Playing To Win

“But you mean they carried wounded into our house?” sputtered her father.

“No, we carried them in, Marie and I. They were lying on every doorstep in Brussels. Not the most hard-hearted person could have shut the door on them. I must say, I never thought much of the ladies of the ton before that day, but I did not see one of them, not the most delicate beauty, refuse to help with the wounded. I was touched with admiration for them, and for the soldiers.”

“I had no idea,” said her father, appalled. “How long did this go on?”

“A few weeks, I think. We were so busy, I don’t perfectly remember.”

“I should have brought you home with me.”

“No, I’m glad I stayed.”

Tony gave her a heart-wrenching smile. It was not as though she had done anything for his brother. But he liked her for staying, all the same.

Lady Jane cleared her throat. Sera tore her eyes away from Tony and said, “Ladies, shall we go in to the drawing room?”

Lady Jane invited Lady Amanda upstairs to freshen up, and in the same sentence recommended Tony to go in and see Sera’s sketches of America. The attempt to throw them together was so blatant as to be embarrassing, but they both pretended not to notice, and Sera led Tony into the drawing room. She picked up a candelabra and carried it to one wall. “Here they are.”

“What?”

“The watercolors. You’d better at least be able to say you looked at them, but don’t feel compelled to compliment them. It was my father’s vanity that had them framed, not mine.”

“But they are remarkably good!” said Tony, in genuine surprise.

“Far better than you expected, in other words,” she taunted.

He laughed. “If you read minds, then you know why I am here.”

“By now I expect the kitchen maids know why you are here. My father wants to be rid of me so he can marry Lady Jane.”

“My father also wants to be rid of me,” he said darkly.

“Then we have something in common after all.”

“Would you dislike it excessively to be married to me?”

“Why, I think I could like it quite well, but I have a confession to make first.”

“You?”

“It’s only that I’m hopelessly bookish,” she said sadly, putting down the candles and seating herself on a sofa. “I have even been known, in the dark of night, to sit writing poetry.”

“Is that all? I suppose I had better tell you the worst about myself.” He sat on the edge of the sofa.

“There’s no need.”

“You mean you have heard all about me already.”

“Just what Lady Jane has told me, but that’s all in the past now. I would wish you to promise not to get shot again.”

“I shall do my best to avoid it in future,” he said shyly, “Do you wish me to delay my proposal, or—?”

“We would probably have to endure another one of these dinners.”

“In that case, will you marry me?” Tony asked with a rush.

“Yes.”

Tony had a little difficulty getting the ring out of his waistcoat pocket. Sera was impressed that he had thought to carry one with him. “This was Grandmother’s,” he said to her hand as he slid it on her finger.

Sera looked at the brilliant stone, and when she raised her head to say “It’s lovely,” he kissed her. She knew then she had not made a mistake. He was the one. She had been kissed by other men, but it had always felt as though they were taking something from her. With Tony she felt that he was giving her something.

“Shall we tell them?” he asked.

“Oh no, I think we should torture them as long as possible. Look what they have put you through.”

When the others came into the room, Tony was chuckling over Sera’s stories of her travels, and they only thought that the two of them were getting on well together. It wasn’t until they were leaving that she flashed the ring at them.

“You little devils! Why didn’t you tell us?” Barclay demanded.

Chapter Two

The wedding was a simple, private affair. There were only Lord and Lady Cairnbrooke attending, with Sarah’s father and Lady Jane. Tony’s cousin Winwood was shaken loose from a country party to come down and stand for him. Sera found him charming, if somewhat foolish.

The entire affair was arranged so fast that when they actually came to say their vows there was a sense of unreality about it for Sera. She had to keep reminding herself that they were not just lines in a play. They were real vows, promises she would have to keep a lifetime. She concentrated on each one, and meant what she said.

“So much nicer than pistols, Tony,” Winwood said of the knife they used to cut the wedding cake. Sera thought it was an unkind reminder, but Tony only smiled at him.

