No Dukes Allowed

by Grace Burrowes, Kelly Bowen, Anna Harrington

  No, she was meant to be a duchess. His duchess. Well-cultured, already familiar with the demands of the rank and how to navigate the highest levels of Society, possessing a nice fortune of her own and so would never need to touch his—she was perfect. Doubly so, considering that she was barren and that he already had heirs from his previous duchess. There would be no children to interfere in their marriage.

  No mere army officer was going to steal her away.

  He’d just have to make certain that Thorpe was put in his proper place… all the way to Africa.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  When Max reached inside the carriage stopped in front of the barracks to help Belinda to the ground, she hesitated to slip her hand into his. Only a heartbeat’s uncertainty, but in that moment, he knew she remembered their kiss from two days ago, and her regret ripped through him.

  Then she put her gloved hand into his and descended gracefully to the cobblestones.

  She’d arrived for her visit to the barracks, and not a moment too soon. He’d spent all of yesterday with her at the hospital, meeting the pensioners and watching as she read books to them, helped mend their clothing—even helped one dress himself, a man whose leg and foot had been badly damaged in an explosion. If anyone from the ton had seen a duchess do such a thing, they surely would have suffered apoplexy on the spot. But Belinda behaved as if she were privileged to help.

  She’d made her point. The pensioners needed her, and they needed one another.

  He only hoped that today she’d realize how much the army needed well-trained cadets.

  “You look lovely,” he told her as he bowed over her hand, then placed it on his arm to lead her through the gate. He was acutely aware of every curious stare cast their way from the soldiers gathered in the yard.

  “Please stop saying that,” she admonished with an exasperated sigh. “Your charms won’t work on me.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I’m not saying it to—”

  “And you cannot seduce me to your side either.”

  That brought him up short. He halted, stopping her next to him. “Pardon?”

  She fussed with her gloves, not daring to spare him a glance. “Your kiss.”

  “My kiss?” As if she’d had nothing to do with it. As if he routinely staged elaborate picnics on beaches only to have his wicked way with unsuspecting ladies. “That kiss was not a seduction.” Not by a goodly ways, although for the life of him, he couldn’t have said why he’d done it. Except that he couldn’t resist. “And you were a willing participant.”

  “That doesn’t mean that you should have done it.”

  Oh, he was pretty certain that was exactly what it meant, and she knew it, too, which was proven by her careful dodge. But he didn’t want to risk a slap in front of the men and silently led her forward, toward the enlisted men’s mess hall.

  “I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about it,” she continued. He was confident she had. He’d thought of little else himself, especially when they’d been together at the hospital. Close, but never alone so they couldn’t repeat the encounter. “It cannot happen again.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  She began to nod, as if satisfied with his answer—only to freeze as his comment sank through her.

  Her bewildered gaze darted to him. She’d obviously been expecting a different answer, and her mind surely whirled at a million miles a minute to figure out his reply. If he had agreed with her or was refusing.

  Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, she scowled and demanded, “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

  He had no intention of answering. Especially when he didn’t know himself. Instead, he dodged, “I don’t have to charm you to win your support, and I certainly wouldn’t attempt to seduce you.” Although he’d lost count of the number of times over the years he’d imagined doing just that. He added bluntly, “You’re an intelligent woman who trusts in logic and reason, and I’d be a fool to try to use your heart against you. We both know how ineffective that would be.”

  She hesitated with what he was certain was a cutting reply poised on the tip of her tongue. Then she softened as that unusual compliment sank in. “Then why did you kiss me?”

  He purposefully avoided her question. “If that kiss was wrong, it wasn’t for the reason you think.”

  “I think we already have enough problems between us,” she answered, getting in the last word as they reached the dining hall door. “We don’t need to add more, not ones like that.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Her shoulders slumped in exasperation. “Maxwell—”

  “Brigadier!”

  The shout went up as soon as they entered. As more men took up the call, it echoed through the building and out across the barracks grounds that stretched along Church Street, just a stone’s throw across the park from the Pavilion. Infantrymen scrambled up from the benches lining the long tables to snap to attention, then were relieved when Max signaled for them to fall at ease. A comforting sense of familiarity rose inside him as he led her through the hall, a place he knew well, surrounded by men whom he’d trust with his life.

  “Brigadier in the barracks!”

  She tensed at his side, and her eyes widened as she glanced around the room. He fought back a twitch of his lips at her discomfiture, this woman who was usually so confident that she charged through the world without hesitation.

  Briefly placing his hand over hers as it rested on his sleeve, he leaned down to quietly explain, “If it helps, you should know that they’re all more concerned about my presence here than yours.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can order them to serve guard duty. You can only order them to serve tea.”

  The tension drained out of her, and a faint smile of irritation tugged at her lips. “Enjoying yourself, are you?”

  “Of course.” He patted her hand with mock condescension. “For once, I outrank a duchess.”

