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WHISPERS OF THE HEART
SOLDIER AND SWEETHEARTS (BOOK 2)

ROSE PEARSON
 CONTENTS

Whispers of the Heart

Whispers of the Heart

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13

My Dear Reader

A Sneak Peak of To Trust a Viscount

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

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 WHISPERS OF THE HEART

Soldiers and Sweethearts

(Book 2)

By

Rose Pearson
WHISPERS OF THE HEART
 PROLOGUE

“M y lady.”
Miss Ann Whyte looked up from her needlework, smiling briefly
as she glanced at the note that the butler held out on a silver tray.
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down at it and realizing
that the handwriting was her brother’s. Her heart leaped and she
quickly set her needlework down, picking up the letter at once so
that she might break the seal. Exiting the room discreetly, the butler
left Ann to herself, knowing how eagerly the young lady had been
waiting for that communication.
“Oh, Theodore.”
Ann’s eyes misted as she read her brother’s letter, telling her
that he was well and as yet, uninjured – a remark which made Ann
wince even though her heart was filled with relief at such news. Her
brother had gone to fight for his King against the French and, even
though he held the title of Viscount, had chosen to do so regardless
of his duty to the title. Ann had not said a word about his decision,
knowing that it was not her place to do so and that anything her
brother felt was required of him in terms of his duty was something
she could not speak to. Her eyes moved down the page as she
continued to read, only for them to flare wide, her hand fluttering
against her chest as her breath caught painfully.
Surely not.
“‘You are expected in a fortnight at the Earl of Ware’s
townhouse in London,’” she read aloud, utterly astonished at such a
direction. “‘You see, my dear Ann, I have not forgotten that it is the
London Season soon and that you will be most eager to make your
way there in search of a husband! Thus, I have made an
arrangement with Lord Ware for you to reside in his home, under
the care of his mother. There is money for all that you require – my
steward will make certain of it. Lord Ware’s mother, Lady Ware, will
chaperone you throughout the Season and will guide you, should it
come to any gentlemen wishing to propose, which, of course, I am
certain they shall. Lord Ware will send his carriage and servants to
convey you to London.’”
Ann dropped her hand to her lap, her face now a little pale as
she stared blankly across the room. She had not had even a single
thought about going to London for the Season! She had been more
than content here, residing in her brother’s country home and
waiting for his return. Her companion, their now elderly nurse, spent
most of her days asleep by the fire, but Ann had not felt herself
overly lonely. She had been wanting nothing more than to remain
here until her brother returned, and had prayed fervently every day
that it might soon be so. Now, it seemed, she was to leave her
companion here and make her way to London, as though her
brother expected her to throw herself into all manner of gaiety and
delight instead of considering the war and praying that it would soon
go in England’s favor. Her stomach cramped as she shook her head
to herself, finding a flare of anger burning in her heart. Her brother,
Viscount Brigstock, had taken it upon himself to make such
arrangements without even enquiring as to whether or not this
would be of any interest to her! Of course he would think that her
only desire would be to go to London for the Season, but did he not
know her well enough to consider that she might find such a thing a
little unsettling? Ann did not know how she would enjoy the London
Season knowing that her brother was still fighting in such a great
and terrible war!
Sighing, she picked up the letter and finished reading it, her
shoulders slumped and a slight upset in her soul.
“‘I do not wish to concern you, my dear Ann,’” she finished,
reading aloud, “‘but there is always a distinct possibility that I might
never return to you. Therefore, I want to make certain that you are
happy and settled with a good husband. Pray, do not spend the
Season thinking of me and worrying about where I am. Do all you
can to make a good match and know that such news will lift a
burden from my shoulders.’”
He finished with the usual expressions of familial love and the
like, but Ann found her eyes filling with tears as a searing guilt
scored her heart. She had been angry with her brother only a few
moments ago, thinking him a trifle unfeeling and even a little
ridiculous, only to see now that he cared for her very deeply indeed.
He wanted her to go to London so that she might find a suitable
husband and, in doing so, make certain that she was looked after
should the very worst happen. If that did not speak of his
consideration for her, then Ann did not know what would! Her heart
warmed and yet still, she felt such a great and piercing sorrow that
tears came to her eyes despite herself.
If only this war could come to an end, she thought, pulling out a
handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. Then he might come home.
Lifting her chin, Ann blinked rapidly and sniffed a little
indelicately. There. The moment had passed and now she had to
think on her future. She was to go to London after all, it seemed!
“To Lord Ware,” she murmured aloud, setting down the letter
and once more picking up her needlework.
She did not know how her brother had made such an
arrangement, but Ann was determined to be grateful for it. There
was a nervous anxiety building within her heart, however, for to
make her way to London without ever having set eyes upon her host
or her host’s mother was quite an undertaking! Lord Ware, she
considered, must be very generous indeed to be so willing to permit
her to join his household for the Season. And his mother too! Biting
her lip, Ann tried to focus on her needlework so that any feelings of
nervousness or fear would dissipate. Whatever happened, she had
to trust that her brother’s arrangements were for her good and that,
despite her worries, she would have a most excellent Season.
 CHAPTER ONE

