Three Heroes (14 page)

She turned and looked at her mate, her destiny. He was sleeping, lashes long on his cheeks, looking at ease. Perhaps he had not slept much these past nights.

She had the sudden realization that her life had flowed to make this moment possible.

When she had entered society at sixteen—shy, proud, and rather awkward—Van had truly been a scrubby schoolboy. They would never have found each other. The years since had been necessary to bridge the gap of years and experiences.

Without the army, Van might not have become her match. With his wild nature, he might have become one of the callow, irresponsible young men of the ton.

If she'd not married Celestin, she would now be settled with some other man, not free to love.

Without the pleasures and pains of that marriage, she would never have been able to deal with Van's complexities.

Fate had shaped them and finally tossed them together for this brief trial. This was her golden moment.

Her only chance. She brushed silky hair from his forehead, tussling with courage and honor in her mind . .

.

His lashes rose and he smiled, confused for a moment, then warm. "Marry me, Maria.” She was struck dumb again, but surrendered in a whisper. "If you're sure . . .” His eyes shut, then opened, and she saw the gloss of tears. "I'm sure. Maria!” He gathered her in for a hug that made her squeak. They broke apart, laughing.]]>

"I feel wicked,” she protested. "Wrong.” He grinned. "Of course you do. You are lying ravished in an unblessed bed. But marriage will fix that.”]]>

"I'm not sure our sort of ravishment is right even with a blessing."

"Oh it is, it is," he murmured, nuzzling at her breasts.

She suddenly held him there, held him close, stabbed by the thought that no child would ever suckle at her breast. And that she was binding him to her barren fate. She was a greedy, wicked woman.

"Promise me you won't regret, Van." It was a whisper because he could not promise that, but he said, "I promise." They lay for a moment, but then he stirred, pulled apart, and sat shamelessly naked facing her.

"I've shown you the things. I still have the words.” She sat up, too, suddenly wary. "Words? What more is left to say?” He looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. "I don't want to raise false hopes.]]>

It's still in the hands of fate. But you may not be barren." The pain of tears swept through her. "Van, don't! We have to accept the truth."

"Then accept it. Listen." It was an officer's command and she stilled.

"I've spent time with Oncle Charles and Tante Louise, and things they said didn't entirely match Natalie being your husband's daughter. For a start, the idea only stirred about six years ago."

"That was when Natalie's parents died and she came here. The truth came out because her mother was beyond scandal. And why else would she come to live with Maurice? Van—"

"She came here because there was nowhere else” he interrupted. "The wars wreaked havoc with Celestin's family in Europe. She also came here, I believe, because it suited him.” He took her hand, her ringless left hand. "I set Hawk to making inquiries, Maria.]]>

It's his forte. Celestin was almost certainly not in the right place at the right time.” She looked at him, her brain feeling fogged. "What? Why would he lie? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't matter anyway, Van. There are four others!”]]>

"All definitely false."

She stared at him. "They can't be."

"They are. It can't have been hard to find women unfortunately with child willing to call a man the father in return for an income."

She pulled her hand free, moved back, back against the headboard. "Such women would say anything for money, too. Did you arrange this to try to persuade me into marriage?" She was suddenly reminded of the man she had first met, the one who'd threatened and disarmed her. He neither attacked, however, nor shrank from her. "I knew you might think that.

That's why I wanted our feelings settled first. The matter of children doesn't matter that much to me, Maria. I'm sure that's undutiful of me, but you matter more than the damned title. I set Hawk to finding out the truth to remove the last barrier in your mind. That's all. Talk to the women if you want. I think you'll be convinced.” His leashed anger stung, but a trace of doubt lingered. "Why would Maurice do such a thing, construct such a painful, complex lie?”]]>

"Because he was a self-made man who cared about appearances. He doubtless wanted to found a dynasty, and when it didn't happen, he couldn't bear to have people think it was his fault."

That rang with the clarity of absolute truth.

