The Heart That Wins (Regency Spies Book 3) (5 page)

They had discussed the probability that Wellington would be recalled from Vienna to command the allied armies and that those armies would be in the Low Countries. It did not surprise him to discover that Mary and Edmund had discussed this with his uncle when they had visited the earl at Meldon Hall at Christmas. Uncle George had mentioned the necessity of keeping British troops near French borders in more than one of his letters.

“You say you don’t enjoy fighting, Captain Warren.”

“Not in the least. I’m a diplomat and prefer words to a sword. But I have seen what Bonaparte has done in Spain and I don’t want him to do it in England.”

“Not just in Spain,” said Franz and John was reminded that Franz’s own country had fallen to the French emperor.  He nodded his acknowledgement of that fact.

“Then we will see you in Brussels,” continued Franz.

Despite himself, John glanced at Sophia.

“Yes, we will meet again in Brussels,” he said dully.

“Have you brought anything with you for us to take there?” asked Sophia.

“My charger.” He kept his eyes on Sophia, lest a glance at Edmund betray him. “I will need him if it comes to battle and I would have to leave him behind if I have to leave Paris suddenly. I wouldn’t want the French to have him.”

This had been the cause of much argument between him and Edmund when he had arrived. Edmund was unhappy that he meant to leave it to the last minute to leave Paris. He had become even more unhappy when John had told him about the other ‘treasure’ that he wanted to be safely removed to Brussels.

“How like an Englishman,” said Franz, “to think of rescuing his horse before his person.”

“John’s right,” said Mary, calmly. “He will need his horse if he is to fight.” She faced John. “I understand that duty impels you to wait until the last minute to leave, but please don’t misjudge it.”

John had learned this evening that Mary’s parents had misjudged their departure from France after the Revolution. They had escaped with the clothes they were wearing and no more.

“Please don’t worry. I have no intention of being here when Bonaparte arrives.”

“Where will you stay in Brussels?” asked Sophia.

John glanced at Edmund.

“I’ve invited John to stay with us, but he thinks it would be better if he took lodgings elsewhere.”

They had argued about this, too.

“A soldier’s hours can be irregular,” explained John, “and I would not wish to disrupt the household.”

“But we will see you,” persisted Sophia.

“You will see me,” he agreed.

It was as he was leaving that John received his greatest shock. Edmund was showing him out when Sophia joined them.

“Let me stay in Paris,” she said to Edmund.

He and Edmund exchanged glances over her head. For a moment Edmund seemed every bit as stupid as John had always believed him to be, then he recovered.

“There is work for you to do in Brussels,” said Edmund.

“There is more for me to do here.”

“Sophia,” said John, gently, easing Edmund out of the conversation. “I know it will be difficult in Brussels. Your mother…”

She flinched. Against his better judgement he caught one of her hands in his.

“You can’t avoid her, you know.”

She looked steadfastly into his eyes.

“I don’t want to see her.”

“I know, but it’s not worth risking your life here.”

“No one will miss me,” she said.

“I will miss you,” said Edmund hastily. “Mary will miss you. The boys will miss you. Your father and sisters will miss you.”

John turned to leave; he really did not want to put himself in the position of having to tell her that he would miss her.

Mid-March 1815

It took four carriages and two carts to transport them from Paris. Edmund and Mary rode in the first with Philippe, their son, and Sophia and Franz rode in the second with Freddie, Edmund’s son with his first wife. The nurse, valet, lady’s maid, two maids and two footmen took up the last two carriages. John’s horse was attached to one of the carts and, as she got into the carriage, Sophia waved at the carter’s daughter, who sat beside her father. The child, who was pretty and delicate looking, did not wave back.

“Her name is Claire,” said Freddie importantly, as they settled themselves into their seats.

At eight Freddie was possessed of a self-confidence that Sophia could not have predicted a few years ago. Now that he was an older brother, rather than an only child, he seemed to have a purpose in life. Sophia had expected the arrival of Philippe to upset him, for Freddie had once been unable to understand that someone could love more than one person at a time and he had been used to being the sole recipient of his father’s love all his life. Instead, Freddie had loved Philippe from the start and had set himself up as his brother’s protector. Now he awaited the arrival of his new sibling with impatience and fussed over Mary almost more than his father did.

Always polite, the child made sure that Sophia and his father’s guest were comfortable and had what they needed before he took his own place. It was like him to have been interested in the daughter of a servant. During the months they had been hiding from the French agents who had kidnapped him and tried to kill his father, he had always been the first to learn the names of all the new servants as they had moved around the country. In return they had all fallen in love with him and cosseted him.