G rimacing, Geoffrey chose to remain quite silent despite the call

of his mother. He was most disinclined towards her continual
insistence upon calling for him throughout the townhouse, even
though she had many servants who could easily have either told her
where he was at present or gone in search of him on her behalf.
“Ware?”
Closing his eyes, Geoffrey felt his lip curl but forced his irritation
away. His mother was a little exuberant today, he knew and thus, he
felt obliged to forgive her. Miss Whyte was due to arrive at any
moment and he was sure that his mother had, since her first waking
moment, done nothing but make certain that the place was prepared
for the arrival.
“Ah!” The door swung open and his mother stood there, one
hand pointing out towards Geoffrey. “There you are!”
“Here I am, mother,” Geoffrey replied, one eyebrow lifting.
“Might I ask if there is something that you wish from me?”
He did not continue to hold her gaze but looked down pointedly
at the papers on his desk, wishing her to understand that he was, in
fact, rather busy. Lady Ware did not seem to notice this, however,
for she swept into the room, waving her hands about as she began
to speak.
“Where is the girl?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “You stated
that she would be arriving shortly after luncheon and as yet, there is
no sign of her!”
Geoffrey’s eyes strayed to the clock. It was only an hour since
luncheon, and he did not feel any such frustration nor concern.
“I think that you are being a little impatient, mother,” he said,
gently. “Miss Whyte will be with us as soon as she is able, I am
sure.”
This did not satisfy his mother, for she sighed loudly and shook
her head.
“I fear that something may have happened to her on the road,”
she stated, her hands now at her hips. “She is all alone!”
“She is not alone, mother,” Geoffrey replied, firmly. “I have sent
two maids as chaperones, and the coachman, groom, and footman
will do very well. After all, they managed to get both of us to London
without difficulty, did they not?” He eyed his mother who, after a few
moments, nodded. “She will be here very soon, I am sure of it.”
Lady Ware opened her mouth, perhaps intending to rebuff him,
only to shake her head and sigh heavily.
“I do hope that you are right, Ware,” she muttered, making her
way to the window and looking out of it in a forlorn manner. “I must
hope that she is safe.”
Geoffrey said nothing, allowing his gaze to rest on his mother
for a short while. She was still very much a beauty, with dark tresses
which held only a hint of grey and sparkling green eyes that he had
inherited. He was appreciative of her concern for Miss Whyte, for it
spoke of her kind and considerate character, but it also betrayed the
anxiety and concern which seemed to fill so many parts of her life.
Perhaps that anxiety had come at the same time as his father –
and Lady Ware’s husband – had died. It had been an unexpected
passing, for the late Lord Ware had fallen ill and had left them only
three days later. That had been some years ago now but still,
Geoffrey felt waves of grief wash over his soul at the most
unexpected of times, which left him wondering just how much grief
his mother still endured. Mayhap that was why she now was so
concerned over Miss Whyte’s arrival, he considered, tilting his head
just a little. She had come to London with him solely because she
would have a charge; someone to look after, to guide, and to
consider at each turn. When he had first suggested it, Geoffrey had
not been certain that his mother would agree and had been
pleasantly surprised at her excitement. It seemed to have taken her
out of herself and had now given her such a sense of purpose that
Geoffrey was, despite his own uncertainty about the situation, rather
pleased to see it.
If only she did not fret so!
“And you have never laid eyes upon this young lady?”
“I have not,” Geoffrey replied, as his mother twisted her head
around to look at him. “As you are aware, Lord Brigstock and I were
in the army together, before I was required to return.” He saw his
mother’s lips twist and hid a smile, knowing how little she liked to
discuss, or even mention, the war. “That gentleman was one of the
bravest I have known, mother. There is nothing I would not do for
him.”
Lady Ware nodded slowly but said nothing, turning her head
back towards the window as though, the longer she stared, the
more likely it was that Miss Whyte and her carriage would come
around the corner. Allowing his faint smile to linger a little longer,
Geoffrey turned his attention back towards his papers and tried to
make sense of what was being asked of him. He had one letter from
Lord Harrogate, who was still absent from England given that he had
taken his new wife on a wedding trip, but who informed him that,
when they returned, he wished to do all he could to continue
assisting with the war effort. Geoffrey’s smile grew. Lord and Lady
Harrogate were both excellent people and he would look forward to
their return, knowing that he could certainly make use of Lord
Harrogate’s skills, should it be required.
Hearing his mother murmur something more about the carriage
being delayed, Geoffrey considered the fact that the lady that would
soon be arriving in his home. Miss Ann Whyte was not known to him
– indeed, he had never once been introduced to her – but he owed
her brother a debt of gratitude that could not be forgotten. His eyes
drifted to the small stack of letters that sat on one side of his desk.
Every evening, the butler carefully placed them into one of the
drawers of his study desk, whilst each morning, Geoffrey would take
them back out again. These letters meant something to him and,
given their importance, he wanted to keep them nearby. Giving into
the urge growing within him, Geoffrey reached for them and shifted
through the small pile until he found the one that he was looking for.
 ‘My sister is small, slight, and yet quite determined,’ he read,
making certain to listen to his mother with only half an ear as she,
yet again, gave voice to her worry. ‘She will be no trouble, I assure
you. Her nature is sweetness itself and I am certain that, within only
a few weeks, she will have an offer of matrimony. There is bound to
be someone who wishes to take her! As always, my dear friend, I
wish you the very best and thank you wholeheartedly for what you
and your mother are willing to do for Ann.’
“Thanks are not required, old friend,” Geoffrey said quietly,
looking down at the letter with a small, rueful smile. It was not as
though Geoffrey had ever had any intention of refusing any request
that came his way from Lord Brigstock, for Geoffrey knew he owed
the man a great deal. Anything that Lord Brigstock had asked,
Geoffrey would have instantly agreed to do, for the gentleman had
given him his life and, had he not acted as he had, Geoffrey was
quite certain that he would now be dead and buried, leaving his
mother to mourn him. Lord Brigstock had been the one who had
pulled Geoffrey from the battlefield, who had made certain that he
had not been left to be discovered by the enemy.
Even now, Geoffrey could not quite recall what had occurred.
He could only remember hitting the ground hard, and the harsh,
gritty taste of soil in his mouth and nose before everything had gone
black. Lord Brigstock had told him that his horse had bucked, fearful
of the gunshots so close to them and that he had fallen, hard. On
top of which, it seemed, one of the shots had gone straight through
his shoulder – although, again, Geoffrey had not been able to recall
a single moment of this event. When he had awoken, the surgeon
had informed him of Lord Brigstock’s bravery in pulling him from the
battlefield, despite the continuing gunshots and the incoming enemy.
He had taken his life in his hands to save Geoffrey’s, and thus,
Geoffrey was now indebted to him. Lord Brigstock had never
demanded anything from him, however, and had stated that he did
not require any sort of recompense, but Geoffrey had been
determined. Therefore, when the request from Lord Brigstock came,
Geoffrey had eagerly agreed to it, even though he had the sole
intention of placing Miss Whyte into the care of his mother. He would
have very little to do with the girl, for he had other matters to deal
with, and none of them involved chaperoning a girl coming out into
society!
A sudden, loud exclamation from his mother had Geoffrey
starting violently, his letter crumpling in his hand for a moment.
“The carriage is here!”
Geoffrey rose to his feet as his mother let out a small, almost
childlike squeal of excitement and hurried towards the door.
“Do come on, Geoffrey!” she exclaimed, calling him by his
Christian name - something she did only when she was in a state of
exultation or great sorrow. “The lady has arrived!”
He smoothed the crumpled letter, and placed it back on the pile,
then glanced down at himself, to make certain his clothing was
presentable before he made his way from the room. Much to his
surprise, he felt a little nervous about meeting Miss Whyte. He did
not know why, and certainly wanted nothing more than to push such
feelings away, for he considered them to be quite ridiculous. There
was no need for such nervousness, for the lady was not going to be
a big part of his life. His mother would take care of her, and he
would only have to converse now and again. Yes, he would make
certain to introduce himself, to behave in a warm and friendly
manner, but there was nothing else which was expected of him.
Taking in a deep breath, he set his shoulders and made his way to
the front door.
His mother was already standing there, waiting patiently for the
young lady to enter. Her hands were clasped lightly in front of her,
but Geoffrey could tell by the smile on her lips and the sparkle in her
eyes that she was very excited indeed. He was glad of it, for to see
her in such an uplifted state of mind was preferable to the sadness
and grief which had been a part of her life for so long.
“I am sure you will have an excellent Season with the lady,
Mother,” Geoffrey murmured, coming to stand next to her. “Thank
you for your willingness to assist with this.”
Lady Ware smiled back at him.
“I have never had a daughter to chaperone,” she replied,
quietly. “That is not something which I regret, nor something about
which I am expressing sorrow. However, there is something
wonderful in the notion of having a young lady to take to the London
Season.” Her eyes brightened all the more. “This is not a burden to
me, Ware. Rather, it will be a pleasure.”
There was nothing more for them to say, for the door opened
just as Lady Ware finished speaking and, after a moment, Miss
Whyte walked in to join them. Light streamed in from the doorway,
making her profile hard to make out but Geoffrey did not hesitate.
“Miss Whyte.” Geoffrey bowed low, wanting to make certain that
he welcomed the lady properly. “How very good to meet you. As you
might have surmised, I am the Earl of Ware and this is my mother,
Lady Ware.”
He gestured to his mother who hurried forward to take Miss
Whyte’s hand.
“I am very glad to have you joining us for the London Season,
Miss Whyte,” she said, eagerly. “But you must be tired after your
journey.”
Geoffrey, who had been watching the footmen bringing in Miss
Whyte’s trunks, finally turned his attention to the lady herself as she
replied in the affirmative. The butler closed the door and his eyes
adjusted, so that he was finally able to make out the lady’s features.
His breath hitched.
She was beyond his expectations. She had just removed her
bonnet, and her fair hair curled gently around her temples, pulled
back into a neat chignon. Her cheeks were a soft pink, she had a
straight nose and full, flowing lips which were curved into a gentle
smile. Her eyes were what caught him the most, however. They
were like a thunderstorm, grey and swirling with hints of dark brown
that Geoffrey was sure would change to gold should she laugh or
smile with delight. They were framed by thick, dark lashes and
Geoffrey could not look away. His heart was pounding painfully, his
full attention now solely fixed on this young beauty who stood
before him. All of his intentions of remaining far from her, of not
being particularly involved in her interactions and meetings and the
like, flew from him in an instant as the urge to know her better grew
steadily.
 “Ware?”
He cleared his throat abruptly, looking away from Miss Whyte
and back towards his mother.
“Yes?”
“Miss Whyte must be fatigued,” she said, a note of chiding in
her voice. “Mayhap we should offer her some refreshments before
showing her up to her rooms?” His mother’s eyes were fixed to his,
flaring wide for a moment as she waited, clearly having expected
him to have already said something akin to this.
“But of course.” Geoffrey placed his hands behind his back, a
little embarrassed that he had allowed himself to become so
distracted and had done nothing but stare at the young lady rather
than think of what he ought to be doing for her wellbeing! “Miss
Whyte, the choice is yours. Would you prefer to rest for a time in
your room? I can have a tea tray sent up to you. Or, would you wish
to join us in the parlor for a short while before resting?” He spread
his hands and tried to smile, aware of the flush which was now
creeping up his neck. “We will not be offended, regardless of your
choice, Miss Whyte, I assure you.”
“The journey has been very long and you must be tired,” Lady
Ware added, as though trying to encourage the young lady to
choose what was best for herself rather than what she felt would be
the most proper.
Geoffrey kept his gaze pinned in place but found it difficult to
look at Miss Whyte directly. He found himself still rather
overwhelmed by her beauty and, given that he had not expected
himself to be so affected, was now feeling very much on edge.
“You are both very kind,” Miss Whyte said, her voice soft and
filled with a weariness that Geoffrey knew came from being overlong
in a carriage. “I should very much like to rest, although I do hope
that you will not think ill of me for avoiding your company!”
Her eyes flew from Geoffrey to his mother and back again,
clearly anxious that she had offended them, but Lady Ware began to
reassure her immediately.
“Not at all, Miss Whyte!” she exclaimed, as Geoffrey shook his
head. “You are not upsetting or offending us in any way. We both
quite understand that you require rest. After all, when I first arrived
in London, I spent the first sennight here in the house! I did not go
out to see a single living soul but instead sought only good food and
plenty of rest.” She smiled and, much to Geoffrey’s relief, Miss Whyte
smiled in return, relief etched into her features. “Now come, I will
take you to your rooms.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Geoffrey said, as Miss Whyte looked up at
him. “I will join you both for dinner.”
He inclined his head to Miss Whyte, only for her to stop in front
of him rather than walking away beside his mother.
“Lord Ware,” she said, her voice still very soft, but with a streak
of determination running through it. “I should not be happy to make
my way through your house without first stopping to thank you for
the generosity you have shown to both myself and my brother in
permitting me to reside with you for the Season.” She lifted her chin
a little more, taking in a deep breath as though she needed to draw
up her courage before she continued. “It is very gracious of you, and
I am grateful for the opportunity presented to me due to your
goodness. I promise that you shall never have need to question my
conduct nor my manner, for I intend to behave with all propriety and
gentility, as I have been taught. I will bring no shame to my brother
or to this household, I assure you.”
Geoffrey did not quite know what to say to such a speech, for
he had never even considered whether or not Miss Whyte would
behave with decorum. He had fully expected it from her but, he
supposed, this short speech from the lady assured him that she
understood all that would be expected from her during the Season.
Clearing his throat a little gruffly, and seeing the pointed look from
his mother, he inclined his head towards Miss Whyte once more,
seeing the uncertain look in her eyes.
“Miss Whyte, I have every assurance from your brother that you
are the most demure and respectable of young ladies,” he said,
seeing the slight widening of her eyes as she took in what he had
said. “I have every confidence in you. Do not have any concerns as
regards my opinion of you, for it is already very good.” With a smile
that he hoped was one of reassurance, he spread out one hand
towards his mother. “Pray, go and rest now, Miss Whyte. I will speak
to you again come dinner.”
Miss Whyte nodded, smiled briefly and then walked towards his
mother, who quickly slipped her arm through the young lady’s and
led her up the staircase to where her room was waiting. Geoffrey
followed them both with his eyes, his gaze lingering on Miss Whyte’s
form. A deep frown crossed his brow and Geoffrey forced himself to
look away. This was not what he had intended and he needed to
make certain that he did not allow himself to become distracted by
the lady. Just because she was remarkably pretty did not mean that
he had to do anything other than what he had intended. His mother
would take care of Miss Whyte and he would continue about his
business, just as he had planned.
She does need a husband.
The thought was fleeting but caught Geoffrey unawares. Closing
his eyes tightly, he shook his head to himself, as though forcing
himself to remove any such thought from his mind. He had no
intention whatsoever of marrying at present and, whilst there was
the awareness that he would need to do so at some point – the line
needed to continue once he was gone – there was no real urgency.
Besides which, given that he was still involved in particular affairs as
regarded the war, Geoffrey told himself that he could not permit
himself to be at all distracted. There was too much at stake and if he
were the cause of any failure or attack, Geoffrey would never forgive
himself.
No, he would have to keep the lady at arm’s length, just as he
had intended. She would be the responsibility of his mother and he
would be cordial, but distant. And if he should notice her, if she were
looking particularly lovely, then Geoffrey would have to avert his
eyes and look away. He could not afford any mistakes. Setting his
shoulders, Geoffrey drew in a deep breath and nodded to himself
before turning on his heel and striding away. Miss Whyte was here
with them now, yes, but he would not allow her presence to cause
any alterations to his plans or intentions. He could only pray that she
would soon find a husband and, with that connection being formed,
she would not linger in his house overly long. Ignoring the kick to his
stomach at the thought of Miss Whyte being wed to another,
Geoffrey moved away from the staircase and made his way back to
the study, thrusting all thought of the lady away as he determined
not to think on her again. There was already too much for him to do.
 CHAPTER TWO

