Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

L ondon, April 1814

"Lady Yelden has called, Miss Stretton," Chivenor said, entering the library. "She requests that you join her in the parlour."

Jo put a marker in her book and stood. Aunt Sarah called on Mama every few days, but it was unusual for her to ask Jo to join them. When she entered Mama's parlour, Aunt Sarah was still standing, her smile wide, and Mama's face was more animated than Jo had seen it for a long time.

"Jo, Sarah has brought good news! The Allies have entered Paris!"

Jo sat down, her legs suddenly wobbly. "Truly, Aunt? There was nothing in today's newspaper." From recent reports of the war, she had hoped that matters were reaching a conclusion but had not expected it so soon. "Surely the war must be over, then?" England had been at war almost all her life; it would feel quite odd to no longer have that in the background. Odd in a good way. A very good way.

"We must hope so. Yelden heard about it in the Lords," Aunt Sarah said. "The news will be all over town within a few hours, I should think. I had to tell you both. "

"Just think, Jo," Mama added with a happy smile, "Alfred will be back soon!"

"Yes, Mama," Jo said faintly. Now that meeting Alfred again was imminent, instead of being in some undefined future, she found herself feeling nervous. They had known each other for such a short time, and been apart for so long, that it would almost be like meeting a stranger again. She felt she knew Captain Delafield far better than she knew Alfred.

Then she realised that Mama and Aunt Sarah were already planning her wedding. "Mama…," she tried to interrupt. "Aunt Sarah!" she said more loudly.

"…bride clothes from Lydia's modiste and…" They finally realised that Jo was trying to gain their attention.

"Jo? What is the matter?" Mama asked. "Are you not pleased?"

"It does not seem real." She rubbed her forehead, trying to work out why she felt rushed. "Papa… Papa said that Alfred and I need to spend more time together before…" Before anything was settled, but she did not say that. The idea of Jo marrying into a titled family had been a comfort to Mama this last year. "Before we finalise arrangements," she finished. "There are the marriage settlements to be worked out as well. That might take some time. And don't forget, the war is not won yet."

"But you have been writing to each other," Mama said. She turned to Aunt Sarah. "They were good letters; he seems a most considerate and thoughtful young man."

Oh dear—Jo had been hoping Mama had forgotten the details she had read aloud. "Aunt, Papa said he was going to ask you to invite the Bengroves to Yelden Court. But none of that can happen until we know when Alfred will return."

Mama sighed. "I suppose not. But now we know he will be returning soon, we must see to your wardrobe, Jo. I will accompany you to the modiste ."

Jo was about to protest, but hesitated. She had not seen Mama so enthusiastic about anything since before she lost the baby, over two years ago. "I will ask Madame for some fashion plates, so we may look at the latest styles before we visit the salon."

"That's a good idea, Jo." Aunt Sarah nodded in approval. "And of course you may all come to Yelden in the summer. Now, I will take my leave."

To spread the good news, Jo suspected.

It was nearly a week after Aunt Sarah's call that news reached London of Napoleon's abdication, and everyone knew the war was over at last. And a week after that, one of Papa's contacts at Horse Guards let him know the French authorities had ordered the release of all prisoners of war. But even they did not know how long it would take for the men to return home—they thought it would most likely be done in order of capture. That would make Alfred amongst the later prisoners to be released. That was disappointing, but at least she knew Alfred would be returning before the summer. No matter her trepidation about how they would like each other after so long apart, at least her future would be settled soon.

Captain Delafield would be returning, too. Would he call? He might wish to thank her for sending the books and papers.

Yes, she thought with relief. He would do that.

A few weeks later, the faint echo of a knock on the front door distracted Jo from her perusal of the papers in the library. There followed a murmur of voices. Male voices. It was unusual for Papa's business acquaintances to call in Russell Square, and Jo thought, with a thrill of anticipation, that enough time had passed for some of the prisoners at Verdun to have reached England. Had Alfred arrived?

She crept to the door and opened it a crack to look into the entrance hall. The visitor was being shown straight into Papa's study, and all she caught sight of was his back view—a tall, slim man with blond hair, in a well-fitting dark blue coat. For a moment, the blond hair made her think it was Alfred—but he was broader in the shoulders. Then the door shut behind him and she retreated into the library. Her disappointment vanished when it occurred to her that it might be Captain Delafield. She could ask Papa when his visitor had left, of course—but if it were the captain, she should thank him in person. Wouldn't that be the polite thing to do? She gave it some thought, then rang the bell.

"Could you send tea up, please," she said, when Chivenor arrived. The butler bowed and was about to leave when she asked, as casually as she could, "Papa has a visitor?"

"Yes, miss. A Lieutenant Moorven."

Oh. Her stomach returned to normal.

Lieutenant Moorven was one of Captain Delafield's friends—but why had he called? If he knew of her at all, it would only be as the supplier of Gazettes and books to the captain. Could he have brought bad news of some kind?

She wanted to go and find out, but Chivenor would have said if the lieutenant had asked for her, and it would be impolite to intrude. After pacing back and forth for a few minutes, she forced herself to sit down and take several deep breaths. It would not do to seem agitated when a maid brought the tea. She could find out why Moorven had called from Papa when he left.

