Fortune's Bride (44 page)

“You damned lunatic! Send your wife home at once. Sabrina
and I are coming in from Cornwall and will wait at Stour House in London until
she arrives.”

A little of the tension eased out of Robert’s face. He
stuffed the two unopened letters into his coat pocket. He was not in the mood
to read raptures or bewailings from his mother and carefully phrased
suggestions from his father. But Perce’s letter had solved most of his
problems. Although he had been determined to do it, it did seem the outside of
enough to saddle Sir Charles with finding Merry a decent hotel, guaranteeing
the bill seeing that she had money, and arranging all the other details
entailed in protecting a young woman who had no friends. Now all Sir Charles
had to do was drop her at Stour House in London, and he was going to London
anyway.

All Robert had to do in addition to ensure Esmeralda’s
comfort was write a draft on his banker, which Perce would have cashed, so that
Merry could buy what she wanted without the embarrassment of asking for money.
He sighed with relief, then frowned again. Merry was going to get stubborn as a
mule if she had to leave Molly and Carlos behind. Robert’s mind checked and
backed up to the word “mule”. He groaned audibly.

Colborne looked up from what he was writing. “Now what’s the
matter?”

“Is the ship that will take Stewart in the harbor now?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I have to speak to the commander. Is he bribable, do you
think?

“What?” Colborne asked, unbelievingly.

Robert smiled wryly. “I want to see if I can get him to take
a horse and a mule as well as my wife, her maid, her maid’s infant, and her boy
servant.”

Colborne just stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar. “A
horse and a mule on a courier ship?” he got out at last.

“Well, I think Merry will trust me to bring Boa Viagem if
there isn’t room for both,” Robert said thoughtfully, “but Carlos will not go
without Luisa. If we force him, he’ll probably jump overboard and try to swim
back. And I’m going to have enough trouble with Merry without suggesting that
she leave Carlos, so the mule
must
go.”

Colborne closed his eyes and shuddered. Then, faintly, he
gave the name of the vessel and the name of the naval officer commanding her.
Robert smiled grimly and set out for the docks. There he was fortunate enough
to encounter not only the naval officer but Sir Charles also. It was not
exactly easy to arrange matters, and Stewart’s guffaws of laughter did not help
much, however, when he stopped laughing, Sir Charles gallantly added his own
request to Robert’s, and the thing was done. No poor naval commander was going
to oppose the Earl of Moreton’s son and Lord Castlereagh’s brother.

All this took so long that, when Robert at last went to
Merry, he had to tell her that she and all her dependents must be ready within
the hour. In one way he regretted it. There was time for nothing but one hungry
kiss. In every other way, he was devoutly glad. The suddenness of her departure
was such a shock that her emotions were numbed. He did not have to see the fear
and grief in her eyes. He knew she would worry about him—he was worried about
her traveling the wintry seas—but it was less painful to know something if one
did not see the stark evidence of it.

But Esmeralda would not have argued in any case. To weep and
plead could only make Robert miserable. His expression told her it would not
change his mind. Knowing that, it was best to make everything easy for him, as
she had always done—and his gratitude was thanks enough. She did not even ask
what she was to do when she came to London. She knew his parents had a
residence there, and she intended to send a note to Moreton House with the name
of the hotel at which she would stay. That way Robert would know where to find
her. They were actually all on board ship before Robert said that she was to go
not to Moreton House but to Stour House, where his brother and sister-in-law,
Sabrina, would be expecting her.

“Oh, no,” Esmeralda cried. “I could not—”

“Perce is the best of good fellows,” Robert assured her, and
thrust into her hands Perce’s letter and the draft on his banker, “and you will
like Sabrina. She looks like a candy doll, all silver tinsel, but she’s just as
tough as you are, my love, and has most excellent good sense. And if you’re
safe with Perce and Sabrina, I’ll not worry about you.”

So she agreed to that, too, thinking in the back of her mind
that she would convince Sir Charles to leave her in a hotel. She could tell him
that she wished to wash off the soil of her journey and change her dress—not
that she had a dress to change into, since all had been abandoned to lighten
Luisa’s load—and that she would go to Stour House when she was presentable. She
did not begin to cry until after the boat had taken Robert back to the docks,
not until they set sail and she could no longer see him, a tiny blue and white
speck, watching the ship recede.

For the remainder of that day, Robert felt very strange.
There was a large hole in his life. It was not only that he missed Merry in a
physical sense. These past weeks he had actually seen very little of her, but
until this day he had always been conscious that she was
there
, a
certain number of miles away, that he could get to her if it was really
necessary. Now she was no longer there, and he did not like the feeling at all.

