Carola Dunn (5 page)

Anita’s expressive mouth drooped and tears welled in her dark eyes. “They will be hungry,” she wailed.

“I’ll get some crumbs from the pavilion by the pond,” Felix hastened to promise. “Do you think swans like cake crumbs, Anita?”

“Cake’s much nicer than bread,” she assured him, sweetly earnest.

“I ought to scold you for spoiling her,” Fanny said in a low voice, “but there were times on campaign when we all went hungry, and she remembers, though she was very young. Thank you, sir.”

“I daresay you have had little opportunity to spoil her. If I do so, it’s purely for my own benefit, since a tear in those eyes is enough to pierce the most hardened villain to the heart.”

She matched his joking tone. “Then, for heaven’s sake, don’t let her learn of her power!”

Anita’s short legs grew tired as they went on towards the park. Willing to compromise his dignity for her, Felix set her on his shoulders, to the imminent danger of his top hat. He took it off and gave it to Fanny to carry.

“A shocking breach of propriety to be seen in the streets bare-headed,” she quizzed him to hide how deeply his gesture touched her.

“I be Tío Felix’s hat,” said Anita, and laid her little head on his. Her ankles looked tiny and fragile in his strong, well-kept hands, but Fanny trusted him to keep her safe in a firm yet gentle grip.

Reaching the park, they strolled between beds of iris, blue, yellow, white, purple, and bronze. “If ever we settle in England,” said Fanny passionately, “I shall have a flower garden. I shall grow mignonette and speedwell and sweet williams and love-in-a-mist...”

“And forget-me-nots, no doubt. For all your practicality, I believe you are a secret romantic, Miss Ingram.”

“...and candytuft and honesty,” she finished with a reproachful look, and sighed. “But if Frank has to live on half pay or sell out, I daresay we shall have to find work in a city and live in some horrid tenement. I shall grow geraniums in a window-box,” she added, defying fate.

“You would have appreciated the flowers I took Lady Sophia more than she did,” he said ruefully.

“Put me down,” commanded Anita. “Please. I want to smell the flowers.”

His hat restored to its proper place, Felix returned with equanimity the greetings of a pair of youthful ladies of his acquaintance who passed on the arms of two officers. “Mr Creevey’s stepdaughters, the Misses Ord,” he told Fanny. “One of the two is betrothed to one of those fellows, but I can never remember which.”

She retrieved Anita from the flowerbed, just in time to stop her picking a bouquet, and they continued towards the pavilion. The cool of the early evening had attracted both citizens of Brussels and English visitors to the park. The sober dress of the burghers mingled with pastel muslins and bright regimentals in a constantly shifting spectacle.

“Tío Cav!” shouted Anita, letting go of Fanny’s and Felix’s hands. She dashed after a trio of dark blue uniforms with scarlet facings. The Horse Artillery officers turned and the eldest of the three caught her up, laughing, swinging her high into the air.

“Good day, Miss Fanny,” he said, setting the child down and saluting. His companions echoed him. One of them, a tall, fair lad, gazed at Fanny with such yearning that Felix had to suppress a smile.

“Lord Roworth, you’ve met Captain Cavalié Mercer at our house, have you not?” she said. “These two are Lieutenants Farrow and Barnstaple.”

Felix shook hands with the abashed young men. He guessed that his title awed them, for the sons of the nobility rarely chose to enter the Artillery. Yet as Fanny’s friends, her brother’s colleagues, and Napoleon’s enemies, they deserved his respect.

They walked on together for a few minutes. Fanny asked the captain whether he had yet succeeded in having his guns and his horses accommodated in the same quarters.

“No, and Colonel Frazer’s breathing fire over the business. It’s those damned inexperienced staff of De Lancey’s. Lord, what a mess it’ll be when we’re suddenly called to arms and there are no horses to move the guns.”

“At least Frank has his all gathered together at Braine-le-Comte.”

“A devil of a lot of use if we’re attacked in the west. The colonel says Old Hookey expects Boney to try to cut us off from the ports.” Mercer looked enquiringly at Felix.

“So I have heard,” he confirmed shortly. The man’s freedom in swearing before Fanny annoyed him, and her lack of reaction annoyed him more.

“The Duke likes to keep his back door open,” put in Lieutenant Barnstaple, turning crimson as everyone looked at him. “I mean...his escape routes...”

Anita tugged on Fanny’s sleeve. “The swans,” she reminded her.

