Another instant, and she gave him a wicked seductress smile. “Very well, milord. Let us discover how it works that way.”
It worked very well.
* * *
As he walked to Wellington’s house for a two o’clock meeting, Simon told himself sternly that he shouldn’t call on the commander of the Allied armies to discuss matters of life and death wearing a ridiculous cat-in-the-cream-pot smile on his face. He thought he had his expression under control by the time he reached his destination. The trick was not to think of Suzanne.
It was really, really difficult not to think of Suzanne.
When he reached Wellington’s house, he was greeted by a young aide whose job was to sort the general’s visitors into useful sheep and useless goats. Simon obviously qualified as a sheep since the aide said, “Colonel Duval, welcome! I’ll take you up to the duke’s office.”
“I’m not actually a colonel anymore,” Simon said mildly as he followed the aide.
The young man flashed a quick smile. “Around here, sir, it’s once a colonel, always a colonel.”
Which was true; military rank tended to stay attached to a man for the rest of his life. Simon didn’t really mind. He’d earned the rank, unlike being the Comte de Chambron, a title that he still couldn’t quite accept.
The aide announced him at the office door, then vanished. Simon stepped inside to find not only the duke but also Lieutenant-Colonel Colquhoun Grant, Wellington’s chief exploring officer on the Peninsula. He and Simon had often worked together, and Simon had taken over many of Grant’s duties when the Scot spent two years as a French captive.
Wellington glanced up from a map. “Ah, good. I’ll be interested in hearing what you saw in France, Duval. You know Grant, of course.”
“Indeed I do, sir.” Simon offered his hand to the rangy Scot. “Good to see you again, Grant. I hear you’re now in charge of the duke’s intelligence operation.”
Grant returned a rare smile as they shook hands. “Yes, and I hear that you’ve abandoned the army.”
“I tried, but I’m not sure how successful I’ve been,” Simon said dryly.
“Damned useful that you’re officially a civilian now,” Wellington said. “What did you see on your trip to Paris?”
“A great deal of military activity.” Simon pulled a folded paper from inside his coat. “Here’s a list of the military units I saw in and around Paris.”
The duke and Grant studied the list together, frowning. Wellington said, “Boney is certainly planning something. What’s your best guess, Duval?”
Simon had thought about this. “The emperor isn’t going to sit tamely in Paris and wait for the Allied armies to close in from all sides. He’ll strike boldly and try to take out the opposing armies one by one, and my guess is that his first march will be north to Belgium.”
“Think he’ll go after Blücher and his Prussians first?” Wellington asked.
“Maybe, though I think it more likely he’ll come straight at us because our army is weaker,” Simon said bluntly. “About a third of our soldiers are experienced British troops, but most of your Dutch-Belgian troops are not battle tested.”
“They’ll run like rabbits unless stiffened by the British.” The duke nodded, looking grim as he studied the list of military units Simon had seen. “Not to mention that we’re almost certainly outnumbered. If there is a pitched battle, we’ll need the Prussians to carry the day.”
Grant said, “If Bonaparte can drive a wedge between us and the Prussians, he’ll do it, and then swing around to crush our Anglo-Dutch army.”
“Bonaparte may not make the decision purely on military considerations,” Simon said a little hesitantly. “This is merely my opinion, but I think he’s angered by the description of you as ‘the Conqueror of the Conqueror of the World.’ His critics point out that he’s never fought you face to face. I suspect he wants to prove that he can defeat you. That he is the Conqueror of Conquerors.”
“Schoolroom games,” Wellington grunted. “A damned foolish way to run a war!”
“True,” Grant said with a humorless smile. “But I can see Bonaparte doing that.”
“What matters is where and when he marches,” Wellington said. “Gentlemen, it’s time to look at some maps.”
A large map of northern France and Belgium was pinned to the wall, and the three of them gathered in front of it to discuss possible French lines of march, roads, terrain, likely weather, and whatever other factors might play into the emperor’s decisions.
Among the three of them, they had a great deal of information about the territory. The discussion was useful but inconclusive. Wellington frowned at the map. “The devil of it is that a wrong guess on the direction of the enemy’s march could be fatal. Mons? Charleroi? A different route into Belgium? Moving an army is like herding elephants. March in the wrong direction and it’s almighty difficult to turn your force back the right way.”
His gaze moved from Simon to Grant and back again. “Which is why I need you fellows to figure out where the emperor is going in time to prevent disastrous errors. Duval, I’d like you to pay attention to this area.” He swept his hand over the map to the south and southwest of Brussels, an area that included Charleroi, Mons, and France all the way to Paris. “Grant, look to the east and the area south of the Prussians. You both know the kind of information I need. Duval, how soon can you leave?”
Steeling himself, Simon said, “Tomorrow, sir.”
Wellington gave a nod of satisfaction. “Good.” Then he turned his attention to Grant, and Simon quietly withdrew.