  When she opened her mouth to give him the set-down he deserved, he interrupted, “You’ve entered a different world, Belinda.” He gestured behind them at the dozen or so men who had returned to their seats at the table but were still craning their necks to stare curiously at them. “The army is a world unto itself, with its own laws and traditions, its own expectations and loyalties.” They reached the end of the mess hall, and he took her hand to help her sit on the wooden bench at the head of the long table. Standing behind her, he took her slender shoulders in his hands and leaned over to murmur into her ear, “Today, consider me your guide to that world.”

  He removed his hat and tossed it to one of the nearby men, with unspoken orders to hang it from one of the pegs on the wall. The soldier stared at him in surprise. Officers rarely entered this mess hall and certainly few of high rank.

  Then the soldier grinned as he hung the hat, apparently deciding that all the stories he’d heard about Max were true. That he’d rather spend his time with infantrymen than officers.

  “Why do I need a guide?” she challenged. “I’ve spent a good amount of time around soldiers, you forget.”

  “Around officers.” Instead of joining her at the table, he crossed to the little cast-iron stove in the corner, where a pot of coffee sat heating. He lifted the lid and peered inside. “You’ve probably never had a conversation with an enlisted soldier.”

  “Many of the pensioners were enlisted men.”

  “Retired, not actively serving.” He returned the lid and turned away, cursing himself for not thinking ahead to have a tray of tea ready for her. But then, hadn’t he wanted to show her the way the average soldier lived? Expensive china and tea had never graced the doorway of this dining hall.

  “No difference.”

  “A world of difference.” He signaled for the men to gather near. Good soldiers all, they joined them at the front of the room without a single grumble.

  “Your Grace,” Max introduced with as much formality as if they were meeting in a
Society drawing room, “these are the men of the Royal Fusiliers.”

  “The 7th Regiment of Foot, sir,” one of the older soldiers interjected.

  “Of course.” With a deferential nod, he smiled at the man’s pride over his regiment. The grizzled sergeant had reason for being proud. Every man in His Majesty’s army knew the heroism of the 7th Regiment of Foot and how much they’d sacrificed over the years. “Men, this is Her Grace, Duchess of Winchester.”

  He held her gaze as the men stared at her in surprise. Most of them had never seen a duchess in person before, let alone been introduced to one, and were uncertain of the proper way to greet her. They shifted nervously, until the sergeant pulled at his forelock and nodded. “Your Grace.”

  The others followed suit, and Belinda gave them a bright smile, as if she were being introduced to peers of the realm instead of coarse soldiers.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, gentlemen.” Her soft voice lilted through the dining hall and drew relaxed smiles from the men. Already she was winning them over, exactly as Max knew she would. “The 7th Regiment of Foot… My! That sounds like a very fine regiment.”

  The men didn’t know if they were supposed to make replies to that, and an awkward silence followed until Max cleared his throat and said, “One of His Majesty’s bravest. They fought in America and the West Indies before taking on Napoleon on the Peninsula at Talavera and Bussaco.”

  “Also at Albuera,” one of the older soldiers added proudly. “’Twas me first fight.”

  “A bloody one, from what I’ve heard.” Max’s eyes never moved from Belinda.

  “Aye,” the sergeant agreed somberly. “Gave it to ’em right good, we did!”

  “And the sieges, don’t forget,” another soldier piped up. Although he was too young to have fought on the Peninsula, he openly showed his pride at being part of the storied regiment. “All three of ’em.”

  Then the men all jumped into the conversation. “Salamanca, too—”

  “And Vitoria—”

  “Then we stuck it to Boney by chasing him right o’er the Pyrenees and back to France!”

  “Stuck it to ’em good.”

  “Right there on their own soil!”

  “Toulouse.”

  At that, the men all turned their gazes to the sergeant who had quietly spoken that last. Including Max.

  The sergeant lowered his eyes to the floor, but not before a haunted expression darkened his face. He added solemnly, “Never forget Toulouse, boys.”

  A grim silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint popping of coals in the stove and the muted noise of horses and wagons moving in the barracks yard outside.

  Belinda glanced from man to man, attempting to understand what she’d missed, before her puzzled gaze landed on Max. “What happened at Toulouse?”

  “Hell,” he answered quietly.

  “All hell,” the sergeant corrected.

  Her lips parted slightly as she pulled in a stunned breath. She gracefully rose to her feet and stepped toward the sergeant.

  “You were there, weren’t you?” Not a question.

  With a curt nod, he looked away. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Silently, Belinda held out her hand. The sergeant hesitated, then took it in his. She leaned close, bringing her mouth to his ear.

  Max had no idea what she whispered to the man, but the sergeant’s eyes glistened, and he nodded again. When she released his hand and stepped back, the old soldier blinked rapidly and turned completely away to hide the raw emotions on his face.

  Instead of returning to her seat, Belinda went through the group of men, holding out her hand in greeting to each of them, asking their names, where each called home, and how long they had been part of the Royal Fusiliers. Each man beamed when she spoke to him, captivated by her interest in them and by her kindness.

  “You’ve been with the Fusiliers for a long time,” Max interjected when she laughed at a joke that one of the oldest of the soldiers told her.

