Virginia Henley (24 page)

Alex turned in the article at the newspaper office, accompanied by two drawings. One was of a sweep and his soot-covered climbing boy with sad, hopeless eyes; the other was a caricature of the Members of Parliament eating, drinking, and sleeping on the benches while a speaker droned on unheeded. She received the grand sum of seven shillings for her efforts.
If only one person reads my article and feels outrage, it will be worth the pittance,
she thought to herself as she made her way home.

 

Rupert called around to Curzon Street so he could tell Kit his good news. “I believe congratulations are in order. I took your shrewd advice, for which I am deeply grateful, and pushed old man Harding into upping the ante to ten thousand a year.”

“Then congratulate you I do! I gave the advice, but you acted upon it; two heads are better than one.”

“Well, I warrant a twin knows that better than any. By the way, do you miss Nick excessively?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. A twin isn’t just a brother; he is a part of yourself. I wish he hadn’t run off, but I know he had his reasons.”

Rupert changed the subject. “I haven’t exactly made plans for the wedding yet, but when I do, I want you to be my groomsman.”

Kit Hatton had the decency to flush.
Bloody bad form, as I’m the one who impregnated the bride!
Instead of retreating into his shell, he made a crablike, sideways maneuver. “Rupert, I am extremely flattered, but I would advise you to ask Olivia’s brother, Harry. Giving him the honor would put you in such good standing with your new in-laws.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Sure you won’t feel left out?”

I want to be left out of this one.
“You should ask Harry.”

“Then it’s settled! Do you know where I want to go today? Tattersall’s to have a look at the horses. I saw the Earl of Jersey tooling his cattle through traffic this morning and suddenly I fancied a phaeton, or even a racing curricle.”

“Then let’s do it. We’re both men of means, so why shouldn’t we indulge our fancies?”

After two hours inspecting horses, Rupert looked on with longing as Kit bought himself a pair of well-bred, matched chestnuts. They spent another two hours at the coachmakers, where Kit chose the most expensive perch-phaeton in the coachyard. “Let’s celebrate. Why don’t we go home and change, then meet at White’s for dinner?”

“Sorry, Kit, I must dance attendance on Olivia at Almack’s.”

Christopher patted Rupert’s back to console him. “It happens to the best of us sooner or later. Wait till I’m courting your sister, Alex. The imp will lead me on a merry chase, I have no doubt.”

Later, at White’s, after Kit had eaten dinner and made his way to the gaming rooms, he saw Jeremy Eaton across the room and wanted to hide. He had been successful in putting thoughts of his second cousin out of his mind, but seeing him made Kit’s hackles rise. He watched with sinking emotions as Jeremy approached.

“H’lo, Harm. I was hoping I’d bump into you.”

Kit experienced
déjà vu. Those were the exact same words the devious swine used last time we met!
Kit dreaded what was coming.

“I understand my father tipped you off to some fail-safe, lucrative investments, cousin?”

Kit summoned an arrogant attitude and stood his ground. “Surely your father isn’t foolish enough to discuss my private business affairs with you, is he, Jeremy?”

“Ah, no. My father does not have a foolish bone in his body, Harm. He has no idea the special interest I take in you. Only the two of us know . . .
so far,
” he added with unsubtle emphasis.

“What the devil do you want?” Kit demanded with a bravado he did not feel.

“Since my father isn’t nearly as generous toward me as your father was toward you, I find that I am short of funds again. I too would like to put some money into investments. It’s ironic that your father left you everything, don’t you agree, Harm?”

The avaricious swine knows it was me who shot Father and not Nick. I wish the bastard would have a fatal accident himself! But why the devil am I worrying, when I have enough money to keep the bloodsucking scum quiet?
“This is the last time Jeremy. How much?”

“A mere five thousand buys my undying loyalty and gratitude.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed. His demands had gone up tenfold since last time. “Meet me at Barclays in the morning.” He turned on his heel and walked a direct path to the faro table. Within minutes Jeremy Eaton sat down at the same table and enjoyed the devil’s own luck. Soon, he had all Kit’s blunt and graciously accepted a marker from his second cousin. Kit ordered a double whiskey.
This is one of the times that I miss you, Nick. The two of us together would demolish this bastard, but I can’t do it alone, curse you!

 

Lieutenant Nicholas Hatton wondered if the Fates were cursing him. October brought such a sudden change to the weather that he and his men were caught off guard. October was as wet as September had been dry. The deluge began and would not cease; the dusty earth turned into a sea of mud, and the area outside Pamplona where they had made their camp became an ankle-deep quagmire.

Nick gave orders to strike their tents and set up on higher ground. On the second morning at the new camp, he discovered that not only was food and wine missing but supplies and weapons had been stolen. With Sergeant Tim O’Neil at his side, he ferreted out who was to blame. Apparently, the four young soldiers who were on guard had crept inside in the middle of the night to escape the torrential rain and had downed a few bottles to warm their blood.