On his walk back to the house on the rue de Louvain, he bought a bouquet of lilacs and lilies from a flower seller as he thought through all that had to be done before he could leave. It was a surprisingly short list. He’d be traveling light and camping most nights. From experience he knew exactly what was needed.
Suzanne must have been waiting for his return because she emerged from the drawing room as soon as he entered the house. When she saw his face, she drew a deep breath and asked, “When?”
“Tomorrow. I’m sorry, ma chérie,” he said quietly.
She accepted the flowers and bowed her head to inhale the scents, or perhaps to hide her expression. “You’ll miss the wedding.”
“I know.”
She raised her head, expression under control. “On the positive side, Philippe has his wagon packed with seed and farm tools, and he’s ready to head off for Château Chambron first thing in the morning.”
“He’s worked fast! Excellent. This way, I can travel with him and help him get on his feet, and it’s right on the way for me.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you prepare?”
He shook his head. “I only have to shove a few things into my saddlebags.”
She nodded, her gaze still on him. They seemed to have run out of words. He lightly brushed his knuckles under her chin. “I’ll see you later, ma chérie.”
At least they had one more night together.
* * *
This last night was luminescent with pleasure and pain. By the time Simon and Suzanne had exhausted themselves, it was almost dawn. Simon had his arm around his wife, holding her as close as humanly possible. She was trembling and he knew she was struggling not to cry.
“I won’t be gone long,” he said softly. “I think this war will be over in weeks, not months. Certainly it won’t be years.”
She turned to look up at him, her eyes stark. “Think of me at midnight, and I will think of you at the same time. Since you’ll be traveling, you might not always be able to manage the exact time, but know that when midnight strikes, I will be thinking of you. We may not be together in our bed, but our minds can hold thoughts of each other.”
He felt like weeping. Instead, he clasped her hand and held it against the center of his chest. “Minds and hearts, mon ange. Always you will be in my heart.”
He leaned down to kiss her, and they found that they had the strength to
make love one last time.
Chapter 36
Brussels
Mon chéri Simon, I thought of you at midnight last night and the night before, and warm thoughts they were! Tonight I decided to write my thoughts down. I don’t think these words will ever be read, but no matter. Holding the pen and forming the words focuses all my attention on you.
Brussels bustles, though it is sadly flat for Marie and me now that our husbands are far from our sides. But today was a perfect spring day, so we walked in the park along with what appeared to be every other Briton in Brussels, and a good few others.
Should I be thinking of myself as British now that I have an Anglo-French husband who seems to be more British than French? I shall have to think on that. We usually speak French in bed—have you noticed?
You might be in Château Chambron by now. I hope all is going well for Philippe.
You are always in my heart, mon chéri.
Suzanne
On the road to Château Chambron
My darling Suzanne,
I am thinking of you at midnight, mon ange. After a night on the road, I realized that thinking isn’t quite enough so I have dedicated one of my small notebooks to writing you. I write my midnight thoughts to you in my cramped, private version of shorthand that I use for observations when I’m working. This uses very little paper and no one else would be able to read these words, but that’s all right. This little journal is merely a way of recording my thoughts of you.
We’re making reasonably good time considering that we’re traveling in a heavy wagon. My horse Achille is rather bored at being tethered behind us, but as you know, I gave Philippe the two carriage horses that we took out of France. The one that I rode when we escaped seems pleased to return to his accustomed work.
I feel some guilt that we essentially stole them, but I don’t know any practical way to compensate the owner. Or even a way to locate the owner, given that they were hired horses. But Philippe will treat them well.
The horses have informed me that they wish you were here because your magical horse talent makes them happy to do as you say. You may have noticed that it works equally well on me!
Always in my heart, ma belle . . .
Simon
Brussels
Simon, do you remember how I met my old friend and neighbor, Madeline de Sevigny, at the émigré gathering in London? She’s here in Brussels! I met her today when Marie and I were walking in the park. I was so happy to see her again, and she immediately embraced Marie as a friend.
Madeline says that half the London émigré community has come to Brussels to see what will happen, as if this was a great carnival. No doubt the warier ones have already made arrangements to flee north to Antwerp if Napoleon’s army invades Belgium. Fools. If they’re that afraid of the heat, they should move farther from the fire, back to London, for example!
Madeline says that she and some of her friends keep busy organizing ladies’ teas and excursions and charitable works since so many men are off doing military things. Like you, mon coeur! It will be pleasant to have some mild diversions with other ladies.
I hope all your diversions are of the mild sort. . . .
Suzanne
Château Chambron
Greetings, mon ange. Philippe is invigorated now that he is healthy and secure in his ownership of the estate. He hasn’t threatened me with his rifle even once! The château looks even worse than when we saw it, which has made Philippe accept that he must let it go. Instead he bends his efforts to finding the estate’s long-time tenants.
Many here remember him and he has been welcomed back with enthusiasm. On the drive down, we discussed your advice about treating his people as friends and partners rather than being lordly and annoying. From what I am seeing, the people of France are tired of lords and dictators and want to be treated with dignity and respect. Or else!
