Lindsay’s eyebrows rose as he waited for Hugh to continue.
“I suppose it is difficult with the newspapers making criticisms and the people not understanding the exigencies of the campaign,” Hugh supplied swiftly. “Horse Guards must wish to ensure that everything is done properly. Though I wish the newspapers would write of what Wellington has done to look after his men, the lighter cooking kettles he has provided, the tents and the hospitals he has instituted. Perhaps then people would not be so swift to criticise.”
“Perhaps,” Lindsay said, “though I think you are too kind in your estimation.” He picked up his glass and sipped at the extremely good hock with which they had been furnished. “I daresay all will be over soon, anyway—with the key promotions that are being made in the 29th Foot, it seems to me likely that Wellington will be opening a second front in Holland.”
It sounded too good to be true that the war might finally be over, but for a short while Hugh let himself believe it, and he smiled. “At least then the ton will be swamped with returning officers in their regimentals—which, my mother assures me, are quite the ladies’ favourites—and you may find yourself run to earth less often.”
“I hope to God you’re right,” Lindsay said. “I swear, the forced march to Talavera was a breeze compared to standing up for so many dances with so many very young ladies last night. I was beginning to think I must somehow contrive to lose my fortune and see if my father will oblige me by casting me off.”
“I think that may be a little excessive,” Hugh pointed out. “Perhaps simply setting up a flirt might secure the same outcome.”
“As you have done?”
Hugh stared at him in confusion.
“Lady Emily d’Arcourt,” Lindsay elucidated.
Hugh stiffened slightly, for Lindsay was mistaken and he did not appreciate hearing Emily’s name bandied about like that, even in private conversation. “She was sister to my dear friend, Lord Robert Trevelyan,” he said reprovingly. “He was killed at Talavera.”
“I understand she has been widowed,” Lindsay said. “Her husband was a Frenchman.”
“Yes.” Hugh was not going to discuss Emily, even with Lindsay.
“No need to be so fierce, my dear Fanshawe—I have no designs upon Lady Emily.”
As the waiter returned, Lindsay steered conversation into general conversation about shared experiences in Portugal and Spain. By the time the night grew old, Hugh had decided that not only was Theo Lindsay the most attractive man he had ever laid eyes on, but the most convivial companion also. He struggled not to be disappointed when Lindsay finally stretched in his seat and concluded that they had best call it a night.
“Because I intend to report bright and early tomorrow morning at Horse Guards. Perhaps if I can catch him on the way in to his office, I might have more success.”
Hugh was not entirely convinced—he knew how busy a man the Adjutant General was, and a colonel from the Rifles would not really register on his priorities. On the other hand, he was reasonably certain that whatever Colonel Theo Lindsay wanted, he would get, so he would not like to wager on the outcome.
They parted on the steps of the hotel. As Hugh wound his slightly meandering way home—the wine and port had been excellent, after all, necessitating several glasses to be enjoyed—he found he was smiling broadly. Not least because Lindsay had said they should do this again before much longer, if Hugh were not too busy in the ballrooms of London. Hugh had instantly decried such a thing, privately determining to cancel any and every engagement his mother had made on his behalf so he might be guaranteed to be available whenever Lindsay wished to spend another evening with him.
Chapter Six
April announced its arrival with a succession of cold and damp days. As he broke off from his work to watch the Life Guards drill on the parade ground, Hugh was thankful that he was safely behind a window, with a warm fire burning in the grate. He had not seen Lindsay since their dinner. After a couple of evenings when he had returned home eagerly, wanting to see if an invitation awaited him in his lodgings, he had regained his equilibrium. No matter how polite he’d been, the man would scarcely wish to spend all his time with someone like Hugh.
He hadn’t realised he’d sighed until Courtenay’s voice cut across him. “God’s sake, Fanshawe, when did you become a repining ninny? More importantly, for whom are you threatening to enter a decline brought about by a broken heart? I had thought you to be entirely ineligible these days, damaged goods, unlikely to be snapped up by any lady of looks or fortune.”
“My apologies for disturbing you,” Hugh responded stiffly. “I shall endeavour not to do so again.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Fanshawe, there’s no need to be so full of starch. We’re friends, after all, are we not? Can you not take a little ribbing? Now tell me—I know all the signs of a man in love, and your every feeling is always writ large upon your face. Who is she?”
“You’re mistaken, Courtenay,” Hugh said, turning away from the window and looking at him, attempting civility. “I merely detest the weather and am wishful for the sun.”
“If you say so.” But Courtenay’s eyes were sharp, and Hugh felt uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny. “So perhaps you will accompany Lindsay and me to the opera tonight, for there is a bevy of new dancers, all of whom are most welcoming and amenable. There is one in particular, a dark-haired beauty, Arabella, whom I can fully recommend—she is most talented.”
“Thank you, but I am otherwise engaged tonight,” Hugh said with a smile. A smile that threatened to hurt his face with the effort it had taken to manufacture. “Only remember the dangers of drinking with the Rifles,” he went on, in a laborious attempt at levity, for he did not wish to reject entirely Courtenay’s idea of an olive branch. “I don’t wish to leave you to spend the night here again.”
