Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-22 02:41 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-22 02:41 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Eleven
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Eleven
Rebecca gave her brother her best, sweetest smile when he called on her after his day-long ride with Joseph. She had tried to go over his head, but her father had been firm. In his invalid state, he had said, Nathaniel was master of the house and ought to be treated as such, even by his own sister. Therefore, it must be his decision. Rebecca felt sure she could convince him. It would simply be far easier if the idea came from their father. When her brother embraced her, she kissed him on both cheeks before sinking onto her pretty sofa. She caught his hand, and he joined her without delay, smiling warmly.
“Perhaps tomorrow I may join you and Joseph for a ride,” she said. They all knew her poor health would allow for no such thing, but she liked to pretend she could forget about that. Nathaniel always seemed so happy after being out riding the estate with Joseph. His good mood, though, would make him easier to persuade, especially with that little reminding that she could not enjoy such things herself. She sighed softly, as if in mourning, and looked up at him. “It is so quiet here, Nathaniel. I do quite miss the people of Gibraltar.”
Nathaniel kissed her forehead. “Father needs us here, little one. Besides, the quiet is good for you. Too much noise tires you.”
“It might be that a little could be good for me,” she suggested. She caught his arm and gazed up at him. “Just one evening, Nathaniel. Food, music, dancing. Oh, please, Nathaniel? Wouldn’t it be just lovely? I can hardly bear to travel, and it has been so long since we were at any sort of dance. If it were held here, I would not have to go anywhere and could retire if it became too dizzying. Oh, please, Nathaniel, do say yes. Please?”
‡ ‡ ‡
Nathaniel was not a naturally social creature, Joseph knew, and this dance put that on display. Everything was procured, yes. There was food, spirits, and music. All of the preparations, however, spoke to a half-hearted attempt to see them done. Where others went into excess, Nathaniel had done only what was necessary. It had certainly put off many of the local women who had seen him as a prize. Joseph had overheard many whispered conversations accusing him of miserly ways. Perhaps, he considered with some amusement, that had been part of the intent.
Still, Rebecca was happy. That was paramount. It seemed to Joseph that, as little as she managed to do, he had never seen her more pleased. During her first dance, she had been forced to ask for assistance reaching the sitting room before she fainted. Now, she sat in there with three men constantly attending to her, with another three who changed frequently. By tomorrow, at least one would be seeking Nathaniel’s permission to call upon her. Whether Nathaniel would allow it, Joseph was not entirely sure. It would be truly fascinating to see.
One thing above all else had caught Joseph’s attention. Most of those in attendance were local, naturally. They had come, at most, an hour to make an appearance. However, among the guests, there was one man in the blue naval officer’s uniform who had surely spent at least half a day in transit: Edward Burr. Only Nathaniel himself could have invited the man, though the motives baffled him entirely. He had clearly come alone, Joseph determined quickly. He was not in as high of spirits as when he had last seen him, but the captain was being good company. Edward had clearly lost weight, and a few lines on his face had grown deeper. Some difficulty— this recent scandal, no doubt— had aged him, yet Joseph felt he must admit it had also added power to his posture and purpose to his stride. With no ship, few friends, and a ruined reputation that must eventually spread to most social circles, he had only himself to take pride in, and he had, shining with a captivating defiance. Several village girls had taken notice and flocked about him.
It suggested something to Joseph: hope. If he worked quickly and diligently, he might yet save Edward from his impending fat. This new-found strength, if appropriately harnessed and wielded, might prove, just as it had risen from his damnation, to be Edward’s salvation. He must try.
“My dear friend,” Joseph said warmly, seizing Edward by the arm, “how long it has been.” At once, he began to walk away from the gaggle of girls, and Edward made no effort at resistance. He seemed grateful for the rescue. Joseph made sure to catch Nathaniel’s eye before he ushered Edward into the comfortable, otherwise empty study. He gestured to a chair, and Edward hesitated before he finally took to it and looked at Joseph.
“I’m sorry I haven’t written in some time, my friend.”
“You’re an idiot.” Joseph had planned a speech, gentle and coaxing, to bring Edward to his senses. All of the notes he had committed to memory for it were thrown aside in his mind. “You are a commander. If you were born under a blessed star, you may see orders for a lieutenancy someday, but you will never advance beyond that.” He paced. His voice stayed low, but he refused to bite his tongue. “You were poised to be the son-in-law of an admiral. Do you have any idea how far you had come, Edward? A penniless bastard showered in wealth, given a medal, and engaged to a young lady of society. You would never have wanted for all your life, and you threw it aside for someone like Martineau.”