* * *

“Perhaps we should have gone to Europe, as your father suggested,” Tony said unexpectedly as Lord Cairnbrooke’s traveling carriage took them southward.

“But I like Brighton.”

He was a little conscious that Sera had seen so much more of the world than he, and would have been glad to explore Europe with her for the first time, but she was right that it was still too torn up for travel. He would be a fool to lead her into danger or discomfort...when he felt so little able to take care of her. Besides, the Brighton road was hard enough to tolerate in a well-sprung carriage. He turned a little sideways, to get his right shoulder off the seat, and the better to converse with his bride.

He was agreeably surprised by her in many ways. She was witty, for one thing, and sometimes had an uncanny knowledge of what he was thinking. He had seen more beautiful women, but none so distinctive. Once you got to know those hazel eyes, that generous mouth, that ever-so-slightly aquiline nose, they could never be forgotten. And her glorious brown hair, burnished with auburn—he was looking forward to seeing it loose about her shoulders. Compared to Lady Vonne, Sera was not above average, but all in all, he was looking forward to being married to her.

That Vonne thing was a bad business. How he had been led into it, he could not remember. Only that after Charlie’s death he had not cared very much for anything, and Madeleine had listened and sympathized. He was just running over in his mind the course her sympathies had taken when he became conscious of Sera watching him with a look of concern.

He flushed, thinking for a moment she really could read his thoughts, then smiled nervously. “Sorry I am such a morose traveling companion.”

“Will people think badly of you to marry while you are still in mourning for your brother?” She had been about to ask if his shoulder hurt him, but sensed it would have been the wrong thing to say.

“Not since it was a private wedding. Besides, if no one married who was not in mourning for someone, there would be precious few weddings in all of England. Still, it can’t be very pleasant for you. You will miss out on so much.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted a lot of show. A wedding should be a private thing, not a play given before strangers.”

“What an odd thing to say.” Tony flashed a smile that was all the more endearing for its spontaneity.

“Yes, when you consider that, generally speaking, I like the theater very much. That is the place for grand gestures and impassioned speeches. Real life is something quite different.”

“I’m glad one of us has a firm grasp on reality. These past few months have seemed like a nightmare to me—that is, until I met you.”

“Because of your brother.”

“You understand, then. He thought it was a lark. He expected to come back. But not to even know how he died or where he is buried...”

“How would you feel if he had survived?”

“Alive again.”

“Then pretend that you are your brother, live the life he should have had.”

“Pretending doesn’t work for me. Sooner or later I sober up and discover he’s still gone.” A hole in the road jostled Tony’s shoulder and surprised a grunt of pain from him.

“Then tell yourself that the pain of his death will ease when your shoulder does. If it hurts as much as I think, that will be long enough to grieve.”

“The pain of his death will never go away,” Tony said, in despair. “I’ll never forget.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” Sera said in defeat.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone— I’m sorry...your mother...” He looked anxiously at her.

“I never knew her. But I have watched men die.”

“In Brussels?”

“Yes. They were so stoic, uncomplaining even when they knew.”

“You should not have had to go through that.”

She raised her chin. “I’m glad I stayed, even if all I could do for some of them was make them more comfortable. At least they knew someone cared.”

“You were lucky to have had something to do. You didn’t have to endure that waiting.”

“There is something you can do now that I cannot.”

“What is that?”

“Make sure there is not another war like that. We have lost part of an entire generation. The country cannot afford another such sacrifice.”

“A political career? I hope you have no such ambitions for me. Besides, why should you worry over that?”

“Just because I’m a woman does not mean I don’t think of such things.”

“Then you are more unusual than I thought.”

* * *

They reached Brighton to discover that Marie and Stewart, Tony’s valet, had installed their luggage in the Old Ship Hotel and stood ready to see to their comfort. It was not the most fashionable hotel in Brighton, but these were the best accommodations they could get on short notice. Tempting as the close view of the sea was to Sera, she insisted she had to lie down and rest before dinner.

Tony had not thought her so delicate, but was relieved not to be dragged all over town immediately. Indeed, he lay down himself, and fell into a fast sleep.

