An Unpitied Sacrifice

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Guerilla warfare in the Peninsular War

My heroine in An Unpitied Sacrifice was part of the Spanish resistance to Napoleon’s invasion. This resistance was not only in the hands of regular forces. Ordinary Spanish people also fought against the invaders. These guerilleros, as they called themselves (from which we get the name guerrilla), constantly harassed the French army. One Prussian officer fighting for the French said: “Wherever we arrived, they disappeared, whenever we left, they arrived — they were everywhere and nowhere, they had no tangible center which could be attacked.”

For the most part, until the last stages of the war, the French were undefeated on the open battlefield, but their tactics and plans were less successful against irregular troops who could disappear into the population with ease and who knew the country like the back of their hand.

They were given official authorisation and support by the Spanish command, who in 1808 decreed the formation of guerrilla troops, and in 1809 gave them the right to keep any money, supplies and equipment they were able to take from the French.

In one notable case in 1811, a force of between 3000, and 4,500 men ambushed a French convoy, defeating 1,600 troops and taking 150 wagons of supplies and 1,050 Spanish and Portugese prisoners. The convoy was valued at 4 million reales.

In 1812, the reported number of guerilleros was 38, 520, divided into 22 bands. Counter measures proved largely ineffective, as they have against guerrilla warfare ever since.

It might have taken the allied armies to finally push the French out of Spain in 1813, but many historians argue that the Spanish irregular forces made it possible.

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Spotlight on An Unpitied Sacrifice

When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.” Edmund Burke

Brought together by war, Valeria Izquierdos and Harry Redepenning had only a few short months as a couple before the war parted them again.

That war is long over when she brings a group of war brides and children to England. Her friends seek their soldier husbands. Valeria wants to find Harry or, if Harry’s long silence means he is dead, his father. Her eldest child deserves to know his English family.

Harry has never forgotten, or ceased to mourn, the warrior wife he married in the midst of war, and lost to a French ambush years ago. His courtship of a suitable wife is a practical matter, not involving the heart that has been numb since Valeria’s death.

The Redepenning family greet Valeria with suspicion, but when Harry joyously confirms her identity, they welcome her and her children with open arms—not just Kiko, whose Redepenning eyes mark him as Harry’s son, but also the daughter she adopted and the younger son who origins she has disclosed only to Harry.

But as Valeria, Harry, and the children begin living as a family, another, private, war looms before them. The lady who had been smugly awaiting Harry’s proposal is less than pleased with the couple’s reunion. She and her parents set out to destroy Valeria’s reputation, and find willing accomplices.

An old foe of the Redepennings has combined forces with a man who blames Valeria for his brother’s death, and who wants Valeria’s youngest child. A rival of Harry’s from the army would be glad to hurt Harry however he can. These enemies will stop at nothing to destroy not only Harry and Valeria, but also their family.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0GNNV18BP

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A Pawn in Someone Else’s Game in WIP Wednesday

Unpitied Sacrifice, which is currently on prerelease, includes a very polite kidnapper. Preorder links at: https://books2read.com/u/479JAA

***

Valeria’s worst fear was not realised. Or not immediately, in any case. She was not taken to Delacroix, but to a small anonymous building in the Whitehall district of London, where she was shown to a bedchamber and left alone.

It was a small room, but pleasantly decorated and furnished, with striped wallpaper in a pleasant pale green, dark green linen curtains, an iron bedstead well provided with linen, blankets, and quilts, a bedside table, a washstand, a small table with a single upright chair, and even an easy chair, upholstered in a print that repeated the colours of the wallpaper and curtains, with pink accents. The room’s one window was too high to offer a view of anything but the upper boughs of a tree and a rectangle of sky

She had been provided with washing water, drinking water, a night rail, a change of linen, and even a book to read—poems by the seventeenth century English cleric John Donne. When the setting sun painted the sky outside her high window, a knock on the door and the rattle of the key in the lock presaged the arrival of her abductor and two other men. The abductor carried a tray, which he put on the table.

“Dinner, Mrs Redepenning. I shall return to collect the tray in one hour. Do you need a woman to assist you with preparing for bed?”

