Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wellington surveyed the room, which had fallen into reverent silence, and his eyes rested on Louisa. "Ah. Our charming Incomparable." He walked over, and Louisa recollected her wits.

"Your Grace," she stammered.

"You have already made my wife's acquaintance, Your Grace?" Will asked.

"Naturally." He bowed. "What a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Ashford. The last time we met, I recall, at the ball shortly after the Victory Parade, you were surrounded by a thick ring of admirers, like an impregnable fortress. To exchange a single word with you, one had to penetrate their ranks and infiltrate like a skilful tactician. I, however, persevered and was able to secure your hand for the Cotillon. A rare feat, indeed!"

Louisa smiled at him politely. She searched her memory, but for the life of her, she couldn't recall dancing with him. She might have, of course. She probably did. Because it had been so long ago, she could not remember the event with any certainty. From the scandalised look on her stepmother's face, she guessed it was rather terrible of her not to remember dancing with the one and only legend of Europe.

"However, it must be said that the ultimate prize of victory has been won by our Sir Robert here." He slapped him on the shoulder. "Finally. I never thought I'd live to see the day. You are the envy of all Englishmen. I congratulate you most heartily on your nuptials, my friend. It was about time."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

The rest of the introductions were made. "Highworth." Wellington nodded to Louisa's father. "We must go hunting again when the opportunity presents itself. My foxhounds are always up for a good hunt, as am I."

"Indeed, Your Grace, any time. It would be an honour," Highworth replied, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.

Wilbur, Mary, and the Reverend and Mrs Graham first looked at the duke with polite reserve, then with awed wonder as introductions were made and realisation dawned as to who he was. Wilbur's jaw dropped, Reverend Graham's eyes popped, and the ladies blushed as the duke addressed charming words to each of them.

Wellington accepted a cup of tea and sat in a chair near the fireplace, crossing his legs. "But to continue a most thrilling story. You were in the midst of what I assume was an explanation of your innocence, while he"—he pointed at George—"insists that you're a thief and a scoundrel who should be hanged, even quoting my very own words. Indeed, I may have referred to my men as ‘ scum of the earth' on one or more occasions. It is a fact that most of my men come from less-than-stellar backgrounds. However, I also believe that their military experience has honed them into deadly weapons and moulded them into men of distinction. War, undoubtedly, is a horror that brings out the worst in men. A great regret of mine is that I could not prevent the events in Badajoz. I know for a fact that Sir Robert here made every effort to intervene and prevent the atrocities, but the mob was beyond our control. In Badajoz, we witnessed the worst side of humanity, yet we also saw the best. There was courage, heroism, and unwavering loyalty that surpassed anything I have ever seen. Sir Robert here is a prime example." He nodded at Will. "Sir Robert, I suggest you carry on with the story before we hear the other side. I must ask that there be no interjections until he has finished. Proceed."

Will, still clinging to Louisa's hand, resumed his story.

"I believe I was recounting when I sought admittance to this house. But no matter how much I protested that Miss Highworth had invited me, the butler wouldn't let me in. I slipped in through the servants' entrance."

He let the effect of his words sink in. "Note that I did not break in. Note that on my way in I exchanged a word with the cook, who slipped me a biscuit. The cook's name is Mrs Ellen Marley, and I believe she is still alive and well, living in Dorchester. She can be called as a witness at any time. In the corridor just outside this door"—he pointed to the heavy oak door—"two footmen stopped me. I had the impression that they were waiting for me. A third came and threw a knapsack at my feet, accusing me of stealing the silver in the dining room." He paused. "I had never set foot in that room. I had seen none of the silver. My protests were unheard, and before I knew it, I was being dragged off to Dorchester gaol."

He looked grim, his voice trembling slightly. "I was not guilty, yet unable to prove my innocence. Through a quirk of fate, I seized the chance to enlist, than to face a trial that would undoubtedly convict me of felony. I'd barely turned sixteen when I enlisted. You know the rest, Your Grace."

