Major Lord David (15 page)

“I am finding entertainment enough here, Miss Athington,”
Grenby assured her, with a gracious bow to Billie.

Billie felt the color rise to her cheeks. She had not intended
to encourage Grenby so particularly, yet he appeared to be
most particularly encouraged. In distraction she looked to the
sea of regimental scarlet across the room. He has gone, she
thought. He has already gone to Dover and is probably even
now crossing to Brussels. She felt the notion almost as a physical pain. But her unhappy gaze soon focused on the distinctive brass buttons in front of her-on the familiar paired
facings of a Coldstream officer’s tunic.

“Oh!” she breathed, as her gaze rose to meet Lord David’s.
“You are still here”

“I hope you do not object, Miss Wilhelmina,” he said
lightly. His eyes looked very bright.

She thought her discomposure something in the nature of
an illness, that she should always delight so mindlessly in
merely looking at him.

“Have you this dance for me?” he persisted, looking to
Grenby.

The man obligingly opened his palm to Billie. “It is Miss
Caswell’s to confer,” he allowed, though he did not look
pleased when Billie chose to give the major her hand.

As they walked onto the floor, David inclined his head to
hers. “Your Lord Grenby looks disappointed this evening,”
he whispered, stepping away to take his place in the set. “Have
you not told him I am yesterday’s suitor?”

As the music began, Billie did not answer him. There seemed
so much to say; she did not wish to waste a minute discussing
Lord Grenby. Yet it did occur to her that in his manner of
claiming a dance, and in calling her Miss Wilhelmina, the major had not acted in the least like “yesterday’s suitor.”

He was smiling at her now in a way that would convince no
one of a lapsed attachment.

“I heard you were in Dover,” she said.

“Very briefly. We must move thousands. As quickly as possible.”

“But we do not yet know what Bonaparte will do!”

“Don’t we?”

She lost him in the figures of the dance. When they came
back around together once more, she found the brief clasp of
his hand heartening.

“What do you expect?” she asked tensely.

He smiled. “This is much too grim a conversation-for a
ball.”

“I am no simpleton, Major, to be fed assurances.”

With one raised eyebrow, he affirmed, “No.” And when
they met again, he told her, “Parliament will take its time debating war, while the army prepares to wage it. And we will
watch Bonaparte”

When she again had his ear, she protested, “All this was
settled last year!”

“This summer will truly resolve it.”

“But surely none of it is necessary! He must be content
with France. We needn’t be involved-”

When he returned, he said, “You anticipate the debate, Miss
Billie. ‘Tis a debate I shan’t be staying to hear.”

She thought rather desperately, When? When must you
leave? But instead she chose to relay that Kit had obtained a
commission.

The major looked very serious for a moment. “I suppose
such was to be expected. Your brother is an impulsive fellow.”

“Would you deny”-she charged, instantly taking umbrage”that more men are needed?”

“Certainly not. But trained men. Steady men. Calm and levelheaded soldiers. I don’t wish to presuppose-”

“But you do!” As one eyebrow again rose at that, and not in
amusement, she added, “Oh, I do not know why I defend himwhen I do not wish him to go!”

“But you wish me to go?”

She looked at him then without commenting, wondering
why he could not see. She had never thought herself so fine an
actress. As the dance moved into a more rapid reel, they could
no longer speak at all. Billie felt the frustration of fading, precious time. Though she had thought to be elated in his presence once more, the ball had become a misery.

When the set ended, he did not surrender her but drew her
quickly to the long, columned hall at the side of the ballroom. Other couples passed in and out of the many curtained
openings; she and the major were in full view of most at the
dance. Yet their removal to the hall gave them a limited privacy
and quiet that Billie welcomed.

“Now,” he said, leaning close to her. His gaze was very
steady. “You might talk.”

When Billie’s attention slipped to the side to locate Ephie a
good twenty yards across the room, the major noted her concern.

“We are most properly positioned,” he assured her softly.

But you take the same liberties, she thought, as though we
were still betrothed. Her chin rose.

“You know that Miss Athington removes to Brussels with
her family?” she asked.

“She has told me”

“I imagine that will be most convenient,” she suggested.

“For whom? Wellington-or Bonaparte?”

She stifled a laugh and forced herself to concentrate on his
smoothly-shaven chin. “You … you mustn’t make me laugh.”

“It pleases me to do so,” he said with a smile. “‘Tis often
for the best. And you are much too serious this evening.”

“There are serious events at hand”

“You think you must remind me?” Again his smile caught
her attention. “Do you contemplate following the Athingtons
and the rest of the throng to Brussels?”

“No. Father would not permit me to leave, even if Morty
could be prevailed upon. Though I do worry for Kit… “

“He must take his lumps.”

“You’ve expressed that view before, Major,” she said quickly.

“Yes. I am staunch as a post” This time his smile did not
convey humor. “I do not wish to cross you, Miss Billie. I
imagine there is nothing more calculated to raise your ire.
And I would not presume to patronize, to advise your fatheror your brother Morty-against it. But you must not go to
Brussels. This is not a play staged for society’s amusement.
There are real risks-”

“Major,” she interrupted proudly, “I have just been warning
Miss Athington very much as you warn me now.”

“Is that so? Wise Miss Billie!” He surveyed her features indulgently. “‘Tis far better for you to have your season,” he
mused aloud, “away from Leicestershire and your cares”

“And now you do patronize, Major!” When she would have
stepped back from him, she ran up against the velvet drapes at
one column’s edge. “You would have me cosseted here, with
vacated theaters and drawing rooms, while you and the rest of
the kingdom romp in Brussels.”

