Valor Under Siege (The Honorables) (16 page)

Although, he thought ruefully as he unpinned the mocking orange ribbon from his lapel, kissing one’s way to victory was a deuced clever plan.

The hustings was festooned with flowers and ribbons enough to make a maypole envious. Elsa stood on the platform beside Oliver, overlooking the picnic she and her brigade of lady volunteers had organized for the community. There were games and footraces, music and dancing, and plenty of prizes, food, and drink to go around. Some of Elsa’s tame concoctions filled the punch bowls.

Oliver had protested that there must be beer, as well, and several of the women echoed his opinion. Elsa had relented at last, but ensured the beer table was behind the hustings, so she could avoid looking at it. Just knowing Mr. Denny from the Rabbit’s Glen was right behind her, pulling pints for anyone with a thirst for it, made her throat dry.

“Come on,” she said to her cousin, “you have to mingle.”

He exhaled a weary sigh. “What’s the use? I’ll only be asked what I mean to do about excise taxes, or where I fall on land reform, or would I please make a statement regarding prisoners’ rights. Did you ever hear such a thing, Elsa? Prisoners’ rights!”

She gave him a nudge and led him to the stairs. Oliver plodded behind and continued grousing. “Everywhere I go, it’s
issues
and
matters
. Wynford-Scott has gone and turned this contest bloody
political
.”

Elsa ducked her head and smiled. Over the last weeks, Norman had proven himself a formidable opponent and a fine candidate. Not only was he well versed on the issues facing the nation at large, he had thrown himself into the task of getting to know Fleck and what needs faced the community. Nothing was too small for Norman. Besides retrieving the ditched plow, he had fetched eggs out from under Widow Gordon’s ornery hen, dragged a heavy felled limb from the vicar’s garden, and retrieved a toy—one of the Fay’s wooden soldiers, no less—from the well where a boy had dropped it, earning Norman the hero worship of at least one seven-year-old constituent. Were Elsa not committed to her cousin and to the cause of regaining her own political life, she would have been proud to campaign on behalf of such an outstanding prospective member of Parliament.

And her opinion was in no way colored, she assured herself, by the kiss that plagued her dreams, even more so than her memories of that darkly passionate night they’d shared on the road. The way her blood sang in reply to his kiss on the Talwins’ doorstep had been the response of her while completely sober and in full control of her faculties. She longed for him still, wished she could experience the pleasure of his touch without either the specter of her drunkenness or the obstacle of the election standing between them. Perhaps, when this was over ...

“Relax, Cousin,” she admonished a grimacing Oliver, who was tugging at the stiff collar of his new orange waistcoat. “Enjoy yourself. There’s only ten days remaining to the election, and then this will all be over and you’ll have your seat.”

The look he shot her silently begged to differ. “I’ve a feeling my troubles will only have just begun once we’re in London. With you serving as my hostess, I’ll never see the end of your managing.”

Ignoring Oliver’s complaints—men could be
such
grumblers—she smiled brightly to the man approaching her. “Mr. Gregory! How good of you to come. You remember Mr. Fay, of course?” Soon, the familiar pattern of hostessing took her mind from Oliver’s doubts and soothed her anxiety over the alcohol so close to hand. There were men to charm and ladies to befriend, and Elsa did so with ease, moving from guest to guest as she had done in London for Harvey.

The sun was halfway toward the horizon when the festivities began to disperse. Elsa called good-bye to happy electors and their delighted families. Oliver was once more at her side, and at least put on a show of cheer, even if he did not feel it.

“Oh, such fun!” came a woman’s voice from behind her. Elsa turned to find Laura casting a glum look around the remains of the picnic. “It’s not fair that I had to miss out on such a lovely time, just because my husband supports the opposing candidate.”

Elsa chuckled at Laura’s pout. “As if you aren’t having fun of your own? Or did I simply overlook my invitation to the dinner party you held on Mr. Wynford-Scott’s behalf? By all accounts, it was a spectacular affair. Live fish in bowls of floating blossoms, I heard.”

Laura slanted a wry smile. “Point made and taken. Still, I wish you could have been there, and most especially, I wish I could have consulted you on the menu. Oh, I agonized over it for hours!”

Oliver turned away from a departing guest and addressed the newcomer. “Lady Beaufort, good afternoon.”

