Chapter Twenty-Four

Marjie had no idea on what pretext Philip had managed to take Stanley away from Lampton Park for the morning, but she blessed him for it. She cherished every moment of Stanley’s company that remained to her—the army representative would arrive in only two days—but a great deal that day rested on Stanley’s absence.

“The party from Havenworth has arrived, Miss Kendrick,” a Lampton Park footman informed her as he passed by with yet another basket of food.

Marjie nodded, grateful to hear that Corbin Jonquil and his family had arrived. All the brothers would be present that day, except for Charlie, the youngest, who could not leave Cambridge so near the end of term.

She looked over the grounds, inspecting and worrying. Tables sat pleasantly spaced with long benches lining the sides. All was in readiness for the bonfire planned for that evening. Those invited to The Gathering had been trickling in all morning and were busily and willingly helping with the ongoing preparations.

She took a deep, calming breath. All would be well, she assured herself for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. She steadfastly maintained that Stanley would not only appreciate her efforts but would also benefit from them.

Two men, obviously young but aged by experience, dressed in well-worn and faded uniforms embraced each other. Introductions were made amongst their loved ones, though at too far a distance for Marjie to hear the exact words exchanged. Smiles wreathed every face. She had seen the same scene play out multiple times over the past hour or so.

“This will be good for him.” It would be. It had to be. Should the scheme prove disastrous, she had no one to blame but herself.

“Miss Kendrick.” Marjie instantly recognized the enthusiastic voice as Pluck’s.

Fortunately for all of them, Pluck had managed to be left behind. He knew most of the former soldiers who had arrived; if not personally, he at least recognized their names and when they had served with Stanley, who had apparently found a confidant in his young batman.

Pluck could quickly pair up the new arrivals with those they would most wish to see. Some guests had come on behalf of a father, brother, son, or husband who had fallen in the war, and Pluck, within a couple of questions, managed to identify whom they represented and did so with none of the awkwardness Marjie had worried about. Perhaps most importantly of all, he had a knack for putting at ease those guests who found themselves overawed at being invited to the grand country estate of an earl.

“This here’s Lieutenant Greenberry,” Pluck said, the closest to a formal introduction as he was likely to come. He indicated the young man next to him. The lieutenant stood with the confident, almost combative bearing of an army man but possessed the face of an angel. “This is Miss Kendrick.”

“Miss Marjie Kendrick?” Lieutenant Greenberry’s inflection transformed the question into a simple statement of fact. He was a study in contradictions. One expected his voice to be gruff and his tone implacable, yet he spoke with an inherent gentleness.

“Yes, Lieutenant Greenberry. I am.”

“I am no longer in the army, Miss Kendrick. Mr. Greenberry will do fine.”

Pluck would have none of it. “Ah, but for the day, we’re all back in the army, Greenboy.”

The Lieutenant slapped Pluck on the shoulder. “I see some of the boys have even pulled out their Continental togs.” He pointedly eyed a few of the guests who were wearing their uniforms.

“A reg’lar collection of fashion plates we are ’round here.” Pluck pulled out the cheeky grin he so often wore and tugged at the front of his own artillery uniform. His role as Stanley’s valet attached him to the dragoons, but he still wore the regimentals of his former unit. “’Course, none of us can compete with the figure our captain cuts in his shako.”

Lieutenant Greenberry smiled before his cherubic features turned more somber. “And when do we get to see our captain?”

Every person Marjie had spoken with that morning had referred to Stanley in just that way, “Our captain,” and each person who had inquired after him had worn identical expressions of concern.

“He’s off jollyfyin’ with His High and Mighty Lordship,” Pluck said.

“Captain Jonquil’s eldest brother has taken him into Collingham for the morning so that we might have everything ready when he returns,” Marjie explained.

One of the footmen called out to Pluck, motioning him over to help with more of the arrangements.

“This is to be a surprise, then?” Lieutenant Greenberry asked after Pluck had left. The lieutenant seemed uncertain of the wisdom of Stanley’s not being warned.

“I thought it best.” Hesitation gripped her mind. Perhaps she wasn’t as certain of her idea as she’d been attempting to convince herself she was. “If he had known . . .”