The next day, January 14, was busy. The transports had
finally arrived and embarkation of the sick, wounded, and dependents began. In
addition, the French were now heavily massed. Colonel MacKenzie of the Fifth
reported that another division and a multitude of stragglers had swelled the
force with which Soult had been advancing cautiously. Moore seemed to throw off
his depression at this news and went out to examine the ground himself.

There were three ridges of hills, the first two more
formidable than the third and far more extensive. Moore had no more than
fifteen thousand men. He resolved to set his defense on the third ridge, called
the Monte Moro, and for the first time since they had left Sahagun, Robert
recognized the commander under whom he had begun his career. By the morning of
January 15 the British were in position, braced for an attack by a force
considerably larger than their own, but in surprisingly good spirits.

The first part of the day was a grave disappointment. The
French could be seen moving on the higher ridges, but nothing happened. As the
day advanced to noon, Sir John became convinced that Soult would not attack
after all and ordered General Edward Paget to march his troops down to the
harbor, since they were to be the first to embark. About a quarter to two in
the afternoon, however, there was a crash of artillery fire from the top of the
westernmost crest.

Sir John at once galloped up behind General Baird’s division
and saw columns of French pouring down into the valley and cavalry regiments
pushing out from behind the Penasquedo Heights. The first smile Robert had seen
since the retreat had begun lightened Moore’s face. Although the excitement
that Robert always felt at the prospect of action stirred in him, one part of
his mind remained very cold.

He knew Sir John welcomed this battle because a victory that
would permit him to embark his troops under the very noses of the French would
do much to soften the bitter criticisms that would be launched at him. But
Robert could not forget that if Moore had permitted the army to stand its
ground at Astorga and had managed the retreat in a less hysterical fashion,
there would be fewer frozen bodies along the road. Thus, the satisfaction
Robert felt at seeing his old mentor enthusiastically discussing the coming
action with Baird had a tinge of bitterness in it.

Not more than fifteen minutes later, another dose of gall
was added. The artillery barrage grew more intense. Even Hermes, hardened old
trooper that he was, danced and curveted, and Robert reined him hard and backed
him, suddenly aware that one stirrup seemed loose. He bent to check and then
jerked the horse farther aside as a muffled scream sounded ahead of him and an
angry whoosh seemed to go right by his left leg. When he came erect he saw a
crowd surrounding General Baird, lifting him from his horse and working over
him.

“What—” he said to Colborne.

“Ball shattered his left arm. It missed you by a hair.”

Robert gritted his teeth. He liked General Baird.

“Moreton,” Sir John called. “The Fiftieth is coming up from
Elvina. See that it re-forms on the Forty-second. They are to make ready to
charge down when the French come up the slope.”

The Fiftieth was retiring under heavy fire. Robert knew that
Sir John had intended him to wait with the Forty-second, but his anger and
frustration needed an outlet. He passed Sir John’s order to Lieutenant Colonel
Stirling, left Hermes with the reserve mounts of Stirling’s ADCs, and ran down
toward the action. It was just as well that he had decided to go down, for
Major Charles Napier was trying to rally his men already, and Robert’s
instructions eased his conscience about not holding the village.

The regiment had fallen back in good order, however, and
were quite ready to come down on the French again. With the support of the
Forty-second, they drove in the
tirailleurs
with a crushing fire, but
the supporting columns held out against them, and they took shelter behind a
line of stone walls. Not far from the major, Robert took aim with a musket
snatched from a wounded soldier. He swore in disgust as his target remained
standing. But a man to that soldier’s right cried out and fell, and Robert
wondered whether it was his bullet that had struck him. He cursed the
inaccuracy of the weapon in his hands and threw it down, drawing his pistol.

Before Robert could fire, he saw Sir John coming down the
slope, calling out that they must advance. He expected next to hear his name
and a scathing remark on his self-indulgence, but either the general did not
see him or he was too busy to concern himself with the erratic behavior of one
of his usually reliable aides. The regiments, encouraged by their officers,
climbed or leapt the walls and pressed forward, Robert with them.

The head of the French formation melted before their
volleys, and the battle rolled downhill toward Elvina again. At the closer
range of a pursuit, Robert’s pistol took its toll, and he blessed it and its
maker because it did not jam. Just above the village, the Forty-second halted,
but Major Napier was determined to take back what he had lost and led his men
in among the houses. The French were not making a determined stand, but even
so, clearing them out of the place was dangerous work.