“I shall manage, thank you,” Valeria replied. Her dress laced at the sides and her stays at the front. She did not bother to ask any questions. He had ignored every attempt throughout their trip to London, either not speaking at all or replying on a completely different topic.

The abductor bowed, and began to withdraw. “Wait!” Actually, Valeria did have a question. “How might I address you?”

A quick twitch of his lips instantly suppressed never quite became a smile, but the man’s eyes were amused, only Heaven knew why. “John will do, Mrs Redepenning,” he said.

Valeria inclined her head. “Thank you for my dinner, Mr John,” she said.

It was a pleasant dinner, too. She removed the cover from one plate to disclose slices of tender chicken in a tasty gravy, a variety of root vegetables, peas, and beans. The other revealed a slice of apple pie, presumably to be eaten with the custard in one of the jugs on the tray.

The other jug contained cream, and there was a teapot and a bowl of sugar. Also, a small decanter and a wine glass.

Crockery, glassware, and silverware, too, all of which could be turned into weapons. Did they regard her as such a small threat? Perhaps not. The man John had not, after all, ventured into her room alone.

Perhaps it was that, as John had promised, they were treating her with respect. But what did they want? This was the question that quenched her appetite and kept her from sleeping, although the meal was delicious and bed comfortable. What on earth did they want?

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WIP Wednesday A day in the life

In this excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice, we see Harry and Valeria settling into married life.

Waking up in Harry’s arms every morning was very nice. Not nice in the way it had been in that small village in the Spanish mountains, when they both woke with an urgent need to express their love in the most physical of ways.

Harry had either lost all desire for her, or he understood the mere thought of such intimacy shook Valeria’s frail hold on her emotions. And on her senses and her digestion. Bursting into tears, passing out, and throwing up would kill the mood, especially if she did all three at once.

It was a hurdle she would have to get over. They would have to get over, for they were married for life, and she refused to allow that fiend Antoine to ruin Harry’s life as well as her own. So far, though, she had not even been able to find the strength to raise the topic.

But they were together, she and Harry, and he had accepted her two extra children. She had everything she had hoped for during the journey to England. That she now hoped for more was testament to the courage Harry was giving her. Let them get the other women settled and then they could address her fears, and perhaps overcome them.

She smiled at the thought, and Harry, who at some point during her cogitations had opened his startlingly blue eyes, smiled back. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking how nice it is to wake up in your arms, Harry,” she told him.

“Very nice,” he agreed, and saluted her cheek with a friendly kiss, such as a brother might give a sister. And as he rolled onto his back and stretched both of his arms above his head, there was a knock on the door.

“Isabella with our coffee,” Harry said. So far, the Spanish woman was working out very well as her maid.

Harry slipped out from under the covers, shrugged into his banyan and crossed to the door. “Good morning, Isabella,” he was saying as he opened it, and then, “Tom! Valeria, it is my man Tom with our coffee. Welcome back, Tom. You’ve heard then, about our changes?”

Valeria could hear the murmur of a reply, but not the actual words. Harry replied with instructions.

“Tell Mrs Rodriguez that Mrs Redepenning will need her in fifteen minutes. I’ve taken the next room for my dressing room, and will meet you there at the same time. You might like to familiarize yourself with the room while Mrs Redepenning and I drink our coffee. I have a meeting this morning, and shall be going out at ten o’clock.”

“Business, Harry?” Valeria asked, as he came back across their room with the tray holding the coffee pot, cups, and other coffee makings.

“A meeting with my father and a lawyer,” Harry said. “What are your plans this morning, dearest?”

Valeria groaned. “A final fitting for some of my gowns, including the one for your godmother’s ball.”

“Poor Valeria,” teased Harry, handing her a cup of coffee made just the way she liked it. “After my meeting, shall I come and pick you and my sisters up and take you out for tea and cakes? As a compensation for the torture you’ve suffered?”

“It is torture!” Valeria protested, laughing. She frowned, trying to think of an explanation that made sense to her, as well as Harry. “Fashion the way Susan knows it is almost a weapon. At the very least, it is a language that all of Society knows and that I must learn. The fabrics themselves, the trimmings, the colours, even the cut—all say something about my status and wealth, and therefore yours.”

“It sounds like nonsense,” said Harry.

