Fortune's Bride (27 page)

“I wasn’t screaming,” she interrupted. “At least… I guess I
was, but…but not because…” She hesitated again, and then said quickly, “You
didn’t hurt me, Robert. I liked it.”

He did not respond at once, lying quietly and thinking over
the experience. The first thing that came into his head was that a man was a
fool to bother with whores when a wife could provide more pleasure. Then he
laughed softly.
His
wife did because he had the good sense to tell her
not to be afraid to be playful. The thought brought a rich sense of
satisfaction, and he sighed and stretched.

“You aren’t displeased?”

That ridiculous question made him open his eyes, which had
been closing. “Displeased?” he repeated in a bemused voice.

“I thought perhaps my…my exclamations had disturbed you.”

Robert began to laugh. “I don’t think a full cannonade could
have disturbed me.” He slid an arm under her neck and drew her close.

“I am very glad to hear it,” Esmeralda said, resting her
head comfortably on his shoulder, “because I don’t think I could have
refrained. I mean, I had no idea I was going to make all that noise. Perhaps
you should have warned me.”

“
I
should have warned you. How the devil was I to
know you would screech like a banshee?” He was amused, but after a moment he
remembered Merry’s habit of smoothing everything over and he asked rather
anxiously, “Why did you cry out like that, Merry? I thought I had hurt you
again, but you said not. Was that only for my sake?”

“Oh, no. No. It was…I don’t think I
can
explain. I
never knew a person could feel so…so much. But…but it was perfectly splendid!”

Anxiety was dissipated into a pleasant sense of pride.
Robert yawned, tensed, and then relaxed his legs, which were coming back to
normal but still felt limp and heavy. His whole body was deliciously
languorous, and the air coming in the open window was just cool enough to make
Esmeralda’s warmth against him an added pleasure. His eyes closed again. He
felt the movement of the jaw and the deep intake of breath that indicated Merry
was also yawning.

“But I think,” she continued in a very drowsy voice, “that
you had better put your hand over my mouth next time. After all, we would not
want everyone to think you were murdering me.”

Robert chuckled softly. Those two words “next time” fell
very pleasantly on his ears. “I will,” he promised, his voice showing he was
smiling, “that is, if I’m in any state to remember at the moment.” But he did
not really care whether the whole world heard her. He was not in the least
ashamed of making his wife sing out in pleasure. And, as he dropped off to
sleep with the sound of Esmeralda’s deep breathing near his ear, there was
probably not a happier man in the entire world.

The morning brought no diminution of cheerfulness. Robert
found washing, dressing, and shaving much pleasanter now that he did not have
to hurry for fear of embarrassing Merry. In the past, he had sometimes sensed
her attention and wondered if he was offending her. There could be no doubt
now. They went down to have breakfast together in the kitchen, laughing when
Esmeralda again asked Robert to bring water and warned him against spilling it.

“No fear,” he had replied. “I’m not distracted now by
wondering whether you are putting me off.”

“Oh, no,” she said lightly. “I shall be a model wife.”

She meant it more sincerely than Robert could know, but the
words reminded her that she still had not confessed her adventure at Roliça and
that Robert would be sure to hear of it from M’Guire. It was the very worst
time to tell him, too, she thought, with transport ships right offshore. If her
adventure convinced him that she would be safer in England, she could be packed
off onto a transport ship within hours. She could not bear the thought of losing
the precious joy that Robert’s body could bring her for months or even years.

When he returned, she glanced at him sidelong nervously, as
she put the food on the table. At first, Robert was fully occupied with his
meal, but he had grown sensitive to Esmeralda’s moods. Something pricked at
him. Still, he had almost finished eating before he suddenly pinpointed what
was bothering him and put down his cup.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I have a spyglass,” Esmeralda burst out desperately.

Robert blinked. The remark was so far out of any context
with which he could relate that it almost seemed his wife had lost her mind.
“What?”

His unbelieving question brought forth a tumbled story in
which Dom Aleixo and the spyglass seemed to have exerted some mysterious
influence that induced a French soldier to climb up the tower of San Mahmed
church to steal Boa Viagem because Esmeralda had not been able to see the
battle from the house on the hillside in Amiais. Robert sat listening with eyes
wide open and a dropped jaw.

“But there really wasn’t any danger because Carlos was
there, on Luisa, you know, and he killed him because he didn’t understand that
I was really riding away. And I will never, never do it again, I promise.
Indeed, I promise most faithfully, even though Dom Aleixo wouldn’t take the
spyglass back.”