Wellington nodded.

"I daresay all of us military men do," Wexford spoke up. "But the ladies, I suppose, do not, and neither do the others."

"The long and short of it is that, despite the odds being against me, I survived all adverse circumstances including the raging fever that nearly wiped out an entire regiment, and with the help of Wexford who bought me commissions, I was able to rise swiftly through the ranks until you find me here."

"That is a gross oversimplification. Let me take up the story from the point at which you enlisted," Wexford rubbed his hands, eager to say his part. "That is where I come in. When I was a colonel, Sir Robert, who was a mere shrimp of a boy then, saved my life during a skirmish in Saint Lucia. I was hit and left for dead, even though it was a clean shot through the shoulder. I lost consciousness as I fell and was left buried under a pile of corpses. Undaunted, Robert entered enemy territory to find me. At significant risk to his own life, he dragged me out and into the jungle, where we took cover. We spent three, four days in hiding until we were found. Robert looked after me the entire time. I was deeply impressed by the boy's wit, courage, and spunk. He reminded me much of my own son, whom I lost too soon. I also owed him my life. I therefore had no qualms at all about becoming his mentor, and over time our bond grew as close as that of father and son. He is my heir to everything but my title."

"It was the greatest honour of my life when you bestowed your name on me," Will said, deeply moved.

"I saw the boy's potential and realised he'd be better off in the 95th Rifles. He had all the necessary qualities of quick thinking, independence, and marksmanship that a rifleman needed. I helped him obtain a commission as a lieutenant just as I changed regiments. We returned to Europe just in time for the Peninsular Wars. He rose quickly through the ranks, not only through commissions but also through merit, until he ended up in the Royal Scots, where he is now."

Wellington nodded, tapping a finger on his chin. "He first came to my attention after the Forlorn Hope he'd successfully led at Vimeiro, which was a miracle in and of itself that he survived. This boy unites an interesting blend of daredevilry, unsurpassed bravery, exceptional strategic talent, and keen leadership. I personally made sure he received his promotions because I needed him on my staff. You all know the story of Vitoria?"

"I cannot say that I do, Your Grace. What, exactly, happened at Vitoria?" Reverend Graham spoke up, causing all the men to gasp in outrage .

"He swam across the swollen and impassable river under enemy fire to prevent a bridge from being blown up. Thanks to this extraordinary act of bravery, we crossed the river and cut off the enemy from the coast, which ensured our victory. We wouldn't have done it without this extraordinary act of bravery. Hence, the Hero of Vitoria."

"Although, it must be said, the actual hero is here." Will placed his arm around Louisa's shoulders. "For she is the one who taught me to swim. Without Louisa, this never would have happened."

"I commend you for that, my lady. You have done your country a great service." Wellington bowed to her.

Louisa frowned. "No, no, it was John. John, the groom, taught me to swim. And then I taught Will. If we are to dole out medals of praise, he is the one who should receive one."

"That is indeed a splendid idea. Is the fellow around?" Wellington asked.

"John may have retired in the meantime," Will said. "One would have to look for him."

"Do that." Wellington nodded. "Now, to finish the story. By the time Waterloo rolled around, Sir Robert had made himself indispensable to me as an officer on my staff, and I relied on him for accurate assessments of tactics and strategy that greatly contributed to our victory. Sir Robert is not only a highly respected officer, but has become a reliable friend. He's rather like me in that he refuses the prospect of defeat, and as far as we know, he's only ever lost a private battle, once." He coughed discreetly into his hand and glanced at Louisa, who blushed. "But here, too, after overcoming some difficulties, he eventually succeeded."

Someone clapped slowly.

"Hail to the conquering heroes," George said wearily. "Note the plural. I am quite overwhelmed by all this heroism. The presence of His Grace, legendary as he is, isn't enough, it seems. Will's heroism must be pressed upon us as well. I gather you've successfully driven the point home, and the long and short of it, judging by the way you speak, Your Grace, that if it weren't for Will, we'd all have gone to Hades and lost the war miserably."

