Harry Redepenning

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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.

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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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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.

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Surprises on WIP Wednesday

A longish excerpt from An Unpitied Sacrifice, the next Golden Redepenning novel. Harry arrives back in London after a visit to make up his mind about a prospective bride. But his family has unexpected news for him.

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Harry was riding through Mayfair now. Home soon. He hoped Father was home, for Harry was keen to talk to him about Miss Bretherton. Once he had told Father, and once he proposed to that lady, the die was cast, and perhaps then, when marrying the lady became a matter of honour, he would be at peace with the decision.

Here was the mews—the lane that ran behind his father’s townhouse. Perhaps the horse sensed the end of the journey, or perhaps his own eagerness to step into the comforting embrace of the place that had always been his London home communicated itself to the beast, for it quickened its pace, and they completed the last fifty yards in a brisk trot.

“Halloo, the stable,” he shouted, as they drew to a stop.

A stable boy came to the open door. “Major Redepenning, sir,” he greeted Harry, and ran the few steps to the horse’s head. Harry left instructions to take it to the White Swan, the London end of the circuit that had provided the mount for the last leg of his ride.

He hurried up through the garden, his saddle bags over his shoulder. It was late in the afternoon, but this side of the house faced west, and the garden doors were open from the family parlour, letting light and warmth stream into the room. Harry went up the steps to the terrace, took a moment for a deep breath, then stepped over the threshold.

Father looked up with a smile of greeting, as did Alex and Ellie.

“Welcome, Harry. Have you eaten? I shall send for something to sustain you until dinner. Alex, you are nearest, pull the bell rope, will you?”

“Just a cup of tea, Father. I had a superb repast at the Crown and Goat not three hours ago. Ellie, I am sorry to walk in on you in my dirt. I expected Father to be on his own.”

“Do sit down, Alex,” Ellie told him. “It is just family this evening.”

Harry sat in his favourite chair and smiled around at these three beloved family members.

“It is only a flying visit,” Alex said.

“We came to Town for some shopping, Harry,” his sister-in-law explained. Alex’s wife was one of Harry’s favourite people. She had been an army wife, so she understood military men. She had been an apprentice to her father who had been an army doctor, so made certain that Alex looked after his lame leg and ran a clinic for her entire neighbourhood.

Of medium height and build, with brown hair and a pleasant face, one might consider her looks only average, until one noticed her lovely eyes and splendid complexion. But it was in character that she shone. Baroness Renshaw was adored by her husband and children, loved by her husband’s family, and nigh worshipped by her servants and tenants.

“It is too far to bring the children for just a few days,” said Ellie, as a footman entered the room silently, accepted Father’s instructions for a fresh pot of tea, and took Harry’s saddle bags away to be sent to his room.

“Melly and Freddie are safe enough with Jonno and Mattie,” Alex said. The pair had a habit of alternating sentences, as if they were one person with a single message. Harry caught the note of doubt in Alex’s voice, which confirmed that—though he trusted his valet and housekeeper—he did not think anyone else could protect his children as well as he could.

“Of course, they are safe,” Father said, soothingly.

“Of course,” Alex agreed, and turned to his wife, “so we could stay, couldn’t we? Until this business of Harry’s is sorted out?”

Harry, who had been riding all day, on horses of differing quality, was thinking about how his bones were less tolerant than they used to be, and was only half aware of Alex’s words until he heard his name.

“What business of mine?” he asked, wondering if they had somehow heard about his courtship of Miss Bretherton. And, of course, he had not made a secret of it. Not precisely. It was just that he’d not trumpeted it about.

“It is your wife, Harry,” said Father.

Harry chuckled. One should never underestimate the power of gossip. He would lay odds that his sister Susan had heard something and passed it on to the rest of the family. “Wife is a bit beforehand, to be fair. I have not yet proposed to Miss Bretherton. I have made up my mind to do so, however. I look forward to introducing her to you all.”

What was up with his family? They were exchanging looks of alarm.

“Oh, Harry!” Ellie sounded distressed.

Did they know something to Miss Bretherton’s discredit? He could not believe it. If so, she must be the best actress in the world! Yes, and her parents, too. “What is wrong with Miss Bretherton?” he asked.

“I had no idea…” Father trailed off. “That is not to the point. I’ll be blunt, Harry. Your wife Valeria may be alive.”

It was as well Harry was sitting. The room swam before his eyes and for a moment, he struggled to breath. Blunt, indeed. If he had been hit over the head with a blunt object, he could not have been more disoriented.

From a great distance, he heard Father say, “Pour your brother a brandy, Alex,” and a moment later a glass was pressed into his hand.

He took more of a gulp than a sip, but the burn of the alcohol did the trick, drawing him back into himself. “Alive,” he repeated, and his heart, racing in his chest, demanded that he leap to his feet and begin tearing the world apart until he found her.

“A lady claiming to be your wife called this afternoon,” his father told him.

It was a second shock on top of the first. His reeling mind could not produce meaningful words, but could only repeat Father’s words. “This afternoon.” He took another sip of the brandy and managed to add, “Tell me.”

“I did not even know you had a wife,” Alex complained.

Father handed over a piece of white pasteboard of the standard size for visiting cards. “She sent this up with the butler, so we saw her straight away.”

Harry was reading the card. On one side of it was written, in blue ink, Valeria’s names—at the top, Señora Valeria Eneco Izquierdo, with Mrs. H. Redepenning underneath. He had not seen Valeria’s handwriting for a long time, but it could, indeed, be hers.

“She knew how the two of you met,” Father added, “and she explained why she was not with her band when they were ambushed. Harry, she claims that she had stayed behind in a convent because she was about to give birth.”

“She thought you were dead, Harry,” Alex interjected. “She might be someone who knew Valeria, and hopes to batten on to a rich English family by passing her own child off as yours.”

“She was genuinely happy to know you were alive, Harry,” Ellie said. “She had tears in her eyes, and she spoke in a language I did not know.”

“It was not Spanish,” Alex growled.

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Random thoughts on WIP Wednesday

I often have random scenes playing themselves out in my head, not just from the books I’m currently writing but from books I’m not going to write for a while. Do you do that? Share an excerpt in the comments from a scene that’s in your head and not yet on paper.

Mine is from the Redepenning book after next, and it might be the beginning. Or I might begin with a scene from Valeria.

Harry sat drinking a coffee and pretending to read a book while the abyss hovered, a seething mass of black memories, with tendrils of despair ever reaching, and ever having to be beaten back so he could pretend that all was normal.

The abyss, rather than the lingering weakness from his wounds, was the true reason he was still staying at his father’s townhouse instead of finding rooms nearer to the barracks. The need to mimic a well man before Brigadier General Lord Redepenning dragged him from bed every morning, and gave him a motive to keep the darkness at bay for another day.

Lord Henry was on the other side of the library study reading the files and letters sent over from the horse guard. He pretended, too. He and Harry both knew that he worked here rather than his office at the Horse Guard for fear of leaving his eldest son to his own devices, rather than because of the encroachments of age. If neither spoke of it, it did not have to be faced.

”Harry.” An odd note in Father’s voice sparked a thread of interest. Father was holding out to him the letter in his hand. “Tell me what you think of this.”

Harry set down the book and his cup and crossed the room, standing beside the desk to scan the two pages.

He’d not completed the first paragraph before he collapsed into the nearest chair. “A widow? She thinks I’m dead?” A few lines more and he lifted his head, meeting his father’s eyes. “I have a son? Father! I have a son.”

”And, it seems, a wife you acquired in Spain five years ago and never mentioned,” Father replied.