Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-27 11:44 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-27 11:44 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Eighteen
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Eighteen
Edward made it only four steps into Heather Grange before a hand caught his arm. He saw the flash of green eyes and felt Martineau capture his lips in a heated kiss. He returned it, clawing briefly at the other man’s coat. This utter indiscretion was dangerous, but they both knew they now had or would soon have a hundred enemies in every direction. What did it matter now if someone saw this exchange? Even so, it seemed they were granted their privacy, as no one appeared until after they managed a small separation.
The maid either had excellent timing or a perfect sense of discretion. She was very young, but she seemed to have seen nothing. The woman curtseyed. “Welcome, Captain Burr,” she said. “Mister Farley is in the sitting room. He would like for you to come as soon as possible Thank you, sir.” She curtseyed again and carried on down the hall to see to other tasks.
Alone again, Edward shifted forward to kiss Remy. It was a calmer gesture, warm and attached. Finally, the Frenchman chuckled, stroking Edward’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Go,” he murmured. “Do not keep our young host waiting. He has had much to do. When you are finished, though, come to my room. The second floor, south wing. I will leave the door cracked. We shall discuss what we must.”
“I’ll come at once,” Edward promised. After another hurried kiss, he left Remy. He walked down the hall, remembering this much of the layout of the house from the party he had attended. He found the closed sitting room door and knocked twice before he was called in. He bowed politely when he entered, silently hoping this would end better than the last time they’d spoken.
“Welcome to Heather Grange, Captain Burr,” Farley said. He looked tired, Edward thought. Hopefully his presence or Remy’s was not the cause of that look. He did not want this to be too great a burden. “Mister Clay has informed me of the basic situation. Is there anything more you can tell me?”
Edward obeyed his host’s motion and sat in one of the chairs. He shook his head at the silent offer of wine or brandy. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he replied. “I know no more than you, Mister Farley. Perhaps even less, as I have not been in contact with Mister Clay or Captain Martineau for several days.”
“Joseph has given me no idea as to how he intends to proceed,” Farley said with a sigh. “Neither of them seem to be willing to discuss such things. Which, I grant, I understand as you have only just arrived. I would not be keen to make such plans without Joseph present, were the situation reversed.” He tried to hide how deep his frown went. “I don’t begrudge your presence here, Mister Burr. I am willing to help Mister Clay’s friends in any way I can, but I worry.”
“Your sister is ill. She does not need a prolonged strain.” The man seemed surprised he had remembered and cared at all; Edward smiled a little. “As soon as we know what we are to do, we shall depart, sir.” He bowed his head politely. “Has Miss Farley been told anything?”
“That Captain Martineau is Joseph’s cousin.” He let himself chuckle. “He has already been embraced as family. You, she regards as an old, dear friend of Joseph. For the time being, at least, that is all she needs to know, I feel.”
‡ ‡ ‡
February 27th, 1803
My dearest, sweet Faith,
I beg first that you grand me some small show of forgiveness for all the times I have put off your fears and tried to falsely reassure you. This morning I received a summons from our father, acting as my admiral. It will not be long, then, until an official declaration of war is made. I am due in London by the first of April. It would not surprise me to find that so many of our decommissioned ships, which must now be recalled into service, have fallen into such a state of disrepair as to render us incapable of opposing Bonaparte until next winter!
Abigail will be remaining at Crawford Manor, and I would be extremely grateful should you, sometime in April or May, call on her if I am still in London or further away.
Do not be surprised, little lamb, if you meet Edward or Martineau in London. I cannot dictate your actions, I know; you’re too grown for that. However, I beg you to attempt the virtues of grace and mercy, rather than succumbing to wrath. Now more than ever, they are in danger, and I believe with all my heart that you are too good to knowingly cause them such harm. Delight in it secretly if you must, but guard the secret you know. Soon, this will be wholly out of your life, and you will never have cause to think on Mister Burr again.
Be well, darling sister, and take care of yourself and Mother. I look forward to seeing you again, even if I wish it were under better circumstances.
