Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-16 09:35 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2012-12-16 09:35 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Nine
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Nine
By the time Edward left the Long residence, it was raining. He had worn boots but no great-coat, so he had no choice but to tramp unprotected though the much of London streets. The early April air still blew cold, but he paid it no mind. Or, at least, he attempted to ignore it; the actual success of his endeavour was highly suspect. He yearned for his home, for a warm fire and hot meal, but he could not retire yet. There was still a task to be completed.
Much of what Faith had said worried him. Chief among his concerns, of course, was her threat to inform the admiral of his reasons for leaving her. Surely, she would do no such thing. She was too gentle a woman to callously sentence at least one man to death. Edward could not be sure how much power English law could wield against Remy. Perhaps he would be able to flee to France. Edward knew that he would face the noose if they were reported, especially by Faith to her father. Still, there was nothing he could do. The die was cast, and he could only try to survive whatever came at him. His worry did not abate.
The idea of Remy and Long gave him cause to fret as well. There was some small chance that it was a lie. It need not even be intentional. He supposed Faith could have invented the idea, sought something that wound him. However, he struggled to believe it of her. It was far more likely that she had seen traces of various things and come to an inaccurate conclusion. Yet, he had to consider the possibility that it was wholly true. If it was, Remy had no right to require him to choose if he was still seeing Long often. He would ask, certainly.
His greatest fear was that Faith’s prediction would come to pass. He had not considered it before, but now it devoured his mind. What if Remy enjoyed only what he had laid out in his offer— the forbidden? Long was married, he had been engaged. What if Remy desired only those he could not wholly possess? Edward knew the sort. Would he still want his conquest once it was won? He had sacrificed himself for Remy. Would he dismiss him? He felt ill. Why should Remy laugh? He had done as he asked. Why should Remy care? He might well be only an amusement.
The chill Edward felt was not from the rain or wind. It went far deeper, started in the recesses of his heart and spread through his veins. For the first time, he mounted the steps to the Astin’s front door. He spent several seconds just standing there, warring with himself as to what to do and how to do it. At last, he decided. This day could cause him no worse pain. If he put off whatever might come, he was only lengthening his time of agony. This would either give him further distress or relieve some of the ache he felt now. Edward knocked at the door and waited.
Miss Constance opened the door, in the middle of shooing away a servant. She was obviously expecting company of a different sort, for she began a warm greeting that trailed off into an awkward pause as she stared at Edward. Finally, she remembered herself. “Captain Burr! Oh, you’re simply soaked to the bone! Come inside at once, sir, please!” She stepped aside to allow him to obey, but Edward remained, shaking his head.
“Miss Constance, I would be eternally in your debt if you would request Captain Martineau come.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Remy smiled to himself when he heard the front door, followed by Constance’s quick movements on the stair, approaching his rooms. It must be Andre. Was it time for the lovers’ flight so soon? They might have considered the adage of forgiveness over permission. Were he to commit himself as more than a silent confidant, he would have offered that advice. It would be particularly potent against Colette. She would be furious at the courtship, but she could hate her brother’s marriage and her step-daughter’s happiness only so much and so long. She would pardon long before she would allow. When his door opened, he prepared to sweep his future sister-in-law into his arms and wish her safety, happiness, and God’s speed in her love, life, and plans.
Yet, the Constance who stood before him was not brimming with joy and excitement over an elopement and planned clandestine wedding. Nor was she a mass of sorrow and utterly distraught because her lover had changed his mind about their future or when they would flee. Instead, she looked perplexed. Her head was tilted while she gingerly worried the tip of her tongue with her teeth. It was as though a great riddle had been placed before her, and she was determined to answer it without assistance. Her eyes were fixed upon him, as though he were a clue. Remy could not help his smile as he barely managed not to laugh at her or even offer an severe tease as to her apparent plight.
“My dear little Constance, what is it that troubles you?”
“Captain Burr is at the door, sir,” she replied. “He asked me to make haste and implore you to attend, yet he will not say why nor come in out of this awful rain and cold.”
Edward had come. What was he to make of that? If the man intended to stay, he would come in. Was he so much the gentleman that he felt, in fairness, he must announce his reasonable choice? Remy would not pander to such foolishness, would not abide causing them both that much more strife. He steeled his heart and shrugged his shoulders. To Constance, he said, “Tell him I will not see him. He may go.”
