Other people paid a visit, close friends of the marquess who came to lend their support. Still it was a surprise when Jonathan Parker arrived at the house.
"I've known your father for quite some years," Jon said as they sat in the drawing room. "He's an amazing man, Lee. I'm happy things have worked out for you as they have." Everyone called her Lee now. Like Caleb, Vermillion had vanished like a ghost of the past.
"It's wonderful to see you, Jon. You've always been a friend. It's good to know that hasn't changed."
The viscount reached over and caught her hand. "I told you once I wanted more from you than friendship—I still do."
Her shock couldn't have been more profound. The viscount had wanted her as his mistress. This was far different. In a thousand years, she would never have believed both Nash and Wingate would continue their pursuit, though now it would require no less than marriage.
"I know it's too soon," the viscount said. "You and your father need this time together, but when you are ready, I hope you will at least consider my offer."
What could she say? Jonathan Parker was a member of the aristocracy, one of the most respected men in England. It was an honor of the highest order. "Of course I will, Jon. I can't tell you how honored I am. But as you say, I need a little time."
More than a little, she thought. It might take years to get over losing Caleb. She wasn't sure she ever would.
Unfortunately, there were other considerations. Namely, her two half-brothers, Bronson and Aaron, who continued to make her life miserable whenever they were near. Aaron had arrived home from boarding school and received news of the sister who had become a member of the family with even more outrage than his brother, throwing such a tantrum his father had threatened to birch him, which—it was more than apparent—was something that had never been done before.
Though her father had given her his name and his protection and had offered her a new and different life, there were strings attached, and not everyone—especially her brothers—was happy she was there.
More and more, she wondered if perhaps she should leave Kinleigh Hall. In a way she was more trapped there than she had been at Parklands.
The hot July days crept past. Caleb's trip across the dry Spanish landscape had led him to Wellesley's encampment near Talavera, but the fighting had yet to begin and the waiting seemed interminable as men and equipment poured in.
In the last few days, the atmosphere in the camp had changed, as if the troops sensed that now the time was right; the attack on Joseph Bonaparte's massive army was ready to commence.
Mounted on Solomon, Caleb rode at the head of the column making its way to the top of a rise that overlooked the battlefield below. For miles around, the ground was barren and dusty. For the soldiers of Wellesley's army, the march to Talavera had been an arduous one and food supplies were low. The heat was unbearable, the sun scorching down with merciless intensity. At night lightning cracked overhead but not a drop of rain fell to quench the parched earth.
One of the horses nickered. Solomon sidestepped and tossed his head, beginning to get anxious. "Easy boy. It won't be long now." Not long before the carnage began, before bodies littered the desolate landscape as far as the eye could see. Scattered along a defensive line across the field, Joseph Bonaparte's forty thousand men waited to face nineteen thousand of Wellesley's troops aided by the Spanish army commanded by General Cuesta.
Caleb had been assigned to the 4th Dragoons, led by General Sherbrooke, Wellesley's second in command. His squadron had been ordered to the rise, ordered to take up their position for the assault. For the past twenty-four hours, a calm detachment had been with him, a skill he had developed over the years. He used it now to study the tens of thousands of armed soldiers across the field, the dozens of cannon loaded with grapeshot, ready to rip men and animals apart.
He knew what he would face once the fighting began, knew he might not survive it. But today was the first time he had ever felt regret.
Regret for the life he had chosen, for all he had so readily given up. The keen ache of loss for the woman he loved and the children he would never have. He thought of Lee and prayed that whatever fate awaited him, she would be happy.
A bugle sounded. Caleb watched a sweep of men and horses rush down from the knoll onto the field at his left. Cannon roared. Guns began firing, clouds of thick black smoke filled the air. Horses screamed and dozens of men fell beneath the vicious barrage.
"Hold your position!" his commanding officer shouted.
Solomon pawed the earth. In minutes, it would be time. He wasn't afraid to die. Perhaps, in truth, he had been afraid to live.
In joining the army, he had found a retreat from the world and at the same time, a way to prove himself to his father. He had chosen this life, gained the love and approval he had always wanted and never had, but now he wondered…
If he could choose again, if he could start over, would the choice he made be different? As clearly as if a voice had spoken in his head, Caleb knew that he would not choose the solitary existence he lived now. He would choose a home and family. He would choose Lee.
But he had sworn an oath to protect his country. He was an officer in the British Army and he had a duty to perform. If only things could be different.
But it was too late for that. Too late the moment he heard his resounding command, "Charge!"
Caleb raised his saber above his head, urged Solomon into a gallop, and plunged off down the hill.
There was no word from Caleb. No letters, not even a note. Lee hadn't expected there would be. The newspapers were filled with accounts of the terrible battle that had been fought at Talavera and the costly victory the British had won. Lists of casualties were printed, more than fifty-five hundred British soldiers had been wounded or killed. Caleb's name had not appeared on any of the lists and for that she was grateful. Still she worried about him.
She thought about the traitor who had been passing information to the French and wondered if he had been responsible in some way for the high number of British casualties, but there was no way for her to know.
The days drifted past. August was slipping away. She was officially Lee Montague now, though the upheaval it caused between her father and his sons made her question whether the price was worth it.
It was a warm summer afternoon when the marquess called her into his study. Lee knew he wanted to talk to her about the problems with Aaron and Bronson, but she wasn't exactly sure what he would say.
Or what she should say in return.
"I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am in both of them," her father began.
"It isn't entirely their fault," Lee said. "They see me as an intruder. In a way they are not wrong."
"I know that's the way you feel. That is the reason I wished to speak to you." He indicated the teapot on the tea cart a few feet away. "Will you pour for us?"
She did as he asked, handing him the cup, nervous at the set of his features.
"Yesterday Jon Parker came to see me." Her head came up. "Jon has asked for permission to marry you, Lee."
She tried not to let her uneasiness show. She had known of his interest, of course. She wasn't certain he would actually make an official offer. "Jonathan is a very fine man," she said carefully.
"Yes, he is. He is kind and generous and very well respected. I think you should accept him, Lee."
The tea cup rattled. She steadied it with her hand. "I don't love him, Father."
"I know you don't—not now, but in time perhaps you could come to love him." He set his untouched cup and saucer down on the table in front of him. "I loved your mother very much. I didn't believe I would ever get over losing her and in some ways I never did. But I found great comfort in Aaron's mother, Sarah. I never told you that. In my own way, I came to love her."