Caroline Saves the Blacksmith, page 5
“Why not? We are stuck together for Christmas, and there is no one at my shop to appreciate these. They are wonderful, are they not? Mrs. Greer made them for me.” Caroline breathed deeply of the rosemary scent as she worked. She did not miss the quizzical look William threw in her direction. He clearly thought she was a madwoman, bedecking his home. But if work kept her mind busy and prevented her imagination from straying in unwanted directions, then William was going to have the most festive home in all of Chatternwell.
Blazes, he is a handsome man!
Not like Lord Saunton, one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes on. Nay, William Jackson was handsome in a masculine, roughly hewn manner that made her think of hot, sweaty activities that she was avoiding. His body was obviously powerful beneath the thin disguise of minimal clothing, his muscles well developed from thousands of hours of pounding metal and working bellows. Currently, his white shirt gaped open to reveal the column of his neck. His waistcoat had been divested, and he wore only one stocking, with one hairy, muscled calf on display.
It is simply a test, Caroline! You are to prove you have matured into a chaste woman!
She cleared her throat and hummed another carol while her fingers worked on the boughs. What a relief that she had brought something to do! Even now she could feel his eyes following her, but once she was done with this, she had more work to do. She would prepare a poultice for his sprain following the doctor’s directions, then clean up the kitchen. If she was clever, she could keep herself occupied until the blacksmith fell asleep.
Caroline’s eyes widened in horror, and her humming halted. She had not considered where she would be sleeping later tonight. The blacksmith would likely remain on the settee because the flight of stairs was both narrow and steep. With the state of his swollen leg, he would not make it up the steps.
She supposed she could sleep in his bed on the next floor, a thought that shot a riot of tingling sensation over her, but she might not hear if he called for help.
Biting her lip, she glanced around the sitting room, her fingers ceasing to work until she glimpsed the second settee. It was large enough for her to rest.
Across the room, William followed her gaze and, for the first time since she met him, a smile spread across his face. It was devastating—a slash of white teeth startling in contrast to his dark beard—and Caroline found herself struggling for breath as she focused on the lips she had noticed before.
“You are wondering where you will sleep?”
Speechless, her tongue tied by her lustful imaginings, all she could do was nod.
“Perhaps before you decide that, you might want to draw the drapes.” He gestured to the window where she was working. Stricken, Caroline spun her head round to stare out at the deserted street in dismay. She could only hope no one had walked by. Standing in haste, Christmas boughs falling to the floor, she jerked the blue curtains shut and then ran to the other window to shut those, too.
There she stood, panting in panic as she stared at the drapes.
“No one saw you.” William’s husky voice broke the silence.
“Are you certain?”
“I am. I have had a clear view of the windows since you walked within view. Caroline … I want you to know that if any of this damages your reputation … I would do the right thing.”
Caroline stopped breathing. That was the last thing she needed to hear. In all her years on this earth, no man had ever offered such a thing. Even if it was merely to protect her reputation, it was still … noble.
The attractive blacksmith, who secretly took care of old ladies, was now offering to be a gentleman and marry her in the event her reputation suffered? She did not need to admire the man any more than she already did. Or imagine lying in the marriage bed with him leaning over her.
“You want to … marry me?”
Several seconds passed, wood crackling in the fireplace the only sound in the silence. Finally, he replied, his reluctance evident. “I would prefer not to marry, but if it was required, we could come to an arrangement.”
Caroline slowly resumed breathing. “I … appreciate it. But as you said, no one was out there to witness my presence.”
Had he just offered to marry the woman? William shook his head after Caroline left the room, mumbling about preparing a poultice.
He supposed he would do it if he had to because he could not possibly leave a fine woman of Caroline’s quality to suffer for doing him a good deed. He could not allow it for a woman of any quality, but especially not the lovely mantua-maker who had impressed many of his acquaintances with her keen business sense.
Modiste.
William shook his head at the self-admonishment. Life was taking unexpected turns since he had noticed Caroline beckoning Annie Greer into her shop. He would never have thought to understand the difference between the two types of dressmakers, yet here he was discerning it.
From the kitchen, he heard Caroline begin to hum again. The melody was relaxing, and he was happy to hear she was once more returned to her cheerful self. Her alarm at noticing the curtains were open had been momentarily amusing, but as her disquiet became obvious, he had realized the serious repercussions for a young woman to be seen at his home alone. Men did not have to concern themselves over such things, but a young proprietress such as Caroline, who had just begun her first business, would be utterly ruined socially and likely financially, too.
William lay back and shut his eyes, listening with mild enjoyment to Caroline preparing the poultice for his ankle. The holidays alone had always been daunting, which was why he busied himself with work in the festive season. Being laid up like this would be sheer torture to his now idle mind, so having company in the house was a boon to his soul. A distraction from the dark memories.
It would be acceptable to allow it for just a night or two.