The two groups parted, the swans were fed, and they turned homeward. Anita trudged wearily along. Felix was about to lift her to his shoulders again when he saw the Goddess riding towards them on her dainty bay mare, flanked by Lord Garforth and one of the Life Guards. She was superb in a black-frogged habit à la militaire, with a shako-style cockaded hat setting off her blonde ringlets.

He raised his hat to her. She looked straight through him and trotted onward without betraying by the slightest sign that she had seen him.

“Here, carry my hat, will you, Miss Ingram?” he requested, trying to hide his chagrin. “Anita is about to fall asleep on her feet.”

“I’m not!” said the child crossly.

In the ensuing fuss, as Fanny persuaded her to ride, he recovered his countenance. They walked on a little, then Fanny said in a constrained voice, “I am sorry that Lady Sophia cut you because you are with us.”

He thought of suggesting that Lady Sophia had not recognized him, but she would have had to be blind as a bat. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

“Not in the least,” she agreed with asperity. “You must not suppose that I was apologising. I simply expressed my regret, for your sake.”

Felix was inclined to take umbrage, then he realized that hers was an eminently sensible, and generous, point of view. She, after all, had been more insulted than he had. He was suddenly furious with Lady Sophia.

“She does not know you,” he attempted to excuse the Goddess. “The Fashionable World is all too apt to judge people by their clothes.” He wished he had chosen his words with more care when she glanced down ruefully at her dress. “Lady Sophia did not mean to be rude,” he hurried on. “She is gently bred and her manners are beyond reproach.”

Fanny’s snort of disbelief was as
sotto voce
as a snort can be. If Felix heard he had the good sense to ignore it, or she might have been tempted to give voice to her feelings. Lady Sophia was elegant and she was beautiful, but she was ill-mannered and she was utterly heartless. Even if she didn’t care for him, how could she treat him so? And how could he defend her?

They walked on for some way in silence.

Having encountered Lady Sophia, Fanny found herself suddenly curious about the woman who had travelled with Felix and his friend across France. There had been a definite note of yearning in his voice when he spoke of her, yet surely she had been nothing like the Goddess. Impossible to imagine Lady Sophia doing anything so outrageous!

“I gained the impression,” she said at last, tentatively, “that you were fond of Miriam...Jacobson, was it?”

“Cohen now. She married Isaac. ‘Fond’ is not the word. I was madly in love with her and asked her to marry me, but I suppose even then I knew it was an impossible dream. I’d have brought a hornets’ nest about my ears if I’d taken a Jewish bride, however well-dowered, home to Westwood. It’s my duty to the family to marry someone my parents can like and approve, someone of rank and wealth and good breeding. Lady Sophia is ideal in every respect.”

Fanny was thoroughly disheartened. Even Lady Sophia’s rudeness had not made him look beyond her beauty, elegance, wealth, and noble family. If he won her hand, Fanny could not believe he’d ever be happy. He deserved better.

“She’ll relent,” he said hopefully. “Her temper is too equable to continue out of humour. Why, I wager she will waltz with me tonight.”

Chapter 4

At the Marquise d’Assche’s soirée, Lady Sophia did indeed waltz with Felix. Ethereally beautiful in a gown of silver net over white satin sewn with seed pearls, she was a superb dancer, graceful and light on her feet. Felix himself was no greenhorn on the floor, and the skills learned in youth had been honed in the ballrooms of Paris and Vienna. As they circled the room together, he was aware of admiring and envious glances.

However, Lady Sophia refused absolutely to grant him a second dance.

“My card is already full,” she pointed out.

He took it and scanned it. “You cannot wish to dance with Ensign Faversham. He’s a mere boy, however impressive he looks in his Guards uniform. Give me his set.”

“It would be most improper to cry off when I have promised to stand up with him. Besides, Lord Albert Faversham is the son of one of Mama’s dearest friends.”

“What about your second dance with Garforth? He is the clumsiest fellow in the room. I wager your toes are black and blue after the first.”

“Lord Garforth is an agreeable gentleman. We shall sit out the set.”

Determined not to let the Dragoon officer best him, he demanded, “Then may I beg you to grant me a waltz and the supper dance at Lord Stuart’s ball on Saturday?”

“A waltz, certainly, sir. I am already engaged for the supper dance but if you wish, a country dance?”

