Chapter Three

“Sally Jersey specifically asked if you would be attending Almack’s this evening.”

Marjie recognized Philip’s voice coming from the book room. The only person in the household whose attendance at Almack’s was in question was Stanley. Marjie paused outside the door, listening for his answer.

“Then I hope you specifically told her I would not be.”

Marjie’s heart dropped to her feet.

She had hardly seen Stanley in the five days since his unexpected return home. She couldn’t very well go into his bedchamber, and he very seldom came out of it. He had not made a point of seeking her out, and other than the occasional “good day” uttered in passing, he had not spoken to her.

“The rumors of inedible food are, I assure you, a bit exaggerated,” Philip said.

Marjie slipped quietly inside the book room. Stanley sat near the fireplace, thin to the point of alarm. Before leaving for the Continent, he had been healthy except for a slight weakness in his right arm. Now dark circles marred his undereyes. He’d aged years in those brief months. He limped more than Sorrel did.

“There is absolutely nothing worth drinking, but the company is congenial.” Philip leaned against the back of the chair opposite Stanley, his relaxed posture and flamboyant attire painting a unique picture. He would most certainly be the only gentleman at Almack’s that evening wearing yellow silk knee breeches. His efforts at subduing his wardrobe were apparently falling short.

“An evening of dancing is entirely out of the question,” Stanley said. He sat rigidly upright. His words came out tense.

“Sorrel is attending,” Philip said.

“Her mobility has improved since I last saw her.”

“She will never be able to dance,” Philip said. “Yet she attends every Wednesday.”

“I don’t—”

“Do come, Stanley.” The words simply fell out of Marjie’s mouth, a plea that had hovered anxiously near the surface ever since she’d entered the room.

Both gentlemen turned at the sound of her voice. Philip smiled at her. Stanley looked more surprised than happy.

“Yes.” Philip motioned her over. “Please help me convince him.”

Marjie rushed across the room. How she had dreamed of having Stanley at her side at Almack’s and the theatre and the dozens of other gatherings she had attended. If only she could persuade him.

She sat on the footstool just to the side of Stanley’s chair. He shifted a little away from her and tucked one hand between his leg and the arm of his chair. His posture grew stiffer. His eyes focused on the fireplace.

He had never been like that before. Always when she had spoken with him, he’d looked at her, truly listened. She had seldom been given such consideration at home.

But, then, he had been ill. He hadn’t said as much, but his appearance told her the truth of the matter. Some leniency must be granted to one so obviously afflicted.

“Please come,” Marjie said. Her eyes never left his face, though he still did not look at her. “Philip, as you know, never holds still for five minutes, and Sorrel spends the evenings talking with the other married ladies. I am not asked to dance very often.” Her face heated at the admission. “And I grow terribly lonely sitting by myself. I have so few friends and—” She faltered. Stanley’s eyes had very abruptly focused on her, a look of confusion on his face. Even thin and weary, it was his beloved face. How she longed to reach out and simply touch his cheek to assure herself that he was real. They had embraced only once, on the day he’d left for the Continent, but she had longed to touch him ever since.

“You do not get asked to dance?” Stanley actually seemed shocked, upset even.

The heat in Marjie’s cheeks stole down her neck. “I am not very popular. Brunettes are all the rage just now.”

Stanley shook his head. “Did the gentlemen of London go blind while I was gone?”

Marjie laughed nervously, his scrutinizing gaze sitting heavily upon her. Did he notice how pallid she appeared in the pastels required of a young lady making her come out? She hoped not.

“Many very pretty young ladies are out just now.” Marjie tried to make the comment sound light. “They receive a great deal of attention.”

“And you don’t?” His voice was soft, compassionate, the way it had been so often before his departure.

This was the Stanley she had missed so dearly. Perhaps he had not changed so entirely.

“No, I do not.” The less-than-flattering opinions of others, though they stung a bit, did not weigh too heavily upon her; she had already found what she was looking for.

“So they are blind and stupid.” Stanley’s lips twitched upward for the briefest moment.

Marjie smiled back at him. “Please come,” she said. “Come sit by me. I won’t be lonely with you there.”

Stanley shook his head. “I doubt you’d wish to be seen with me.”

“Of course I would,” Marjie said. She clasped her hands together on her lap, the temptation to reach for him growing with every passing moment.

Stanley’s forehead creased, his eyes still on Marjie. Was he at least considering coming?

“I daresay you would clean up nicely,” Philip said. Marjie had forgotten he was even there. “A haircut and a good close shave ought to do the trick.”

“Please, Stanley.” Marjie’s eyes didn’t leave Stanley’s weary face. He would improve with time, she was certain of it. But when he was well again, he would leave. She wanted every moment with him she could possibly have.

“You could wear your dress uniform,” Philip said. “It is in far better shape than the rags you showed up in.”

Marjie could see indecision in Stanley’s eyes. Perhaps they had convinced him. Her heart flipped in her chest. She would not have to endure another evening of thinking of him in his absence.

“Of course,” Philip continued, “you would have to wear it with knee breeches. The patronesses are very strict about that requirement.”