“Joseph—”
“No. I want an answer. Why? You’re not that foolish, Edward. Pretty girls go to your head, yes. But not him. Why? If you go now, fall to your knees before her, and make a true oath never to stray, you can fix this. You can mend this before it destroys you. How could you do something like this?”
“I love him.”
The words were expected. Someone like Edward was no inclined to the romantic, to defying the gods and anyone who would tell him something could not be. Joseph knew he would hear those words. He had not prepared to believe them. Looking into Edward’s eyes and seeing them a warm silver rather than bitter steel or melancholy slate was a surprise. His devotion was not, he realised, to spite those who would protest. He may have made his decisions in haste, but he stood by them out of conviction, not stubborn refusal to admit a mistake. Something struck Joseph. The words, tone, and expression reminded him of someone else. Someone with a strength abounding who rarely called on it for himself; a man with infinite patience; someone full of love who stood beside an individual who deserved none of it for the things he had done.
Joseph’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at Edward. Old words welled up in him, and he spoke through the fog of memories. “You’re a fool.” He sighed, pulling himself away from years long passed, but it did not work well. Ancient wounds ached like new, but he welcomed them. They were lessons learned long ago and forgotten too soon. “You know I can’t approve. However, so long as you do not commit treason for his sake, I will protect you. Both of you. Love is precious, Edward, but, God above, it is dangerous.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward felt a sort of relief to escape the study. He had never seen Joseph so affected by emotion or change so fast between two sentiments. He was not sure what he ought to think about anything that had passed between them. All he could be certain of was that Joseph had pledged his help. While he could not imagine what there was to be done, he knew he could trust Joseph to keep his word and offer some sort of assistance.
He froze when he saw Mister Farley in the hall. It was obvious the man was waiting for him. Edward offered a little bow, but Farley only beckoned him over. The safest course would be to ignore it and return to the party, perhaps spend some time in the company of Miss Farley, but he knew he could do no such thing.
“I thank you, Mister Burr, for your attendance,” Farley said when he approached. “I apologise. I felt I need use Mister Clay’s hand to assure you would come. But I had a great need to see you again.”
“Sir?” Edward replied. He felt keenly ill at ease, but there was no escape now.
“I have long been sure, Mister Burr, that Mister Clay holds for you a far deeper affection than the friendly one to which he will admit. I am unaccustomed to such strong notions of jealousy, but they had possessed me recently, disturbing my sleep and robbing food of its taste.” Edward stared at the man. The quiet passion was compelling, and he felt as if he ought to offer apologies despite having made no trespasses. “I could bear the poison no long, you understand, so I asked you here. I swore I would settle it with myself tonight. One way or another, I must have an answer. Tell me; answer with full honesty. Does he love you?”
The thought had never occurred to Edward, so he found himself unable to answer. He stared at Farley still, seeking to make some sense of all he’d heard. Somehow, perhaps thanks to Remy, he found himself unable to be too very surprised that it was this man who was Joseph’s sweetheart, rather than his sister. He wanted to assure the man, so obviously tortured, but he felt as though his throat was swollen shut.
Joseph saved him, speaking from within the study, “Nathaniel, please come in. We need speak; it will not wait.” Edward breathed as Farley hesitated then complied, shutting the door behind him.
‡ ‡ ‡
As soon as the door was shut, Nathaniel was kissed. Joseph put a hand to his cheek and pressed against him.
“I love you,” Joseph whispered as if in a trance. He kissed him again, a brief, desperate gesture. “I shall always love you.” His lips found Nathaniel’s right cheek. “No matter where you go,” his left, “or what you do,” his lips, “I shall love you. Whether you return to me or vanish into shadows,” he looked so near tears, “I shall love you and wait for you to return to me.” Joseph seemed to lurch forward, and Nathaniel wrapped his arms around him, holding as he was clung to. “Do you remember?”
“I meant every word,” Nathaniel promised. He was not sure if Joseph was weeping, but a few tears had escaped him at hearing his words quoted. He could never forget Joseph quivering, muttering about traitors and murder and escape. He had been so sure and so afraid that night would be their last together. “It is all still true, Joseph, I swear it.”
“He is the same fool you are,” Joseph said with a soft sigh. “All for love and damn any consequence. He thinks of Martineau and not himself, will throw away all future to have someone look in his eyes and exchange sincere vows of love.” He kissed Nathaniel again. “He looked so like you, my dear, dear Nathaniel. He was every bit as devoted as you that night, so willing to risk everything in the name of love.” His voice was growing more even, his frame more steady, but Nathaniel did not loosen his hold. “I think I had begun to forget that devotion. I beg you: allow me to earn your forgiveness.”
