Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

T he day after his call in Russell Square, Rob was contemplating how many clean shirts and neckcloths would fit in his portmanteau when there was a tap on his bedroom door and Moorven walked in.

"Delafield! Back at last! Glad you took me up on my invitation." He gave Rob a welcoming slap on the back, then looked at the clothing spread out on the bed. "You're not staying?"

"I'm off in an hour to catch the Mail to Somerset, to check on Madame's son—make sure he's got enough blunt to get home. Then I should see my family before I do anything else, so I'll go on to Gloucestershire."

"Then back here?"

Rob nodded.

"Good. Come downstairs for a drink."

Moorven led the way to a small back parlour, furnished in dark colours and with worn but comfortable chairs, and poured brandy for them both. "I've been to Devon to see my parents. Chadwick went north to see his—not sure when he'll be here. Has Bengrove returned, too?"

"Ha, no. The gendarmes wouldn't let him leave the city until he'd settled all the tradesmen's bills. The last I saw him he was cursing them and drowning his sorrows in cheap brandy while he waited for his father to send more funds."

"Couldn't happen to a more deserving man," Moorven said, shaking his head. "You've been to Horse Guards, I suppose. Any news?"

"No. Just an appointment in a few weeks."

"And how was Miss Stretton?" Moorven had an air of studied innocence.

"I… What makes you think I've called?"

"Haven't you?"

"Yes. But I only met her father. And found that you had been there before me!" he added indignantly.

Moorven shrugged. "I thought he needed warning about Bengrove. You were delayed…" His lips curved slightly. "And this way, no-one can say that you carried tales about Bengrove with an ulterior motive."

"I don't know what you mean." But he did.

"Nice-looking young lady," Moorven added.

" You saw Miss Stretton?"

"Calm down, Rob. I'm not poaching on your preserve."

"She's not… I'm not…" Rob took a breath. "She's promised to Bengrove. And she's too rich."

"Wasted on Bengrove," Moorven stated, ignoring the last part of Rob's comment. "Still, if you're not interested in what she looked like…"

Rob choked on a mouthful of brandy. "Moorven!"

"Black hair, curly," Moorven said, with a knowing grin. "Tallish for a woman. Slim, blue eyes. Not beautiful, but pretty." He took a sip of his brandy. "Not what you were expecting?"

"I only had Bengrove's description to go on." Rob grimaced. "Stupid to believe a word he said, I know."

"What did he say? The main complaints I heard were that she wasn't sufficiently well born."

Rob thought for a moment. "‘Scrawny' and ‘beanpole' came into it. "

"Ah. I think Bengrove's definitions of those words would differ from many people's. If you remember his taste in whores…?" Moorven cupped two imaginary melons in front of his chest. "Scrawny probably just means a woman with normal proportions. Beanpole?" He shrugged. "As I said, she is tallish for a woman, but not overly so."

"Frizzy hair?" Rob said, remembering another term.

"Curly, certainly; perhaps unfashionably so. But I seem to remember Bengrove prefers blondes." He laughed. "Whether naturally blonde or not!"

"Bluestocking?"

"More intelligent than he is," Moorven translated. "Although that doesn't appear to be a high bar."

"You like her?" There was a strange weight in his stomach that felt very like jealousy—but that was ridiculous.

"I saw her for two minutes, Rob. She came into the hall just as I was taking my leave from her father."

"Sorry," Rob said contritely, then remembered the end of his own interview with Mr Stretton. "I tried telling Stretton about Bengrove, but he stopped me. Said you'd told him, and I was to be assured he had his daughter's best interests at heart."

"That's what he said to me, too."

"But what if his idea of her best interests is marrying up, even if it means marrying her to an arse like Bengrove?"

Moorven shook his head. "I don't think it is."

"What makes you so sure?"

"How did Stretton refer to me?"

"Lieutenant Moorven—what else would he call you?"

"I told him my title, and what I stand to inherit. He was quite happy to continue to refer to me without the title, and with no difference in manner, either. I've met enough of the ingratiating sort to know how such a one would have reacted."

"That's reassuring."

"What you ought to be wondering," Moorven said with a wicked grin, "is what she's expecting you to look like. Unless you've described yourself to her?"

"Of course I haven't!"

"Then she'll be going on however Bengrove may have described you."

"Good grief!" Rob closed his eyes.

"But then, as she's not your… your anything, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Oh, sod off!" Moorven was right, though, it shouldn't matter. But he liked her, even though they had never met.