Valeria huffed out a breath and shook her head. “It matters to too many people for me to treat it as nonsense, my dearest love. We shall raise our children with all the advantages of being part of the Redepenning family, but even the Redepennings cannot fly in the face of social opinion. If my clothing helps Society to accept me, then that shall ease the way of our children. I can do this, Harry.”

“I am confident you can,” Harry agreed. “If you think it important, my love, then I shall stop teasing. Just don’t let Susan bully you.”

Valeria chuckled. “I have not changed that much, Harry,” she told him.

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Second-chance love in WIP Wednesday

I’m just sending An Unpitied Sacrifice out to beta readers, and thought you might like an excerpt. My hero and heroine are together for the first time in five years. And what do you think of the cover?

The floor of the small room was as hard as Harry expected, and he’d grown used to occupying soft beds in the past couple of years. However, he was warm enough, and if he could not sleep, he had much to think about, both planning for the future and anguishing over his darling’s past.

His determination to stay under the same roof as Valeria was rewarded in the early hours of the morning when she came to see him. He was drowsing when the opening of the door jerked him upright, and the unique smell of his own woman soothed the battle instincts that had roused him. There she was, peering around the door, a candle in her hand.

“Harry, are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes. Is there a problem, beloved? What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. That is, there is no problem. It is just that I could not sleep. So much to think about.”

“I am the same.” He shifted so he was leaning against the back of the chair and lifted the blankets. “Come and sit beside me, beloved, and share your worries and your hopes with me, and I shall do the same with you.”

The fact she did not hesitate gave him hope for the future. She put the candle on the little table beside the chair, sat on the floor beside him, and even accepted his arm around her and leaned back against his shoulder.

Harry tucked the blankets around her with his other hand.

“Lord Renshaw was nice to my friends,” Valeria said. “They like him.”

“Alex,” he corrected. “He is your brother, so you can call him Alex, as his other sisters do.”

Alex had argued about Harry staying, but not as much as Harry expected. He had left for home without Harry, promising to tell Father Valeria really was whom she claimed to be, and Harry was refusing to be parted from her again.

“Tell Father we shall call to see him tomorrow morning,” Harry had said.

“Your brother is protective of his family,” Valeria said. “When I called in the afternoon, he was suspicious of me, and not very nice. But tonight, he discovered I really am your wife.”

“Therefore,” Harry said, continuing her line of thought, “you are part of his family and he will protect you. And the children. And even your friends and their children. That is how Alex is.”

“I think I like Alex,” said Valeria. “I understand being protective.”

Harry nodded. In that way, Alex and Valeria were very much alike. Both would cheerfully give their life to protect those they regarded as their own, and both could be hostile to any perceived threats.

“My family is now your family,” Harry said. “Father will be delighted to have three new grandchildren. He was already excited when I spoke to him, before Alex and I came over last night. Shall we take them with us when we call on Father in the morning?”

“All of them?” Valeria asked. “Rian too?”

“I think it best if we make no difference between them,” said Harry. “Rian shall be my son as much as Enrique. Kiko, as you call him.”

“I named our son Enrique after you,” Valeria said softly. “It means ‘ruler of the home’. Did you know that?”

“Our eldest son rules the home?” Harry asked, smiling at the thought.

“You do, too, Harry. I saw that with your brother. Yes, he is protective of you, but he also accepts your authority and looks to you for guidance.”

Perhaps she was right. Harry had not thought about it, but then he took it for granted that his brothers and cousins would take his lead. He changed the subject. “What does Zorian mean? It is not a name I am familiar with.”

“It is used among the Basque,” she told him. “But I think elsewhere, too. It means ‘happiness’. That is what I wish for him, Harry. That the disaster of his origins does not touch his life. And in general, he is a happy child. As for Marie, her full name is Marie-Therese. Therese for her own mother, and Marie for the mother of us all.”

She was relaxed and warm at his side. He could not see her face, but she sounded as if she was smiling.

“Tell me about them,” Harry coaxed. “Kiko is the leader. Rian is happy. What else, and what of Marie?”

They sat by the light of Valeria’s candle and talked about their children until Valeria’s head grew heavy on Harry’s shoulder. Then he blew out the candle, lowered them both into the nest of blankets, and slept peacefully with her in his arms.

