Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

This was surely the strangest supper party she'd ever experienced, Louisa thought.

It was uneven in numbers, with more gentlemen than ladies—something that did not reflect well on the hostess. It had been a challenge planning this dinner party without exactly knowing who and how many people would be attending. Will had been annoyingly tight-lipped about his guests. At first, it looked as if there would be only her parents and Will's two aides-de-camp, and Celeste.

"We are expecting four more guests at least, two of which I hold in high regard," Will had informed her.

Louisa wondered who they might be, but he refused to tell her. "You said, at least?" she echoed. "Could there be more?"

"It is possible that one of my guests of honour will bring some additional company, yes," he admitted.

"But Will, that is rather vague," she said. "How is a hostess to plan a supper without knowing the exact number of guests?"

He smiled mysteriously. "We shall make do when the time comes, my love. You will be a splendid hostess, and I am proud to be able to present my wife to the world." He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes, causing her to blush furiously and forget what it was that she had wanted to say.

That hadn't exactly helped.

Louisa had the entire evening planned out, complete with musical performances and card games. There were not enough ladies present for dancing, but one could perform on the piano and sing. Tea, coffee, and light refreshments would be served before a five-course supper, consisting of soup, lobster, a meat dish, and an assortment of cheeses, followed by pudding and post-supper drinks, punch, and negus.

Will wore his dress uniform; a scarlet coat with gold epaulettes and white lace embellishments on the chest, a crimson sash tied around his waist, and white breeches. His tasselled Hessian boots were polished to such a shine that one could see their reflection in them. He looked breathtakingly splendid, and once more Louisa felt a wave of shyness in his presence, which she masked behind a veneer of cool indifference.

She wore a high-waisted forest green dress with a gold embroidered overdress that caught the light with every movement. Her honey-golden hair was elegantly swept up, allowing soft curls to cascade down her neck. She'd never felt more radiant.

Will couldn't seem to help but stare at her. "Tonight, you truly look like La Belle Dame Sans Merci ." His voice was tinged with awe. "A veritable siren. I must warn my men to tighten the security around the estate lest you draw a crowd of admirers from far and wide."

"Must I be concerned? I trust you will fend them off one by one," Louise teased, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Men have done all sorts of things to win my affection. Flowers, pralines, silly love poems." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Yet I have never had the thrill to witness someone duel over my affections." She looked at him through her eyelashes. "Do you think such an opportunity shall finally arise tonight?"

Will straightened his posture. "Just say the word and it shall be arranged. Who is the dolt I must call out?"

Their eyes locked, a moment hanging between them charged with unspoken emotion, then her composure broke, and she burst out laughing. "You are the silliest of them all, Sir Robert."

He chuckled. "Aye, it seems I am indeed."

Will seemed to grow increasingly tense as the evening progressed. But when the butler entered and whispered something into his ear, a broad smile broke out over his face.

With swift steps he walked towards the door, where the butler ushered in a tall, stately-looking man in a greatcoat. He had grey hairs at the temple, piercing eyes, and a proud nose. Upon seeing Will, he held out both hands.

"My boy. Finally."

"You have arrived in good time, sir. I am so glad." Will took his hands and pulled him into an embrace.

"It took us a good twenty hours to reach Calais, non- stop riding with a crossing in horrific weather, and another twenty hours from Dover, but we made it, indeed. We had but a quick meal of cold fowl in the carriage and that was it. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Louisa stepped up to him, a polite smile on her lips. Will took her hand and drew her forward.

"Father, I am pleased to finally introduce you to my wife, Louisa, formerly Miss Highworth."

Father? Hadn't his father died when he was still in his leading strings?

The man turned to Louisa with an expression of genuine interest.

"Louisa, this is General Frederick Ashford, Lord Wexham. I have the greatest admiration for him; he's been a guiding light in my life and he's as dear to me as any father could ever be."

Wexham bowed over her hand. "Louisa, at last. What a pleasure to finally meet the woman who has captured William's heart. Welcome to the family, my dear."

