The Stanforth Secrets (8 page)

“Moore is responsible for the army we have today. It was an honor to serve under him,” said Justin. “He understood that the men are more than cannon fodder, that they are capable of a great deal if encouraged. Do you know, Napoleon is reported to have said, ‘Moore is the only general now fit to contend with me.’ ”

“He must have rejoiced at his death,” said the Duchess sourly.

Justin smiled slightly and shook his head. “More likely he wept for all the confrontations which would never occur. Napoleon Bonaparte is a strange man, but a genius. It will be a tragedy if England underestimates him.”

“We’re not likely to do that,” said Chloe, “when he’s squatting like a spider with Europe in its web. Everyone knows a soldier. Belinda, your brother is with the army, is he not?”

“Yes,” said Belinda, a frown of concern on her face. “He is with the Eighth Foot. I wish the war was over.”

“Don’t we all, gel,” said the Duchess.

“What of Sir Arthur Wellesley, or Viscount Wellington, as he is now?” asked Randal, who was obviously fascinated by tales of war. “Can he handle the Corsican?”

“He’s brilliant,” said Justin, a light in his eyes. “I was invalided after Corunna but made it back in time for Talavera. Fifty thousand against our twenty thousand. Only Wellington could have prevailed.”

“He lost a quarter of the army,” said the Duchess severely, “and has done mighty little since.”

“The Spaniards won’t pull together,” defended Justin. “Venegas let the French reinforcements through a Talavera, and now they squabble among themselves instead of driving the French out. It’s wise of Wellington to hold off and protect Portugal. Our forces are retreating behind the lines of Torres Vedras. If Massena wishes to follow him, he will do so through a wasteland.”

Chloe noticed a faraway look in his eyes, and knew he was back with his men and his comrades. She was surprised at a twinge of jealousy in herself. Jealousy and anxiety. He had sold out, but when his affairs were in order, would he return to the war?

She was aware of her intention to pull him back to the present, back to herself, when she said, “Lord Wellington believes that by holding Portgual, Britain will foil the French in Spain. Do you agree, Justin?”

“Yes, Napoleon will not rest until he controls Iberia,” said Justin. “He cannot leave us in Portugal.”

“Do you think you will go back?” she asked, hoping the question sounded inconsequential.

“No,” said Justin quietly. “Unless Britain is in desperate straits, I will not fight again.” Then, in a clear effort to change the subject, he said lightly, “Unless, as Randal implies, I will have to fight off the husband-hunting infantry of Almack’s.”

“Well, of course you will,” said Chloe with a chuckle. “A hero from the war, a rich nobleman . . . You will be a prime target, I’m afraid. What a shame you sold out. If you could still wear your uniform they would swoon at your feet.”

Justin looked dubious. “I think you mixed a metaphor there or something, Chloe. After all, any infantry that swoons at the sight of regimentals would be in a parlous state.”

“No, no,” she said mischievously. “War paint is all a question of context. What would the gentlemen in uniform do when faced by those beauties with their glossy curls and low, filmy gowns?”

“Stand to attention, I would think,” he said dryly. The wicked glint in his eyes had warned her, but she still choked on her sip of wine.

Randal and the Duchess laughed and Chloe could not help but chuckle. She told herself she had no taste for these
risqué
conversations, so why did she feel inebriated on one glass of wine? Why did she know her eyes sparkled more brightly than the crystal lusters on the chandelier?

Later, as the company laughed at one of Randal’s wry anecdotes, Chloe exclaimed, “Oh, this has been such a pleasant meal. I had forgotten how it could be. I cannot wait to rejoin Society. Grandmama has invited me to the Towers for Christmas and then I shall go south for the Season. There are any number of friends I wish to visit on the way.”

“I hope you won’t rush away too soon, Chloe,” said Justin with a frown. “After all, I have a great deal to learn.”

“No, of course not. But before the end of the month I would think.”

“Why not stay here for Christmas?” he asked, and Chloe thought, guiltily, that it might be lonely and awkward for him here, with only Belinda and the Dowager. But she could not stay, must not stay.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Justin,” she said hastily. “It is kind of you, but I have promised Grandmama.”

A glance at that surprised lady begged for support.