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Decent men in WIP Wednesday

I like my heroes to be decent men who treat women and children with kindness and respect. And Harry Redepenning in An Unpitied Sacrifice is one of the best. Here he is comforting the wife with whom he has only just been reunited.

***

Harry had become aware that Valeria was steeling herself against the anger she expected from him. The first clue had been her voice when she said, “I need to tell you about Zorian.” Then there was her expression as she poured the wine in the big room where the others were and conducted him through to this little private parlour. She had had that little furrow between her eyebrows that she wore when she was worried about something.

And, as she compressed six months of unimaginable suffering into four bald sentences, it was in the glances she shot at him, and the way she shut her mouth at the end, pressing her lips together and blinking back tears.

He could rage against the devils who had so misused her at another time. Right now, his Valeria needed him to reassure her. “I am here, darling. I have you safe. You are back with me now, and you and the children are safe with me.”

The same words, or variants on the same theme, over and over until she pulled herself together and said, with the passionate anger he remembered, “I hate and loath crying. It does no good. I am sorry, Harry, I have drenched your shoulder twice this evening. Truly, I have not turned into a watering pot while we have been apart, though you have every reason to think so.”

“I am overcome myself, dearest heart,” he replied, lifting her hand to his cheek so she could verify that they were wet. “I was not there to protect you. I am here now, and if I have my way, we shall never be parted again.”

Her eyes, still watery, gazed up at him. Her jaw had dropped—at his words, or at his tears. Was it wonder in her expression? Astonishment? Disbelief? “Valeria, I thought you were dead, and I did not want to live in a world without you. Yet I was wrong. Here you are before me. We are together again. How could I possibly bear to be parted from you now! Not just that. I find I am the father of three children! Can we please be a family, as we planned so long ago?”

“Truly? You still want me? You want Marie and even Rian, as well as Kiko?” It was all of those things, then. Wonder, astonishment, and disbelief.

“You love them as your own, and so they are mine, too, for you and I are one. The priest told us that at our wedding. Do you remember? And the chaplain, too, at our second wedding. Your sorrows are mine and your joys. Your burdens are mine and your triumphs. As, I hope, mine are yours.”

Was he saying the right things? Apparently he was, for she was smiling, now. “Harry Redepenning, you are the best man I have ever known,” she said.

“Then you agree? We shall not be parted again?” He waited anxiously for her reply.

From any other lady, he would have called her voice shy, as she said, “But Harry. I have promised my friends that I shall help them find their children’s fathers. Or at least their families. I cannot abandon them. I want to be with you if that is what you want, but I cannot leave them.”

She had that furrow between her brows again. On anyone else, he’d call it anxiety. Come to think about it, perhaps he would have to revise his view of Valeria as an indomitable war maiden whom nothing could intimidate nor defeat. Experiences such as hers would change anyone.

Well then, he would have to adapt. “You must help your friends, of course. And yes, I want to be with you.” And immediately. He was suddenly conscious of the abiding fear that, if he went off home to his father’s townhouse, she would disappear as quickly and as mysteriously as she had arrived, melting away like dew in the sun.

Just as well he had packed a satchel with the few things he would need to stay the night. He had almost left it behind, out of a superstitious fear that being prepared to stay would somehow curse the meeting.

Now, he was glad he had ignored that dark belief. He had better stake his claim to living with her. And he’d better do it in a way that did not threaten her. Quite apart from her commitment to her friends, she had been to hell and back.

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Old aquaintances we’d like to forget on WIP Wednesday

Another excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice.

Valeria and three of her sisters-in-law were leaving the modiste when it happened. A couple entered the door just as they reached it, and the three of them stepped out of the way, Valeria a little behind the other three.

Mia stiffened as the newly arrived woman stopped and smirked at her. “Mrs Jules Redepenning. How delightful. And how is my dear Jules?”

“Another Redepenning?” said the woman’s male companion. “Do present me, dear Lady Carrington.”