She drank the tea when it came, leaving the library door ajar so she could hear when the lieutenant departed. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the time until, nearly an hour later, she heard voices in the entrance hall again. The lieutenant had stayed far longer than usual for a mere courtesy call.

Smoothing her skirts, she stepped into the hall and turned towards the stairs as if she were going to her room.

"Ah, Jo!"

At Papa's call she turned to face the two men. Lieutenant Moorven had an open, friendly face, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her. His coat, buckskin breeches, and Hessians were all finely made and fitted him well.

"My daughter, Joanna," Papa said. "Jo, this is Lieutenant Moorven."

"Miss Stretton," he said, making a quick bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I called to thank you and your father for your efforts in keeping us all informed this past year. The reading materials you sent were most gratefully received, I assure you."

"My pleasure, sir," Jo said, with a curtsey. "Has Papa offered you some refreshment?"

"Some very fine brandy," he replied. "I have an appointment now, but I hope to see you again." He bowed, shook her father's hand, and allowed Chivenor to show him out.

"Was that really all he came for, Papa?" Jo asked when he was safely out of hearing. He had taken an awfully long time to say thank you.

"Er, no." Papa hesitated a moment. "He also said that Captain Bengrove has been delayed in his return from Verdun. As has Captain Delafield."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no. They are both in good health, as far as I can gather. Delafield wanted to make sure that the men in his company who were captured with him have the means to reach their homes safely."

"That is good of them."

"I… Yes, yes it is. Now, how are you getting on with those summaries of Luddite troubles in Lancashire?"

"I finished this morning, Papa. Shall I bring them in?"

"If you would."

As she fetched the papers from the library, Jo thought that it would have taken no more than a few minutes for Lieutenant Moorven to pass on the two captains' reasons for not having returned yet. What had they been talking about?

London, May 1814

As the footman brushed the shoulders of his jacket, Rob marvelled again at the painted wallpaper on the bedroom walls and the rich bed hangings and curtains. Moorven had invited him and Chadwick to stay at his parents' town house on Grosvenor Street whenever they needed to be in London, whether or not he was there. Moorven's lack of regard for class was the more remarkable now Rob saw that the family was not only titled, but wealthy with it.

"Thank you," he said, when the footman stood back.

Rob inspected himself in the full-length mirror as the footman bowed and left. The man had done a good job pressing out the creases in the uniform that had been stored in a trunk for over a year. The trunk that his fellow officers had returned to his brother in Gloucestershire when Rob was captured, and Moorven had sent for on his behalf. Without that kind thought, Rob would be presenting himself in Russell Square in one of the made-over sets of clothing that Madame Daniau had altered for him. He was pleased that the uniform still fitted him properly; he had been concerned that Madame Daniau's cooking, and the relative lack of exercise over the last year, might have made him too fat for it.

He had arrived in London two evenings before, and had presented himself at the front door after paying off the hackney. He smiled at the memory of the butler's transformation on his arrival, the man's initial disdain giving way to dignified politeness when Rob handed him Moorven's letter. His lordship, the butler had informed Rob, was absent at present, but expected back within a few days. The other staff here were friendlier, for which he was grateful. He'd spent most of yesterday resting, buying some new shirts and cravats, and getting a decent haircut.

Downstairs, he checked his appearance one last time while a footman summoned a hackney for him. Not that it should matter what he wore, he told himself. He would thank Miss Stretton for her kind actions in sending materials to Verdun, hand over the small gift he had bought for her, and find an excuse to talk to her father alone. Mr Stretton, at least, should know what Bengrove had been saying about Miss Stretton. Her father would also know how much of that to pass on to her; she must have felt some affection for the man to become betrothed to him, however unlikely that seemed to Rob.

His intention felt uncomfortably like telling tales at school, but it should not. Bengrove had made no secret of his dislike for Miss Stretton and her family, and Rob owed him nothing. It wasn't as if he were trying to get Bengrove out of the way to his own advantage.

Not at all.

Rob straightened his jacket when the hackney deposited him on the pavement in Russell Square. The address he'd been writing to for the last year was a tall house in a terrace of similar properties, with a large front door atop a short flight of steps, and a railed-off area with steps leading down to the servants' entrance. He plied the knocker, and asked the footman who answered it if he might see Mr Stretton.

"Whom shall I say?" the footman asked, holding out a silver salver for Rob to leave his card.

"I'm afraid I have no card, but please let Mr Stretton know that Captain Delafield wishes to pay his respects."

To Rob's surprise, the footman immediately stood back and gestured for Rob to enter. "Please come in, sir. Mr Stretton was expecting you to call at some point. If you will wait in the library, I will inform him that you are here." He took Rob's shako and gloves and set them on a side table before showing him the way.

Although the room was not large, it contained a great many books. He moved closer—the floor to ceiling bookshelves held volumes on a wide variety of topics, including atlases and a fair selection of scientific and technical works. The wood of the shelves and the large desk in one corner shone with a gentle glow that indicated much polishing. The four leather wing-back chairs near the empty fireplace looked well used, but, to Rob's untutored eye, to be of excellent quality.

It wasn't long before footsteps in the entrance hall alerted him to his host's approach. Although he had only asked to see Mr Stretton, he was hoping to meet Miss Stretton as well, and turned in suddenly breathless anticipation.