David
‡ ‡ ‡
Faith sat quietly in her bedroom. She had dressed for church, managed to take a walk with her mother, and then retired here, claiming a headache. There wasn’t one, not really, but she could not abide the company her mother intended to host. She did not want to listen to more gossip or whispers of war, not today.
So many of her mother’s friends considered her such a foolish creature. They still treated her like some sort of mindless china doll. Still, she did not complain too strongly now. They seemed to think she had been in deep mourning for almost a year, heartbroken over her ended engagement. Everyone had a different theory, and she felt she deserved some credit for never having revealed the true cause. Being seen as so fragile meant, at least, that, so long as she did not show too much joy, suitors would not be pushed upon her. Her mother had been so fond of Aaron, encouraged his suit so strongly. David had chosen Edward, served as champion to his cause.
The one thing that still surprised her, really, was how there were still others willing to protect him. She understood David. After all, she had threatened to go to her father and reveal Edward. David would be inclined to protect a man with those sorts of tastes, particularly a fellow officer. All her brother asked of her was to maintain her silence. She knew Joseph Clay only a little. He was a surgeon, and her brother spoke highly of him. Yet, he wrote her often to keep her aware of Edward’s movements. She had induced him, in exchange for not showing his letters to her father, to tell her more of the current political situation. Mister Clay’s letters always seemed designed to move her to pity.
Edward had chosen his fate. She would grant Mister Clay one point: most men would not have been decent enough to leave her first. They would have merely sought to deceive her. That did not excuse his actions. Still, whatever motives drove Mister Clay, Faith was inclined to believe that Edward was not behind it. He had not written or called on her. As he had promised, he had gone out of her life entirely.
What would she do now if he came to her? If he played the part of the penitent? Faith wasn’t sure. She had grown up around sailors. Too few were actually faithful. They paid women in ports. Some were guilty of bigamy. It seemed to her that to be the wife of a sailor was to be certain your husband would stray. It also meant worrying he would never return. Could she ever have been able to bear the trifecta? Could she have been daughter, sister, and wife to men in service to the crown?
Faith took up the last letter Mister Clay had written her. He was clever, certainly, weaving concerns about Edward into his commentary on politics. He spoke of the wary alliance likely to form between France and Spain before wondering what would became of a captain with no one to speak for him. Faith felt she ought to point out in reply, when she wrote it, that he did a very fine job of speaking for the man. Yet, his letter had contained a curious request. He had asked if she would be willing to make a short trip should he ask, a trip during which she was to make herself available to be called upon. If she would not consent, should she feel unsafe for instance, he asked if she would allow Edward to call on her at home. Faith did not know how she would answer.
‡ ‡ ‡
February the twenty-sixth, 1803
My dear Abigail,
I am sorry to hear of your recent troubles. I hope this letter finds you in better health than your last left you. I hope the news which has reached me and will surely come to your door soon will not cause you further distress.
Gregory told me that he has received a summons to London from the admiral. War is coming. He assures me there is little danger. The French, he swears, will offer another treaty within the year. I am still afraid, especially as I grow more certain that we will soon have a child. I know no one here, really. I have no friends or family on whom I may rely. My sisters are a comfort, but we can only do so much.
There is a small house, I learned, in the village near Crawford Manor. Would it trouble you greatly, should I gain your husband’s consent, if I were to have Gregory inquire after it? I do consider you a friend, Abigail, and I should be glad to have you near if our husbands are to go to war. If you would find my presence troubling or if your husband would object, I shall put it out of my thoughts entirely. Please tell me your mind either in your reply or else we may discuss it at length if you accompany Mister Long to London, as I am sure he will be called to soon.
Be well, my friend, and take care of yourself and your husband. Perhaps this will be as short an affair as Gregory thinks. We should all be glad of that, to be sure, but I fear we shall not be so fortunate. I remain ever your friend,
Mona
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward read the letter several times over. He could understand French easily enough when it was spoke most times. However, written French posted some trouble. Not only was he required to parse out a strange hand, no, he must also translate as he read. He was always slow with such a task anyway, even in English. He knew his letters and could write well enough, he supposed, but reading was still something of a task for him. His progress was further impeded by the fingernails scraping gingerly against the back of his neck. It was a pleasant feeling, one that further lulled him toward sleep. His ravel had left him exhausted, and Remy had promptly dragged him into bed, though not to sleep. Now, he struggled to stay awake and focus.
