I stopped, tired of the memories. Still vivid in my mind was the night Louisa's golden head had rested on my shoulder when she'd come to me in anguish. I remembered with perfect clarity, as though it had happened yesterday, the silken texture of her hair beneath my palm, the heat of her tears on my cheek. Also vivid was the look on Brandon's face when he'd walked in and found her crying on my shoulder-the anger, the chagrin, the utter heartbreak.
I said nothing about the rest of it, how Brandon had let anger simmer inside him until the day he could take his revenge. After Vitoria, he had sent me to take up immediate command of another unit, neglecting to inform me I'd journey alone right through a pocket of French troops. They ambushed me, stole the papers I carried-which were false anyway-and then amused themselves torturing me.
An English troop at last swooped down upon them, and I was left with the dead. The English did not see me, and I crawled away from the scavengers, broken and barely alive.
After many days, I had regained my regiment, my leg a ruin. The look on Brandon's face when he saw that I was alive told me everything.
Our commander had not been best pleased with either of us. A scandal between officers was not what he wanted in his regiment. He had made me realize that if I raised a stink, if Brandon were court-martialed as he deserved, the disgrace would stain all of us-Brandon, me, Louisa, the regiment.
We three had agreed to leave the army and return to London.
When I looked up from my muddy boot I found Grenville regarding me in stunned surprise. "Forgive me, Lacey. I had no idea." He drew a breath. "I am honored that you told me this. I swear to you it will never cross my lips to another soul."
I had no doubt that he would keep his silence. Grenville kept staring at me as though he thought me even more a wonder than he had before, until I grew irritated.
"You make too much of it," I said, and turned to look out the window.
We said nothing more until we reached the well-bred house of the Beauchamps, Charlotte Morrison's cousins.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"I'm so pleased to see you again, Captain." Mrs. Beauchamp shook my hand. "Do you have news?"
"I'm happy to tell you, that Miss Morrison is alive and well. In Somerset."
Eyes widened, brows rose. Mr. Beauchamp spluttered, "Somerset?"
"Good heavens, why has she not written us?" his wife said at the same time. "Did she return to her family's house?"
Grenville glanced at me. I hadn't told him what I'd intended to say, but he followed my lead. "I saw her," he said. "She is safe. And married."
Mrs. Beauchamp gaped. "Married?"
"But why not write to us?" her husband demanded. "Why disgrace herself by running away?"
"It doesn't matter," Mrs. Beauchamp said. "She is safe, thank God. Do you have her direction, Mr. Grenville? I must write to her and tell her that of course we forgive her. She must be worried that we'll be angry with her. No, we should make preparations to journey there and tell her ourselves."
I held up my hands. "I believe she doesn't yet want visitors. No doubt she'll write to you when she is ready."
Mrs. Beauchamp lost her smile. "I don't understand. We're her family."
"That is all I know, madam. I myself care only that she is safe and well."
Beauchamp's ruddy face held a mixture of relief and anger. "I thank you for coming in person to tell us, Captain." He held out his hand. "It was good of you."
"Yes." Mrs. Beauchamp sounded subdued.
I shook both their hands. "I bid you good afternoon."
Grenville, who'd kept his composure well throughout the entire exchange, bowed and murmured his good-byes, though I could see him bursting to ask me questions.
Beauchamp followed us out. He waited until the footman had given us our hats and gloves, and he accompanied us out into the soft rain.
"My wife is understandably upset," Beauchamp said. "But we feared the worst. No doubt we will rejoice that Charlotte is well when the surprise wears off. It was kind of you to journey all this way to tell us."
"I had another errand in the area," I said. I took a parcel from my coat. "And I wanted to give you this."
Beauchamp frowned at the parcel, but he took it, bemused.
Grenville's footman helped me into the carriage, and Grenville sprang up behind me, the door slamming as the carriage rolled away. Beauchamp remained in front of the house, staring at the brown paper, rain pattering on his bare head.
Grenville contained himself until we'd gone half a mile. "I've kept my peace long enough, Lacey. What the devil did you give him?"
The road curved, bending through the flat land behind the Beauchamps' house. "Ask your coachman to stop."
"Would it be futile to demand to know why?"
"I will tell you in a moment."
Grenville look was aggrieved, but he rapped on the carriage roof and gave the order to stop.
We waited. The damp air rose, fresh and green-smelling, the earth rich and virgin, awaiting the first spring planting. A muddy path led to a stile, and over this to the meadow behind the Beauchamps' home.
The horses, bored, snorted and moved in the traces, rocking the carriage slightly. The light rain grew heavier.
A rider appeared at the bottom of the meadow, on a small horse, trotting fast. Both horse and rider were rotund, the master rivaling his mount for squat body and stout belly.
Grenville lowered his window. "It's Beauchamp."
At the stile, Beauchamp dismounted. He did not tie his horse, but it seemed content to lower its head and crop grass. Beauchamp climbed the stile and scrambled down the other side, his face streaming perspiration and rain.
He approached the coach. I opened the door and climbed to the ground to meet him.
He thrust the parcel at me. "What is your game, Lacey? What is this?"
"Lord Sommerville's housekeeper gave it to me," I said. "It's the remains of the gown a servant girl wore the night she was killed, sometime at the end of February. A man bashed in her head and tried to bury her in the woods. Were you not at the inquest? The entire village turned up, I've been told."
Beauchamp glared at me, flushed and angry. "My wife and I stayed away. It was a sordid affair."
I opened the paper and smoothed the blue worsted strips. "Likely it was her best dress. She must have been excited, knowing she was going to meet a lover. Not the solid, hardworking young man who'd hoped to marry her, but an older man, well off and respected, who would give her presents. Maybe jewelry and gowns finer than this."
Grenville climbed down from the carriage and his coachman watched from above. Beauchamp looked from me to Grenville. "What do you want of me?"
I ignored him. "Perhaps, as the mistress of a wealthy gentleman, the kitchen maid began to give herself airs. Perhaps she threatened to tell her young man about her lover, or your wife."
Beauchamp took on a hunted look. "She was a silly girl, a maid, for heaven's sake. What did she expect me to do? Put aside my dear wife for her? You gentlemen understand."