The Sentimental Soldier

by April Kihlstrom

  The silence stretched on and still he did not speak. Very well, it was up to her to take the next step. She rose to her feet and, still avoiding his eyes, she said, in a brisk voice, “I have shocked you. Pray forgive my foolishness. It was wrong of me and I shall not speak of it again. Now, where were we with your memoirs, Lord Brandon?”

  She was moving toward the desk but he put out a hand to stop her. He was on his feet as well and looked down into her face searchingly. Prudence made herself stand very still. Apparently whatever he saw satisfied him for he seemed to relax.

  “You are not the only one,” he said with a small, tight smile, “who has had such thoughts.”

  Prudence looked at him doubtfully. “But Harry says I ought not to have them.”

  “Colonel Langford is a soldier,” Brandon said kindly. “Naturally he would see this strictly in military terms of defeat and victory. We, who have lived in diplomatic circles more naturally think in terms of peace and compromise. Is that not so?”

  As if reluctant, Prudence hesitated before she nodded. And she waited, as if afraid to speak. More and more of the tension in Lord Brandon’s stance seemed to slip away. He moved to sit behind his desk and waved Prudence to the seat beside it. But instead of returning to his memoirs he steepled his fingers together, resting his elbows on the surface of his desk and looking at her with his piercing eyes.

  “What would you think,” he said, “if I told you that part of the trouble between the Langfords and myself has been over precisely such a difference in opinion?”

  Prudence wanted to slap the man, so smug did he look. But Sir Thomas had impressed upon her how important this all was. She clasped her hands tightly together and looked down so that he would not see the contempt in her eyes.

  “So that is why they were so upset with me for inviting you to Lord Darton’s home? I am sorry they are so narrow-minded!” She reached out, as if impulsively, to put her hand over his. “It is not right,” she said fiercely, “that they should blame you for having such common sense!”

  Lord Brandon blinked at her, taken aback, and then began to chuckle. “You’ve a temper, my dear. I had no notion of it. But how kind of you to use it in my behalf.”

  Prudence colored and withdrew her hand. “I-I am sorry if I embarrassed you. I seem to be able to do nothing right today. Or indeed any day, of late.”

  Now it was he who patted her hand. “No, my dear, it is for me to apologize to you. I am neither distressed nor shocked nor even embarrassed. Indeed I am touched. I wonder what you would say if I were to ask a favor of you?”

  “Anything!”

  He smiled. “How impulsive of you. But perhaps it is because you are a good judge of character. As I consider myself to be.”

  Prudence nodded. “What is this favor, Lord Brandon?”

  He regarded her with hooded eyes. With surprisingly little hesitation he explained.

  “There was a time when I thought the late Lord Darton and I were friends. It seemed I was mistaken. He took a letter of mine. A letter I should very much like to have back. He would have returned it, I am certain he would, but he was killed in a carriage accident before he could do so. It was written in French. I thought that perhaps if you were to hear of such a letter, in the possession of the Langfords, that you could find and return it to me. It really is of no interest, nor concern, to anyone else. And it is mere spite that leads them to keep it from me.”

  “How terrible!” Prudence said sympathetically. “Do you have any notion where they keep it? Or what the date of the letter might be?”

  “I have no notion where it is kept but the date is from some ten years past.”

  “I shall do my best,” Prudence said warmly.

  “Good. And now, my dear, back to work.”

  Chapter 20

  Prudence went straight from Lord Brandon’s town house to see Sir Thomas Levenger. He was not at home but Lady Levenger offered to let her write a note and promised to pass on Prudence’s message the moment he returned.

  Then Prudence went home. She hoped her maid would be sufficiently discreet not to mention either the earlier stop or this one to see Sir Thomas. At the woman’s odd look, Prudence made herself laugh and say lightly, “I seem to be sadly shatter-brained today. I had promised Lady Levenger a recipe and when I stopped by this morning I forgot to give it to her.”

  The woman nodded but said not a word. Prudence stared out the carriage window wondering what Harry would say when he learned she had gone back to Lord Brandon’s house today. And what the rest of his family would say as well.

  But Harry was not home. He had left in something of a hurry, due to a message received from one of his brothers some time earlier. Prudence did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  * * * *

  Philip, James, Harry, and Sir Thomas all stared at one another with dismay. And then they stared at the other man. Frederick Baines had taken a hand in a number of their projects and they knew him well enough to know that what he said mattered.

  “Are you certain?” Harry asked.

  Baines had a grim look about the mouth and eyes as he replied, “I checked most carefully. Two men escaped. They were recaptured but they escaped again. Within weeks of their escape all communication ceased on the other side of the channel.”

  Sir Thomas took up the tale. “I’ve had a private communication. Wellington has received nothing from us for some time now. Nor can he spare a man to go and see what has happened. So for now we have no means of getting word over there.”

  “What do you suggest?” Philip asked.

  Baines hesitated. “We must find out what is going on.”

  “Do you want me to go to France and see what is the matter?” James asked.