"Indeed, Milford." The duke turned to him and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do carry on."

"Ah, it's my turn now, yes? As to how I kicked him down the path of heroism? Very well." He stood with a grin that resembled more of a leer. Louisa remembered with sorrow what a handsome boy he'd once been. Now his face was bloated with dissipation, and the lustre of his hair had dulled.

"Yes, tell us, finally, why you have such a problem with me," Will bit out.

George shook his head. "I have no problem with you." He paused. "I just don't like your face. Never have. Doubt I ever will."

Will shrugged. "That's mutual."

"I didn't like that he'd caught my father's attention, prompting him to spout nonsense about paying him a scholarship to Eton."

Reverend Graham sat up. "Yes, he did, indeed. I'd approached him about it. I did not have the financial means to pay for his studies myself, and it was becoming increasingly clear that I was reaching my limits when it came to teaching the boy. I thought it would be best if he went to school. I approached your father to see if he would be willing to be a patron. He met the boy, was impressed, and agreed. In the end nothing came of it, because Milford got himself into financial difficulties and needed the money himself."

"I don't know what it is about you that all the men you meet want to become your patron," George scoffed. "But I didn't like the fact that the scant attention my father gave me was now completely withdrawn and given to that chubby little rat."

"Ah. I see," Will said softly. "Jealousy. That explains some things."

"You were an insufferable know-it-all, an insolent big mouth, and a good-for-nothing cur."

"You therefore had to bully and beat me up regularly."

"That goes without saying."

"Which you were fairly good at in those days, because you were physically superior. Note the past tense." Will stood tall and strong in front of him to show that their roles had now changed. "And I would retaliate a tit for a tat."

George brushed him off. "Most of your capers were rather juvenile and only shocked the ladies at the tea table …"

"… with the pig's bladder." His lips twitched into a half-smile. "The look on their faces was beyond anything one could ever have imagined."

A vague answering smile tugged at the corners of George's lips. "Or the time when you put a dead mouse in my boot."

"A servant left them outside the door to dry and I couldn't resist."

"Except that one went awry, and it was the boots of my father's valet. We had the same boot size. He shrieked like a girl."

George and Will grinned at each other.

Wellington took out his pocket watch and consulted it demonstratively.

"But that last trick of yours was a mean one, and it nearly cost me my life." Will looked grim. "Come, George. The time has come to confess. Why did you set me up?"

A sneer passed over George's face, and it did not appear, at first, as though he would speak. Then he shrugged. "Very well. The truth? You stole my girl, and you needed to be punished."

Will's head snapped up. "I did what?"

Louisa frowned. "I beg your pardon, but I was never your girl."

George looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. "In my mind, you were. Both our fathers even agreed that we should marry."

"Now, see here," Highworth began, but George raised a hand.

"You never even exchanged a single kind word with me," Louisa said. "When you weren't ignoring me, you were horrid to me, pulling my hair and making me fall. You broke my dolls. You said you'd marry me over my dead body. Not that it mattered, because the point was moot to me. Besides, we were only children."

"That's commonly how boys express their affection. The more they protest, the more they hide their true feelings," George said with a smirk, and to Louisa's horror, some of the uniformed men nodded in agreement.

"That is absurd."

"It is the truth. I was head over heels in love with you. But I never stood a chance, did I?" He pointed a finger at Will. "He stole not only my father's attention, but also you. I knew he was coming that evening because I overheard you talking in the forest that day. So, I hatched a plan. As soon as you appeared, my footmen would stop you and a third one would claim that you'd stolen the silver. I bribed them heavily, of course. I was the son of the house, and next to my father, my word had to be kept. Thought it was the only way to get rid of you. Figured they'd lock you away, and the engagement could go ahead undisturbed." He shrugged. "Worked like clockwork, too, up to a certain point."

