Page 8 of Until I’m Safe in Your Arms

“In that you are correct, Miss Washer. Shall we start back to the house?” Lord, he didn’t want to talk about that bloody, awful battle. He’d tried to turn the conversation, but the lady seemed to bring it back to less palatable subjects. “I see there are other guests on their way here. Soon the folly will be absolutely teeming with people. The problem with small buildings, you know.”

“It does seem difficult to find a place where we can talk uninterrupted.” Miss Washer puckered her brow. “Can we sit there, on that little bench by the path? As long as we’re in sight of everyone, I’m certain there can be no harm in conversing together.” She smiled up at him, and he caught his breath at the longing in her eyes. “I so wish to hear all about your service in the Crimea.” Her liquid blue eyes cast a spell on him. “Won’t you tell me about it?”

How on earth could he bear to disappoint her? Alex motioned to the bench, dappled in sunlight, sitting there as if waiting for them.

Miss Washer eagerly sank down onto it, pulling her shawl well over her shoulders and arms. “Now tell me first, Captain Bancroft, what is the Crimea like?”

Drawing a deep breath, Alex launched into a detailed description of the area around the Alma River. “The 30th Regiment of Foot under the command of Major General Sir George Cathcart arrived in the Crimea in September of 1854. The area we occupied was the bank of the Alma River, a rather picturesque site when troops aren’t roiling in the water or bombarding the embankments. The water was broad and shallow there, and very clear. You could count every stone on the bottom if you’d had time. Tall cypress trees lined some of the edges of the banks, although by the time the battle had ended, there wasn’t much left of the flora.”

The smile never left Miss Washer’s lips. “My goodness, Captain, you make it sound idyllic.”

“It was until the shooting began.”

“Your regiment was part of that action?”

Sighing, Alex shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. My regiment—my whole division, in fact—wasn’t engaged in that battle.”

Some of the light went out of Miss Washer’s face.

“But we made up for it at Balaclava.”

“Tell me.” Miss Washer leaned toward him, now hanging on his every word.

Chest swelling with pride, Alex dove into the tale, leaving out the most harrowing details in deference to the lady’s delicate sensibilities. He did, however, manage to convey the regiment’s valiant efforts that supported the cavalry and the highland regiments. “So you see, Miss Washer, while we weren’t at the charge that Lord Tennyson described so vividly, we supported the cavalry in every way possible, both before and after that action.”

“You make me faint with pride, Captain Bancroft.” Miss Washer gazed up at him, her eyes dewy with unshed tears. “Our brave men in uniform have made all the difference to so many thousands of British citizens the world over, providing protection to us all to keep us free from harm. I am so pleased and proud to know you and be able to thank you for your service.”

“Thank you, Miss Washer.” Her sincere admiration touched a chord deep within him. He rarely thought about the repercussions of his occupation to singular citizens. On the battlefield, he thought only of the immediate objective, and afterward, of the war’s larger purpose. Now this lady, who he scarcely knew, had made him catch a glimpse of the far-reaching effects his efforts on those distant foreign battlegrounds provided to those at home. “I am humbled by your praise. My duty has always been given with queen and country as a whole in mind, not individuals such as yourself. I shall henceforth reflect on the fact that each British man, woman, and child is my responsibility to keep safe whether they are foreign nationals or inhabitants of the farthest hamlet in Cornwall.”

“Then I am thrilled to have made that small contribution, Captain.” She clasped her hands before her bosom, bringing them immediately to his attention. Miss Washer had a figure to rival any actress on today’s stage.

He really must find out more about her. With determination, he rose and offered his arm. “I think we should repair to the house now, Miss Washer. The sun is full hot and I am afraid you may feel the effects of it if we tarry here longer.”

“Yes, indeed, Captain. You are very thoughtful.” She stood and took his arm, as naturally as though she’d been doing it all her life. “I was being silly. I should have brought my parasol, then I could have been treated to more stirring tales of war.”

With a smile, Alex started them back toward the house. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation in the drawing room after dinner.”

“That would be lovely, Captain Bancroft.” The sweet smile on her lips sent a pang of longing to his groin. Pretty, sweet, and attentive, Miss Washer had become a most dear acquaintance in an amazingly short span of time. If things continued to progress at this accelerated pace, he might very well be a married man by the time the house party was over.

Chapter Three

Impatient as the gentlemen lingered after dinner with their port and cigars, Alex ended up pacing about the smoking room, to which they had removed. He’d been unable to sit with Miss Washer at dinner—they’d been separated by almost the length of the dining table—so now he jealously counted the minutes they must continue to remain apart due to the need for his uncle to smoke like the proverbial chimney. Alex gulped the remaining port in his glass and splashed in another hefty tot. There were so many gentlemen in the party they very well might not join the ladies until midnight. A fate he’d give much to escape. Miss Washer’s company this afternoon had been most pleasant, and he was eager to continue their conversation, especially if he could engage her to talk about herself. Flattering, of course, that she was so interested in him and his life, but dash it all, he’d like to know something about her other than her name if he was seriously considering marrying her.

“Are you about to break ranks and join the ladies on your own, Alex?” Uncle Jack’s voice rose above the din of the others.

“Of course not, uncle.” Alex straightened and peered through the fog of smoke toward the place his uncle’s voice seemed to come from.

“Then why the devil are you hanging about the door?”

Alex glanced over his shoulder and, sure enough, the door to the corridor was directly behind him. “I guess I just fetched up here.” He shrugged. “The room is rather crowded.”

“It is, I can’t deny it.” Uncle Jack rose and strode toward him. “I’ll have to designate a larger chamber for the smoking room after this.” His face brightened. “Which means I’ll be able to put my hand into the decoration of it. This was originally a study and I didn’t really do much when I decided it should be my smoking room except have the velvet drapes installed.” His gaze wandered around the room. “Perhaps an Egyptian theme, eh?” He waved his cigar. “Egyptian tobacco, you know.”

“A delightful idea, Lord Caxton.” Lord Braeton had joined them, a young lord Alex had met before and liked quite a lot. “Will you journey to Egypt to secure authentic pieces for the room?”

Inwardly, Alex groaned. Get his uncle started on his previous trip to Egypt and the evening was lost.

“Already got ’em, Braeton. Took a trip there in ’42, brought back all manner of statues, furniture, and the like. Stored up in the attics somewhere. I’ll take you there…”