Captain of Her Heart

Chapter Eight

The cold, sharp edge of a razor blade scraped across Brookes’s chin. He willed himself to stay still and completely in the present, not allowing the feeling of steel on flesh to carry him back to the terrible night at Waterloo. Stoames squinted at him with a critical air, running the blade slightly over to the left. Wiping the blade on a towel, he paused. “You’ll have to pull your lips down, Captain, so as I can get the bit under your nose.”

Brookes pulled a face, twisting his lips down to lengthen the spot between his nose and mouth. Giving his skin a final swift swipe, Stoames stepped back. “Hot towel, Captain.”

Brookes pressed the steaming cloth to his face, inhaling the clean scent of shaving soap and fresh linen. He dabbed at the bits of lather that still clung to his face, and rubbed the linen hard against his skin for good measure. “Shaving is such a nuisance. Perhaps I should be like the men in the field, and grow a beard.”

“What’s practical in the field isn’t fashionable in the ballroom,” Stoames replied with mock sincerity. “Are you ready for your evening dress?”

“Yes, and I can put it on myself. I don’t need your assistance with tying my cravat, either. I don’t want the points so high they choke me or make it impossible to turn my head.”

“I’m hardly making you into a dandy. But will you need anything else from me at the moment?”

“Yes. There’s a jewel case in my study. Top drawer of my desk. Fetch it for me, there’s a good man.”

Stoames bowed and left. Brookes strode over to the bed, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in his immaculate suit, which was laid out across the counterpane. From the moment he’d regained strength enough to stand, Brookes had insisted on dressing himself. No one, not even his faithful batman, helped him struggle to ease his trousers over his wooden leg. By the time Stoames returned, bearing a leather case, Brookes stood at the looking glass, tying his cravat.

Stoames handed the blue leather-bound box to Brookes, his lips turned down in disapproval. “What’s in there?”

“Mother’s jewels. The sapphires and diamonds.” Brookes snapped open the case. Candlelight refracted off the precious stones, dazzling his eyes.

“Why are you getting them out now?”

“Don’t get yourself in a swither. I’m looking them over, contemplating how they will look on Miss Sophie. Here’s what I need.” Reaching down inside the case, he dug out a ring—a large, winking sapphire surrounded by glittering small diamonds, a perfect match to the necklace and pair of bracelets the case also contained.

Stoames sniffed loudly. “Sapphires don’t suit blondes.”

Brookes laughed, regarding the batman with genuine interest. “Oh, no? What does suit blondes?”

“I can’t say as I know. Pearls maybe. But I do think that sapphires look particularly striking on brunettes.”

“Mother didn’t have a pearl ring.”

“Maybe you should go to town and buy one. The journey might give you a chance to clear your mind,” Stoames retorted with a gleam in his eye.

“I’m not going to propose to her tonight, not that it’s any of your business.” Brookes slipped the ring into his vest pocket. “But I need to be prepared. I must make my intentions known, and the sooner the better. We’ll dance together at the ball. Perhaps it will rekindle old feelings. And by tomorrow, I may be asking for her hand.”

Stoames snorted. “Fools rush in, Captain. Fools rush in.”

The little lantern bobbed along in the deepening dusk, casting a gentle circle of light ahead of the Handley party as they walked toward the village hall. A gentle breeze ruffled Harriet’s silken skirts, and she pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders for warmth. One could hardly tell that her gown of robin’s-egg blue enjoyed a previous existence as an elaborate court dress for Mama. Sophie removed the train and stripped off most of the faded trimmings, revealing its simple yet elegant lines. Harriet had teased her sister about the process, which occupied many weeks the past winter. So many practical chores demanded their time, such as new curtains for the parlor, and a new dress was a waste of time. But now, gratitude flowed through Harriet for her sister’s handiwork.

“Sophie, you’ve outdone yourself this evening.” Harriet beamed at her sister, resplendent in reembroidered jade velvet, in the dusky twilight.