"So he constructed another facade!” she exclaimed. "The swine. The worm. The toad! I felt so guilty. So flawed.” She launched herself toward him. "Oh, Van, please forgive me! I should never have even thought you might have made it up.” He pulled her into his lap. "Of course you should have thought it. I was desperate enough.” He brushed hair off her face and looked into her eyes. "It might still not happen.]]>

There might not be children."

She smiled up into his eyes through tears. "But there might be. That's enough. And you are more important to me, too, than children of our bodies.” All the same, she ran a hand down her belly. "But think, there might be a child growing now!” He covered her hand with his. "And we'll certainly be willing to work hard at putting one there. I've always been lucky, you know.” He rolled her down beneath him on the bed and reached out to take a silver box off the table.]]>

She could hardly think for hot muscles weighting her, but she focused on it. "What now?" He opened the box to show her a ring, and a piece of sharp stone. The ring held a fine, flashing ruby in a circle of diamonds.

"A new ring?" she said. ‘"I still have the other."

"My Maria needs a ring with fire in the heart.” Still over her, his erection pressing between her thighs, he slid the ring onto her finger. "A new ring for a new beginning.” She looked at it. "You were very sure of me.”]]>

"I wasn't sure at all. But the only way to fight is to convince yourself that you'll sweep all before you."

"Thank God you always did." She brought the ring to her lips, tears escaping.

"I'll always cherish the other one, too." She looked back at the box. "And the stone? A flint ... ?"

He put the box aside, but kept the flint in his fingers. "When you burst into my room that day I'd already pulled the trigger—"

"Van!"

"—but the flint failed. This flint. Sheer demon's luck, but mostly luck in having a valet who loves me more than I deserve, and finding a woman willing to fight my devils with me.” He tossed it on the table. "Marry me in Hawk in the Vale, Maria, soon?” She traced the demon on his chest, and knew they could make it little more than a memory of darker times. "Can we share our happiness with everyone there? A grand party for all? Your friends will attend?”]]>

"Hawk and Con? I'm sure of it." She hoped he was right. She suspected that Major Hawkinville still disapproved, and the Earl of Wyvern seemed to be a dark mystery. If his friends failed him she would fill any void, but if she could, she'd heal the connections to them, too.

With love so strong, and happiness burning in them like a winter fire, how could they fail?

"A wedding, my lord. In four weeks. In Hawk in the Vale. A celebration to show that sometimes we poor mortals can find heaven here on earth."

June 1816, Sussex

Home. It had been a word without much meaning, but today, with his village en fete for his friend’s wedding, the contact, the bone-deep belonging, was like a cannonball for Major George Hawkinville—

one slamming into earth far too close and knocking the wind out of him.

Following Van and Maria out of the church into the midst of the bouncing, cheering crowd, he felt almost dazed by the familiar—the ancient green ringed by buildings new and old, the row of ramshackle cottages down by the river, the walled and thatched house at the end of the row…

Hawkinville Manor, his personal hell, but now, it would seem, his essential heaven.

“Welcome home, sir!”

He pulled himself together and shook hands with beaming Aaron Hooker. And with the next man, and the next. Soon women were kissing him, not all decorously. Hawk grinned and accepted the kisses.

This was Van’s wedding, but Con was introducing his bride, Susan, here, too. Clearly the villagers were making it into a return festivity for all three of them.

The Georges.

The plaguey imps.

The gallant soldiers.

The heroes.

It wasn’t the time to be wry about that, so he kissed and shook hands and accepted backslaps from men used to slapping oxen. In the end, he caught up to the blushing new bride and the very recent bride, and claimed kisses of his own.

“Hawk,” said Susan Amleigh, Con’s wife, her eyes brilliant, “have I told you how much I love Hawk in the Vale?”

“Once or twice, I think.”

She just laughed at his dry tone. “How lucky you all are to have grown up here. I don’t know how you could bear to leave it.”

Because a tubful of sweet posset could be soured by a spoonful of gall, but Hawk didn’t let his smile twist. He’d been desperate to leave here at sixteen, and didn’t regret it now, but he did regret dragging Van and Con along. Not that he’d have been able to stop them if their families couldn’t. The Georges had always done nearly everything together.

