Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Three soldiers stood about in the hall, staring at her with varying degrees of fascination. One of them, she gathered, had just arrived to deliver a despatch to her husband. He was in uniform and there was dust on his boots. She hadn't seen him before, and his eyes almost bulged out of his head when he looked at her, a fair-skinned fellow who blushed to the roots of his hair when she greeted him. The other two were Robert's aides-de-camp, Lieutenants Carey and Miller. To Louisa's great amusement and annoyance, they followed her everywhere. They seemed to worship the ground she walked on.

"We're waiting for your orders, my lady," they said. "The major said we are to be at your disposal."

They were no longer in their scarlet uniforms, but in civilian clothes. They were both young, handsome, and remarkably talkative.

Lt John Carey was keen to let her know that he'd had every intention of courting her last year, but to his chagrin, he hadn't been granted leave.

"We were in the middle of a rather important battle, you see," he explained, anxious to make her understand that, had circumstances been different, he'd have stood up to dance with her at Almack's and joined the list of her hapless suitors.

"I see. I wonder what important battle that might have been." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, and she narrowed her eyes, but Lt Baker was oblivious to it and continued to chat happily.

"It was Waterloo, of course. Rather imperative for me to have been there. And for the major, too. Imagine if he hadn't, that sharpshooter would've shot his bullet straight through the duke's forehead." He pointed a forefinger at his own head. "But the major, with his keen eyesight, noticed skirmishers positioning themselves in the line of trees. It was the glint of the sun on the iron. He threw himself at the duke, pulling him to the ground. Just as he did, a musket ball whizzed past. The course of history might well have been different if he hadn't. Imagine Wellington dead, Boney winning, the Frenchies running roughshod all over England and our children growing up speaking French and singing the Marseillaise." He shuddered. "Inconceivable."

A shiver ran through Louisa. "It doesn't bear thinking about," she admitted. "He seems to have been quite the hero, your major."

That was enough to get them gushing about all the other heroic deeds their major had done throughout the years, not least at the Battle of Vitoria. They clearly worshipped him.

"I confess I haven't heard that story yet," Louisa told them. No doubt her father must have told it to her at one point, but she had paid no attention.

Miller and Carey stared at her in shock. "You haven't heard of it? But, my lady, the story has been all over the newspapers in England."

"I confess I am shockingly ignorant when it comes to keeping up with military stories," she admitted ruefully. "But tell me your version of the event."

Robert had apparently managed, almost single-handedly, to take control of a key bridge over a river near Vitoria during a crucial phase of the battle. The French had intended to blow it up to slow down the Allied advance. He'd done this by swimming across the river at a particularly dangerous point, disarming the explosives the French had attached to the bridge, and securing it for their use.

"It was the most daring, the most brilliant, the most heroic thing I've ever seen anyone do, apart from saving Wellington's life, of course. It was simply incredible. The strength, fearlessness, and courage of the man is inspiring. I've sworn to be loyal to him for the rest of my life." There was an ardent glow in Carey's eyes.

"It's a fair amount of daredevilry to do that," Miller agreed. "And to spit in the face of death. Not everyone has it in them. I confess I don't. But I too, have never met a man with the same heroic qualities as Major Sir Robert. I don't think there is a single man in the army who doesn't worship him. Not to mention the ladies, those Spanish beauties, all of them, how they were constantly after him—" At that point, Carey elbowed him in the side and, remembering who he was talking to, Miller ended his story by coughing and clearing his throat.

"Ah, the ladies." She smiled piquantly. "Of course."

"Yes, well, that is to say, none of them ever surpassed the beauty of our Incomparable, of course." He looked at her with big puppy eyes. "It's almost a shame our major has finally breached that particular fortress, not that I ever doubted he would, for I must say it's been a most splendid sport amongst us to place wagers, ahh—" Carey squashed his elbow into Miller's other side.

"Yes?" She placed her hands against her hips. "I suspect the odds must have been quite against the poor man."

Both men coughed.

"He meant to say, of course, that we are most delighted that the major has finally, after having overcome much hardship and obstacles, managed to marry you. Our most heartfelt felicitations."

"Yes." Miller coughed. "That is, of course, what I meant to say, my lady."

"He was quite downtrodden when you turned down his suit."

"Was he?" This interested Louisa. "What did he do?" She leaned forward in a whisper. "Tell me, in confidence."

"The poor man got roaring drunk," Miller whispered back. "Never seen anyone so blue-devilled and heartbroken. Then he slammed his fist down on the table, smashing it in half, and roared vengeance and that he would conquer the Ice Damsel no matter the cost what may?—"

"Carey, Miller!" Speaking of the devil. The major strode into the room, frowning. "Stop this nonsense. You were supposed to be assisting my wife, but I see she has no use for you if you're just standing around gossiping like old dowagers having a tea party. I have work for you."

"Yes, sir." The men stood at attention.

"Carey, see that those despatches are delivered promptly." He handed him several missives. "And you, Miller, help me secure the wall outside, as the front of the house is too accessible for scaling. We need to implement countermeasures to prevent access. And you, Louisa, off to bed. You've been up and about too much and need to rest. Your face looks wan and pale."

"But—"

"This is an order. Forward march." He put a hand on her back and pushed her gently towards the door. When she resisted, he pulled her up into his arms and carried her to her bedroom and put her unceremoniously to bed. "Just rest. If you want, I can send Mrs Dalton up, and you can discuss the menu and other household things while you lie in bed."

It wasn't a bad idea, for suddenly she felt a leaden tiredness take over her body. It was apparent that her body was still recovering from her illness.

"You've become awfully overbearing, and I must say I don't like it. But I shall do as you say. But Robert, don't be too hard on those boys. They were merely telling me in great detail about all your heroic deeds. Is it true that you swam across that river under enemy fire?"

He shrugged. "More or less."

"You really are a hero, then."

"Believe it or not, Louisa, but that means little to me. I merely did what had to be done." With those words, he planted a kiss on the top of her head and left the room, leaving her to ponder on the mystery of her husband. Costermonger, hero, soldier. She couldn't quite get to the bottom of who he really was.