“I foresee little time to `romp’ in Brussels,” he countered
smoothly. Then he added-and not entirely to the point-“The
Household regiments locate west of town. At Enghien. More
than twenty miles away. And do not”-he playfully tapped her
chin with one finger-“go blurting that to the French”

“Oh . . ” She tried to hide her satisfaction. In her estimation
he could not be too far removed from Brussels.

“Are you possibly jealous, Miss Billie?” he persisted, an
amused sparkle in his gaze.

“Of your ability to act, to do something, yes,” she admitted,
refusing to gratify him, and keeping her thoughts of Charis
Athington to herself.

“You think you would like to follow the drum?” he asked,
shaking his head. “With your youth and energy you would
chafe at its plodding beat. You’d find it only wearing, and the
life would age you ten years in one” His look now was solemn. “I cannot speak to you as though you were a man. For the life
of me, I cannot think of you so. But as you say, you are no
simpleton. And I must be honest. Take your season as it’s offered, and try to be content”

“While you have your war.”

“‘Tis not my war. You are unkind.”

“But you have called me brave,” she asserted.

“No empty words” Again he smiled. “‘Tis true. But it takes
equal courage, Miss Billie, probably greater courage, to be patient while confronting the imagined demons-those of worry,
and anxiety, and regret. I have seen men go mad with waiting. And waiting-sheer, numbing tedium-is nine-tenths of
service.”

“Which is why you need Bonaparte-as an excuse for a
battle.”

“He is not an excuse,” he countered grimly. “He is a reason”

“You want the reason.”

“No, I am persuaded by the reason” The comment was
sharp. “I would never have believed you could sound so …
missish!”

At once she was conscious of the color in her cheeks, of
the stares and hushed attention about them. No one had approached them; they had been left to themselves. But Ephie,
her gaze very stern, had come closer. And Billie knew their
quarrel was a subject of speculation.

“We-we take too much time,” she said. She found she
could not move either to the right or the left of him without
brushing against him. She met his gaze, prepared to ask him
to kindly step aside, only to encounter a considering look in
his that she could not quite interpret.

“Every once in a while,” he said, “the reminder strikes me
like a blow.”

“What reminder, Major?” She tried to turn into the column,
to squeeze past his broad chest, but there was no room.

“The reminder that you are indeed a very young miss.” And with that extraordinary admission, he smoothly slipped his arm
about her waist. Drawing her from their singularly exposed
spot, he pulled her into the set for the waltz.

“You mustn’t-you mustn’t dance another with me,” she
said, conscious of the firmness in his clasp.

“No?” He surveyed the dance floor instead of looking at
her. “We shan’t avoid the alert eyes and ears of The Tattler in
any event. At least I choose to be understood”

“But this is our third dance!”

“Just so” He smiled broadly at her. “If a simple tiff must be
bruited about, at least The Tattler might acknowledge the reason for it.”

“We are not engaged,” Billie insisted, forced to follow him
in the dance. She knew he mustn’t claim again what she’d attempted to sever. She gathered the will to break from him at
the first opportunity-their “tiff” might entail so much. But
catching sight of Charis Athington’s envious expression as
they passed, Billie found she preferred one victory to another.

“The world will not be ignored just now, Miss Billie,” the
major remarked idly as they stepped on down the set. “It is
`too much with us,’ as the poet says. On all sides, apparently.”
His hold tightened. “Do smile, sweet. I cannot act happy for
both of us”

“I am not happy.”

“Ah, I forget. You are upset that I shall be leaving you. Very
good. You think ahead of me.”

No, she thought, I do not think ahead of you. ‘Twould be
quite impossible to think ahead of you. She looked directly at
him.

“You may be an actor,” she said. “But I am not”

“So you do not wish me to go?” His gaze held hers. “I believe I asked earlier-before our refreshing little break”

“If I-if I were to ask you to stay, would you?”

His hold about her waist felt strong as a vise.

“You would not ask me,” he claimed, suddenly serious. “Which is why you make it so devilishly difficult to leave.”
He turned their clasped hands unexpectedly to his lips and
quickly kissed her wrist below her glove.

She thought he could not go then, not after such outrageous
behavior. She silently studied his face for the remainder of the
dance, anticipating that they must have further conversation.
But he did go, with no more than a farewell at the waltz’s end
and just after returning her to a disapproving Ephie.

The next morning Billie received a small volume of Wordsworth’s poetry, accompanied by a typically terse note from
the major, explaining that it had been among some books
from Braughton that he had gathered to take with him. He
wrote: I hope you will consider this a gift. It is, like my heart,
now yours. Sous bonne garde. David.

She was left to find Enghien in the atlas-and to spend too
much time puzzling over David Trent’s parting note. Again
she concluded that he meant to be cryptic. Given his hasty,
dashed phrases and lack of punctuation, he left one to infer
too much. Sous bonne garde. Did that mean he knew his heart
to be safe in her keeping? Or that she must not worry about
him-that he was in the safekeeping of others? In the care of
the Duke of Wellington, perhaps, or of even higher authority?
She hoped all military communications did not suffer so from
lack of clarity.

Apprehension filled her days. Shortly after Lord David’s
departure, word arrived from Vienna that the Congress of
allies had declared Napoleon Bonaparte an “enemy of the
world.” Bonaparte reached Paris on the same day that Louis
XVIII, the installed Bourbon king, fled the city. Given the
astonishing speed of Bonaparte’s advance and the overwhelming welcome his countrymen had given him, a confrontation
between France and the rest of Europe seemed inevitable.
Still, Bonaparte claimed to want only peace with his neighbors, though no one with whom Billie spoke believed as
much.

Over the Easter break, during the last week in March, even
Billie’s brother Edward spoke of possibly curtailing his studies to join up and fight Bonaparte. With some effort Billie,
Ephie, and Morty convinced him that he should first finish reading for his degree-that Bonaparte might still be there for
him some months later.