Constance frowned. Remy cool feel her admonition in her gaze. How sweet she looked. It gave him some small joy, some reminder of how happy youth could be. Even as she pouted, she turned to obey. It took her rather a long time to return, and she looked quite put out. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a severe look, easing any doubt from his mind as to how she would handle Andre and any children they might someday have.
“He will not go,” she said. “Not until he hears the words from you. If he must wait until summer, he swears, he will remain.” At once, she melted. Remy supposed he could not be surprised by what those grey eyes and warm voice could inspire in a too-romantic girl like Constance. Had Edward sought to court her, even Andre would have found himself thoroughly beaten. “You must see him, sir. If you do not show mercy, he will catch his death of cold.”
“It would serve the fool right, making such demands.” Yet, he relented. Constance seemed to revive when he hauled himself to his feet, and she left the room with him. At the stairs, she deserted him, hurrying down the way to pass on the news of his approach to the man still outside.
Even at this news, apparently, Edward could not be induced to enter. Constance moved aside, fled to a room well away, and Remy took his time descending the stairway. Why was this man being so stubborn? They both knew what he had come to say. Was his refusal to shelter himself from the rain meant as some sort of show of contrition? Remy would dismiss him all the same, show him no mercy or pity.
“What is so very important?” he asked as he finally opened the door. He was prepared to maintain his cool aloofness, so the sight of Edward did not visibly move him. In his heart, he could admit that he understood now how affected Constance had shown herself to be. The man looked as formal as ever, dress in his full uniform, but his usually proud shoulders were bent. His bicorn offered scant protection form the elements, and his lack of a great-coat meant he was thoroughly drenched. When he looked at Remy, it was with the gaze of a man broken by fortune. A fine show, he thought. At least the man could make himself appear miserable for this task he felt he must inflict on them both.
“Remy.” His eyes looked so very dark, so wrought with worry and fear. Did he think there would be a scene? Now or if he did not come? He was an idiot. Still, Remy watched him. He had been dragged here for this, and the Englishman insisted on being out in the rain. He would grant him no easy reprieve now. “I’ve taken time, I know. Forgive me. My decision was not easy.” Were these words meant to comfort him? He felt very tempted to simply close the door. “I’ve just come from Miss Long’s home. I told her, Remy. I told her I could not marry her. I’ve broken my ties to her.”
Remy stared at Edward. He could not begin to truly understand what he had just heard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt elation stirring. The rest of him, though, seemed to lack any powers of comprehension. Slowly, a kind of warmth began to spread. Still, he felt immobile. He barely managed to speak. “Why would you do that?”
“You told me to make a choice,” Edward said. He was shaking. Was it shivering or trembling? Could it be both? “If you are going to send me away, do it, but I won’t regret what I’ve done.” He should send Edward away, make them both come to their senses. “I love you, Remy.”
Remy swallowed hard. Those were words to be uttered in frenzied moments of passion or slurred after too much wine. They were never to be said seriously in moments of complete sobriety. He knew there was nothing to be done. “Come in.”
‡ ‡ ‡
The first, heavy blankets, and warm body pressed flush against his had nearly chased all the cold from him. Some, he feared, was deep in his bones, and it would take time to thaw. The bright green eyes that stared into his and the lips that claimed his mouth for a deep, needy kiss he returned with twice the desperation helped greatly, though.
“Idiot,” Remy muttered for the hundredth time since he had nearly pulled him into the house. He’d said little else, really, while he pulled the soaked clothing from the skin it clung to. Those articles were hung near the fire to dry, and Remy’s clothes had been removed somewhere among the kisses and caresses and whispered words.
Edward shut his eyes, basking in the feel of Remy’s breath on his neck and his stroking hands. He could almost forget the rest of the world under those touches, inviting and encouraging a renewal of his strength. Softly, he said, “I know.”
Remy placed a kiss just above his collarbone. His voice was more serious than either of them wanted to hear. “What are we to do?”