“It is given, my love,” Nathaniel whispered in reply. He looked down and met Joseph’s gaze. This time, he kissed Joseph. It barely needed saying, he felt. Of course he could grant his pardon. “I must ask the same,” he said. “I have doubted you. For all that I love you, I left doubt and envy make me bitter and give me cause to distrust your words and questions your motives. I should not have.”
“All is in the past now, put away, and it can be left behind,” Joseph said. He laughed softly, an almost delirious sound Nathaniel could not bring himself to mind, as Joseph only moved closer to him. “We have made our mistakes, learned from them, and now we may bury them.”
Nathaniel sighed contentedly and stood in silence for several moments, merely holding his beloved and letting himself take a quiet joy in the mended rift. At last, he kissed Joseph again and freed himself from his arms. “Tonight, my love, we shall see this properly ended. For now,” he gave a reluctant smile, “I must see to my neglected guests.”
‡ ‡ ‡
“I shall join you soon, joy,” Joseph promised. Nathaniel left, and he sat at the desk. His heart felt ten times lighter. At last, he could breathe.
It seemed strange to him. For all his foolishness, it was Edward who had done him so much good. His folly had reminded him of the gift he was squandering. Nathaniel had sworn himself to love when any sensible man would have gone for a constable. For a year, he had not written, yet Nathaniel only took him into his arms when reunited. Even Mister Farley had remarked on it. For all of that, he owed Edward a great debt. There was little that could be done directly, he knew, but he could see to the future. War must return, just as spring must give way to summer. It would be then that he would be needed.
The groundwork must be laid now, Joseph knew. No great task could be accomplished at the eleventh hour, so he would prepare now. He took out paper from the desk, laid it over a blotter sheet, and retrieved ink and a quill. He considered the blank page before him, as aware of its importance as he would have been had he been drafting the Treaty of Amiens itself. It would serve a similar purpose, this letter. It would try to accomplish peace where great harm had been done. After much silent contemplation, he took a deep breath, dipped the quill in the black liquid, put the tip to paper, and began to write with purpose. The date and salutation were done quickly, for it was the rest which would determine the fate of so very many.
‘I hope this letter finds you surrounded by friends and family and with a slowly mending heart, Miss Long.’
Book Three
Chapter Eleven
Rebecca gave her brother her best, sweetest smile when he called on her after his day-long ride with Joseph. She had tried to go over his head, but her father had been firm. In his invalid state, he had said, Nathaniel was master of the house and ought to be treated as such, even by his own sister. Therefore, it must be his decision. Rebecca felt sure she could convince him. It would simply be far easier if the idea came from their father. When her brother embraced her, she kissed him on both cheeks before sinking onto her pretty sofa. She caught his hand, and he joined her without delay, smiling warmly.
“Perhaps tomorrow I may join you and Joseph for a ride,” she said. They all knew her poor health would allow for no such thing, but she liked to pretend she could forget about that. Nathaniel always seemed so happy after being out riding the estate with Joseph. His good mood, though, would make him easier to persuade, especially with that little reminding that she could not enjoy such things herself. She sighed softly, as if in mourning, and looked up at him. “It is so quiet here, Nathaniel. I do quite miss the people of Gibraltar.”
Nathaniel kissed her forehead. “Father needs us here, little one. Besides, the quiet is good for you. Too much noise tires you.”
“It might be that a little could be good for me,” she suggested. She caught his arm and gazed up at him. “Just one evening, Nathaniel. Food, music, dancing. Oh, please, Nathaniel? Wouldn’t it be just lovely? I can hardly bear to travel, and it has been so long since we were at any sort of dance. If it were held here, I would not have to go anywhere and could retire if it became too dizzying. Oh, please, Nathaniel, do say yes. Please?”
‡ ‡ ‡
Nathaniel was not a naturally social creature, Joseph knew, and this dance put that on display. Everything was procured, yes. There was food, spirits, and music. All of the preparations, however, spoke to a half-hearted attempt to see them done. Where others went into excess, Nathaniel had done only what was necessary. It had certainly put off many of the local women who had seen him as a prize. Joseph had overheard many whispered conversations accusing him of miserly ways. Perhaps, he considered with some amusement, that had been part of the intent.
Still, Rebecca was happy. That was paramount. It seemed to Joseph that, as little as she managed to do, he had never seen her more pleased. During her first dance, she had been forced to ask for assistance reaching the sitting room before she fainted. Now, she sat in there with three men constantly attending to her, with another three who changed frequently. By tomorrow, at least one would be seeking Nathaniel’s permission to call upon her. Whether Nathaniel would allow it, Joseph was not entirely sure. It would be truly fascinating to see.
