After dinner, instead of the usual entertainment, Lady Healey announced that she'd managed to procure a set of fireworks which she would set off as soon as it was fully dark.
The guests milled about on the terrace while waiting for the fireworks to be set up and light. Footmen had set up chairs and were serving refreshments of Madeira, Negus and port.
Many were excited, for it was most often seen only in Vauxhall Gardens, though there were some that were worried about accidents.
"Did you not see the Temple of Concord at Green Park on 1 August 1814 when the fireworks were set off? It was the most exquisite sight!"
"Yes, but on that same day, the seven-storey pagoda in St. James' Park burnt down last year because of fireworks and everyone present thought it was part of the spectacle!"
Adelaide was standing at the back, letting the conversations drift over her. Before the party, her mother had announced with great buoyancy that she'd managed to secure some fireworks to be set off during one of the nights. Adelaide been quite excited about watching the fireworks again. She'd only been to Vauxhall Gardens but once during the Season and the display that night had left her quite in awe.
A footman passed by in front of her and held out a tray with Madeira and Sherry. She chose a glass at random and sipped from it.
She stared out the gardens. The setup of the fireworks display was to take place further down on the grounds where there was a pond, to ensure no stray sparks would land and start a fire. She could barely make out the people moving about in the twilight but the torches they carried as they moved was a sight in itself, like little flames dancing a top the grass.
"I must say," she looked up to see Wyndham standing next to her and her heart thumped wildly as she recalled Frederica's words, "your mother certainly knows how to throw a party. Fireworks indeed."
"Yes." She faced front again and struggled to keep her breathing even. She could do nothing about her heartbeat but she could —and would — control her breath. "She was quite beside herself when she managed to secure a fire master to light the fireworks. I believe her words were 'something that will stay in everyone's minds long after the party has ended'. Or words to that effect."
"Indeed. As will the image of you riding astride."
Philip didn't know why he always felt the need to tease her. Was it because he wanted to see her lose control? Or was it because he enjoyed the way there was a hint of red to her cheeks, or that her eyes would darken to resemble the twilight sky above Healey Manor?
Whatever it was, he couldn't resist it.
As predicted, he elicited the expected response from her. "If you could desist from raising that fact ever again, I would be most grateful."
"Your haughty tone inspires me otherwise."
She glared at him and the words that came out were honeyed daggers. "If you would be most kind, Mr Wyndham, to forget our little...encounter this morning, I would be ever so grateful." She even curtsied at the end, the little minx, and he found himself hard pressed not to burst out laughing.
He settled for a broad smile instead. "Certainly, Miss Kendall, since you asked so...agreeably. However, I am curious about one thing. Why do you not have one of the stableboys drive you to your destination? It seems you go regularly enough to be friendly with the villagers."
Her glower fell away and her demeanour took on a more gloomy air. "If I were my own mistress, yes, I certainly would. But I'm not one who pays their wages in this house. I can bribe them from time to time but there still remains the possibility of discovery."
"By whom?"
She sent him a pointed look as if he were slow-witted.
And he remembered that Miss Blackmore revealed the objections raised by her mother. "Has Lady Healey ever accompanied you on such jaunts?" When she shook her head, he continued, "I think you should invite her the next time you go. I'm certain she'd be more forgiving, maybe even indulgent, once she bears witness to what you have accomplished."
"I..." She took a sip. "I'm not sure Mama shares the same interests as I do, but thank you for the suggestion. I will consider inviting her along the next time."
He rocked back on his heels. "I think you may find her ladyship...open to such matters. After all, she did mother me as I grew up, and tried to share her counsel with me. What's not to say that she would think otherwise about the tenants?"
"Do you not think I haven't tried?" Her sharp, agitated tone surprised him. "I have spoken to her about such matters, about why I care about them. But she constantly brushes them aside and seems to be only concerned about my marriage and nothing else."
