The man had received a similar shock, for his bunched fists came up to chest height immediately. Then he took another look and gasped, “You ain’t a ghost, miss, are you?”
“No… I assure you I am not,” she replied with her hand at her throat and her heart thumping. “If I look pale it is because you startled me so.”
The man scratched his head. “Well, I beg your pardon if I did. I didn’t know nobody was coming along or I’d have announced meself.” He looked hard at her. “Are you Miss Castledon?”
“Yes.”
He straightened, flushing. “My real humble apologies, miss, but this corridor is always quiet, and the captain swears to me that there’s ghosts come along here. A young girl, he says, with her head tucked under her arm.”
Victoria laughed with high-pitched nervousness. “I certainly.do not carry my head under my arm.”
“Stokes!” roared a voice from inside the room.
The man turned with agitation. “Yessir?”
“With whom are you gossiping? Keep your eyes and your roving hands off the servants.”
Stokes blushed crimson. “It ain’t no servant, sir, it’s a lady. Miss Castledon.”
Enlightenment dawned on Victoria. “Are you Captain…?”
The question was never completed because the voice from inside shouted, “Show her in, Stokes.”
The soldier was still red from embarrassment “You heard what he said, miss.”
“Certainly I heard what he said, but I understand he is not allowed visitors.”
“As to that, I don’t rightly agree. All I know is, if he don’t soon have someone to talk to, he’ll do something drastic. I caught him walking out of this door this morning.”
Victoria was aghast. “How very foolish. He could have fallen. Does Major Stanford know…or Lord Blythe?”
An emphatic shake of his head. “I dursn’t tell them, miss. You don’t know what he threatened to do if I bleated out the fact.” He pulled the door to and said confidentially, “He don’t show it, but I know the captain well enough to recognize when the end of his tether is reached. Go in and have a word with him, miss. He won’t stand much more of his own company.”
Victoria looked worried. “All right, but whatever he threatened you with applies to me also if you tell anyone of my visit.”
Stokes grinned and smoothed his large black mustache. “Understood, miss…and thank you.”
Victoria went through the door he held open for her and found herself in a room that did not appear to be part of Wychbourne House, for grandeur had been discarded for modern comfort. Large horsehair sofas stood about the room, which contained a sturdy table and some padded teak stools. A bookcase and a desk of immense size occupied one whole wall, and the other three were merely backgrounds for large numbers of pictures of equestrian subjects. Lamps stood on desk, table, mantleshelf and every spare space. A pile of logs crackled in the fireplace, throwing out welcome heat and sending leaping lights to dance on the gold-brocaded curtains and the row of silver trophies on the desk. She felt it must be a room that reflected the personality of its occupier, and so it proved.
“Miss Castledon, sir,” announced Stokes.
The man who rose from one of the overstuffed chairs and stood rather uncertainly beside it inflicted a whole range of emotions on Victoria: surprise that he was so young, pleasure at the attractiveness of his smile, pain at the sight of a strong, healthy man so isolated behind the black blindfold.
As tall as Charles, his brother was the more physical in every way. His broad shoulders were more muscular and his neck sturdy upon them. The tight-fitting checked trousers revealed legs that were well developed in the manner of cavalrymen but never meant to perform in the ballroom with any distinction. That the room was his was only too plain, for he would look completely out of place on Lady Blythe’s spindly chairs.
He turned in the vague direction of the door. “At last. I thought I was not to be allowed to offer my felicitations until well after the event.” He gave a slight bow. “I am honored, dear lady, but full of apologies for my present situation.”
“Please sit down,” begged Victoria. “I understand you are to rest.”
Hugo made a rueful face. “A nurse, I fear. It was my hope that you would support my campaign for a little freedom. Everyone is acting as if I were at death’s door, you know.”
“Well, I must say you do not look it,” she said with a giggle. “I doubt I have ever seen a patient so full of health. Certainly I will rally to your cause, but it will be at the risk of receiving a severe scold from all who are concerned about you — not the least your brother.”
He bowed again rather uncertainly. “I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice on my behalf. I will dutifully sit in my chair and shake and moan to your complete satisfaction. Please make yourself comfortable if you have not already done so.” He turned his head and shouted, “Stokes!”
“Yessir.” The soldier was beside him.
“Dash it, man, I have told you to stop creeping up on me,” said Hugo, much aggrieved.
“Yessir.” Stokes threw Victoria a see-what-I-mean look.
Hugo sat down carefully. “Bring some wine, man.”
“Right away, Captain.” The servant did a smart about-face and started for an adjoining room. As soon as he opened the door, two great masses of golden fur hurled themselves in Victoria’s direction. Next minute, she was engulfed in paws, wet tongues, wagging tails and quivering bodies.
“Oh,” she cried from the depths of canine onslaught, and Stokes came running over.
“Them dratted dogs,” he cursed. “I forgot they was in there.”
“It is quite all right,” Victoria gasped, laughing. “I adore dogs.”
“Down!” ordered Hugo in a tone that made the girl and the soldier jump. The golden retrievers obeyed, recognizing his tone. “Forgive me,” Hugo went on. “I hope they have not frightened you or spoiled your dress.”