“But I saw Carlos when I left my horse in the stable
yesterday afternoon.” Robert sounded confused, and his eyes were slightly
glazed.

“Oh, Carlos will never do it again, either. It was only
because I had screamed, you see, not because I was in any danger, but only to
frighten Boa Viagem.”

Robert closed his eyes for a moment. He had heard his mother
and sisters offer similarly incomprehensible explanations to his irate father.
Robert knew that he was being led up the primrose path. The question was
whether it was worthwhile to spend the time and effort to untangle the real
facts. He opened his eyes.

“Just tell me how you got Boa Viagem down from the church
tower by screaming,” he asked blandly.

Now it was Esmeralda’s turn to look stunned. “How I got
what?”

“Never mind,” Robert said. “I only wanted you to know that I
may not have understood what you said, but I am not such a fool as to be led
around by the nose.” It had occurred to him that the mention of Carlos gave him
an easier source for discovering the truth. He pushed back his chair.

“I promise I will never be so foolish again,” Esmeralda
vowed desperately. “Don’t send me to England, Robert.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “No,” he said, “I won’t do
that. Not unless we get into serious trouble here.”

There was, however, no news of any threat from the French,
nor was it Carlos who explained Esmeralda’s adventure to Robert. Carlos had
remembered Robert’s remarks with regard to the cutting of French soldiers’
throats, and he was keeping out of his master’s way. Robert got what details he
could from M’Guire, which was just as well because the big Irishman was not
inclined to give much credence to what he thought were a young and excitable
foreigner’s exaggerations. As told by M’Guire, Mrs. Moreton had been startled
by a wounded French straggler, had screamed, frightening her horse, which had
carried her out of the Frenchman’s power. But Carlos had heard her screaming
and had rushed to the rescue, acting to save his mistress before thinking.

Of course, Robert was not pleased by Esmeralda’s
carelessness in riding around in a war zone, but she had already expressed
contrition and promised not to act so foolishly again. Nor could he say much to
Carlos, since he was caught between needing to praise the boy for risking his
own neck to protect his mistress and blaming him for going too far. It was
best, Robert thought, to allow the incident to slip away unremarked.

He had enough to keep him busy through the day, too. It was
no easier to disembark Anstruther’s men than it had been to get the troops
ashore at Figueira. The surf on the beaches was tremendous, and the slope of
the land into the sea made the water too shallow to allow the ships in close.
Despite the best efforts of the landing parties, several boats were overturned,
and supplies and lives were lost. Having investigated the slow and arduous
process of the landing, Sir Arthur sent a party to the tiny village at the
mouth of the river, saying, “Moreton, anything called Porto should have ships,
or at least boats, and a way to get the boats ashore. See if you can get the
people down there to show you.”

Robert’s Portuguese was much improved, but there were still
gaps in his vocabulary. Up until now, he had been concerned with draft animals,
supplies, and questions about numbers of men and guns of the enemy. Ports,
ships, and the maneuvering of such vessels were out of his range. He struggled
for a little while, meeting unexpected opposition for so innocent a request. He
suspected from the villagers’ apprehensive expressions that there was some
basic misunderstanding. Then he remembered that Merry had said something about
the villagers with whom she had lived being fishermen and that she might have
the right vocabulary as well as being more fluent in the language.

Robert considered briefly whether it was correct to bring a
woman into a military matter and decided quickly that it would be far better to
involve Merry, who knew how to hold her tongue, than to spend all day arguing
with people, only to discover they did not understand what it was he wanted.
And indeed, when Merry arrived, Robert found that he had somehow implied that
he wanted to take the boats of the local residents to sea. Once Robert’s real
intention was clarified, he had no further difficulty. There was a passage at
the mouth of the little river but whether it was suitable for Sir Arthur’s
purpose remained to be seen.

Having served her purpose, Esmeralda, with characteristic
good sense, promptly said polite farewells and was escorted home. She and
Robert had exchanged no more words than those necessary and only one glance
that was not directly associated with the business in hand. Nonetheless,
Esmeralda returned to her lodgings in the best of spirits. Her adventure in
Roliça was a dead issue, and her usefulness had again been proven.

More secure than she had ever been, Esmeralda decided that
the moment had come to announce her father’s death, her marriage, and her
temporary residence in Portugal to her bankers. She went out into the village
and purchased paper, pen, and ink. And in the same shop, which seemed to carry
everything, she was delighted to find a thin muslin in a delicate shade of pink
that she felt would be most satisfactory for a nightgown—an item of attire
about which she had not previously worried but which now seemed very necessary.

