18. Morning comes

The next morning Caroline had gone when I woke, so I bathed and Barclay shaved me.

"Did you sleep well, Your Grace?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you, Joshua," I told him.

I have never been exactly sure what Barclay knows about my nightmares or, when I think about it, how he knows, but it is a peculiar comfort that he does know. They say that something shared is something halved. I don't know if that applies to nightmares, but knowing that somehow Barclay is aware, eases it somehow.

There is a great emphasis in our society on 'manly values', 'taking it on the chin', 'playing up and playing the game', 'big boys don't cry'. Even my mother's enjoinder when I was a child to always be the one on whom my sisters could rely, their 'shield and defender', was part of it. This philosophy was hammered into me all through my youth, at home and at school. And in many ways, these values are useful, particularly in war, it allows one to function in difficult circumstances. Keeping one's head, in times of turmoil. Incidentally, it also taught me how to be self-reliant, taught me that effectively there was only one person I could depend on and that was myself.

Latterly I now include Barclay in that trust, but there is only so much that he can do and when it comes down to the edge of it, one only has one's self to rely on.

So, with that background, I would have found it difficult to share these nightmares with anyone else, the dragoon, the visions that had me waking up sweating, looking at my shirt for the bloody rent torn by the French sabre. But conversely, growing up with my sisters, and sharing their lives, going to the brotherhood of a regiment, fighting alongside other men and living with them in the field, I have come to realise that no man lives his life alone. Some things may be shared with others. It is surprising how deep a secret may be shared in the small hours of the night on a wet sentry round.

In all our time together, Barclay has never judged me. Oh, for sure there have been the occasional raised eyebrows, a theatrical roll of the eyes or the occasional 'sharply drawn breath', but he and I look after each other. So, his understanding of the 'ghosts' that haunt me is a comfort, a shoulder that he allows me to lean on.

I am sure that he has his dark dreams as well, and if there ever comes a time when he needs my shoulder, for whatever reason he shall not find me lacking.

"One's family can be a great comfort, Your Grace," He said as he wiped the last traces of soap off my face, "Especially when we are troubled." He held the mirror up so I could inspect his work. "If I may - as well, Your Grace, you are blessed to have a family so loving as yours."

Looking past the mirror at his face, once again I could see no judgement, no reproof. His comment was a simple observation, along with a gentle suggestion. I nodded slowly, perhaps I should tell Helena. At least Caroline now had an inkling.

The morning being fine, I went to the stables, inviting Charlotte to come with me.

Mr Peyton, the head stableman, was walking my chestnut mare - her given name was Mary, which was entirely inadequate for her, I had taken to calling her Naiad because of her beauty - around the yard. She stepped lightly, delicately but gracefully, as if she was allowing the earth to bear her weight, like one of the mythical naiad water spirits. I was very happy with the progress that she had made, but was not going to spoil it by rushing to ride her, which might undo all the good that Mr Peyton and the grooms had done.

Once we had done that, and Charlotte had given her an apple as a reward for her progress, we went for a stroll along the Yew Walk, that runs towards the village from the hall. My sister was telling me that she and our mother had talked about what happened at the inn, and that after some tenseness, Helena was comfortable with the situation. Charlotte told me that the conversation had been frank, mainly on her part, but with some revelations offered by our mother. Charlotte would not tell me what those revelations were, no matter how much I tried to wheedle them out of her.

The preparations for the ball were progressing. Charlotte was acting as my liaison with the twins - who offered nothing by way of information about the decorations, simply saying that they were progressing satisfactorily.

Still, I learned much about what was being planned for the ball. For her part, Charlotte and Hermione had asked me some days ago if there was anybody that I wished for them to extend invitations to. I gave them some names, including Lady Elizabeth and Arabella Dorrington, from whom I had heard not a word, for some months and supposed her wed already. Caroline had finalised her menu opting to arrange the food in a buffet style, while the twins had prepared most of the decorations, all that was left was to put them into place.

We must have walked half-way to the village, without noticing that the sky was changing, talking as we were. Suddenly, it came on to rain. The spreading yew trees above us, did provide some shelter, but the journey back to the hall was a peculiar walk-dash-walk as we moved from tree to tree, until at last we could hurry the last few yards to the hall and the warmth and the dry.

Once, back at the hall, I spent the afternoon in a most pleasurable way. Helena and I sat in the drawing room - she with her needlework, and I with my book. We said very little between us, enjoying being in close proximity with each other but also enjoying the silence, the slow ticking of the long-case clock, the spit and crackle of the fire. It was an idyll of domesticity. Peace before the approaching storm of the ball - the house would be in uproar for days before and after.

My mother and I took a light supper privately, and then I took her to bed.

We made slow leisurely love for several hours, no frantic bouncing fucks, just sensual, sensuous fondling, with bouts of intertwined love-making, exploring each other's bodies and what we enjoyed. This was interspersed with dozing, or drowsily talking. It felt so very comfortable that Helena only left my room when Barclay brought my washing water.

He held my mother's gown for her, helping her to dress. It was a simple thing and completely normal for Barclay to do so. Yet in that moment it felt like the world changed. Up until now, Helena had always sought to avoid the issue of our being together when it came to the servants. Barclay assisting her effectively recognised that she had spent the night in my bed, and at the same time it suggested that it did not matter, to him at least. It also suggested that she was at ease with his presence.