A nn had never been particularly inclined to gaze at herself in the

looking glass but, as she now looked at her reflection, she thought
herself very ill-looking indeed. She appeared almost wraith-like, with
her pale skin, sunken cheeks, and grey eyes which held no trace of
brightness. Her lips turned downwards and even when she feigned a
smile, it did not seem to lift her features in the way that she had
hoped. Pulling the pins from her hair, she waited for it to cascade
down her back and over her shoulders, only to see it lying limp and
forlorn as though it too felt the same weariness which prevailed
upon the rest of her.
Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from the looking
glass, feeling very despondent indeed. She had told herself that, in
being present with Lord Ware and his mother, she would find a
certain sense of happiness and even of relief, but instead, she was
filled with the very same sorrow and anxiety which had been a part
of her ever since her brother’s letter. Were she to be honest, Ann
would state quite openly that she did not wish to be here. Whilst it
was kindness itself for Lord Ware to open his home to her in such a
manner, and for Lady Ware to be her chaperone throughout the
Season, Ann felt no joy in being in London. The torture which had
filled her soul as the carriage had rolled away from her brother’s
estate had not lessened the closer she had come to London. In fact,
it had intensified to the point that Ann had found herself blinking
away tears as she had been brought into the townhouse. She was
grateful at least that Lady Ware had seen the fatigue which Ann
wore like a cloak and had quietly offered her the chance to rest. Ann
did not think that she would have succeeded in maintaining her
composure otherwise, and she certainly did not want to embarrass
herself by bursting into tears in front of Lord Ware!
Ann’s lips twisted. Rising to her feet, she made her way to the
large four-poster bed in the center of the room and sat down upon
it, feeling the softness beneath her. The maid had already been to
help Ann change out of her traveling clothes and Ann had no
hesitation in pulling back the covers and lying down. Her head sank
into the soft pillow, and she closed her eyes as a long sigh emitted
from her lips. Perhaps she would feel better after she had rested, for
sleep always brought with it a relief from one’s troubles.
Lord Ware is a handsome gentleman, is he not?
The quiet voice in her heart had her eyes flying open as she
stared blankly ahead, her heart beating a little more quickly. She had
not wanted to admit such a thing to herself, but it appeared that her
heart was determined for her to take note of it regardless. Pressing
her lips together, Ann let out a small groan of frustration before
turning over and closing her eyes tightly again. Yes, she admitted to
herself, Lord Ware was a handsome gentleman, but he had been
very reserved in his manner and had not smiled at her once. She
believed that he had tried to do so on one occasion, but it had
appeared that he had not managed, for there had been nothing but
a slightly frustrated expression on his face. It appeared that Lord
Ware was not as delighted as his mother at her presence in his
home and, despite what her brother had written to her, Ann was
quite certain that Lord Ware was not eager for her company.
Her eyes still tightly closed, Ann let out another long breath,
trying to relax and forget about the Earl of Ware, so that sleep might
take her. Yet, try as she might, the memory of how he had appeared
when she had first entered the house remained with her.
He had been a tall, somewhat imposing figure, with broad
shoulders and a lift to his chin that spoke of confidence and
determination. Sharp green eyes had lingered on her, narrowing just
a little as though he were attempting to make her out. With a firm
jaw, soft brown hair firmly in place, and very precise features, Lord
Ware appeared to be a very orderly man. There had been not even a
hint of friendliness nor pleasure in his long, thin lips and there had
been a bit of superciliousness in his gaze. Even now, Ann felt the
sting of being unnoticed by him. Lady Ware had been speaking to
her and had remarked that Lord Ware had arranged for
refreshments and the like for Ann, only to look at her son and see
him standing silently without any seeming awareness of what they
were speaking of. It had only been when Lady Ware had spoken
more directly and with a very pointed look that Lord Ware had finally
realized what was being asked of him and responded. Ann had felt
such an overwhelming sense of mortification that it had taken all of
her fortitude to speak to him directly, having intended to speak
openly to him of her gratitude and appreciation – even if she did not
truly feel such things. Lord Ware had appeared a little embarrassed
himself at least, perhaps aware that he had behaved poorly in giving
her so little attention, and he had listened with great care to her
thereafter. Ann could only pray that Lord Ware would show her even
a trifle more attention in the days to come. That way, at least, she
might not feel as she did now for too much longer.
Another sigh shook her frame and this time, Ann let the tears
come. They ran down her cheeks and soaked into her pillow as she
cried softly. She cried for the home she had left behind, for the
brother still gone from England’s shores. She cried over the
uncertainty and fear in her heart, for her desire to return home
rather than remain here. But most of all, she cried from a great
sense of loneliness, of being entirely by herself without having
another single living soul aware of the true thoughts and wishes
which were held within her heart. She had to pretend, to play a false
Ann who was greatly delighted at being present here in London, and
was looking forward to making a match. She had no-one to confide
in, no-one to listen to her and to take away some of her pain. Her
heart ached terribly, and the tears continued to fall as Ann curled up
into a ball and pulled the covers a little more tightly over herself.
Sleep came in time and, as the tears dried on her cheeks, Ann fell
into a deep slumber.
“GOOD MORNING,MISS WHYTE!”
Ann had never felt so ashamed. She had awoken in a confusion,
sitting up sharply in her bed without having any real awareness of
where she was. It had only been when the maid had entered to light
the fire that Ann had recalled her new situation. This had then been
followed by the realization that she was still wearing what she had
been in the previous afternoon, having come to bed to rest. Having
asked the maid what time it was and whether or not she ought now
to prepare for dinner, Ann had been horrified to discover that it was
now the following day and that the fire the maid was lighting was
simply to chase away the early morning chill.
“Lady Ware.” Ann dropped her head, keeping her hands clasped
in front of her as she walked into the breakfast room. “I can only
apologize, I must –”
Lady Ware shook her head and rose from her chair, coming
towards Ann and holding out one hand to her.
“My dear Miss Whyte, you must not apologize,” she said, firmly.
“You were quite exhausted, it seems!”
“I was,” Ann replied, as Lady Ware pressed her hand
comfortingly. “But I ought not to have slept through dinner. Had I
awoken, I would have joined you at once, but it seems that I –”
Again, Lady Ware interrupted her.
“Miss Whyte, you must not concern yourself,” she stated firmly,
and began to draw Ann towards the table. “You must have been
greatly fatigued and, whilst I will admit that I sent a maid to your
room in order to make certain that you were quite well, I then
informed her to leave you to rest.” She gestured for Ann to sit down,
just as a footman drew near so that he might assist her with her
chair. “Please, Miss Whyte, you are not even to think of apologizing
any longer. You were utterly exhausted and both myself and my son
were very glad indeed that you chose to rest.”
 Given this great – almost frantic – level of reassurance, Ann had
no other choice but to quietly thank the lady and then turn her
attention to breaking her fast. She was rather relieved that the lady
had not required a grand and overlong apology, for whilst Ann had
been eager to apologize should she be required to do so, she had
been a little afraid of what Lady Ware’s reaction might be. The lady,
however, was nothing but graciousness and appeared even a little
anxious about Ann herself, clearly wanting her to feel at ease. Her
eyes continued to search Ann’s face as Ann reached to pour herself
a cup of tea, whilst the footman stood ready to bring her whatever
food she requested from the trays of dishes just behind her.
“You must be very hungry indeed, so pray do not feel as though
you must stand on ceremony!” Lady Ware exclaimed, flapping one
hand in the direction of the food. “You must request whatever you
please and eat as much as you want.” Her eyes brightened and her
smile spread across her face. “Indeed, I will admit that I am always
practically ravenous come the morning and, had I not already
broken my fast, I would have joined you without question!”
This was said to reassure Ann and, given the lady’s obvious
desire for her to feel quite at ease and to break her fast without
hesitation, Ann could not help but smile. She felt some of the weight
that had been settled on her heart beginning to fade away as she
asked the footman for some hot buttered toast.
“I did wonder, Miss Whyte, whether or not you would feel
strong enough to take a short stroll through London this afternoon?”
Lady Ware asked, as Ann added a little milk to her tea. “We could
take the carriage a short distance and then step out for just as long
as you felt able?”
“I should like that.” Ann saw the lady smile in relief and felt her
spirits lift a little more. There was a great kindness which seemed to
emanate from Lady Ware and Ann could not help but feel a little
better given such compassion and sympathy. “London must be very
busy at this time of year.”
A spark flashed in Lady Ware’s eyes.
“Yes, it can be!” she exclaimed, although this did not seem to
dampen her in any way but rather to encourage her all the more.
“There are a great many gentlemen and ladies in London at the
present time. You will be one of many making their come out, Miss
Whyte, but I am certain that you will make an excellent impression.”
“If I am truthful, Lady Ware, I would tell you that I am very
nervous indeed about having to step out into society,” Ann replied,
finding herself speaking without reserve. Having had no intention of
doing such a thing, she began to stammer, her cheeks flushing.
“That is to say, I – I do not mean to state that I am ungrateful for
this opportunity to be in London, Lady Ware, it is – it is only that –”
Lady Ware laughed and held up one hand, palm outwards so as
to quieten Ann’s frantic monologue.
“It is perfectly natural to feel such a way, Miss Whyte,” she said,
smiling. “I myself felt much nervousness when I first came to
London and, indeed, I am certain that unless one has a little too
much confidence, it is almost proper for one to feel so.” Her head
tilted just a little. “Would you mind, Miss Whyte, if I referred to you
as ‘Ann’?” She lifted one shoulder. “You need not agree if you do not
wish it, but given that we are to be in one another’s company so
much of the time, I had wondered if you would feel more
comfortable if I were to address you so.”
Ann swallowed hard but nodded, finding it impossible to do
otherwise. It was not as though she could refuse such a request, but
it did feel a little discomfiting. But, she considered, as Lady Ware
expressed her thanks and her pleasure, there was to be a closeness
between herself and Lady Ware and it would be wise to permit the
lady to address her so.
What if Lord Ware wishes to do the same?
A flush of heat spiraled up into Ann’s cheeks at the thought, but
she pushed it away hastily. There was no possible chance that the
Earl would wish to speak to her in such a manner, for it would be
very improper indeed for a gentleman to call her by her Christian
name, even if she was residing in his house. Besides which, given
how he had behaved last evening, Ann was quite certain that he
would not wish to call her anything but ‘Miss Whyte’ and as
infrequently as he could, given that she was sure he did not wish to
be often in her company.
 “My son will accompany us to the first ball, of course,” Lady
Ware continued, as Ann flushed even more as she turned her
attention back to the lady, realizing that she had missed almost
everything which had been said. “And, of course, he will make
certain to dance with you for the first dance of the evening.” She
smiled warmly at Ann who, upon hearing this, felt a huge swirl of
tension begin to form the pit of her stomach. “I am sure you will do
very well. You have been trained in all of the usual dances?”
Ann opened her mouth to answer but found her tongue sticking
to the roof of her mouth, her whole body beginning to tingle with a
nervous fright which simply would not release her. The thought of
dancing in front of the ton was one thing, but to do so with the Earl
of Ware was quite another.
“Of course you have been, that is a very foolish question for me
to ask,” Lady Ware said briskly, after a few moments of silence.
“Forgive me, Ann.” She laughed suddenly as Ann reached for her
teacup, wondering if a quick sip would help loosen her tongue. “My
son is an excellent dancer but there have been occasions when he
has allowed himself to become distracted and has very nearly
trodden on the toes of whichever young lady he is dancing with!”
“That was only on one particular occasion, mother, and is not
likely to be repeated.”
Ann almost choked on her tea but managed to swallow it
quickly, setting down her teacup before having to pull out her
hankerchief to cough into it in the most embarrassing manner. She
had not expected Lord Ware to walk into the room and having not
seen him enter, his deep but rather loud voice had caught her quite
by surprise.
“I see that you have managed to join us this morning, Miss
Whyte,” the Earl continued, as Ann quickly folded up her kerchief
and lifted her gaze to where he stood, seeing the way that his eyes
brushed down over her as though inspecting whether or not the
horse he had purchased was of decent quality. “You required a little
more rest last evening, it seemed.” There was no sympathy in his
voice, no softening in his expression as he spoke and Ann felt heat
begin to spread up through her cheeks as she nodded, not quite
certain what else to say. Lord Ware was not speaking to her in a kind
manner, as his mother had done, and Ann could not tell whether or
not he had been offended by her absence last evening. “You are
rested now, however.” This was followed by a slight sniff which Ann
took to be one of disdain, as though he thought her quite poorly for
requiring such a thing as rest.
“I – I am, Lord Ware,” Ann replied, hating that her voice was so
thin and her response so weak. “I thank you.”
“Do not even consider chiding her for her absence,” Lady Ware
interrupted, frowning hard at her son. “Need I remind you how
many times you have missed dining with me, due to one thing or
another?”
This, Ann noted, seemed to disconcert Lord Ware somewhat, for
he shrugged, cleared his throat, and then meandered to the
sideboard where the food was laid out, picking up a plate and
adding one or two things to it. Silence fell as he did so, with Lady
Ware keeping her sharp gaze pinned to her son, as though she
expected him to say something more, something which she might
then have to refute. Ann said nothing, aware of the great cloud of
tension which had come over her, now that she was once more in
Lord Ware’s presence. The thought of having to dance with him
seemed all the more disagreeable and silently, Ann prayed that she
would not have to do so. Perhaps another gentleman could be found
to take his place, someone who would be glad to stand up with her.
It seemed that Lord Ware found her presence somewhat irritating,
and Ann found herself less inclined to be in his company with every
passing moment.
Lord Ware took a seat at the table, and for a short while, there
was silence as he ate. Then he looked up at his mother, and spoke.
“Might I hope that you have the intention of removing yourself
from the house today, Mother?”
Ann’s stomach clenched tightly as she looked from mother to
son and back again, a little astonished at Lord Ware’s tone. To her,
such a statement appeared to be very rude indeed and, were she
Lady Ware, Ann suspected that she would have been deeply
offended. Lady Ware, however, merely sighed heavily and shook her
head, before arching one eyebrow in her son’s direction.
“Are you so inclined to remove me from this house that you
would practically insist upon it?” she asked, as a small smile pulled
at Lord Ware’s lips. “You wish for a little quiet, a little time to wander
through the house without any female company, is that not so?”
Lord Ware laughed and shrugged, although Ann found nothing
to smile at.
“That may be so, mother, but you can hardly blame me for it,”
he replied, sending another glance towards Ann. “After all, given
that I am now outnumbered within my own home, you cannot
expect me to remain as contented as before!”
Ann stiffened as Lord Ware caught her eye. Was he attempting
to tell her that her presence in his home was causing him some
difficulty? And that he did not particularly enjoy having her here?
Her chin lifted despite her intent to remain meek and quiet. She was
not about to allow Lord Ware to treat her in any sort of disparaging
manner. He had stated to her brother that she was welcome here,
that he intended to support her during the Season and, therefore,
that was what she expected him to do. There was no need for him
to complain or to state that he was discomfited by having more of a
female presence within his house, for he had been the very one to
put such a thing in place!
“I am sure you will be even more contented, Lord Ware,” she
found herself saying, rising slowly from her chair and holding his
gaze with a firm look. “And I know that my brother will be very
grateful when I write to inform him that I have arrived here safely.
He spoke very highly of you in his letter.” She tilted her head,
examining Lord Ware as she spoke and finding a courage within her
heart that she had not known she possessed. “I should hate to write
to him and state that, unfortunately, my impression of your
character is quite different from what he himself wrote of you.”
Lord Ware did not smile. In fact, his brows knotted together,
and his eyes hooded as he looked back at her.
“No,” he muttered, darkly, “we should not wish for that at all,
Miss Whyte.”
 He waited for some moments until she took her seat again, now
feeling a great flush of heat pour into her face as she saw the look
of interest and confusion which now flickered across Lady Ware’s
features. Lord Ware, however, set his utensils down, cleared his
throat and then bade them both a good day before taking his leave.
He did not look at Ann directly and neither did she raise her eyes to
his. There was a great sense of mortification growing within her, but
Ann slowly pushed it aside, welcoming the small glow of triumph
which was there also. At least Lord Ware now knew that she was not
the sort of young lady who would simply sit there quietly as he said
whatever he wished, no matter how cutting or disingenuous. He had
already made an impression on her and, without saying anything
explicit, Ann had made it quite clear what she thought of him and
that, she considered, was something to be glad about.
“You must forgive my son.” Lady Ware blew out a frustrated
breath and shook her head, just as Ann turned to give her full
attention. “He is not the most jovial of gentleman, I confess, but he
is truly glad that you are residing with us this Season.” The look in
her eyes begged Ann to believe her words. “As am I.”
“I am very grateful to have you as my chaperone, Lady Ware,”
Ann replied, seeing the lady’s expression soften. “Now, where was it
you wished to go today?”
She sat back in her chair and listened as Lady Ware began to
talk of all the places they might go, feeling a little more contented
within herself. Lord Ware had the measure of her at least and Ann
had found a courage to speak with more boldness than she had ever
expected. Surely things could only improve from here!
 CHAPTER THREE