When Caroline returned, she had the poultice on a tray, which she set down on the low table before taking a seat on the sturdy furnishing. The doctor had removed his stocking when he had bound up William’s ankle. She now carefully unwound the bandage, humming to herself. It was something that had struck him about the modiste. She always seemed cheerful.
“I am sorry you have to spend your holidays nursing me.”
Caroline’s hazel eyes found his. “It is quite all right, William. I was working, as it happened.”
A smile of gratitude flickered across his lips, but it saddened him to think that a lovely woman such as Caroline was spending Christmas Eve alone. She should have a husband and a bevy of children at her side. The way she had taken care of Annie Greer, despite being new to town, spoke to the goodness residing in her heart.
Caroline wrinkled her nose as she washed the swelling with warm vinegar. Then she applied the compress to his leg. “My word, the spirits in this mixture are strong! Quite enough to take one’s breath away!”
William gritted his teeth at the sense of helplessness to be tended to like a child, mingled with the enjoyment of her delicate fingers pressing against him. “What is it?”
“The poultice? The doctor instructed a variety of ingredients. Vinegar, oatmeal, camphorated spirits of wine, Mindererus’s spirit, volatile liniment, volatile aromatic spirit diluted with a double quantity of water, and the common fomentation, with the addition of brandy.”
“My word, did I have all those ingredients?”
She smiled. “No, I only found four or five. Hopefully, it will do.”
“I am sure it will. Dr. Hadley seemed to think the key measure was to rest the leg. He had me soak it in ice water when he first arrived.”
“There you go, then. We will use the poultice and then I will bind it to your ankle. By the time Christmastide is over, you will hopefully be mostly healed.”
“Are you always such an optimist?”
Her hands stilled in their task, and William got the sense that Caroline was thinking of unpleasant things before she finally replied. “I find it is important to count one’s blessings. The world can be very lonely, but if you take the time to count your blessings, you can be happier.”
“What blessings would you count for me tonight? Now that I have sprained my ankle in this stupid manner.” He waved his hand toward his leg.
“You are a well-respected blacksmith with a successful business. The doctor respects and admires you, so he took great pains to find an attendant to be at your side. You are strong and healthy, which means if you follow his directions, you should be fully recovered within a few days. And … you have your entire life ahead of you!”
As Caroline completed her litany of blessings, the glow of her face captivated William. Her lively hazel eyes were brimming with sincere interest. She meant it, speaking with conviction. It gave him pause to hear his situation described by the woman who embodied sheer sunshine in his mind.
A fire sprang to life in his belly as he watched her, the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms a physical impulse he had to quell.
Careful, William. You are feeling things. Feelings lead to loss and pain. Feelings nearly broke you when Charles died.
With more force than he intended, before the sunshine could spread into the recesses of his soul to reawaken his dead spirits, William bit back, “Are you nearly done?”
Caroline flinched as if he had slapped her instead of rejected her blessings. The crestfallen look that followed stabbed him deep in the chest, and William feared that he had taken action too late. The withered organ that lay in his breast had already begun its slow return to life.
“I shall bind the poultice to your ankle when I am done clearing up.”
With that, Caroline stood up and left the room. William squashed any burgeoning guilt. They had at least tonight and perhaps another day of each other’s company, and it was essential he maintain some distance. It would not do to get ideas about spending time together. As it was, his earlier offer had put images of courtship in his head, and that was an impossibility.
William recalled how, when he had returned home, he had had to tell his Uncle Albert and Aunt Gertrude that their only child was dead, without even a proper burial on foreign soil.
All because of him, because of his selfish desires.
After contending with their heartrending grief, his news destroying their very light, he had to inform Charles’s betrothed on the other side of the village. Nellie had shattered into pieces in his arms. She had mourned for the longest time until she finally met a man in Bath just a year ago and finally healed.
William had caused far too much unhappiness in his past to consider embracing sunshine in his future.
Nay, he had all but died at the Hougoumont farmhouse along with Charles, and he was not permitted to return to life.
To his relief, Caroline worked in the kitchen without her usual humming in accompaniment. Listening to her earlier had tugged at strange yearnings, and William wanted none of it. Sunshine needed to be kept at bay. It was his lot to live in shadows.
Before long, she returned clothed in a night rail and wrap, which was embroidered with neat, little flowers. Her work, perhaps? Silky hair was plaited to fall over her shoulder, and his fingers itched to pull on the primrose ribbon and comb through her wheat locks.
Sitting on the low table, Caroline bound the poultice, her fingers warm on his leg, then spread a blanket over him. It was only midevening, but his eyelids were heavy and he was more than ready to slumber.
Despite this, William’s eyes could not help themselves. They devoured the shape of her with hunger as she wandered about, quietly extinguishing the candles in the darkening room.
When she finally reclined on the opposite settee, William’s lids shut and he accepted the gentle embrace of sleep.
THE PAST
William opened his eyes to find himself once more at Château d’Hougoumont.
