Carola Dunn (7 page)

Chapter 5

Early on Tuesday morning, an orderly delivered to Madame Vilvoorde’s a sealed paper inscribed with Felix’s name. When it came, he was at breakfast with Fanny and Anita, a pleasantly domestic routine Fanny had come to delight in. As he pried open the seal, a card fell out.

“Another ball?” Fanny asked. “I hope they will admit you with egg on the corner of your invitation.”

He picked it out of his buttered eggs, wiped it on his napkin, and read it. “Just an informal party at the Duke’s tomorrow evening. I wonder why...” He turned to the enclosing sheet and laughed. “This is from Fitzroy. He assures me that the Comte de St Gérard has not been invited.”

“Your rival? Then Lady Sophia has, I collect.”

“Yes. I doubt many of her other suitors will be there either, though they will be invited to his formal ball later in the month.”

“You must make the most of the opportunity,” she said dryly. She kept hoping that he’d grow disillusioned with Lady Sophia, but he continued in hot pursuit, and continued to confide in Fanny his progress or lack thereof.

Now frowning at Lord Fitzroy’s note, he did not respond to her words. “That’s odd. He says Wellington has definite word from Colonel Grant--his head of Intelligence--that Napoleon is at Laon, and on his way to Lille.”

“Where is Laon?”

“About eighty miles north of Paris, more than half way to the Belgian border. I cannot believe it! Moving troops takes time. Jakob Rothschild would have informed me if Boney had left Paris.”

“Might not his courier have come to grief?”

“Possibly, though I had rather trust a Rothschild courier than British Intelligence. Do you know, our Government will not allow Grant to send patrols into French territory because we are not officially at war?”

“So I have heard, but I didn’t believe it. In Portugal and Spain, the information the guerrilla patrols gathered was invaluable.”

“It’s true. Who can guess where Grant gets his information? From Boney’s agents, I wager. I’m sure he is mistaken. Don’t repeat this to anyone, if you please. Fitzroy told me in confidence.”

His trust in her discretion gratified her. She knew he never discussed such matters with Lady Sophia, and for some reason that gave her comfort. “Shall you tell Old Hookey you think Colonel Grant is wrong?” she asked.

Felix ran his fingers through his hair. “All I can do is tell him I have heard nothing to confirm the news.”

“Then do that. Stop worrying and eat your breakfast.”

“Yes’m.” He applied himself to his plateful of eggs and muffins.

“You didn’t eat all yours, Tía,” Anita pointed out. “I finished mine. Tía, can we feed the swans today?”

“Yes, we’ll go this morning if you promise not to give the pigeons all the bread.” She dipped a corner of her napkin in the fingerbowl set there for the purpose and removed a quantity of jam from sticky little face and fingers.

“I’ll go with you,” Felix said, consulting his watch, “if you can wait until I’ve been to Headquarters. I shan’t be long.”

Fanny guessed he was calculating that Lady Sophia would not be in the park before noon. When her cynical glance brought a tinge of colour to his cheeks, she was sure she was right, but all she said was, “We shall not be ready to go for at least an hour.”

“We won’t go wivout you,” Anita promised, and to Fanny’s amusement his expression became downright penitent. He retreated in disorder.

When Felix reached Headquarters, neither the Duke nor Fitzroy was there. As he had nothing definite to report, he didn’t leave a message but returned after accompanying Fanny and Anita to the park. By then Fitzroy had sent word that he would spend the morning at home as his young wife was unwell. Wellington, Cathcart thought, was calling on the Richmonds.

Felix made his way to the Rue de la Blanchisserie and ran his quarry to earth. As he was shown into the Richmonds’ drawing room, Lady Georgiana was telling Wellington about the planned picnic to Lille or Tournai.

“You’d better not go, Georgy,” said the Duke authoritatively. “Say nothing about it, but let the project drop.”

“Must we?” mourned Lady Jane. “We have been looking forward to it so, and William is nearly well enough.”

“I’ll take you to the Guards’ cricket match at Enghien instead,” suggested the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Armies.

Felix could only admire his sang-froid, if he really believed Boney was at Laon. He recalled the remark he had overheard at the Review. “Balls, horse races, le cricket” all added up to convincing wavering Belgians of Wellington’s confidence in victory, persuading them it was not in their interest to go over to Boney.