“So,” Edward murmured, folding the letter and setting it aside, “it begins.” It was couched in a request, gilded with fine, political language, but the order was there. France required the members of her navy to return. There was no mention of war or England, but the letter described a few of the ships in need of captains. Remy was promised his choice of three should he return with due haste. Not only were the ships clearly meant for battle, but he was instructed to board the American merchant Carolina for passage to France. That spoke to unrest between France and England. “What will we do?”
They both knew the answer, of course. Remy would return to France and serve her; Edward would answer when called back to service. Still, the question deserved to be asked. They could pretend to consider the ways they might avoid the fate they both knew they would mutually choose.
Remy kissed the side of his neck and let his hands wander in slow, gentle caresses, applying his nails where they would prove most potent. “How much good would it do,” he murmured in Edward’s ear, “if I asked you to come with me?”
Edward imagined it. He thought of the Republic of France, founded on the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Loving Remy was not a crime there. He would likely be welcomed to their navy, perhaps even assured a captaincy once he proved himself loyal. How quickly that might happen if it were well known he was sharing a bed with this man. It was a fine fantasy, and he let himself smile at the thought of that life.
“As much good,” he offered in reply, “as it would do for me to ask you to stay.”
He was too much an Englishman. Even without his word to Joseph, he could never leave. This country had raised him and led him to his calling. This navy had fed him, clothed him, taught him, advanced him, and rewarded him. He could not turn away from that life. He could not denounce his upbringing and his king. He could not fight a war against his brothers and friends. As much as he adored the dream of life in France with Remy, he was awake.
“I thought as much,” Remy said. His hands at last ventured lower, and he covered Edward’s mouth with his.
As their lips parted, Edward snaked an arm around the man, laced his fingers in his hair behind his neck, and pulled him closer with a sharp tug. “Just tonight, let’s pretend I said I would go with you.”
Book Three
Chapter Eighteen
Edward made it only four steps into Heather Grange before a hand caught his arm. He saw the flash of green eyes and felt Martineau capture his lips in a heated kiss. He returned it, clawing briefly at the other man’s coat. This utter indiscretion was dangerous, but they both knew they now had or would soon have a hundred enemies in every direction. What did it matter now if someone saw this exchange? Even so, it seemed they were granted their privacy, as no one appeared until after they managed a small separation.
The maid either had excellent timing or a perfect sense of discretion. She was very young, but she seemed to have seen nothing. The woman curtseyed. “Welcome, Captain Burr,” she said. “Mister Farley is in the sitting room. He would like for you to come as soon as possible Thank you, sir.” She curtseyed again and carried on down the hall to see to other tasks.
Alone again, Edward shifted forward to kiss Remy. It was a calmer gesture, warm and attached. Finally, the Frenchman chuckled, stroking Edward’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Go,” he murmured. “Do not keep our young host waiting. He has had much to do. When you are finished, though, come to my room. The second floor, south wing. I will leave the door cracked. We shall discuss what we must.”
“I’ll come at once,” Edward promised. After another hurried kiss, he left Remy. He walked down the hall, remembering this much of the layout of the house from the party he had attended. He found the closed sitting room door and knocked twice before he was called in. He bowed politely when he entered, silently hoping this would end better than the last time they’d spoken.
“Welcome to Heather Grange, Captain Burr,” Farley said. He looked tired, Edward thought. Hopefully his presence or Remy’s was not the cause of that look. He did not want this to be too great a burden. “Mister Clay has informed me of the basic situation. Is there anything more you can tell me?”
Edward obeyed his host’s motion and sat in one of the chairs. He shook his head at the silent offer of wine or brandy. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he replied. “I know no more than you, Mister Farley. Perhaps even less, as I have not been in contact with Mister Clay or Captain Martineau for several days.”