“A nd just who is that?”

Geoffrey did not turn around, his eyes fastened on a young lady
who held in her hands one of the most colorful fans he had ever
seen. She was using it very well indeed, he had to admit, for the
way she was flirting with the gentlemen around her – and him also,
in fact – was most skillful.
“I say, old boy, who is that?”
With a grimace, Geoffrey reluctantly pulled his eyes away and
half turned to see who his friend was gesturing to.
“Who?”
“The young lady with your mother!” Lord Silverton asked, his
eyes now narrowing slightly as though he was trying to make her
out a little more. “Goodness, it is almost as though an angel has set
foot in our midst!” Geoffrey’s eyes were immediately drawn to the
young lady in question and, as he saw Miss Whyte laughing at
something another young lady had said, he found his heart
slamming hard against his chest, making his breath hitch. “Well?”
Lord Silverton’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked back at Geoffrey,
evidently wondering why he did not respond. “Do you know the
creature or not?”
“I do,” Geoffrey replied, clearing his throat abruptly in an
attempt to regain his composure. Telling himself to stop being so
foolish when it came to Miss Whyte, he flung out one hand in her
direction. “Do you mean Miss Whyte?” he asked, speaking as
nonchalantly as he could. “The young lady in the white gown?”
Nodding fervently, Lord Silverton looked at Geoffrey sharply.
“You are acquainted with her?”
 “She is residing with me,” Geoffrey replied, seeing the way his
friend’s eyes rounded. “Yes, you may well remark upon it, but it is
merely as a favor to a friend. Her brother is at war at present, and
has requested that I take his sister to London for the Season.” He
shrugged. “My mother is her chaperone, of course. I have very little
to do with her.”
His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he recalled how she had
spoken to him only two days ago, on her very first morning in
London. She had made it quite plain that she thought of him rather
poorly, stating – without being particularly obvious about it – that
what her brother thought of him and the impression he now
presented to her were entirely at odds with each other.
“Goodness,” Lord Silverton murmured, his gaze now returned to
the lovely Miss Whyte. “She is resplendent! And from a good
family?”
He looked up at Geoffrey hopefully, making Geoffrey smile
rather ruefully.
“Her brother is a Viscount, if that is what you mean,” he said, as
Lord Silverton’s eyes brightened. “Viscount Brigstock. However, she
is a little lowly for you, do you not think?”
The laugh that came from Lord Silverton startled, for he had
expected Lord Silverton – who was, in fact, a Marquess – to agree
that the sister of a Viscount was not suitable in terms of her
standing when it came to considering matrimony and the like. Lord
Silverton, it seemed, did not agree.
“Good gracious, should I only consider ladies who might match
me in terms of their title and their societal standing, then I fear I
would be without any suitable lady companion and perhaps even
without acquaintance!” he replied, still chuckling. “No, indeed, I am
not as foolish as all that, and certainly nowhere near as arrogant!”
“No, of course you are not,” Geoffrey murmured, still a little
confused. Lord Silverton had always been a gentleman who chose
his actions and his considerations with great care, and certainly
would not jump into a close acquaintance with anyone who sought
him out! Therefore, Geoffrey had expected him to consider that,
whilst Miss Whyte was very beautiful indeed – for that could not be
disagreed with – she was not of a high enough standing for him to
consider. And yet, he was now hearing precisely the opposite from
his friend’s mouth!
“I must consider matrimony this Season,” Lord Silverton said,
tilting his head as though he was considering whether or not Miss
Whyte might be a suitable candidate for such an endeavor. “Tell me,
what is her character like?”
On this point, Geoffrey could be quite honest. Shrugging, he
spread his hands.
“I could not say, Silverton,” he replied, truthfully. “She has only
been in London for less than a sennight and I have not spent much
time in her company. My mother thinks well of her, though.”
A wry laugh pulled from Lord Silverton’s mouth.
“You cannot say?” he repeated, making a flush rise up
Geoffrey’s neck. “Good gracious, Ware! You have this resplendent
creature in your home, and you cannot seem to spend time in her
company?!”
“I have been busy with other things,” Geoffrey replied, starchily.
“She is here under the care of my mother, that is all!”
“And do you not need to wed?” came the quick reply. “Why not
consider this young lady? Or is there something about her which I
do not know, which is why you have set yourself far from her?”
He eyed Geoffrey beadily, but Geoffrey shook his head firmly,
not wanting even the smallest hint of rumor to attach itself to the
lady.
“No, there is nothing untoward about her in the least,” he
stated, firmly. “As I have said, her brother is fighting against
Napoleon at present and is quite determined that his sister should
not suffer by his absence. My mother is very glad indeed to have a
young lady to present and chaperone, and it is only because of her
eagerness and determination that I have not felt any need or
requirement to improve my acquaintance with the lady.”
This seemed to satisfy Lord Silverton, for he grinned, nodded
and then let his gaze rest on the young lady again. Geoffrey, unable
to help himself, also allowed his eyes to turn towards her, finding his
heart picking up speed as he took her in.
 Lord Silverton was right. She was utterly breath-taking. Her
gown was not as much white as it was silver, and with her golden
hair curled up at the back of her head, she appeared as an angel
might, should one decide to appear amongst them. There was a
gentleness about her which seemed to emanate from her, and
Geoffrey could not help but find himself eager to go to her, to be in
her company and to take her hand, as though to claim her for his
own.
He could not do such a thing, however. She was not his to take,
and certainly would not appreciate him doing such a thing! Over the
last few days, Geoffrey had done everything in his power to remain
at a distance from Miss Whyte, realizing that his attraction to her
was doing nothing other than growing steadily, as though it wanted
to torment and tease him by holding out Miss Whyte before him
whilst he knew that he could never reach out and grasp her. Thus,
he had continued to treat her with a coldness which he did not truly
feel, in the hope that, in doing so, his urge to draw closer to her
would begin to dissipate. Besides which, he had told himself, there
was no need for her to think on him. He was nothing to her. Yes, she
resided under his roof and ate at his dinner table, but that was the
end of it. His mother was the one who accompanied Miss Whyte to
whatever occasion they were to attend, and all Geoffrey had to do
was dance with the lady now and again.
You are soon to do so for the first time.
The thought of stepping out with Miss Whyte sent a flurry of
nervous excitement all through Geoffrey and, try as he might, he
could not immediately push it away. Lord Silverton was speaking
again, saying something more about the lady, but Geoffrey was not
listening to him at all. Instead, he was doing all he could to calm his
quickened spirits, telling himself that he was being nothing but
foolish.
“Do come on, man!”
Lord Silverton’s impatient tone finally caught Geoffrey’s
attention and he jolted into action, seeing his friend already stepping
forward. Clearly, Lord Silverton wished to be introduced to Miss
Whyte and, therefore, Geoffrey had no other choice but to do so – it
would be churlish to refuse. Confused by his strange reluctance on
this matter, Geoffrey straightened his shoulders and walked towards
his mother and Miss Whyte, allowing his gaze to settle on the young
lady but making certain to keep it as disinterested as possible. He
could not allow himself to be distracted by her, not when he had so
many other matters to attend to.
He did not say anything in particular but rather waited patiently
until the young lady had finished her conversation with another
gentleman who, upon seeing Geoffrey, quickly handed back Miss
Whyte’s dance card, bowed and took his leave. Miss Whyte turned
her silver-grey eyes onto him, and that coolness came into her
expression which he had first seen at the breakfast table on the
morning after her arrival in London. His heart ached but he ignored
it steadfastly, telling himself that this was precisely as he wanted it.
“Miss Whyte,” he said, gesturing to Lord Silverton who was now
looking at her eagerly. “Might I introduce you to my friend? This is
the Marquess of Silverton – an excellent gentleman and a good
friend.” He smiled as Lord Silverton threw him a grateful look. “Lord
Silverton, might I present Miss Ann Whyte, sister to Viscount
Brigstock.”
“Miss Whyte.” Lord Silverton bowed low and Miss Whyte
dropped into a curtsey. “How very glad I am to make your
acquaintance. Lord Ware has been telling me all about your
circumstances at present. How difficult it must be to have a brother
still at war!”
Miss Whyte’s smile fixed itself in place in an instant, her eyes
darkening with an emotion which Geoffrey could not quite make out.
“Indeed,” she said, crisply, as Geoffrey’s mother listened in
silence, shooting a questioning glance towards Geoffrey before
looking back at Lord Silverton. Lord Silverton was a good man as far
as he was concerned and, besides which, he did not think it out of
place for him to have informed the gentleman of Miss Whyte’s
circumstances. After all, the ton were fully aware of the ongoing war
with the French, although many, unfortunately, seemed to care very
little for it. They were much too caught up in the whims and the
fancies of the Season, whereas people like himself had far too much
of the war to consider! That was why he would not permit himself to
even think on Miss Whyte for more than a few moments, why he
would not allow her to capture his thoughts. There was much at
stake and Geoffrey had every intention of giving himself to the war
effort entirely – as best as he could from England’s shores, at least.
“I do hope you are to dance this evening, Miss Whyte?”
Miss Whyte quickly handed Lord Silverton her dance card.
“I am, although you will see that Lord Ware has taken the first
of my dances,” she stated, a sharp look being sent in his direction.
“The dancing will begin soon, I understand.”
“Very soon,” Lord Silverton replied, as he pored over Miss
Whyte’s dance card. “I will take the fourth dance, if I may?”
He continued to speak to Miss Whyte whilst Geoffrey looked all
around him, allowing the conversation to flow without interruption.
Much to his surprise, he saw a particular gentleman enter the room
and, with a jolt of shock, felt a smile spread across his face.
“Do excuse me.”
He was being a little rude, he knew, but every fiber of his being
had to go to speak to that particular gentleman at once and,
regardless of the conversation between Lord Silverton and Miss
Whyte, regardless of his mother’s hard look and the knowledge that
the first dance would begin very soon, Geoffrey moved away from
his company and towards his friend.
“My goodness.” Seeing his old friend turn towards him, Geoffrey
caught his breath as he saw the angry red scar which ran from the
edge of his eye down towards his jawline. “You have returned from
the war, then?”
The Marquess of Stratham grimaced, but then grasped