His voice! Not just the French accent, but the tone, the timbre. They were familiar and hated—but she must be imagining things. It could not be Antoine. Not here. Not in a dressmaker’s shop on London. Ella’s bonnet was in the way of Valeria’s view of the speaker, but a slight lean allowed her to catch a glimpse of his hair, the shape of his jaw, his sneer. Her past roared in her ears, and her mind, her sight, her hearing—everything shut down.

Slowly, the roaring ebbed and the rest of the world returned. Harry, first. She became aware that he was holding her hand in both of his, and then she could see him, sitting next to her, his blue eyes full of concern.

They were in an elegant room with a dozen small round tables, each with several chairs, and a pretty woman in an apron and cap was just placing a tray with a teapot and cups on the table where they sat. Susan, Ella and Mia occupied the other seats at the table, and all of them were looking anxiously at Valeria.

She had no idea where they were, how they got there, and how Harry came to be with them. Antoine! He had been at the modiste’s! Valeria gripped Harry’s hand. It could not be true. Was she going mad?

“You shall feel better after a cup of tea,” Susan decreed, and proceeded to pour one.

“What happened?” Mia asked. “Are you able to talk about it?”

Valeria shook her head. How could she explain? Her mind shied away from even thinking about it, even as her common sense reiterated that the man she had seen could not have been Antoine. She had left him grievously wounded. He was almost certainly dead, and even if he had somehow survived, what would he be doing in London?

The reminder of how she had triumphed in the end gave her strength. “That woman,” she said. “Lady Carrington, was it?”

“Baroness Carrington,” said Mia. “A wicked woman whose crimes have been forgiven by the government, for reasons of State. But not by me.”

“Mia gave her the cut direct,” said Susan, her voice a purr of satisfaction. “Then I noticed you seemed about to faint, and I helped you to follow Mia out of the shop. We met Harry on the footpath outside, and came here to Fournier’s Tea Shop to allow you time to recover. Now sip your tea, dear one, and explain what Lydia Carrington has done to you.”

“Not her. The man with her. Who was he?”

The ladies looked at one another and shook their heads, but Harry said, “You mean Delacroix?”

The roaring returned, but Valeria pushed it back. Someone had whimpered. It was, Valeria realised, herself. Harry had his arm around her shoulders and was saying, “Take a deep breath, darling. That’s it. Now breathe out. And again.”

“Who is this Delacroix?” Susan asked.

“He is something at the French embassy. An aide to the ambassador. A agent for the French government, I imagine. Or at least our own people think so, I imagine, since Lady Carrington is taking him around town, and she works for our side.”

“Lady Carrington is a spy?” Mia asked. “But she was working for the French when she…”

“Never mind that now,” Ella interjected. “Harry, should we send for the carriage and take Valeria home?”

“I shall just drink my tea,” Valeria said. “You do not need to be concerned about me.”

“Lady Carrington does not go into Society,” said Susan. “And if we encounter this Delacroix person at a ball or dinner, we shall not accept an introduction, Valeria. What else do you know about him, Harry?”

“Nothing much. Just that he and Lady Carrington must have been discussing the Redepennings, because when Lady Carrington introduced us, she said… let me think. ‘Colonel Redepenning is the one of whom we have spoken.’ That was it, as nearly as I can remember.”

Valeria was not going to pass out again. Delacroix was here. He was her enemy, and Harry’s because of her. They would have to fight it, and they would. She would tell Harry, and perhaps she could even disclose a little to Harry’s sisters. Yes. They needed to be forewarned.

She took the last sip of her tea, and Susan slipped a little cake, ornately iced with sugar paste, onto her plate. Valeria bit into it and realised it was exactly what she craved. “You know I was captured by the French,” she said to her sisters-in-law. “The captain of the patrol that captured me was Antoine Delacroix.”

Harry pursed his lips, frowning thoughtfully. “This man is Pierre Delacroix. From his interest in me, we must suppose he is a brother or cousin.”

Not Antoine, then. It was a relief, and yet, in a peculiar sort of a way, a disappointment. She had long regretted leaving the man alive, for the possibility that he still breathed in the same world as her nagged at her like a rotten tooth. “He may be looking for revenge,” Valeria said. “That is, if he knows what I did to his brother.”

Susan raised her eyebrows. “Valeria, darling, what did you do to his brother?”