“Joseph has given me no idea as to how he intends to proceed,” Farley said with a sigh. “Neither of them seem to be willing to discuss such things. Which, I grant, I understand as you have only just arrived. I would not be keen to make such plans without Joseph present, were the situation reversed.” He tried to hide how deep his frown went. “I don’t begrudge your presence here, Mister Burr. I am willing to help Mister Clay’s friends in any way I can, but I worry.”
“Your sister is ill. She does not need a prolonged strain.” The man seemed surprised he had remembered and cared at all; Edward smiled a little. “As soon as we know what we are to do, we shall depart, sir.” He bowed his head politely. “Has Miss Farley been told anything?”
“That Captain Martineau is Joseph’s cousin.” He let himself chuckle. “He has already been embraced as family. You, she regards as an old, dear friend of Joseph. For the time being, at least, that is all she needs to know, I feel.”
‡ ‡ ‡
February 27th, 1803
My dearest, sweet Faith,
I beg first that you grand me some small show of forgiveness for all the times I have put off your fears and tried to falsely reassure you. This morning I received a summons from our father, acting as my admiral. It will not be long, then, until an official declaration of war is made. I am due in London by the first of April. It would not surprise me to find that so many of our decommissioned ships, which must now be recalled into service, have fallen into such a state of disrepair as to render us incapable of opposing Bonaparte until next winter!
Abigail will be remaining at Crawford Manor, and I would be extremely grateful should you, sometime in April or May, call on her if I am still in London or further away.
Do not be surprised, little lamb, if you meet Edward or Martineau in London. I cannot dictate your actions, I know; you’re too grown for that. However, I beg you to attempt the virtues of grace and mercy, rather than succumbing to wrath. Now more than ever, they are in danger, and I believe with all my heart that you are too good to knowingly cause them such harm. Delight in it secretly if you must, but guard the secret you know. Soon, this will be wholly out of your life, and you will never have cause to think on Mister Burr again.
Be well, darling sister, and take care of yourself and Mother. I look forward to seeing you again, even if I wish it were under better circumstances.
David
‡ ‡ ‡
Faith sat quietly in her bedroom. She had dressed for church, managed to take a walk with her mother, and then retired here, claiming a headache. There wasn’t one, not really, but she could not abide the company her mother intended to host. She did not want to listen to more gossip or whispers of war, not today.
So many of her mother’s friends considered her such a foolish creature. They still treated her like some sort of mindless china doll. Still, she did not complain too strongly now. They seemed to think she had been in deep mourning for almost a year, heartbroken over her ended engagement. Everyone had a different theory, and she felt she deserved some credit for never having revealed the true cause. Being seen as so fragile meant, at least, that, so long as she did not show too much joy, suitors would not be pushed upon her. Her mother had been so fond of Aaron, encouraged his suit so strongly. David had chosen Edward, served as champion to his cause.
The one thing that still surprised her, really, was how there were still others willing to protect him. She understood David. After all, she had threatened to go to her father and reveal Edward. David would be inclined to protect a man with those sorts of tastes, particularly a fellow officer. All her brother asked of her was to maintain her silence. She knew Joseph Clay only a little. He was a surgeon, and her brother spoke highly of him. Yet, he wrote her often to keep her aware of Edward’s movements. She had induced him, in exchange for not showing his letters to her father, to tell her more of the current political situation. Mister Clay’s letters always seemed designed to move her to pity.
Edward had chosen his fate. She would grant Mister Clay one point: most men would not have been decent enough to leave her first. They would have merely sought to deceive her. That did not excuse his actions. Still, whatever motives drove Mister Clay, Faith was inclined to believe that Edward was not behind it. He had not written or called on her. As he had promised, he had gone out of her life entirely.
What would she do now if he came to her? If he played the part of the penitent? Faith wasn’t sure. She had grown up around sailors. Too few were actually faithful. They paid women in ports. Some were guilty of bigamy. It seemed to her that to be the wife of a sailor was to be certain your husband would stray. It also meant worrying he would never return. Could she ever have been able to bear the trifecta? Could she have been daughter, sister, and wife to men in service to the crown?