Geoffrey’s hand with a strength that Geoffrey had not expected.
“I have had no other choice but to return,” he stated,
unequivocally. “I could have written, but there was no particular
requirement for me to do so.” He shrugged, then winced. “No doubt
the ton will immediately become aware of my defects. I expect the
rumors about my return will fly through London almost within the
hour!”
 Geoffrey could not say anything for a few moments, a little
overwhelmed by the presence of Lord Stratham here in London. He
did not want to contradict the fellow for, the truth was that there
would be a good deal of gossip as regarded the Marquess’ features.
“You were injured, then?”
Lord Stratham nodded grimly.
“It came about only the day after I received word about the
Duke of Abernyte and the difficulties he endured, although I am glad
to know that he is recovered now. I was unconscious for some days,
they tell me,” he stated, without a speck of emotion in his voice. “I
do not recall anything that took place, of course. But when I awoke,
I had this.” He gestured to his face. “I was sent back to England
despite my protests.”
Geoffrey allowed a small smile to pull at one corner of his
mouth.
“They would not wish for a Marquess to lose his life, I suppose,”
he said, as Lord Stratham scowled. “And if you had injured your
head, then there would be a fear that your injury might lead to –”
“They did not think that I had the capacity to think clearly, yes,”
Lord Stratham interrupted, as the first strains of music began to
play. “I stated that I was quite well and all that, but it was taken out
of my hands.” He shook his head, clearly exasperated, and frustrated
that he had been forced to do something he had not wished to.
“Therefore, I have returned to London and have been told to help
both you and the Duke with our endeavors here.”
Having expected as much, Geoffrey nodded slowly.
“There is not much to do at present,” he said, honestly. “Lord
Harrogate has gone for his wedding trip – he was inclined not to do
so, but the Duke and I insisted – which has left me and Abernyte to
deal with things here. The Duke is, at present, in Bath, seeking out
one Lord Tofthill, which was one of the names you gave the Duke.”
He saw Lord Stratham nod. “I have had one name to consider but,
upon doing so, have discovered that there is seemingly no
connection there.” He shrugged. “I will continue to act upon any
news or insight that we are given by others.” He eyed Lord Stratham
eagerly. “You have not found anything of interest, then?”
 Lord Stratham shook his head.
“There are one or two names that there were some…
considerations over,” he admitted, slowly. “But whether or not the
man that gave us those names could be trusted, I could not say.”
“You think it could be a ruse, then?” Geoffrey asked, as the
music began to swell all around them, forcing him to raise his voice.
“That the person who told you was doing so only to try to save
themselves from a greater punishment?”
Tilting his head, Lord Stratham considered for a moment.
“That may very well be the case,” he replied, slowly, “or, as I
have considered, the man doing so seeks to behave as such in the
hope of distracting us from the real gentlemen… and perhaps even
ladies, who are involved in such things.”
Geoffrey considered this carefully, then nodded.
“An interesting perspective, certainly,” he agreed, quietly. “What
is it that you now intend to do?”
Sighing, Lord Stratham shook his head.
“I do not know entirely,” he said, after a moment. “There is a
great deal of confusion at present, given that we are still waiting to
see whether or not the French will attack our coast, as we believe
they have planned. We thought that we knew when such a thing
would take place, but that time has passed and nothing occurred!”
“Mayhap their attempt to do so was thwarted,” Geoffrey replied,
feeling a sudden swell of confidence. “They had no choice but to pull
themselves back from their plan.”
“But that then means that they were aware of our knowledge of
their intentions,” Lord Stratham said quickly, leaning closer to
Geoffrey as though he needed to speak in confidence. “How did the
French become aware of that? Who told them?” Geoffrey swallowed
hard, suddenly realizing the gravity of what his friend was saying.
“And given that they did not act when we believed they would, what
is it that they plan to do next?”
“I will help you in any way I can,” Geoffrey replied, earnestly.
“You know that I will, Stratham. Since the Duke’s return, I have been
assisting him in locating where particular… dangers have come from
and who else might be involved, but that task is nearing its end.”
 His friend smiled.
“I am aware of your loyalty and your current endeavors,” he
replied, “and the Crown is grateful for it, I know. Indeed, that was
the only solace I had in returning to London, despite my wish to
remain in the field.” Seeing Geoffrey’s quizzical look, he explained.
“Knowing that there was work to be done here and that I could still
remain involved in it, rather than returning to a situation where I
could do nothing but go back to being a part of society and nothing
more.” He grinned as Geoffrey winced ruefully, clearly aware of what
the Marquess spoke of. “We are men of war, are we not? It is not in
our nature to simply to return to life as it once was.”
“No, indeed not,” Geoffrey agreed swiftly, feeling a sense of
camaraderie sweep over him. “I have found it profoundly difficult –
in fact, impossible – to return to my duties and situation just as it
once was. My mother does not seem to understand, however, for
she continually presses upon me the requirement of an heir!” He
rolled his eyes and Lord Stratham laughed. “I am very well aware
that there must be an heir produced but I confess that I am not in
any particular hurry to do such a thing, not when the country is in
such a dire situation.”
Lord Stratham lifted one eyebrow and looked at someone – or
something – behind Geoffrey’s shoulder.
“Your mother insists on foisting young ladies on you, then?” he
asked, as Geoffrey chuckled wryly. “Then might I suggest, Lord
Ware, that you prepare yourself? I will call upon you very soon to
discuss the matters at hand.”
With a lift of one eyebrow and a broad grin, he inclined his
head, turned and left Geoffrey alone, meaning that he had no other
choice but to turn and face his mother.
For whatever reason, Lady Ware seemed very angry indeed. A
large circle of red had appeared in each cheek and she practically
stormed towards him, her eyes narrowed and filled with a fierceness
that surprised Geoffrey.
“Mother,” he said, spreading both hands wide as though in
greeting. “Is there something wrong?”
Lady Ware’s lips pulled into a hard line.
 “It is now the second dance, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey blinked. This was serious indeed, given that she was
referring to him by his Christian name.
“I can see that, mother,” he replied, trying to speak calmly so
that it might push aside some of her anger. “Is there some reason
that you are reminding me of it?”
His mother closed her eyes tightly and did not answer him and
it appeared to Geoffrey as though she were so very angry that she
could not find the words to speak. He was entirely at a loss as to
why she was behaving so and searched her face for a hint as to her
anger. Presently, Lady Ware spoke. Her voice was thin, her words
crisp and icy.
“It is the second dance,” she stated again. “The first has
passed, Geoffrey.”
“The first,” he repeated, stupidly. “I do not –”
He came to a dead halt, the realization of what she meant
finally hitting him square in the chest. He had been meant to dance
with Miss Whyte for the first dance, had been meant to stand up
with her for what would be her first dance of the Season. His name
had been written on her dance card and he had, likewise, written
her name into his own note for the evening. It had been all carefully
planned by his mother and he had agreed to it without question.
After all, he had thought, it was only one dance and, thereafter, he
would not have to stand up with her again. No doubt he would not
need to, given the number of gentlemen that Geoffrey had been
sure would come to join her.
And yet somehow, he had quite forgotten.
“Oh.”
Lady Ware’s lip pulled up into a scowl.
“You mean to say that you simply forgot about this important
matter?” she asked, clearly disbelieving. “Our charge, Miss Whyte, is
to stand up at her first ball and you take no note of it?”
Geoffrey spread his hands, feeling a little foolish and much too
ridiculous for words.
“Mother, I can say nothing by way of excuse, save for the fact
that I quite forgot,” he stated, honestly. “There is nothing more that
can be said. I – I must go to Miss Whyte and apologize, however.
There may be another space on her dance card that I might take.”
“There is not,” his mother replied, firmly, planting her hands on
her hips and continuing to glare at him, although Geoffrey had to
admit that she was justified in her displeasure. “My goodness, how
could you be so thoughtless?”
Geoffrey opened his mouth to protest, to state that he had not
meant to forget and that the conversation with his friend had been
of the utmost importance – only to close it again as he realized just
how Miss Whyte must now be feeling. In his attempts to keep
himself far from her, he had already given her a poor impression of
his character. What must she think of him now?
“I do not know your reasons, but you have an apology to make
to Miss Whyte,” his mother continued, when he said nothing. “I am
too old to chide you but chide you I must, given the circumstances.
Had it not been for Lord Silverton, then I fear she would have
remained standing alone for some time!”
Geoffrey’s brows lifted.
“Lord Silverton was to hand?”
“He saw her distress and came to her at once,” Lady Ware
replied, firmly. “He was due to dance with her very soon and, given
that you were absent, took that dance also. I believe he called it a
‘great pleasure’ to step out with her and, all in all, made Miss Whyte
feel far more relieved and at ease than she had been given your
absence. And if there is talk as a result of her dancing two dances
with him, well, let the ton whisper – if the other gentlemen think him
seriously interested in her, no doubt they will pay her even more
attention.”
Again, there was nothing that Geoffrey could say in response to
this. His mother was right. He had behaved poorly and, as such
would now need to find Miss Whyte, apologize, and make amends.
He felt both shame and embarrassment at his own failings, dropping
his head with the mortification of it all.
“I will find Miss Whyte and apologize, mother,” he said, quietly.
“Have no fear, I will do as I have said.”
 “It is not that I fear you will refuse to do it,” Lady Ware replied
tartly, “but rather that you will quite forget to do so!”
With a triumphant yet irritated look, she turned on her heel and
flounced away, leaving Geoffrey to stand there alone. He closed his
eyes and groaned inwardly. He would have to apologize to Miss
Whyte as he had promised, but the damage was already done. He
could not imagine what she was feeling at this present moment, nor
did he want to even consider the embarrassment which must have
filled her when she realized he was not coming to take her to dance,
as he had promised.
Groaning, Geoffrey dropped his head and ran one hand over his
eyes. It seemed his intention of making certain there was nothing
but a shallow acquaintance between himself and Miss Whyte was
coming to fruition – although Geoffrey now feared he had done
more harm than good. Just what would she think of him now?
 CHAPTER FOUR