  “Aye, sir.” The man straightened. Even though Max was here unofficially and doing his best to put the men at ease, none of them forgot his rank. “Over twenty years since I enlisted.”

  Which would have been right at the start of the wars with the French. Seizing on this opportunity, Max asked, “What was your first engagement?”

  His eyes took on a faraway look. “Copenhagen. Been in the army less than three months ’fore they shipped us off to Denmark.”

  “How old were you?” Belinda asked.

  “Just turned one and twenty, ma’am.”

  Max fixed his eyes on Belinda to gauge her reaction. “Were you prepared for it?”

  He snorted in disgust. “The trainin’ they gave us was little more than instructions on which end o’ the rifle to point at the enemy an’ t’ keep our heads down when the artillery goes to boomin’ off. And marchin’.” He scowled in distaste. “Hours o’ marchin’.”

  Belinda asked innocently, “What’s wrong with marching? Order and discipline among the ranks are surely important in a battle.”

  “Aye, ma’am.” His nod turned into a frustrated shake of his head. “Until th’ first shots are fired. Then it’s a scramble on the field, wi’ no one knowin’ what to do, where to charge, or when to fall back.”

  “But isn’t that what the officers are there for? To give direction to the men?”

  He spat on the floorboards. “Officers who themselves ain’t had more than a few weeks of trainin’ at best? An’ trainin’ not at all like what they’ll encounter i’ th’ fray, when bullets come a-whizzin’ at ’em.”

  She folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I see.”

  Max was certain she did. After all, this was why he’d brought her here, so she could understand how little training most soldiers were given before being rushed into battle, along with field officers who were just as inexperienced.

  She confirmed her understanding of his scheme when she answered dryly, “I suppose not all officers can be as clever as Brigadier Thorpe.” Then she slid a sideways glance at him. “Occasionally, he makes quite good decisions under the pressure of battle.”

  He fought to hide the amused twitch of his lips at her sly innuendo. She always had been one of the sharpest women he’d ever met.

  “So soldiers need more training,” she announced. “Do you all agree?”

  A round of ayes and emphatic nods went up from the men, and Max gave a silent sigh of relief. If Belinda was ever going to be swayed to support the academy, it would be the soldiers themselves who convinced her.

  “What are your career plans, then?” she asked with a sincere smile.

  The abrupt change in conversation didn’t surprise the men, but a warning prickled at the back of his neck. What was she up to?

  One by one, the men all shared their plans with her, and to a man, they all wanted to serve out their army careers as part of the Fusiliers. Not one wanted to be pensioned before he’d given his all to crown and country. The pride Max felt in them warmed his chest and reminded him that he’d not been wrong to pick the military as his life’s path. Not when he could serve with men like these.

  “And when you’re no longer able, what then?” Another question that seemed innocent to the men but which sliced into Max, because he knew where that quick mind of hers was headed. “Once you’re too old to charge into battle, or God forbid, should you be wounded? What would you do then, if you couldn’t be a soldier any longer?”

  One of the younger men shrugged. He was so young, in fact, that freckles still dotted his nose. “Go home to our families, ma’am. Start over there with them.”

  She pressed, “So you all have families to depend upon?”

  Most nodded, except for three men who remained still. One of them was the old sergeant who had fought at Toulouse.

  “And your family, Sergeant?”

  “Got none, ma’am,” he answered quietly, as if a bit embarrassed to admit it. “The regiment is my family, till the day I’m
pensioned.”

  “What a great loss that day will bring to the Fusiliers,” she said sincerely. Then she turned toward Max. “Did you know, Brigadier, that in order to be a pensioner at one of the royal hospitals, a man cannot have any family?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he answered with chagrin. “I did know that.”

  “Hospitals that might otherwise keep a dedicated soldier who has given the best years of his life to crown and country from a life of starvation and suffering on the streets?”

  He clenched his jaw. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Satisfied that she’d made her point, she smiled warmly at the men. “Do not worry. You’ll all be given the respect and rewards you deserve, both now and when you retire.” Then she added with such conviction that it pulsed through him like an electric tingle, “I give you my word.”

  Max quietly dismissed the men and took her arm to escort her out. Instead of cutting directly across the yard to the barracks gate and her waiting carriage, he guided her the long way around, along the brick wall that separated the barracks from the inn and houses fronting Marlborough Place.

  When they were well out of earshot of the soldiers, she commented dryly, “I think I made my point about the hospital.”

  She had. And yet… “And I mine about the academy.”

  “Then it seems that we’re right back where we started.”

  Not back where they’d started, but more firmly entrenched than before. Due in no small part because of their past. Even now, the tension flowed around them as palpably as the salty sea air and only increased with each step they took leading them away from the main part of the yard and past the service buildings framing the perimeter.

  “The War Office wants the academy,” he reminded her as gently as possible. “I think it’s time you accepted that and turned your kindnesses toward helping the pensioners relocate.”

  “Why can’t you see any other perspective but your own?” Aggravation colored her voice.

  “I am trying to see your point. But you’re an outsider. You have no idea what the army needs to protect its men and—”