  There was an immediate outcry against the notion. It was Philip who put their thoughts into blunt words. “Your French is execrable. You shouldn’t last two minutes before you would be captured as a spy! Nor should I,” he added to forestall James’s natural protests. “If anyone were to go it must be someone better prepared than either of us.”

  “Quite right,” Harry said quietly. “I shall go.”

  There was an even greater outcry at that. Particularly by James and Philip. Frederick Baines was the unlikely one who came to Harry’s aid.

  “I cannot like it,” he said quietly, “but we must know. Do you truly think you are up to such a journey?” he asked Harry.

  “Of course.”

  It was spoken with a degree of resolution that singularly failed to impress his brothers. Sir Thomas and Frederick Baines, however, regarded him thoughtfully. And then they looked at one another.

  Sir Thomas said slowly. “I have never known Harry to fail at anything.”

  “He would be the best choice, if he were up to it,” Baines agreed.

  “Look, whether Harry goes or someone else, there must be some reason you called Philip and me here as well,” James pointed out, with some exasperation.

  “Yes. Why did you wish to see all of us?” Philip added.

  “Because,” Sir Thomas said with a small smile, “we think you both can be of great use to us. Harry will either go or he will tell the man who does everything about the place where the signals were being received. You, Philip, can help plan some papers for Harry to carry that will seem to give him the authority to go where he wishes. I will translate them into French. And James, surely you must be able to think of some cunningly designed objects that would appear to be harmless but conceal things that would be of use to him?”

  Sir Thomas knew the young men well. Within half an hour they were all deep in planning, writing notes for themselves or discussing possible notions between them. He watched, occasionally interjecting comments on, or objections to, the plans the men were making. This was, as he had known it would be, just the sort of project they would relish.

  His only concern now was whether it was fair to let Harry go. He studied the younger man carefully, watching and trying to gauge how much pain his
impassive expression might hide, how much his altered gait would slow him down should it come to a chase.

  * * * *

  The boat rocked beneath his feet as Hugo Marland stared at the letter in his hands, all his attention taken by that simple piece of paper. He had read it more times than he could count and he still could not make sense of the fact that his niece had signed it Mrs. Langford. What the devil was she thinking, getting married like this, when he needed her?

  And why couldn’t she have sent the message sooner? As it was, it came too late for them to negotiate as they might have done had he known what was going on in Spain.

  She’d been right about that. It was important. But not if it came too late. And why hadn’t she brought it herself? This putative husband of hers, had he forbidden her to come? But didn’t he understand how useful she was to him?

  Lord Marland sighed. Selfish. That’s what it was. Young men these days were remarkably selfish. No thought for anything save their own wishes. Well, he would be back in England soon and then he could speak to his niece and her husband in person. And try to discover what had happened to overset his plans so thoroughly.

  A woman slipped her arm through his. She was of an age with him, petite and still possessed of a very fine figure. She smiled but he was hard put to smile back.

  “How soon do we reach England?” she asked. “It has been far too many years and I am eager to see my daughter, Prudence.”

  * * * *

  Harry chose his moment carefully. He and Prudence were alone in the drawing room. And then he broke the news.

  “I may have to go back to France.”

  “France? When? Why? The notion is absurd! You are not nearly recovered enough to do such a thing.”

  He ignored her cries of protest and took her hands in his, stroking the backs of them with his thumbs. “I must,” he said. “A great deal depends upon it. I cannot tell you why or even when, for certain. But soon.”

  She pulled her hands free and rose to her feet and began to pace about the room, shaking her head. “No, no. You cannot go. I will not let you. It is impossible. You are not well enough. Who would ask such a thing of you?”

  With these last few words, this question, she rounded on Harry. He sat quietly, determined not to let her draw him into quarreling.

  “I cannot tell you that either,” he said.

  “You cannot tell me,” she echoed his words, her voice dripping with anger and sarcasm, “but you will go anyway. Despite what I might think, despite what I might say?”

  “Yes. Just as you do what you wish, in the matter of Lord Brandon, without regard to my wishes.”

  She stared at him for a very long moment. Apparently she could see the determination in his eyes because suddenly she whirled and fled from the room. He did not try to follow. Words, he knew instinctively, would do no good. Perhaps after she had a chance to become accustomed to the shock. But not now, not yet. Nor was he certain, his anger over Lord Brandon still fresh, that he wished to reconcile with her.

  George appeared to have overheard something of what occurred because he came softly into the room a moment later and took a seat opposite Harry. He cleared his throat. Twice. And then he spoke.

  “So. You are going back to France. Did I hear correctly?”

  Harry nodded and braced himself for a protest.

  “I suppose you think it necessary?”

  Harry nodded again.

  It was George now who rose and paced about the room. He did not weep or cry out, but his grim expression betrayed his disapproval as clearly as anything Prudence had said or done. Finally he sighed heavily and turned to face Harry.

  “I must suppose you know your own business better than I. And however foolish I might think such a step to be, I cannot forbid it. Still, I wonder.”