"Pax!" Moorven said, holding his hands up. "Have a safe journey."

Gloucestershire, May 1814

Rob had written to Will to let him know when he expected to arrive, and as a result, he had ridden only halfway along the drive when a boy ran down the gravel towards him. "Uncle Rob!"

"Hello, young Sam. You've grown since I saw you last!" He reached down, and Will's youngest child swung himself up to sit in front of Rob for the final few yards up to the house. Rob dismounted and slung his saddle bags over his shoulder, and Sam took the horse round to the stables. Beatrice, his brother's wife, was waiting in the doorway, and he gave her the obligatory peck on the cheek.

"Come in, Robbie, do!" Beatrice led the way into a parlour. "Here are Eliza and Jane to welcome you back. I'll go and make sure cook is preparing tea." She bustled off, leaving Rob with two young women who were almost unrecognisable as his nieces—both looking so much more grown up now compared to his memory of his last leave, over three years ago now.

Will arrived back from the fields as tea was being poured. "Good journey, Rob?" he asked once they had shared a quick hug.

"Not bad. Hired a horse in Chippenham for the last few miles." He'd wondered if his stiff ankle would be up to riding, but although it was now aching, he'd had no trouble with the docile gelding they'd given him.

"Bea wanted to invite our sisters to welcome you home, but I thought you might not want everyone exclaiming over you at once." Will gave his wife an affectionate smile.

"I'll ride over and see them while I'm here," Rob said. They all lived within a couple of hours' ride of the farm.

"So, what was it really like in Verdun?" Bea asked, and they spent the next hour exchanging news. Much of it had already been told by letter, but he didn't mind. It was easier to talk about things than to write; he managed to convince them that Verdun had mostly been tedious rather than unpleasant, and they were happy to hear about the friends he'd made. They continued during the large dinner Beatrice had prepared for his return, sitting over the meal for most of the evening.

The next morning, Will took Rob to see the farms. They rode through the fields as Will described many of the same things that he had written in his letters about the land and its management. They visited the tenanted farms, and Rob was taken into a few of the houses to greet the tenants and their families, and be plied with ale. He remembered some of them from many years ago, and had to repeat the story of his injury and captivity several times. By the time they left the third one, Rob was becoming decidedly bored. Will was a farmer through and through, to the extent that he apparently could not comprehend that others might not share his enthusiasms. And, worryingly, Will was talking as if it were a given that Rob would soon be assisting him with all this management, including the farm left to Rob by their father.

The final part of their tour was around the edge of the land that would become his. Will pulled his horse up on a slight rise and gazed across the neighbouring fields. Rob dredged the depths of his memory for a name.

"Tennson's land?"

"Yes. Josiah's not well, unfortunately. Hasn't been in full health for some time, but he's just about managing. It's a shame—he's a young man yet, a year or so younger than I."

Rob gave a grunt that he hoped showed sufficient interest, and Will glanced at him sharply.

"Sorry, Will. My ankle…" Rob tapped his right boot with his whip, and Will's face cleared.

"Well, we've been touring the fields long enough for one day." He turned his horse and led the way back.

After their evening meal, when the younger children had gone to bed, Beatrice asked after the families they had seen that day. "I'm pleased you called on them," she said, when Will had passed on any news. "I will arrange a dinner soon—you will want to meet the neighbouring landowners as well, now you are home for good. For you will be resigning your commission, won't you?"

"I may have little choice."

"You should have got soldiering out of your system by now, Rob." Will's tone carried a distinct hint that it was time Rob grew up. "I thought sitting around in Verdun for so long would have turned you off it."

"It was better than the alternative," Rob muttered.

"What do you mean, Robbie?" Beatrice asked.

"Better than being dead," he said bluntly, and Beatrice gave a gasp.

"Rob, not in front of the ladies," Will said sternly, making Rob feel as if he were a mere youth again.

Beatrice returned to discussing the dinner party. "We must have the Jeffersons, and the Browns. And the Tennsons. If Josiah isn't well enough to come, Dinah can surely come without him and bring Linda." She nodded to herself in satisfaction.

"Such a shame there's no son to manage the land," Will said. "A woman cannot manage such things alone."

Rob suspected that Miss Stretton could, if she set her mind to it. Then he wondered what that smile of Bea's had been about. She was still listing other people who might come, a string of names he didn't recognise.

"Where will they all sit?" he asked Will quietly .

Will shrugged. "Many won't be able to come at short notice."