“If our captain had known he would be confronted with an estate filled with his army comrades and the memories that linger around them, he might have objected.” Lieutenant Greenberry nodded. “Or he might have outright refused to attend.”

“Was I wrong to plan this?” She suddenly felt very unsure of herself. “Will I be doing him a disfavor instead of helping?”

“That I cannot tell you, Miss Kendrick.” Lieutenant Greenery motioned for her to walk alongside him. His manners inarguably placed him at least amongst the gentry. “But this I do know: if anyone can bring our captain around to accepting what would otherwise overset him, you can.”

“I?”

“You were known amongst the Thirteenth as our captain’s angel.” They continued to walk. Lieutenant Greenberry glanced in her direction occasionally, just as she did in his. “You saved his life, though I doubt you realize it.”

She was too astonished to even speak. Only with effort did she manage to place one foot in front of the other.

“We read your letters to him after Waterloo,” Lieutenant Greenberry said. “No one could say for certain if he would recover or succumb to the infection and pain and . . . and sorrow of it all. There were a great many who gave up the fight. Our captain had been through more than many who did not live.”

The more she learned of Stanley’s experiences during and after Waterloo, the more convinced she became that she had come perilously close to losing him.

“I can tell you the exact moment when our captain decided to fight to stay alive.”

Marjie kept her eyes firmly focused ahead, only vaguely processing the buzz of activity around her. She noted somewhere in the recesses of her mind that Corbin Jonquil, the third of the brothers, stood but a short distance off, greeting Mater along with his small family.

“He had been fading alarmingly fast,” Lieutenant Greenberry continued, “and the surgeons had declared his fate to be out of their hands. I was reading to him that night; we took it in turns, wanting someone to be with him all the time if we could manage it. The Thirteenth had been assigned to march on to Paris, but a few of us who were planning to sell out received permission to remain with him before returning home.”

“You must have cared for him a great deal,” Marjie said. Stanley never spoke of any of this.

“He was . . .” Lieutenant Greenberry’s voice trailed off as though he was attempting to find a word just beyond his mental reach. “I can think of no other way to phrase it, but our captain was almost like a mother to all of us. I know that sounds ridiculous, but he—Being with our captain was like being home again. Does that even make sense?”

Marjie nodded. It made perfect sense. “He is a very calming and comforting person, and he cares a great deal for the people around him.”

“Yes,” Lieutenant Greenberry said. “But I think we all sensed that he had to fight hard for that peacefulness. He exuded hope but struggled to feel it. He offered reassurance but did not feel it himself. He offered to us what no one was able to offer him, and he did so despite the tremendous effort required. We loved him for that.”

Again, the contradictions Lieutenant Greenberry presented. He had served in war. He walked with an air of action and decisiveness. Marjie sensed in him the ability to be almost ruthless when the situation warranted it, yet he spoke easily of love and did it with such kindness and compassion.

“He gave us what we needed because we needed it, without thought for himself.” Lieutenant Greenberry stopped their aimless wandering and turned to face her. “Our entire company would stop midstep when our captain received one of your letters. I swear we held our breath, waiting for the change in him.”

The intensity in his face made her breath catch.

“Those were the only moments he was actually as peaceful and optimistic as he strived to appear. We all fancied ourselves half in love with you for what you meant to him. That was why we read him your letters when he was feverish and dying.”

Marjie winced at the blunt wording. She had somehow managed to convince herself he’d merely been ill, not truly in danger.

“I was reading one of your letters the night everyone expected him to die.” He paused and swallowed with obvious difficulty. “He was quieter, just as he had been while others were reading to him. His coloring was horrid, and his breathing had grown more shallow. I’ve seen men die before, but it was different that time. I was desperate for him to pull through. You have no idea what losing him would have done for the morale of, gads, of the entire army just about. Not to mention I count him as a friend. So I read every letter he had ever received from you. Then one line—one single line—grabbed him. You wrote ‘Do you think it is too much to ask that you return and hold me just once more?’”

Marjie felt her color rise, knowing that Stanley’s men had read her very private yearnings. Lieutenant Greenberry’s face held no hint of censure nor ridicule.