Instead of writing the letter to her bankers, Esmeralda
spent the entire day cutting out and sewing up her new nightgown, but she got
very little use out of it because she barely put it on before it was off again.
She did not find this any source for complaint. She was, in fact, much
flattered by Robert’s lazy remark, after they had made love, that she was a
source of naughty inspiration because he didn’t usually… His sentence was oddly
truncated, as if he had been about to say something more and had decided it
would be unwise, but Esmeralda was able to finish it herself quite easily.

The next day she did write her letter, but she had no
opportunity to give it to Robert. The convoy carrying Acland’s brigade had
arrived, however, it was late afternoon before the ships were brought inshore,
and the disembarkation went on until it was too dark to see. Most of the men
did get ashore and were left to sleep on the beach, but when Robert came up to
their room it was very late, and he was in a white-lipped rage.

Esmeralda had been sitting by the table, mending one of
Robert’s shirts by the light of the lamp. She jumped to her feet when her
husband slammed the door shut and, seeing his face, cried, “Oh heaven, what is
wrong?”

“Sir Arthur’s been superseded. That…that dotard Burrard is
here, in the
Brazen
.”

“How dreadful!” Esmeralda exclaimed. “Has he already upset
Sir Arthur’s plans?”

“No.” Robert’s lips curled in a nasty sneer, but then he
sighed. “I’d almost have preferred it if he had. Sir Arthur went out to greet
him, and—you won’t believe this—Burrard wouldn’t even come ashore to look over
the land and the disposition of the troops.”

“But Robert, perhaps that is a good sign. Perhaps it means
that he trusts Sir Arthur and will not interfere.”

“Don’t you believe it.” Robert’s voice shook slightly with
rage. “All it means is that he’s too damned lazy. He’s like all those blasted
Guardsmen, the Duke of York’s pets. Burrard calls Sir Arthur a sepoy general
and looks down his nose at him, but Burrard’s never commanded more than a
brigade, no, a division it was, at Copenhagen, and he didn’t do a thing. Sir
Arthur was the only one who was in action.”

Esmeralda bit her lip. “Did he give any indication of what
he plans to do?”

“Plans to do?” Robert’s voice scaled upward. “Burrard hasn’t
got a plan in his head. That old dotard didn’t even want to listen to Sir
Arthur’s report. There’s plenty of time, he says. Sure there’s plenty of time.
Time to let the French bring in reinforcements from all over Portugal. If it’s
up to Burrard, we’ll sit here until Boney gets back from wherever the devil he
is—Austria, I think—and brings the whole damned
Grande Armée
down on
us.”

“No,” Esmeralda said, “I meant Sir Arthur. Will he stay and
serve under Burrard?”

Robert sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. This has
hit him hard. He knew, of course. Somerset told us in Figueira that Sir Arthur
had been informed he would be superseded. But I know he’s been hoping that we
would have the French out of Portugal before Sir Harry got his orders.”

His voice was now more tired and discouraged than furious.
Esmeralda put down the shirt she had unconsciously been clutching. “Come, sit
down,” she said. “I’ll get you a glass of wine. Would you like something to
eat?”

He came across the room and dropped heavily into the chair
Esmeralda had pulled out invitingly. “No, nothing to eat.” He smiled wryly.
“Sir Arthur’s damned old boots are still sitting pretty heavily in my stomach,
but I’ll take that wine. Sometimes he’s a devil to serve under. I’ve never
eaten such awful food, and the wine’s nearly as bad. We were just talking the
other day about how we could convince him to let Burghersh buy his wine.” The smile
died. “It’s so cursed unfair.”

“But Sir Arthur did have a victory against Delaborde.
Perhaps if Sir Harry doesn’t act, Lord Castlereagh can use that to make the
Horse Guards put Sir Arthur back in command,” Esmeralda suggested hopefully.

Robert sipped the wine. “The trouble is that it would
probably be too late. Junot’s not going to let us sit here enjoying the lovely
countryside. I know Sir Arthur planned to move tomorrow and attack, maybe to
clean out Peniche so we’d have a decent landing site or maybe move right on
Lisbon while Junot isn’t ready for us. But if Burrard waits for the additional
division coming with Sir John Moore—which was the only thing he said that had
the slightest military significance—the chances are that the French can collect
a big enough army to overwhelm us.”