“Hello, Mr. Fay. Won’t we all be happy when this season of election fever has passed? I declare, I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.”

“Indeed,” Oliver agreed, “there is a special fatigue that comes with campaigning for which I was entirely unprepared. Confound it!” he suddenly blurted. “What are they about? This is my damned picnic.” Shooting a glower at Laura, Oliver took off at a brisk stride.

Spinning about, Elsa saw that Sir Seymour stood on the edge of the green, greeting villagers as they left. A small group waving blue flags stood behind him, and the church pianist was gathering up children and directing them in an impromptu sing-along of “God Save the King.”

“Laura!” Elsa cried in dismay. “How could you?”

Her friend shrugged helplessly. “It wasn’t my idea, Elsa, I swear. I only arranged for the music and ordered flowers for the nosegays.”

Sure enough, two cherubic-faced little girls armed with baskets of flowers were handing out nosegays of blue flowers.

Norman stood on the edge of the gathering, back turned to the crowd, his head bent in conference with Mr. Alderly.

“Upstage my picnic, will you?” Elsa fumed. Lifting her skirts, she marched across the green, hot on her cousin’s heels, determined to give that Whig scoundrel a piece of her mind. And not a nice piece, either.

Oliver already had Sir Seymour in hand. Though Elsa could not hear his words, Oliver’s sharp gestures and flushed face indicated the direction of that conversation.

“Here miss!” One of the little girls stepped in front of Elsa, proffering a little bouquet of cornflowers and baby’s breath tied up in a blue ribbon. “A gift for you from the party of reform,” the child recited. “Please ’member to support Mister Wyn ...” Her nose screwed up in concentration. “Mister Wynford-Shlot.”

“Close enough, darling. Thank you.” Elsa took the flowers from the beaming child and clenched them in a tight fist, her eyes narrowed on the giant man’s back. Clubbing him over the head with the flowers wouldn’t do any harm, but it would be
so
satisfying to watch them erupt all over his stupid, sneaky face.

She heard the low rumble of his voice, and he was making agitated gestures of his own, seemingly oblivious to the fracas erupting behind him.

Elsa stopped, practically standing on Norman’s heels. The second he turned around, he’d have a face full of botanical ire.

“Calm down,” Alderly said, placing a hand on Norman’s arm. “No one knows about our screening. And as I’ve told you, as soon as the election is behind you, there’s no reason to think it will ever come up.”

Hissing sharply, Elsa staggered back as if struck. Directly into Oliver. “Steady on,” her cousin said in a low voice, “just let me get my hands on—”

Panic surged in Elsa’s middle. “No.” She grasped Oliver’s arm and pulled, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here. “Leave it, Oliver, please.”

A phlegmy sound of disgust rattled in his throat. “What? We cannot let them get away with this!”

Get away
, her mind echoed. The thought had great appeal. Her nape crawled. Had Norman turned around and seen her? She couldn’t look.

Screened.

“Do as you will,” she said tightly. “I have to ... Mrs. Hewett needs help with the punch bowls. Excuse me.”

Bunching her skirts in one fist, she hurried across the green, then darted down the street that would carry her home. Air rasped through her tight throat as Alderly’s words whirled through her mind.

Screening
. It was a form of punishment at the Inns of Court, she knew from her past political associations with barristers and judges. It was held in reserve for transgressions that warranted severe censure, but fell shy of expulsion or disbarment.

There was only one thing over which Norman could have possibly been screened: the Christmas revels. He’d been sent away from the Inn because of her, because of her stupid drunken shenanigans. A sobbing gasp tore from her chest, and hot tears splashed on her cheek.

Now she knew why he’d come to Fleck and why he wanted so badly to defeat her.

• • •

She was sitting on a stool by the door when the knock came. Though she’d expected it, the shuddering of the door in its frame startled her from the stupor in which she’d passed the late afternoon.

When Norman saw her, the smile slid from his face, to be replaced by an expression of concern. “Elsa? What’s happened? I came as soon as I could. Your note didn’t say ...”

His words faded, overcome by an expectant silence.

Elsa stepped back. “Thank you for coming, Norman. Please, come in.”

He removed his hat and ducked his head to enter her house.
How often must he do that
, she mused,
bend to fit in a world not built for a man of his size?

