” Will felt the proverbial coals of fire on his head. He had not done a very good job thus far, and due to his own weakness he would not be able to do so in the future, whatever that might hold.

“May we hope your visit will be a long one?” she asked. “I know the treaty still endures, but my brother said you had found another ship. Was it a private commission?”

“Yes, we sailed for a friend of your cousin, Baron Guilford, doing messenger work for a few months.” That was more or less true, to a point. “Our vessel was damaged—no fault of ours, I hasten to say—and is now undergoing repairs. Whether our service shall be required when she is once more whole, I cannot say. If and when the Peace is broken, I expect we shall be recalled to duty.” Even if he could discuss such matters with a civilian, and a woman at that, he could not even bring himself to speculate about them to himself. He shrugged. “I know no more than you, my lady. I wish I did.”

Lady Amelia seemed to sense his discomfort, and changed the subject. “You are both here for now, at least, and I am grateful for that. How may we entertain you, Captain? My sister Anne is in the drawing room doing some needlework, and Eugenie is suffering the same fate. Miss Winston is there as well. But I cannot think such things would interest you. Might I offer you a tour of the house?”

“Oh, I’ve mended my own shirts,” he said. “Sewn on buttons, too, and so has your brother, but only from necessity. If a tour would not keep you from your own diversions, I would enjoy that.” It made little difference, really; he was equally uncomfortable with either prospect and hoped only to avoid sounding like a fool.

Her smile was very like Davy’s. “I can bear the disappointment. If I had been reading a novel, that would be another matter altogether. Let us begin here, then. The hall below us is more modern than the bedrooms. The stairs and this gallery were added when my grandfather—”

The door to Lady Grenbrook’s suite opened, and Davy slipped out, a thoughtful expression on his face. “She’s asleep,” he said. “Kirby gave her a dose of her cordial, and she just dropped off. I’m sure Kirby knows exactly what to do—she always has, as far back as I can remember. My mother’s maid,” he explained to Will, then added, “Has Mama been like this since the accident, Lia?”

“Not immediately. After the first shock had passed, Mama seemed very calm. She kept her composure until the funeral, but on the way home she fainted, woke up weeping, then took to her bed. Dr. Fiske says we must let her rest and regain her strength. I had hoped she would feel well enough to come down to dinner tonight.”

“I asked her that myself. She said perhaps she will make the attempt tomorrow.”

“That is more than she said this morning.” She turned to Will, “He has always been the only one of us able to bring Mama around to his wishes.”

“If that’s so, then you are the only one who can win a concession from Father,” Davy retorted. “Except for—” He caught himself. “The only one, now.”

Lady Amelia nodded soberly. “I feel as though this is a nightmare, and I cannot wake up,” she said. “I catch myself that same way, so very often. What will become of this family without Mark, when Father’s gone?”

Will felt as though he was intruding on something that should have been private between the two of them. “I would rather not intrude—shall I excuse myself?”

Lady Amelia turned to Davy, who shrugged. “I think that whatever concerns my brother need not be hidden from you, Captain, but if you would rather—”

“I think he might rather,” Davy said. “I shall ask his advice if that seems necessary, but I would not drag him into our troubles without need. This cannot be pleasant for you, Will.”

“Nor for you,” Will answered. “It is only that I would hate to intrude.”

Davy’s smile and a faint shake of the head said wordlessly that he was being foolish. “Well, then, as you choose.”

“We were about to take a tour of the house,” Amelia said. “Perhaps we might begin with the portrait gallery? Captain Marshall can walk a little behind us, if he likes, though that is truly unnecessary.”

Despite himself, Will was impressed by the long, open hall that afforded the Grenbrook ladies a place to exercise when the weather was inclement. The portraits would have been easier to see when there was daylight coming in through the tall windows, rather than by the subdued glow of candles set at regular intervals, but it was clear that David Archer’s people had occupied this estate for many generations, and done well enough to hire artists to leave a lasting record of their lives.

Including those of the current generation. His eye was caught by a group portrait, three men and a boy standing beside a horse. The older gentleman—surely that would be the current Earl? And the two young, dark-haired men, one in the smart uniform of a cavalry regiment, were the elder brothers. That would mean that the fair-haired lad, perhaps ten years old, must be—

“Ah, you found it.” Davy walked up beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Evil little beast, wasn’t I?”

“You look …” He considered the expression on the youngster in the painting, Davy’s square jaw softer in childhood, his frame still small and narrow-shouldered. But the artist had caught that look Will had seen so often on his lover’s face, the hint of impatience that said only self-control, or perhaps fear of official retribution, was holding in a sarcastic comment. “You look bored out of your wits.”

“You must know him well, Captain.” Lady Amelia came up on Will’s other side. “He did not want to be in the picture at all. None of them did, I think. Our father had intended the painting to feature himself and Queen’s Knight. The horse,” she added, at Will’s obvious perplexity. “But Mother asked him to include the boys, and by the time the painting was completed, he had decided it was a capital notion. Fortunately, the artist was able to complete much of the painting with only Father and the horse.”

“Oh, Ronald thought it a fine idea,” Davy said. “You’d have thought his being sent down for misbehavior was the occasion for the sitting—just look at that expression.”

“On the right?”

“Yes. My father on the left, of course, at Knight’s head, and me between him and Mark, where either of them could clout me if I moved.”

“Mark had just joined the Army then,” Amelia added.