“I don’t know,” Edward admitted. He tried to think, but Remy’s touches did not cease. Thoughts of Faith, the pain he had caused her, worry for the future, concern over Remy and Long, and the hands stroking him all warred in his mind. Pleasure was, by far, the most appealing of them so, as Remy pressed closer still, he surrendered without regret. The words were more of a sigh. “We’ll think of something.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Martineau had surprised him. David could claim no exact knowledge of what had transpired, but he knew it was serious. Without some assurance from Martineau, Burr would never have been so foolhardy as to end his engagement. What could have inspired him that that lunacy? Faith had barely spoken about the cause, less so to their parents, but he would uncover the truth with enough prying.
If he were wholly honest with himself, that was part of why he had come. The Crown and Jewels was not to his taste, not for atmosphere or food or drink, but the note asking him to lunch here had been in Martineau’s hand. Even if it would do Faith no good nor ease her pain at all, he was set on the idea of at least learning a more complete tale of what had transpired yesterday.
When Martineau approached, David motioned for him to sit. Neither spoke for a few moments, and he took the opportunity to study the other man. He seemed faintly flushed. Nor embarrassed, no, or even suffering from the over-exertion a frenetic lover could cause. It was a different kind of colour. Happiness, he realised. So much as to create a stupor to rival the best spirits. Martineau was putting forth a marked effort to suppress it, too, which only served to fascinate David further.
“My friend,” he finally said, smiling with a sort of uncertainty, “I am afraid I must ask a grave favour.” David did not speak. “I understand your sister’s heart has suffered a deep wound. It is not my place to apologise, though I meant her no harm. What is done cannot be altered, however.” Still, he let Martineau continue. “I have no right to ask your help, but there is no one else I can turn to. Mister Burr and I, you must understand, cannot remain in London. Neither of us have property in the county, and to let it now would excite talk. Too much, I am afraid, for us to ever escape it.”
David looked at Martineau. It was quite a favour to ask, and he must need it if he would come to him and say it. Faith would find out, and she would be hard pressed to ever forgive him. Burr had spurned her, and he was only as much of a friend to Martineau as one had to be to engage him twice in a night of blissful distraction. Yet, he had to credit the remarkable sincerity in Martineau’s eyes now and the daring on Burr’s part to choose this action. Who would he have turned to if he and Gregory had ever risked this? He bowed his head for a moment, then found the words he needed.
“I will agree to nothing without Abigail’s blessing.”
Book Three
Chapter Nine
By the time Edward left the Long residence, it was raining. He had worn boots but no great-coat, so he had no choice but to tramp unprotected though the much of London streets. The early April air still blew cold, but he paid it no mind. Or, at least, he attempted to ignore it; the actual success of his endeavour was highly suspect. He yearned for his home, for a warm fire and hot meal, but he could not retire yet. There was still a task to be completed.
Much of what Faith had said worried him. Chief among his concerns, of course, was her threat to inform the admiral of his reasons for leaving her. Surely, she would do no such thing. She was too gentle a woman to callously sentence at least one man to death. Edward could not be sure how much power English law could wield against Remy. Perhaps he would be able to flee to France. Edward knew that he would face the noose if they were reported, especially by Faith to her father. Still, there was nothing he could do. The die was cast, and he could only try to survive whatever came at him. His worry did not abate.
The idea of Remy and Long gave him cause to fret as well. There was some small chance that it was a lie. It need not even be intentional. He supposed Faith could have invented the idea, sought something that wound him. However, he struggled to believe it of her. It was far more likely that she had seen traces of various things and come to an inaccurate conclusion. Yet, he had to consider the possibility that it was wholly true. If it was, Remy had no right to require him to choose if he was still seeing Long often. He would ask, certainly.
His greatest fear was that Faith’s prediction would come to pass. He had not considered it before, but now it devoured his mind. What if Remy enjoyed only what he had laid out in his offer— the forbidden? Long was married, he had been engaged. What if Remy desired only those he could not wholly possess? Edward knew the sort. Would he still want his conquest once it was won? He had sacrificed himself for Remy. Would he dismiss him? He felt ill. Why should Remy laugh? He had done as he asked. Why should Remy care? He might well be only an amusement.
The chill Edward felt was not from the rain or wind. It went far deeper, started in the recesses of his heart and spread through his veins. For the first time, he mounted the steps to the Astin’s front door. He spent several seconds just standing there, warring with himself as to what to do and how to do it. At last, he decided. This day could cause him no worse pain. If he put off whatever might come, he was only lengthening his time of agony. This would either give him further distress or relieve some of the ache he felt now. Edward knocked at the door and waited.
