Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews for chapter one! They are great motivation to keep writing. Here is chapter 2, another long one and even longer than chapter 1! I am aiming to do a chapter a week but due to RL and the length of the chapters I'm not sure that that will always be possible. I imagine, for the moment at least, that the story will end up somewhere in the region of ten chapters. I have the basic arc of the story planned out and the end point. There are still a few details in the middle to work out and I haven't got a chapter-by-chapter plan but I'll just keep writing and see where I get to. There are a couple of events in this chapter which may surprise you but I assure you they are necessary for the plot as a whole and hopefully you will not consider them too OOC. I have read it through and tried to spellcheck it but any typos or mistakes that remain are entirely my own.
Chapter 2
The following morning dawned bright and early. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds, around the town horses trotted pulling carriages and taxi's in their daily work and behind the black iron railing of the perimeter fence, dew decorated the short green grass of the park at the end of the road.
In spite of the late night the evening before, Ruth rose rather early just as her maid was finishing lighting the fires. Then her maid, Beth, dressed her and went off to prepare breakfast while Ruth sat down to some unfinished correspondence. After breakfast Ruth went into the front room, fully prepared to spend a good while curled up with a book.
It was the sort of thing one could do when one lived on one's own.
While it was true that Miss Evershed was happy to accompany the young Miss Reynolds to social engagements, she had never lived with the Reynolds family and preferred to stay at the London home she had once shared with her father. His study on the first floor landing lay almost untouched in the months since he'd died. She had, somehow, become an old spinster. Twenty years had passed since most of her peers had married and one by one she had lost touch with them all, preferring the company and the intellectual challenge of assisting her father in his duties as an Admiral of the Fleet. Not that she really minded her situation. As a girl she had harboured dreams of falling in love with a charming young man and leading some sort of vaguely idyllic life but fate, it seemed, had other plans. Her father had seen to scaring off the drinkers and gamblers and as for the rest, there had been no one to sweep her off her feet, no one to make her fall in love with them and somehow twenty years after coming out, here she was. Living alone in her childhood home with an adopted cat called Fidget. Financially speaking she had enough from her father's estate for the time being but when the money ran out she would have to find some new source of income. She was fairly sure she could find work as a governess, although it sounded both boring and time consuming. Or she could take in lodgers perhaps, although the idea of taking strange men into the house that had once been her father's ran against the grain as well as being somewhat alarming as regards her own personal safety.
The truth was, she liked the quiet. Right now it was just her and the cat as she sat in the front room brushing up on her Arabic while her single remaining maid worked away in the kitchen at the back of the house. With no visitors expected, it was a great shock when the bell rang at the door as soon as the acceptable hour for visitors arrived.
Ruth waited as Beth hurried through from the kitchen to the front door. She listened to the familiar sound of the maid opening the door, the shuffling of footsteps as someone entered the house. A man's voice rumbled through from the front hall and then the door to the front room opened. Ruth rose from her chair as Beth entered to announce...
"Major General Sir Henry James Pearce, Ma'am."
Ruth's eyebrows shot up. Hundreds of conflicting thoughts flashed through her head. Her brows drew together as she wondered why on Earth he'd be calling here. She cursed herself for wearing the plainest dark grey dress she owned and was just in the process of checking for crumbs and tea stains on her attire when a gentle clearing of the throat grabbed her attention and she looked up sharply to find him already hovering just inside the doorway of the front room.
"General Pearce! What a surprise it is to see you here. Are you well?"
"Very well, Miss Evershed." Sir Harry spoke softly. "I hope I am not intruding?"
"Not at all."
"I am disturbing your solitude," Sir Harry countered.
"I have lived alone since my father died. Apart from Beth and Fidget." Upon seeing the look of curiosity upon the man's features she clarified, "The maid and the cat."
"Ah."
Ruth watched as he began to take in the modest but well-appointed room. A few keepsakes of her father's life at sea adorning the mantlepiece. He paced, putting his back to her as Beth hovered for the sake of decency until Ruth ordered a pot of tea and they were left alone. Sir Harry wandered over to the mantle, turning his back slightly on her which confused her somewhat. The warmth of his eyes a moment before didn't match with the cold stiffness of his body language now. "I imagine you must have come with some enquiry about Miss Reynolds, General Pearce. I'm afraid she doesn't live here if you came for a visit but I'm sure she won't mind if I pass on the particulars of her Guardian."
