Needless to say, this was not putting anyone at ease. Mel was aware of this in the way she was aware of everything in her household, from the long-standing feud between the cook and the gardener (a soured romance in their youth) to the purloined bag of pralines, half-empty, currently hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the children's playroom. (Thomas was very sneaky, she'd admit, but he was also five years old. She was letting him eat them though, impressed at how frugal he was, and how long he'd made the small bag last.) She had an eidetic memory, currently put to use for the numerous tasks required of a Countess with a husband away at war: the amount of food in their cold storage and the balance of the household accounts, the number of tenants behind on rent but still within their grace period and the smaller number who'd given up entirely on paying (apparently one was exempt from this obligation when the Earl was away, his wife being not quite as well-born or intimidating), many of whom had wives who were secretly in negotiations with the Countess in an effort to stave off the looming eviction ahead when the Lord of the Manor returned. (Wives were, in Mel's opinion, infinitely more practical than husbands. She'd worked out a satisfactory agreement with three of the four, thus far.) The state of their investments, the condition of Chatham House in London, currently being let by Lord North's eldest son and his young family, and the various other properties under the Earldom's responsibility. (Mel had traveled to only two, so far, and she hoped her husband would prefer to summer in the country rather than in Town, so she could grasp the opportunity to see more.) The servants and their pay, the children's tutor, her sister Rebecca's dowry (which the Earl had insisted upon in their marriage contract, despite Becca's marriage prospects being all but nonexistent), currently tied up in investments she was keeping an eye on, waiting to send word to her lawyer when the time came to sell. 

Her in-laws had suggested many times over the past three years that she should hire a land steward to look after these matters, but Frank had warned her about the family's lawyer (a Mr. Hagan, who gambled, and his associate Mr. Driscoll, who had compromised one of the family's maids five years ago) and cautioned her to be wary of which associates of his father's she let into their home, so ultimately she'd refused, and had learned how to manage on her own. It wasn't so terribly hard anyway - not very different from managing her father's estate in her youth - and it kept her busy. On top of the land and the finances and the social responsibility of their yearly trips to London, to meet with the Earl's associates in the House of Commons, there was also the regular workload of being a wife - dinner menus, correspondence, invitations, social obligations - and not to mention the children, a particular responsibility she was loathe to hand off to a governess. Mel was a busy woman. She'd done this on purpose, so she'd have very little time to think, and had found much success. She was busy from the moment she woke to the moment she slept, but now, on the eve of her husband's return, she found herself wandering from room to room without a thought in her head, fretting over the new curtains, the furniture she'd slowly had to replace, the new arrangement in the dining room, all the things she'd changed while he was gone. Would he approve? Would he recoil? Mel didn't know. She was trying in vain not to think about it. 

And to her own appearance - well. Mel wasn't a vain woman - she often thought this was one reason why he'd always liked her - but she hadn't paid so much attention to her hair or her dress in years - not even on the trips to Town, when she was obligated to show her face at Almack's! Each day they waited, she'd disappear into her room after breakfast, and settling the children down with their tutor (a Mr. Whitaker, a recent addition to the household but highly capable so far) to stare at herself in the mirror and pinch her cheeks over and over and attempt in vain to wrestle some style into her plain, flat hair. (So straight and fine it fell like stalks of wheat on either side of her face - nothing like Abby's thick, beautiful curls had been, or Mrs. Abbot's gorgeous dark tresses, always pulled back in a practical bun but striking all the same.) 

