Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Shock settled in Ernest when he saw the raven-haired young lady, only one year older than his cousin, standing in the breakfast hall doorway. Her face was pale and drawn, and her smile pulled up when he stood to his feet.

"Lord Bannerdown," she said, her voice soft, her smile demure. "It has been some time."

"Indeed," he answered, confused. He looked at his mother and then at the older woman behind Lady Samantha, her aunt. "Although I have enjoyed your letters since I returned—returned …"

He could not finish his sentence, not as a deep sadness entered Lady Samantha's crystal blue eyes. Her eyebrows pinched, and she nodded, her mouth tightening.

We returned without her fiancé, he thought.

And then he could not help himself, not as the viscount's face entered his mind. "Lady Samantha, he did nothing but talk of you," he said quietly. "I apologize for saying this, but it is true."

He blinked, but his friend's face would not leave his mind. He thought of Graham joking about how Archibald never stopped talking of her.

And the first thing I shall do upon my return is marry the beautiful Lady Samantha.

He could hear his friend's declaration as clear as day, and it choked him.

"Excuse me," he said quietly, clearing his throat and glancing away so he could blink back tears. "I seem to have lost myself for a moment."

He sat down, aware of both his mother's narrowed gaze on him as well as Miss Gundry watching him. He glanced at her for a moment. She knew of his heartache, and her brow was pinched in concern, even as she looked sideways at Lady Samantha.

Ernest breathed deeply, reaching for his glass of water. He drank and wished it was stronger. He could see the blood on his hands—he could hear Graham's scream in his ears.

Save him! Save him! Ernest, do what you must.

He remembered stitching up the wound, wondering why his friend wasn't improving. The desperation that hung in the air as they all rushed to save their captain.

It had been hopeless.

But beyond the blood, he remembered his friend's eyes, bright with mirth, and his love of toasts. He remembered his powerful voice booming across the tent as he commanded his men. But no. Archibald White had been more than a captain who had marched to his death. He had been a gracious host during the social season, the very first to reach for a slice of cake at parties, and a man who had always sought to lighten the moods of others.

Ernest's chest tightened. He closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. A hand closed over his, and he half expected to look down and find Miss Gundry's hand over his, but it was Lady Florence. She patted his fingertips, all while fixing him with a look of deep sympathy.

She understood the overwhelming sense of drowning that accompanied grief.

But as he struggled to maintain his composure, it was Miss Gundry who then stood up, clapping her hands. "It is a fine day, is it not? Lady Florence, how about we take a turn around the gardens? Lady Samantha, Mrs Brooks, would you care to join us?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." Lady Samantha's voice was quiet. Nobody mentioned how it was a fine day but not warm. Still, they all agreed. Ernest still kept his face averted and his eyes downcast until he was sure they had all gone. Quickly, his grief turned to anger as he faced the one woman who had not gone.

"Mother, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice calm in anger. "Why would you invite Lady Samantha here? She is still grieving her fiancé! I am still grieving the loss of my friend!"

He lifted his gaze to her, and she did not compose her features fast enough. She wore a smug expression right before she smoothed it into something that didn't really appear sympathetic.

"Of course," she purred. "Viscount White. Yes, it was incredibly tragic that he fell in battle before Lady Samantha found herself married to him." His mother's face was pulled downward in her fa?ade of empathy. "How unfortunate. She is only seventeen and back on the marriage market." It was said with enough sarcasm that Ernest knew she did not find it unfortunate at all, for Lady Samantha was practically a debutante in age, still. Her engagement to Archibald had been a happy one, advantageously planned.

And now she would face down new prospects who were not him.

"Mother, your mock sympathy insults the viscount's memory," Ernest spat. "It insults my grief."

"Oh, grief." She dismissed. "Ernest, if the world halted for grief, then we would all cease to exist. You have not been a field medic for many months now. It is time you let the past go."

"Is that an order, Mother?" he asked, deathly serious. "I will remind you again that I have a long stretch of patience, but you would not be back in Little Harkwell without me."

"Yes, you hold that over my head enough, Ernest. So, let us stop with these games. I merely heard of Lady Samantha arriving in Bath to visit friends. She is all abuzz on the gossip tree, what with being the betrothed of our fallen captain."