"No, I didn't come here about Miss Reynolds," Sir Harry turned and looked at her over his shoulder and as he did, something of his stiff manner of bearing seemed to ease somewhat just by looking at her. He sighed quietly and as their gazes met his eyes seemed to deepen. Ruth could tell he was thinking something, but quite what he was thinking was entirely lost on her. She felt terribly self conscious under the General's stare as his eyes drifted over her form until she felt his gaze settle further down her person and Ruth realised he was looking at the book she still clutched in her hand.
"You read Arabic?" Harry asked with surprise.
"Yes," Ruth replied simply. She sensed that a man of Sir Harry's reputation didn't come here to talk about the reading material of an old spinster. The subject of his visit was a complete mystery to her and she was infinitely curious as to what he could possibly want with her time. Yet he accepted her simple reply with a nod and seemed to take a moment to keenly observe one of her father's instruments on the mantle.
Leaving him to his thoughts, Ruth wandered over to the chess board that had lain untouched since her father's passing. She had enjoyed playing so much, once upon a time, even if it was not considered entirely becoming of females to play the game. Neither was it considered becoming of females to do a man's job and yet she had handled most of her father's correspondence once his eyes got too bad to read and write very well.
"Checkmate in three," Sir Harry observed.
"Yes."
"Your father's?" He asked.
Ruth looked up. His eyes were deep, mellow pools of emotion but there was passion underneath. Something fierce held back that almost scared her and she wondered, for the first time, what sort of man he was in private. Away from the grousing grumpy old sod he was in public at balls and ceremonies.
"Who were you playing?" Sir Harry asked.
Ruth gasped, "Oh, I wasn't..."
"Of course you were. Its your home, why shouldn't you play?"
She paused, considering his words. Wondering what he would think of her if she owned up to the truth.
"I used to play with my father. He said it kept his mind sharp."
Sir Harry nodded at this, an assertion that, at face value, said he found this an acceptable explanation. Ruth only hoped that he did accept it. For some reason, she couldn't stand the thought of him looking down on her for her peculiar ways, especially with her connection to Zoe. General Pearce was clearly at once distant and yet fiercely protective of his Goddaughter. Ruth had been alone for some months now and with only her father for company before that, she had all but forgotten the proprieties of being a female in company.
"He died," Ruth explained, "Before we could finish."
The General seemed very lost in his own thoughts. When he spoke it was with a sort of quiet carefulness that Ruth found quite surprising. "You read how many languages, Miss Evershed?"
"Nine, or so. Arabic, French, German, Italian, Russian, Spanish, Greek, Latin and English."
"Is that all?" The General smiled.
Ruth supposed the remark was supposed to be teasing. In truth she felt so nervous and out of sorts in his presence it was difficult to respond to anything he said with any clarity of mind at all.
"You speak nine languages, you play chess, you are educated in matters military, you can drink most men under the table and you have a comfortable living. Yet you are unmarried."
"Oh, I don't think I'd make a good wife," Ruth replied, "I'm a terrible cook. I can't sew to save myself, I was never a good dancer, I'm not pretty..."
"There are other forms of beauty, Miss Evershed, than the conformation of one's facial features. Which, might I add, I personally find quite pleasing."
"Well, Sir, I thank you for the compliment but I'm sure its not why you came here."
The General half turned away and stared off into the distance once more. "Actually it is, in a manner of speaking. I came here to make a proposal."
"What sort of proposal?"
"What sort of proposal? A marriage proposal, Miss Evershed."
"To who?" Confusion ruled Ruth's face.
"Well I wasn't intending to propose to the maid or the cat."
Ruth started sniggering. She couldn't help it, it was too ridiculous. She wondered who had put him up to it. It was, after all, a good joke, "Did Cousin Malcolm put you up to this? Well you can tell him its a good joke and I appreciate his attempts to lighten my morning but I'd rather spend my time learning German grammar if its all the same to him."
Sir Harry had to admit, he had not anticipated this reaction. This joking, this laughing at him. He was a serious man who had worked in a serious profession all his life. He was not accustomed to being made fun of. "You're laughing at me," He said simply, the hurt seeping through in his voice. "I come here to make a very serious proposal and you're-"
Ruth attempted to get some control over herself. She bit her lip and stifled her sniggers. A marriage proposal! From General Pearce! No, it was too funny. "You must excuse me, General. I haven't had a serious proposal in twenty years, apart from a few fortune hunters of course, not that there's much left apart from the house these days, but you don't strike me as a man short of a guinea or two."
"Twenty years? Don't be absurd."
"Indeed. I wasn't even in this country. When I was very young, just after my mother died, I accompanied my father on a voyage in the Mediterranean where I was proposed to by a Doctor, a Greek from the island of Cyprus in the Ottoman empire. I was so enamoured of the romance of his situation I very nearly said yes."