“Thank you, Hattie,” Sophie replied. “Doesn’t Mama look lovely?”

“Beautiful.” Harriet ran her eyes over her mother’s rosy gown, which set off the fading gold of her hair. Reaching out, she squeezed her mother’s hand.

Mama squeezed back, but in the fading light, Harriet noticed her face growing pale. “Mama, are you going to be all right?”

“I make no promises. I shall endeavor for us to stay past supper, but if I feel my nerves coming on, I shall need to go home.”

“Of course, Mama.” Harriet loosened her mother’s grip. They had reached the edge of the village. The Village Hall twinkled up ahead, lit with a thousand candles and torches. Harriet’s heart beat fast in anticipation.

She had not attended a dance since her London season. And really, those balls were never very much fun. She hated being a wallflower and always disappointed Mama, so pleasure was impossible. Refreshed in spirit after her brief discussion with Reverend Kirk, Harriet cast off the previous year of penury and grief like an ill-fitting cloak. That was the reason, and nothing more.

Carriages, horses and villagers in their country best packed the green in front of the village hall. Harriet clasped her gloved hands together. How delightful to be part of the milling crowd, especially after all those months of being shut up in the cottage. Not that she minded taking care of Mama, of course. Harriet snuck a glance at her mother. Mama’s face wore a drawn expression, as though she had tied a ribbon too tightly at the base of her neck. Harriet linked her arm through her mother’s. “Come, Mama, we shall find a place for you to sit and watch the dancers.”

The ladies handed off their wraps and stood briefly in the vestibule. The bright lights and crush of people dazzled Harriet, and she lost her bearings. She had to find Mama a comfortable place to sit. She peered around the room, her mouth going dry as panic set in. Relief flooded through her when she spied a clutch of dowagers in black, fanning themselves in a corner of the ballroom. She took her mother’s elbow, steering her toward the women.

One of the women rose, spying Harriet and her mother. “Lady Handley!” she effused. “Do come and sit with me.”

Harriet breathed a sigh of relief. She recognized the woman as Lady Reese, one of the gentry who had a home in nearby Lumsdale. Harriet blinked. Lady Reese did not seem as concerned about Lady Handley’s reduced status as her peers in Matlock Bath had done. Harriet shot her a grateful glance.

Lady Reese beamed in return, and linked her arm through Mama’s, guiding her over to a little wooden chair. Straightening her gloves, Harriet looked around for Sophie, whom she had lost in the crush of guests. Two women, one wearing a dancing ostrich feather, parted in front of Harriet. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth dropping open as she stared straight ahead.

Sophie was gazing up in wonder at a tall soldier in uniform, smiling frankly and openly. He smiled down at her carelessly, the smile quirking the corners of his mouth. They stood much too close together. Though they were ringed on all sides by a milling group of guests, they were apart from the crowd, as though covered by a bell of silence. Harriet gave her head an impatient shake. She needed to break through that spell.

“Sophie!” she called, starting forward. “I thought I had lost you.”

“Come, Hattie, I want you to meet someone.” Sophie smiled up at the young soldier dreamily.

He held out his hand. “Lieutenant James Marable, at your service.”

Harriet bobbed a brief curtsy. “How do you do, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.” He smiled down at Sophie meaningfully. She blushed and dropped her gaze.

Dangerous territory indeed. What if Captain Brookes walked in at this very moment? She tugged impatiently at her sister’s arm.

“If you will excuse us, Lieutenant, my mother wishes to speak to my sister.”

“Of course.” He bowed low. “Miss Sophie, may I claim you for the next dance?”

“You may.” Sophie dropped a little curtsy. “Until then?”

He smiled, flashing brilliant teeth, and moved away.

“Whatever is the matter?” Sophie huffed, her brows drawn together in annoyance.

“You were standing entirely too close to Lieutenant Marable. What if Captain Brookes had seen you?”

