But twice he had said nothing and then fled like the veritable coward that he was. He hadn't bolted like he was in a foot race, but he might as well have done so.
James' heart pounded in his ears even as the sound of the rain and the wedding breakfast fell away behind him. And then he was at the staircase, his hand on the banister. And he let the cool castle air and the stillness of this abandoned part of his home wash over him.
He took a breath.
He was the Duke of Linthorpe, for pity's sake. He managed four thousand acres. He sat in the House of Lords. He had told men things they didn’t wish to hear and without any particular difficulty.
But this... talking to her? Telling her that she meant something to him, even if he didn't understand it...
James made his way to his study and then closed the door behind him. He stood for a moment in the silence of a room that asked nothing of him, which was more than he deserved at the present.
He hadn't summoned the courage to speak to the woman. But she was more than that, wasn't she? She was?—
A stack of letters on his desk caught his eye, and James was relieved for the distraction from his own thoughts, even if he wouldn't admit as much to himself.
He went to his desk to work through the stack because work was something he could do, something he was good at when life failed him. It should be just methodical enough to crowd out the image of Cori's face from his mind. Her lovely face.
James snagged the first piece of foolscap.
Turlow's report on the south pasture. Then there was a bill from the chandler in Helmsley. An invitation to a shooting party in Northumberland which he would not attend. The quarterly accounts from the home farm.
And at the bottom of the stack was a letter in a hand he recognized instantly. In all the years that James had known his friend, the man's penmanship had never improved.
A name scratched onto the envelope — Major John Hawkesworth. Cambrai.
James broke the seal.
My dear Linthorpe,
I write from Cambrai where the summer has been no summer at all. In fact, it is cold and thoroughly miserable, which the French seem to find a personal affront to them specifically.
Wellington keeps us well enough occupied, though I confess peacetime soldiering sits oddly after the years before it. One adjusts.
I had the news from Forsby that your brother has finally been caught in the parson's mousetrap, though he was characteristically vague on the details. My sincere congratulations to Lord Daniel and his bride. I hope Acklan will be suitably festive.
We had rather a dull fortnight before last. I was in Valenciennes twice on regimental business. It is a decent enough town with a good hotel on the main square. On my second evening there, I believe I spotted the Earl of Chopwell at dinner. I did not know he was in France. He looked well, though I did not speak to him.
The regiment moves to winter quarters in October, and I expect to be in London by Christmas, at which point I hope to find you there and claim that supper you have owed me since 'fourteen. Do give my regards to Lord Daniel.
Yours,
J. Hawkesworth, Major
4th Regiment of Foot
Cambrai, 29th July 1816
James read the letter twice. Then he set it on the desk.
I believe I spotted the Earl of Chopwell at dinner. I did not know he was in France. He looked well.
Hawkesworth had moved on to winter quarters in the very next sentence. It was, to him, a passing observation, a mildly interesting sighting of a familiar face in an unfamiliar city, no more significant than noting the weather or the price of wine. He couldn’t possibly know that the mere mention of Chopwell’s name would affect James in any way.
James stood.
He went to the window, because the window was there, and looked at the moors through the rain.
Valenciennes. A good hotel on the main square. He looked well.