Harry answered for her, growling, “Left him alive, which was more mercy than he deserved. We have to assume, I think, that he lived long enough to tell his brother. Did the fiend know my name?”

“Yes. It was he who took my marriage certificate and burned it. He laughed, Harry. He said that the rules of war did not apply to a Spanish guerrilos, nor to an English fool who married one.” Lost in memory, she had forgotten everyone except Harry, and was surprised when Susan passed her another cup of tea.

“With your permission, beloved,” said Harry, “I shall warn the whole family to be on the watch against Delacroix. Yes, and the Carrington female, too.”

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Awkward situation on WIP Wednesday

In An Unpitied Sacrifice, Harry’s joy at his reunion with his wife causes him to forget something important.

“I am looking for a house,” Harry told his father, brothers, and cousin, while Valeria was busy getting to know the ladies of his family. “Valeria is commited to finding the English families of the women and children she brought to England with her, and London is the best place for us to be while we’re busy with that. But I do not like the area where they are currently lodged, and besides, it is not big enough now that I have joined them. If you hear of anything, would you let me know?”

“It will be hard to find anything decent at this time of year,” Gil warned. “The Season is just getting started.”

“You can all move in here,” Father offered.

“Thank you, Father. I shall keep that as an option,” Harry said. “If possible, I would rather get to know my wife and children under a roof that, if not my own, is at least paid for by me. Does that make sense? But more space would be nice. And also servants to do the heavy work.”

The men all nodded, even Father. “I shall ask around,” Alex said, and the others said they would also enquire among their friends and other contacts.

“The priority is to find the information that Valeria’s friends need,” Alex pointed out. “Once they are settled, Harry, you can find something smaller for yourself and your own family.”

“You are right,” Harry agreed. “Father, will you go with me to the War Department this afternoon?”

“Of course, my son. We shall pay a visit to my old friend Arthur, and ask for his authority to wave at various underlings. Do you have the ladies’ names and those of their spouses?”

Harry nodded. And yes, Father’s strategy was sound. If they started with a call on the Duke of Wellington and were able to proceed with his blessing, everyone would fall over themselves to be helpful. Otherwise, five Spanish women of dubious marital status, whether they regarded themselves as married or not, were likely to be brushed off as irrelevant to the mission of the mighty British army.

“What are you going to do about Miss Bretherton?” Alex asked. “You’ll need to tell her before someone else does.”

Before Harry could answer, Valeria’s voice came from immediately behind him. “Who is Miss Bretherton?”

Ariadne Bretherton! In the excitement of his wife returning from the dead with three children, Harry had not given the woman he’d been courting a single thought. He turned to face Valeria, and nearly flinched at the hurt she was trying to hide behind an impassive expression.

The only way out of this mess was through it. Charge ahead, Harry, and pray you are not seriously wounded on the way. “She is a lady I completely forgot about the moment I saw you. She is a pleasant person whom I thought might make me a comfortable wife. I could not love again, you see, after losing you. I was looking for companionship and a partner in my endeavours. Also someone to run my house.”

“Oh,” said Valeria, the mask of her expression now so impenetrable that he had no idea what she was thinking and feeling.

He rushed on, trying to elicit a response. “I need to write to her, my love. She is coming to London next week, and Alex is right. I need to tell her before someone else does that my wife is alive, and that I shall not be pursuing a courtship with her.”

“Poor lady. My happiness has been purchased at the cost of hers. Yes, you must let her know. I am sorry, Harry. I changed your plans.”

“I thank God for it,” Harry assured her. “And imagine how much more dreadful it would have been for her had you arrived after the proposal. Or after the wedding!”

“I never imagined you marrying someone else,” Valeria said, in a low murmur that seemed to be intended for her own ears and no one else’s. “How foolish of me.”

“It was a business arrangement,” Harry assured her. “No feelings were involved.”

The look she gave him was scathing. “I doubt that, Harry. I doubt that very much. She would not have accepted your courtship if she did not at least like you, and I gather that things have gone far enough that her family and probably her friends are in imminent expectation of a proposal. Her pride is going to be hurt, if nothing else.”