  “Well do not, I pray you,” Harry snapped back. “I am only doing what I must do.”

  It was George’s turn to nod. “Very well. What do you need and how can I help?”

  Harry was taken aback at how quickly his eldest brother came to his support. And yet, it was the one quality he had always admired in George. His loyalty. Now his own voice was gruff with unspoken emotion as he said, “Take care of Prudence for me, while I am gone.”

  “As if you need ask!” George snorted. “Just do not ask me to keep her under control, for I will not even try. But she shall have a home with us for as long as necessary.”

  Harry smiled despite himself and despite the circumstances that brought him to this point. “I do not ask the impossible, George. If you take care of her, give her a home, I shall not ask more of you than that.”

  George came to sit opposite Harry again. “Can you tell me anything of why you are going to France?”

  Harry shook his head.

  “I did not think so. I suppose I am not to mention it to anyone, either?” he hazarded shrewdly.

  Harry looked at his brother with new found respect, at which George snorted. “I am not the fool you and your brothers sometimes take me for. I know you have often been involved in rather, shall we say, unusual circumstances. Aye, and involved your brothers as well. No,” he said holding up a hand to forestall Harry’s instinctive protest, “don’t tell me anything. I do not need to know. I simply wish to make certain I do not place you in danger by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong moment.”

  Harry grinned at George. “You are an excellent fellow!” he exclaimed.

  Lord Darton grinned back. “I am delighted you think so. Now tell me how I can help you.”

  Harry placed a few commissions with George. And pretended he did not see how the lines of worry on his brother’s face increased as he did so. In a way, he was not surprised that George did not simply let the matter drop.

  “Harry, I should not presume to tell you your business.”

  Harry quirked an eyebrow but George ignored him and pressed on.

  “I wonder, though, if you are pushing yourself to do this because of Father.”

  “Father?” Harry demanded, taken aback.

  “Yes, Father. I have noticed we all tend to do things because of him. I have a horror of anyone taking me for a reformer, for example.”

  “Impossible!”

  George gave him a withering look. “Philip pursues the law because he wants to help without appearing to be the odd creature Father was. And James, well, the less said about the difference between the careless face he presents the world and his true vocation inventing things the better.”

  Harry sat straight upright at that. “You know about his inventions?”

  Again that withering look. “I am not a complete fool even though I know that you and James and Philip sometimes take me for one. I know and understand a great deal more than any of you give me credit for. The thing is, Harry, I wonder if we have not all made a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Harry echoed warily.

  “Yes, a mistake. We have tried so hard to distance ourselves from Father and who and what he was that we have lost sight of the things to be admired about him. We have traded away pieces of ourselves so that none will mistake us for him. I sometimes think you went into the military because you wanted to prove that we are a loyal family, that we are honorable. But it is time to have done with such things! It is time to accept who we are and the ways in which we are like Father as well as the ways we are different.”

  George paused and Harry tried to marshal his rattled thoughts. He proceeded with great caution as he asked, “Even you, George?”

  “Even me. I am discovering that perhaps Athenia and I ought not, perhaps, to be quite so rigid in the way we live our lives. That perhaps we have traded away something important in doing so.”

  Harry could only gape at his brother, a circumstance that seemed to amuse George greatly. He even laughed.

  “You need not look as though I have grown several heads,” George chuckled. “I merely wish you to understand that you ought to think through this venture most carefully. It is not
that I doubt your ability to do what you must, but are you certain it would not be better for someone else to go in your place? Are you certain it is not vanity or pride or a need to still prove yourself that causes you to insist upon this step?”

  He paused then stared Harry straight in the eyes as he said, “You see, as much as I admire you and your skills, I cannot believe that there is no one in all of England who could do the job as well or better than you. No, you need not answer me now. Indeed, you need not answer me at all. You need only answer yourself. Good night, Harry. I shall leave you to your thoughts. Athenia is waiting for me upstairs.”

  And then, with a wink, George quitted the room. It was some time before Harry could collect his wits sufficiently to shut his mouth and consider what his brother had said. It annoyed him greatly to discover that there was more than a grain of truth to it. And that he, himself, was feeling a few niggling doubts over what he meant to do. Harry did not like doubts.

  Chapter 21

  Harry avoided Prudence the next day. And George. As much as he disliked to admit it, his brother’s words nagged at him and there was a tiny voice in his head that did indeed wonder if he was being unbearably arrogant in assuming that he was the best one, the only one who could undertake this task.

  And yet he had given his word. Confused but determined, Harry set off early for Philip’s town house where he found James and Philip and Sir Thomas and Frederick Baines already there. They showed no signs of the doubts George had planted in his head and Harry could not, he found, bring himself to share them with these men. Instead, he threw himself into the planning as if he had no doubts that he would be going. He carefully did not let himself think about how Prudence must be feeling.

  Emily and Juliet, accustomed to this sort of thing and suspecting that Prudence was not, rallied around her. They called to take her shopping with them, even though she was reluctant.