Sera was just sneaking out of her room for another look at the ocean when she encountered Stewart in the hall.

“I don’t suppose he has managed to fall asleep?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, but I could wake him, if you—”

“Don’t you dare,” Sera whispered, with a chuckle. “It’s what I was hoping for. Even a short trip like this is bad for him. We really should have waited.”

“He’s very strong, generally speaking,” Stewart said, looking rather surprised at Sera’s perception.

“I know, but for a time we must all conspire to see he gets enough rest. You won’t tell him I’ve sneaked out for a short walk?”

“No, of course not.”

“And let him wake of his own accord. I have taken a sudden liking to dining fashionably late.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Steward said with a smile.

Tony did chide Sera for not waking him, but he was so good-humored after his rest that he only did it jokingly. He ordered dinner for them in the dining room of the hotel, quite expertly she thought, checking by an inquiring look if she approved his choices. She asked him about his younger years, and he talked so unreservedly of Oak Park and his boyhood adventures, she thought they were a fair way toward being on intimate terms by the time he suggested an evening stroll along King’s Road and up the Marine Parade.

They had a pleasant walk, with Tony pointing out buildings he knew, and were on the point of returning to the Ship when a young man, lounging with some of his fellows, approached to say, “My name is Wentworth. You don’t know me, but I was wondering if you were in Belgium.”

“No, I was not,” Tony said coldly.

“The Peninsula, then? I only wanted to know because—”

“Ask my wife any questions you might have about the battle. She was in Brussels.” Tony said it as though it were an accusation, then walked off without her.

Sera thought it was not well done of him.

“I’m sorry,” Wentworth said, in obvious confusion. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed—”

“A natural assumption, I’m sure, but you have managed to set his back up. He was wounded in a duel, and it is not a good idea to cross him,” Sera said hastily, as she ran to catch up with Tony.

“Well, did you fill him in on the latest news?” Tony asked.

“No, I scarcely spoke to him. I thought him quite presumptuous.”

Tony did not offer her his good arm again, so she walked in silence beside him. He parted from her in the hallway and went into his own room without a word. Their rooms were joined by a common sitting room, and she did sit there for a time, even trying to write some letters, but Tony did not emerge. She sensed that she had hurt him, not by anything she had done today, but by revealing her own part in the conflict. It had not occurred to her he would be jealous of it. He was a strange man. When she could not figure out what to say to make him feel better, she said nothing. It was no solution, but at least it did not compound the damage.

* * *

“Perhaps his shoulder still hurts him,” Marie volunteered as Sera sat, rather red-eyed, over her tea the next morning.

“Yes, that must be it. No wonder he sat up drinking then—trying to deaden the pain. I suppose it was a stupid idea to come on a honeymoon with him not fit yet. But Lord Cairnbrooke planned it for us. He said it would be good if we got away from London for a while.” Sera wasn’t sure if this was for their benefit, or to give the talk a chance to settle.

Sera was not yet in love with Tony, but she thought that would come in time. She hadn’t been quite sure what to expect on their wedding night, but she had not expected to be completely ignored. He had never come to her, and she had slept only fitfully.

But she had recovered herself, and was calmly drinking her tea when Tony emerged from his bedroom, looking tired and surly, his brown eyebrows furrowed over his troubled blue eyes as though a headache were gnawing at him. It would be amazing if he didn’t have a headache, if he had indeed consumed as much wine as Stewart had reported to Marie. “They have brought coffee, too, if you would like some,” Sera said brightly.

“Nothing, thank you.” He picked up the newspaper from the table and withdrew behind it so as not to face her. They had conversed so easily before they were married, and even in the carriage on the way, and at dinner, that she had no idea it would be difficult to talk to him now. He seemed like nothing so much as a sulking boy, and she instinctively knew that a display of temper or tears on her part would only make him angry.

“What would you like to do today, Tony?”

“Whatever you wish.” He said it grudgingly, as though it were his duty to do what she wished.

“Perhaps we could just take a walk and look around the town by daylight.”