"Cyprus? In the heart of the Ottoman empire? Next you'll be telling me he took you to see the Battle of they Pyramids. Have you shaken Napoleon's hand too, I wonder? Or was your father aware of French Revolution at all that he would take a young girl to sea in the most dangerous part of the world?"
"I have been to many dangerous places in my time, General Pearce and yet I am still here and my father is not so if you are attempting to make some sort of point, let me suggest to you it may be a moot one," Ruth finished curtly.
"Touche," Harry smiled, a smile that turned nervous as soon as his eyes settled too long and soon he broke eye contact altogether, turning away to pace to the window. "So?"
"So?" Ruth echoed.
"So I wondered if you might give me an answer."
"An answer to what?"
"My proposal."
"Actually, you haven't yet made a proposal."
"Yes I did."
"No, you said you were going to make a proposal and then you decided to pick a fight with a dead man. If you want to ask me a question, General, I suggest you just ask it."
The General sighed heavily. "I don't suppose there's the slightest chance of you answering in the affirmative?"
Ruth smiled slightly, an attempt at a smile anyway that could not quite be called a true smile for the sadness that held it back. "It strikes me as extremely unlikely, General Pearce."
"Well then," The General cleared his throat. "At least you can say you have saved me from a particular bout of foolishness."
He finished these last words with an emphasis that spoke of an underlying ire. Ruth Evershed thought it best not to linger on that thought.
"General Pearce...Sir Harry...you must understand. I am not the sort of woman that men like you want to marry. I am not a womanly woman, I am an old spinster, I play chaperone to other people's daughters, I have read more books on military strategy than I have on housekeeping and I love a good game of chess more than I'll ever love sewing or playing the good wife. I am quite assured, sir, that I am not the sort of wife you want."
"You know me so well, do you, that you are so assured of my mind...and you are no doubt also alarmed by my reputation," Sir Harry sighed. He could hardly deny that his private life was the subject of common gossip that must have alighted upon the ears, even of someone as reticent, as Miss Evershed.
"I am quite aware of your military reputation, General," Ruth replied, "Ruthless in battle, an officer who looks out for his own, a troubled personal life. I confess the more time you spend with me at balls, the more fellow chaperones warn me off you having any influence on Zoe. They tell me of your reputation as a difficult man. A philanderer. A man with a fierce temper, Sir. A man who makes enemies. I confess I find your company pleasant, but then one cannot judge a man's temper on the basis of his willingness to fetch an old spinster a glass of punch, nor on his connection to an admirable God-daughter. You asked, now I give you my answer and I bid you good day." Ruth Evershed stood up then, an abrupt indication if there ever was one that this meeting was now over.
"Very well, Miss Evershed," He acknowledged. He had his answer, for now, and he had to respect it. It was not, however, an answer that left him fully without hope. Miss Evershed's company was quite unlike the company of any woman who had gone before her. Being in her presence, moreover, had left him with a rather embarrassing situation he had been forced to hide by turning to the mantle until he had calmed down, lest he give her a fright by the sight of the reaction of his body. More than once he had touched himself at night and thought of her. Her pink lips, her blue eyes, the cutting sense of humour and the fierce protectiveness that underlay her shy, cautious exterior. Admittedly making a proposal so soon had been an impulsive and perhaps unwise move but Harry alone knew quite how full to brimming London would soon be with young officers wanting to marry. The thought of Miss Evershed preferring some other man who might arrive on the scene at any moment was difficult to contemplate and yet, with every moment in her presence he found himself fighting the pace of his heartbeat, the sweat of his palms, the way he felt physically drawn to be near her. There was time enough, plenty of time, after marriage to get to know someone but Miss Evershed had stated her position and he supposed he had to respect her for knowing her own mind. His one comfort, though it was small comfort, was that she would be just as careful should any other man make overtures towards her.
Harry couldn't face going home. Couldn't face going home to his empty rented rooms. He would need to consider purchasing a property now that the war was over. He had granted his wife their previous home in order that she might raise their children there. He hoped over time that his son and daughter may come to accept their parents separation but Harry knew in reality he had been gone from their lives a long time. Twenty five years this war had been running. Guillotines, blockades, epic battles. Hundreds of thousands of lives lost. Millions perhaps. No was seemed to be entirely sure. One thing was for certain, having lost so much in so short a time as a result of his defeat Bonepart was a desperate man who would stop at nothing to escape Elba at any cost. Even now, well placed individuals within London could well be spying for him in the hope of aiding his cause. Considering courting any woman in such a climate was a dangerous game. Miss Evershed was probably wise in refusing him. If Sir Harry's role in rooting out French spies here at home became known, any woman in whom he expressed interest would likely be placed in great danger. Yet the practicalities of the situation couldn't soothe his aching heart and not for the first time in his life, he sought out solitude and strong spirits.
