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Sarah forced down her smile. Phyllida’s hatred for Napoleon had deepened over the last few weeks, but Sarah could not blame her. She too despised the man who had destroyed the lives of so many—and had forced her own husband back to the battlefield.
By the end of the previous year, Matthew and Sarah had settled into a pleasant and beneficial lifestyle. He had introduced her to his man of business and the land managers, easing her into the management of the estate. By mid-December she had assumed most of the duties. He had grown increasingly more impatient to rejoin Wellington, and several missives from the duke himself had arrived for Matthew, urging him to France. Phyllida had insisted he remain through Christmas, but on the second day of January, he set sail across the channel.
Three weeks later, Sarah realized that she was with child. Although she wrote to Matthew frequently, she hesitated to tell him, fearing something would go wrong. When he followed Wellington to the Council of Vienna, she did not want to worry him when he was so far away on vital business.
Then everyone’s world fell apart when Napoleon returned to France. She finally sent a letter with the news just before Robbie’s birth. Her missive headed to France the day before the allied armies faced the French at Waterloo.
“Did you ever tell him you love him?”
“Every day.”
Phyllida gave a soft laugh. “I meant Matthew.”
Sarah hesitated. “I told him that I was falling in love with him.”
“Not the same.”
“If I recall, it was the two of you who insisted love was necessary for a suitable marriage.”
“I would never say such a thing.”
“So you loved Robert?”
“No, I insisted you name your son after him solely for the sake of family legacy.”
Sarah looked up at Phyllida. Her mother-in-law’s penchant for sarcasm always brought Sarah back to earth. When she arched her eyebrows, Phyllida relented.
“Of course, I did.” She looked down at the baby in Sarah’s arms. “And I miss the man every day.” She nodded at her grandson. “I think he is finished.”
“I know.” She focused on Robbie again. She had felt him stop feeding and slip off her nipple. He stretched and mewed.
“Nanny.” Phyllida motioned to Robbie’s nurse, who waited patiently in a chair near the crib.
The woman tenderly lifted the baby while Sarah stood and refastened her gown. “I’ll burp the wee one, then get him settled—” The nanny froze staring over Sarah’s shoulder. “Dear God in heaven.”
Sarah pivoted. Matthew stood in the doorframe, wearing his full military regalia but looking the devil’s own. Some of the gold braid was missing from the red coat, which was frayed and mended in several places. A red slash ran down the right side of his face, a wound not yet healed. He had lost weight, leaving his eyes hollow and his uniform sagging. His dark curls were too long, and a deep purple bruise covered his left cheek. Most prominently, his left arm was bent across his abdomen, strapped down and held in place. His expression was one of uncertainty as he looked at the three women.
Tears flooded Sarah’s eyes.
“Matthew!”
Phyllida’s cry broke through Sarah’s shock. She blinked away the tears and rushed to him, but stopped, unsure of how to hug him. “I do not want to hurt you.”
He reached for her with his right arm, pulling her close, and she slid one arm around him, her other hand clutching at his chest. “What happens between a man and woman,” he whispered, “should never hurt.”
She held him tighter. “Why did you not write?”
“By the time I received your letter, it was faster just to come myself.” He took a breath. “I have a son?”
Sarah stepped away, tugging his arm. “Come meet him.” She trotted back to Nanny and gathered Robbie in her arms before turning back to Matthew.
He stared down at them, his eyes wet. He reached out and placed his hand on the boy’s head. “A son.”
“Robert Arthur Matthew. For now. We were waiting for you before the christening.”
Tears slipped from his eyes. “It is the perfect name.” He kissed the top of Robbie’s head, then glanced at Sarah’s face. “We will talk about why you did not tell me sooner?”
She smiled and gestured toward his left arm. “You clearly have been busy, with lots to tell. And I wish to hear it all. But you look as if you need a bath and food before we discuss anything.”