“Yes, of course, whenever you are ready,” he said from the depths of the paper.

She finished her breakfast in silence, but the bites of toast had a hard time getting past the lump in her throat. She felt herself to be in a tense situation, felt that one wrong word would be enough to endanger their future together. When she had eaten a reasonable amount, she went to put on her hat and gloves. She took her time over this, and was somewhat pleased to see, when she returned to the room, that Tony had at least had some coffee.

* * *

They walked down the Marine Parade in silence in the warm September sun. She had remembered from her trip to Belgium how delicious the sea air smelled. She was about to make some such comment to Tony when he remarked out of nowhere, “I suppose Wentworth and his friends will be sniggering about me.”

Sera saw them then, the same few young bloods who had been there the previous evening. Wentworth looked uncertainly at Tony. Sera shook her head no, and the young man went back to disputing with his friends over something. “They don’t look at all like they are sniggering. Most probably he is trying to decide if he should risk apologizing to you or just consider himself well out of a dangerous situation.”

Tony left off his beetling scrutiny of the group of men, and as soon as he glanced toward Sera, they made off. “What are you talking about?” he asked, glaring after the young men, who glanced nervously back at him.

“When I informed him you had been wounded in a duel, Wentworth straightaway became very apologetic. I can only assume he thought your opponent got the worst of the affair.”

“What?” Tony stopped to stare at her.

“He must have assumed you were striding off to get your pistols when you left so hastily last night. He did not stay. I suppose just now he had one friend urging him to do the manly thing and offer you an apology while the other advised him to split and run.”

Tony teetered for a moment on the edge of amazement, wondering if he should be angry with Sera, but the satisfied little smile she gave when she finished this speech tipped him into a laugh. “How could you lead that stupid boy into thinking me a desperate character?” He shook his head and smiled at her.

Sera chuckled then, too. “I assure you I said nothing untruthful. You don’t suppose he will cut short his stay just because he fears to be called out by you?”

“I don’t suppose anything of the kind. What exactly did you say to him?”

Since Tony was still laughing, she answered without hesitation, “Only that it was too late to apologize, or some such thing, since he had already set your back up.”

“Of the two of us, I think you are the more dangerous,” Tony vowed.

“Me? What harm could I do?”

Tony was still chuckling when Sera felt his arm suddenly stiffen in her loose grip and saw him flush as though in pain. He was looking at a gaily dressed young woman walking toward then between two gentleman and laughing at their sallies.

She was blond and strikingly beautiful, Sera had to admit, but only in a theatrical way. Her exaggerated features were distinctive at a distance.

Tony hesitated. They would have to either cross the street or turn around to avoid the trio, who had not noticed them yet. Sera looked at Tony sympathetically. He had now gone somewhat pale.

“It’s Lady Vonne, isn’t it?” Sera asked quietly. He gave a guilty start. “Do you mind so much?” Sera continued. “We shall have to meet her sooner or later. Perhaps it’s best to get it over with.”

“Do you always run at your problems head-on?” Tony asked with a faint smile, as he took her hand more securely.

“It sometimes even works.” She laughed and started to walk on. He could do nothing but go with her. She noticed that Lady Madeleine Vonne, too, blushed at the sight of Tony, and then looked at her angrily, even though she was herself on the arms of two gentlemen, neither of them Lord Vonne. Madeleine stiffened even more as Tony introduced Sera to her, to Lord Meade and to Sir Randall Yates.

Lady Madeleine looked Sera up and down. She was jealous to see this nobody on Tony’s arm, and the thought of his making love to this chit whipped her passionate nature to indiscretion. “I had heard you married the daughter of a cit, Tony. I see it’s true.” Both Lord Meade and Sir Randall gasped. The dumbstruck look had scarcely appeared on Tony’s face when a ripple of laughter from Sera caught them all off guard.

“Tony told me about your sense of humor. But this is wonderful. Such wit is a rare treat.” Lady Madeleine did not appreciate being appreciated, and ground her teeth. “Wait until I tell Lord Grenville that Father has been called a cit. He will get a chuckle out of that.”