She dressed carefully, in gowns that were newer and finer than what she'd worn before he'd left, taking care with her gloves, the lace caps she wore over her hair at home and the fine hats she wore when she ventured out, her pelisse, the fan she always kept folded and hanging from her wrist. She often wore jewelry, even though she'd been notorious in her household for scorning it these past three years. The necklace gifted to her on her wedding day from her mother-in-law, the earrings she'd inherited from her husband's great-grandmother, the first Countess of Chatham and the woman who'd once insulted the Dauphin of France straight to his face. (Or so the family legend went.) A brooch she'd purchased once in London - a rare indulgence, but it was a lovely ivory-set dragonfly that Millie loved to play with - a few rings, of various value, none of it ostentatious, but always pointedly worn, in the hopes that her husband would see that she'd stepped up to the duties of wife and Countess he'd left her with. Nothing gifted from Frank, of course - there hadn't been time, and it would have felt wrong, with how everything happened - but she wore his mother's necklace some days, bravely, thinking he'd perhaps recognise it, and compliment it. Or the ruby earrings - another family heirloom - that his sister had insisted Mel keep. And her wedding ring, of course. She rarely wore it at home, so she knew everyone had noticed that in particular. They were all being very kind to her about it, though - no one so far had said a single word. 

Becca was nervous too, she could tell, though she'd learned in childhood to keep such things to herself unless the sisters were alone (they'd been blessed these past few years, having such an abundance of freedom, money, and privacy). On the third night of waiting she slipped into Mel's room - she'd have to gently talk to her about that once her husband returned, the last thing she wanted was for Becca to stumble upon something she wasn't prepared to see - and slipped under the covers with Mel, curling up at her side the way they had when they were children and had shared a bed every night. Mel - lying stiffly, sleep a difficult goal these past few months - would reach out and stroke her hair, humming one of their father's tunes under her breath until Becca relaxed enough to speak her thoughts aloud. 

"Will he still be nice?" was usually her question. 

"Frank is a very nice man," Mel would remind her. "Remember how he used to play piquet with you?"

"Mr. Hampshire isn't nice anymore," Becca would say then. 

"Mr. Hampshire was grievously injured in the war. He may not be as polite as he once was, but I am sure he has not changed so much. His wife is very happy he is home, at least."

"Well the vicar isn't nice either," Becca would reply stubbornly, because as many times as Mel had explained that Father Robby had not actually been in the war, only close to it when he accompanied a regiment of sailors to Malta, a region well under the crown's control - but Becca never paid attention to that sort of thing, and Mel could hardly blame her. "He's rude and he scolds Millie for singing out of tune."

Mel bit back a smile. "Well, Millie has a bad habit of yelling the lyrics quite loudly during the hymns, and Father Robby knows that Mrs. Capshaw has a bad ear - "

"He didn't come to our ball."

"He's a man of the cloth, Becca! Vicars don't attend balls!" 

And, well - those were often the only nights when Mel could relax enough to actually rest. She was too nervous otherwise, lying awake and staring at the ceiling - thinking of the last time she'd spoken to him in person, struggling to remember what his voice sounded like, wondering if he remembered anything about her, anything at all. 

Because of course she was nervous as well. The circumstances of their marriage being what they were, and so much time spent apart - well, he'd sent letters of course, from Spain, but they were mostly addressed to his children, as well they should have been, and always a short note for Mel and Becca, but hardly anything intimate. Mel thought now of the man she remembered - her cousin's husband, beautiful but untouchable, a kind and funny presence, intimidating in the way that noblemen always were (before Mel had been forced to get used to them). He'd come downstairs with Thomas in his arms most mornings, bending down to give Abby a kiss, and then slide gracefully into the chair at the head of the table, cheerfully asking everyone to inform him of their plans for the day for surely they were all off to do much more interesting things than he was. He knew every servant by name - something that had always impressed Mel, as a measure of his character - and he was gentle with his son (Millie was not yet a thought in her mother's mind yet, then) and with Becca, mischievous and friendly. The second son, raised with few burdens, he'd spurned the expectations of his station and had gone to Cambridge for a medical degree, specialising in surgery of all things, flipping his hair and declaring physicians to be "lazy boors with clean fingernails." He'd courted Abby with flowers every Sunday, a beautiful bouquet that Becca would arrange carefully on the breakfast table, and kept up with them all at the country dances, laughing and taking direction without pride when Abby had to correct his steps, teasing him for being a nobleman who couldn't dance. 