“G ood afternoon, Miss Whyte.”

Ann’s stomach knotted as she rose from her chair and did her
best to smile. This was her third gentleman caller this afternoon and,
whilst she was both relieved and glad that she had not been without
company, she could not help but feel a little embarrassed at the
sight of Lord Silverton.
“Lord Silverton,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsey. “How
very good to see you. Thank you for calling.”
She kept her smile in place as Lady Ware gestured for Lord
Silverton to sit down and, as he did so, both herself and Lady Ware
returned to their seats.
“I do hope you enjoyed yourself last evening, Miss Whyte?” Lord
Silverton asked, his eyes gleaming slightly as he looked at her
steadily. “It was your first ball, if I recall correctly?”
Ann nodded, just as Lady Ware rose to ring the bell for tea.
“It was, yes,” she answered, wondering if Lord Silverton had
truly struggled to recollect such a detail, or if he was saying so
simply in the hope of starting a conversation.
“And was it not an excellent one?” he asked, glancing at Lady
Ware. “I do hope you found it an enjoyable evening also, Lady
Ware?”
Lady Ware’s smile was bright.
“I did, very much,” she said, gesturing to Ann. “And we were
both so very grateful to you for stepping in as you did.”
Ann, who had known that such a remark was coming, nodded
quickly, silently praying that the moment would pass.
“Very grateful indeed,” she murmured, hearing the door open
behind her and feeling her heart steady itself with relief.
 The maid would bring in the tea and she would have no need to
talk further about what had occurred. The fact that Lord Ware had
not come to her to take her to the dance floor for what would have
been her first dance of the Season had been utterly mortifying and,
even now, Ann felt the sting of his forgetfulness pain her heart. She
had managed to catch sight of him, seeing him gesticulate and
laugh, deep in conversation with another gentleman, and had felt as
though she were naught but a shadow, fleeting and quickly
forgotten. What had made matters worse was that she had not seen
Lord Ware since then. It seemed that his behavior did not matter a
great deal, else he would surely have come to apologize by now!
Lifting her chin, Ann forced her thoughts away from him. It would do
her no good to continue thinking of Lord Ware and his continued
absence. He mattered very little to her – or at least, he ought to do
so – and Ann did not want her thoughts to linger upon him any
longer.
“Silverton.”
Ann caught her breath, her hand gripping the arm of the chair
as she heard the voice of Lord Ware behind her. It was not the maid
bringing the tea, then. It was, in fact, the very gentleman she had
been so eager not to consider.
“Good afternoon, Ware!” Lord Silverton exclaimed, sounding
delighted. “I did not know you were home.” He smiled and spread
out one hand towards Ann, who still could not bring herself to look
up at Lord Ware. “I hope you do not mind that I am come to call
upon the lovely Miss Whyte, instead of coming to seek you out!”
Lord Ware chuckled, but Ann did not miss the way that he
turned himself away from her a little more, as though he wanted to
block her out entirely. She closed her eyes momentarily, dropping
her head just a little. This was even more mortifying, for the
gentleman who had not come to dance with her and the gentleman
who had come to save her from her embarrassment were both
present in the same room. How Ann wished that Lord Ware had not
chosen this particular moment to enter the drawing room! Why had
he come when she was attempting to make conversation with Lord
Silverton? There could not be anything pressing, anything urgent
that had to be related to either herself or his mother, surely!
“I am always glad to see you, Silverton, whether it be to
converse with me or with Miss Whyte,” came the reply as, finally, the
maid entered with the tea tray. “Ah, I see you are to take tea! I do
hope you will not mind if I join you?”
This was not directed at Ann, however, but rather at Lady Ware
who, after shooting a quick glance towards Ann herself, simply
smiled and lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. Lord Ware grinned
and sat down quickly, as though he feared his mother would retract
the invitation should he not do so.
“Miss Whyte, might you care to pour the tea?” Lady Ware
asked, for what was the third time that afternoon. “My dear, I am
not certain that the maid has included a cup for you!” she tsked,
only for Lord Ware to shake his head.
“There are four cups, mother,” he said, calmly. “In anticipation, I
made certain that the tea tray would contain four, for I intended to
sit with you awhile and discuss one particular matter.” His eyes
slanted towards Ann but she did not capture his gaze and instead
turned her attention to the matter at hand. Lifting the teapot, she
carefully poured the delicate tea into the first cup before setting the
teapot down again, ready to add whatever else was required to Lord
Silverton’s cup. “Last evening, I made a very grave misstep,” Lord
Ware continued, when no-one else spoke a word. “Miss Whyte, I
believe I upset you greatly, and Lord Silverton stood up in my place.”
Ann’s hands trembled slightly as she poured the next cup, but she
remained entirely silent, steadying herself so that she would not
make a mess of the tea. Her heart was quickening in her chest and
for a moment, it felt as though she could not catch her breath. Lord
Ware, oblivious to this, cleared his throat a little gruffly and then
continued. “Miss Whyte, I had promised to stand up with you for the
first dance of the evening,” he said, his words coming from his
mouth with a little more haste. “I had always known that it was of
the greatest importance, and I had every intention of doing so.”
“But you were nowhere to be found!” Lord Silverton interrupted,
his voice filled with a mirth that Ann did not feel. “The poor lady was
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Another spake:

42. “A hall stands high | on Hindarfjoll,

All with flame | is it ringed without;
Warriors wise | did make it once
Out of the flaming | light of the flood.

