Before she could say anything, Mary, the red-haired bridesmaid he’d met earlier, came up to claim his attention. He’d been standing a little apart from the others in the room, his claustrophobia getting the better of him. His back was to the windows that looked out on the terrace, and he suddenly felt cornered.
Glancing uneasily at the swirling rain as a sheet of lightning lit up the sky, Mary said, “Doesn’t it bother you?” She shivered, her hands cupping her elbows, as if to hold warmth in.
“Shall I find a wrap for you?” he asked, dodging the question.
Mary shook her head. “It’s the thunder. It reminds me of the guns in France. We could hear them in Kent, where I lived then. And sometimes even see the flashes.”
Her words were suddenly loud in a brief lull in the conversation, and people stood still, as if not knowing how to break the spell they cast. Then Elise’s father said, “Thank God that’s behind us,” and changed the subject.
Mary turned away from the dark glass. “I think I’ll make some tea, if Elise hasn’t. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I understand.”
She gave him a grateful smile and left him there.
Meredith Channing said, for Rutledge’s ears alone, “You needn’t worry. The storm will pass soon, and then we’ll be gone.”
He said, “I’m not sure it will be safe, even then. The road is tricky.”
“There’s a moon. When it breaks through the clouds, there will be enough light to see our way.” Against his will, her calm assurance enveloped him.
He said, “Everyone seems quite content to stay until then.”
“Most of us have known one another for some time. It’s like a family gathering, everyone catching up on news. The war years were hard, and we’ve all paid a high price for this peace.”
He wanted to ask her what her price had been but couldn’t bring himself to introduce such a personal note.
Yet he found himself comparing Meredith Channing to Elise.
They were only a few years apart in age, but Elise had been sent to live in the comparative comfort and isolation of Dunster, with no troop trains arriving in the night with the wounded, no outbound trains filled with cheering soldiers marching away to war, shielding her from the cauldron of anguish and suffering Mrs. Channing had seen at the Front. And so age was not a measure of the differences between them.
Only experience could be.
That thought reminded him of an earlier one, that perhaps Edgar had deliberately chosen someone like Elise. As perhaps he himself had held to the memory of his former fiancée, Jean, long after any hope of reconciliation. Were they both so desperate to wipe away the bitter-ness and fear and nightmares they’d brought home with them?
Mrs. Channing smiled, as if she’d read his mind, and he swore to himself as she said, “I believe they’ll be happy, those two. Elise is steadier than she appears. Right now, she’s giddy with happiness, and has a right to be. Edgar wouldn’t propose until he was sure he was well enough. He didn’t want to be a burden, I imagine, but Elise was afraid he’d never work up the courage. He needs her brightness. In a few months he’ll forget he’s lost a limb and agree to one of those artificial ones that are available now.”
Edgar had said nothing to him about replacing his leg with an artificial one.
And again, Meredith said, apropos of that, “He was afraid he’d make a fool of himself tomorrow, falling. He feels safer just now with his crutches.”
“Did Elise tell you that?” he said. Or had you read it in Edgar’s tea leaves?
A twinkle appeared in Meredith’s dark eyes. “Ian. I’ve seen Edgar any number of times when he has come up to London. If he brings Elise, she stays with me. For propriety’s sake. And we’ve talked a time or two.”
He felt himself flush with embarrassment. Managing a laugh, he said, “Sorry. I met you first as a necromancer, remember.”
“Yes. I remember. It was not the best of footings for friendship, was it? I can sometimes guess what someone is thinking—anyone can, if he knows human nature. A policeman employs the same skills, surely.
It isn’t so strange a gift.”
“A policeman,” he responded dryly, “doesn’t care to have those skills used against him.”
She laughed. It was low and husky and somehow intimate.
“Touché.”
As the storm descended on them in earnest, the party moved down to the kitchen and made a spur-of-the-moment tea out of what they found there, carrying it triumphantly to the room overlooking the terrace and sitting on the rugs or in the chairs, conversation flowing smoothly. Rutledge found he was enjoying himself.
Meredith Channing was talking with Neal Hammond, and Rutledge could hear her voice but not what she was saying, though it was clear from the expression on Hammond’s face that he found her attractive. From the way he touched her arm at one point, it was also clear that they had known each other for some time.
Hamish spoke, startling Rutledge. He had been silent since that first sharp “ ’Ware!” as Rutledge had come down the stairs earlier in the evening to join the gathering. “Ye canna’ let your guard down. It would be foolish.”
But the evening had unexpectedly turned into a very pleasant few hours, and when the storm had passed and it was too late to adjourn to The Luttrell Arms for dinner, no one made a move to leave.
Edgar, coming to sit beside Rutledge, was in the best of spirits, all qualms apparently quashed for now, and he smiled at his friend with wry warmth.
“Thank you for coming, Ian. I thought I needed support through this. Now I’m glad I have a friend beside me.”
“A thunderstorm can work wonders,” Rutledge said, grinning at Edgar. “Did you order it up yourself?”
“If I’d thought about it, I’d have tried. I think Elise’s parents are satisfied now that she’s not marrying a cripple with no prospects.
They knew my grandfather, and I’ve heard they told their daughter in the beginning that I wasn’t half the man he was. That, thank God, was on my last leave, before I’d lost my leg. I was greener then. They seem to be enjoying themselves tonight.” He stretched out his leg and said,
“I hadn’t realized that you knew Meredith.”
It was a fishing expedition, transparently so.
“I met her at Maryanne Browning’s,” Rutledge replied.
“She’s been a widow for several years now. I’m glad to see her out and about again.” Edgar Maitland was matchmaking.
Rutledge smothered a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dryly.
“You could do worse. I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but Jean wasn’t right for you. I could have told you that in 1914, but you wouldn’t have listened.”
“Probably not.”
Edgar laughed. “You have no idea what happiness is until you’ve found someone to love. Just look at me!”
Elise came over to join them, saving Rutledge from finding an answer to that. He stood up to offer her his chair, but she said, “It’s near the witching hour. And the storm seems to have dwindled to broken clouds. We must leave. I have it on good authority—my mother—that it’s bad luck to see one’s bride on the day of the wedding, until she walks down the aisle.”
“We don’t want to risk that.” Edgar got to his feet with some difficulty, then shoved his crutches under his arms with the ease of habit.
“Let’s start rounding up the guests.”
In a flurry of farewells, Elise collected her family and friends and set out for Dunster. Edgar watched them go, the headlamps of the convoy of cars twisting and turning down the road.
“You didn’t wish Mrs. Channing a good night. Not that I saw.”
“I’ll see her tomorrow and apologize profusely.”