One of the
tirailleurs
who had survived the initial
charge suddenly stepped around the comer of a house and fired at Robert from
about ten feet. Obviously he had been confused for just a moment by Robert’s
blue coat and had not lifted his gun until he saw Robert raise his own, which
gave him no time to aim. His bullet took off Robert’s cocked hat, but Robert’s
shattered the man’s head. Robert leapt for the shelter of the wall while he
drew his saber, for his pistol was empty. He suspected that where there was one
Frenchman, there might be others. Shouts made him turn to look, relieved to see
red coats only a few yards behind, and the world exploded… And then there was
nothing.

There are many things that can be said about a winter sea
voyage, most of them bad, particularly on a very small ship not intended for
passengers. However, if the wind is right, it is usually strong, and the one
good thing about Esmeralda’s trip to England was that it was quickly over.
Moreover, the sour, silent moods of the commander of the vessel, whose quarters
Esmeralda and Molly occupied, and of Sir Charles Stewart, who carried less than
exhilarating news for his brother and in addition was having serious trouble
with his eyes, suited Esmeralda very well. All of them hardly exchanged a
hundred words, although they saw each other every day.

Even Esmeralda’s attempt to avoid being pushed on Robert’s
family was settled in very few words. She asked to be settled in a hotel, and
Sir Charles said, very simply, “No.” When she gave her reasons, he shrugged.
Then he uttered a full sentence. He allowed that she could walk out of Stour
House one minute after he brought her into it, but that was where he said he
would take her, and he would do it.

Esmeralda did not really fight very hard. Naturally she had
read Perce’s note, and there was something very warm and comforting in it. When
she considered that aspect of it, she felt a thrill of hope that she might,
after so many years of isolation, again find the tender concern of fond
relatives, which she had lost when her mother died.

Then at other times she found herself enraged at the notion
that Perce should call Robert a damned lunatic. She was not personally
offended. Somehow she was sure that the words did not have to do with Robert’s
sudden marriage but with the fact that he had allowed his wife to follow the
army. She resolved firmly to defend her husband’s decision even if that defense
did not please Robert’s brother, and she further intended to make clear that in
the future she would go right on following her husband and she would not thank
anyone for trying to interfere.

But then the question of her baby would arise. Now that they
were on the ship, Molly confessed that she had been surprised Esmeralda had not
lost the child, owing to the hardships she had endured. Esmeralda had exclaimed
in horror. It had never occurred to her that she would miscarry. Molly had had
the same experiences or worse. But Molly soothed her by assuring her she had
only mentioned the matter because it was the best of good signs. The baby was
sure to be strong and healthy.

New hopes flickered in Esmeralda’s heart. If Perce and
Sabrina accepted her and if she could convince them that it was
her
desire to follow the army, could she induce them to believe it was not wrong?
Then would they act as surrogate parents for a few months at a time so that she
could be with Robert? This hope was so enticing that it did more harm than good
because it made Esmeralda nervous about the impression she would make on her
new relatives.

Fortunately, this idea did not occur to her until she was so
exhausted by being shaken and banged about in the post chaise racing toward
London that she soon fell asleep. Just as her eyes closed, Esmeralda gave a
dizzy thought to Molly and Carlos, traveling with Luisa by slow stages. She
would have much preferred to go with them, but Sir Charles would not hear of
it. He had promised his escort, and his escort she would have, even if it meant
she must travel at courier speed.

In the end, she had no time for nervousness before arrival
because she was not aware of having arrived until Sir Charles shook her gently
and said, “Here we are, Mrs. Moreton.”

He lifted her out of the carriage and supported her up the
steps. Esmeralda’s lips trembled. Among the many reasons she had been relieved
at going to Stour House rather than Moreton House was that she thought a Mr.
St. Eyre’s home would be less grand than an earl’s residence, but the building
into which she was being shepherded seemed more magnificent than the governor’s
house in Bombay. She was shaking so hard that Sir Charles kept his arm around
her as he sounded the knocker. Esmeralda shuddered. There was something strange
about the house, a blank, empty look that was forbidding.

“I don’t think there’s anyone here,” she said faintly,
crushed by disappointment despite her initial reluctance to come.

However, the door opened just as Sir Charles began to
answer, and he turned to the footman instead, saying, “This is Mrs. Moreton. I
believe Lord and Lady Kevern are expecting her.”