"Do not speak to her of Viscount White," Ernest warned. "You shall upset her."

"And you practically stood like presenting the viscount's ghost to her."

Ernest's temper rose. "You have deliberately gone behind my back to invite her! Stop your meddling at once, Mother, for it shall not end well. You should have warned me of her spontaneous arrival. She has been friendly with Graham and me since the viscount's death, and I wish to keep it that way."

She lifted her chin at him. "As do I." Her smile was positively cunning. "After all, a little correspondence can be broken up with a visit from time to time, do you not agree? And as I said, it was perchance that she was in the neighbourhood. I merely invited her, knowing how close you were to her late fiancé."

And yet her words dripped with such ingenuity that Ernest could not bear it.

"Would you like to know what I think?" he asked quietly, his fury simmering away as he abandoned the remainder of his breakfast, storming towards his mother.

"Do tell," she cooed as if proud of herself.

"I think you have orchestrated this. For Lady Samantha and me to meet in person all these months later. I think you believe you can create a match between her and me." His words were growled and clipped, his anger flaring. "And I will not hear of it, Mother. I will be polite because Lady Samantha is a good friend, and I wish to be there for her through her grief, but it shall not be anything near to what you envision. Am I understood?"

Even his mother blinked at that, surprised at his rage. But it was both his shock and grief combined. He could not believe she would do such a thing. He stormed out of the breakfast hall and flagged down the nearest footman.

"Send for Mr Graham Courtenay at once," he tasked him. "Have him come to the house with no time to waste."

***

Although Ernest would have liked to venture outside into the garden, it was getting colder as the day drew on. Lady Samantha's cheeks and nose had turned red from her previous stroll, and Ernest could not bring himself to ask her to go out once again.

So, he sat alongside Graham while Lady Samantha perched on the guest settee before them in the drawing room. He did not often receive guests, and he felt peculiar, as if waiting for something to happen until he realized that they were in his house, and he was waiting for somebody else to lead.

And still Graham did. "Archibald would have cracked a joke to diffuse the tension in this room," he muttered, his voice still loud in the quiet room. "And although I can imagine what sort of joke he would've made, I cannot bring myself to make it."

"Do not trouble yourself, Mr Courtenay," Lady Samantha said, smiling at him. She wore a dress of pale butter yellow, and a necklace of topaz adorned her throat. Her finger and thumb kept reaching for the largest jewel in the centre. "I can imagine it myself. He always did that: entered a room and told a joke. He always got everybody laughing."

"Did he make you laugh, Lady Samantha?" Ernest asked, unable to help himself. Some engagements were not always as happy as they seemed, but Lady Samantha's face darkened with grief as she nodded. Still, she mustered another smile.

"Every moment we were together," she told him. "He never failed to brighten my day."

"That is exactly how we both see him." Graham nodded. "However, I do not mean to change the topic, but I am curious as to how you ended up in Little Harkwell, Lady Samantha. Lord Bannerdown is not one for guests."

"I am as surprised as he is," she answered, sharing a glance at Ernest. "I am very grateful for the invitation from Lady Katherine, but I do not really understand why now."

Because she believes your mourning period should be over, and I should court you, Ernest thought bitterly. But he did not say it. He would not distress her more than she already was.

"I am sorry that I did not reach out sooner," Graham said, linking his fingers together and clasping his hand on his knee. "When we returned from battle, I mean."

"Please do not be," she said, shaking her head, but there was still a heavy sadness to her that a mere shake would not take away. "I admit that life has been … difficult since the viscount's death, but I am surrounded by good friends and my aunt. It is good to have that when one's security suddenly falls away. The viscount, however, was not just security for me. Despite our age difference, I truly believe I was falling in love with him. I was …" Her breath hitched. "I was looking forward to our life together."

Ernest wanted to move to her and comfort her, but he kept his distance. Grief was an unpassable berth. But when he had talked to Miss Gundry the night before in his study, trying not to take too much notice of how her face softened considerably in the candlelight, he had wished for closeness. However, he wished for closeness always from Miss Gundry, for she had consumed his thoughts.

