Charlotte Louise Dolan by The Substitute Bridegroom Page A

into the fire, he pondered the question. “I ain’t much of a philosopher, Capt’n, so ifn you’re asking about a specific case, then you’ll have to tell me which woman did what. Even then I don’t guarantee to have an answer for you, women being rather strange creatures, and it not being given to most men to understand their ways.”
    “All right, I’ll give you specifics. Why did my wife find it necessary to tell everyone in Somerset what a despicable cad I am?”
    “Oh, she didn’t do that.” Munke stretched out his legs toward the fire, linked his hands across his stomach, and yawned. “That was mainly the postman.”
    “The postman? How on earth did he get involved?”
    “ ‘Cause she was waiting every day by the gate for the mail.”
    “So she complained to the postman?”
    “No, she never said nary a word to him, other than the usual ‘good afternoon’ and ‘nice weather we’ve been having,’ that kind of thing. But he could tell how unhappy she was.” He yawned again, and his eyes started drifting shut.
    “Munke, if I didn’t know better, I should wonder about your masculinity. You’re making no more sense right now than a woman.”
    At that insult Munke’s eyes snapped open and he turned to face his employer. “Me? What’s to understand? It’s as simple as the nose on your face. You never wrote your wife not one single letter, not in all the months you’ve been married, whilst she wrote you faithfully twice a week.”
    Darius looked at his batman in disbelief.
    “At first the villagers and servants made excuses for you, figuring you must be too busy soldiering to write. But then Nicholas went off to war and he started sending home letters regular like, so they all figured you was just some kind of b— some kind of a damn fool what didn’t deserve a sweet wife like you got.”
    “Where on earth did you get such a preposterous notion?”
    Munke rose to his feet and stood looking down at him, his face bearing a remarkable similarity to that of a headmaster Darius had once had a slight contretemps with.
    “It ain’t preposterous. And I got it first from Maggie. And don’t you start belittling her, neither, ‘cause she’s got uncommon good sense for a woman. And after she told me, I sort of asked around belowstairs and in the village, and they’re all agreed—hanging’s too good for a wretch like you, what makes Mrs. St. John soak her pillow with tears more nights than not. And I’m inclined to agree with ‘em.”
    His voice became more heated as he continued. “I can’t believe you made us give up roast goose with oyster stuffing and a plum pudding twice the size of your head, just on account of some crack-brained notion you got that your wife was gossiping ‘bout you. For your information, she don’t gossip ‘bout nobody, and she don’t try real sneaky like to pry information out of other folk, neither. Why, when you rode away all hot under the collar like that, I could tell she was dying to ask me all manner of questions ‘bout you, but she’s too much of a lady to do that. Why, I reckon even if I’d started telling her tales ‘bout things you’ve done, she’d have stopped me.”
    “Oyster stuffing?”
    “Oyster stuffing. And ‘stead of that, we’ve got naught to eat here but bread and cheese.”
    “Unless one of these packages contains another attempt to fatten me up.” Darius seized the first one and ripped off the gilt paper. It was the monogrammed handkerchiefs from Dorie. Next were several pairs of knitted socks from his wife, a wool scarf, some leather gloves, and a pocket-sized memorandum book for the coming year. All very neat and eminently suitable for a soldier, but at this moment he could not keep from wishing one of the presents had been edible.
    “Here’s a little package you missed, Capt’n.”
    If it was something to eat, then it was only big enough to make one mouthful, Darius thought as he unwrapped it.
    It was a miniature of his wife.