One thing above all else had caught Joseph’s attention. Most of those in attendance were local, naturally. They had come, at most, an hour to make an appearance. However, among the guests, there was one man in the blue naval officer’s uniform who had surely spent at least half a day in transit: Edward Burr. Only Nathaniel himself could have invited the man, though the motives baffled him entirely. He had clearly come alone, Joseph determined quickly. He was not in as high of spirits as when he had last seen him, but the captain was being good company. Edward had clearly lost weight, and a few lines on his face had grown deeper. Some difficulty— this recent scandal, no doubt— had aged him, yet Joseph felt he must admit it had also added power to his posture and purpose to his stride. With no ship, few friends, and a ruined reputation that must eventually spread to most social circles, he had only himself to take pride in, and he had, shining with a captivating defiance. Several village girls had taken notice and flocked about him.
It suggested something to Joseph: hope. If he worked quickly and diligently, he might yet save Edward from his impending fat. This new-found strength, if appropriately harnessed and wielded, might prove, just as it had risen from his damnation, to be Edward’s salvation. He must try.
“My dear friend,” Joseph said warmly, seizing Edward by the arm, “how long it has been.” At once, he began to walk away from the gaggle of girls, and Edward made no effort at resistance. He seemed grateful for the rescue. Joseph made sure to catch Nathaniel’s eye before he ushered Edward into the comfortable, otherwise empty study. He gestured to a chair, and Edward hesitated before he finally took to it and looked at Joseph.
“I’m sorry I haven’t written in some time, my friend.”
“You’re an idiot.” Joseph had planned a speech, gentle and coaxing, to bring Edward to his senses. All of the notes he had committed to memory for it were thrown aside in his mind. “You are a commander. If you were born under a blessed star, you may see orders for a lieutenancy someday, but you will never advance beyond that.” He paced. His voice stayed low, but he refused to bite his tongue. “You were poised to be the son-in-law of an admiral. Do you have any idea how far you had come, Edward? A penniless bastard showered in wealth, given a medal, and engaged to a young lady of society. You would never have wanted for all your life, and you threw it aside for someone like Martineau.”
“Joseph—”
“No. I want an answer. Why? You’re not that foolish, Edward. Pretty girls go to your head, yes. But not him. Why? If you go now, fall to your knees before her, and make a true oath never to stray, you can fix this. You can mend this before it destroys you. How could you do something like this?”
“I love him.”
The words were expected. Someone like Edward was no inclined to the romantic, to defying the gods and anyone who would tell him something could not be. Joseph knew he would hear those words. He had not prepared to believe them. Looking into Edward’s eyes and seeing them a warm silver rather than bitter steel or melancholy slate was a surprise. His devotion was not, he realised, to spite those who would protest. He may have made his decisions in haste, but he stood by them out of conviction, not stubborn refusal to admit a mistake. Something struck Joseph. The words, tone, and expression reminded him of someone else. Someone with a strength abounding who rarely called on it for himself; a man with infinite patience; someone full of love who stood beside an individual who deserved none of it for the things he had done.
Joseph’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at Edward. Old words welled up in him, and he spoke through the fog of memories. “You’re a fool.” He sighed, pulling himself away from years long passed, but it did not work well. Ancient wounds ached like new, but he welcomed them. They were lessons learned long ago and forgotten too soon. “You know I can’t approve. However, so long as you do not commit treason for his sake, I will protect you. Both of you. Love is precious, Edward, but, God above, it is dangerous.”
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward felt a sort of relief to escape the study. He had never seen Joseph so affected by emotion or change so fast between two sentiments. He was not sure what he ought to think about anything that had passed between them. All he could be certain of was that Joseph had pledged his help. While he could not imagine what there was to be done, he knew he could trust Joseph to keep his word and offer some sort of assistance.
He froze when he saw Mister Farley in the hall. It was obvious the man was waiting for him. Edward offered a little bow, but Farley only beckoned him over. The safest course would be to ignore it and return to the party, perhaps spend some time in the company of Miss Farley, but he knew he could do no such thing.
“I thank you, Mister Burr, for your attendance,” Farley said when he approached. “I apologise. I felt I need use Mister Clay’s hand to assure you would come. But I had a great need to see you again.”
“Sir?” Edward replied. He felt keenly ill at ease, but there was no escape now.