“Something crossed his face in that moment. I can’t even explain exactly what it was, a look he wore sometimes when he realized someone needed something from him that he knew would be difficult to give. I had served with him before Orthez and again leading up to Waterloo. I know that look well.” Lieutenant Greenberry met her eyes once more. “He decided you needed him to grant that request more than he needed relief from his suffering. He stayed alive because of you, because you needed him.”

A warm tear dripped off her jaw.

“Though not one of them will say as much directly to you, every man here who served with him these past six months will be singing your praises throughout the day. And there are many more on the Continent still who do the same. We owe you our captain’s life, and that is a debt we know we are unlikely to find the means of repaying.”

Marjie shook her head, his words repeating in her mind, each repetition equally baffling.

“Though we have come here to express gratitude for our captain, a great many of us have come with the additional purpose of meeting you and seeing for ourselves what an angel of mercy looks like.” He smiled as if sensing that his words embarrassed her but did not, nevertheless, wish them unspoken. “Ah. I see someone crossing this way, and if I am not mistaken, he appears intent on speaking with you.”

Marjie followed the lieutenant’s gaze to Lord Devereaux, who was moving decidedly in their direction.

“It was, indeed, an honor to meet you at last, Miss Kendrick,” Lieutenant Greenberry said. “And I, on behalf of all our captain’s men, thank you from the very depths of my heart for his life and for the hope you gave all of us through him.”

He made a very elegant bow, one executed with such sincerity that Marjie felt even more tears gather in her eyes. She barely managed to hold them back as she watched Lieutenant Greenberry walk away. She had done nothing more than write letters to a man she desperately loved. It had been an act of selfish need more than anything, really. Those letters had been her connection to him.

“Are you accumulating admirers?” Lord Devereaux asked, having reached her side. The laugh that accompanied his question echoed Philip’s on so many occasions. “That young fellow seemed remarkably smitten.”

“Not at all.” Marjie tried to summon a smile. “He was thanking me for”—she quickly adjusted her answer—“arranging this day for so many to renew old friendships.”

“Has our guest of honor learned of his fate yet?”

“You are in a very light and teasing mood today, my lord.” Indeed, he had not stopped smiling. “Are you so happy to be out of doors on this brisk November day, or are you suffering from some lingering illness that has rendered you a bit nonsensical?”

Lord Devereaux laughed as she had hoped he would. “I suppose I have been in better spirits of late.”

“Are you enjoying Their Graces’ house party, then?” She hoped so.

A look of contemplation crossed his uncharacteristically expressive face. “I am at that.” He seemed almost surprised.

“Is there any reason in particular? Any person whose company you have found particularly agreeable?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His face gave him away. Someone had struck his fancy or at least caught his interest. Marjie’s heart warmed at the possibility. Lord Devereaux was far too lonely and in great need of companionship. More than that, he needed to love and be loved.

“I appreciate that you have torn yourself away to join our gathering,” she said.

“My tenants, those I told you had received a letter from Captain Jonquil, could not possibly have made the trip from Sussex. I am here on their behalf.”

“I wish to hear a great many details about your house party.” She walked with him back toward the heart of the gathering crowd.

“You are being unforgivably nosy.” His grin took any sting from his words. “Besides, I do believe the last of the Jonquil clan, save your dear captain, has arrived. You really ought to join them.”

“You will be left alone.” Above all else, she wished him not to be lonely.

He simply offered an indulgent smile. “Believe it or not, I do have something of a knack for making myself agreeable.”

They parted ways, Marjie wondering at the change in him. A few short weeks earlier, he would never have ventured out amongst a crowd of acquaintances, let alone strangers.

“Oh, please,” she silently pleaded, “let this lady be good for him.”

The Jonquil family, minus the three brothers who were not present, had gathered around Sorrel’s chaise longue. Marjie loved to watch the Jonquil brothers with their wives and children. Their personalities were in many ways vastly different, but they all treated their loved ones with a degree of tenderness Marjie had never imagined in all the years she’d lived with her father.

“I suppose this is the moment of reckoning,” Jason, the barrister, said, motioning with his chin toward the stables.

Marjie turned. Stanley had arrived back at the Park, and the look on his face was not one of pleasure.