She was correct, of course, but what could Harry do about it? His wife was the only woman he wanted, and even if that wasn’t the case, he was married. His wife was alive, and he had a family, furthermore. He could not marry Miss Bretherton even if he still wanted to do so.

In fact, he had never wanted to do so, he realised. He had made a plan and carried it out step by step, but his heart—not the organ that continued to pump blood around his body, but the centre of his emotions that he had wrongly believed to be frozen and atrophied—his heart had never been convinced it was a good idea.

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Happy reunion in WIP Wednesday

Another reunion in An Unpitied Sacrifice, this time for one of Valeria’s abandoned war brides. A letter arrives from the army, giving the addresses for the missing husbands next-of-kin, and one of them is in London.

***

“It is a twenty-minute drive,” Harry told them. “If the Atkinsons are still butchers in Cheapside, Señora Hernandez, you shall soon have your answers.”

“It was a family business, Colonel. I think the family will still be there. I hope so. We were separated when the army invaded France. Jorge and I were with the regiment’s baggage train, crossing a river on a bridge made of boats. The bridge broke apart, and the boat we were in was swept downriver.”

She shrugged and grimaced, a silent and somehow comprehensive commentary on the vicissitudes of war. “We survived, but we did not come ashore for many miles, and in the end, we were still on the Spanish side of the river, and far from anyone who knew us. And I was ill, and winter was coming. There was a convent offering beds to those who were displaced by the war. Jorge and I owe our lives to them.”

Valeria had heard the story before. Maria-Lucia had been pregnant when the pontoon bridge collapsed under the pressure of a storm-surging river. She and Jorge had parted company with their boat at some point in the wild ride. Somehow, the mother had kept the child above water, at least enough that when the pair of them finally made it to shore, Jorge was still with her and alive.

Maria-Lucia, though, had borne the brunt of blows from storm-rack travelling downriver with her, and had gone into labour, losing a tiny daughter who had been too little to survive. She did not remember much after that. Nuns from the convent must have found her and her son, and given them refuge.

By the time Maria-Lucia had been well enough to write to George Atkinson, and had been able to scrounge paper and enough money to send a letter, the war had been over. Whether her letter ever reached the army was questionable. It was even more unlikely that George had received it, especially given today’s revelation, that he had left the army.

Valeria had personal experience of the disinterest of British army clerks in the foreign wives of British soldiers, particularly those whose relationships had not been through the formality of a Church of England wedding.

The carriage was drawing to a halt outside of a butcher’s shop, the entire face of which, except for the opening into the interior, was covered with animal carcasses hanging on hooks. Above the display of meat, the name Atkinson Bros., in bright red against a light green background, spread the full width of the shop.

“Atkinson Brothers,” Harry commented. “Perhaps George has gone into the trade with his brother.”

Now that the time was upon her, Maria-Lucia descended reluctantly from the carriage, and immediately reached for Valeria’s hand. “What if they do not want me?” she asked.

“Then we shall find a place for you and Jorge on our estate,” Harry said firmly. “If that is what you wish. Or we shall send you back to Spain with money to set up somewhere as a widow.”

“Let us find out,” Valeria said, and she led the way under the animal carcasses and into the shop.

As her eyes adjusted to the change in light, Maria-Lucia gasped and gripped her hand more tightly, peering at the man behind the counter. “You are not George,” she declared after a moment.

The man stared back, his eyes widening, and then he stepped back from the counter and lifted a curtain behind it to disclose a doorway. “George!” he shouted into the space beyond.

Turning back toward them, his gaze fixed again on Maria-Lucia, he said, “He’s upstairs.”

Upstairs, but coming down, for Valeria could hear the thud of boots on wood, descending from the floor above and approaching.

The curtain was pulled back from the other side and another man stepped into the shop. He was very similar in appearance to the first man, and Valeria could see why Maria-Lucia had gasped. But it was obvious neither the second man nor her friend had any doubt about the identification of the other.

George—for it had to be he—vaulted over the counter even as Maria-Lucia dropped Valeria’s hand and threw herself forward, saying, “George!” Then they were in one another’s arms, Maria-Lucia repeating her man’s name, and he saying, over and over, “I thought you were dead. They told me you had drowned.”