Faith took up the last letter Mister Clay had written her. He was clever, certainly, weaving concerns about Edward into his commentary on politics. He spoke of the wary alliance likely to form between France and Spain before wondering what would became of a captain with no one to speak for him. Faith felt she ought to point out in reply, when she wrote it, that he did a very fine job of speaking for the man. Yet, his letter had contained a curious request. He had asked if she would be willing to make a short trip should he ask, a trip during which she was to make herself available to be called upon. If she would not consent, should she feel unsafe for instance, he asked if she would allow Edward to call on her at home. Faith did not know how she would answer.
‡ ‡ ‡
February the twenty-sixth, 1803
My dear Abigail,
I am sorry to hear of your recent troubles. I hope this letter finds you in better health than your last left you. I hope the news which has reached me and will surely come to your door soon will not cause you further distress.
Gregory told me that he has received a summons to London from the admiral. War is coming. He assures me there is little danger. The French, he swears, will offer another treaty within the year. I am still afraid, especially as I grow more certain that we will soon have a child. I know no one here, really. I have no friends or family on whom I may rely. My sisters are a comfort, but we can only do so much.
There is a small house, I learned, in the village near Crawford Manor. Would it trouble you greatly, should I gain your husband’s consent, if I were to have Gregory inquire after it? I do consider you a friend, Abigail, and I should be glad to have you near if our husbands are to go to war. If you would find my presence troubling or if your husband would object, I shall put it out of my thoughts entirely. Please tell me your mind either in your reply or else we may discuss it at length if you accompany Mister Long to London, as I am sure he will be called to soon.
Be well, my friend, and take care of yourself and your husband. Perhaps this will be as short an affair as Gregory thinks. We should all be glad of that, to be sure, but I fear we shall not be so fortunate. I remain ever your friend,
Mona
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward read the letter several times over. He could understand French easily enough when it was spoke most times. However, written French posted some trouble. Not only was he required to parse out a strange hand, no, he must also translate as he read. He was always slow with such a task anyway, even in English. He knew his letters and could write well enough, he supposed, but reading was still something of a task for him. His progress was further impeded by the fingernails scraping gingerly against the back of his neck. It was a pleasant feeling, one that further lulled him toward sleep. His ravel had left him exhausted, and Remy had promptly dragged him into bed, though not to sleep. Now, he struggled to stay awake and focus.
“So,” Edward murmured, folding the letter and setting it aside, “it begins.” It was couched in a request, gilded with fine, political language, but the order was there. France required the members of her navy to return. There was no mention of war or England, but the letter described a few of the ships in need of captains. Remy was promised his choice of three should he return with due haste. Not only were the ships clearly meant for battle, but he was instructed to board the American merchant Carolina for passage to France. That spoke to unrest between France and England. “What will we do?”
They both knew the answer, of course. Remy would return to France and serve her; Edward would answer when called back to service. Still, the question deserved to be asked. They could pretend to consider the ways they might avoid the fate they both knew they would mutually choose.
Remy kissed the side of his neck and let his hands wander in slow, gentle caresses, applying his nails where they would prove most potent. “How much good would it do,” he murmured in Edward’s ear, “if I asked you to come with me?”
Edward imagined it. He thought of the Republic of France, founded on the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Loving Remy was not a crime there. He would likely be welcomed to their navy, perhaps even assured a captaincy once he proved himself loyal. How quickly that might happen if it were well known he was sharing a bed with this man. It was a fine fantasy, and he let himself smile at the thought of that life.
“As much good,” he offered in reply, “as it would do for me to ask you to stay.”
He was too much an Englishman. Even without his word to Joseph, he could never leave. This country had raised him and led him to his calling. This navy had fed him, clothed him, taught him, advanced him, and rewarded him. He could not turn away from that life. He could not denounce his upbringing and his king. He could not fight a war against his brothers and friends. As much as he adored the dream of life in France with Remy, he was awake.
“I thought as much,” Remy said. His hands at last ventured lower, and he covered Edward’s mouth with his.
As their lips parted, Edward snaked an arm around the man, laced his fingers in his hair behind his neck, and pulled him closer with a sharp tug. “Just tonight, let’s pretend I said I would go with you.”