It was right about noon, with the sun beating down on the quagmire of mud left in the rainstorm’s wake earlier that morning, when the north gate was breached. A sous-lieutenant of the French First Light Infantry broke through the gate with an axe, enabling blue-coats to pour into the fortified courtyard that William’s regiment had been charged with defending.
William frantically sought his cousin’s position, yelling his name, when he caught sight of Charles near the gate. From thirty feet away, William raced forward to assist him, but he was too late. He could only watch helplessly as Charles was run through with a flashing steel bayonet, falling to the ground as if time itself had slowed down to drag out William’s agonizing futility.
For the span of a second, William was frozen as grief slammed into his body, almost bringing him to his knees. Even at this distance, there was no doubt his cousin was dead, with his empty eyes staring into the abyss.
But then there was no time to think as the tide of French soldiers reached him. Realizing there was no time to reload his musket, he raised it up to fight, as he had been taught weeks ago when Charles and he had signed up to fight Boney. Which was when he noticed that his bayonet was missing. William saw the soldiers were upon him, and he had no method to defend himself.
Recalling the training sergeant had said that Brown Bess had a thick stock and would not break if he used it as a club, William’s instincts as a blacksmith spurred him into motion while a mindless rage washed over him in a tide of red. They had killed his cousin, his best friend. If he were to die in the yard today, he would take as many Frenchmen down with him as he could!
William raised his musket like a forge hammer, swinging it down with the force and precision of a smith beating iron on his anvil. Cracking it down, he raised it once more and swung it down. And raised it and swung again. And again.
When William’s rage slowly dissipated, he was panting from his exertions. He groggily returned to his senses from the anger and hatred that had engulfed his mind, to find that he now stood with five dead Frenchmen at his feet. The north gate was closed, and his fellow red-coats were frantically fighting the remaining enemy left within the yard.
It was like this every night. Every relentless night since the battle of Waterloo.
This was the part of his recurring nightmare when he threw back his head to roar all the pain, and loss, and regret shuddering through him. Charles was dead, and William had killed five men in close combat with the skills of his livelihood turned to abhorrent violence. He did not even know the men’s names. Would never know their names. Or if they had wives, children, parents who would grieve them.
This was the precise moment he would now make his vow to—
Then he heard it, a melodic voice humming a Christmas carol.
Thus spoke the angel. Suddenly
appeared a shining throng
of angels praising God, who thus
addressed their joyful song:
‘All glory be to God on high,
and to the earth be peace;
to those on whom his favor rests
goodwill shall never cease.’
He frowned, hesitating, uncertain of what to make of the joyful holiday song here in this yard of death.
This was a fresh development. He had suffered this nightmare for more than five years. It had never deviated before. Every night, it was the same sequence of events. Over and over again, so that he was afraid to fall asleep. Afraid to revisit this yard.
William shook his head in befuddlement, then turned to discover the source of the song.
Approaching him was sunshine herself, draped in a flowing white gown. Her blonde hair was lit, her face serene as she walked toward him, paying no mind to the carnage at her feet. She sang as she neared him, and somehow the soldiers parted to let her through so she might come to a stop in front of him.
Caroline Brown looked up into his eyes and asked, “Did you count your blessings, William?”
“Blessings?” he echoed dumbly.
She shook her head at him, as if admonishing a forgetful child. “Life is hard. Counting your blessings makes it easier to find happiness in this world.”
His brow creased, and he found himself at a genuine loss as he stared down at his filthy breeches and muddy boots, while breathing in the stench of blood and gunpowder. Surely this was a jest? There was no possibility of hope or optimism to be found in a hell like this. Caroline could not possibly have any blessings of value to share with him.
“What blessings are to be found in this field of death?”
Her pink lips curled into a smile, and William wondered if he was missing some vital clue. She seemed confident there was grace present. “There are always blessings to be counted. It is all about perspective.”
She held out a hand, and it was clean. And soft. And perfect. He did not wish to sully her by taking hold of it, but she merely stood there, waiting with a tilt of her head until he reluctantly reached out to clasp it. “Come with me, blacksmith.”
Leading him over to a fortified wall, she stepped up onto a barrel with his help, then gestured for him to take his place at her side. Gingerly, he climbed up and turned to where she was peering with a fascinated expression.
William’s eyes widened in amazement as he realized he was watching himself. Events unfolded once more, but this time he watched them from the side. He was no longer a participant in the battle.
The French sous-lieutenant broke through the north gate, wielding his steel axe in a triumphant charge.
Blue-coats followed him, flooding into the courtyard.
William watched once more in torment as Charles was run through with a bayonet, this vantage point a fresh seat to witness hell unfolding yet again.
Then William watched himself across the yard as he called out his cousin’s name in agony. He witnessed the other William’s anguish, followed by the realization he had no bayonet with which to defend himself as the tide of blue rushed toward him. The other William brought the musket back over his head to wield it in the manner of a blacksmith’s hammer.