Better than nothing. “Thank you. Will you ride with me tomorrow in the Allée Verte?”

“The park is more fashionable.”

But less private. “The park, then. I shall call for you at two, if that is convenient?”

“That will be delightful.” With a cool smile, she left him to take her place in the next set with his civilian rival, the Comte de St Gérard.

He watched them for a few minutes, spoke briefly to one or two friends, then departed in search of Katrina Lisle. His mistress’s uncomplicated pleasure in his company was balm to his self-esteem.

Inevitably, the ride in the park next day was far from a tête-à-tête. Not only did young Lord Albert accompany them, his showy Thoroughbred and gold-braided scarlet tunic outshining Felix’s well-worn riding coat and hired hack, they were constantly stopping to greet acquaintances. After seeing Lady Sophia home, Felix returned to Madame Vilvoorde’s in a mood of thorough dissatisfaction.

Fanny was entertaining a couple of artillery officers’ wives to tea, so he went straight up to his chamber to change out of his riding clothes. When he stepped out onto the landing a little later, Anita was standing there in her chemise, bare-footed and sleepy-eyed.

“I did wake up.”

“Were you taking a nap?” He heard below the leave-taking of the women. “I expect you can come down with me now.” Picking her up, he carried her down to the parlour, watched through the crack in the door by Madame Vilvoorde.

Having seen her guests out, Fanny returned to the parlour. Felix was sitting on the sofa with Anita on his lap, sprawled back against his chest.

“You’re still half asleep, lovie,” she said, smiling at the sight. “Lord Roworth, while you were out, the smartest footman I’ve ever seen called with a gilt-edged card for you. The Duke of Richmond’s livery, I think, and I couldn’t help seeing it’s an invitation to a ball. I put it on the mantelpiece--here it is.”

He took it from her with a casual glance. “The Richmonds are holding a ball on the fifteenth.”

She concentrated on collecting the heavy white china tea cups. “So I’ve heard. It is to be a grand gala, is it not? People say only Wellington’s ball will eclipse it, since the King and Queen of the Netherlands will attend that, and a dozen or so royal princes. What a spectacle that will be! But it will surely be very stiff and formal.” Despite her efforts to match his casualness, a hint of wistfulness crept into her voice. “The duchess’s will be more fun, I expect.”

“I wish you could go!”

“There’s no sense repining over what cannot be altered,” she said with resolute cheerfulness. “Indeed, it is entirely your fault if I fret for fashionable frivolities! Before we shared lodgings with you, I never spared a thought for such unreachable heights.”

He smiled at the tart accusation. “My humble apologies, Miss Ingram. May I redeem myself by escorting you to the Review on Saturday?”

“In the Allée Verte? Thank you, but I have an escort already.” And how she wished she had not! She would have loved to go with him, especially as his frown even suggested that he was piqued, not relieved, at her rejection. “Doubtless there will be many more reviews,” she said soothingly.

“Then consider yourself engaged for the next!”

“I will,” she promised, laughing.

“Would you like me to take care of Anita for you that afternoon?”

“It’s kind of you, but Mrs Major Prynne will have her. Now, shall I make a fresh pot of tea? This is quite cold and I daresay you will like a cup?”

“Can I have a bixit, please, Tía?” asked Anita, wide awake now and studying the tea tray greedily.

“Yes, but heavens! we must go and put on your frock and shoes first.”

“I’ll get Henriette to make tea,” offered Felix. “I trust you appreciate how domesticated I am becoming.”

“I shall hold my applause until you learn how to make tea for yourself!”

Grinning, he carried the tray out to the kitchen.

* * * *

Saturday, the 3rd June, began with a light, cooling rain that washed the dusty streets and left cobbles gleaming, but boded ill for the afternoon’s Review. Fanny kept peeking out of the window and Felix hoped she was not to be disappointed of her treat. However, by midday the sun was shining. She left to take Anita to the Prynnes.

The English, Scottish and Hanoverian regiments quartered in Brussels and its immediate environs were to march in the Allée Verte, just outside the city walls. Though Lady Sophia had said she would not attend, Felix thought he might as well go. He was bound to see acquaintances there, and he might even meet up with Fanny and discover the identity of her unnamed escort.

Spectators were beginning to gather as he walked without haste along the wide avenue of lime trees, paralleling the canal. Plumply pretty Bruxelloises clucked at swarms of children while their solid burgher husbands gathered in groups to discuss matters of import.