Chapter 15
995 Words
Chapter Fifteen
November 13th, 1808
Whiteoaks, Wiltshire
Tom Matlock was good to his word. He strolled into the stableyard at eight the next morning, very smart in a military-cut riding coat and gleaming boots. “This may be the most exciting morning of my life,” he confided, once they were trotting along the oak avenue. “Trysting with an heiress! Is it to be a special license, Tish, or do you want the banns to be read?”
“Tom, do be serious.”
“But,” Tom said, ignoring this request. “I feel it’s only fair to tell you that my heart belongs to another.” His tone was bantering, but there was a ring of pure truth to his words.
“I want to talk about Lucas,” Letty said.
Tom dropped his lightheartedness. “What about him?”
“How is he? Truly.”
Tom looked away from her, down the long line of leafless oak trees.
Letty waited.
“Let’s canter,” Tom said, abruptly.
Tom chose a route that took them along the River Kennet and up onto the Marlborough Downs, to a wooded height that commanded a sweeping view. Here, he halted. Whiteoaks lay spread before them: the parkland, the folly peeping from the trees, the smooth, green expanse of lawns, the palatial house. Mist lay in the hollows and along the river.
“Have you seen much of Lucas this past year?” Tom asked.
Letty shook her head. “He’s been dealing with his godfather’s estate. He only came back to town last month. He seemed . . . I thought he seemed happier. He wasn’t wearing blacks.”
“When did you see him last?”
“The beginning of October. I asked him to dine with me on his birthday, but he’d already accepted an invitation elsewhere.”
“Had he?” Tom looked down at Whiteoaks. “He didn’t go. I arrived in London the evening of his birthday, went round to his rooms, found him sitting in the dark with the fire gone out, so drunk he couldn’t even stand up.” His lips compressed. “He’d been crying.”
Letty stared at him. It was several seconds before she found her voice. “But he seemed almost his old self!”
“He’s not,” Tom said flatly. “He puts on a good act, but he has days where I don’t think he’d even get out of bed—let alone shave or dress—if not for that man of his.”
Letty’s horror grew. How had she missed seeing this?
“You know how wounded animals hide themselves away? That’s what he did after Julia died—and I understand he needed to be alone afterwards—you don’t have to tell me how close they were—but he needs to crawl out of his cave and learn how to be happy without her.”
“I thought he had,” Letty said, troubled. When she’d asked how he was, Lucas had said “Better,” and it had been the truth.
But better didn’t necessarily mean happy.
“No.” Tom shook his head. “I asked for an extended leave of absence. Wellesley gave me until the end of the year.”
“For Lucas?”
“Of course, for Lucas!”
“Can I help?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know that I can help.” Tom gazed down at Whiteoaks, and his lips thinned further. “I don’t know that coming here was a good idea. This place is full of Julia.” He shook his head. “Come on, let’s ride.”
They galloped on the downs, and came back through the park, dropping to a slow trot when they reached the avenue. Letty’s mood was somber. Tom had been correct; Julia was everywhere.
Everywhere, and nowhere.
But if Lucas had lost his twin, he still had his best friend, and if anyone could help Lucas, it was Tom. Tom, with his grin and his banter and his dog-eared sketchbooks. Tom, who was mercifully still alive despite six years as a soldier.
“How are you enjoying soldiering?”
Tom gave a shrug. “Oh, I like it well enough.”
Letty considered this ambivalent answer. “You’d rather sell out and be an artist?”
Tom laughed ruefully. “You know me too well.”
“Could you sell out?”
“Only if I marry an heiress.” He gave her a cheerful leer. “What do you say, Tish? Want to marry a youngest son with not a penny to his name?”
“Your heart belongs to someone else,” Letty reminded him.
Tom’s grin faded. He looked almost sad. “So it does.”
They rode in silence. Letty’s thoughts grew even more somber. Lucas wasn’t the only person at Whiteoaks pretending to be happy. And then she straightened in her saddle. “Tom, if you had twenty thousand pounds, would you sell out?”
“Yes, but I don’t.” He turned the subject: “There’s to be a ball this week. Did Almeria tell you?”
“Tom . . . I can give you twenty thousand pounds.”
“What?” Tom looked startled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous. Let me give you twenty thousand! Then you can sell out!”
“Thank you, but no,” Tom said firmly.
“Why not?”
Tom reached over and took her gloved hand and kissed her knuckles. “Tish, I love you dearly, but I won’t take your money.” Truth rang in his voice.
“But—”
“No,” Tom said. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Tish. Soldiering suits me well enough. I’m better off than a lot of younger sons.” He thought for a moment, and added: “And heirs, for that matter. I’m a thousand times better off than m’ brother, saddled with Father’s debts. Or Henry Wright. Poor devils.”
“Yes, but if I give you—”
“Lord, Tish, you’re like a terrier at a rabbit hole! I don’t want your money.”
Letty sighed.
They reached the end of the avenue. Whiteoaks came into sight. Tom glanced at his watch, and tucked it back in his waistcoat pocket.
“Tom . . . will you tell me about the Battle of Vimeiro?”
“Vimeiro?” Tom lifted his eyebrows. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Tom looked at her as if she’d sprouted a second head, and then shrugged. “The battle was straightforward. We outnumbered the French. Not many casualties.”
“Did you fight?”
“Me? I carried orders, mostly.”
“Carried orders?”
“The general can’t be in more than one place,” Tom explained. “So his aides-de-camp relay his orders. Vimeiro was pretty busy—we were down a couple of officers—one drunk, the other missing—I went back and forth a score of times. Quite wore out my horse!”
They dismounted in the stableyard. Grooms hurried forward to take their mounts. Letty looped the long skirt of her riding dress over her arm.
Another horse clattered into the yard behind them. A liveried servant leaned low over the horse’s withers and passed something to one of the grooms.
“Lieutenant Matlock, sir?” the groom called out. “A message for you.”
Tom’s eyebrows flicked up. “For me?”
The groom hurried over, holding out a letter. Tom broke the seal and read swiftly. He crossed to the mounted servant. “Tell him yes. Two o’clock.”
The man touched his forelock, turned his horse, and trotted from the stableyard.
“Yes, what?” Letty asked.
“Major Reid’s in Marlborough. He’s coming to visit this afternoon.” Tom shoved the letter in his pocket. “Hurry up, Tish. We’ll be late for church!”
- Writer