The footman’s eyes first widened in shock and then narrowed
in disbelief. His glance flickered over Sir Charles’s arm, which still
supported Esmeralda, then over her stained, ragged riding dress and Sir
Charles’s uniform, which was in even worse condition, torn and blackened with
powder stains, mud, and dried blood.

“If you will give me your card,” he said coldly, “I will
present it to—”

Upon which Sir Charles put a hand on the footman’s chest and
shoved him back into the house with considerable force, following him in and
dragging Esmeralda with him.

“You bloody nodcock!” he roared. “D’you think I carry
visiting cards on the battlefield?”

Almost simultaneous with Sir Charles’s outraged bellow came
the sounds of footsteps—several heavy pairs from the back of the house and the
brief click of high-heeled slippers as a woman crossed a piece of polished
flooring between two carpet runners. But Esmeralda did not notice that. In
fact, she had hardly taken in Sir Charles’s enraged roar because what she saw
on entering had confirmed her original fear. There was no one to meet her. The
house was empty. All the furniture was dust sheeted.

“Sir Charles—” she began in a shaking voice, intending to
urge him to leave and take her to a hotel. She got no further, being
interrupted by a firm feminine voice.

“Whatever is the—” Sabrina began, and then she, too, took in
the condition of her visitors’ clothing. However, she was much less impressed
with the external marks of status than her footman, and she came immediately to
the correct conclusion. Of course, she also recognized Sir Charles Stewart,
which was helpful, so she finished with an exclamation. “Sir Charles! Oh, have
you brought my brother’s wife home? Oh, thank you.”

“Yes,” he said as Sabrina came down the stairs, “this is
Mrs. Moreton.”

But Sabrina did not acknowledge the introduction. All her
attention was focused on Sir Charles. She remembered with horror similar stains
on a uniform her husband had worn. “Are you hurt, Sir Charles?” she asked
breathlessly, and then when he shook his head,

“Is there anything I can do for you? I see you have come
directly from the field. Would you like to bathe? A change of clothes?”

“I thank you, no,” he replied. “I am going directly to my
brother’s house and will be accommodated there.” Then his voice softened. “Mrs.
Moreton has had rather a bad time,” he said.

“Oh my God!” Sabrina cried, “Robert? Has—”

“No, no,” Sir Charles said hastily. “Captain Moreton was
perfectly well when we left him. I only meant… Well, Mrs. Moreton will explain,
I am sure. My business with my brother is very urgent, so if you will pardon
me, I will take my leave at once.”

Esmeralda stood quite frozen through this exchange. She
heard it, of course, but it made little impression on her mind. All she knew
was that Sabrina’s eyes had flicked over her once, and from that moment all of
her attention had been given to Sir Charles. It seemed Robert was wrong. She
was not welcome to Lady Kevern. She heard Sabrina say something about sending
the footman out with Sir Charles for the baggage.

“I have no baggage,” Esmeralda said.

Sabrina had started to accompany Sir Charles to the door,
but something in Esmeralda’s voice stopped her. She turned, and her eyes met
Esmeralda’s. “My dear,” she cried, “I didn’t mean to overlook you. I thought he
was hurt. Perce was with the Russian army at Eylau… Oh, that can’t mean
anything to you, but when I saw the blood on his coat… But Mrs.
Moreton—Esmeralda—you are welcome. I cannot tell you how welcome you are.”

“Robert calls me Merry,” Esmeralda said, her voice shaking.

“My darling Merry,” Sabrina murmured, putting her arms
around her. “My darling Merry, you have come home.”

Those words were the last thing Esmeralda remembered. When
she opened her eyes, she was totally bewildered. She was in the middle of a
huge bed hung with the most elaborate curtains she had ever seen. She lay for a
while looking at them, but no amount of staring brought the slightest
familiarity. Nor was there anything else, when she began to examine the
remainder of her surroundings, that was in the least familiar. Never in her
life had she slept on silk sheets, nor been covered by so intricately
embroidered a feather quilt, nor worn a nightgown of sinfully expensive lace,
tucked and pleated to display the body beneath it so provocatively.

Eventually she remembered arriving at Stour House, and the
amenities explained themselves. She remembered, too, the oddly erratic
greeting, so seemingly cold in the beginning and then so warm. Vaguely it
seemed to her that she had been given a reason, but she could not remember
what. In any case, she thought, she had better get up at once. She realized she
must have fainted. It would never do to confirm the impression that she was
weak and sickly. Someone might tell Robert. She reached for the bedcurtains.