But that was all years ago - so long that Mel sometimes struggled to remember little details that she thought she'd hold close to her heart forever. The ringing sound of Abby's laugh through the halls of their home, the way she used to tease Mel whenever the handsome neighbor's son would ride past on horseback. Melly, she'd say, I think there's something wrong! Your face is so flushed! Quick, we must call for a doctor - and then she'd collapse into helpless laughter, running away to dodge the little fistfuls of grass and twigs Mel would throw at her in retaliation. 

How long had it been - ten years, since everything had seemed so hopeful. Mel was a practical woman and always had been - she didn't linger on these thoughts. But as she waited, they crept up regardless. How could they not? 

By the evening of the fifth day, Mel could tell they were all on the edge of patience with her. So when Thomas begged to be let outside for an hour two, while the evening still held some light, Mel relented, sending his sister out after him, and Becca too, who happily threw off her bonnet and began racing toward her favourite tree at the edge of the garden. Mel watched them go from the back kitchen window, then sighed and turned to look at the cook, who was smirking a little, though not unkindly. 

"Thank the Heavens," Trinity said, "for here we thought you were about to suffocate those poor children with nervousness." (Whitaker, munching on a meat pasty at her side, reached out and flicked her ear, and she yelped.) 

"I know, I know," Mel said, gathering her skirts with a little frown of concentration and ascending back up the steps. "I am a terror. You don't have to tell me; my stepson has made that quite clear over the past few days."

"We mean it with affection, m'lady," Trinity said with a grin, and offered her a little pasty of her own. Mel took it in the manner that it was offered - a friend to a friend, not really a servant to a mistress - and found herself comforted by it. (Though the meat was quite dry. Trinity was still learning.) 

She was overreacting, perhaps. Mel spent the evening in a more normal fashion, answering letters and pouring over account books - she'd had them all waiting tensely in the drawing rooms for the past week, working on embroidery and poetry and pianoforte, terrified that the Earl would return to see his family indulging in more scandalous pastimes such as bug-hunting or hole-digging (so no wonder they were all a bit cross with her). She allowed herself to relax, just a bit - the last letter from the Earl placed him at the port of Boulogne-sur-Mer, where he was to board a military vessel to Devonshire, and even then it would be several more days' of travel before he would finally reach home. She had no reason to expect his disapproval either - he was a nice man, she reminded herself, and he had trusted her with his children precisely because she was not a typical society lady - so when she retired to bed that night she didn't bother to have the maid wrap her hair for curls the next morning, nor did she rub ben oil into her skin, as she had for the past several weeks. (Abby's last bottle, still half full, sat untouched on her vanity - Mel would never touch it, she'd purchased her own.) 

So of course this was the exact night that he showed up unexpectedly, hours past sundown, riding on horseback with two men in military dress, or at least that's what the servants told her the next morning. Mel, lady of the house, was more rudely informed of her husband's presence by a loud shriek from down the hall from her stepson, a shrill yell that had her tumbling out of bed in a panic, only to realise when she'd flung the door open and ran down the corridor in her nightgown that it had been a happy shout, not a frightened one. 

"Oh - my heavens," Mel said, collapsing in relief and mild shock against the wall. Kneeling in the doorway of his son's room was the Earl, his hair mussed and clothes disheveled from travel, holding his weeping son in his arms and looking close to tears himself. At her voice he looked up, and Mel found herself suddenly without breath, looking upon his face in the bright moonlight for the first time in four years. Oh, how she'd forgotten how handsome he was? Was that even possible? 

"My lady," he said quietly, his head jerking back towards his son, when Thomas gave another cry and squeezed him tighter. Mel's chest twisted as she watched the reunion, bringing one shaky hand up to clutch the neck of her nightgown, watching him stand with difficulty, reaching out to brace himself against the wall as he struggled to stand up with Thomas in his arms. She reached out to help but he managed it right as she took a step forward, turning with one hand on Thomas's head to look at her, his face draped in shadow. 