What was done was done—wisdom, of a trite sort— and they’d all survived. Now, in part because of these wonderful women, Con and Van were even happy.

Happy. He rolled that in his mind like a foreign food, uncertain whether it was palatable or not.

Whichever it was, it wasn’t on his plate. He was hardly the type for sweethearts and orange blossoms, and he would bring no one he cared for to share Hawkinville Manor with himself and his father. He had only returned there because the squire was crippled by a seizure.

If only he’d died of it.

He put that aside and let a buxom woman drag him into a country dance. Astonishing to realize that it was shy Elsie Dadswell, Elsie Manktelow now, with three children, a boy and two girls, and no trace of shyness that he could see. She was also clearly well on the way to a new baby.

Somewhat alarmed, he asked if she should be dancing so vigorously, but she laughed, linked arms, and nearly swung him off his feet. He laughed too and ricocheted down the line off strong, working-women’s arms.

His people. His to take care of, even if he had to fight his father to do it. Some of the cottages needed repairs and the riverbank needed work, but prizing money out of the squire’s hands these days was like getting a corpse to release a sword.

A blushing girl missing two front teeth asked him to dance next, so he did, glad to escape mundane concerns. He’d dealt with mass army movements over mountainous terrain, through killing storms. Surely the squire and Hawk in the Vale couldn’t defeat him. He flirted with the girl, disconcerted to discover that she was Will Ashbee’s daughter. Will was only a year older than he was.

Will had spent his life here, growing children and working through the cycles of the seasons. Hawk had lived in the death cycle of war. Marching, waiting, squabbling, fighting, then dealing with the broken and burying the dead.

How many men had he known who were now dead? It was not a tally he wanted to make. God had been good, and he, Van, and Con were all home.

Home.

The fiddles and whistles came to the end of their piece, and he passed his partner to a red-faced lad not much older than she was.

Love. For some it seemed as natural as the birds in spring. Perhaps some birds never quite got the hang of it, either.

He saw that a cricket match had started on the quiet side of the green. That was much less likely to stir maudlin thoughts, so he strolled over to watch and applaud.

The batter said, “Want a go, Major?”

Hawk was about to say no, but then he saw the glow in many eyes. Damnable as it was, he was a hero to most of these people. He and Van and Con were all heroes. They were all veterans, but most important, they had all been at the great battle of Waterloo a year ago.

So he shrugged out of his jacket and gave it to Bill Ashbee—Will’s father—to hold, then went to take the home-carved bat. It was part of his role here to take part. As son of the squire and the future squire himself, he was an important part of village life.

He wished he weren’t their hero, however. Two years after taking up a cornetcy in the cavalry, he’d been seconded to the Quartermaster General’s Department, and thus most of his war had been spent out of active fighting. The heroes were the men like Con and Van, who’d breathed the enemy’s breath and waded through blood. Or even Lord Darius Debenham, Con’s friend and an enthusiastic volunteer at Waterloo who’d died there.

But he was the major, while Con and Van had made only captain, and he knew the Duke of Wellington.

Rather better than he’d wanted to at times. He took the bat and faced the bowler, who looked to be about fourteen and admirably determined to bowl him out if he could. Hawk hoped he could.

The first bowl went wide, but Hawk leaned forward and stopped it so it bumped across the rough grass into a fielder’s hands. He’d played plenty of cricket during the lazy times in the army. Surely he could manage this so as to please everyone.

He hit another ball a bit harder to make one run, leaving the other batter up. The bowler bowled that man out. Disconcerting not to be able to put a name to him. After a little while, Hawk was facing the determined bowler again, and this time the ball hurtled straight for the wicket. A slight twist of the bat allowed the ball to knock the bails flying, raising a great cheer from the onlookers and a mighty whoop of triumph from the young bowler.

Hawk grinned and went over to slap him on the back, then retrieved his coat.

Ashbee helped him on with it, but then stepped back with him out of the group around the game. “How’s the squire today, sir?”

“Improving. He’s out watching the festivities from a chair near the manor.”