“Don’t tell me you’ve enlisted my staid butler in these schemes? I would think it beneath Bogsley’s dignity.”
Lucien seemed to ponder before answering, “Perhaps, Father, it would be best not to inquire too closely on some matters.”
“Good God!” the earl declared, and walked away, seeming shaken.
The following night, I helped again with hoofbeats, and later to make howling sounds as Lucien-and Fibbens-contrived to swing a headless “apparition” past their windows. Bogsley had recommended the village seamstress who made the monk. Each of the Banes caught no more than a fleeting glimpse of this phantom, but judging from the pandemonium which broke loose, this glimpse was more effective than a full night’s haunting. The Banes, looking haggard, were on the road back to London before noon, swearing never to return to the Abbey.
The earl declared it the most delightful Christmas gift his son had ever bestowed upon him, causing my mother a great deal of puzzlement.
AS WE GREW OLDER, I LEARNED HOW RARE A GIFT I HAD FOUND in Lucien’s affection for me, and saw how infrequently he troubled himself to form friendships. He nevertheless grew into a man who was invited everywhere-and while his fortune, breeding, and rank might have guaranteed that to him in any case, there was a vast difference between the welcome Lucien was given by leading members of the haut ton and that afforded to others. That I benefited from my connection to him is without doubt, and was a fact decried by Lord Henry Bane, Mr. William Bane, Miss Fanny Bane, and the Dowager Lady Sophia Bane, who made no less imposing a widow than a wife. Lucien’s aunt might complain all she liked about “persons who were no blood relation” enjoying “privileges above their station,” but she found few who paid heed to her.
Our parents died together in a carriage accident when Lucien was but twenty-two. He succeeded to his father’s dignities, and two years later, married well. His wife was a young beauty with a handsome dowry, although his own wealth precluded anyone from imagining him a fortune hunter. Lucien, unlike so many of our order, married for love.
I was myself by no means penniless, having come into an inheritance through my mother’s family. Not long after Lucien wed, feeling restless, I used some of my own fortune to buy colors, and left for the Peninsular War, to see what I could do to hamper Boney’s efforts in Portugal and Spain. Lucien and I exchanged letters, and although the mail was not always reliable, his correspondence made my soldier’s life easier to bear. Some made me long to be home, of course. Of all of these, the most heartrending was the one in which he told me of both the death of his wife and of the birth of his son.
It was not his way to be effusive-neither in grief nor in joy-but in this letter he wrote a litany of all the small pleasures he would miss-hearing the soft rustle of her skirts as she entered the library while he read, watching her blush at an endearment, listening to her sing softly to herself as she walked through the Abbey gardens, unaware that he was near-and I came to a new understanding of how deeply he had cared for her. Beyond that one letter, he never wrote to me again of her, though even over the great distance between us, I could sense Lucien’s sadness.
But gradually, over the next two years, I began to see that he had found a new source of joy, as well. Letter after letter described the latest news of Charles Edward Rolingbroke, my nephew and godson. Lucien clearly doted on his heir. I saved these letters, as I had every letter before, reading them again and again.
I NEXT SAW LUCIEN WHEN HE APPROACHED MY BED IN A DISMAL London hospital. He looked for me there after Ciudad Rodrigo. He had seen my name among the lists of wounded and used his influence to discover what had become of me. I heard someone say, “Captain, you’ve a visitor.” I opened my eyes, and there stood Lucien, looking ridiculously worried. Delirious with fever, nevertheless I recognized him-at least for a few moments, when he seemed to me some last vision granted to me before dying. I was too weak even to speak to him, and remember nothing more than smiling foolishly at him. Neither do I remember being moved from that place, and taken to Rolingbroke House, his fashionable London residence. The quality of my care was improved immeasurably, and eventually, the fever subsided.
When at last I no longer burned alive with it, I was still weak and somewhat confused about my change of circumstance. I knew I was in Lucien’s home, and fell asleep not long after a recollection came to me of Lucien arguing with a doctor, refusing to allow me to be bled. This was confirmed by the doctor when I awoke the next morning. He chuckled. “No, wouldn’t let me bleed you, and offered to-how did he put it now? Oh yes, he promised to draw my own claret if I caused you to lose one more drop of yours. Well, my fine captain, I’d as soon fight Boney himself than try to cross swords with the earl.” My wounds, he told me, would leave me with a few scars and a permanent limp. “But only two days ago, I tried to convince his lordship that your funeral service should be arranged, so you are in far better case than expected.”
Not much later, Lucien himself came into my room, under strict orders not to make his visit a long one. I told him I did not want to burden him with the care of a lame stepbrother who was weak as a cat and not of as much use.
“I shall fetch that doctor back here,” Lucien said, “and demand a return of his fee. He distinctly told me you were no longer delirious, but here you are, speaking utter nonsense!”
“Lucien-”
“No, wait! Tell me you aren’t feverish, for I’m only allowed a short visit, and I shall be driven mad by your nephew if he isn’t allowed to at last lay eyes on his Uncle Edward.”
“He’s here?” I asked.
But that question was answered by the entrance of a small boy, who, over his nurse’s protests, opened the door and ran toward his father. He was the spit and image of Lucien.
“Papa!”
“Your lordship,” the flustered nurse said, “I beg your pardon! I’ll take him right out again.”
“Oh, no, madam!” Lucien exclaimed in mock horror. “Leave him with me. My brother has seen enough warfare as it is.”
She left us, and no sooner had the door closed than Charles’s questions began.
Did I feel better? Yes.
Had I hurt my head? Yes, that was why I wore a bandage.
Had I hurt my leg, then, too? Yes.
Did a Frenchy hurt me? Yes.
He offered to send his father to hurt the Frenchy in return. I thanked him, but said I would prefer we all just stayed home together for a time, for I had missed my brother, and would like to become acquainted with his son.
Why was my skin so brown? A soldier spends a great deal of time in the sun.
“That will do, Master Pokenose,” Lucien said, causing his son to giggle. Obediently, though, Charles ceased asking questions. He sat quietly while Lucien discussed plans for removing to the countryside. Quite against my will, I began to fall asleep. Charles brought this to his father’s attention, which brought a rich laugh from Lucien.
“Indeed, youngster, you are right. We’ll let him rest for now.”
I murmured an apology, stirring awake as I felt a small hand take my own.
“Papa says you’re a great gun and we must help you to get better.”
“My recovery is assured, then,” I said, “but it is your papa who is the great gun.”
OVER THE NEXT THREE YEARS, I WOULD COME TO BELIEVE MORE and more in the truth of that statement. Fibbens was made my valet, a job that for some months involved the added duties of attending an invalid. I came to value him greatly. As my physical strength returned, though, it was Lucien and his son who would not allow me to retreat from the world.