"My lord," Mel said shakily, unable to come up with anything else. Behind her, she heard another door open, and the familiar sound of her sister's footsteps - she would recognise them anywhere - and another loud gasp, the clatter of something falling to the ground. 

"I've surprised you," Frank said. "I didn't mean to, but we were pushing the horses to beat the storm, and I couldn't wait until - " he looked up and his face changed. "Oh, Becca. It's you."

"Cousin Frank," Becca said, over Mel's shoulder. Mel turned just in time to see her sister's face crumple, and she pressed herself against the wall so Becca could rush forward into Frank's outstretched arm, his other still wrapped tightly around Thomas. 

"You look so grown! You're all so grown, my God," Frank said, his voice hoarse and quieter than Mel remembered. He pulled back from the awkward hug carefully and pressed his palm against Becca's face, gently urging Thomas to show his as well, kissing both their cheeks. He was crying unabashedly, his voice thick and uneven. "I've missed so much, I - oh, look at you."

"I haven't cut my hair, not once while you were gone," Becca said haltingly, in the very stiff manner she adopted when things began to be overwhelming for her. "Because you promised to take me to London."

"That I did, I did," Frank said, kissing her again. Thomas was clutching at his collar, still sniffling with overwhelmed tears, and Frank was still holding him tightly, arms wrapped securely around his hips as if he were just a toddler again. "Well, we'll have to do something about that now, it's almost to your waist!"

"Mel hates it," Becca said bluntly, clutching his arm like she was ready to jump on top of him if he tried to pull away. "She says it's healthier to cut it every year like she does."

At her name, Mel jerked, and realised she'd been clutching the wall so hard her palm was aching. She yanked her hand down and tried to twist it out, her heart pounding. 

"Hm," Frank said neutrally, glancing up at Mel. His face was unreadable. "Well, we can cut it now."

"My lord," Mel said shakily, not breaking eye contact with her husband, "have you just arrived? I can - we can draw a bath for you, or - food? You must be so weary - "

"Just a bed is enough," Frank said, pressing his face back down against his son's. "And my daughter. Where's Millie?" 

"Abed," Mel said quietly, her voice weak. "They share a room, though, Thomas might have awoken her - "

He was gone before she even finished speaking, with a desperate sort of grunt, tearing off down the corridor towards the children's room. Becca was hot on his heels and Mel was standing there frozen, unable to move or even breathe for a moment, so afraid she might be dreaming that she was afraid to even blink. 

"Madam?" someone said, and with a jolt, Mel realised that the corridor was flickering now with the light from a candle, and someone's hand was gently lain across her back. "Madam, your robe."

Mel turned to see a maid holding it, and put it on numbly. Her hands were shaking. 

"Wake Mr. Ramsey," she ordered thinly, "the horses will need to be attended to. Or - just one horse? Did he - "

"His companions are in the kitchen, being attended to by Mrs. Evans," said the maid, who was the newest young girl, Mel noticed - her name was Irish, she couldn't even remember it right now. "Two soldiers, I think - older men. We're making up rooms for them now. Madam, you are improperly dressed, may I - "

"I must go down to greet them," Mel muttered, distracted. "They rode all night to bring him home, I must - "

"At least allow me to tie back your hair, your ladyship," said her kind, strange maid. "Please, only a moment."

Mel swallowed and nodded, feeling as if she still weren't fully awake. She could hardly breathe, it felt like. This was nothing like she'd imagined it. 

She made herself respectable in a numb sort of manner, letting her maid put up her hair while she washed the sleep from her face and buttoned up a robe more proper for unexpected company. The servants must all be awake she realised, as she quickly descended the grand stairs with a candle in her hand - the front door was sitting open and she could hear Mr. Payne's stern voice, ordering his son about - and there was commotion everywhere, the candles all lit, from the front door all the way back through to the kitchen. She could smell coffee, and hear the clatter of dishware. The pungent smell of the horses outside reached her nose as she passed by the open door, and on impulse she paused and looked out, seeing the stablemen gently leading three large stallions towards the pens. 