Sophie shrugged her shoulders, refusing to reply.

Harriet sighed. “Promise me one thing. Be courteous to the captain tonight. Do not provoke him to anger by flirting with another man.”

“I won’t provoke anyone. I want to enjoy myself.”

“Do not enjoy yourself at Captain Brookes’s expense.” Exasperation surged through Harriet. How dare Sophie toy with the emotions of a good man?

Sophie flinched. “I will not deliberately hurt him.”

The lively little orchestra struck up the next dance, a cotillion, and Harriet watched Sophie glide off toward the dance floor with Lieutenant Marable. Her high spirits evaporated like a puff of smoke. Embarrassment at being left alone rooted her to the spot. Her blue gown was too noticeable. She must look ridiculous. What was the phrase? Mutton dressed as lamb? Harriet’s face heated and little drops of perspiration pricked the roots of her hair. Perhaps she should find a comfortable spot to wedge herself, where she could stay unnoticed. After all, she perfected the art of being a wallflower during her London season.

“Miss Harriet?” A pleasant voice rumbled, bringing a smile to Harriet’s face.

“Captain Brookes.” She sighed with relief, turning to face him. He held two glasses in his hand and extended one to her with a smile.

“Would you care to sit down?” He motioned away from the dance floor with a brief nod of his head.

“Most definitely.” She wove her way through the throngs of people, spying two empty chairs along the wall. She sank down in one, patting the seat of the other with her gloved hand.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He sat beside her, taking a long draft of his drink.

“To be honest, Captain, no, I am not.” She took a tiny sip of her punch, allowing it to flow through her body, restoring her spirit.

“Why not?” He turned to face her squarely, cocking one eyebrow.

“Balls are not my favorite pastime, I’m afraid.” She took another refreshing taste. “Even during my London season, I never enjoyed attending one.” She cast a worried look over the dancers. Would Brookes spy Sophie in the cotillion with his ghost?

“I have not attended a ball since Waterloo,” he commiserated. “The Duchess of Richmond hosted one the night before the battle.”

“Before the battle!” Harriet echoed, caught off guard. “That seems a rather frivolous occupation before entering the fray.”

“It was.” He took another drink of his wine. “In the midst of the general merrymaking, we learned Bonaparte had crossed the frontier.”

“What did you do?” Harriet leaned toward him.

“Wellington and the Duke of Richmond shut themselves up in a dressing room, strategizing. Then Wellington decided we would attack on the morrow. I left when I got word so I had time to make my men ready.”

“Of course,” Harriet replied, gently urging him to keep talking.

“But many of the men elected to stay until dawn. They didn’t have time to change clothes, and fought in evening dress. The strangest thing of all was that, of all the men who danced that night, I reckon half were dead or wounded by the next evening. I was one of the lucky ones.”

His matter-of-fact voice cut her deeply. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her, surprise opening his gray-green eyes wide. “Why are you sorry? That is a soldier’s lot in life.”

Harriet shook her head. “It seems a terrible waste, is all.” Her voice sounded so thick she hardly recognized it.

“No tears at a ball.” He took the glass from her hands. “I apologize for bringing the matter up at all. It seems strange to me, that this is the first ball I have attended since that fateful night.”

She swallowed and nodded her head.

“Would you like more punch? I might take another glass of wine myself.” He stood up, looking down at her expectantly.

“Yes, if you please.”

In his absence, she struggled to regain her composure. Flicking a glance over the crowded ballroom, she spotted Sophie, still dancing with Lieutenant Marable. A flash of anger suffused her, leaving her breathless. Did her petulant sister, so young and so headstrong, deserve a man like Captain Brookes?

Brookes strode across the ballroom, balancing the two drinks carefully while he navigated the throng. He halted in his tracks, staring at the dance floor. Ah, he had seen Sophie dancing merrily with someone else. Harriet could not turn away.