43. “On the mountain sleeps | a battle-maid,

And about her plays | the bane of the wood;
Ygg with the thorn | hath smitten her thus,
For she felled the fighter | he fain would save.

44. “There mayst thou behold | the maiden

helmed,
Who forth on Vingskornir | rode from the fight;
The victory-bringer | her sleep shall break not,
Thou heroes’ son, | so the Norns have set.”

[385]

Sigurth rode along Fafnir’s trail to his lair, and found it

open. The gate-posts were of iron, and the gates; of
iron, too, were all the beams in the house, which was
dug down into the earth. There Sigurth found a
mighty store of gold, and he filled two chests full
thereof; he took the fear-helm and a golden mail-coat
and the sword Hrotti, and many other precious
things, and loaded Grani with them, but the horse
would not go forward until Sigurth mounted on his
back. [370]

[Contents]

NOTES
[371]

Prose. The prose follows the concluding prose passage of the

Reginsmol without any interruption; the heading “Of Fafnir’s Death”
is written in the manuscript very faintly just before stanza 1.
Gnitaheith: cf. Gripisspo, 11 and note. Fafnir: Regin’s brother: cf.
Reginsmol, prose after stanza 14. Venom: in the Volsungasaga
[372]it was the blood, and not the venom, that poured down on
Sigurth’s head. Sigurth was much worried about this danger, and
before he dug the trench asked Regin what would happen if the
dragon’s blood overcame him. Regin thereupon taunted him with
cowardice (Sigurth refers to this taunt in stanza 30, but the stanza
embodying it has disappeared). After Sigurth had dug his trench, an
old man (Othin, of course) appeared and advised him to dig other
trenches to carry off the blood, which he did, thereby escaping harm.

1. The first line in the original, as here, is unusually long, but

dramatically very effective on that account.

3. The names of the speakers do not appear in the manuscript,

though they seem originally to have been indicated in the [373]margin
for stanzas 3–30. The last two lines of stanza 3 are missing in the
manuscript, with no gap indicated, but the Volsungasaga prose
paraphrase indicates that something was omitted, and the lines here
given are conjecturally reconstructed from this paraphrase.

4. The manuscript marks line 3 as the beginning of a stanza.

5. Line 4, utterly obscure in the manuscript, is guesswork. [374]

7. Fafnir here refers to the fact that Hjordis, mother of the still unborn
Sigurth, was captured by Alf after Sigmund’s death; cf. Fra Dautha
Sinfjotla, note.

11. Stanzas 11–15 are probably interpolated, and come from [375]a
poem similar to Vafthruthnismol. The headland: Fafnir is apparently
quoting proverbs; this one seems to mean that disaster (“the fate of
the Norns”) awaits when one rounds the first headland (i.e., at the
beginning of life’s voyage, in youth). The third line is a commentary
on obstinate rashness. The Volsungasaga paraphrases stanzas 11–
15 throughout.

12. Norns: cf. stanza 13 and note. Sigurth has no possible interest in
knowing what Norns are helpful in childbirth, but interpolations were
seldom logical.

13. Snorri quotes this stanza. There were minor Norns, or fates, in
addition to the three great Norns, regarding whom cf. Voluspo, 20.
Dvalin: chief of the dwarfs; cf. Voluspo, 14. [376]

14. Surt: ruler of the fire world; the reference is to the last great
battle. Sword-sweat: blood.

15. Oskopnir (“Not-Made”): apparently another name for Vigrith,

which is named in Vafthruthnismol, 18, as the final battle-ground.
Bilrost (or Bifrost): the rainbow bridge which breaks beneath Surt’s
followers; cf. Grimnismol, 29 and note.

16. With this stanza Fafnir returns to the situation. Fear-helm:

regarding the “ægis-hjalmr” cf. Reginsmol, prose after stanza 14 and
note. [377]

18. Lines 3–4 do not appear in the manuscript, and no gap is

indicated; they are here conjecturally paraphrased from the prose
passage in the Volsungasaga.

20. It has been suggested that this stanza is spurious, and that
stanza 21 ought to follow stanza 22. Lines 3–4, abbreviated in the
manuscript, are identical with lines 3–4 of stanza 9. The
Volsungasaga paraphrase in place of these two lines makes
[378]Fafnir say: “For it often happens that he who gets a deadly
wound yet avenges himself.” It is quite likely that two stanzas have
been lost.

22. The Volsungasaga places its paraphrase of this stanza between

those of stanzas 15 and 16.

24. Line 2 is probably spurious, but it is a phrase typical of such

poems as Grimnismol or Vafthruthnismol.

25. Gram: Sigurth’s sword; cf. Reginsmol, prose after 14. [379]

26. In the manuscript stanzas 26–29 stand after stanza 31, which
fails to make clear sense; they are here rearranged in accordance
with the Volsungasaga paraphrase.

28–29. Almost certainly interpolated from some such poem as the

Hovamol. Even the faithful Volsungasaga fails to paraphrase stanza
29. [380]

30. Something has evidently been lost before this stanza. Sigurth
clearly refers to Regin’s reproach when he was digging the trench
(cf. note on introductory prose), but the poem does not give such a
passage.

Prose. Rithil (“Swift-Moving”): Snorri calls the sword Refil (“Serpent”).

32. That the birds’ stanzas come from more than one source [381]is
fairly apparent, but whether from two or from three or more is
uncertain. It is also far from clear how many birds are speaking. The
manuscript numbers II, III, and IV in the margin with numerals; the
Volsungasaga makes a different bird speak each time. There are
almost as many guesses as there are editions. I suspect that in the
original poem there was one bird, speaking stanzas 34 and 37.
Stanza 38 is little more than a repetition of stanza 34, and may well
have been a later addition. As for the stanzas in Fornyrthislag (32–
33 and 35–36), they apparently come from another poem, in which
several birds speak (cf. “we sisters” in stanza 35). This may be the
same poem from which stanzas 40–44 were taken, as well as some
of the Fornyrthislag stanzas in the Sigrdrifumol.

34. Some editions turn this speech from the third person into the
second, but the manuscript is clear enough. [382]

35. Wolf, etc.: the phrase is nearly equivalent to “there must be fire
where there is smoke.” The proverb appears elsewhere in Old
Norse.

36. Tree of battle: warrior.

37. Here, as in stanza 34, some editions turn the speech from the
third person into the second.

38. Giant: Regin was certainly not a frost-giant, and the whole stanza
looks like some copyist’s blundering reproduction of stanza 34. [383]

40. Neither the manuscript nor any of the editions suggest the
existence of more than one bird in stanzas 40–44. It seems to me,
however, that there are not only two birds, but two distinct stories.
Stanzas 40–41 apply solely to Guthrun, and suggest that Sigurth will
go straight to Gunnar’s hall. Stanzas 42–44, on the other hand, apply
solely to Brynhild, and indicate that Sigurth will find her before he
visits the Gjukungs. The confusion which existed between these two
versions of the story, and which involved a fundamental difference in
the final working out of Brynhild’s revenge, is commented on in the
note on Gripisspo, 13. In the present passage it is possible that two
birds are speaking, each reflecting one version of the story; it seems
even more likely that one speech or the other (40–41 or 42–44)
reflects the original form of the narrative, the other having been
added, either later or from another poem. In the Volsungasaga the
whole passage is condensed into a few words by one bird: “Wiser
were it if he should then ride up on Hindarfjoll, where Brynhild
sleeps, and there would he get much wisdom.” The Guthrun-bird
does not appear at all.

41. Gjuki: father of Gunnar and Guthrun: cf. Gripisspo, 13 and note.
[384]

42. Hindarfjoll: “Mountain of the Hind.” Light of the flood: gold; cf.
Reginsmol, 1 and note.

43. Battle-maid: Brynhild, here clearly defined as a Valkyrie. Bane of

the wood: fire. Ygg: Othin; cf. Grimnismol, 53. The thorn: a prose
note in Sigrdrifumol calls it “sleep-thorn.” The fighter: the story of the
reason for Brynhild’s punishment is told in the prose following stanza
4 of Sigrdrifumol.

44. Vingskornir: Brynhild’s horse, not elsewhere mentioned. Victory-

bringer: the word thus translated is in the original “sigrdrifa.” The
compiler of the collection, not being familiar with this word, assumed
that it was a proper name, and in the prose following stanza 4 of the
Sigrdrifumol he specifically states that this was the Valkyrie’s name.
Editors, until recently, [385]have followed him in this error, failing to
recognize that “sigrdrifa” was simply an epithet for Brynhild. It is from
this blunder that the so-called Sigrdrifumol takes its name. Brynhild’s
dual personality as a Valkyrie and as the daughter of Buthli has
made plenty of trouble, but the addition of a second Valkyrie in the
person of the supposed “Sigrdrifa” has made still more.
Prose. There is no break in the manuscript between the end of this
prose passage and the beginning of the one introducing the
Sigrdrifumol: some editors include the entire prose passage with one
poem or the other. Hrotti; “Thruster.” [386]

[Contents]
SIGRDRIFUMOL
 The Ballad of The Victory-Bringer
[Contents]

Introductory Note
The so-called Sigrdrifumol, which immediately follows the Fafnismol
in the Codex Regius without any indication of a break, and without
separate title, is unquestionably the most chaotic of all the poems in
the Eddic collection. The end of it has been entirely lost, for the fifth
folio of eight sheets is missing from Regius, the gap coming after the
first line of stanza 29 of this poem. That stanza has been completed,
and eight more have been added, from much later paper
manuscripts, but even so the conclusion of the poem is in obscurity.

Properly speaking, however, the strange conglomeration of stanzas

which the compiler of the collection has left for us, and which, in
much the same general form, seems to have lain before the authors
of the Volsungasaga, in which eighteen of its stanzas are quoted, is
not a poem at all. Even its customary title is an absurd error. The
mistake made by the annotator in thinking that the epithet “sigrdrifa,”
rightly applied to Brynhild as a “bringer of victory,” was a proper
name has already been explained and commented on (note on
Fafnismol, 44). Even if the collection of stanzas were in any real
sense a poem, which it emphatically is not, it is certainly not the
“Ballad of Sigrdrifa” which it is commonly called. “Ballad of Brynhild”
would be a sufficiently suitable title, and I have here brought the
established name “Sigrdrifumol” into accord with this by translating
the epithet instead of treating it as a proper name.

