Reunited with the Major - Anne Herries

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this friend of yours.’

      ‘Yes, she may consent to wear them, but you will please take her to the seamstress and have some new ones made, as well. I shall have to find someone she can live with until things are settled. I suppose you do not know of a respectable widow who would take her in charge for a while?’

      ‘A widow, you say?’ Lady March looked thoughtful, then inclined her head. ‘Yes, why not? I would not recommend her to a relative of mine, but for this girl she is perfectly respectable and invited everywhere, though I consider her a little fast. Mrs Scatterby...’

      ‘Samantha Scatterby?’

      Brock hesitated, the pain twisting inside him as he spoke her name. He had thought he was over all that, had put the past behind him and was ready to make a new life. He’d had to forget, to make himself think of anything but her, because the last time he’d seen Samantha they had parted on a sour note. He’d seen that look of revulsion in her eyes when he’d behaved so badly that she had been disgusted, angry.

      His kiss had been impulsive, because he’d felt her grief and he’d misinterpreted the look in her eyes, which had seemed to beg for his love, but he’d been wrong, because when he kissed her she had been revolted by his behaviour and he could not blame her because he’d done a despicable thing—making love to the wife of a dying man.

      He recalled his thoughts quickly. When he’d left Sam that day he’d felt that she despised him for what he’d tried to do, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself when he saw the pain in her eyes. His first thought was that he couldn’t ask this favour of her. No, it was impossible! Samantha would not wish to see him after all this time. Yet she was a warm, loving woman and he believed that she might take pity on a young girl in trouble, even if she still despised him. She would surely have forgotten that foolish kiss by now, as he had. It had taken him a long time to forget, but he was certain that he was over that ill-advised infatuation he’d felt for his colonel’s lady as a young officer. He spoke at last, aware that he’d been silent too long. Even though in his heart he knew she was the only woman he would ever love so deeply, he knew that she was beyond him and he had made up his mind to settle for something else: a marriage of convenience.

      That being the case, what possible reason could he have for not asking Samantha if she would help Rosemarie? There seemed to be no reason and he made up his mind to do it. Perhaps then he could put her out of his mind once and for all. He looked at Lady March and nodded.

      ‘Yes, of course. Colonel Scatterby’s widow. Oh, yes, she is ideal. Samantha was such a favourite with us all. We all adored her—every one of Scatterby’s friends were in love with Sam when she campaigned with us on the Peninsula.’ That was how he must think of her, as the kind friend she’d been to all her husband’s men. He had conquered that deep need for her, he’d had to because he knew she did not feel love for him.

      ‘What did you call her?’ Lady March was faintly disapproving. ‘Sam? Really, Harry! Well, she lives in one of these fashionable squares, but I’ve heard she may be a little strapped for cash. I dare say she might oblige if you made it worth her while.’

      ‘Oh, Sam will take her in,’ Brock said, sounding more confident than he felt. He swooped on his godmother, kissing her cheek. ‘Thank you for suggesting it—and I shan’t trouble you to buy Miss Ross those new gowns, I am certain Sam will enjoy kiting her out in some posh togs.’

      ‘Really, if that is your army talk, Harry, I would prefer you kept it for your comrades. However, I am glad to have been of help and I am sorry I was unable to take the gel on myself. I am very fond of you and would oblige you if I could.’

      Brock smiled and took his leave. He would be a fool to lose this chance for young Rosemarie just because Samantha had once been angry with him for kissing her. No doubt she’d forgotten his indiscretion long since—and he would like to meet her again, to finally lay to rest the ghost that had hovered in the back of his mind since that day.

      There was determination in his step as he set out for Hanover Square. Samantha Scatterby was a big-hearted woman and he believed that his problem was solved. Once Sam took Miss Ross under her wing, he could set out for the country and speak to Cynthia about setting the date for their wedding.

      Samantha had just returned from a shopping trip and was loaded with parcels. She enjoyed buying pretty trifles and had been refurbishing her wardrobe, which was much in need of it. Now, some six months after she’d moved into the modest house in London, it was time she finally came out of her mourning and began to introduce some colours into her wardrobe once more. After all, Percy had been gone for many months now and he would not have wanted her to mourn him for ever. He’d told her she was not to wear black for him and she had done so only a short time before choosing grey or lilac gowns, both of which suited her well enough, but she wanted something new, something to make her feel that she was still young enough to find happiness again.

      Tears pricked her eyes but she brushed them away. The time for weeping was over and she must begin to live again, truly live and not just go through the motions, which she had done for the first few weeks after his death.

      Samantha was very fortunate in having many good friends who invited her to their houses and to the theatre, on picnics and drives and to splendid balls. She had no excuse to be lonely and her particular friend Lady Sally Seaton, was always telling her that she ought to marry again.

      The reason she had never remarried was not because she lacked suitors. More than one gentleman had made his intentions known to her, but she always smiled and shook her head at them, offering a teasing smile and deflecting their advances with a light touch. It was her warmth and kindness that brought her so many friends, for she would never willingly hurt anyone, and had been an excellent military wife.

      During those happy days on campaign with Percy, Samantha had been in her element, treating the young men under her husband’s command with gentle respect and consideration. If they’d had a problem they felt unable to communicate to their commanding officer it was to Sam they had come with their tales of woe, often of broken heart when the lady of their choice had let them down. Samantha had lost count of the times she’d seen a young man weep, wounded and frightened. They had spoken of their mothers and clung to her hand, and she’d done her best to comfort them, some as they lay dying.

      That time had been a very precious part of her life. Grateful to the husband who was twice her age, she’d loved him deeply in her way, and if that love had been more that of a daughter than a wife, she’d tried never to show it when he was affectionate towards her. Percy had given her a life and although she flirted on occasion with handsome young officers she would never have thought of betraying him.

      Even when she fell desperately in love with one particular young officer, Brock, she had done nothing to give him encouragement. She’d smiled, offered advice and comfort when he was in despair, but never had she shown by a word or a look that his smile broke her heart. Until that dreadful last day, when she’d broken down in tears, because Brock was leaving and she would be alone with the husband who was dying so slowly and painfully, and she hadn’t known how to bear it.

      And then he’d swept her into his arms and for one moment she’d clung to him, melting into his strong body, her longing and desire stripping her naked so that he must have seen her need. What must he have thought of a woman who would give herself so completely when her husband lay close to death?

      Suddenly, revulsion at her own behaviour had shot through her and she’d wrenched away from him, knowing that what she was doing was despicable. Her husband lay upstairs, dying slowly, painfully but inevitably, and she had kissed another man; had almost been swept away to the point of madness. As she’d pushed him away she’d seen the look in his eyes—accusation and pain...

      He’d turned and walked away, leaving her weeping inside, longing to call him back, to confess her love, but knowing she dared not. Samantha knew that he must condemn her, might think her of easy virtue. The memory of the look in his eyes had haunted her, and she’d known

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