They were instantly pulled back, and a pleasant-looking
woman smiled at her warmly and said, “Dinna ye move a bit. Brina’ll be here in
a minnit, and yer breakfast on her heels. Ach, ye’ll be wonderin’ who’m I. I’m
Katy.”

The manner indicated a very privileged old servant, probably
Lady Kevern’s nurse, although she did not call herself “Nanny”, as most of them
did. Esmeralda smiled in response, feeling more confident. If Lady Kevern had
sent her own nurse rather than just any maid to watch by her, it must mean that
those arms around her had not been an impulse that soon passed.

“There isn’t anything wrong with me,” Esmeralda said. “I’m
so sorry to have made such a dramatic entrance. It was the post chaise. We only
stopped to change horses, and that was done so quickly there was no time to get
out—”

“Of course there isn’t anything
wrong
with you,”
Sabrina’s voice interrupted, “but why didn’t you tell Sir Charles you couldn’t
travel at such a pace?”

“I couldn’t do that,” Esmeralda protested, her eyes large.
“He was a courier on army business. It was only that I am not accustomed to
riding in a carriage—” She stopped abruptly, realizing she had made a faux pas
from the astonishment on Sabrina’s face. Ladies always traveled in carriages.
But, Esmeralda thought, not army wives who followed the drum, and she pushed
herself upright and went on defiantly, “I have always ridden Boa Viagem and
accompanied the army on its marches.” Then her mare’s name reminded her of the
carriage following. “My servants,” she said, “are also suitable to the wife of
a military man. Molly is a soldier’s wife, not refined, perhaps, but strong and
willing, and Carlos, though young, is clever.”

“My dear;” Sabrina said softly with tears in her eyes, “you
do not need to defend yourself. I admire you more than I can say. You are a heroine.
You must love Robert very much to have given up so much, to have endured so
much, to be with him.”

“Well, I do adore him,” Esmeralda admitted, her spirits
rising mercurially at the evidence of Sabrina’s sympathy and understanding,
“but I’m no heroine. I was quite accustomed to riding horseback because Papa
was such a nip cheese—”

She stopped again, this time putting her hands to her mouth.
It was “not done” to say such things, and she would not have slipped up except
that she was so accustomed to speaking freely to Robert about her father and,
of course, there had never been any occasion to speak of him to anyone else.
However, Sabrina laughed heartily.

“You are a refreshment to the spirit, Merry. I wondered
whether it would be necessary to avoid discussing your father. Papa Moreton was
appalled—now don’t start to look like a lost waif again. I assure you he does
not associate you with your father’s peculiarities, and Mama Moreton does not
even know about them. In fact, if you feel strong enough, they are very, very
eager to meet you.”

Esmeralda drew a deep breath. “Of course, but I cannot go to
Cornwall at this moment. Please. I must wait for Robert.” Her voice started to
shake, but she added another, “I must,” appealingly.

“Naturally you must wait for Robert,” Sabrina said. “Dear
Merry, there’s no question of you going to Cornwall. The Moretons are here.
Perce didn’t know they were coming when he wrote to Robert. You were equally
invited to Moreton House, and I thought you would go there, which is why I was
just a little surprised—”

“Oh gracious, I hope the Earl and Countess of Moreton won’t
be offended,” Esmeralda exclaimed. “I just did what Robert told me. I didn’t
even know Robert had written to them—or to your husband.”

“Oh, that Robert!” Sabrina exclaimed, laughing. “If I know
him, he never read his father’s or mother’s letters. Anything longer than five
lines is too much bother for him. Perce was perfectly right, and I should not
have scolded him about the note he wrote.”

“No,” Esmeralda protested, ready to leap to Robert’s
defense, but she paused as a maid carried in a tray, which she prepared to set
over Esmeralda’s thighs. Esmeralda shook her head. “I would prefer to get up,”
she said firmly.

Sabrina waved the maid toward a table, and Katy brought an
exquisite peignoir, which fit Esmeralda very well. “I thought Meg’s things
would fit her,” Sabrina said to Katy with satisfaction. “What a relief. That
means we can shop at leisure.” And when Esmeralda protested faintly at the
notion of borrowing some unknown person’s clothing without permission, Sabrina
laughed, said, “It’s only tit for tat,” and explained how Megaera had also
arrived without a stitch except what she was wearing and had worn Sabrina’s
clothes. “And, you know, Leonie came to England without any clothing, too.
Well, neither had I any, but I was only nine. Still, it’s becoming a family
tradition. Really, I begin to think one of us will have to write a book. We
seem to be very adventurous females. How did you happen to be all alone in Lisbon
when Robert married you?”