"This is a wonderful surprise. Will didn't mention that we were expecting you today, nor did he tell me the story of how he came to have another father. How glad I am, Will. I would like to hear that story."

The man smiled at her with kind eyes. "And so you shall, Louisa. In good time. I may call you daughter, yes?" Turning to Will, he said, "‘Pon rep, my boy, the stories were all wrong. She is even more beautiful than they say!"

A rosy flush covered her cheeks.

Will introduced Wexham to her father and stepmother, and when all the introductions had been made, Wexham said, "Pray, forgive me my travel dust. Let me wash and change, and I will join you shortly."

The butler showed him to his room.

Before he left, Will pulled him aside and murmured, "Did he come?"

"Naturally. He wouldn't miss this for the world. What's more, he brought three more men." He nodded at the men lingering in the hall outside. "But let us converse anon."

The drawing room was suddenly filled with officers who greeted Will with a military salute and Louisa with wide-eyed deference as they clicked their heels together. After a quick calculation, she realised she needed more places set at the table.

Then the butler announced someone that Louisa had not expected to see tonight. "The Reverend and Mrs Graham."

"Graham!" Louisa's father boomed, pulling away from the mantel of the fireplace against which he'd been leaning. "Haven't seen you in an eternity. It's been what, ten, twenty years?"

Reverend Graham, looking as she remembered him—distinguished with a balding head but a round, kind face—replied, "It's been nigh eleven years, Highworth," and pumped his hand. He looked about, somewhat bewildered, as if he was wondering what he was doing here. He greeted Will politely but with some distance, as if not quite sure what to make of him .

He doesn't recognise him , Louisa realised. He doesn't recognise his erstwhile godchild and pupil .

Will smiled slightly but did not enlighten him. What game was he playing?

His wife, Mrs Graham, was short and cheerful and radiated a motherly air. "Louisa, the last time I saw you, you were a wee girl. Look at you now." She kissed her on both cheeks. She greeted Will, but with a slightly knitted brow.

"Mr and Mrs Daggett," the butler announced next, to Louisa's great surprise, ushering in Wilbur and Mary, who, both dressed in their best Sunday dress, looked most uncomfortable. They looked around, thoroughly overwhelmed and intimidated to find themselves in such elevated company.

"We received an invitation," poor Wilbur stammered, entirely out of his depth.

Sarah lifted her lorgnette and wrinkled her nose slightly, recognising them as not being of their class. But to Louisa's relief, she greeted them graciously.

Louisa rushed forward to greet them. "How wonderful that you are here, Mary, Wilbur." She led Mary to a chair, where she sat gratefully.

Wilbur stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"More covers on the table," Louisa discreetly instructed the butler. She had the premonition that the evening was about to turn exceedingly interesting .

The next guest to arrive cut the ground from under her feet. Tall, lean, with angelic blond locks and a dissolute and degenerate air about him as he leaned in the doorway with a sneer, he sure knew how to make an entrance.

Louisa gasped. As did Celeste.

Her father recognised him immediately. "Stap me vitals! George Cooper-Wiles, as I live and breathe. Lord Milford now, I s'ppose."

He gave a curt nod. "Highworth. And the delectable Louisa. La Belle Dame Sans something or other. I did not expect to see either of you here. And why the devil are you here, Cissy? You're supposed to be with the aunts." He acknowledged his sister, who seemed torn how to greet him, with a simple nod. "Sir Robert. Have you invited half your regiment here?" He waved to the five officers standing around with various degrees of curiosity etched on their faces. "I came as you requested, though the purpose eludes me. If you've done this to rub it in and gloat that I had to sell my inheritance to you, let me tell you it's in vain, for what's done is done and I have neither shame nor regret. I ain't taking it back. I hate this pile of stone and am glad to be rid of it."

Louisa gave him a brittle smile. Before she could greet him, Will stepped up with a firm set of his jaw. "Welcome, Milford. We have been waiting for you."