His office beckoned.
His office with its oak pannelling and the walls of charts and battle plans, pictures of Bonaparte and all his key officers, endless pages of correspondence from his ever increasing network of spies here in London and elsewhere. Sir Harry had known, of course, that some French duplicity was to be expected. The level of intrigue he was experiencing however was giving him a headache. Had he known quite how many factions there were within the French in London he would likely have refused his orders at the outset. It was all very well being told to search London for foreign spies, it all sounded very admirable, but that was before you realised quite how many opinions the French community in London managed to carry. That was without looking at the issue of persons belonging to England or the Empire who might have been persuaded to turn traitor against their king and country. Eliciting those who were a danger to the crown and those who were simply blowing hot air with an inflated sense of their own importance, was proving to be quite some task.
Sir Harry sat down at his desk, grunting a greeting to his fellow officers as they passed his office. Eventually after several restless minutes he settled upon closing the door, poured himself a large tumbler of whiskey and examined the chess board set up in one corner of the room. Sentiment encouraged him to rearrange the pieces just so, to mirror the setup on the board in Miss Evershed's drawing room and stare at it long enough to work out that Miss Evershed must be quite the player. To one side sat a growing pile of documents and letters that he had set aside for future attention. The idea of sending important information in a scholarly language was doubtless brilliant at preventing unwanted eyes from comprehending the document. Unfortunately, however, it also prevented Sir Harry for doing his job and he got the feeling that the matter was becoming imperative. The topmost letter had arrived that very morning while he was making an impulsive call on Miss Evershed and was marked 'urgent'.
Quite what had possessed him to do what he did, General Pearce could not say. He wasn't looking to marry again. Had thought perhaps he never would. Sir Harry was not interested, as some other men were, in marrying some pretty young stripling that could bear him a dozen children. He had progeny, he had family, what he lacked was the comfort and companionship of another human being and he hadn't realised quite how much he had missed it or quite how much he had come to rely on Miss Evershed's presence for exactly those reasons in so short a time until she had spurned him at the ball the previous night. Quite what he had done to merit her cold shoulder he neither knew nor cared. After a long night's drinking all that seemed to matter was that she was in his life in as permanent a way as possible and he had somehow convinced himself that as a single woman of thirty-seven she would jump at the chance of marriage in spite of his rational mind having witnessed so much evidence to the contrary.
It had been hasty and foolish and he had gone too far too soon. From the concerns she had expressed General Pearce realised that in spite of having spent much time in society together, she did not know him well enough to form her own opinion of him as yet. She was a single woman of property and intellect, a status few women could aspire to and she would require more inducement to marriage than the desperation of a female in need of a roof over her head. He yearened for her company. Yearned for her presence. Yearned for quiet cups of tea and being allowed to touch and seeing her smile at him. He wanted to wallow. Drink whiskey and wallow in his thoughts of her. Unfortunately there was work that would not wait. Lance-Corporal Hunter was due in half an hour to update him about his visits to the coffee houses and the Prince Regent had asked him to write up a summation of the current state of affairs which he would have to deliver personally to the Palace that evening.
Tomorrow morning would spare him no time either. There was a meeting of senior military officers in the morning and then a luncheon with the Prime Minister who wished to discuss something to do with the United States of America. The USA had maintained a neutral stance in the war. Now the war was over, it was understandable there would need to be some clarification of Britain's relationship with their former colony across the Atlantic and there was still the ongoing disquiet from the United States about the attacks by British privateers on neutral ships.
By the afternoon he would be ready for some time alone but there was due to be at an afternoon tea party tomorrow after his various engagements were over and honestly, were it not held by an officer he respected quite so highly, Sir Harry was sure he would not go. As it was, he could hardly stand up Colonel Adam Carter.
Naturally she was there, invited as Carter had somehow contrived to be an old friend of Ruth's father although the connection escaped Sir Harry. There they were standing in a corner of the morning room, casually chatting away in street Arabic with the host who it turned out had once been stationed in Egypt and picked up the local language there. He stood across the room, watching her for some time before Carter looked up and noticed his presence.
"By the devil himself if it isn't Harry Pearce! General."