She led him into her parlor, where a pitcher of her chilled strawberry tea awaited. As she poured the drinks, she asked, “Do you mind being so tall? I imagine it must be a nuisance.”

“It is, at times. Thank you,” he said as he accepted his glass. He took a sip. “That’s good!”

“Made it myself,” she said, sitting beside him on the settee. “After I stopped drinking, I became creative with nonintoxicating liquids.” Despite her distress from the day’s revelation, she experienced a thrill at being able to speak so freely. To whom else would she have dared utter the words
after I stopped drinking
...?

Looking down at the glass cupped between his palms, he smiled. “Good for you, Elsa. That’s a brilliant idea.”

She shrugged, uncomfortable with his praise. How could he speak so kindly when she’d wronged him so?

“The worst part about being my size,” he said after a moment’s pause, “is that I worry about inadvertently causing injury to others. Just before coming here, I nearly elbowed Sir Seymour’s footman in the face when the poor man helped me into my coat.”

A sad smile curved her lips. She was the one who had caused inadvertent harm. “I don’t think you could hurt another person even if you wanted to, Norman. You’re so considerate, always watching where you step—”

“Because I trampled countless toes when I had my growth spurt.”

“... begging your pardon for no reason other than standing in the open air the same as everyone else. You even apologize to that spoiled beast you call a horse for having to carry you. Speaking of ...” She glanced out the window to the empty drive.

“I left Apple in Beaufort’s stable,” he said, chagrined. “It was only a mile and a half. But I’ll have you know”—he wagged a finger—“I am capable of hurting someone when I want to. Struck a man for the first time not long ago.”

“Really?” Leaning back, Elsa crossed her legs. “I am all astonishment. You must share the tale.”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, the muscle rolling beneath the brown superfine of his coat. “It was some fool at Gray’s. He,
um
... he slandered a lady’s honor.” Norman did not meet her gaze, instead casting his eyes at the portrait of Elsa’s deceased parents that hung above the mantel.

Her heart sank. “It was me, wasn’t it?” she asked. “The night of the Christmas revels.”

He nodded.

Elsa drew a shuddering breath. “Norman, were you punished for what transpired that night? Were you screened?”

He froze, his eyes wide. After a moment, his gaze dropped. He rolled his glass between his palms, his jaw clenched. When he glanced at her, his eyes were shuttered. “Yes.”
“For how long?”

“Two years.”

Elsa nodded slowly, absorbing this intelligence. Two years. His life had been arrested two years, because of her. He should have been called to the bar by now; instead of launching his career as an advocate, he’d been forced to find another living.

“I don’t know ...” she started, but her voice was thick with unshed tears. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I don’t know how to apologize for what I’ve done, Norman, but you can have those inadequate words: I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I did that night. You worked so hard to get to where you were, and I wrecked it. I ruined everything for you.”

“Elsa ...” Norman took her glass and set both on a table. His knuckle slipped along her jaw and tipped up her chin. He regarded her with warmth and a bit of exasperation, but he said no more, simply reached for her hands. Her fingers were dwarfed by his; the comfort of his firm grip gave her the courage to go on.

“I will go to London straightaway and speak to the benchers.” Her breath hitched on a cry. “They should know that none of what transpired was your fault. It was I who brought that flammable whiskey, and it was I who got so drunk on it that I became thoughtless and started the fire. Your only transgression was inviting me to participate.”

Her lips quivered, and tears ran freely from her eyes. Elsa lowered her face, her eyes on where their hands were joined together, expecting every second that he would take his away.

But he didn’t.

“Are you still trying to get me to abandon this contest?”

She breathed a watery laugh. “Of course. Is it working?”

“Elsa, why are you so sad?” he asked.

His voice held such compassion, she could scarcely stand it. Why could he not stomp about and yell and tell her what a wretch she was, as she so richly deserved? “Because, no ...” she gasped, “no matter what I do, that night keeps haunting me. The consequences of my abominable behavior never seem to end. Bad enough I nearly ruined my own health with my drinking, but I ruined your life, too. You! The gentlest, best soul there ever was. And I—I hate myself for it, Norman, I do. I had thought I’d put this all behind me, moved beyond that night, but I haven’t. That was arrogance on my part, I suppose, to think I wouldn’t have more to answer for.”