Miss Constance opened the door, in the middle of shooing away a servant. She was obviously expecting company of a different sort, for she began a warm greeting that trailed off into an awkward pause as she stared at Edward. Finally, she remembered herself. “Captain Burr! Oh, you’re simply soaked to the bone! Come inside at once, sir, please!” She stepped aside to allow him to obey, but Edward remained, shaking his head.
“Miss Constance, I would be eternally in your debt if you would request Captain Martineau come.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Remy smiled to himself when he heard the front door, followed by Constance’s quick movements on the stair, approaching his rooms. It must be Andre. Was it time for the lovers’ flight so soon? They might have considered the adage of forgiveness over permission. Were he to commit himself as more than a silent confidant, he would have offered that advice. It would be particularly potent against Colette. She would be furious at the courtship, but she could hate her brother’s marriage and her step-daughter’s happiness only so much and so long. She would pardon long before she would allow. When his door opened, he prepared to sweep his future sister-in-law into his arms and wish her safety, happiness, and God’s speed in her love, life, and plans.
Yet, the Constance who stood before him was not brimming with joy and excitement over an elopement and planned clandestine wedding. Nor was she a mass of sorrow and utterly distraught because her lover had changed his mind about their future or when they would flee. Instead, she looked perplexed. Her head was tilted while she gingerly worried the tip of her tongue with her teeth. It was as though a great riddle had been placed before her, and she was determined to answer it without assistance. Her eyes were fixed upon him, as though he were a clue. Remy could not help his smile as he barely managed not to laugh at her or even offer an severe tease as to her apparent plight.
“My dear little Constance, what is it that troubles you?”
“Captain Burr is at the door, sir,” she replied. “He asked me to make haste and implore you to attend, yet he will not say why nor come in out of this awful rain and cold.”
Edward had come. What was he to make of that? If the man intended to stay, he would come in. Was he so much the gentleman that he felt, in fairness, he must announce his reasonable choice? Remy would not pander to such foolishness, would not abide causing them both that much more strife. He steeled his heart and shrugged his shoulders. To Constance, he said, “Tell him I will not see him. He may go.”
Constance frowned. Remy cool feel her admonition in her gaze. How sweet she looked. It gave him some small joy, some reminder of how happy youth could be. Even as she pouted, she turned to obey. It took her rather a long time to return, and she looked quite put out. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a severe look, easing any doubt from his mind as to how she would handle Andre and any children they might someday have.
“He will not go,” she said. “Not until he hears the words from you. If he must wait until summer, he swears, he will remain.” At once, she melted. Remy supposed he could not be surprised by what those grey eyes and warm voice could inspire in a too-romantic girl like Constance. Had Edward sought to court her, even Andre would have found himself thoroughly beaten. “You must see him, sir. If you do not show mercy, he will catch his death of cold.”
“It would serve the fool right, making such demands.” Yet, he relented. Constance seemed to revive when he hauled himself to his feet, and she left the room with him. At the stairs, she deserted him, hurrying down the way to pass on the news of his approach to the man still outside.
Even at this news, apparently, Edward could not be induced to enter. Constance moved aside, fled to a room well away, and Remy took his time descending the stairway. Why was this man being so stubborn? They both knew what he had come to say. Was his refusal to shelter himself from the rain meant as some sort of show of contrition? Remy would dismiss him all the same, show him no mercy or pity.
“What is so very important?” he asked as he finally opened the door. He was prepared to maintain his cool aloofness, so the sight of Edward did not visibly move him. In his heart, he could admit that he understood now how affected Constance had shown herself to be. The man looked as formal as ever, dress in his full uniform, but his usually proud shoulders were bent. His bicorn offered scant protection form the elements, and his lack of a great-coat meant he was thoroughly drenched. When he looked at Remy, it was with the gaze of a man broken by fortune. A fine show, he thought. At least the man could make himself appear miserable for this task he felt he must inflict on them both.
“Remy.” His eyes looked so very dark, so wrought with worry and fear. Did he think there would be a scene? Now or if he did not come? He was an idiot. Still, Remy watched him. He had been dragged here for this, and the Englishman insisted on being out in the rain. He would grant him no easy reprieve now. “I’ve taken time, I know. Forgive me. My decision was not easy.” Were these words meant to comfort him? He felt very tempted to simply close the door. “I’ve just come from Miss Long’s home. I told her, Remy. I told her I could not marry her. I’ve broken my ties to her.”
