Page 2 of The Damsel
Baron Stanley could, in fact, so he thanked the Lord that this heavenly-looking creature had not been female. Otherwise, he would drive himself mad worrying over the attentions of men.
“Well?” he prodded, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching out toward the boy. “What shall we name this one?”
He smiled, placing his finger in the babe’s palm, never growing tired of that first clench of a baby’s hand around it. This delighted him now just as much as it had the first time William had done it.
“I thought we could name him for my father,” the baroness replied.
“Robert. I like that.”
“Very well then. Robert Nathaniel Stanley.”
FOR TWELVE YEARSfollowing Robert's birth, all was well in the world of the baron and his family. From the cradle to the schoolroom, then off to Eton, the Stanley boys grew by leaps and bounds. William was the sensible one, being the eldest and the heir. Because of this, the other three could almost always be found in his wake, dancing to his tune and doing whatever he commanded. Jonas proved the most mischievous of the four, vexing those around him with pranks, sly jokes, and—as he got older—crass innuendo. Being the spare and resident troublemaker of the family made him the most likely to butt heads with William. The two argued incessantly, but would come to each other’s aid should an outsider think to do or say something untoward. Andrew was the studious sort—always reading and asking questions. When he did not indulge in these pastimes, he often sat staring off into thin air, as if seeing things no one else could.
“He’ll be a great philosopher someday, wait and see,” the baroness would say.
“Or a clergyman,” the baron would add.
And then, there was Robert—everyone’s favorite Stanley boy. Oh, no onetriedto show him favor over his brothers. It just so happened that the youngest of the brood also happened to be the sort of boy everyone liked. Sunny, cheerful, and so pretty he could make angels weep, he had none of William’s arrogance, or Jonas’ devilishness, or Andrew’s brooding. If one tried to understand the purpose of Robert in the midst of four very different brothers, one might assume it was to provide a much-needed balance. He was patient with bossy William, laughed at Jonas while everyone else was shaking their heads, and made an effort to show interest in whatever had Andrew’s attention at the moment.
The servants doted on him, his parents adored him, and his brothers often envied one another his company.
“He will marry well,” his father predicted. “With a face like that, and such a personality, he’ll have the wealthiest heiresses in London vying for his attention.”
Lady Stanley agreed that he would have his pick of the litter while searching for a wife, though secretly believed no woman could ever be good enough for her Robert. He was too good and pure for any of those snooty debutantes and their scheming mamas.
Robert was made for the glittering ballrooms of London, for wealth and status and adoration. His birth order might have put him on the fringes of London high society, but he would not remain there, his looks and charm sure to propel him into the highest of social circles.
With all this cemented in the minds of the baron and baroness, life went on as it should for some time. The boys grew and changed, approaching adulthood at the breakneck speed typical of children. It proved an idyllic life, one in which the Stanleys raised their boys in the country alongside neighbors with children of an age with theirs.
Outside the schoolroom, or on school holidays, the boys spent their time romping the land surrounding their small estate, getting into all manner of mischief and making most of the years before they’d be forced to think of adult matters.
All that changed in the winter of 1798, when Andrew Stanley fell suddenly ill. William and Jonas had come home from school for Christmas, which had been quite exciting for the younger two, for they had yet to leave for Eton and were always keen to hear the elder boys’ stories of life away from home. In the weeks prior, Andrew had fallen into sudden sneezing fits that seemed of no consequence at the onset. By Christmas Eve, he had taken to his bed with a fever and complaints of a sore throat. By the New Year, he’d grown delirious from the fever, and the sound of his labored breathing could be heard halfway down the corridor. And on a particularly frigid January day, Andrew ceased breathing altogether, choking and gurgling as his mother sobbed in the baron's arms. There had been nothing the physician could do. Within minutes he was gone, his face drained of all color, his lips a grotesque shade of purple.
To say that Andrew’s loss had come as a shock to the entire family would be an understatement. Lady Stanley was especially distraught, unable to fathom how she'd been blessed with four healthy sons, only for one to be suddenly taken from her by a mysterious ailment. The inevitable departure of William and Jonas as they returned to school cast a heavy blanket of grief over the entire house, which felt even emptier without Andrew. This proved an especially difficult time for Robert, who now had no companion at home with his elder brothers away at school.
But the baroness had an even harder time of it, weeping without provocation and lying in Andrew’s bed, clinging to his pillow because she claimed it still smelled like him.
When he was not with his governess, Robert did whatever he could to cheer her up, as was his nature. He could never abide standing back to watch someone suffer if there was anything he could do about it. So, each day, he put forth an effort to make his mother smile—bringing her bouquets of wildflowers he had picked, taking tea with her even though he detested tea and hated how she fussed over his clothes and hair, singing to her when she seemed sad, because she’d always told him he had a lovely voice. On the days when grief would not allow her to leave her bed, he would sneak into her room and climb under the coverlet, holding her hand and pretending that seeing her weep did not bother him. He would go off on his own to cry when seized with the urge, for he had learned that to see him weep only made her grieve all the harder.
“You are my dear, sweet, boy, Robert,” she would say. “Mama does not know what she would do without you.”
In time, things returned to normal—or, as close to normal as could be with the gaping hole left by Andrew’s loss. William and Jonas returned home at holidays. Then, William completed his education at Eton with plans to go off to Oxford. A year after that, Jonas’ eighteenth birthday marked a drastic change. Instead of following William to university, he wished to join the Royal Navy. The baron had been thrilled with such a development, and had begun spreading the word that his son was soon to be a navy man.
They sent him off with a farewell dinner, inviting many neighbors and friends to celebrate the occasion. William had been home for it, of course. It would turn out to be the last time the Stanley family as they knew it would all be together this way again.
Robert could remember exactly where he was and what he’d been doing on the day that death, once again, saw fit to visit the Stanley family.
He’d just returned from a romp through the woods with the young girl who lived on the neighboring estate. A lovely little thing with fiery auburn hair and a rebellious streak. She had to be the prettiest well-born girl in the county, and earlier in the summer he had begun to notice the changes taking her from girl to woman. Robert had delighted in wooing her, indulging in secret kisses and furtive caresses out of view of their parents.
After parting ways with her on the forked path leading to their respective houses, he’d whistled happily, his blood thrumming through his veins with excitement. He’d been unable to think of anything other than when he might sneak off to be with her again, his lips still tingling from her kisses.
Approaching the house, Robert had found his parents waiting for him on the front steps, their expressions grave. He’d faltered on the path, heart leaping into his throat as he’d realized the baroness had been crying. Her nose and cheeks flushed red, shoulders shaking as she came forward, something clutched against her bosom. As she stumbled down the stairs, he realized it was a letter, the envelope and parchment crumpled in her shaking hands.
Before he could even form the words to ask, he had known. He’d simply felt it, like someone had reached down into his throat and pried some essential thing loose. Something irreplaceable and precious.
As it turned out, that thing had been Jonas—the brother who'd always been able to make him laugh, who had filled their home with so much joy, even when exasperating them to no end.
“They sayThe Intrepidhas gone down with all hands,” she whispered, her voice breaking off on a sob before she pitched forward and into his arms. “There isn’t … they don’t have … his body is still out there … Oh, God!”