But the best moment of the day came as Philippe was talking to the once and future steward of the estate. Madame and Monsieur Cordier, the maternal grandparents who raised Philippe, heard that he had returned, so they rushed to find out if it was true. They all fell weeping into each other’s arms. It was a most affecting sight. Less complicated than when I found Lucas.
The Cordiers had been forced from the house where he was raised (I’m not sure why), but they are now living in another sturdy farmhouse, and it has room for Philippe to stay for the time being. They are desperate to meet Marie and welcome their great-grandchild into the world, but they agree it is best for her to stay safely in Brussels for the time being.
Tomorrow I set out for Paris, to find what I can see along the way. I’m sure it will be safe—I’ve seen no threats yet.
You are always in my heart, ma chérie, and I wish you were in my bed. Better yet, in our bed in Brussels—it’s more comfortable. My regards to your current bedmate, the little Leo.
Simon
Brussels
Mon chéri Simon, the city grows busier and more excited, waiting, waiting, waiting! Here we are at the end of the first week of June. The days since I’ve seen you seem so long, though it hasn’t really been that many. Yet it seems like forever!
You will find this amusing: I have become involved in charitable work helping out camp followers. The other ladies are impressed at how unshockable I am. Of course they know nothing of my past, and I prefer to keep it that way.
But the work is needful, as you like to say. Many of these women have been following their men for years. They act as nurses and laundresses as well as sharing beds. Some women have lost several husbands to death over the years, but because few women follow the army, those who do are always in demand and can have a new man as soon as they are ready. One woman said she accepted an offer from a corporal as she was burying one husband, but if she’d waited to get back to the camp, she could have had a sergeant!
Too often, these women and their children need food, clothing, medical care. Madeline and Marie and other ladies like us do our best to help. Marie tires very easily now and I’m somewhat worried about her, but I imagine being tired is natural this close to her time.
I so wish you were here, my Simon! You are in my mind, heart, and soul, but selfish creature that I am, I want you in my arms. Take care, beloved. You must come back to me. No other outcome is acceptable.
Always, your Suzanne
Somewhere in France
For the last two nights, milady, I’ve not been able to think of you as much as I wished because I have been on the run, being pursued by a French patrol. They have become suspicious of me. Me, a loyal, innocent, and harmless son of France! I’d be quite outraged if I wasn’t in truth a spy.
I’m glad this isn’t a proper letter so you will never know the full truth of what has happened. You’d find it upsetting. To be honest, I have found it upsetting.
Simon paused over his notebook, thinking of what had happened and wondering how much to tell Suzanne. Even in his midnight thoughts, he didn’t want to tell her the whole story because she would be horrified.
After the long pursuit, he and Achille had both been close to collapse as he tried to get back to Belgium. Because they weren’t far from Château Chambron, as a desperate last resort he directed his mount to the old château in the hope that he could find a place to hide in the ruins.
When he pulled up in front of the wing that was still standing, his dismount from Achille was perilously close to a fall. He was stiff and aching all over from too many hours in the saddle, and he clung to the stirrup to keep his balance while he waited for his body to start working again.
“Simon!” The shout echoed over the ruined gardens in front of the château.
Simon grabbed for his pistol and swung around before he even wondered who would know his name. It was Philippe emerging from the door of the wing that was still standing. Uncertainly Simon lowered the pistol. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be plowing and planting or whatever a farmer does at this season?”
“I t
ook a few hours off to do some searching in the ruins.” Philippe surveyed him. “What are you doing here, looking like a corpse walking?”
“I’m being pursued by a French patrol. If you listen, you can hear the hooves of their horses.” Simon paused and could hear just that. The soldiers were very near. “I came here hoping to find a place to hide.” He regarded his cousin, who had served in the emperor’s army, and wondered if Philippe would turn him in.
Philippe frowned for a long moment, as if considering whether to help or hand him over to the soldiers. Then he snapped, “Quickly now, come inside. You have little time.”
He grabbed Simon’s arm with one hand and Achille’s reins with the other and half dragged them both inside. The horse’s hooves rang on the old marble floor. “Go up the stairs and turn right. I’ll show you where to hide after I take your horse to one of the rooms in back.”
“Must have . . . my saddlebags,” Simon panted. Swiftly Philippe unfastened the saddlebags and yanked them off the horse, dropping them on the floor. “I’ll bring them upstairs after I hide your horse.”
Simon lurched to the stairs and hauled himself up along the railing, which was unsteady but didn’t fall apart under his weight. Achille clopped dutifully into a passageway that ran to the rear of the house. Simon hoped to God that the animal’s weight wouldn’t cause a floor collapse.
As instructed, he turned right. Philippe caught up with him quickly, the saddlebags slung over one arm. “The room over the entrance has a hidden closet with a listening hole to the receiving room below. Our ancestors were suspicious, cousin. You can hear what is said by the French soldiers when they get here. I’ll try to convince them that no one has come by. If they decide to search the place and find you, I’ll have to pretend I didn’t know you were here.”
Once a Spy Page 26