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“Hmph.” Becky frowned as she read it, then glanced up. “See? I told you. He doesn’t even wish to see me! He is rude and inconsiderate.”
“Because he wrote a letter in a style so matter-of-fact? Come now, you can’t hold a man’s inferior letter writing skills as indicative of his general character.”
“You’d be surprised,” Becky said darkly.
Theo suppressed a smile. “I would hope that I not be judged simply because I might not be so flowery in my descriptions as some prefer. In fact,” she added thoughtfully, “I feel quite certain my sister is not impressed by my lack of detailing of the gowns I wear or the arrangement of my hair. I am sure my correspondence is forever a sad disappointment to her.”
“You could never be, Miss—Theo.”
“Very good. You will remember to call me as such one day, I hope.”
The wavering smile settled into lines of petulance. “I wishyouwere my aunt.”
“But as that cannot be, we best turn our attention to something more apropos. I know! You might teach me something about your trick with arranging your hair like so. It really is most becoming and suits you so very well.” Theo admired the glossy blonde curls spilling sweetly from Becky’s topknot. “I’m afraid that I have never quite mastered how to make one’s ringlets last longer than an hour. Mine always fall flat within minutes.”
“That’s because your hair is so thick.”
“Only too true, I’m afraid.” Theo sighed. “Sometimes I fear for my comb, that it will get lost forever in my mane. I’m sure there are some pins lost in there for years.”
Becky giggled before protesting, “But it is such a pretty color.”
“It is kind of you to say so, but I’m afraid many would disagree with you.”
“How silly! As if one can be responsible for the color of one’s hair. You cannot be responsible for it being red.”
“No. Though I am assured by my sister that its hue could be diminished by the careful application of lemon juice. She is such a believer in the power of lemon juice, she believes it might even make my freckles disappear.”
“I think your freckles hardly signify.”
“They do to my sister,” Theo said with wryness. She’d once overheard Seraphina’s pithy description of Theo’s person.Sadly bran-faced.
“Forgive me, but I think your sister is very wrong to say such things.” Indignation colored Becky’s words.
“I happen to agree with you. But as I prefer to not think on such misery, let us turn our minds to other things. Perhaps our spirits would benefit from a walk.”
A walk in the fresh air over hills might blow away some of the dusty cobwebs of the soul.
As the carriage clattered over the causeway, Captain Daniel Balfour settled back against the squabs, smiling a little as he thought on his friends, one older, one more new. His visit to Langley House—although the monikercastlewould be more apt—had proved a chance to get to know James and Sarah Langley far more than he’d anticipated, with all kinds of drama proving that the battlefield was not the only place where danger lurked.
He’d enjoyed meeting James’s wife. Had marveled at the transformation of his friend. How wonderful that such a sinner could see salvation, that God could choose to reform a rake. But that same impulse that had propelled Daniel to hasten his arrival at Langley House, thus witnessing the doctor’s unfortunate fall and protecting his friend from the noose, now also urged him further north. He withdrew the crumpled paper, flattening it against his thigh. The handwriting and direction in the upper left corner were unfamiliar, but the scrawled words inside he could almost recite.
It is with profound regret that I write on behalf of your sister, Clara Mannering, to inform you that she has recently fallen extremely ill. Whilst all is being done for her, I would strongly encourage you to visitWooler at your earliest convenience. Please be assured that both Clara and your niece, Rebecca, are being cared for at Stapleton Court.
Yours truly,
Theodore Stapleton
Clara.
Regret crossed his heart. He should have tried harder to stay in touch over the years, but with war and his career, and after that last visit when he’d been told in no uncertain terms just how poorly his brother-in-law, Francis, thought of Daniel’s low connections, he had made little effort over the years, save to answer the rare letter from his sister.
Of course, that might have been as much about protecting his sister and niece from another unfortunate scene. During their last encounter, Daniel had not held back from succinct observations about his brother-in-law’s commitment to his marriage vows, a fact Francis had not appreciated. Still, Daniel should have made more of an effort. Especially after Francis’s death. He could only hope he wasn’t too late now.
Glimpses of countryside flashed by, and his mind turned to his recent time in London. He was a military man, and not cut out for the parties and social intercourse his awards apparently demanded he participate in. Friends like Lieutenant Musgrave excelled in societal discourse, but Daniel’s overly developed sense of irony kept him from drawing quite so much pleasure.
He had simply been doing his duty, after all. There was no need for phrases like those uttered by his superiors and repeated by the King about “invincible bravery” and “determined devotion to the honor of His Majesty’s arms.” After the King’s commendation at St. James, he had been hounded by people, inundated with invitations to parties galore.
Duty had forced attendance at a few such functions, but he’d been sickened by the show. Those claiming an acquaintanceship, those offering extravagant dinners that would feed his men for a week, he had little wish for. He’d grown only too aware of those that had much and those who did not. Few, if any, of these people would give him a moment’s thought if it wasn’t for King George’s medal glinting on his chest.