"Does she fear that you will not marry? Is that why she is trying so hard?" Miss Kendall fell silent. And in his mind, he thanked Miss Blackmore for the useful information she'd shared with him. "I'm certain her ladyship is only concerned about your welfare. She doesn't want you to be without some sort of financial security or even to die alone."
"But I won't! If Papa agrees to give me what is being set aside as my dowry as my inheritance, I can live comfortably for the rest of my life as long as I economise."
"And how about dying alone?"
"I shan't. Garrett will need to have children. I will spoil them all and be their favourite aunt. They can be by my bedside when I pass."
"That is all well and good, and you have made valid arguments which I'm certain you have shared with your mother. But you must understand...she only wants what is best for you."
"No, she only thinks she knows what is best for me!" Her increased ire told him this was a sore point for both of them. "She never listens to what I say!"
As if he were trying to tame a wild stallion, he gentled his tone. "Might I suggest you try to put yourself in your mother's shoes. To see things from her perspective."
Her brows came together. "I don't quite understand."
"You claim to care deeply for the tenants' children, and from this morning's...walk, I can certainly attest to that. What if, one day, if one of those children was to do something dangerous...maybe while playing, pick up a sharp stick and wave it around while running after the other children, what would you do?"
"I would reprimand the child for endangering the lives of others."
"What if this child didn't know better? Maybe because he or she had never been in such a position as to know that sharp objects can cause hurt. What would you do then?"
"I would explain to the child the consequences of such an action."
"And if the child decides to do precisely what he or she is told not to do, what will you do then?"
"I will punish the child because the child needs to know that his or her actions can result in serious ramifications."
"Precisely. You are that child waving the sharp stick and running around, while your mother is you in that scenario." Before she could digest that, he pointed, "Oh look, they're finally ready."
At the same time, her mother's voice rang out, "Come, my esteemed guests, let us enjoy some fireworks!" The footman at her side waved a flag and in answer, the first firework shot up into the sky.
The resounding bang and scattered light drew sounds of wonder and delight. Many started clapping as more and more were set off.
In a bid to hide her discomfort from the ground-shattering revelation, Adelaide clapped and cheered along with everyone else. By chance, she turned to look at Wyndham to see if he was enjoying himself and saw his face drawn tight in itself. The light from the fireworks were reflected in his glazed, unfocused eyes and his hand was gripping his port glass so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't yet broken in his tight grip.
She placed her hand on his forearm and was alarmed to feel it rock hard and vibrating. "Mr Wyndham!" She lifted her other hand to his shoulder to shake him. "Mr Wyndham!" She didn't know if he heard her for the noise from the crowd had reached a crescendo. She lifted to her toes and shouted into his ear. "Mr Wyndham! Is something the matter?"
When he responded by shaking his head, as if he'd just emerged from a deep stupor, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Mr Wyndham. Are you all right?"
"Yes. I just..." He swayed a little on his feet and he lifted a hand to his head.
"I think it best if we sit down." She tugged on his forearm and he allowed himself to be led inside to the drawing room. While it was somewhat quieter, she still felt him flinch at the muffled boom of the fireworks exploding. "Shall we sit elsewhere? Maybe the breakfast parlour. It is further away from the noise, which my ears are ringing from."
He nodded and they ventured deeper into the house. When they finally sat down, the fireworks could barely be heard.
Philip leaned back against in his chair and let his head rest against the wall. He closed his eyes against the raging headache that was forming at the base of his skull. But that brought the sounds of musket fire and the images of men falling around him rushing back. His eyes flew open and he fought to steady his breaths that were coming out too fast and too short.
A hand on his forearm pulled him from his thoughts and he turned to see Miss Kendall's concern plainly written on her face. "A cup of tea for you, Mr Wyndham? It is rather fortifying, I find."
"Yes, thank you." She rose from her seat to pass her instructions to a footman and he quickly pressed his shaking hands together so she wouldn't notice. He breathed deeply, shuddering slightly as he exhaled. He hadn't experienced such a bad bout in weeks, and for it to have happened while he was standing next to Miss Kendall was...
