For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

Peterbury squatted beside him. “It’s not true? You didn’t correspond with the French and reveal how many men Wellington had and where they were camped?”

“Never!” He was losing his voice. He coughed, and his whole body seemed to spasm. Warm blood welled beneath his fingers and needles of pain jabbed at his side. He had forgotten how sharp that pain was, how it stole his breath away and made sweat roll down his back.

“Never?” Peterbury grabbed the front of his woolen shirt and hauled him upright with a firm shake. Alec hadn’t even felt himself slip to the side. “Do you swear?”

“On my father’s honor,” he said, before coughing again. Now there appeared to be three of Peterbury, all staring at him with thunderous scowls. “If you—you, of all people—don’t believe me, just walk away. I’d rather be left to die than branded a traitor.”

For a moment it seemed Peterbury would take him up on that. Alec closed his eyes; his brain felt slow, as if it had been muffled in that one word, “treason.” He would rather die here in an alley than be condemned for that. But then he felt an arm around his back. “I can’t let you die,” his friend muttered. “But you mustn’t stay here.” He shoved the crutch back into Alec’s hand, and began trying to push him onto his feet. “Come. We’ll puzzle it out somehow.”

Chapter 18

1820

At the end of the week John Hayes’s mother and sister came to visit. They were going to stay a week, then John would go home with them. Cressida watched Mr. Hayes welcome his family to Penford, and remembered that only a few weeks ago he had been the master here, and perhaps his mother and sister had expected to be here permanently. Julia had told her that branch of the Hayes family had a much more modest home near Tring. Mrs. Hayes and her daughter Emily, a lively young girl of about sixteen years, were pleasant and friendly, much like Mr. Hayes himself. One would never suspect from his open, amiable countenance that he had suddenly lost a large and prosperous estate to a cousin who was not as dead as everyone thought.

As for that man…He was gone from the house before breakfast every day; estate concerns, his mother explained to her and Callie—as though she needed to excuse him. He was only at dinner one night, and from a snatch of overheard conversation between servants, Cressida deduced that he was rarely expected at that meal. She had hardly seen him at all since that agonizing, exhilarating day in the library. It was almost exactly what she had hoped for when she accepted Julia’s invitation to stay at Penford, and it was driving her to distraction.

Mrs. Hayes had arranged a dinner to welcome her guests, and since there were now so many ladies in the house, she had invited a few gentlemen from the area to balance the table. Even Tom had been persuaded to join the party. Cressida and Callie put on their silk gowns and tried not to gossip too much.

Callie was ready first, while Cressida couldn’t seem to decide how to fix her hair. “I declare, you normally don’t have this much care for your toilette,” said her sister with a smile.

Cressida blushed. “Go on down,” she said. “I’ll just be another moment.” Her sister laughed, then left. Callie had spent much of their time at Penford tending to Granny, who clung to her bed and pined for Papa. Cressida wanted to help, but her presence only made Granny fretful; twice she had scolded Cressida for moving them out of Brighampton without her father’s consent, and finally the sisters agreed that Callie would see to Granny for now, and Cressida would be responsible for finding them a new place to live. That hadn’t been going smoothly, as there were plenty of people in reduced circumstances looking for places to lease, and rents had crept alarmingly high. They would almost surely have to take Callie’s money out of the funds, no matter how much Tom argued against it.

And in between worrying about money and places to live, she was left to wonder about Alec. He had held her and kissed her as if he wanted her desperately, but then he had all but disappeared. Did he regret it? Or was he avoiding her because of something else?

She scowled at her reflection. As if he had nothing else to worry about in his life but her feelings. She pinched a wisp of hair from her temple and wound it around one finger, wishing her hair would shine and curl like Callie’s instead of needing tight braids and pins to stay put. The wisp of hair uncurled from her finger to hang limply beside her cheek, and she gave up and went downstairs.

It was a fine dinner. Callie was seated next to a Mr. Davis, and he appeared quite taken with her. Cressida was between Tom and Sir Edmund Leslie, an old friend of the family. Sir Edmund was charming and talkative, unlike Tom, who grew quieter as the evening went on. Alec was nowhere to be seen, and after a brief hesitation, John stepped into the role of the host. There was an odd glance between him and his mother, but Alec’s mother just smiled graciously and thanked John.

After dinner they retired to the large drawing room, and Emily Hayes played the pianoforte before card tables were set up. Cressida watched her sister agree to partner Mr. Davis. Callie’s eyes shone as he escorted her to the table and seated her, then fetched her a glass of sherry. Callie, she realized, looked happy with a man for the first time in years. Since her dreadful marriage, Callie had shied away from men; Tom was the only one