He said as much to the Duke when they left the house together.

“Yes, of course, we must not let them doubt us.” His whooping laugh rang out: “Besides, I promised the duchess to keep Richmond’s mind at ease. But, ‘fore God, Roworth, I’ll be surprised if that cricket match takes place.”

“It’s scheduled for the 12th, is it not? You expect war before then, sir?”

“No doubt Fitzroy has told you that Boney is at Laon.”

“I have not heard from Jakob Rothschild that he has left Paris,” said Felix doubtfully.

“My dear fellow, I trust absolutely the information you receive from the Rothschilds, but a lack of information is another matter. Though my Intelligence is damnable, I must act as if it is accurate.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“Never fear, I’ll not do anything irrevocable. The French Army is a well-oiled machine, that breaks down with a little grit in the gears. I treat a campaign like a harness--if it breaks I tie a knot and go on. By the way, you may tell Rothschild that King William has reneged on the Hanover subsidy. It’s up to our Government now, Lord help us.”

* * * *

Felix was changing for the Duke’s informal party on Wednesday when he heard a rapping at the front door below. A moment later Fanny called up the stairs, “Lord Roworth, someone is here to see you.”

“Damn!” he swore, annoyed. Lady Sophia had accepted his escort for the evening and invited him to dine first. Nothing must spoil the occasion. “Damn!” he repeated with more force as he realized he had ruined his neckcloth. He only owned three of the lengths of snowy-white starched muslin, which left little room for error.

“His lordship will be down presently,” Trevor called tactfully.

When Felix entered the parlour, Fanny was regaling the visitor with a glass of wine. He looked as if he could do with it. His dark hair was matted with sweat, his face drawn and smudged with road dust. He started to rise as Felix came in, but she pushed him down with one hand on his shoulder and without protest he wearily subsided.

Felix’s annoyance faded as he recognized one of Jakob Rothschild’s couriers, from Paris. “
Quelles nouvelles?
” he demanded. “You have ridden hard,
mon vieux
.”

“It was necessary, milord. Barely did I slip through.” He hesitated, glancing at Fanny.

“You can speak freely in front of Miss Ingram.”

“
Alors
--the Emperor has closed the border, milord. Not a carriage may cross, not a horseman, not a hay cart, not a peasant on foot. No fishing boat may leave the Channel ports.”

“And Napoleon,” Felix asked urgently, “where is he?”

The man shrugged. “He was in Paris when I left. Now, who knows?”

“I shall tell Wellington at once. You,
mon ami
, must be prepared to leave for England with a report for Mr Nathan.”

“Not tonight!” Fanny protested.

He smiled at her. “Not tonight. May I leave him in your care? I must go, I’m late.”

“For Wellington--or for Lady Sophia?” she murmured almost inaudibly.

He strode through streets aglow with evening light to the Daventrys’ hôtel. Lady Sophia greeted him graciously, her flawless beauty set off by an elegant gown of wild rose crêpe lisse caught up with rosettes of Mechlin lace over a darker rose petticoat. The only other guests were Sir William de Lancey, with his perpetual worried frown, his young bride Lady Magdalen, and the Marquis and Marquise d’Assche. No competition there for the Goddess’s favours.

If only he were not so impatient to give Wellington his news! Still, an hour or two’s delay hardly mattered.

The talk at dinner was of the races at Grammont, of the respective merits of riversides and woods as locations for a picnic, of the Brussels Opera’s latest production. The prospect of war seemed to belong to another world, and even the Quartermaster-General’s creased forehead gradually smoothed. Not without effort, Felix pushed the closed frontier to the back of his mind and basked in the attention of Lady Sophia, seated next to him.

Soon after dinner they all went on to the Duke’s party, Felix in the Daventrys’ carriage.

“Our picnic is to be on Friday,” Lady Sophia told him as he took his place beside her, opposite her parents, “in the Forest of Soignes. We decided we are less likely to be plagued by flies there, and by undesirable persons, than on the banks of a river.”

“If this hot weather continues, you will be glad of the shade,” said Felix, wondering whether she remembered she had invited him.

“We hope you will be able to join us,” the marchioness put in.

“I shall be sadly cast down if you cannot go,” said Lady Sophia dispassionately.

He chose to hear her words rather than her tone. “I would not miss it for the world,” he assured her.