"Colonel Carter!" Sir Harry smiled warmly and welcomed the bear hug when Carter threw his arms around the older man, patting him on the back and grasping his face in glee at seeing his old friend once again. "You look well."
"I feel well, General. Retirement suits me. I have married since we saw each other last and started a family. I find it suits me very well, even if I do miss the rush of battle from time to time."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sir Harry took a moment to examine the form of Miss Evershed. Having embarrassed himself in front of her only yesterday morning, he was nervous about approaching her once again. The uncomfortable way his heart fluttered didn't exactly help matters. He was much too old for this nonsense. He had married before, a good practical match with a woman of suitable station and breeding who turned out to be the devil incarnate and a philandering whore. Not that he was one to talk. At least the children looked like Pearce's and if they turned out to be his brothers instead of his, well Ben was dead now and that was that. He had hardly been the model husband himself. As it was, he was beginning to understand why Miss Evershed's father had coveted his daughter so much. Her beauty, her intelligence were nothing to her integrity and honesty. She was, quite simply, the sort of woman who got under one's skin.
Hearing that language spoken aloud, the necessity of accurate translation of confidential documents had never been quite so high in his mind as they had been since taking up his present position and the Prince Regent's consternation at his perceived ineptitude still rang in his ears. At least, Sir Harry acknowledged, his French and Spanish were passable but the documents coded in Greek and Latin and even Arabic were completely beyond him, not to mention those passed along from allies whose own dialects of such languages were sometimes completely indecipherable from the form he had learned through his own education so many decades before. Somewhere or another he was going to have to find some help and he concluded to begin asking around the junior officers the next time he was in work. It was entirely conceivable one or two of them had had a decent classical education. On the other hand, even if he found someone suitable, would they be someone he could trust?
As these thoughts were passing through Sir Harry's head, his gaze had settled on the beautifully demure pale green gown of Miss Ruth and was drawn back to the present by something Carter said. General Pearce smiled and nodded which seemed to be the appropriate response although exactly what Carter's comment had been, the General could not say. Carter took the job as host seriously enough to show Sir Harry about the room, coming to Miss Evershed towards the end who, it turned out, had met Carter with her father on Admiral Evershed's endless travels. Yet no sooner had Adam Carter introduced them than he was made aware by a footman that Mrs Carter required her husband's presence and the man excused himself. Sir Harry assured their host that Miss Evershed and he would be perfectly capable of looking after each other. The look of alarm on Miss Evershed's face had Adam Carter chuckling as he left with a brotherly touch of the hand. "He's a teddy bear," Adam told Ruth as he abandoned them in favour of his wife across the room. Obviously completely misundrestanding the situation between them. Harry for one felt guilty at the concern she seemed to feel at being abandoned to his presence and endeavoured to build bridges and smooth things over between them.
"Do not make yourself uneasy, Miss Evershed. I am at your service."
"I-I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?" Ruth had spent all the rest of the previous day and half the night thinking of nothing but General Sir Harry Pearce. His eyes. His warm skin. The way his hair curled at the back. The reticence when he had tried to propose without proposing. To her. Sir Harry had asked for her hand and she had refused him so abruptly and with so little explanation that the cringed to think of it. How could she even look at him now?
"Good. I would not wish there to be any awkwardness between us after our previous conversation. I respect you too much to ever wish you discomfort. I pray you would not hold my foolishness against me."
Ruth looked up at him as he stopped, meeting his eye and waiting for him to continue until she realised that he was waiting for some sort of response. "Of course not, General," Was all she managed to find to say but it seemed to satisfy him for he nodded ponderously before moving.
"As it happens I have an enquiry to make on a completely unrelated matter. Your conversation with Colonel Carter this evening has put a thought in my mind regarding your skills as a linguist."
Ruth examined his face, "Really, General, I'm not sure 'skills' is the word you're after."
"You have rather an unfortunate habit, Miss Evershed, of underselling yourself. It is not becoming of you," Sir Harry informed her sternly. Ruth was too shocked at his berating her to say anything and so he continued on regardless, "And whilst I realise that after my previous overtures this request may seem rather inappropriate, I find myself in need of your assistance. With the utmost haste I must secure the services of a linguist to assist me in matters of confidential correspondence, much of which relates to the security of the Realm." It was not, Sir Harry told himself, merely a convenient excuse to spend more time in her company. After all, she had made her position quite clear. If, however, spending more time in Miss Evershed's company was a by-product of his need for translation then General Pearce supposed he would just have to bear the anticipation of their continued relationship.
"You have officers for that," Ruth insisted.
