Page 20 of The Soldier
“You have not forgotten those sieges and it shows,” his companion said. “In your eyes there are shadows. But that is a price soldiers pay, is it not? And for that price, you have the knowledge all the squires and dames in their tidy little churches can continue to exercise their ignorance and pettiness in safety.”
He paced off, turning his back to her. She had a way of exposing wounds with her gentle tone and soft words, wounds he didn’t realize were still so close to the surface.
“I am sorry.” She took his hand in her own and squeezed his fingers. “I did not mean to make your sacrifice sound meaningless, but I comprehend it can feel unappreciated.” He glanced down at their joined hands then raised her bare knuckles to his lips and kissed her hand before replacing it on his arm.
“You are a dangerous woman, Miss Farnum. I have wondered for two years why I continue to be so easily provoked at odd moments. Why the sight of a mother shaming a boy for wetting his trousers, or the image of a former soldier without his legs turned beggar should send me into a towering rage. I think you have just provided part of the explanation.”
“Those things should make us angry, but there must be a balance, I think, such that the sight of a child like Winnie, safe and happy on her own turf, can restore a little of your peace, as well.”
“You echo the sentiments of the only physician with whom I’ve broached the matter,” the earl said, leading the lady from the stables toward a particularly grand oak. “He said one doesn’t cure eight years of war with a few months of peace, not for a nation and not for a soldier.”
“Would that countries had physicians. I take it you enjoy Bronwyn? She hasn’t become a nuisance and worn her welcome thin?”
“I enjoy her,” the earl said, more than willing to let the topic shift now. “I’ve always been the son of a duke, so a certain amount of social deference has always been my experience. Having this silly little earldom conferred upon me has meant that, instead of most people toadying to me, now everybody does. I do not enjoy it, and little Winnie is a refreshing change.”
“But you enjoyed having rank in the military.”
“I did not particularly.” He was certain of this much. “If I wanted to be of sufficient consequence to be stationed more or less in my brother’s vicinity, then I needed a commission.”
“And that’s why you went, isn’t it?” Miss Farnum’s smile was sad as a little grumble of thunder sounded off in the distance. “You didn’t go out of a burning desire to defeat the Corsican, you went to protect your brother, and you were successful in protecting him from every hazard save himself.”
“Just so, Miss Farnum.” He glanced at the sky then bowed slightly. Unease was sweeping up from his innards, though whether it was due to the approaching storm or the lady’s keen insight, he could not say. “If you will excuse me, Lord Amery will be wondering at my whereabouts. My thanks for your company, and I will expect to see you tomorrow at some point.”
***
“I want to write to Rose.” Winnie announced her intention as she bounced into the library near midnight, pleased to find the earl was up, too, and sitting at the desk in his shirtsleeves.
“Good evening, Miss Winnie.” St. Just took off a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and eyed her balefully. “Has no one told you to knock?”
“It’s late,” Winnie pointed out, her nightdress flapping in the breeze coming in through the window. “The house is dark, and I did not think anybody was in here.”
“So you’ve come to find writing implements?” He frowned, glancing at the clock.
“I was going to go see the horses first. The front door creaks, and the kitchen door is usually locked, but if I leave these doors unlocked, I can get back in.”
“Your talent for reconnaissance is impressive. Well, come here.”
“Am I to get a lecture?” Winnie cautiously approached the big desk, only to find herself scooped up and deposited in the earl’s lap.
“I am supposed to write to Rose, too,” he said, “but I didn’t know what to say. Have you any suggestions?”
Winnie settled on his knees, deciding she liked this perspective. In all her varied life, she’d never sat in the lap of an adult male whom she actually liked, and she rather thought there were things to recommend about it. She felt safe, for one thing. Safe and protected, and better, she felt powerful, just like when she was up on old Roddy’s back. The earl smelled good, for another, like meadows and flowers and security. And he was warm and comfortable, at least compared to a tree limb.
“So what would you like to write?” he prompted, setting paper, pen, and ink before her. He reached his long arms around her to do this, and Winnie noticed he’d turned his sleeves back, leaving his forearms revealed for her inspection.
“Your arms are hairy. We should write, Dear Rose.”
“Is this your letter or mine?” the earl asked, glancing at his forearms.
“Mine. Dear Rose. My name is Winnie, and I live at Rosecroft. Your papa is visiting, but I would like to borrow him while he is here.”
“Slow down,” the earl growled, setting pen to paper. “You want to borrow Douglas?”
“Your papa is nice,” Winnie went on. “I would give him back when he leaves. I did not ask him, because he isyourpapa. I do not have a pony, but if I did, I would let you make him a knight. Sincerely, Bronwyn Farnum.”
The earl finished writing, sanded the page, and sat back to arrange Winnie crosswise on his lap, which let her see his face.
“You are jealous of my niece?” he asked, frowning.