Will exhaled. "Did you even consider, for more than half a second, the consequences I was facing?"

"I knew you'd be thrown into prison. I thought you'd be released eventually, with my father, Reverend Graham here, and Highworth sure to step up. Surely, his daughter would throw a tantrum, and her father would have him released in no time. Egad! That didn't happen."

"Because I didn't know he had been taken to prison." Louisa wailed. Will increased the pressure of her hand to comfort her.

"Neither did I, by Jove." Highworth shook his head .

"I confess I was somewhat taken aback when they said you had been shipped off for transportation," George continued. "Not sure how that came about. But the entire village knew by nightfall."

"What you're saying now is that it was a vicious boy's prank gone awry." Will's nostrils flared.

George hesitated. "I didn't like you, Will. But that didn't mean I wanted you dead."

"You could've fooled me."

Silence fell.

"But," George said, "It was all good for something, eh? He survived, he won the war, he got the girl, he got the house." He waved his hand about. "I didn't know that Ashford fellow who bought this crumbling pile of stones here was you. Not that it matters. It was a fair deal, and I got it off my hands. You got everything you ever wanted. Medals. Honours. A knighthood. You even got me to confess. Enemy vanquished and publicly humiliated. Revenge complete. What more do you want, pray?"

Will closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, "All I ever wanted was to prove my innocence. That is what I lived for. To regain my honour. To clear my name." He looked at Wellington.

"I see now. The driving force behind all these theatricals." Wellington waved his quizzing glass about the room. "Honour. The desire to prove to me, in particular, that you're not scum of the earth. Am I correct?"

"Yes." Will swallowed. "Because you're my superior, someone I've admired since I can remember. Because it is of immense importance to me you all"—he emphasised the word and turned to make eye contact, one-by-one, with Wexford, Reverend Graham, Wilbur, Highworth and lastly, Louisa—"all know for certain that I am not a thief."

A heavy, suffocating weight pressed down on Louisa. She could have prevented so much suffering if she hadn't had that one moment of hesitation, of doubt.

Wilbur blinked his eyes and cleared his throat. "For what it's worth, Will, I never believed it. You were a whirlwind of a mischievous rascal, that you were. But crime? That just wasn't you. I always knew in my heart of hearts that you were innocent, and that you'd make it, somehow."

"Thank you, my friend," Will whispered. "You do not know how much those words mean to me."

"I am overwhelmed with gratitude to see how well you have done for yourself," Reverend Graham said. "Well done, William." He got up and squeezed his shoulder.

"Without your intercession, things would have gone badly indeed," Will said. "I felt like I never thanked you enough."

"Nonsense, boy," Reverend Graham said gruffly.

"It never mattered to me either way, because you never had to prove anything to me, son." Wexford stood beside him. "It's good to have the truth out, and I suspect this is all more for you than for us. We all believe you are innocent. Now we know it for a fact."

"At the root of all the trouble, a woman. The delectable Louisa. You play a similar role to the fair Helen, do you not? Men go to war over her," Wellington commented .

Louisa looked ill. "Surely not!"

An amused smile played about his austere face. "Do not take it to heart, Lady Ashford. I was merely jesting."

But there was a kernel of truth in his words. Seeing George in the corner, scowling, she braced herself and said, "You have the honour of being my very first in a long line of rejected suitors, George. I suppose that counts for something. We were children then, and I think neither of us fully realised the consequences of our actions. Peace?"

He nodded after a moment's hesitation.

"She apologises to him, but not to me," Will grumbled.

"To you, I'll have to atone for the rest of my life," Louisa responded. "Knowing you, you'll never let me forget this."

At that, Will smiled. His hazel eyes lit up just like her childhood Will's eyes used to, full of happiness and sweet mischief, and she almost gasped.