General Pearce's eyebrows rose. "As your father did?"
"Colonel Carter speaks Arabic," Miss Evershed pointed out.
"Colonel Carter is a man of action, not of words. He speaks Arabic as a Cairo marketboy would, Miss Evershed. I know because like him I picked up a smattering of phrases wherever I was stationed but, like me, he cannot read or write the language and has no formal education on the subject. At least, none that stuck. I am presently dealing with the very real prospect of foreign agents operating right here in London and I cannot read half my correspondence. Peace has put a lot of men out of work whose purses are swiftly running empty. Espionage may be distasteful but it pays and when you have no food or money..."
"General Pearce, if you would excuse my boldness, this all sounds very alarming. Is the war not over? Napoleon is in prison, is he not?"
"And sitting quietly practicing his pianoforte, do you imagine? In pace ut sapiens aptarit idonea bello," Sir Harry pronounced.
"That's rather pessimistic," Ruth frowned.
"I prefer to call it realistic. I do not want to be caught unprepared should the worst happen. Any man who can marshall enough men to invade Russia is not to be trifled with, even in exile. In order to execute my orders effectively I must be able to correspond with members of the Military and Government in allied countries. Unfortunately, given the nature of the task I hesitate to use those methods typically employed by the British Army."
"By methods I presume you mean people? You don't trust your own?"
"I have served too long and in too many wars to always presume I know who my friends are," Sir Harry replied solemnly. "Besides which many of my sources are off-book and unofficial. It would not do to spook them by risking their identities becoming known through careless word of mouth."
Ruth sighed slightly and allowed her eyes to dart around the room. They were getting looks again from so long standing together and General Pearce was doing that thing where he hovered too close and made her nervous and that made other people stare. "I'll consider it," She decided. "I'm making no promises."
As a result of there being no young lady to chaperone that night and having received the invitation on her own merits, Miss Evershed stayed inside just long enough to be polite and then excused herself to go out to the gardens for some air, asserting that she had rather overexerted herself lately on account of the number of balls and other events she had been obliged to attend for Zoe. In reality, she needed some distance from Sir Harry. His request this evening had been a business proposition, she understood that, but after the manner and tenor of their conversation not two days before, Miss Evershed found she needed a little space and the forced overtures at polite conversation were taxing even for her.
Meanwhile not far away General Pearce was surveying the room over a glass of strong wine. While Miss Evershed and Mrs Carter were merely polite and cordial to each other, it appeared that Adam Carter treated Miss Evershed like a long lost brother, talking fondly of some escapade with her father in previous years. They walked towards the French doors, the air still unseasonably warm and balmy for the time of year and there was just enough light left in the sky for half an hour in pleasant solitude before dinner.
To his astonishment, once she was alone she soon slipped away outside all by herself. Harry watched her disappear and found himself leaving the company of some young officer who had sidled up to him, to walk in the direction of the window, from which place Sir Harry could purview Miss Evershed's path down through the rosebeds, under the climbing rose trailed over an archway and down into the bottom patch of garden where Harry knew there to be a maze of a dozen little rooms hidden by hedgerows and woven willow and tall shrubbery. A vegetable patch here, a lawn there, a fountain in the middle and at the very bottom a pretty sort of swing seat that only looked just right with a maiden in a pretty dress swinging gently in amongst the daisys and dandilions. Nearby wild flowers nestled underneath the great oak that seemed to have found itself in the midst of the grand old hedgerow that separated the Carter's grounds from the lane beyond their home. A hedgerow of hawthorn, crab apple and delicate wild roses lined with cow parsley and red campion flowers. Weeds of course, to some, but after so many years abroad nothing pleased Harry more upon arriving home than the sight of an old English hedgerow.
Ignoring the music, ignoring the chatter, ignoring the party going on around him, Sir Harry Pearce felt himself drawn to her. Felt himself move across the room as if in a dream, single mindedly focused on the figure disappearing like a ghost into the garden beyond he followed her out through the French doors and down the path through the roses. As he reached the archway he caught a glimpse of her pale green dress disappearing around the corner of an evergreen hedgerow and followed what he thought to be the correct path only to find himself alone, by a fountain, with four paths leading out.
Eventually he found her exactly where thought she would be. The quiet place, the tranquil place at the bottom. A pond had sprung up since he was here last and a small collection of bright blue dragonflies danced in the air above the lillies.
Miss Evershed sat on the swing seat, staring out into space. He watched her, for a while. Warded off some young cad who had come to investigate the presence of a lone woman, heard a giggling drunk couple head towards some other corner of the garden but Miss Evershed's thoughts clearly had her a thousand miles away and not until she came back to the present of her own accord did she notice the person lurking some distance off.