“Knee breeches?” Stanley didn’t seem happy about that.

“Yes. You know, the lovely little knickers that buckle just below the knee so we men can display our well-shaped calves in silk hose and dancing shoes.”

“I know what they are,” Stanley muttered.

“Come on, then,” Philip said. “Drag yourself upstairs and get cleaned up. We can wait.”

Marjie smiled at Stanley. They could most certainly wait.

“I don’t think so, Philip.” Stanley’s gaze moved back to the fireplace, his expression cleared of every identifiable emotion. “Give Lady Jersey my apologies.”

“She won’t be happy,” Philip said.

“She will recover.”

“Then you’re not coming?” Marjie could hear her own disbelief. Stanley had seemed nearly convinced, and then he’d abruptly decided against Almack’s.

Stanley shook his head but didn’t look back at her.

“Because . . .” She tried to piece it together. “Because of the knee breeches?”

He didn’t answer.

“I realize they aren’t fashionable, but—” No. There had to be another reason. “Certainly you could endure knee breeches for one evening.”

He shook his head again. Every inch of him radiated tension. Was he upset or merely extremely opposed to the fashion requirements of the invitation?

“I would have to sit by myself.” Marjie blinked against the sting in her eyes. “You would abandon me because of knee breeches?”

“I’m sorry,” Stanley whispered.

Marjie sat watching him, confused. What had happened? What had changed? Stanley had spent nearly the entire Christmas house party where they’d met sitting with her and talking to her. Now her company was not even worth the inconvenience of uncomfortable attire.

Philip sighed quietly. “Come, Marjie. As soon as Sorrel is ready, we’ll leave.”

Marjie nodded mutely and rose to her feet. Stanley still watched the embers in the fireplace. “Will you come with us to the theater on Friday?” she asked him.

Stanley’s posture did not give an inch.

“There are no wardrobe requirements.” The words broke a little as she spoke them. How had she sunk so low in his esteem as to rank below his clothing consideration?

“I will think on it.” He didn’t even look at her.

“Marjie,” Philip whispered. He had come to stand beside her. “Come along.”

Marjie allowed Philip to lead her away, though her gaze remained on Stanley. His brows were pulled together, his forehead deeply creased. His expression was not dismissive nor uncaring. Rather, he appeared burdened.

She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until she felt Philip tug lightly on her arm.

“Something is weighing on him,” Marjie said as Philip walked with her out of the book room.

“I’ve noticed that myself,” Philip said. “Sorrel is nearly out of patience with him.”

“Patience never was Sorrel’s strongest trait.” They had reached the front entryway.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. She has endured a great deal these past months and has been remarkably patient through it all.”

“Patience with other people, then,” Marjie said. “She was always the strong one in the family. Fennel was the insightful sibling.”

“And you?” Philip asked. “You are named for marjoram. I believe Sorrel said marjoram was a soothing herb.”

“Yes. We’ve each made a point of living up to our names.”

“How patient are you, Marjie?” Philip suddenly turned quite serious. “I am worried about my brother.” He glanced back toward the corridor they had just walked down before returning his gaze to her. “He was prone to heavy moods after Orthez but never this severe.”

Nervousness tugged at Marjie’s stomach. “What can I do?”

“Help me sort out what is wrong with him.” “If he won’t even talk to me or spend time with me, how am I supposed to—”

“Don’t give up on him,” Philip said. “He was happier in those few weeks he spent with you than he had been in the months he’d spent at home before that. He needs you.”

Marjie shook her head. “He didn’t even want to come tonight.”

“I know, and I am sorry for that.”

“I’m afraid I may have misread his feelings for me. If he really— He hasn’t even spoken to me.” Marjie pushed out a breath. She hadn’t let herself think about it, let alone speak the words out loud.

Philip watched her closely. “If he didn’t love you”—Marjie winced—“would you help him anyway?”

“I would,” she answered without hesitation. “I would do anything for him.”

“Then be his friend,” Philip said. “I have my suspicions that you stand a better chance of piercing his armor than any of the rest of us.”

“I am not at all sure of that.” She did not even detect signs of friendship in him, let alone anything beyond.

“But you will help?”

“Of course.”

A moment later, she stood alone in the entryway. Philip had left to seek out Sorrel.

Marjie closed her eyes. In her mind, she could see Stanley as he’d been during those beautiful weeks of the Christmas season and again in the days before he’d been recalled to his regiment. He had suffered a shoulder injury at the Battle of Orthez and had frequently been in pain, but he had been happy. His smile had come easily; his laughter had warmed her to her very core.

Was that Stanley—the Stanley she had fallen so deeply in love with—still there somewhere? She had seen a glimpse of him for just a moment in the book room.

When Sorrel had been so ill at Christmastime, Stanley had listened to all Marjie’s worries and concerns. He had been an unfailing source of support to her.

Marjie took a deep breath and solidified her resolve. Stanley had stood as her friend during her difficulties. No matter his feelings, no matter the eventual outcome, she would do the same for him.