“Well,” said the Duchess. “I do want to be home before the hard weather, true enough.”

With that, Chloe rose to lead the ladies to the drawing room and their tea. The Dowager Lady Stanforth was obviously tired and soon decided to seek her bed. Belinda sat by her embroidery frame to do some pretty work on the hem of a dress for her child.

“What was all that about, gel?” asked the Duchess quietly.

“All that?” queried Chloe.

“My rushing back home.”

“Well, I’m sure you do want to be at the Towers for Christmas, do you not?”

“A mere three months away,” pointed out the old lady.

Chloe felt as beleaguered as Lord Wellington’s retreating forces. “Now Justin is home,” she said firmly, “it is time to leave.”

The Duchess sipped her tea and eyed her granddaughter. When she spoke, however, it was to say calmly, “As you will. Why don’t you play the pianoforte, my dear. Some Bach perhaps.”

Obediently, Chloe went to the piano. As she opened the instrument, however, she remembered a past comment of her grandmother’s that Bach tended to straighten tangled minds. She looked suspiciously at the old lady but the Duchess sat nodding and staring into the fire, as innocent as a lamb.

Chloe played Bach’s fugue in E minor with clarity and precision. Her mind was as clear as a tidal pool, she told herself. She had the chance to start her life afresh, and she would not allow the undoubted Delamere charm to sway her once again.

The unwary might have thought the Duchess sleeping, but as soon as the gentlemen entered the room her head came up and her eyes scanned them, as bright as ever.

“Ha! About time,” she declared. “We’ll have a hand of whist. Find the cards, Chloe.” She looked at Belinda. “You don’t play, do you, gel?”

Belinda colored at this but it was the only sign of discomposure. “In fact, I do, Your Grace,” she said calmly. “George used to say I play very well.”

“Oh. Well, you are doubtless busy with your needlework, are you not?” said the old lady anxiously, and then looked around at the others. “Damn it. It’s not that I don’t want to play with Belinda. I just don’t want the fact there’s five of us to put off the game. I’m partial to a game of whist, and I haven’t had one for months. That useless Miss Forbes doesn’t know a heart from a handshake.”

Lord Randal came over to take the old lady’s hand and kiss it. “Don’t worry, my dear. You will have your game. I think I’m the one here who is least fond of cards, so I’ll take Chloe’s place at the piano.”

This arrangement suited everyone. The Dowager, to make up for her rudeness, insisted on playing with Belinda as her partner. She was well pleased when it became clear the young woman was a very skillful player, with an amazing memory.

As Belinda calmly led out an unbeatable six of clubs, forcing a discard of his queen of hearts, Justin groaned, “Remind me, Aunt Belinda, never to play with you for high stakes.”

The Duchess swept the cards up with a gleeful grin. “Ours again. Fine play, gel.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She turned to Justin with a rueful smile. “Please, Lord Stanforth, can I prevail upon you to call me Belinda? If I was foolish before, it was only nerves, you see. We will be a laughing stock with you calling me aunt.”

Chloe glanced at Belinda thoughtfully. Clever.

While George had been alive, Belinda had been rather awkward in her manner, trying far too hard not to make mistakes. George himself did not help by being moody and petulant. For a while as a widow, Belinda had seemed to relax and become much more natural in her manner. Now, Chloe thought, Belinda had gained new poise. She was not displeased. The girl was now part of the family, and Chloe did not want to have to blush for her. On the other hand, she did not want Belinda to inveigle an offer out of Justin.

Justin was also eyeing Belinda thoughtfully. “You are right, of course. Why do we not settle for ‘Cousin.’ It would capture the spirit of our relationship.”

Belinda nodded. “I would be pleased to call you Cousin Justin.”

“And I to call you Cousin Belinda.”

“Cousins everywhere,” said the Dowager. She added with a sly smile, “Just remember, all of you. Cousins should never marry.”

There was no reason for it, but at the word “marry,” Chloe’s eyes went to Justin’s, and surely his just escaped being caught in the same reflex.

After a moment, his eyes returned deliberately to hers, filled with amusement. Chloe only then became aware of the melody Randal had suddenly began to play
con amore
, a popular ballad called “Now You Are Near.”