“I don’t think the desks were designed for comfort,” Courtenay agreed. “Now, have you the records for the Coldstream or must I go in fear and trembling to the ferocious Colonel Badham?”
“I have them here somewhere.” Hugh extracted them from the pile on his desk and attempted to lose himself in his work as Courtenay flicked through the records, papers rustling as he did so.
So Lindsay was engaged with Courtenay again tonight? He should not be surprised—Courtenay’s darting mind and lively personality, always ready with an amusing quip, left Hugh feeling like a lumbering clumsy ox. Lindsay had only been being polite when he had suggested meeting Hugh again for another evening. Hugh knew he had no reason for the disappointment that sat heavy in his stomach, and he tried to lose it by burying himself in work.
…
On returning to his lodgings that evening, he found a missive from his mother inviting him to a family dinner. He was glad to send back an acceptance, knowing such an evening would distract him from other matters. When he arrived at Half Moon Street, he was even more glad he had accepted, for when Matthews announced him, he found James standing in the middle of the drawing room. He looked resplendent in his scarlet coat and there was a wide smile on his handsome face.
“Hugh!” James crossed the room to him in a few swift paces and took him into a hug that pulled Hugh quite off balance. “How are you, brother?”
Hugh returned the hug, delighted and surprised. “Well, I thank you. How have you managed to come home on leave without me knowing of it?”
“It is one of the advantages of being on Wellington’s Personal Staff,” James said smugly. “He orders us as he pleases, not as the stuffed shirts at Horse Guards insist.”
Their mama chimed in at that point, wishing to continue telling James all about Sophia’s success in the eyes of the ton—almost as successful as her own first season, in fact. This subject, along with discussion of James’s upcoming nuptials and George’s burgeoning political career, which meant he was far too busy with parliament business to join them tonight, dominated t
he conversation throughout dinner.
Finally the ladies and the servants withdrew, leaving James and Hugh to enjoy their port in peace.
“How goes it, James?” Hugh asked, at last able to turn to military matters.
James was silent for a while, causing Hugh’s heart to beat faster. Such stillness from James, of all people, could not mean anything good.
“There are problems with the Portuguese—their government says they have not the money to pay the army. Wellington insists the money is there, but the will is not. And meanwhile the people grow to hate us, robbing and killing British soldiers with apparent impunity. As for the Spaniards…” James sighed. “Well, they’re Spaniards.”
Hugh nodded, for he knew all too well what James meant. The Spaniards had not been trusted by a single British soldier since Talavera, where the British wounded had been left to their care, only for the Spanish to abandon them to the French.
“Worse even than the problems with our allies is Napoleon’s spy network. They infiltrate us at every turn, it seems, knowing our moves almost before orders are issued. Wellington has ordered the most thorough investigation possible, but there is a leak somewhere high that cannot be stopped.”
“Surely you don’t mean a Staff Officer?” Hugh asked, deeply shocked at the thought that one so trusted could ever turn traitor.
“Of course not, Hugh—do try to keep up. I mean over here.”
“You mean the War Office? Or the War Department? Or—” and though he could not credit it, there was only one option left “—or Horse Guards?”
“Indeed.” James sank the contents of his glass and refilled it before sliding the decanter to Hugh, who sat still, stunned at the revelation. The number of officers assigned to Horse Guards was small—not counting the regiments, of course, whose offices were separate—which meant if there was a traitor in their ranks, it might be somebody he knew, or even somebody with whom he had worked these last four months.
“What can be done?” he asked.
James tossed off his glassful. “Wellington has set certain wheels in motion, though he will not say what. I only know that because I am on the Staff, and you must not mention it to a soul, Hugh.”
“I am not entirely devoid of sense, James.”
James grinned suddenly as he surveyed Hugh. “No, I suppose you are not. How is the beautiful Lady Emily?”
Hugh sighed as he placed his glass on the table. No matter how many times he heard it, James seemed unable to believe that Hugh’s only interest in Emily was as a dearly loved sister, and that in return she viewed Hugh as a brother. “She is well.”
“That’s all you have to say? God, Hugh, you’re such a looby! I have no idea how you of all people have managed it, but she most definitely has a partiality for you. You must make your move and press your suit before someone with more address sweeps her off her feet.”
“Speaking of ladies, how is Miss Drury?” A carefully selected diversion usually worked with James.
It took another two glasses of port as well as some snuff before James could stop speaking of Miss Drury’s charms long enough to allow them to join the ladies. Although Hugh could not quite believe that Elinor Drury, however admirable she may be, was the complete paragon that James’s recitation would have her, he was pleased to learn of his brother’s very real attachment. James had always had an eye for the ladies, and his pleasing disposition, easy company and good looks had assured him of a warm welcome wherever he went. To see him so bowled over that no one could compare to his affianced bride was a surprise indeed, but a welcome one. The fact their mother was similarly bowled over by Miss Drury’s inheritance afforded Hugh some private amusement.
James’s words about a possible traitor in the ranks stayed with Hugh as he walked back to Ryder Street later. He could scarcely credit it, thinking it much more likely that the leak was at the War Office. What man who had worn the King’s uniform would betray it?