The expression on Will's face made it clear that George's presence was as welcome as a louse in a wig.

"Have you, indeed?" He waved away the butler, who was trying to offer him tea. "I don't oodle my insides with that stuff. Don't you have anything proper to drink?"

The butler offered him some punch. George pulled a face, then accepted a cup of the warm drink of wine and spices. He threw himself into an empty armchair and crossed his legs and looked expectantly at Will. "Well, Sir Robert. Here I am. Wouldn't dare ignore the summons of the Hero of Vitoria himself," he sneered. "Pray enlighten me as to the purpose of this meeting."

Will smiled thinly. "Yes. Now that we're complete, we can begin. Do have a seat, ladies, and make yourselves comfortable. Gentlemen?"

The gentlemen preferred to stand while the three ladies sat on the sofa. Reverend Graham stood behind his wife, Highworth strolled over to join Wexham, who had rejoined them and was now leaning against the mantelpiece of the fireplace. Louisa offered the fauteuil to Mary and sat in a chair beside her. It appeared that they were not to have tea, music, and card games, as she had planned, as clearly Will had his own agenda, which he had not shared with her. A steep frown creased her forehead. He strolled over to the connecting door of the salon and opened it slightly.

Three redcoats positioned themselves on either side of the door. The adjoining room was dark, and perhaps she was imagining it, but was there a figure moving in the room? She hadn't noticed any other guests arriving. How strange.

Will stood in the middle of the room, legs parted, his hands behind his back.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as Milford so aptly put it, this is no ordinary soiree, and there must be a purpose to this meeting. We have all been introduced, but we do not really know who we all are, do we? Sadly, there are two people missing whose presence would have been beneficial to this meeting. The former Lord Milford being one of them, but he passed away several years ago. And Mr John Brooks, who was the baker before Wilbur Daggett took over." He nodded at Wilbur, who looked at him with considerable confusion. "Mr Brooks also passed away several years ago. As for everyone here, we are all connected to each other. We are comrades at arms"—he nodded at the officers standing around—"or family." He nodded to Highworth and Wexford. "My father and father-in-law." Then he placed a hand on Louisa's shoulder. "My lovely wife."

"Demme. You married the Ice Damsel?" George looked shaken.

"I did, indeed." Will's hands tightened on her shoulders for a moment, then he released her and strolled over to Reverend and Mrs Graham. "You're also family."

The reverend looked embarrassed and puzzled. "It is an honour, of course, to be called family by a person of your stature, but I can't for the life of me?—"

Mrs Graham interrupted with a cry, clapping a hand over her mouth. "No. It cannot be." She stood up, shaking her head, tears rushing to her eyes. "Will!"

Reverend Graham's eyes bulged out of his face. "What? Will? But how is this possible? The boy was transported?—"

Wilbur jumped out of his chair. "Will! By George. Now I see it, too. But you're supposed to be dead!"

"By George, indeed," George drawled, pale. "What in blazes? Is this a bad joke? "

Highworth looked from one to the other, puzzled. "Why is everybody surprised and calling Sir Robert Will? Who is this Will who's supposed to be dead? Do you know him?"

George laughed sharply. "You've always been a devil of a trickster. Impossible to beat, and, it seems, impossible to kill. Few make it back from transportation. It seems you have. Congratulations on being resurrected from the dead."

"Transportation?" Louisa's father said. "Did he say transportation? You must be mistaken." Turning to Will, he said, "You have got some explaining to do, son."

Will stood before him, a smile playing around his mouth that did not quite reach his eyes. "As the French have no doubt learned the hard way, I don't kick the bucket easily."

George jumped to his feet. "I see. Oh yes, I understand now. Is this all part of some elaborate plot for revenge? I want no part of it. You have the girl, you have the house, you have the honours. Now you must rub it into my face, too?"

"Sit down, George," Will said in the lashing, commanding voice he used on his men, and George promptly obeyed and sat down. "You will listen to what I have to say." He turned to the others. "All of you will."