He had been staring into nothing as he spoke, and Esmeralda
could not think of anything to say that would comfort him. Gently she put a
hand on his shoulder, almost expecting him to shrug it off angrily. Instead he
tossed off the wine and then looked up at her. “My gracious silence. Come,
let’s go to bed and seek our comfort there.”

It seemed to Esmeralda that she had barely closed her eyes
when there was a pounding on the door. Before she had even struggled to a
sitting position, pulling up the blanket hastily to cover her bare breasts,
Robert was at the door and had it open a little way. The voice from the other
side of the door was too low for Esmeralda to make out the words spoken, but
Robert exclaimed, “Good God, what luck! Yes, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He did not bother to turn up the lamp, since the dim light
was enough for him to see his clothing—neatly and properly laid out this time.
As he dressed, he said to Esmeralda, “Junot’s on his way. I told you God was on
our side. Nothing could be better. Burrard can’t tell us not to fight if we’re
attacked, and Sir Arthur will have the troops all set so Sir Harry can’t make a
mess of that. If Sir Arthur had a grain of sense, he wouldn’t even send a
message. Like as not, that old dotard will come ashore at the last minute and
take the credit for winning the battle.”

Esmeralda started to get out of the bed, and Robert shook
his head at her. “Don’t get up,” he said. “I have no time for breakfast
now—don’t want it, anyway. Go back to sleep. Nothing will happen for hours and
hours.” He shrugged into his coat, grabbed his hat, and strode toward the door,
where he stopped suddenly and came back to kiss Esmeralda quickly. “I’ll try to
stop in around six to have a cup of tea with you if I can. If not, don’t let it
worry you.”

Although she wanted desperately to beg Robert to be careful,
Esmeralda knew that if she opened her mouth she would burst into tears. That
would never do. She knew how much he disliked wailing women. If he thought she
was going to make a scene before every battle, he might change his mind about
not sending her to England. He had reached the door again and opened it, but he
paused and turned around sharply.

“You may use your damned spyglass,” he said severely. “In
fact, the church tower would not be a bad place to be while the battle is going
on, unless they start to shell the village, in which case you come down out of
there at once, understand? But if I discover that you have left the village and
gone wandering around the countryside…”

Still speechless, Esmeralda shook her head emphatically.
Robert eyed her for another moment and then went out. She sat perfectly still,
fighting fear, afraid to cry lest Robert had forgotten something and returned.
But the fear this time was not a panic that threatened to choke her. She
remained innocently convinced that Robert would not be personally involved in
the fighting. Still, as far as Esmeralda was concerned, it was dangerous enough
that he should be out in the open. There might be stray bullets flying about or
stragglers like the one who had threatened her.

She could not sleep, of course, but after a time she lay
down obediently to wait for the sun to rise. Then it would be time to make tea
and sit in the kitchen to wait again until Robert came—if he came. Esmeralda
both eagerly desired and dreaded his corning. He might not have thought it odd
that she did not speak during the short time it took him to dress. She hoped
she had seemed half-asleep. But it would be different later. She would have to
speak, to seem cheerful.

This task turned out to be easier than Esmeralda had
expected. She went down to the kitchen at half after five, just in case Robert
should come early, and was greeted with cries of delight from several of the
other ADCs staying in the house. They did like her, of course, but Esmeralda
knew that their joy at her presence was owing to the fact that she would slice
bread and cheese, brew tea, provide cold meat if there was any, and in general
save them from the onerous task of feeding themselves. Despite this casual
commandeering of her services, Esmeralda was as delighted to see them as they
were to see her. While his friends were there, doubtless Robert would address
his remarks to them and she could hide her terrors behind the teapot.

Actually, it was hard to continue to be frightened in the
face of the tearing high spirits of the young men. They laughed and joked, and
Robert was equally animated when he arrived. No one seemed to doubt that they
would be victorious, and all seemed almost tearfully grateful to Junot for
attacking them, calling him the best of good fellows to arrive when he was most
wanted. Each time a new person came in, everyone jumped up asking eagerly, “Are
the French in sight?”

The last arrival was Lord Fitzroy, and as soon as he
appeared in the doorway, cups were set down with a clatter, food dropped, and
hats and whips were grabbed up. “Sit. Sit,” he said, grinning broadly as a
groan went up. “Just came by for a handout. Be a while yet before Johnny
Crapaud gets here. They’re down by the bridge near Villa Facaia having a nice
sit down and some breakfast.”