The first man, presumably the brother William, watched the embrace with a fond smile, and Valeria’s worry for her friend eased. Maria-Lucia had found the welcome she had hoped for.

By the time the pair had calmed enough to share their stories, William had introduced himself to Harry and Valeria, put a “Back in ten minutes” sign up on the door, and called back up the stairs for his wife. Soon, Maria-Lucia was being introduced to a plump cheerful woman called Molly, and then the whole story of being saved from the river and what happened after had to be told again.

The upshot was that George came back to Harry and Valeria’s house in the Redepenning carriage, with his brother’s blessing to retrieve his family and bring them to the residence above the butcher’s shop.

“Bring back our nephew, brother,” William instructed, “and all of our sister’s things. What a happy day this is!”

by

Tea with Valeria

In this excerpt post, Valeria goes to Haverford House for a ball, and meets the Dowager Duchess of Haverford.

Haverford House was on the riverfront out beyond Chelsea. Susan and her husband Gil called by in their carriage to pick them up, and the long drive gave Susan plenty of time to describe people who would definitely be at the ball, and others who might be there.

“Will there be a test?” Harry asked his sister.

Susan grinned. “The ball is the test, you sceptic. And Valeria will pass it with flying colours. Look, Valeria, we are turning in at the gate. Isn’t the house a magnificent sight?”

It was. They had driven into a courtyard lined on three sides by a veritable palace—four stories high, with a mansard roof above. Since the courtyard was about one hundred and fifty feet across and at least one hundred feet deep, the house was enormous.

They were in a queue of carriages, and it took quite some time before it was their driver’s turn to pull up at the foot of the steps to deliver his passengers. Soon, though, they were being conducted through a marble entrance chamber the height of the house, up a splendid staircase, and to the left down an elegant corridor, between half-panelled walls with silk wallpaper above.

All four of them could have walked arm in arm along the exquisite carpet without touching the furniture and art that lined both sides between a succession of highly polished doors.

The corridor turned to the right, and continued, so the house had at least one more wing, this one leading away from the road. Another ten paces brought them to the reception line.

“Susan, my dear.” The mature lady at the head of the line held out both hands to greet Susan. She wore a glittering gown and a parure of tiara, earrings and necklace that sparkled even more brightly than the garment.

“Aunt Eleanor, you look amazing tonight. Does she not, Charlotte, darling? Ladies, may I make known to you my sister-in-law, Mrs Harry Redepenning? Valeria, Her Grace the dowager duchess was a dear friend of my mother, and is my godmother and Harry’s, and these are the Duchess and Duke of Haverford. Haverford, my sister-in-law.”

The younger duchess was as finely dressed as her mother-in-law, but her smile was warm and open. “Mrs Redepenning, my husband is Lord Chirbury’s cousin, and his wife and I are friends. I have heard a little about your story. Your reunion—so romantic. I promise you my support as you find your feet in our Society.”

“To that end, Señora,” drawled the duke, “may I beg the pleasure of the second dance of the evening?” His half-bow to Harry had a mocking flourish. “I defer to you for the first, Harry.”

Harry managed an even more sardonic bow. “Very good of you, Haverford. Given you are renowned for always dancing the first and last of the evening with your lovely duchess. Mind you, Valeria, they’ve been married for less than a year.”

The duke lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “I trust we shall still maintain the practice when we have been wed forty years,” he declared. “Longer, if we are spared, and I can still totter around a ballroom.”

“I shall push you in your bath chair, Anthony,” declared the duchess. “Jessica, allow me introduce Mrs Redepenning, Colonel Redepenning’s wife. Mrs Redepenning, my sister, Lady Colyton, and her husband Lord Colyton. This ball is in honour of their wedding. Lord Colyton, Mrs Redepenning has recently been reunited with her husband, Colonel Redepenning. And you already know Lord and Lady Rutledge, of course.”

Valeria expressed her best wishes to the bride and her congratulations to the groom, following the English custom that Susan had explained to her in the carriage. Lady Colyton thanked her prettily and wished her and Harry every blessing now that they were back together. She was a pretty woman, much younger than her brother, the Duke of Haverford. Her husband was perhaps a decade older than his bride, and was polite, but not warm.

“We shall move on and let you greet your other guests,” Susan decreed.