Grim-faced and with hard, crystalline gray eyes, Nick surveyed the four culprits who stood at attention before him. His natural instinct was to protect the young devils, and his quicksilver mind darted about exploring avenues that would excuse them from the consequences of their actions. Because he had always protected his twin and covered for him by taking the blame upon his own shoulders, he was tempted to do the same with his soldiers. With a sinking heart he realized that he must mete out discipline; to do otherwise would be grossly unfair to his other men who were not derelict in their duty. He knew they must be taught responsibility.

“There will be no more wine available in my camp. You will give every bottle to the villagers, then you will replace the food that was stolen plus an extra three days’ supply of game for the entire camp.” His eyes darkened; his face looked hard as granite. “Your watch-time will be doubled, and I shall be there with you to see that you do not shirk one moment.” He saw their shoulders slump and hardened his heart against softening their punishment. “Your pay will be forfeit until the stolen guns are paid for.”
Death and damnation, how long will this siege last? My men need action. Pamplona was out of food and water and ready to capitulate but then the bloody rains came!

The next day, Wellington himself rode into camp astride his great charger, Copenhagen, to converse with General Hill. Lieutenant Hatton, along with the other officers, were privy to their conversation. “Tomorrow I mount a surprise attack on Bidassoa. My men will be the first British soldiers on French soil. It will be a symbol, a foretaste of what is to come. General Hill, you will remain in charge of the siege of Pamplona until she surrenders, before you lead your men into France. Any French disasters in the Peninsula have been largely due to their cruelty to civilians. I am convinced that good behavior in conquered France will pay off!” The hooked-nosed Wellington spoke matter-of-factly. He was an impatient commander who did not suffer fools. “Inform your men that we are at war with the government, not with civilians.”

Wellington departed as swiftly as he had arrived, riding Copenhagen into the wind and the rain. Clearly, General Hill was disappointed not to be among the first to set foot on French soil, but he ordered his officers to keep up their men’s morale and above all warned that when Pamplona surrendered, they must keep their soldiers on a tight rein and maintain discipline at any cost.

During the next fortnight, Nick drummed discipline into his soldiers as they relentlessly pounded the fortress with cannon. “Pamplona is close to surrender. I am responsible for your behavior. I will not tolerate acts of vengeance upon conquered people. If I see any man commit murder, arson, or rape, I will not hesitate to shoot him on the spot. Do I make myself clear?”

Not one man present doubted he meant it. They had come to respect him for his untiring energy and his genuine concern that put their welfare before his own, never asking aught of them that he would not willingly do himself. He patched up their wounds, dosed them when they came down with dysentery, and counseled them when they became homesick—even writing letters for those who were illiterate. Hatton was a natural leader, far better in their opinion than any other of Hill’s officers. Moreover, they knew that Lieutenant Hatton’s word was his bond.

Occasionally, mail arrived from England, which never failed to cheer the men. Nick had written a letter to his twin but had received no reply from Kit. A dozen times since he had been in Pamplona, he had begun a letter to Alexandra, then stopped himself from posting it. He did not want to do anything that would encourage her to daydream of him. Though she constantly filled his thoughts, he dutifully pushed them aside. His dreams, however, he had no control over whatsoever, and strangely, the most vivid ones occurred whenever the day’s events had been horrific. His dream sex was highly erotic, like riding wild horses on a magic carpet!

Nick thought he was too tired to dream, but he was wrong.

In London, plans for the Harding-Sheffield wedding began to jell and became solid. For Rupert, time seemed to flash by like a racing whippet; for Olivia, time seemed to have slowed to the pace of a sloth, as she surreptitiously but constantly surveyed her figure in every available mirror.

The Hardings wisely decided to hold the wedding in London rather than at their stately home in Bucks County. They used the excuse that the fall Season had begun, but in reality it meant that the wedding could be a much smaller affair.

“Did Olivia tell you how long she is willing to wait for the wedding?” Dottie asked Rupert.

“Just until I kill myself.”

“Oh, not long then,” Dottie said dryly. “Rupert, don’t whinge; it is most unmanly.”

“The wedding is to be a week from Saturday. I have asked Olivia’s brother to be my groomsman.” Rupert sounded resigned.

“Mmm, I suppose with Christopher Hatton in mourning, you had little choice, but that means Olivia will reciprocate and ask your sister to be her maid of honor. Such short notice is indecent!” Dottie wanted to bite her tongue the minute she said the word, so she quickly added, “Well, there’s nothing to be done but take Alexandra round to Madame Martine’s in Bond Street.” She carefully counted out Rupert’s five hundred pounds and sighed at the expense of another new gown for Alex. “Here, m’boy, you’ve earned it by rising so precipitously to the occasion. I’m proud of you, Rupert.”