I can only hope my mother's poison does not find its way into Miss Gundry's ears. It would be like her to talk of false stories to distance Miss Gundry from me.

But would his mother be so callous?

"I have enjoyed reading your letters, Mr Courtenay," she said, ever so politely. "And yours too, Lord Bannerdown. Your correspondence has been a bright light for me in these months. You both share fantastic stories of the viscount. Through them, you have painted a picture of a man I never got a chance to know. A man I should have known. And despite my grief, they have made me happy."

"We are always but a letter away," Graham said, meeting her gaze. "And whether it is here at Little Harkwell or a visit to my townhouse, with your aunt, of course, you are always welcome."

"I wish I lived a little closer," Lady Samantha admitted. "For it would be nice to have comfort closer to home."

A stab of guilt hit Ernest. Archibald lived on the same street as Lady Samantha. They were almost neighbours, which was how she had been matched with him at the start, anyway. Things should have been so different. Ernest should have done more. He should have saved his friend, should have tried harder, should have known back then what he did now.

Ernest had thrown himself into his research since returning and had discovered new ways of surgery and medical care. There was no guarantee it would have saved Archibald, but there was always that doubt that haunted him before he fell asleep.

Lady Samantha should have been planning her wedding to Archibald. Instead, she sat with her despair around her shoulders like a cape, and Lady Katherine no doubt lurked somewhere nearby, ready to pounce on her to be rematched.

"He always said you were very quiet," Ernest commented. "But that whenever you spoke, you shone with kindness."

She laughed softly. "That was the first thing he told me, actually." She pitched her voice deep to imitate the great captain. "Why, Lady Samantha! You are very quiet, I have noticed. But when I hear your voice, it is only when you are speaking kindly."

Graham and Ernest laughed with her. Even Graham puffed up his chest and took on Archibald's voice as well. "Why, Graham, do you not know the beauty of my fiancée? She is radiant! I would write a library's worth of books on her rosy cheeks alone!"

And although their light-hearted play brought tears to all their eyes, remembering the man who ought to have been there with them, there was laughter ringing through the air, and Ernest felt a sense of comfort settle in alongside his sorrow.

"Lady Samantha," he said once their laughter died down. "Would you care to spend some time in Little Harkwell? A night or two, perhaps. We have guest quarters set up. I do not wish for you and your aunt to depart so late in the day when dusk is near. You may return to your hosts in Bath whenever you are ready, of course, but please feel free to stay."

She blinked in surprise, and even Graham glanced sideways at him, raising his brow. It seemed that remembering Archibald tonight and Lady Samantha's presence was bringing him out of his shell once more. But he did not want to get his hopes up.

"That would be very lovely of you, My Lord," Lady Samantha said, inclining her head. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said. "I shall have my housekeeper show you and your aunt to your room."

"I believe she is drinking a glass of wine in the parlour with Lady Katherine. I would like to leave her undisturbed and retire quietly if that is okay."

"Very well." Ernest stood up, wishing that he could end his day with Miss Gundry as he had the morning before, but fatigue came for him, spurred by the emotions of the day. He bid farewell to Graham, who gave him a sad, tight smile, and the three of them departed the drawing room to go in different directions. Lady Samantha chattered with the housekeeper about how lovely she was and how her own housekeeper in London was not a very kind woman.

Ernest sighed before retreating to his own room. He did not know how to proceed with Lady Samantha, but he was glad to have met her properly in person and become acquainted with her. Still, there was much to learn and much to unravel about his mother's plans.

Soon, he thought. All that mess can be figured out soon.

And underneath the worries there was the thought that he had not finalized his plans for his next visit to the playhouse. He needed to remember to go into town and purchase the tickets. Miss Gundry had enjoyed sitting in the box, and he would have her settle for nothing less when he next took her.

It is about Lady Florence, he reminded himself sternly. Chiding himself, he shut the door to his bedroom without bidding his mother a good night. Usually, he would, but he was far too angry with her.

Readying himself for bed, he paused a moment before getting beneath the bed sheets.

He really felt in a predicament with his mother's intentions.

But what of his own feelings?

He could not deny how perfect it had felt that morning at breakfast. Ernest couldn't imagine it happening with anybody else: that brief feeling of right.

What was he to do?