The Earl’s eldest son had been a younger copy of his father, with a roughly oblong face, heavy jaw, and ruddy complexion. The only sign of their mother’s influence was a pair of keen blue eyes, and a nose that was perhaps a little less formidable than his sire’s. His expression held considerable humor, and Will regretted that he had not been able to meet the man.

Ronald was another matter, and in his stance and arrogant stare Will recognized the self-importance that Davy had described so many years ago. He was probably the better-looking of the older brothers, but it was a cold, sterile regularity of feature that held none of Mark’s warmth or Davy’s charm. “He does seem rather pleased with himself,” Will said, trying to keep his utterance free of negative opinion. “Your eldest sister has the same coloring as your brothers, does she not?”

“Yes,” Davy said. “All the girls but Mary have Mother’s hair. We’re all blue-eyed, more or less, but only Mark and Ronald got Father’s height. It’s interesting how the traits fell out.”

“I know nothing of art, but it seems to me an excellent painting. The artist certainly caught your personality.”

“It’s very accurate,” Davy said. “And I am glad we have it. Not so much for my own youthful splendor, but I believe it’s the best picture of Mark that we have.”

Amelia nodded, and took his arm. “I know you are just as pleased to have left that age behind, but you always were my favorite playmate. And you were always a gentleman and took the blame if we got into trouble.”

“But we so seldom did,” he retorted. “Who’d have thought such adorable children would have such speed and cunning?”

She laughed. Will let them move ahead, reminiscing, and allowed himself to be distracted by various paintings. If Davy learned anything from Amelia that Will ought to know, of course he would share the information. Will tried not to let himself feel like an unwanted intruder. This was Davy’s family, Amelia his oldest real friend as well as his sister. It was certainly not her fault that Will was not a part of this household. On the contrary, she was doing everything possible to make him feel welcome.

What concerned him more than the pictures on the wall was the picture he began to perceive of what the family was now facing. Davy had always spoken of his mother and sisters with affection, even though he was only close to Amelia in age or disposition. He’d seldom mentioned his father, except to say that he had joined the Navy because his father had determined set him on a course he dreaded, after Davy unwisely fell in love with an actress and proposed marriage to her—which proposal the young woman, with good sense far outweighing her station in life, gently declined. His brother Mark had received nothing but praise from his youngest brother. But Ronald...

Will had thought Davy was exaggerating when he’d compared his elder brother to the murderous pirate who had kidnapped them a few years earlier. Even the warning when they’d arrived seemed harsh. But having seen Amelia’s obvious distress at the prospect of Ronald inheriting control of the family, Will was less inclined to wonder whether his lover had allowed his own dislike to color his opinion. The look on the man in that portrait was that of someone who felt entitled to have his own way, no matter what. That would not be a pleasant sort of attitude to see across the table, day in and day out. It seemed unlikely that Davy would choose to remain here at the estate when war resumed.

Still...looking at the two blond heads so close together, Davy leaning toward his sister with a look of deep concern on his face, Will was equally sure that Davy would not be able to simply walk away from his family in this time of crisis, even though there seemed to be very little he could do to help. As for Will himself, he felt entirely useless.

* * * * *

Dinner was interminable. David Archer had hoped to see his mother at the table, if for no other reason than the moderating influence she always had on her husband. The Earl seemed to view his offspring as unruly beasts in constant need of a set-down, but as he was the soul of courtly courtesy to his wife, her presence would have gone a long way toward relieving the leaden atmosphere. Unfortunately, she had not found the strength to dress and join the family, so Lady Anne was acting as hostess.

And Amelia was right. The Honorable Lord Arthur Wilton Archer, Earl of Grenbrook, Viscount Archer, a man well endowed with worldly means and secure in the affection of his devoted wife, a man whom his son had never seen as anything less than formidable...had indeed altered. David’s father was no longer the man that he remembered. He was still tall, and broad in proportion; his iron-grey hair had lightened a shade closer to silver—but what startled David was the vacancy in his father’s lined and weary face. It was like watching a painting of a fire, instead of the fire itself. The familiar image was there, without warmth or movement. Even his frown seemed more habitual than an expression of real feeling.

“So you’ve come home at last, have you?” was the Earl’s paternal growl as they gathered before dinner.

David inclined his head. “As you see, Father. But you may rest assured I’ll not be here for long. Like the Army, we are waiting to be called back to duty when needed. May I present my friend, Commander William Marshall…” He observed the proper form, Will expressed the appropriate pleasure in the meeting and was accorded a shake of the hand.

With a little of his usual energy, the Earl said, “Pleased to meet you, sir. Though I must say you’d have done better to finish the job! This country cannot get back to normal until that damned Corsican has been put in his place.”

“I agree, my lord,” Will said. “And there is not a man in the Navy who would argue with that proposition. It’s quite clear that Bonaparte only signed the treaty to give himself time to regroup—a capital mistake, and one that will cost us dearly.”

“Indeed,” the Earl said, with a rare nod of approval.

That hurdle cleared, David allowed himself to breathe again as they proceeded in to the table and took their seats, an uneven arrangement as the ladies outnumbered the gentlemen. Under the circumstances, everyone except for Will being family, it hardly mattered. Will, poor fellow, had Eugenie at his right hand, but that difficulty was balanced by Amelia at his left. David found himself next to his cousin Jane, with an empty place between himself and Anne.