After silence settled over the room, he continued. "As many of you know, I am of genteel birth and lineage. My father was the youngest son of a baron, and my mother the daughter of a landed gentleman. I grew up estranged from both families, though interestingly, members from both sides of the family who have previously denied any relationship have now come forward to acknowledge their connection to me." He shrugged.

"Leeches," Highworth said. "They want to nibble on your fortune, fame, and glory. I have to deal with them all the time. Best to keep them unacknowledged."

Will ignored his input. "I grew up in humble but happy surroundings. Then both my parents died within a short time of each other. I was an orphan."

Mrs Graham nodded. Will stood next to her, and she took his hand and patted it. "Until Reverend Graham—who was my godfather and a friend of my father's—and his wonderful wife took me in, and I came to live in this town. They gave me a new life, a new home, and an education. I would have been a lost waif without them. You were an anchor in my life when I needed it most. For that, I am humbly grateful."

Reverend Graham's face was stony, but he blinked, clearly overcome by memories. "You were an exceptionally bright, inquisitive, mischievous boy who resisted studying. It hurt me to have to be overly strict, but it was the only way to get you to learn your declinations. Trade was out of the question. The plan was to send you to school, and then to Oxford to follow in your father's footsteps. But you had your own ideas."

Will smiled fondly at him. "Indeed. I had other ideas. For whatever reason my convoluted brain cooked up, I was convinced that I wanted to become a baker." He walked over to Wilbur and placed his hand on his shoulder. "You see, when I had to sit at my desk and work on my Latin, the smell of Mr Brooks' freshly baked bread was carried across the street through the open window of my room. I thought there was no greater pleasure."

Wilbur grinned. "Except Mr Brooks had doubts about taking you on as an apprentice. He didn't want to upset Reverend Graham, but he'd taken a liking to you, so he let you loiter around the bakery and taught you a thing or two about making Wigg bread. But, in the end, he took me on as an apprentice instead. Which still rankles, doesn't it?"

Will laughed. "Hardly. You were always kind and patient with me, Wilbur, when I must have been an annoying pest, forever in your way. Even though I was an orphan, I was blessed with a second family and wonderful friends."

He regarded each of his guests, pausing when he saw Louisa. His eyes softened. "I met the love of my life," he said, extending his hand towards her. "The woman who changed everything for me. Her loyalty and courage exceeds any soldier's." His gaze, filled with sweet tenderness, stole her breath away.

"Well said." A distant murmur drifted through the room, but Louisa barely registered it. In that instant, the world dissolved, leaving only Will. Her Will. Her heart flooded with a warmth so intense, a joy so profound, that it could only be love.

He locked gazes with her for a moment longer, visibly reluctant to break the special moment they shared.

Then he moved on to George. "I also made some enemies."

"Hear, hear," George said in a bored tone. He'd crossed his arms and legs and kept the sneer on his face .

Reverend Graham shook his head in exasperation. "I've never seen such rivalry and unbridled antipathy between two young people. Their enmity was legendary and the whole town talked about it. They couldn't miss an opportunity to taunt and torment each other." He pointed a finger at Will. "You were no innocent bystander, mind you. You were as bad as he was, if not worse." His finger rested on George, who studied his fingernails.

"What did he do?" Lieutenant Carey leaned forward, eager to hear some stories about his hallowed superior.

"They almost killed each other." Mrs Graham shook her head. "I remember the time when Will returned home, beaten to a pulp by this one here." She gave George a disapproving look.

"Yes, the good old days," George said. "You were rather short and chubby and easy to punch. Like a sack of flour." He clenched his hand into a fist and punched it in the air. "You didn't know how to fight then, couldn't run. A fine target. I had to practise my boxing skills with someone. Inconceivable how someone like that ended up as a major. The military must be more corrupt than one thinks."

All five officers jumped to attention but froze when Will lifted his hand.