George's voice intruded. "I must confess, I felt rather better after the long list of names of rejected suitors appeared in the Gazette. As for you," he turned to Will, "it pains me to say it, but dash it, very well, here it is. I suppose I owe you an apology."

"Hear, hear," said Wilbur, who clapped slowly.

Will looked at George with surprise.

George pulled up a corner of his mouth wryly. "You have to understand you embodied everything I ever wanted. You do so even now. Look at you." His hands motioned at his uniform. "I wanted to enlist; did you know? But Father wouldn't let me, flat out refused to buy me a commission. "

"Well then, Milford." Will crossed his arms and assessed him. "I wonder whether you have it in you. I doubt you'd survive a fortnight marching with the occupation forces in France. What do you think, Your Grace?" Will turned to the duke, who steepled his long fingers together.

"A month at the most." The duke weighed his head back and forth.

"I wager less!" One of the duke's aides-de-camp spoke up.

"Agreed," replied another.

"Milford?" Will looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "If you pick up that gauntlet, know that I will watch you with a hawk's eyes. Everything you say and do will be under scrutiny and reported directly to me. By Jove, I'll make your life difficult, and I'm going to enjoy every single second of it."

George shrugged. "Do your worst, Major. You'll find I don't break that easily."

Will turned to Wellington. "Your Grace?"

He folded his arms. "Let him try. It's a suitable punishment for sure."

George stood up straight, as if a lightning bolt seemed to pass through him at those words. "It will be an honour to serve you, Your Grace," he said. "And you as well … Major. I won't give you any reason to regret this."

He bowed curtly and left the room.

"Well," Louisa said slowly. "That was a rather unexpected turn of events. Ladies and gentlemen, after all this excitement, surely you must be craving some nourishment. I believe the supper table is ready. "

Louisa only reluctantly let go of Will's hand, which she'd been holding the entire time. Wellington offered her his arm to lead her to the dining room, where he told everyone about his legendary exploits during the wars.

"Tell me, is Bonaparte truly the monster everyone says he is?" Louisa asked. "Because judging from your stories, you seem to have a considerable amount of respect for him, despite everything."

"Despite everything." Wellington leaned back in his seat thoughtfully. "Would you like the truth, Lady Ashford?"

"If you please, Your Grace."

"The truth is, I never met the man personally. We only fought against each other once in Waterloo. Even then I could not get a clear view of him because it rained that dark day. It is a fact that amongst all his field marshals, none could match his calibre. I believe his presence on the battlefield to be worth that of forty thousand men. Let us be clear. I respect his prowess as a commander, but do not believe he is a gentleman. But neither do I deem him to be the monster some claim. The true monsters on this earth are found buried deep within us, and we battle against them daily."

"Profound words," Wexford nodded. "I am entirely in agreement."

The last guests had retired, and the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the early morning hours.

"We are the only ones here now," Will commented, stating the obvious as he leaned back in his chair .

There was a moment's silence in the room, thick with unspoken emotion. Louisa traced the pattern of the crochet doily on the coffee table, unable to meet Will's gaze. When she finally dared to steal a glance at him, his eyes were already on her, a flicker of something warm igniting deep within them.

Will looked away, picked up his glass with cherry liquor and swirled the liquid round and round in the glass as if it were the most fascinating thing ever.

She could bear it no longer.

The chair scraped on the wooden floor as he got up. Then she was engulfed by his heat and masculine smell as he knelt next to her, wrapped his arms around her tightly, and rested his head on hers.

She was aware of him, how large he was, and the own thumping of her heart, which seemed tremendously loud and surely must be echoing through the room.

When she finally dared to lift her gaze, her eyes met his, and the melting intensity she found there stole her breath. Her stomach somersaulted.

"And now?" she whispered.

"Now, my lovely Lulu, madam wife …" He smiled slowly, and his low voice was filled with a promise that sparked a delicious shiver down her spine.

With one fluid motion, he swept her into his arms. She let out a small squeak of surprise as he carried her up the stairs, two steps at a time.