Page 58 of Holding Onto Love

“Good.” He breathed out sharply. “Good.”

“She mocked me for the grand gesture.” He didn’t know why he was telling his brother this. Maybe to see his reaction. Maybe to see how Crispin spoke of her.

Crispin’s head tilted. “Mocked you?”

“Yes, well.” He plunged ahead. “Essentially, she said I was no hero. Snobbery is not as impressive a weapon as I think it to be.”

Crispin stared a moment. Then he put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder, his face softening into something approaching brotherly commiseration. He could not carry it off. Crispin broke, doubling over with laughter, clutching his knees and howling.

Jasper took a step back and glanced around nervously. They were on the street in front of their house, for pity’s sake.

“Crispin,” he hissed. “People will think you are ape-drunk. Stand up!”

After a few moments, Crispin straightened, still shaking. “She is a gem, Jasp. I really don’t think you deserve her.”

Did Crispin mean that?

“Did I step on your toes?”

“Did you what?” he asked, pressing a hand into his side as his laughter subsided.

“Step. On. Your. Toes.”

Crispin’s breath hitched as understanding dawned. Then he scowled. “Christ. What do you take me for? Her husband was not two days dead when I packed her onto that transport.”

Oh.

“I didn’t know. Not the timing. She doesn’t…she doesn’t talk about those last days. How Henry died.”

“Have you asked? Or do you expect her to just blurt it out?”

“I’m not insensitive, Crispin. She loved him. I don’t pry. I just don’t understand how you involved yourself. You must have sought her out. That could not have been part of your remit.”

“Walk, Jasper. This way.” Crispin took off again. Down a cross street. “Yes, I sought her out. Do you know what we had been doing? Our grand army? We weren’t simply retreating. It was a goddamned rout. Sir Moore, God rest him, was in command because the idiots at home recalled Wellesley to chew him out over what was not his fault. So Boney came himself to press the advantage. We damn near lost the war right there.”

Jasper gulped. The public version was that it had been a tight spot, but they had prevailed.

Crispin said, “The retreat was a headlong flight. We lost far too many soldiers. My regiment, fortunately, kept its discipline.” His voice dropped and he murmured, “God, they are good men, Jasper.”

Jasper imagined if they kept their discipline, it had more to do with Crispin than with them.

“We had to get across difficult terrain. We were close to Corunna when we met with an ambush.” Crispin kept stomping ahead. Jasper, a little more careful of his own attire, threaded more cautiously alongside. “We fought our way out. But I lost—” He sucked in a breath. His words came out clipped. “Six men. Five fast. But Wardrip died slowly. At my feet. I could do nothing for him. Bayoneted. His guts were splayed over my boots. His last words were, Lieutenant, take care of her.”

Crispin halted. He spat something into the mud.

Then he gave Jasper a cold look. “You did not step…on…my…toes.”

No. He’d done worse. He couldn’t think what to say. But finally managed, “I will take care of her.”

“You had better.”

Crispin started walking again and Jasper ploughed on to keep up. Then Crispin turned left again, doubling back, heading away from Brooks’s, paralleling Grosvenor.

“Don’t say anything to her,” Crispin said quietly. “I told her he died instantaneously. She doesn’t need to know…”

“Of course not. Crispin, where are we going?”

“I am eventually going in the general direction of the Thames. You should go to Brooks’s. You said you needed to talk to me? Make it quick.”