"Yes, a fine target for you and your gang of boys. You never had the guts to face me alone, did you? It is easy to beat up a boy when it is five against one. But what I lacked in physical strength, I made up for cunning and strategy, which you completely lacked, and I must confess that I enjoyed coming up with the most devious plans of revenge to get back at you. I still wonder how stupid one had to be to step into an awkwardly laid trap in the forest as you did. It screamed for five miles what it was. But cunning wasn't your forte, was it? So naturally, you stepped into it."

George hissed and looked ready to shoot out of his chair. They would have flown at each other if Lieutenant Miller hadn't clamped his hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

"You did, indeed. You nearly killed me when you lured me onto a rickety bridge and let me fall into the river."

"You knew how to swim." Will brushed it away.

"And another time when you set that blasted trap for me and left me there until nightfall. If our groom hadn't found me, I would have spent the entire night out there." George scowled.

"It wasn't John who found you," a gentle voice spoke up. Celeste. "It was me. I knew what they were up to, of course, George and Will and Louisa." She nodded at them. "You always thought I was too young and disregarded me. But that night I saw how Will set the trap, and George stepped into it, and it was I who set you free."

"Did you, by Jove?" There was open admiration on Lieutenant Carey's face, which Louisa noted with interest.

"One thing that remains remarkably consistent about George is that he keeps underestimating people. That includes Celeste." Will gave her a curt bow. "I knew you were following us, of course. "

Celeste flushed with pleasure.

"This was one scheme that worked out to the dot of the i. Wonderful memories." Will grinned. "It might interest you to know that I later used the same trick in the mountains of Salamanca, and the French fell for it as naively as George did. Turns out you did your country a service by offering yourself as an experimental subject. It worked like a charm."

"Go to blazes." George scowled.

Reverend Graham sighed. "Much as I liked you, Will, you had an overly active imagination and a tendency to run wild and cause much trouble. Would you like to tell us what happened the night you got arrested, and how you survived transportation?"

"I'm thinking that that part of the story would be best told by George," Will said quietly.

"No, thank you. I refuse." George's voice was heavy with boredom.

"Very well, then, I will." Will made several turns around the room and stopped in front of Highworth, who was taking a pinch of snuff from his enamel snuff box. When Will stopped in front of him, he hastily closed the snuff box again. "It was all because of you."

Highworth nearly dropped his snuff box. "By Jove. Was it? What, exactly?"

"You and Milford came up with the grotesque idea of marrying Louisa to George. If you hadn't come up with that harebrained notion, things in my life might well have turned out differently."

"Oh, that." Highworth waved it away. "It was Milford's idea. A mad scheme, to be sure, but Louisa would have none of it. I went along with it at first to humour him, but in time, it became clear that he had only one purpose regarding this union, and that was the financial gain it would bring. Milford and I were friends, yes, but not friends enough to give him my daughter so he could get a hand on my fortune."

"I only wish, Papa, that you'd been as clear about this then as you are now. Much suffering could've been avoided if you had," Louisa said with sorrow in her voice.

"Eh? Didn't I say that from the beginning? That you're my precious little girl and that I would never force you to accept the suit of someone who wasn't welcome? And why would you ever doubt me?"

Louisa sighed.

"All I ever wanted for you was to accept the suit of someone who'd add to our family's consequence. For fortune we have enough. I thought George over there would fit the bill, but I did not know then that his father would leave the estate encumbered with debt."

George did not move a muscle in his face as he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

"Be that as it may, you agreed to an engagement party." Will's jaw clenched at the memory.

"What engagement party?" Highworth scoffed. "It was to be a nice get-together, rather like this one. Except that Milford had the foolish notion of pushing the engagement between our children. Louisa clearly didn't care for it, and neither did that one"—he pointed with his thumb at George—"so I didn't see the point in pressing the matter. They were children, after all. But Milford was surprisingly mule-headed about it. We had a row, and the next morning we left. The end."

