glow, and there was just sufficient light to see the black silhouette of a horse and rider rapidly disappearing down the driveway.
Elizabeth moved out onto the steps and uttered every curse she had ever heard. “And don’t anyone try to make me believe a St. John never swears,” she added vehemently.
“Nay, that’s too big a fib even for me to attempt,” a voice spoke from the shadows beside the drive.
“Munke! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with the captain?” Luckily the darkness hid the fact that she was blushing all over at the thought of the oaths she had just spoken—oaths she had incorrectly assumed no one was around to hear.
The burly shape of the batman moved up the steps to stand beside her. “I have no great fondness for starting a journey on an empty stomach. Withal, there’s no keeping up with the capt’n when the devil drives him, and well he knows it. He’ll not be expecting to see me before London.”
Elizabeth wanted to ask this man, who undoubtedly knew her husband better than she did, what devil it was that drove Darius, but she could not bring herself to gossip about him with a servant. Turning to go back into the house, she merely said, “Well, I, for one, am happy that you are still here because I have a commission for you.”
Chapter 6
Darius stood staring out the window at a street virtually devoid of people. It would appear that even the least fortunate Londoner had someplace to go on Christmas Day and someone to share a bit of Yuletide cheer with.
He turned back to face his sitting room, which had never seemed so bleak to him before. Although he paid a woman to come in and clean his rooms once a month, they still had a subtle air of neglect and abandonment.
If only he were back in Spain ... At least there he could be better occupied trying to cheer up his men, rather than wallowing in self-pity like this.
But it was hard not to feel sorry for himself. He hadn’t had this lonely a Christmas since before he had gone to live with his cousin Algernon. Damn you for dying on me, Algy .
Throwing himself down onto a chair in front of the fire, Darius tried to get his mind off the grief that stabbed at him each time he thought of his cousin’s death, but his efforts only brought back more memories of how miserable his holidays had been before he had gone to live at Colthurst Hall.
Invariably he had spent Christmas Day alone, his mother much preferring to be part of some convivial house party, and the servants in her absence ignoring him. He could remember huddling for hours in a corner of the back stairway, listening to them celebrating in the servants’ hall and wishing he were a scullery lad or a lowly stable boy, so he might be a part of their merriment.
He had not been entirely forgotten, of course. At some point in the day, a maid or a footman had always appeared and thrust a pile of packages into his arms. The presents were ostensibly from his mother, but at an early age he had known they were picked out by one or the other of the servants. Opening them in his room, all alone, with no one to share the anticipation and pleasure, the gifts had brought him no joy, no excitement, no share of the holiday spirit.
“Excuse me, Capt’n. Mrs. St. John asked me to give you these.”
Darius looked up to see Munke holding a small pile of neatly wrapped packages. The irony of it struck him—that he had come full circle to this, a servant once again handing him the presents from the woman in his life—and he wavered a moment between anger and amusement.
In the end, the humor of the situation won out, and he laughed briefly, albeit with a touch of bitterness. Ignoring the packages his batman was holding out, he asked instead, “Why do they do it, Munke? What drives women to do the things they do?”
Munke placed the rejected packages on a small table nearby; then, with the familiarity of a long-time companion, he settled himself in the adjacent chair. Staring
Elizabeth moved out onto the steps and uttered every curse she had ever heard. “And don’t anyone try to make me believe a St. John never swears,” she added vehemently.
“Nay, that’s too big a fib even for me to attempt,” a voice spoke from the shadows beside the drive.
“Munke! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with the captain?” Luckily the darkness hid the fact that she was blushing all over at the thought of the oaths she had just spoken—oaths she had incorrectly assumed no one was around to hear.
The burly shape of the batman moved up the steps to stand beside her. “I have no great fondness for starting a journey on an empty stomach. Withal, there’s no keeping up with the capt’n when the devil drives him, and well he knows it. He’ll not be expecting to see me before London.”
Elizabeth wanted to ask this man, who undoubtedly knew her husband better than she did, what devil it was that drove Darius, but she could not bring herself to gossip about him with a servant. Turning to go back into the house, she merely said, “Well, I, for one, am happy that you are still here because I have a commission for you.”
Chapter 6
Darius stood staring out the window at a street virtually devoid of people. It would appear that even the least fortunate Londoner had someplace to go on Christmas Day and someone to share a bit of Yuletide cheer with.
He turned back to face his sitting room, which had never seemed so bleak to him before. Although he paid a woman to come in and clean his rooms once a month, they still had a subtle air of neglect and abandonment.
If only he were back in Spain ... At least there he could be better occupied trying to cheer up his men, rather than wallowing in self-pity like this.
But it was hard not to feel sorry for himself. He hadn’t had this lonely a Christmas since before he had gone to live with his cousin Algernon. Damn you for dying on me, Algy .
Throwing himself down onto a chair in front of the fire, Darius tried to get his mind off the grief that stabbed at him each time he thought of his cousin’s death, but his efforts only brought back more memories of how miserable his holidays had been before he had gone to live at Colthurst Hall.
Invariably he had spent Christmas Day alone, his mother much preferring to be part of some convivial house party, and the servants in her absence ignoring him. He could remember huddling for hours in a corner of the back stairway, listening to them celebrating in the servants’ hall and wishing he were a scullery lad or a lowly stable boy, so he might be a part of their merriment.
He had not been entirely forgotten, of course. At some point in the day, a maid or a footman had always appeared and thrust a pile of packages into his arms. The presents were ostensibly from his mother, but at an early age he had known they were picked out by one or the other of the servants. Opening them in his room, all alone, with no one to share the anticipation and pleasure, the gifts had brought him no joy, no excitement, no share of the holiday spirit.
“Excuse me, Capt’n. Mrs. St. John asked me to give you these.”
Darius looked up to see Munke holding a small pile of neatly wrapped packages. The irony of it struck him—that he had come full circle to this, a servant once again handing him the presents from the woman in his life—and he wavered a moment between anger and amusement.
In the end, the humor of the situation won out, and he laughed briefly, albeit with a touch of bitterness. Ignoring the packages his batman was holding out, he asked instead, “Why do they do it, Munke? What drives women to do the things they do?”
Munke placed the rejected packages on a small table nearby; then, with the familiarity of a long-time companion, he settled himself in the adjacent chair. Staring
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