LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Three

      Despite the carriage’s cushioned upholstery and excellent springs, Edmond felt every bump on the road to Greystone Lodge. But at least the rutted highway held none of the surprises that plagued ocean travel: sudden plunges into watery troughs or massive swells that almost capsized the ship. How good it felt to be back on land and on his way home, if he might still consider the Lodge home. Lord Greystone had always been generous to his two younger brothers and would never turn them out. But a man must establish his own residence, his own occupation. Edmond longed to return to his Oxford law studies and become a barrister, but whether or not he could do so remained to be seen. After fighting on the Continent and in America for five years, he desired peace and rest, no matter what work he must set his hands to. Surely even Mother would see he was not fit to return to war.

       Ah, well, time enough to ponder those matters while he healed. For now, he must play host to the other occupants of the carriage, particularly Miss Newfield, who seemed to be struggling to contain her tears. Brave girl. For once in his life, he felt as if the hand of the Almighty had directed him. On the monthlong voyage home, he had made up his mind to deliver the news of Newfield’s heroic death in person rather than by letter. But when he came upon the vicar’s funeral and subsequent harassment of the poor young lady, he felt certain his plan had been God’s doing. Perhaps this was the first step in his quest to discover his purpose on this earth.

       On the other hand, now that they were on the way to the Lodge, he was reconsidering the wisdom of bringing her home with him. Yet what else could he have done? Like a desperate act executed amidst the chaos of battle, Edmond’s offer had been the only weapon he could grasp to save Miss Newfield. And however weak a defender he might be, he could not, would not abandon her.

       Of course, he must consider Mother’s reaction, but he would not think about that now. Instead, he cast about in his mind how he might engage Miss Newfield in conversation. What topic might a vicar’s daughter find interesting? In fact, what might any young lady wish to discuss? Edmond had never perfected the art. As a younger son, he had met with young ladies’ turned backs more often than the friendly faces they offered his titled eldest brother. That painful memory dampened his spirits. Like any man, he wished to marry one day, but until he established himself in a lucrative profession, no Society lady would welcome his attentions. And he could hardly blame them. Why, even a poor gentlewoman like Miss Newfield deserved a husband who could adequately support her. Had no such gentleman resided in Blandon? Surely someone had aspired to win the hand of such a fair prize. Were they of like social rank, he might be tempted to court her himself after he regained his health.

      * * *

       Anna’s prior experiences in wheeled conveyances were limited to clattering dog carts and bumpy hay wagons. In contrast, the viscount’s roomy carriage had cushioned velvet seats and large wheels on springs that rolled over the rutted highway more smoothly than she ever imagined. It swayed almost like a cradle, lulling her toward the solace of sleep, for she was weary in body and numbed by her many losses. But sleeping might be considered rude. In an effort to shake off her drowsiness, she took deep breaths and peered through the wide windows to view the changing scenery from fields to forests to villages and back to fields again. Harvest was underway in all parts of Shropshire, and the scents of apples and newly mown hay filled the brisk autumn air all along the route.

       Mrs. Brown sat beside Anna, her knitting needles clicking softly in time with the rumbling wheels. Across from them, Matthews slumbered against the padded carriage wall. Beside him, Major Grenville grimaced from time to time, then schooled his face into a milder expression. At these brave attempts to mask his pain, Anna’s heart went out to him. Perhaps she could distract him from his misery by engaging him in conversation.

       What did one say to an army officer, an aristocratic gentleman whose titled brother sat in Parliament? Should she even begin a conversation with someone of his rank? In fact, the thought of meeting such an august person as the viscount set her nerves on edge. That was nonsense, of course. Did not the scriptures teach that all were equal in Christ? But while she might believe it, she had often heard that the aristocracy and, even more, the nobility considered themselves far above other mortals. She would soon find out whether Lord Greystone and his mother, the viscountess, held that opinion. Furthermore, Anna could not guess what being a lady’s companion entailed. She hesitated to ask the major, lest such questions be deemed improper.

       One subject did come to mind that she would venture to address.

       “Major, would you mind—”

       “Miss Newfield, are you—”

       They spoke at the same time, each stopping midsentence.

       “Pray continue, Miss Newfield.” He smiled and waved his hand for her to proceed.

       “I thank you, sir.” Anna’s cheeks warmed at his courtesy. “I wonder if you could tell me more about my brother. He is not one to write home, although we did hear from him just after he arrived in Detroit last year.”

       Instantly she regretted her question, for the major frowned and gazed out the window as if he had not heard her. After a moment, he turned back, his eyes filled with kindness.

       “I met Lieutenant Newfield upon his arrival. He was a charming lad, full of good humor and laughter. You must have grown up in a merry and loving household, madam, for he always made light of any difficulty.” Pain, which she sensed was more emotional than physical, shot across his features.

       “That’s our Master Peter.” Mrs. Brown looked up from her knitting, her eyes misty. “The whole village loved him in spite of his boyish pranks. The mischief was never wicked, you understand, just meant to make us laugh at ourselves. And now—” She stared down at her handiwork and fell silent.

       Despair crept into Anna’s chest. Was Peter truly dead? No, she would not believe it. Missing did not mean deceased. “Please tell me more, Major.”

       The gentleman’s smile seemed strained as he proceeded to recount how Peter chattered endlessly about his godly father and his “perfect” sister. She laughed and rolled her eyes, for when they were children, she had often joined her brother in his escapades.

       The major’s batman awoke and joined the conversation, reporting an instance of mischief so very much like Peter. Briefly the carriage rang with laughter. Then all fell silent.

       Bracing herself, Anna captured the major’s gaze. “You must tell me about that day.”

       He stared at her for a long moment, his dark eyes shadowed in the enclosed carriage. “A soldier does not like to admit defeat, madam, but unfortunately we were in retreat from the American forces. A company of their foot soldiers attacked our cavalry, and Providence was on their side. My horse was shot from under me.” He winced, and Anna sensed the creature had meant much to him. “Or, I should say, on top of me. My left leg was beneath him, so of course I could not move. Several of the enemy regarded me as an easy target. One raised his saber to strike.” He sucked in his cheeks and looked out the window for a moment. “Lieutenant Newfield threw himself across me. I heard him cry out.” He paused as if reliving the scene, then shook it off. “That is the last thing I recall. I awoke in a field hospital some days later. No one could answer my queries about your brother. No one saw him after the battle.”

       Anna swallowed hard and forcefully dismissed the despair threatening to seize her. “Missing does not mean dead. Even if I never hear from him, I shall trust that God spared him. That he is somewhere in America recovering from his wounds.” She tried to soften the strain

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