Page 3 of The Ones Left Behind
“I may be a relation, but a very distant one. I am no longer a ward of the Earls of Thackeray. It was not my lot in life to be a fine lady, after all,” she said frankly, without expecting contradiction.
“Mr. Peter would be rolling over in his grave if he knew how you had been treated!” the housekeeper protested.
“He would be appalled to know my position, yet he did not make provision for me. I do not begrudge it. Had it not been for him, I would have been in this position much sooner. He was too young and full of life to have thought he would die young. None of us thought it possible.”
The housekeeper dabbed at her own eyes. “And now his lordship has gone back again. I know he felt it were his duty, especially when they asked, because so many men have been sent to America. But with Master Henry being his heir, and him not fit to be lord, if you’ll pardon my saying so…I know you understand.”
Kitty did. Henry had been wild even as a youth. Apparently he had not mended his ways. “Is there nothing I can do here? I am not too proud, Mrs. Harlow. I can turn my hand at most things now.”
“It wouldn’t be right, Miss Kitty. His lordship would have my head if he knew. I, myself, am to retire when he returns. My sister and I have purchased a cottage in Exeter and I am to live there with her.”
Kitty’s heart sank. Mrs. Harlow was her best chance. “Could I not learn your position and keep house? I am a widow, after all. And if Ma—his lordship is upset when he returns, then I will have experience for a post elsewhere.”
Mrs. Harlow did not hide her disappointment. “I think it would be best if you just stayed here until his lordship returns, miss. As a guest. You are alady.” She emphasized the last word, as if it meant anything.
“Being a lady does not put a roof over my head or food in my mouth or clothes on my back.” Her lips trembled and she knew she was pleading. She bit her lower lip. She would not beg.
Warm arms came around her and held her tight. “Oh, Miss Kitty. Not for the world would I send you back out to starve.”
* * *
Matthias Landry,Earl of Thackeray, had never thought to be back on the battlefield. After his best friend Peter had died at Vitoria, he had determined never to fight again. It had been time to take up his duties at Thackeray Close, and if he never smelled nor tasted gunpowder again that would be soon enough for him. However, Napoleon had escaped and all of the experienced officers had been sent to fight in America. What else could he do? How could he sit in his luxurious manor with his abilities whilst young men were dying for their country? If they lost, it might no longer be his anyway.
Now here he was, watching across the valley at Waterloo, facing the vast French army knowing that this would be it; knowing that the day would determine the fate of Europe’s democracy.
He could see out over the valley for at least a mile. Each army occupied opposing ridges: the French were spread out in a sea of blue from La Belle-Alliance, and the majority of the Allied Army was hidden from view to the right of the farm, La Haye Sainte, only one brigade fully exposed.
Looking over the faces of his men, he saw some were not even old enough to earn that distinction, with their faces smooth as a babe’s. Yet they were willing to fight, even though frightened to death. Matthias had not fought since that day at Vitoria, but it all immediately came back to him as though he had never left.
Peter. So happy and full of life, gone in an instant.
What had become of Kitty? He had tried to help her, but it had been difficult to find her. She had been at Philip’s wedding, but something had not been right. He had noticed her clothing had been darned in many places and she was much too thin, but she was also far too proud. He had asked her if she needed anything—if she was happy—but she had smiled falsely and said everything was well. Of course nothing had been right since Peter had married her and they had gone to the Peninsula together. Kitty was his one regret. Matthias should have fought his father better, at the very least insured she would be provided for.
He would find her when he returned.
He needed to rectify his wrongs for it had been he who had ruined everything. They had been the best of friends when Kitty had come to live with them as a girl—better friends than he and his wastrel brother had ever been. But then, when she began to change, Matthias’s interest in the girl blossoming into a beautiful woman had been noticed by his father. He should have stood up for her. Instead, Peter had.
Henry would also need to be dealt with when Matthias returned. They’d had a row as Matthias was leaving again just as Henry had been sent down for the term for gambling. He had arrived at the Close, petulant and wanting money. Henry’s selfish and spoiled behaviour had struck a nerve—Matthias had threatened to enlist him as a soldier—so his profligate heir had turned tail and stormed from the house. What he should do was marry and produce his own heir, which brought his thoughts back to Kitty…
If he closed his eyes, he could still see her their last happy day together, wisps of her hair blowing in the warm summer breeze, warm amber eyes looking at him like he was the only other person in the world. Kitty, whose smile was brighter than the sun, whose laughter warmed him from the inside out and could charm him from his stoicism, who had stolen his heart and ruined it for any other.
A shout of laughter jolted him back to the present; to a calm, airy peace before Hell ascended to earth.
The first canon shot’s scream echoed through the damp, muggy morning; time pausing before the explosion hit the earth and shook it. The only thoughts he would have for the rest of the day would be for survival.
Matthias led his regiment in charge after charge. Many of the British cavalry busied themselves chasing the less experienced French soldiers back and forth across the slope and dispensing with the easier victims. There were numerous knots of French soldiers who formed rallying squares to fend off the British cavalry. As the battle raged on, the losses to his brigade were becoming heavy. Matthias watched soldier after soldier fall before him and forced himself to go on.
The air had become so thick with smoke from gunfire that it was difficult to see or breathe. A fierce fire raged to the west at the Château Hougoumont, making the conditions worse. He forced himself to stop for a drink and to rally his men.
The carnage was unfathomable. When there was an occasional break in the fog and smoke, all that could be seen were thousands upon thousands of human bodies and horses, lying mangled atop each other in mud and blood. It was hard to be out there fighting, to watch his brethren struggle while forcing them to continue.
Then, when it appeared there was nowhere left to fight, another charge would come over what looked to be impossible terrain. It was sweltering in the heat and humidity, and almost unmanageably difficult to see whom you were fighting.
Searing pain shot through his leg and he fought to control his horse as a French cuirassier charged at him with a bayonet to finish him off. He refused to die so easily. Not like Peter. They had to hold the line to keep the infantry protected. Matthias would not fail his men. He reached for his pistol, knowing he would not survive hand to hand combat for long.
He took aim and felled the rider, then saw a bayonet raised at James. He managed to fend the Frog off until James could handle him, then Matthias could barely hold his mount when he reached safety behind the infantry squares to go in search of the sawbones.
CHAPTER2