“I have long been sure, Mister Burr, that Mister Clay holds for you a far deeper affection than the friendly one to which he will admit. I am unaccustomed to such strong notions of jealousy, but they had possessed me recently, disturbing my sleep and robbing food of its taste.” Edward stared at the man. The quiet passion was compelling, and he felt as if he ought to offer apologies despite having made no trespasses. “I could bear the poison no long, you understand, so I asked you here. I swore I would settle it with myself tonight. One way or another, I must have an answer. Tell me; answer with full honesty. Does he love you?”
The thought had never occurred to Edward, so he found himself unable to answer. He stared at Farley still, seeking to make some sense of all he’d heard. Somehow, perhaps thanks to Remy, he found himself unable to be too very surprised that it was this man who was Joseph’s sweetheart, rather than his sister. He wanted to assure the man, so obviously tortured, but he felt as though his throat was swollen shut.
Joseph saved him, speaking from within the study, “Nathaniel, please come in. We need speak; it will not wait.” Edward breathed as Farley hesitated then complied, shutting the door behind him.
‡ ‡ ‡
As soon as the door was shut, Nathaniel was kissed. Joseph put a hand to his cheek and pressed against him.
“I love you,” Joseph whispered as if in a trance. He kissed him again, a brief, desperate gesture. “I shall always love you.” His lips found Nathaniel’s right cheek. “No matter where you go,” his left, “or what you do,” his lips, “I shall love you. Whether you return to me or vanish into shadows,” he looked so near tears, “I shall love you and wait for you to return to me.” Joseph seemed to lurch forward, and Nathaniel wrapped his arms around him, holding as he was clung to. “Do you remember?”
“I meant every word,” Nathaniel promised. He was not sure if Joseph was weeping, but a few tears had escaped him at hearing his words quoted. He could never forget Joseph quivering, muttering about traitors and murder and escape. He had been so sure and so afraid that night would be their last together. “It is all still true, Joseph, I swear it.”
“He is the same fool you are,” Joseph said with a soft sigh. “All for love and damn any consequence. He thinks of Martineau and not himself, will throw away all future to have someone look in his eyes and exchange sincere vows of love.” He kissed Nathaniel again. “He looked so like you, my dear, dear Nathaniel. He was every bit as devoted as you that night, so willing to risk everything in the name of love.” His voice was growing more even, his frame more steady, but Nathaniel did not loosen his hold. “I think I had begun to forget that devotion. I beg you: allow me to earn your forgiveness.”
“It is given, my love,” Nathaniel whispered in reply. He looked down and met Joseph’s gaze. This time, he kissed Joseph. It barely needed saying, he felt. Of course he could grant his pardon. “I must ask the same,” he said. “I have doubted you. For all that I love you, I left doubt and envy make me bitter and give me cause to distrust your words and questions your motives. I should not have.”
“All is in the past now, put away, and it can be left behind,” Joseph said. He laughed softly, an almost delirious sound Nathaniel could not bring himself to mind, as Joseph only moved closer to him. “We have made our mistakes, learned from them, and now we may bury them.”
Nathaniel sighed contentedly and stood in silence for several moments, merely holding his beloved and letting himself take a quiet joy in the mended rift. At last, he kissed Joseph again and freed himself from his arms. “Tonight, my love, we shall see this properly ended. For now,” he gave a reluctant smile, “I must see to my neglected guests.”
‡ ‡ ‡
“I shall join you soon, joy,” Joseph promised. Nathaniel left, and he sat at the desk. His heart felt ten times lighter. At last, he could breathe.
It seemed strange to him. For all his foolishness, it was Edward who had done him so much good. His folly had reminded him of the gift he was squandering. Nathaniel had sworn himself to love when any sensible man would have gone for a constable. For a year, he had not written, yet Nathaniel only took him into his arms when reunited. Even Mister Farley had remarked on it. For all of that, he owed Edward a great debt. There was little that could be done directly, he knew, but he could see to the future. War must return, just as spring must give way to summer. It would be then that he would be needed.
The groundwork must be laid now, Joseph knew. No great task could be accomplished at the eleventh hour, so he would prepare now. He took out paper from the desk, laid it over a blotter sheet, and retrieved ink and a quill. He considered the blank page before him, as aware of its importance as he would have been had he been drafting the Treaty of Amiens itself. It would serve a similar purpose, this letter. It would try to accomplish peace where great harm had been done. After much silent contemplation, he took a deep breath, dipped the quill in the black liquid, put the tip to paper, and began to write with purpose. The date and salutation were done quickly, for it was the rest which would determine the fate of so very many.
‘I hope this letter finds you surrounded by friends and family and with a slowly mending heart, Miss Long.’