Brookes stared at the couple a moment longer. His head swiveled toward Harriet, his green eyes locking with her gaze. An inscrutable expression crossed his face. Then he vanished. Harriet peered around sharply. She could no longer pick out his broad shoulders in the crowd. She cast her eyes down, studying her blue kid slippers with intensity. Where he went was no concern of hers, was it? Perhaps he found a pretty dancing partner to incite Sophie’s jealousy.

Two very masculine feet shod in black leather appeared next to hers. She raised her head, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Miss Harriet.” Captain Brookes cleared his throat. He started again, speaking in an even tone, “Would you do me the honor of reserving the next dance for me?”

Chapter Nine

Brookes stood before Harriet, extending his hand. She cast her azure eyes up to him, and he willed his countenance to remain impassive. He refused to allow Harriet to read into his soul and discover his inner turmoil. Seeing Sophie with another man—a man who could have been him a few years ago—fired Brookes with an overwhelming urge to prove himself. His heart thumped painfully in his chest. Could he manage a dance? Riding a horse never troubled him but the hops and skips of a country dance presented a challenge that set his heart racing and his palms sweating. Hedging his bets, he requested a minuet of the orchestra. ’Twas the slowest dance in his recollection.

Time ceased to move. Only Harriet would break the spell. After an eternity, she slipped her hand into his, rising gracefully from the chair. “I would be honored, Captain.” Her touch, even through their gloved hands, sent tingles up his arm. He breathed deeply of her violet scent, willing himself to remain steady and composed.

They wound their way through the press of the crowd to the cleared area in the middle of the room. “A minuet, if you please, ladies and gentlemen,” cried the village shopkeeper, the impromptu master of ceremonies. Interest surged through the crowd of onlookers, and several of the younger couples began clearing the floor. “A minuet? How very old-fashioned.” One young lady laughed, swishing past Brookes on the arm of her partner. Yet Brookes noted with pleasure that some of the older couples, who had not been dancing, stood up. Taking their places on the floor, the faces of the couples reflected surprise and excitement.

The orchestra struck up a few stately opening bars. Brookes stood still, listening for a moment. Like the fifes and drums calling his men to standards, the delicate strains infused Brookes with a sense of purpose.

Brookes steered Harriet beside that mirror image of his youth who had claimed Sophie for the cotillion. Obviously they were proceeding with the old-fashioned minuet. Their second dance together. The young pup had serious intentions, did he? Bowing, Brookes moved to stand next to Sophie.

“Captain Brookes, allow me to present Lieutenant Marable.” Harriet indicated the young man with a wave of her gloved arm. He bowed low, and the lieutenant returned the salute.

“Captain Brookes, sir. I’ve heard tales of your sport at Waterloo.” Marable regarded him with something like awe. His openmouthed gaze sent a frisson of discomfort down Brookes’s spine.

“Have you, now?” Brookes turned and bowed to Sophie, who returned the honors. Facing Harriet, he made his salute. She curtsied, but kept her eyes trained on his face. She nodded, inclining her head ever so slightly. Her encouragement sent strength surging through his body.

“Oh, yes. The tales of your cavalry charge fill the men of my battalion with admiration.” Marable turned and honored Harriet, then Sophie.

Would that young idiot shut his trap? Honestly, ’twas enough to try a man’s patience. “Indeed.” Brookes took Sophie’s hands, leading her around to one side. He bowed to her, and she responded with a deep curtsy. He stepped gingerly at first, unsure if his leg would follow his commands. He shifted his weight slowly to the ball of his foot, then back to his heel, rising and falling in time with the music. He breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be going well. Time to engage in battle.

He reached out, taking Sophie’s hands. They slid a few paces to the left, and he drew her slightly closer. “This reminds me of a ball some three years ago.” He squeezed her hands, willing her to understand. He was the same wild lad as before he left for the peninsula, despite the outward changes she saw. Wasn’t he?

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.