"General?"
"Miss Evershed. I have disturbed your solitude once more," Sir Harry apologised and then after a pause explained, "I was concerned for your welfare."
Miss Evershed said nothing for a while as she considered her response and Harry waited. What was he to expect? Hostility, for his continued pursuit? Gratitude for watching over her in what was really quite an unsafe location for a woman to be alone. Even though Carter clearly believed his own house to be safe, Sir Harry knew what happened when there was plenty to to drink and young men got too unruly because he had once been a young man himself and in his latter years he had spent half his time in Spain trying to keep the men under control at the orders of Wellington.
Sitting on the swing seat, Ruth found herself at something of a loss. She had managed to get a few moments to steal away and find a quiet spot to enjoy a few moments calm and had finally been able to get some much needed time alone to consider everything that had happened of late. Zoe was all but courting a man, the son of an important and wealthy noble who enjoyed his father's favour, yet the man was of questionable legitimacy and the son of a slave. It wasn't that Ruth minded such things, but others would talk. If Zoe pursued this path, she would have to bear her whole life the way society treated her husband on account of his birth and the colour of his skin. What sort of life was that, for a bright young woman such as Zoe? Should she approve the match and wish Zoe happiness in spite of the challenges? And then there was her own life. Her own prospects. How long could she continue to stay in her father's house without the source of income that his employment had brought the household prior to his death? Looking for a position was an option, as was taking in boarders, or taking on other work as some spinsters did. There was always plenty of little jobs, craftwork and sewing and industrial things that women could do at home to bring in extra money but Ruth was mostly frustrated that the more intellectual pursuits to which she was most suited were closed off to her on account of her sex.
Or, she could find herself a husband.
Ruth felt his presence before she looked up, something about his manner told her it was him and looking up to find the sharp lines of a new uniform decorating his broad chest only confirmed her suspicions. She was surprised to note he looked hesitant, before approaching with gentle treads.
"Miss Evershed."
"General Pearce."
"May I...enquire after your health?"
"I am quite well, General Pearce."
"Miss Evershed, I owe you an apology," He stated firmly. Something about the manner in which he said it suggested to Ruth that he had come to this conclusion some time ago and was only stating his position now that the situation to make such an overture had presented itself. "The manner of my offer was unforgiveably presumptious."
"In what respect?"
"In so far as I presumed if I asked you would say yes."
"Because I have no other offers, because of my age, because of my solitude, perhaps?"
"All of those things and mostly because I fear you think I want marriage for reasons other than the reasons I chose to ask for your hand."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
General Pearce seemed to pause then. The shifted his feet nervously and took in a breath as if about to speak before changing his mind. He stood up and sat down just long enough to adjust the way he sat and pulled at the lapels of his jacket as if it wasn't sitting quite right. Finally he took in another breath and seemed to resolve whatever internal dilemma he was going through in his head.
"Well, to come straight to the point, Miss Evershed, you probably think I'm a randy old goat. The news of my divorce is all over town and by involving you I have mad you the subject of gossip. As I'm sure you will be well aware by now, I was not particularly faithful to my first wife and in general the private lives of officers, in times of war, are really not all that private at all. You are perhaps concerned that I mean to marry for questionable reasons and if you said yes you would be marrying a man who would take more interest in bored wives with wandering eyes than in performing my duties as a husband to my own wife. The reality, Miss Evershed, could not be further from the truth. Yet I find I am not much good, you see, at expressing myself candidly in your presence. When I'm not with you I can think of little else but finding some sort of way to be in your presence again and yet after my behaviour that morning, I cannot blame you for not wanting my company this evening. I should never have presumed to ask for your hand after so short an acquaintance."
"Then why did you ask me?"
"I believe the phrase that my Second-in-Command would use is 'emotionally compromised'. I am... emotionally compromised, in your regard."
Ruth turned to stare at him and found him averting his gaze, staring at his feet and then off into the distance but avoiding her eyes entirely.
"I find myself quite moved by your intelligence, Miss Evershed," Harry confessed quietly. "By your eyes. By...your very being."
"...But...General Pearce..."
"Harry. You may call me Harry, if you would like?"
"Regardless of what I call you, sir, you cannot possibly be serious in your regard."
"Pray, tell me why not, Miss Evershed?"
"Well for starters its twenty years since my debut, I'm an old spinster now. I'm plain, I have no title or significant dowry and the things my father did leave to me I have little intention of ever letting another man liquidate for his own pleasure."