Remy stared at Edward. He could not begin to truly understand what he had just heard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt elation stirring. The rest of him, though, seemed to lack any powers of comprehension. Slowly, a kind of warmth began to spread. Still, he felt immobile. He barely managed to speak. “Why would you do that?”
“You told me to make a choice,” Edward said. He was shaking. Was it shivering or trembling? Could it be both? “If you are going to send me away, do it, but I won’t regret what I’ve done.” He should send Edward away, make them both come to their senses. “I love you, Remy.”
Remy swallowed hard. Those were words to be uttered in frenzied moments of passion or slurred after too much wine. They were never to be said seriously in moments of complete sobriety. He knew there was nothing to be done. “Come in.”
‡ ‡ ‡
The first, heavy blankets, and warm body pressed flush against his had nearly chased all the cold from him. Some, he feared, was deep in his bones, and it would take time to thaw. The bright green eyes that stared into his and the lips that claimed his mouth for a deep, needy kiss he returned with twice the desperation helped greatly, though.
“Idiot,” Remy muttered for the hundredth time since he had nearly pulled him into the house. He’d said little else, really, while he pulled the soaked clothing from the skin it clung to. Those articles were hung near the fire to dry, and Remy’s clothes had been removed somewhere among the kisses and caresses and whispered words.
Edward shut his eyes, basking in the feel of Remy’s breath on his neck and his stroking hands. He could almost forget the rest of the world under those touches, inviting and encouraging a renewal of his strength. Softly, he said, “I know.”
Remy placed a kiss just above his collarbone. His voice was more serious than either of them wanted to hear. “What are we to do?”
“I don’t know,” Edward admitted. He tried to think, but Remy’s touches did not cease. Thoughts of Faith, the pain he had caused her, worry for the future, concern over Remy and Long, and the hands stroking him all warred in his mind. Pleasure was, by far, the most appealing of them so, as Remy pressed closer still, he surrendered without regret. The words were more of a sigh. “We’ll think of something.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Martineau had surprised him. David could claim no exact knowledge of what had transpired, but he knew it was serious. Without some assurance from Martineau, Burr would never have been so foolhardy as to end his engagement. What could have inspired him that that lunacy? Faith had barely spoken about the cause, less so to their parents, but he would uncover the truth with enough prying.
If he were wholly honest with himself, that was part of why he had come. The Crown and Jewels was not to his taste, not for atmosphere or food or drink, but the note asking him to lunch here had been in Martineau’s hand. Even if it would do Faith no good nor ease her pain at all, he was set on the idea of at least learning a more complete tale of what had transpired yesterday.
When Martineau approached, David motioned for him to sit. Neither spoke for a few moments, and he took the opportunity to study the other man. He seemed faintly flushed. Nor embarrassed, no, or even suffering from the over-exertion a frenetic lover could cause. It was a different kind of colour. Happiness, he realised. So much as to create a stupor to rival the best spirits. Martineau was putting forth a marked effort to suppress it, too, which only served to fascinate David further.
“My friend,” he finally said, smiling with a sort of uncertainty, “I am afraid I must ask a grave favour.” David did not speak. “I understand your sister’s heart has suffered a deep wound. It is not my place to apologise, though I meant her no harm. What is done cannot be altered, however.” Still, he let Martineau continue. “I have no right to ask your help, but there is no one else I can turn to. Mister Burr and I, you must understand, cannot remain in London. Neither of us have property in the county, and to let it now would excite talk. Too much, I am afraid, for us to ever escape it.”
David looked at Martineau. It was quite a favour to ask, and he must need it if he would come to him and say it. Faith would find out, and she would be hard pressed to ever forgive him. Burr had spurned her, and he was only as much of a friend to Martineau as one had to be to engage him twice in a night of blissful distraction. Yet, he had to credit the remarkable sincerity in Martineau’s eyes now and the daring on Burr’s part to choose this action. Who would he have turned to if he and Gregory had ever risked this? He bowed his head for a moment, then found the words he needed.
“I will agree to nothing without Abigail’s blessing.”