Arriving at the Duke’s, Felix requested a private word with him.

“Urgent?” Wellington asked, changing instantly from jovial host to keen-eyed commander.

“This evening, sir.”

“After the concert, then. I hope La Catalani’s visit is long enough past that you won’t despise the local diva, Lady Sophia. At least her fee is reasonable and she don’t refuse to sing more than two songs.”

“Madame Catalani’s temperamental character is to be deplored, Duke. I am sure we shall enjoy your concert.”

“There will be dancing afterwards. Lovely young ladies cannot have too much of dancing.” He kissed her hand with the gallantry that had won him the nickname of the Beau.

Lady Sophia’s genteel composure was no whit disturbed by the attentions of the great man. As they made their way to the music room, she said with considerable satisfaction, “You have Wellington’s ear, my lord.”

“I flatter myself I have been of use to him more than once,” said Felix, delighted with her approval.

Nonetheless, unaccustomed to taking second place, she pouted when, instead of leading her into the first dance, he went off with Fitzroy for his private interview with the Duke. Lord George Lennox came to the rescue. Even the Goddess must be pleased to be partnered by one whose proficiency in the quadrille was justly celebrated. Felix was glad Lord George was not one of her admirers.

“Good choice?” drawled Fitzroy with a grin, leading the way to a small antechamber.

“So you set that up! I might have guessed. Excellent choice.”

Wellington joined them a moment later. “What news, Roworth? London? Paris? Frankfurt? Vienna?”

“Paris, sir. A courier just made it through before they closed the frontier. No one is allowed to cross. Even the fishing boats are confined to harbour.”

“Hmm, as when he escaped from Elba. That certainly presages a move.” The piercing gaze drilled into him. “Where is he, man, do you know that?”

“He was still in Paris when the courier left.”

“Good.” The Duke relaxed. “Excellent. Laon was too close for comfort, but it will take him some time to march from Paris. Anything else to report? Then off with you both, there are any number of young ladies waiting for partners.”

The quadrille ended at last, and Felix led Lady Sophia into the country dance that followed. Despite the absence of her other beaux, she refused to stand up with him more than twice--to dance three times with the same gentleman would be shockingly fast, he had to agree. However, since it was a informal affair, she agreed to take supper with him later, and in the meantime to sit out a set with him.

With her on his arm, he was seeking a secluded corner when he caught sight of Wellington seated on a sofa with the Duchess of Richmond and Lady Daventry. His laugh rang out as he loudly complained that no one would care for his ball after the proposed magnificence of the duchess’s.

Once again Felix had to admire the Duke’s sang-froid. With the borders closed, the emperor bound to make a move soon, he was discussing his ball in a fortnight’s time as if he believed it would take place. Did he really trust the Rothschilds’ reports, as he claimed, or would he once again wait for confirmation from Colonel Grant?

“I wonder what Boney is up to?” Unintentionally, Felix spoke his thought aloud.

“Pray do not speak of the wretched man, my lord!” Lady Sophia gracefully seated herself on a striped satin loveseat part-screened by potted palms. “Surely we can find more interesting topics of conversation.”

So he poured compliments into her shell-like ear, so much more attractive and, he hoped, attentive than the Duke’s. It took some skill to avoid the narrow line that separated the acceptable from personal remarks she would consider vulgar. Nonetheless, all the while he was wondering what Fanny would think of Wellington’s casual reaction to his news. Tomorrow morning, after sending off the courier revived by her efforts, he would speculate with her about what the Emperor was concealing behind his impenetrable barrier.

The Goddess eventually tired of hearing her own praises sung and they talked of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball.

“Mama says the duchess is preparing a great surprise,” Lady Sophia told him, “but she will not reveal it.”

“Lady Daventry is on intimate terms with her grace, is she not?” asked Felix, a brilliant idea suddenly dawning on him.

“They have known each other for ever. That is why I count Lady Georgiana among my friends, for in truth I find her a trifle too spirited for my taste.”

“The duchess would accept as a guest anyone your mama brought with her, would she not?”

“Certainly,” she said, puzzled, “but you have received an invitation, I am sure.”

“Yes, I’m not thinking of myself. Lady Sophia, let me beg a favour of you. Ask your mother to take Miss Ingram with you to the Richmonds’ ball.”