Even apart from the title, however, the Sigrdrifumol has little claim to
be regarded as a distinct poem, nor is there any indication that the
compiler did so regard it. Handicapped as we are by the loss of the
concluding section, and of the material which followed it on those
missing pages, we can yet see that the process which began with
the prose Fra Dautha Sinfjotla, and which, interrupted by the
insertion of the Gripisspo, went on through the Reginsmol and the
Fafnismol, continued through as much of the Sigrdrifumol as is left to
us. In other words, the compiler told the story of Sigurth in mixed
prose and verse, using whatever verse he could find without much
questioning as to its origin, and filling in the gaps with his own prose.
Fra [387]Dautha Sinfjotla, Reginsmol, Fafnismol, and Sigrdrifumol are
essentially a coherent unit, but one of the compiler’s making only;
they represent neither one poem nor three distinct poems, and the
divisions and titles which have been almost universally adopted by
editors are both arbitrary and misleading.

The Sigrdrifumol section as we now have it is an extraordinary piece

of patchwork. It is most unlikely that the compiler himself brought all
these fragments together for the first time; little by little, through a
process of accretion and also, unluckily, through one of elimination,
the material grew into its present shape. Certainly the basis of it is a
poem dealing with the finding of Brynhild by Sigurth, but of this
original poem only five stanzas (2–4 and 20–21) can be identified
with any degree of confidence. To these five stanzas should
probably, however, be added some, if not all, of the passage
(stanzas 6–12) in which Brynhild teaches Sigurth the magic runes.
These stanzas of rune-lore attracted sundry similar passages from
other sources, including stanza 5, in which a magic draught is
administered (not necessarily by Brynhild or to Sigurth), the curious
rune-chant in stanzas 15–17, and stanzas 13–14 and 18–19.
Beginning with stanza 22, and running to the end of the fragment
(stanza 37), is a set of numbered counsels closely resembling the
Loddfafnismol (Hovamol, stanzas 111–138), which manifestly has
nothing whatever to do with Brynhild. Even in this passage there are
probably interpolations (stanzas 25, 27, 30, 34, and 36). Finally, and
bespeaking the existence at some earlier time of another Sigurth-
Brynhild poem, is stanza 1, sharply distinguished by its metrical form
from stanzas 2–4 and 20–21. Many critics argue that stanzas 6–10
of Helreith Brynildar belonged originally to the same poem as stanza
1 of the Sigrdrifumol.

The Sigrdrifumol, then, must be regarded simply as a collection of

fragments, most of them originally having no relation to the main
subject. All of the story, the dialogue and the characterization are
embodied in stanzas 1–4 and 20–21 and in the prose notes
accompanying the first four stanzas; all of the rest might equally well
(or better) be transferred to the Hovamol, where its character entitles
it to a place. Yet stanzas 2–4 are as fine as anything in Old Norse
poetry, and it is out of the scanty material of these three stanzas that
Wagner constructed much of the third act of “Siegfried.” [388]

The Sigrdrifumol represents almost exclusively the contributions of

the North to the Sigurth tradition (cf. introductory note to the
Gripisspo). Brynhild, here disguised by the annotator as “Sigrdrifa,”
appears simply as a battle-maid and supernatural dispenser of
wisdom; there is no trace of the daughter of Buthli and the rival of
Guthrun. There is, however, so little of the “poem” which can
definitely be assigned to the Sigurth cycle that it is impossible to
trace back any of the underlying narrative substance.

The nature and condition of the material have made editorial

conjectures and emendations very numerous, and as most of the
guesses are neither conclusive nor particularly important, only a few
of them are mentioned in the notes.

[Contents]
Sigurth rode up on Hindarfjoll and turned southward
toward the land of the Franks. On the mountain he
saw a great light, as if fire were burning, and the glow
reached up to heaven. And when he came thither,
there stood a tower of shields, and above it was a
banner. Sigurth went into the shield-tower, and saw
that a man lay there sleeping with all his war-
weapons. First he took the helm from his head, and
then he saw that it was a woman. The mail-coat was
as fast as if it had grown to the flesh. Then he cut the
mail-coat from the [389]head-opening downward, and
out to both the arm-holes. Then he took the mail-coat
from her, and she awoke, and sat up and saw
Sigurth, and said:

1. “What bit through the byrnie? | how was broken

my sleep?
Who made me free | of the fetters pale?”

He answered:

“Sigmund’s son, | with Sigurth’s sword,

That late with flesh | hath fed the ravens.”

Sigurth sat beside her and asked her name. She took
a horn full of mead and gave him a memory-draught.

2. “Hail, day! | Hail, sons of day!

 And night and her daughter now!
Look on us here | with loving eyes,
That waiting we victory win.

[390]

3. “Hail to the gods! | Ye goddesses, hail,

And all the generous earth!
Give to us wisdom | and goodly speech,
And healing hands, life-long.

4. “Long did I sleep, | my slumber was long,

And long are the griefs of life;
Othin decreed | that I could not break
The heavy spells of sleep.”

Her name was Sigrdrifa, and she was a Valkyrie. She

said that two kings fought in battle; one was called
Hjalmgunnar, an old man but a mighty warrior, and
Othin had promised him the victory, and

The other was Agnar, | brother of Autha,

None he found | who fain would shield him.

Sigrdrifa slew Hjalmgunnar in the battle, and Othin

pricked her with the sleep-thorn in punishment for
this, and said that she should never thereafter win
victory in battle, but that she should be wedded. “And
I said to him that I had made a vow in my turn, that I
would [391]never marry a man who knew the meaning
of fear.” Sigurth answered and asked her to teach
him wisdom, if she knew of what took place in all the
worlds. Sigrdrifa said:

5. “Beer I bring thee, | tree of battle,

Mingled of strength | and mighty fame;
Charms it holds | and healing signs,
Spells full good, | and gladness-runes.”

* * * * * *

6. Winning-runes learn, | if thou longest to win,

And the runes on thy sword-hilt write;
Some on the furrow, | and some on the flat,
And twice shalt thou call on Tyr.

7. Ale-runes learn, | that with lies the wife

Of another betray not thy trust; [392]
On the horn thou shalt write, | and the backs of thy
hands,
And Need shalt mark on thy nails.
Thou shalt bless the draught, | and danger
escape,
And cast a leek in the cup;
(For so I know | thou never shalt see
Thy mead with evil mixed.)
8. Birth-runes learn, | if help thou wilt lend,
The babe from the mother to bring;
On thy palms shalt write them, | and round thy
joints,
And ask the fates to aid.

9. Wave-runes learn, | if well thou wouldst shelter

The sail-steeds out on the sea;
On the stem shalt thou write, | and the steering-
blade,
And burn them into the oars;
Though high be the breakers, | and black the
waves,
Thou shalt safe the harbor seek.

10. Branch-runes learn, | if a healer wouldst be,

And cure for wounds wouldst work; [393]
On the bark shalt thou write, | and on trees that be
With boughs to the eastward bent.

11. Speech-runes learn, | that none may seek

To answer harm with hate;
Well he winds | and weaves them all,
And sets them side by side,
At the judgment-place, | when justice there
The folk shall fairly win.

12. Thought-runes learn, | if all shall think

 Thou art keenest minded of men.

* * * * * *

13. Them Hropt arranged, | and them he wrote,

And them in thought he made, [394]
Out of the draught | that down had dropped
From the head of Heithdraupnir,
And the horn of Hoddrofnir.

14. On the mountain he stood | with Brimir’s

sword,
On his head the helm he bore;
Then first the head | of Mim spoke forth,
And words of truth it told.

* * * * * *

15. He bade write on the shield | before the

shining goddess,
On Arvak’s ear, | and on Alsvith’s hoof,
On the wheel of the car | of Hrungnir’s killer,
On Sleipnir’s teeth, | and the straps of the sledge.

16. On the paws of the bear, | and on Bragi’s

tongue, [395]
On the wolf’s claws bared, | and the eagle’s beak,
On bloody wings, | and bridge’s end,
On freeing hands | and helping foot-prints.

17. On glass and on gold, | and on goodly charms,

In wine and in beer, | and on well-loved seats,
On Gungnir’s point, | and on Grani’s breast,
On the nails of Norns, | and the night-owl’s beak.

* * * * * *

18. Shaved off were the runes | that of old were

written,
And mixed with the holy mead,
And sent on ways so wide;
So the gods had them, | so the elves got them,
And some for the Wanes so wise,
And some for mortal men.

19. Beech-runes are there, | birth-runes are there,

And all the runes of ale, [396]
And the magic runes of might;
Who knows them rightly | and reads them true,
Has them himself to help;
Ever they aid,
Till the gods are gone.

* * * * * *

Brynhild spake:
20. “Now shalt thou choose, | for the choice is
given,
Thou tree of the biting blade;
Speech or silence, | ’tis thine to say,
Our evil is destined all.”

Sigurth spake:

21. “I shall not flee, | though my fate be near,

I was born not a coward to be; [397]
Thy loving word | for mine will I win,
As long as I shall live.”

* * * * * *

22. Then first I rede thee, | that free of guilt

Toward kinsmen ever thou art;
No vengeance have, | though they work thee
harm,
Reward after death thou shalt win.

23. Then second I rede thee, | to swear no oath

If true thou knowest it not;
Bitter the fate | of the breaker of troth,
And poor is the wolf of his word.

24. Then third I rede thee, | that thou at the Thing

Shalt fight not in words with fools;
For the man unwise | a worser word
Than he thinks doth utter oft.

25. Ill it is | if silent thou art,

A coward born men call thee,
And truth mayhap they tell; [398]
Seldom safe is fame,
Unless wide renown be won;
On the day thereafter | send him to death,
Let him pay the price of his lies.

26. Then fourth I rede thee, | if thou shalt find

A wily witch on thy road,
It is better to go | than her guest to be,
Though night enfold thee fast.

27. Eyes that see | need the sons of men

Who fight in battle fierce;
Oft witches evil | sit by the way,
Who blade and courage blunt.

28. Then fifth I rede thee, | though maidens fair

Thou seest on benches sitting,
Let the silver of kinship | not rob thee of sleep,
And the kissing of women beware.

29. Then sixth I rede thee, | if men shall wrangle,

And ale-talk rise to wrath,
No words with a drunken | warrior have,
For wine steals many men’s wits.

[399]

30. Brawls and ale | full oft have been

An ill to many a man,
Death for some, | and sorrow for some;
Full many the woes of men.

31. Then seventh I rede thee, | if battle thou

seekest
With a foe that is full of might;
It is better to fight | than to burn alive
In the hall of the hero rich.

32. Then eighth I rede thee, | that evil thou shun,

And beware of lying words;
Take not a maid, | nor the wife of a man,
Nor lure them on to lust.

33. Then ninth I rede thee: | burial render

If thou findest a fallen corpse,
Of sickness dead, | or dead in the sea,
Or dead of weapons’ wounds.

34. A bath shalt thou give them | who corpses be,

[400]