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“TheAbernathyname is as revered as the Collington name,” Charity retorted and then clamped her mouth shut wondering if she had said too much. Lord Wentwell’s mother had a barely bated grin that seemed determined to cross her face, despite her best efforts. She seemed pleased with Charity’s response, as if she had yet to meet a lady with a bit of spunk to her. Charity did not wish to argue with his mother, even if it seemed to raise her in the elder’s esteem. Instead, she lapsed into silence, and after several minutes Lady Wentwell returned to her needlework. The tea sat cooling in its pot.
In the silence, the women heard crashes and muffled yells from somewhere in the house, causing both to lean forward in their chairs. Then there was silence. Charity counted the seconds and Lady Wentwell looked as if she could sit still no longer. There was a muffled sound and then a loud crash which seemed to make the entire house shake. The lady jumped to her feet with amazing alacrity, for one of her age, exited the room, following the sounds.
Lady Charity followed the Countess to the room where the two brothers were locked in a struggle. Danvers tried ineffectively to pull Edmund off of Lord Wentwell while Edmund screamed something about fire.
Charity noted that Edmund had the same tensed jaw as his brother, when he was upset. Edmund’s nostrils were flared and his eyes wild, his dark hair mused. Charity caught her breath. Already a bruise was appearing on Neville’s cheek and his brother seemed not to recognize him or by his coarse language, the fact that there were ladies in the room.
“Edmund!” The Countess spoke with authority, but Charity had eyes only for Lord Wentwell, who looked to be having the short end of the fight, with the combination of his brother’s size and the fact that Neville did not want to hit his brother. It was obvious that Neville was trying to hold him still, while calling his name, over and over again, but the plan did not seem to be working, and Danvers seemed to be of little help.
“Oh!” Charity called rushing to the brothers’ side. She was not sure how she could help, but she only knew she must. She had no idea what she did, but Edmund’s eyes seemed to clear a bit as she spoke.
“Please, sir, be still. It is alright. You are home.”
He spoke to her in a hash smattering of French, “Sortez l'enfant! Avant que les soldats viennent.”
She realized that he was telling herto get the child out while he held off the soldiers. What was he thinking? What child? She wondered, but instead of saying her thoughts, she remembered how she humored her father to keep him calm. She only said. “We are safe. We all are safe. Look around you. You are safe here with your family.”
Edmund did look around and had a moment of confusion, but he stopped struggling against his brother’s hold as he took in the furnishings of his own house. The tension went out of his body.
“Let him go, Neville,” his mother said and Neville did so. Danvers also stepped back.
Edmund rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” Edmund said, sinking to the floor. “I’m so sorry. I did it again, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, brother,” Neville said laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. You should lock me up before I hurt someone. I hit you again, didn’t I, Neville?”
“You didn’t know what you were doing.”
The Countess came forward and lay a hand on her younger son’s shoulder. Charity felt supremely out of place in the family moment. “How did she bring you back to us?” the Countess asked with a shrewd eye. “Think Edmund. Tell us what happened. Something Lady Charity did made a difference. It turned you around.”
“Lady Charity,” Edmund said with a groan, as if he just realized she was there. “I cannot. It is too awful for feminine ears.”
“What did you do?” the Countess asked Lady Charity.
Charity shook her head. She wanted to help, but she did not know what she did. “I do not know,” she said. “I was doing nothing, but what Lord Wentwell was doing. Asking him to be still. That is all.”
“No. What happened, Edmund?” Lady Wentwell asked. “Think. She touched you, and…” his mother began, but Edmund shook his head.
“No. She didn’t touch me, Mother. Praise God, or I might have hit her too. I was back there in the fire and pain and the smell of death, blood and gunpowder, but then, I smelled lavender. Lavender.” He looked up a light in his eyes. “It was her perfume. It was the lavender. It was such a shocking scent. It did not belong in war, and for just a moment, there was woman beside me and she could not be where I was, and then I could see the room again, the furnishings and I knew what I had done.” He covered his face with his hands.
“You should rest, Edmund,” his mother said. “Danvers? Have the physician see him in his room.”
“Right away, milady,” Danvers said.
“Yes,” Edmund agreed standing and he let Danvers lead him away.
“It always takes so much out of him,” Lord Wentwell commented as he rubbed a hand over his face.
A red mark marred his cheek and Charity wondered if he would soon have a black eye. Charity took a step towards him with the intention of touching him, and then realized how improper that would be. She didn’t want to give his mother any more reason to think she was improper. She froze within steps of going to his aid.
“If you would give me a moment,” Lord Wentwell said, gesturing to his uncharacteristic disheveled appearance. “I am truly sorry to have gotten you involved in our family drama, Lady Charity. I must ask you to please not share what you saw with anyone. There is enough fodder for the gossips. As far as anyone else knows, my brother is simply ill from recent travels.”
Charity nodded. “I would not break your trust. I shan’t tell a soul, but I’m afraid the eminent bruise on your face may speak for itself regardless.”
Lord Wentwell inspected himself in the glass at the far side of the parlor. “Hmmm… Yes. It is rather worse than I first thought. I shall have darkened my daylights.” He turned and flashed her a grin. Even with his battered features, Charity still thought him exceedingly handsome, and she could not help smiling back. “I shall think of something,” he said. “Perhaps I got into a match of fisticuffs over a pretty lady. TheTonwill love that sort of story.”
Charity heard his mother groan in frustration at his storytelling. It was clear that she disapproved of his ploy, for whatever reason, to be known as the most uncouth gentleman of the land.