Chloe blushed as she remembered the words: “Sweet, sweet the thought of you, my dear, But sweeter still the day now you are near. . . .”

She glared at her cousin and, with an unrepentant grin, he slid off into a wordless tune. Chloe hastily dealt the cards for the next hand.

The game broke up when Belinda was obliged to go up to her child, whom she nursed herself, and the Dowager admitted to needing her bed. Randal ceased his playing.

“I had no idea you played so well, Randal,” said Chloe, with an edge in her voice as she leaned against the piano.

“It’s a soothing occupation,” he replied innocently, “but not one to which I’m willing to apply myself. You play considerably better than I.”

“But not so eloquently,” Chloe said, moving to stand beside him. “Keep your meddling fingers out of my business, coz,” she said pointedly and he laughed.

Justin had come over to join them and she turned to him. “I know this is your house, Justin, but I have to ask if there is anything you need.”

He took no offense at her words, but he seemed to eye her pose strangely. She realized she was resting one hand on her cousin’s firm shoulder, and removed it.

“I’m only too pleased,” Justin said, “to leave the running of Delamere to you for a little while, if you will be so kind, Chloe. Tomorrow is soon enough even to think of taking up the reins.”

“You won’t find it so hard. Scarthwait has it all in hand and can be trusted.”

“Still, it’s not my way to leave matters in the hands of employees without an understanding of what they are about.”

Chloe looked at him with a touch of surprise. This was quite the opposite of Stephen’s approach to property. “Well,” she said. “I’m sure Scarthwait will be delighted. If you’re eager to take up your tasks there are a number of items of business and correspondence on the desk in the office.”

With that Chloe went up to her bedroom, and the two young men looked at each other.

“An interesting inheritance,” remarked Lord Randal, long fingers idly picking out a tune.

More so than you think, thought Justin, trying to decide whether he should clear the house of all the ladies during these dangerous times. It might, however, be a sign to the enemy.

He put those thoughts aside for later and said, “How about a game of billiards, Randal. Or shall we take brandy to the office and see what horrors await me there?”

Lord Randal laughed. “Oh no you don’t. If you want someone to hold your hand while you grapple with balance sheets and crop records, wait until tomorrow and I’m sure Chloe will oblige. For now, I’ll take billiards and beat you hollow. I’m sure you’re out of practice, my boy.”

This proved only too true; but, as they had taken the brandy decanter to the billiard room with them, they soon forgot to keep careful score. By the time Chloe heard their laughing voices in the corridor as they made their way to bed, neither had the slightest notion of who had won the games.

Chloe had lain awake in bed for two hours by then, seeking her normal, peaceful sleep. She was not in the nature of deceiving herself, thus she had to accept that Justin had an effect on her which was quite out of the ordinary. She thought back, so many years it seemed, to the time of her elopement.

Two handsome young blades, men of fashion, visiting in the area and turning the heads of all the young ladies. Even her older sister Cassandra had blushed when Stephen bowed to her in the village, and Cassandra was the most proper of young ladies. At the same time, however, Cassandra had passed on to Chloe their parents’ warning about the young Delameres, who were known to be wild in their ways.

Chloe, riding out alone one day, as she was not allowed to, had come across the Dashing Delameres racing their horses, joined the race, and beat them hollow. The next thing she knew, one of them was asking her father’s permission to woo her and being told he must wait at least a year, until he was twenty-one and she had left Miss Mallory’s.

Her father’s reply had seemed so unreasonable. Chloe and Stephen were in love, or thought they were. She now recognized that she had been at least partly in love with escape, with racing free in the wind, but at the time she had not been able to distinguish those feelings from love. When Stephen suggested they elope, she scarcely hesitated. He was, after all, no fortune hunter. He was an eligible
parti
, and her parents’ objections were ridiculous.

Chloe rolled over in bed and beat the pillow in an attempt to force it to cradle her head in comfort. What crazy children they had been, even Justin—though he had been a year older than Stephen, twenty-one. He had traveled with them all the way to Scotland, organizing the trip perfectly. Not such a child. It was he who said it was déclassé to go to Gretna, when anywhere in Scotland would do. As a consequence, she had at least been decorously married in a church in Edinburgh, not over an anvil in a hovel.