Will's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "You have forgotten a considerable chunk of the story, haven't you, Highworth?"

"I don't see what I should have forgotten. Was there something else?"

"The part where Will broke in and stole the silver." George yawned.

Silence fell over the room. Then they all spoke at the same time.

"Tosh and nonsense. Although now that you mention it, I seem to recall there was a commotion outside in the hall that night." Highworth rubbed his eyebrows. "Then the butler came in to tell us that there had been a burglary, but they'd apprehended the thief with the loot. He was taken to the magistrate." Highworth shrugged. "That's all there is to it, as far as I was concerned." A jolt passed through his frame, and he straightened his shoulders as understanding sank in. "Jove's beard. That ill-mannered rascal spewing forth the foulest language, was you?"

"Right on the button," George chimed in.

A flicker of pain crossed Will's face, masked quickly by a scowl. But Louisa saw the look of bleakness flash through his eyes before he hooded them. The confident facade he presented to the room crumbled, replaced by the haunted eyes of a lost boy. He was struggling internally, thrashing in a sea of hostile voices, drowning. In that moment, everything clicked into place. She understood why he was doing this. This wasn't just a supper; it was a desperate attempt to reclaim his honour.

Louisa rose and glided to his side, her hand finding his and pressing it firmly.

"Nonsense. Will never stole any silver," she said in a quiet, firm voice that cut through the room. Then, in barely a whisper, only for him to hear,"I will not let you sink, Will." She used to tell him that when she'd taught him to swim. "Never again."

His head snapped up, his gaze raw with emotion. Tears welled in his eyes. He gave a curt nod and a single, grateful squeeze of his hand, and proceeded cling to it as if she were his lifeline.

"We had an argument about this," Louisa addressed the room, "for Will was worried about me being pressed into an engagement I did not want, but to me, the matter was never up for discussion. So I invited him to see for himself that his worries were entirely unfounded."

"I took her at her word, and showed up on this very doorstep that evening." Will continued, having regained his composure. "As far as I was concerned, Louisa would only get engaged to George over my dead body."

"Hear, hear," George drawled. "Well, you got close. Punishment for a felony is hanging."

"Yes, on looking back, that nearly happened, except?—"

"You're notoriously difficult to kill. I believe you've already sufficiently belaboured that point. Our judicial system seems to be rotten to the core if they let someone guilty of burglary and felony off to make a career in the army," he sneered. "Didn't your Field Marshall admit that the common soldier was nothing more than the dregs of society, the ‘scum of the earth'? The stories of the atrocities you and your men have committed in Badajoz have reached us as well. All the raping, plundering, and other brutalities. No doubt you set a prime example there and proved his point true."

"How dare you? You lying, perfidious scoundrel!" Will would have thrown himself at George if Louisa hadn't pulled him back.

"He's not worth it, Will. Please." Louisa clung to him.

Instead, Will's aides-de-camp rushed forward, throwing over the coffee table. The petit fours went flying in all directions.

Chaos broke out. Wexham lunged, Highworth leapt back with an oath, and the ladies screamed.

Amid the pandemonium, the door to the antechamber opened, and a cool, crisp voice with a slightly nasal accent said, "I must say. The story has come to a frustrating standstill. I perceive the need to intervene."

Heads turned, and everyone froze.

An elegantly styled gentleman in a blue frock coat and white neckcloth stood in the doorway, surveying the scene.

Louisa's legs gave way as she sank against Will, gasping.

"Stap me vitals," Highworth breathed.

The soldiers, all five of them, including Wexford, fell into a military salute.

One of the officers dropped George, whom he had been holding by the collar.

Will supported Louisa with one arm while saluting with the other. "Your Grace."

The tall, hawk-nosed gentleman nodded, his quizzing glass dangling from his fingers. "Sir Robert. My dear friend. Pray, what is the meaning of all this? You are not about to brawl in front of the ladies, are you? In uniform, too," said the Duke of Wellington as he strode into the drawing room.