“You know Lord Grenville?” Lady Madeleine gasped involuntarily.

Sera had purposely picked the name of the most influential of her father’s intimates to flaunt, and she was satisfied to see a shade of fear color Lady Madeleine’s expression. “We have entertained him at home often. He likes a quiet evening of political talk. I have grown quite tired of it, I confess, having heard it from the cradle.”

“You were your father’s hostess, then?” Sir Randall asked.

“Yes. It was challenging, because I had to keep up with what was going on just to converse intelligently at the dinner table. Do you know he means to marry Lady Jane Stanley? But they are such old friends, I’m sure no one will wonder at it. I suppose she will convince him to run for Parliament after all.” Sera said this last as though she didn’t really care to have her father exert himself in this way. The two gentlemen stared at her in fascination, Madeleine in horror.

“Oh, your father is Barclay, the banker,” Lord Meade said, as though it took an effort of memory.

“He is very nearly retired now, but he likes to keep involved. Well, it was a pleasure to have met you all.” Sera’s dismissal of the three went unquestioned, and she took Tony’s arm again as they passed them by.

He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Madeleine’s behavior was terrible, but you were superb.” He looked at her in genuine admiration.

“I did all right, then, to treat it as a joke? Sometimes it’s the only way to defuse a serious argument at one of Father’s dinners. Lady Jane taught me how to keep people from each other’s throats. I hadn’t expected it would be such a useful skill.”

“I had no idea you were so experienced socially.”

“Only among cits, of course.”

Tony gave one of his rare laughs.

“It will be easier to meet her from now on, won’t it?” Sera asked.

“It will never be easy,” Tony said. “But it will be possible now.”

* * *

If Sera hoped this would release Tony from his reluctance to make love to her, she was disappointed, for he never came to her room. She even checked with Marie to see if she was doing something wrong, but her maid assured her that English ladies did not go to their husband’s rooms. Stewart reported that one or two nights he thought Tony had screwed up enough courage to knock on Sera’s door, but nothing had come of it. Each day it did get easier to converse with him. And, perhaps because she did not lay on him any of the recriminations he expected, Tony began to relax a little and talk to her normally.

They occupied their daylight hours with walking, either through the town or on the beach. Once Sera ordered a gig and drove them into the country for a picnic. Tony was surprised that she drove so well, having lived all her life in the city.

“I drove the gig on the farm.”

“Farm?”

“Gott Farm, Father’s weekend place, near Dorking. It’s generous to call it a farm, I suppose. It cannot be more than thirty acres—enough for him to exercise his passion for fruit trees.”

“I just realized,” said Tony, as he watched her spread a cloth on the ground, “I know nothing about your father, and little more about you.”

“I grew up at Gott Farm until I was sent to school in London. I was a day student, so I got to live at home. Father and I have been unusually close,” she said, laying out their lunch. “Still, I like the farm better than London. I have him all to myself at Gott Farm.”

“And the fruit trees?” Tony asked, seating himself against a convenient beech tree.

“He has some remarkably fine orchards by now. The house itself is small, hardly more than a cottage. But Father has built a series of succession houses that are the envy of his neighbors. They are forever trading vegetables and discussing bugs and other pests. I am hard-pressed to keep up with it.”

“I would never have guessed it of him.”

“He does have other interests than banking—politics, the theater—but I think when he retires he will take up farming.”

“And what are you interested in?”

“Everything and nothing.”

“What?” Tony asked on a laugh. He had propped his left shoulder against the tree, and was managing a sandwich with his right hand. Sera knelt before him on the white cloth, the ribbons from her hat dangling in the breeze. She looked so young to Tony, he imagined that if he had had a sister she would be as free and confiding as Sera.

“By having any amount of books laid out before me like a banquet, I have nibbled at nearly everything from drama to geometry, but have discovered no overwhelming hunger for any subject. Makes me singularly useless, except as a hostess able to converse on almost any topic—well, knowledgeable enough to ask the right questions. Men are very put off to discover you know more than they do about something.”