“She doesn’t say much,” he continued.

“Perhaps she’s shy,” suggested Sophia.

“No, just sad.”

Sophia did not question how he knew this if the girl would only tell him her name. If Freddie said she was sad, she was sad.

“Did you try to make her happy?” asked Franz.

“She wasn’t that kind of sad,” replied the boy.

“Then we must let her know that she is safe with us,” said Sophia, taking one of his small hands in hers and squeezing it.

“I think that would be best.”

As the carriage moved off, Sophia glanced out of the window, unsure of what she was feeling. Disappointed that John had not said he would miss her when she had offered to stay in Paris, she had, nonetheless, tried to persuade Edmund to let her stay again. It was only when he had pointed out that John would dutifully stay to protect her that she gave up; her sole purpose was to keep John safe, not to put his life in danger. This morning she had found herself looking out for him in the hope that he would come to see them off. Reason told her he was busy; love told her he had no interest in her.

The journey was not dull. Franz and Freddie started to teach her German, naming things they could see outside and within the carriage. Of the two, Freddie was the better teacher, for Franz became impatient, while the boy explained why her errors were errors.

When they stopped to eat, Freddie occupied himself with Claire and now Sophia saw that the little girl bore the signs of having been beaten recently. She mentioned this to Edmund, thinking it odd that he had employed someone who could beat his own child so badly.

“She’s not his daughter,” said Edmund, “and he doesn’t beat her. She’s coming with us so that she won’t be beaten again.”

He would give her no more information, so Sophia tried to put the little girl out of her mind and went into the inn to eat.

They did not travel as fast as they had hoped, but they still arrived in Brussels too soon for Sophia and took up residence in the house that Edmund had had the foresight to rent some time ago. When the army officers started to arrive, there would be little accommodation left for them, for Brussels was a popular place with Britons fleeing their creditors and would soon fill with refugees from Paris.

Brussels was much smaller than Sophia had expected. They arrived on a cold, wet and blustery day and she gained no real impression of it except its size as they passed through.

The house Edmund had taken was large and ostentatious. Edmund had never flaunted his wealth, although he did like his family and friends to be comfortable. Now it seemed he wanted to draw attention to himself, for the house was far larger than it needed to be.

It was large enough to allow Sophia her own sitting-room. Mary told her once how much she had loved her sitting-room in Edmund’s house in London when she had been Freddie’s governess, for it gave her the ability to be private, which she had never had before. Sophia doubted she would use her own that much, but appreciated their thoughtfulness in providing it. 

She had never really needed the means to be private, since Edmund and Mary were quite capable of finding their own privacy and leaving her to her own means. There was no doubt in her mind that Edmund had done the right thing for all of them in rejecting her and marrying Mary. Seeing them so happy together did not give rise to any feelings of jealousy; it simply made her more aware of the empty place in her life that John used to fill. She had only truly appreciated what she had had with him after she had thrown it away.

Sophia knew now that John was neither married nor engaged. He had shown no particular interest in any woman in Paris and Edmund had told her that he had a reputation for hard work and successful negotiations. That had been his explanation for John’s absence the morning they had left Paris.

It had not escaped her notice that John had spent most of the evening he had dined with them looking at her. He had said little, but there had been many times in the past when there had been no need for speech between them. She had never been uncomfortable, but that evening she had wanted him to speak, just so that she could hear his voice. She had not wanted to get her hopes up, but could not help it. John had paid her the closest possible attention, as if they had been alone together. She had thought about it a great deal as they had travelled to Brussels, but had come to no conclusion.

Franz also had a sitting-room. Sophia had not realised that he was to stay with them, assuming that he would find his own lodgings. No wonder John had not wanted to stay with them; Franz had been cold and unfriendly towards him. She began to resent the Prussian’s presence. Sophia had hoped that John would come to them and then they would ease back into their friendship. His initial coolness towards her had disappeared and he had seemed to take pleasure in her company. If they could not be lovers, she hoped they could be friends. Franz was the stumbling block, for he seemed to have his own plans for her.

It had become very obvious to her very quickly that Franz was attracted to her. That would not have been a problem, had he behaved like a gentleman. Even allowing for their enforced closeness in the carriage every day, he had forced himself on her more than he should. She was weary of conversing with him on subjects that could hold no interest for her. Unless she could persuade Edmund to find some work for her, her sitting-room might have to be her refuge from Franz.

