‘You were at Wellington’s headquarters? Do you know aught of my husband? Colonel Lord Pelford. He is an aide-de-camp to the general.’
The young man would not meet her eyes and shifted in the saddle.
‘Tell me!’ she shouted over the noises in the crowd. ‘You must tell me.’
His eyes were wet when they finally met her gaze. ‘He was shot and is currently missing, presumed dead. The general does not know where his body is.’
Stumbling away from the soldier and the horse, she would have fallen over if Jim had not caught her. She felt as if she had been shot a second time, through the centre of her chest. The pain was real and excruciating. She kept swallowing, but nothing seemed to open her constricted throat.
She did not cry.
She could not cry.
She would not believe it.
The possibility of life without Samuel seemed inconceivable.
Who else would annoy her to exasperation?
Disagree with almost everything she believed in?
And kiss her until her toes curled?
‘Let us get you back home, my lady,’ Jim said, steering her back towards their rented home on Rue de Lombard.
Her own mind was so foggy that she could not have found her way to the rented house. Jim did not leave her at the door, but escorted her inside the parlour and to a chair. He told Harper to make her ladyship some tea.
‘Master Samuel? Pelford?’ Harper asked.
Jim did not say a word. He only shook his head.
Frederica tried to swallow once more. ‘No tea. I just want to be left alone.’
The butler gave her a sympathetic look and then both he and Jim exited the room. Once the door closed, the tears that she had held inside of her spilled out in muffled sobs. Never in her life before had she experienced such despair and it consumed her. She felt as if her head was under the water of a cold river and there was no way for her to breathe as the current dragged her away.
The next morning, her mother came into her room to check on her. Frederica lay in bed. She had no energy and her head felt dizzy. She had dreamed of Samuel dying over and over, until she woke up in a cold sweat. How she wished that her sisters were there with her! She could have used a cuddle from Becca or a blunt observation from Helen. Mantheria would have tried to counsel with her about the proper ways to grieve, but she was not ready to be wise. Touching her swollen eyes, she winced. They were dry and achy like the rest of her body.
Mama lifted the lid of her meal tray. ‘You have not touched your hot chocolate nor breakfast.’
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Frederica shook her head. ‘I am not hungry.’
‘That is a first.’
A snort escaped her lips, before she could stop herself. How could she find her mother’s wit amusing the day after she learned Samuel was dead?
Anger built in her belly. ‘How can you make a joke at a time such as this?’
Her mother placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘It was more a dry observation. Dearest, Samuel would not mind you laughing. Even when you were little, he liked nothing more than to make you smile. Whenever he told a joke, he always looked at you to see your reaction.’
Shaking her head, Frederica said, ‘He preferred to make me shriek with fury.’
One side of her mother’s mouth went up into a half smile. ‘That too. The both of you could not bear it if the other one ignored you. Oh, the lengths you two went to for the other’s attention. Remember the time when you put salt into his tea?’
Another chuckle escaped her lips. ‘It was brilliant. Samuel spat the tea out across the table and it hit both Matthew and Wick.’
Glancing up at her mother, Frederica saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Samuel was not merely a suitor. Her mother had seen him grow up. Not that her mother’s pain could reach the depths of her own, but Frederica was wrong to assume that she was not grieving deeply.
She placed her hand over her mother’s. ‘I am sorry to be snappish, Mama. I know that you loved Samuel too.’