Victoria, busy fondling the silky heads, said fervently, “They certainly do not frighten me. I have always wished for a dog of my own, and if they had spoiled my dress, which they have not, I would not give a fig for it. What are their names?”
“Salamanca and Waterloo.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They are listed among the regiment’s battle honors.”
“Shame on you, sir, to dub these beautiful creatures with the names of battlegrounds.”
“Nonsense,” he told her calmly. “They do not know of the fact.”
“No, they do not, but dogs should have more suitable names.”
“Such as?” he parried quickly.
“Such as…well…such as…” She broke off, unable to think of anything.
“Nugget and Guinea, perhaps?” he suggested artfully.
“I did not mean…oh, you are just being foolish.” She laughed. “I am quite defeated. You could call them Culloden and Hastings, I suppose. They are your dogs, after all.”
Stokes appeared with the wine and glasses on a tray and offered some to Victoria.
“No, thank you,” she declared. “I could not drink wine at this hour. Perhaps a small glass of lemonade.”
“Lemonade, miss?” said Stokes, trying manfully to cope with the situation.
“Yes, lemonade,” repeated Hugo with a perfectly straight face. “Fetch some of my lemonade at once.”
“Yessir,” growled Stokes, calling down mental curses on his officer’s head as he walked out. But inspiration came in time for him to return and announce in a perfectly steady voice, “The lemonade is all run out, Captain Esterly.”
“How very vexing. You really must keep a better eye on my cellar,” Hugo remonstrated, struggling not to laugh. “Miss Castledon, I cannot drink alone. Can I not persuade you to take a small glass of wine? I assure you it is very light.”
Knowing a refusal meant he would be deprived of one small pleasure in which he could indulge, she agreed, casting aside any doubts on the advisability of
doing something she had never done before. When her glass had been half filled she told Stokes to stop pouring. Hugo raised his glass, not exactly in her direction but near enough to be effective.
“To your future health and happiness…yours and my brother’s.”
They both drank. Victoria found the wine very pleasant and said so, then added curiously, “Stokes called you Captain Esterly.”
Hugo smiled. “I have trained him to be polite.”
“But…should it not be Captain Stanford?”
He seemed puzzled for a second or two, then said, “Can Charles have failed to mention that we are not blood brothers? Surely not. You are engaged to be married, are you not?”
“Not brothers? But Lord and Lady Blythe refer to you as their son, and the officers of the regiment called you Charles’s brother. I do not understand.”
“Poor Victoria…you are to be my sister, so I may call you that, mayn’t I? Charles and I are brothers in every respect except that we have entirely different parents.” His long fingers began caressing the head of one of the dogs that had wandered over to sit by his knees. The other animal remained by the visitor, enjoying having his ears fondled by soft hands. “Shall I tell you the story, or do you prefer to hear it from Charles?” Hugo asked.
“Please, tell me now. I am wholly intrigued.” She sipped her wine and settled more comfortably against the cushions.
Hugo carefully felt for the small table beside him and set the glass down. The small action smote at Victoria’s soft heart, and sympathy welled up for this young man who, it appeared, was not Charles’s brother after all. The knowledge made her realize there was little similarity between the two men. Hugo’s hair and smart cavalry mustache were a rich dark brown, and what little she could see of his features suggested that his face was broader than Charles’s aristocratic lines. Here was a mystery indeed, and she could not wait to hear it unraveled.
“I trust you have several handkerchiefs about you,” he began, “for it is a tragic story.”
She hugged herself with amusement, for he was so entertaining. “Proceed, sir,” she said in a dramatic voice that brought a broad smile from him.
“I am an orphan,” he said with pathos. “At least, enough of an orphan to wring sympathy from you. My father was a sea captain and a great friend of Lord Blythe, who was the Honorable Augustus Stanford at that time. My mama was extremely beautiful, as you might guess after casting your eyes upon me.”
Victoria giggled. “Of course.”
“She was also the daughter of a French count…but her heart was cold and disloyal. Three months after I was born she ran away with an extraordinarily wealthy gentleman from America, leaving my remaining parent with a wrapped bundle at his feet.”
Victoria must have sighed or given some sign of reaction, for he grinned and said, “Ah, the tears will begin any moment. What was a poor sea captain to do? He was due to set out on an expedition to China and had no family with whom to leave his baby son. The only solution was to leave him in the care of his very generous friend Augustus Stanford, little dreaming that the voyage to China would be the last he ever made.” Suddenly he no longer seemed to be joking. “My father died of yellow fever, alone in the Orient, and I was dependent on my benefactors. They have been absolutely splendid to me. I regard them as my parents, as they think of me as their son.”
Victoria was touched in spite of herself. “How fortunate we both are. My parents died in India when I was eight. I hardly remember them because my mama returned with me in my fifth year before going back to Delhi. I lived with my aunt and uncle then, and when the sad news reached them they took me on as another daughter…although I called them Uncle and Aunt, and my cousins have never called me sister. I have misled no one,” she added pointedly.