He became all the more convinced the spy was elsewhere as he considered the officers at Horse Guards. There was Colonel Badham, whose ill-humour was legendary. Surely if he were a spy, he would make himself a more conciliatory figure so he might fade into the background instead of being someone whose movements everyone tracked in order to avoid him? Then there were the colonels who worked so closely with the Adjutant General, the Quartermaster General and the Military Secretary. They all seemed men of honour to Hugh, although he supposed when he thought about it that he did not really know them. But it was inconceivable that such senior officers would ever do such a thing. There was Courtenay, but surely a spy would actually spend time in his place of work rather than saunter in for a short while every so often, complaining all the time as he did so. A spy would turn up early, work quietly and apparently conscientiously, and become so much part of the furniture that nobody would notice him. As Hugh thought about the officers at Horse Guards, he could not think of a single soul who fitted that description. The leak must be in the War Office.
Chapter Seven
Hugh presented himself at Half Moon Street the following evening for another night of gaiety. He would have cried off had James not been home, for he had spent quite enough time these last weeks dancing attendance upon his mother as she enjoyed the various delights of the Season, but it would be a chance to spend time with James. He might also find out if Emily’s counsel had held sway at all with Sophia when it came to Stanton.
“Why are you out of uniform?” James demanded as Hugh was admitted to the drawing room. “You look positively drab.”
“I know,” Lady Fanshawe put in with a great sigh. “It is such a shame, but your brother never listens to a thing I say. Perhaps you can persuade him, James.”
Hugh took his glass of sherry from Matthews with a smile of thanks. “I am in service uniform all day, so I prefer not to spend my evenings in uniform too,” he said by way of explanation. He knew James would never understand his true reason, for James revelled in being the centre of attention.
“That’s a faradiddle and you know it,” James returned indignantly. “Did you not do the same thing when campaigning?”
“But now I have a choice,” Hugh said calmly, and turned to Sophia. “Another new gown, Sophia? It is most becoming.”
Conversation successfully diverted, Hugh relaxed and enjoyed his sherry until it was time to leave for the ball that the Bonds were hosting to puff off their second daughter. His hopes that he would spend some time with James were quickly dashed, for his brother proved very much in demand for dancing as his regimentals had their inevitable effect. Hugh was left to circle the room, exchanging conversation with any number of people with whom he would have been happy never to have conversed. But as he was listening to the Dowager Countess of Royston yet again holding forth on her son’s many qualities, he caught a flash of dark green through the throng, and his head rose as he searched. He had not been mistaken—Lindsay was across the other side of the room, looking as dashing as ever as he returned some young miss to her seat.
Hugh hastily extracted himself from the Dowager’s clutches and attempted to carve a way through the crowds without looking too particular in his aim. He was foiled at every turn, for his attention was claimed with unusual enthusiasm as he went. An unguarded comment from Mrs Laversham betrayed the real reason for his sudden popularity—by falling into conversation with him, they hoped James might happen by and join them. He wondered at that, for it was known that James was to marry Miss Drury. Perhaps it was not matrimony they sought, but simply the diversion afforded by a good-looking young man in a scarlet coat.
Hugh was so turned about by the time the next set of dances ended that he had lost sight entirely of Lindsay. He retreated to the edge of the room, seeking a wall to stand against, only to find a hand placed in the small of his back and Lindsay’s voice close against his ear. “Escaping already, Fanshawe? I cannot permit that. We must present a united front if
we are to prevail.”
Smiling, he turned his head. Lindsay looked even more handsome than Hugh had remembered, the silver buttons on his uniform coat sparkling in the light and his grey eyes filled with warmth along with the lazy amusement they so often showed.
“Does your united front permit a strategic regrouping?” Hugh asked.
“Music to my ears, Fanshawe. What have you in mind?”
“I was thinking a glass of punch and perhaps some cool air in the hall.”
“With a tactical brain like that, I can’t think how you have not yet been gazetted as general.”
Procuring a glass of cold punch each, they escaped to the hall that ran the length of the house. It proved to be a busy thoroughfare, used by those seeking to move to the card room or the dressing room, or simply to take some cooler air.
In unspoken agreement, they moved to the far end and the large window onto Grosvenor Square, where they would not be disturbed. As Hugh turned to speak to Lindsay, he spied a familiar and extremely unwelcome figure reaching the top of the stairs. Stanton was here, and although Hugh thought he cut a most peculiar character in his striped waistcoat, he was fairly sure Sophia would be less discriminating in her taste.
“Damn it,” he said, momentarily forgetting he was in company.
Lindsay followed his line of sight. “Ah,” he said. “I had the impression the other night that Stanton was dangling after your sister.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Hugh concurred grimly.
“I suspected as much. Perhaps what gave me the first clue was when he likened her eyes to the beauty of stars sparkling like bright diamonds in a sky of black velvet and her smile to the sunrise that graced the dew of Eden’s first dawn.”
Hugh turned a revolted eye upon him. “No,” he begged. “No, for God’s sake, even he would not be so—so—”
A Minor Inconvenience Page 5