"There's no rush, is there?" Rob didn't want to be catapulted into the middle of a busy social life, especially if Will and Beatrice were going to put it about that he was to be back here permanently. That might be forced upon him in the end, but he wasn't going to submit to it without exploring other options first.

A letter from Moorven arrived the next day while he was out again with Will, being shown parts of the home farm in more detail. Much more detail. Beatrice waited expectantly when she handed him the letter on their return, but Rob just thanked her and put it into his pocket. She gave a little pout, and told them that tea would be ready in a few minutes.

"I expect Uncle Rob needs to stretch his legs after riding for most of the day," Eliza said, coming to stand behind her mother. "Shall I show you the vegetable garden?" She nodded her head vigorously.

Although mystified, Rob was nothing loath. "By all means." He waited until they were on a path between rows of peas and beans. "What's going on, Eliza. You're no more interested in vegetables than I am."

Eliza sighed. "It's Mama. And Papa," she added, being fair. "They have decided it's time you settled down and showed Nick a good example by resigning from the army." Nick was Will's eldest son, a lieutenant in the Rifles.

"What makes them think that my resigning would have any effect on Nick?"

"It was your fault he went into the army," Eliza said, with enough of a grin to show that she realised how silly this sounded.

"Your mother thinks that?"

Eliza shrugged. "It sounds that way when she talks about it, but I don't think she really means it. She wants you to marry Linda Tennson and settle down, and Linda's mama thinks it is a good idea, too, and?—"

" What? "

"That's why I'm warning you, Uncle Rob. Linda doesn't want to marry you, either. She wants to marry Nick."

Rob grimaced. Beside him he could hear Eliza giggling.

"It's not funny."

"Yes, it is!" Eliza said. "It makes me feel better too. Mama and Papa are always telling me what to do. And I can't run off and join the army like you and Nick did." She looked at him with interest. "Is there someone else you do want to marry?"

There might be, if she weren't already promised. But even if there were not, Will and Bea were not going to push him into a marriage of their choosing. "When would I have had the chance to meet someone like that?"

"That's what Mama says. She says you need to settle down, and there's Linda's papa needing someone to look after the farm, and their land is next to yours and?—"

"Thank you, Eliza. But your mama no longer has the power to tell me what to do."

"She'll go on and on?—"

"Yes, I know. Why do you think I joined the army?"

Eliza giggled again. "Your letter might summon you somewhere on urgent business."

"I haven't even read it myself yet!" Rob protested.

"Oh, it doesn't matter what it actually says. But you can tell Mama and Papa?—"

"Good grief—Will should lock you up, young Eliza! Plotting to lie to your parents?"

Eliza looked shocked, thinking he meant it, then shrugged. "If they would just listen !" she said, and Rob had to sympathise. "Mama is looking out of the window," Eliza said a moment later. "We had better go back in for tea."

As it happened, there was only a little prevarication required. Moorven's letter said that Chadwick would be in Town at the end of the week, and that Mr Stretton had invited all three of them to dine with him and his family. Rob had planned to be back in London by then in any case, but he was not going to meet Miss Stretton for the first time with Moorven and Chadwick looking on. If he returned to London a couple of days before the dinner, he would have time before he left here to call on the two wounded men from his company for whom Will had found employment.

"But you can't leave so soon!" Beatrice protested when he broke the news that he was leaving within a few days. "What about my dinner party? I've even found the chest in the attic with your civilian clothes so you can look your best."

"I'm sorry, Bea, but that was your idea, not mine. You haven't sent the invitations out yet, have you?"

"No," she admitted. "But you need to meet people in the area again, Robbie. You'll be living here?—"

"Will I? Bea, I haven't settled what I'm going to do yet."

"Nonsense, Rob, you'll farm here. You know it's always been planned."

"Not by me," Rob said firmly.

"Linda will be disappointed," Beatrice said.

"I'm sure she'll get over it," Rob said, ignoring Eliza's giggle.

"And you haven't seen your sisters yet!"

"I will come again soon." When Bea might have realised that he no longer needed—or wanted—to be mothered.

"But Robbie?—"

"Bea, dear, that's enough," Will said sternly, to Rob's relief.

He wouldn't waste Bea's efforts in finding his clothes, though. Wearing his uniform when he was soon to be out of the army felt wrong, and even if the garments Bea had unearthed were a trifle old fashioned by now, they would be smarter than the ones that had come back from Verdun with him.

And he did want to make a good impression.