“Do not accuse me, I beg you,” said Hugo. “I have been in Vienna and quite unable to mislead you about anything. The blame must be laid at my brother’s…Charles’s door,” he amended. “The truth is I have lived my whole life as his brother, and what else could he call me? I am not a cousin. A friend? Hardly! We are brothers, and no one will persuade us we are not. There is no doubt I have been taken completely into the Stanford family, as we shall take you most willingly into our ranks.”
She felt herself color, but it did not matter, for he could not see it. There was a strangely relaxing aspect about the situation — almost as if she were there in disguise. To see and not be seen gave one a tremendous feeling of confidence, and it was this that enabled her to cast aside mannered conversation and be strictly herself.
“Do you ride, Victoria?” he was asking now.
“Well enough…but you would not think so.”
“Why so defensive?”
She leaned back with a laugh. “Oho! Do you think I have not heard of your brilliant horsemanship? Even if Charles had not sung your praises to the sky, every officer in the regiment has told me of your prowess. I shall not tell you what they said, for my aunt always impressed upon me that too much flattery turns one’s head.”
Hugo was growing every minute more delighted with her fresh and entertaining company. She must tie his self-assured brother in knots.
“Remember that in future, Stokes,” he said. “It is bad for my nature to hear you congratulate me on winning a race.”
“If you say so, sir, but I think the damage has already been done, if you don’t mind me a-mentioning the fact.”
“How foolish you are,” said Victoria, blushing pink again; then to cover her confusion: “May I give Marston Moor and Agincourt a piece of this biscuit?”
“Salamanca and Waterloo, if you please,” he replied sternly. “I suppose I must say yes or you will accuse me of being a monster.” He sighed theatrically. “They are the most dreadful creatures at begging for tidbits. I seem unable to school them the way I school horses.”
“I should think not,” she said indignantly. “From what I hear, you have new ideas on schooling men. What were you doing in Vienna?”
He seemed surprised. “It is not the kind of thing a lady would understand.”
“Of course she will not if it is never explained to her. When I am a lady of the regiment I intend becoming very knowledgeable on military matters. Think of the honor to the regiment if the next Lady Blythe should become its patroness.”
Hugo sighed. Charles would hardly consider cavalry tactics a suitable subject for a lady — especially his own betrothed — yet she had a point. How often did a man dismiss a woman’s interest by saying she would not understand? All the same, he hesitated.
“If you can find no more to say to me, I shall leave,” she told him roundly.
He sighed again. “It is not easy to explain to a person who knows nothing of military maneuvers, so you must stop me if I grow boring.”
“It will not be boring — too complicated, perhaps.”
Stokes, seeing that Hugo was not likely to need his assistance for a while, went quietly out, and the young officer began on a subject dear to his heart.
“The present system we have for moving mounted troops from place to place is visually attractive and impressive during reviews and field days, but not a few cavalrymen think it too slow and cumbersome to be effective in war.”
“But we are not going to war. Charles says the world has never been so peaceful.”
“So it has not, but affairs in the East are very unsettled and there is a constant threat from Russia. The regiment was engaged in the Afghan war of ’38, and we have been involved in putting down riots in the industrial cities more recently. There is no knowing when we might be sent to combat unrest anywhere in the world. A soldier’s job is not merely to look splendid in ballrooms and opera houses. Soldiers are meant to fight.”
“Even when there is no reason?” she put in.
“It is better when the world is at peace, naturally, but an army is useless if it is not taught to fight should the need arise.”
Victoria was quite absorbed. “What has that to do with moving ca
valrymen about?”
He leaned forward so that the reflection of flames glowed on his unruly brown hair. It was easy to imagine how desperately he wished to tear that black band from his eyes in order to make his point with more force.
“Since Waterloo, weapons have changed and improved. Guns are more effective and deadly. Cannon can be angled more quickly. Therefore, it is imperative to be able to change the direction of a body of mounted men instantly, without losing formation or effectiveness. Our present system does not do this.”
“I see,” she said slowly. “Do you mean that your new methods would turn the cavalry away before too many were lost?”
“Not turn them away,” he said rather defensively. “Redirect their attack. It is senseless waste to send cavalry galloping into the mouths of cannon.”
“No commander would do that, surely,” she cried.
“If the guns are hidden in the jungle, as they were in the Sikh wars of ’45 and ’48, a regiment of cavalry might almost be upon them before they opened fire and betrayed their positions. In such a case, can you see how important it would be to maneuver quickly, without scattering?”
“Yes. Even a simpleton would see that.”
He let out his breath in a long sigh. “Our generals do not, I fear. Correction. They see it but do not feel any need to do anything about it. Since there is no likelihood, at present, of going to war, they imagine there never will be. They have disbanded half the army and are thinking of going even further.”
She considered that for a moment. “I suppose they can always recruit them again, should they be needed.”
“Certainly. They can press-gang as many as they like, but they will be completely untrained and therefore useless. It takes a long time to train a good soldier.”
“Does it? I thought recruiting sergeants accepted anyone who wished to take the shilling.”
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