The whole night had a strange, dreamlike quality - the strange sight of unknown soldiers in her kitchen, the house all lit up at this hour, the servants scurrying around with wide eyes and hushed bursts of whispering. Mel introduced herself to the men and one of them - a stout, muscled fellow with a sword at his belt - kissed her hand, sort of gallantly, and she must have looked at him very strangely because his companion burst out laughing, and gave him a friendly jostle, dislodging his grip on Mel's hand. 

"Don't mind Shen," he said, "he's a flirt of the worst order. I hope you won't take offense, your ladyship, it has just been such a long night."

"Of course not, Captain," Mel said. Captain Collins, he'd introduced himself - Rupert. Mel was usually very good with names, but at the moment she was sure she'd forget them the instant they left her sight. "What a long journey it must have been - and to ride for so long into the night! Please, I insist, let my cook prepare you something before you retire - "

"I wouldn't mind something prepared," Shen said slyly, eyeing his superior, who snorted at him. 

"Please go to no trouble," Collins said, shaking his head. "We have food packed, and we must depart early, if we are to rejoin our regiment in Ramsgate by tomorrow."

"You are… my husband's… companions?" Mel asked haltingly, burning with curiosity but unsure of the protocol. She knew how to address soldiers, but those who had not been fighting had been old and retired, pompous old men at parties who barely looked at her twice. She had no idea what the proper rules for conversation were when your home was invaded by two soldiers on horseback in the middle of the night. (Not to mention a wayward husband.) "Were you… with him, on the Peninsula?"

Collins's face gentled - his skin was dark and his eyes quite expressive. "He was attached with our units, yes," the captain said. "He was a…" he glanced at Shen, something wordless passing between them. "We were lucky to have him."

"A fine field surgeon, and not a bad shot either, when the occasion arose," Shen said, nodding. "And my lady, if you don't mind me saying - a bit of a pompous arse, too."

Mel blinked in surprise, while Collins jostled the younger man again, a bit less friendly this time. 

"We liked that about him! It was a compliment!" Shen yelped, rubbing his arm. The coffee in his other hand had spilt onto the bench next to them, and he huffed, reaching down to rub the spill with his sleeve. 

"Mind your tongue, she's a Countess," Collins hissed. 

"Oh, a very inexperienced one," Mel said without thinking, "and not one used to standing on formalities." She looked over at Shen, feeling a bit of her daytime confidence bleed back in, straightening out her shoulders and giving her the courage to look him in the eye. "I'm glad to hear he was an asset to the war effort, though you'll forgive me if I don't fall to my knees and thank you for keeping him away from us for so many years."

Shen's expression softened, though a smirk angled his mouth upward, making him look somewhat devilish. Mel had a feeling this was more of a natural state for this gentleman, as opposed to the polite formality he'd shown upon her first appearance. "No, of course not."

"Your ladyship," Collins said grandly, his voice gravelly and imposing, "we should be the ones to fall to our knees for that. Bringing him home to you was the very least we could do."

"I suppose it is on Napoleon's shoulders more than yours," Mel said, smiling a little. She inclined her head to the captain, who bowed a little back, his eyes kind. "Please, allow me to feed you. You may leave as impolitely as you wish tomorrow, but indulge me tonight." 

"Very well," Collins said begrudgingly. Both of them ignored Shen's happy little smile. "But please do not put your staff to any trouble for us."

"We are a household with children, Captain," Mel said, nodding over their shoulders at Mrs. Evans, who'd been waiting cautiously in the doorway for Mel's signal to come in. "I think you'll find that we have an abundance of food that can be eaten quickly and efficiently. Mrs. Evans?"

"This way, sirs," Mrs. Evans said, in her no-nonsense way, stepping in smoothly and grabbing both soldiers' attention. "Please, sit and rest your feet. More coffee?"