"Then you would retain full financial control of all your father's property."
"Legally, an impossibility."
"In all but name. I would abide by your wishes on the matter," Harry replied, his eyes sad and serious. There was emotion there, Ruth assessed. Emotion he had tried and failed to hide and now he just looked lost and a little scared, which was a disconcerting sort of antithesis to the usual presentation of the man. The General had a way, an air, of carrying power that made Ruth more than slightly nervous. She decided, quite quickly, that she would never wish to be on the receiving end of such a temper.
"Please marry me," Harry whispered. Begged.
"What?"
"Would you do me the honour-"
Ruth stared hard, jaw hanging open. "You can't be serious. Not again."
"I'm perfectly serious, Miss Evershed."
"Sir Harry...General Pearce..." Ruth began, wondering how to, once more, let him down gently.
A few yards distant, Harry Pearce turned away, already knowing the answer from the tone of her voice.
"Miss Evershed," Harry insisted firmly, a hint of passion now entering his voice. "While you seem to consider the interest of any man in your person to be some sort of joke, I assure you I am perfectly serious. I should like the honour of your hand in marriage."
"Well then you must excuse me but no, I cannot marry you."
"I had thought, Miss Evershed, that you were taking pleasure from our friendship, our companionship. Am I completely mistaken?"
"No, no of course not. General, you can hardly declare yourself after so short an acquaintence and expect a woman who has so long been on her own to have not one reservation about a man such as yourself, however well intentioned your proposal," Ruth blushed. It wasn't like her to be so forthright but having endured a second declaration she saw no point being anything other than honest.
"May I enquire as to your concerns," Sir Harry asked quietly.
"Do you drink?"
"Yes."
"Too much?"
Harry hesitated. "Probably," He muttered at length.
"Are you violent?"
Harry couldn't meet her eye, "I have been known to be."
"You were unfaithful to your first wife?"
"Yes," Sir Harry replied and he gave out a great sigh of resignation. A sorry, heart-felt, heavy sigh of great loss.
Ruth stood up and walked towards him. There was no reason to turn the screw any further. She knew from his demeanour that Sir Harry understood the point. His eyes were deep pools of sorrow that gazed at her with unspeakable heartbreak. "I shan't ask again," He told her.
In a placating gesture for the pain that Ruth knew she was causing him, she reached out and touched a hand to his arm. He stood still, her touch burning him even through the layers of his coat and shirt. She was sure that the heartache was real enough now but Ruth convinced herself he would get over it soon enough. Men like Sir Harry Pearce always did. There would be some new widow, some young debutante on his arm at the next ball no doubt and the days spent lurking in the corner with an old maid like her would soon be over. It was a nice thought, that a man of the General's standing could ever be interested in her, but Ruth was convinced they were not well suited. She valued her independence too much. Yet the way he looked at her, every bone in his body exuding defeat at the conclusion of their unexpected assignation, she could not help but take pity on him. However fleeting his affections, Ruth realised then and there that they were honestly felt and taking pity on him, she reached up and untied a simple white ribbon from her hair. Sir Harry glanced up at her sharply when Ruth pressed it into his hand.
"A memento, Sir Harry."
"You called me Harry," He whispered, quite moved it seemed by the gesture. She watched him but he dared not look up at her. His very heart ached with her repeated refusal. As reasonable and logical as it was Sir Harry was quite sure he would never meet another woman quite like her. Quite sure, at least at the moment, that a small corner of his heart would forever yearn for her.
"Just this once," Ruth smiled. Really, she imagined he could be quite a charmer if he put his mind to it. No wonder he had a reputation for women falling at his feet. Were it not for his own admittance to his quite serious faults, drinking and philandering and a quite infamous temper, Ruth Evershed was sure that she would be almost tempted by his offer of marriage. As it was, she would still allow herself to think of him fondly for giving a woman of her age one last little romantic titillation before she entered her middle years of spinsterhood.
General Pearce's eyes never left her, Ruth felt them burning into her back as she curtseyed and then left him, standing in the quiet corner at the foot of the garden in amongst the flowers and the hedgerows. Staring forlornly at the thorn of the rose and listening to the blackbird that was warbling nearby. Pausing briefly she turned back to take him in one last time. His handsome features, his warm eyes, the resigned sigh as he pressed her ribbon to his cheek and Ruth was sure, as she watched in the half-light, that she saw his shoulders shake with a sob at which point the notion that she was grossly invading his privacy flashed to the forefront of her mind and she resolved to leave him in peace and return to the house.