"The tea will be sent up shortly." She returned to her seat. "I asked for Cook to prepare a chamomile, lavender and peppermint tisane for it is supposed to be calming, as Mama tells me. She quite likes it for it helps her sleep better. I haven't yet tried it though Mama keeps urging me to. I can't quite yet abide drinking flowers."
He nodded at her monologue as she went on about the different types of teas she'd read about and tried. A part of him recognised her attempt to distract him with frivolous information and he was extremely grateful for that. He didn't think he could carry on a coherent conversation at the moment.
After she received the tea tray from the maid at the door, she placed on the table and deftly prepared him a cup. He rose on slightly shaky legs to accept it from her and quickly sat back down.
The floral scent was indeed strong, but he'd try anything at the moment just to take his mind away from the never-ending play of memories. He sipped slowly, the hot liquid burning away the chill within.
Beside him, his companion piped, "Oh, it is nothing like all I'd imagined! Its light taste is certainly pleasing. I suppose that is why Mama likes it." Her false chirpiness teased his lips into a small smile.
"Thank you, Miss Kendall. You can stop pretending now. I'm quite recovered."
"I know not what you mean, Mr Wyndham. I'm not pretending anything." She took another sip and glanced at him over the rim of her cup, her eyes wide. "This tea is-"
"Horrid." He made a face at his cup. "It really is like drinking flowers, barely masked by the strong peppermint scent and flavour."
They smiled at each other and a different sort of warmth started to spread in his chest and further down his body. She looked away first under the pretence of putting aside her cup and saucer. "Yes, well, finally something we can agree on."
She held out a hand for his cup, but he declined. "I need all the fortification I can." He lifted it to his lips to take another sip, shuddering as he swallowed. "Maybe if I drink enough of this revolting concoction, the smell will be sufficiently pungent enough to keep even the most terrible of dreams away."
The warmth inside him grew when he saw her hold back her laughter. He liked that he could bring some light and joy to her, despite his darkness.
"Come now, Mr Wyndham," she cajoled, "the flowers will surely object to their scent to being called pungent. After all, many a lady are attracted to their sweet floral scent and they are being used in soaps after all."
"They are good and fine in soaps and ladies' scented waters and all matters. But have you never wondered why perfumes are worn? To cover up the smell of having not washed for days or weeks." He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs at his ankles. "Would that not require a strong smell to mask such an unpleasant odour? Pungent is definitely the right word."
She tapped a finger on the armrest of her chair. "Be that as it may, you would make quite the poor sales assistant, or shopkeeper. Imagine going into a shop with you behind the counter trying to convince women to buy pungent perfumes and soaps." Shaking her head, she grinned. "Your employer will surely have you removed from the shop within the hour of your employment."
He smiled back. "It is a good thing I have no need to be in that profession."
"Did you find the army a suitable profession for you then?" At his stillness, she said, "my apologies if it caused you distress. I shouldn't have asked."
Shaking his head, he drained his cup and set it aside. "No...there is nothing wrong with your question. I..." he ran a hand through his hair. "The army was fine. It was the war that wasn't." The need to unburden himself grew. He didn't want to make mention of it to Christopher as the man wouldn't understand the pain of the memories. But, with her...he looked at her and the sincere, fervent words she spoke of helping the men who returned from war touched the cold ball of fear hidden deep inside him.
He felt her hand on his forearm, the comforting weight a countermand to the depravity inside him. "Would you tell me what happened?"
He swallowed in a bid to loosen the tightness in his throat. "It...I never saw such...carnage in my life. The number of dead bodies...they spread out in front of you as far as the eye can see. An endless ocean of red, blue and white." Shuddering, he struggled to draw in another breath. A soothing hand rubbed his back and he managed to breathe again. "Crows flying overhead, cawing as you stepped over the dead. Mostly stepping on them because they cover the ground. Pulling weapons from their cold hands and gunpowder from their stiff bodies and whatever useful thing you can retrieve to help you in your next battle."