After she had wandered round the house and looked out over the wet garden, she decided to make use of her sitting-room and went there to write a letter to her father. She had hardly finished telling him about leaving Paris little more than twelve hours after arriving there, before there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Franz stepped into the room.

“I see you have found a use for your sitting-room.”

“I’m writing to my father.”

“Could you not do that downstairs with the rest of us? You are missed.”

Sophia doubted that. Edmund and Mary were happiest in one another’s company or with the boys. They never meant to make her feel awkward, but she had learned to tell when they wanted to be alone. She reconsidered briefly her assumptions about the provision of a sitting-room, but knew it was prompted by a spirit of hospitality and not selfishness.

“I won’t be long,” she said.

“Perhaps I may sit with you.”

Franz nodded towards a chair, closing the door behind him. Sophia said nothing, although she saw the danger to her reputation in being alone with him and wondered that he did not.

“Then they will miss you,” she said.

He smiled.

“I do not think you fear the impropriety.”

Sophia knew then that he had prepared this speech. Although the last few days had been as full of English lessons as they had German, Franz’s English was by means so improved as to have such a word come to his tongue so easily.

“On the contrary,” she said, in order to avoid whatever he might be about to suggest. “I fear it on your behalf. Edmund is very protective of my reputation and being his friend will not prevent him calling you out.”

“Edmund will approve. Why else do you think our friends invited me to stay in this house?”

Sophia was beginning to wonder, but she was quite sure it was not so that he could seduce her.

“Then you don’t know him as well as you think you do. If our being alone together provided him with a means of bringing the end of the war closer, he would make sure we were alone as much as possible. For everything else he sees himself as taking my father’s place and...”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“Sophia, Mary and I... Oh, Franz. Are there different rules in Prussia?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at Edmund, clearly unwilling to understand.

“And you, Sophia, didn’t you ask him to leave?”

“I was getting to it.”

“You were probably being too subtle. Franz, Sophia is under my protection. You will not be alone with her again, unless it is with her and my permission. You will, at all times, show her respect. Should I find you alone again, I won’t bother to call you out, I will just kill you.”

Franz tried to smile, but he, like Sophia, knew that his friend was serious. He turned and bowed to Sophia.

“I apologise, Sophia. I knew that I was in the wrong.”

He turned and left them.

“I’m sorry, Sophia, that was my fault. I should have spoken to him earlier.”

“I’m sure he meant me no harm.”

“And I’m sure he meant to seduce you.”

Sophia did not contradict him; she had come to the same conclusion herself.

“He’s my friend,” said Edmund, “and I owe him my life many times over, but I know the kind of man he is. I wish I could have sent you back to England.”

“I’m glad to be here. John...”

“John will cause a different kind of problem when he arrives.”

Sophia did not know what he meant, but Edmund said no more and she knew from experience that he did not respond to questions in this mood.

“What did you come to tell me?”

“Nothing. I followed Franz.”

“Then you could have interrupted sooner.”

“And you could have sent him away.”

“He would not have seduced me. I do not want him and I don’t think he would force himself on me.”

“No, I think you’re right for now, but not all men are dissuaded by ‘no’.”

“But all men are stopped by this.”

Sophia pulled her knife out of the reticule that hung from her wrist.

Edward nodded approvingly.

“At least you have taken notice of one thing I have taught you.”

He left her and she returned to her letter.

Two days after their arrival in Brussels, Sophia’s mother called at the house. Edmund and Franz were making visits of their own and Mary was resting. Sophia was supposed to be keeping her company, but Mary was asleep, so Sophia sat in the downstairs sitting-room writing letters to her father and sisters. For two years she had not been able to correspond with them and now long letters to and from them were her chief pleasure. They had accepted her enforced silence with good grace, when she had gone away with Edmund and Mary. If it had been any other man, she doubted her father would have consented, but he had allowed her to go, accepting her explanation that her friends were going into hiding while those responsible for kidnapping Freddie and wounding his father were traced. Sophia had told her father that living with them would take her mind off John. He had been in London before leaving to fight in Spain and had made no attempt to see her. She and her father had understood that John no longer cared for her. She also told him that it would keep her away from other men who might think to court her in John’s absence. Mr Arbuthnot had, to her surprise, accepted this as a valid reason. She had expected him to protest that she should make every effort to be married, but he had simply accepted that she loved John and had no interest in marrying someone else.

When she had finally returned to London with the Finches she had seen how much it had cost her father to let her go and now he had allowed her to go to Paris with them. Her love for her father and his for her was the centre of her life. From him she had learned that love was not about holding on to the person you loved, but letting them go. She could only hope that this would work with John.