Her hand covered his clenched fist closest to her and he flexed open his hand so he could interlace their fingers and she didn't pull back. It was extremely forward of him but he couldn't find it in him to care about propriety now. She was offering comfort and he would take what he could.
"You survived."
"But at what cost?" He stared into the darkness of the breakfast parlour. "Many other men...good, young men, died."
"You couldn't have saved everyone of them. And this war wasn't your fault."
"I am well aware of that fact. But I made promises to keep my men alive. And I couldn't keep them."
This wasn't the first time Adelaide had heard such a story. There were countless versions of it told by the wounded men who'd returned from the war. Yet, no matter how many times she heard it, her heart would break anew at the pain and guilt in the men's voices.
Just like what she heard now in Wyndham's words. "Just as I know you did your best in battle, I know too that you'd have managed to keep at least some of your promises. Would you tell me of one promise you managed to keep?"
"I...it was at San Sebastián in September 1813. It was a siege and so the fighting was fairly minimal in comparison. Because of that, I managed to..." his breath hitched and she rubbed his arm with her free hand. He swallowed and continued, "I managed to send a letter on the behalf of one of my men, Ensign Thomas O'donnell, to his sweetheart in Ireland. In that letter, he promised to marry her when he returned from the war.
"But...he didn't. He died when Wellington fought Marshal Soult at Orthes five months later. He was only eighteen." He pressed both the heels of his palms against his eyes. "He'd been in the army for less than a year before he died." The tears she heard in his voice brought her to her feet. She stood in front him and gathered him close, pressing his head against her chest.
She patted his back as his shoulders heaved, her own tears flowing silently down her cheeks. She knew not how long she stood like this. All she knew that the clock had sounded a half hour chime.
Soon, she felt his arms drop from where they'd been looped around her waist and she disentangled herself from him.
Wanting to give him some space to put himself to rights, she turned around to fuss with the pot of tea that had already grown tepid.
Before she could turn around, she felt him at her back. She tried to turn around but his hands came up to her shoulders to stay her. Then, all of a sudden, he placed them in front of her on the table and she felt the heat and bergamot scent of him envelope her — as though he were hugging her — although there was still some distance between the two of them. It reminded her of their ride on Diamond this morning and a secret thrill spread through her. She felt him press the side of his face against her temple. "Thank you." The whisper of his breath tickled her ear.
"Not at all."
"I...hope my tears didn't ruin your dress."
"I've had worst stains on my dress. Some salty drops are paltry in comparison."
She felt him smile and then he said, "I suppose we should get back. Your mother must be wondering where we are."
She rested her hand over the back of one of his on the table, running her fingers over the raised ridges of his knuckles. "We don't need to. I told the footman to inform Mama that we've both retired for the night. We can...that is, we won't be missed. We...I can still stay here with you. If you need the company, that is."
He stilled and she held her breath. The silence seemed almost alive with tension. "Miss Kendall...you do know that this is most improper. And even if we have done nothing indecorous, the mere fact that we are in a darkened room with no one else about can only lead to one outcome should we be discovered."
She closed her eyes, her insides tempestuous as a violent storm. "I know."
"Are you certain you want to continue to tempt fate and eventually have to marry someone you don't love? And we both know I'm incapable of love."
"I know." Her hand dropped to her side but his lingered for a heartbeat before he removed them from the table. "You are right, Mr Wyndham. I must have taken leave of my senses. I bid you a goodnight. Please exit the room first so we are not seen leaving together." She kept her back to him the entire time, stiff as a tree trunk, with her hands clenched by her side.
"Goodnight, Miss Kendall. And thank you once again. For...everything." She saw in the reflection on the window his bow before he spun on his heels to leave.
Only when she was alone again did she feel she could breathe again. Leaning forward, she bent until she could press her forehead to the table. Thank goodness one of them still had good sense.
She lifted her head slightly and let it thunk on the wood. Would that she remember she should be the one who possesses it.