The Brigadier's Daughter

by Catherine March

  ‘Avery!’

  They walked away, Uncle Percy purloining glass flutes of golden champagne from a passing waiter, and raising one to toast his nephew. ‘Here’s to the future Mrs Bowen.’

  Reid hesitated before he sipped his champagne, glancing around at the crowded ballroom and the dazzling array of women in evening gowns and glittering jewellery. ‘I must confess, Uncle, that I feel a touch nervous. I would rather be facing a hundred screaming tribesmen pouring down the Hindu Kush than entangle myself with any of these mamas and their offspring.’

  ‘Oh, pish! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Uncle Percy finished his glass with a flourish and narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the room with a discreet yet discerning eye. ‘Let’s take a wander round. My advice would be to select two or three young ladies, a few dances, a little light conversation, then leave it at that for the time being. There are plenty more balls and parties between now and New Year.’

  Reid laughed wryly. ‘Sounds to me as though you have the whole campaign well planned. Is this to be a full-frontal, noisy attack? Or a covert, silent offensive?’

  ‘My dear boy, do not be facetious!’

  ‘Speaking of time, I had a letter this morning from the Defence Secretary to say that my posting has been brought forwards. So I shall be leaving for Russia at the end of April.’

  ‘Damn me!’ Uncle Percy muttered. ‘It would have to be a whirlwind courtship, then.’

  ‘I am reluctant to rush into anything.’

  ‘So you have said. For the past ten years. Neither of us is getting any younger, you know.’ He paused, and lowered his chin as he murmured, ‘Now, there’s a girl you may want to get to know, Araminta Cunningham-Ellis. Well bred, elegant, plenty of money.’

  Reid snorted, helping himself to another glass of champagne. ‘I may not be rich, but I have enough money of my own, thank you.’ He glanced carefully sideways at the strawberry blonde in question. ‘She’s rather tall, for a girl.’

  They both gazed upon Araminta, Uncle Percy with frank admiration and Reid with amusement. ‘Come along,’ he urged his uncle, nudging his elbow, ‘before her mama cuffs you with that enormous fan she’s brandishing.’

  ‘Can’t see what you’re complaining about,’ Uncle Percy muttered. ‘Perfect breeding stock for sons—’ He coughed and cleared his throat as an elderly gentleman stepped into his path. ‘Good evening, Hallam, is it not a splendid do?’

  They paused for a few moments in polite conversation and then moved onwards, Uncle Percy pointing out several more eligible females along the way. To his disappointment, and frustration, his nephew seemed little impressed and he could not persuade him to make any introductions. At last they came to the raised dais leading to open French doors and the veranda beyond. They mounted the steps on the pretext of taking in a breath of fresh air, yet from their elevated position they now had a perfect view of the ballroom. Uncle Percy looked towards four young ladies dressed in simple yet charming green, red and cream evening gowns, blending in with the Christmas theme.

  ‘Now you couldn’t go far wrong with one of Packard’s gels, all of them splendid creatures. And very useful, too, being fluent in French and Russian. Georgia, the one in the green dress, is the prettiest, and about the right age, I would say.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Almost twenty-one.’

  Reid glanced discreetly, and had to admit that Georgia Packard was indeed very lovely, the sort of girl he would be attracted to and the sort of blonde, beautiful girl that in the past had been his mistress.

  ‘And there’s Victoria, the one in the tartan dress. She’s seventeen.’

  ‘Too young.’

  ‘And Philippa, in the maroon dress.’

  ‘The one in the cream dress, the small one with the dark hair, is she a Packard?’

  ‘Of course, that’s Sasha, christened Alexandra after her mother—a Russian princess by birth, you know. Very beautiful, but afflicted by poor health, and somewhat highly strung.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Reid mused doubtfully, ‘I would prefer a lady who is strong and capable.’

  ‘I am sure in nature Sasha is both of those qualities, but you never know if she has inherited more than just her mother’s looks. If it’s a strong gel you want, then you would be wise to settle on Georgia.’ They both surveyed the young lady. ‘Mind you, she would not give you a quiet life.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Reid smiled at the prospect of a challenge, as he gazed at the four young ladies hovering near the Christmas tree, blissfully unaware of his Uncle Percy’s grand designs. ‘What’s the papa like? I believe he’s an Army man himself, and not to be trifled with by all accounts.’

  ‘He’s a splendid fellow! Shall I introduce you?’

  ‘By all means.’

  The orchestra began to play and Lord and Lady Westfaling opened the dancing with an elegant polonaise. Sasha felt the beat of the music vibrate through her whole body, her soul stirred by the rousing tune. Beneath the long skirts of her evening gown her brocade slipper tapped in time to the beat.

  ‘Don’t look, but he’s coming over!’

  ‘What?’ Sasha glanced at her sister with a puzzled frown. ‘What on earth—?’

  ‘Don’t look!’ Georgia repeated in an urgent undertone.

  Puzzled and curious, Sasha did indeed look. Just for a moment her gaze met the dark blue eyes of the handsome, suntanned man they had seen earlier, before her lashes lowered and she glanced away. She did not know him, but recognised the Earl of Clermount walking at his side, and dipped a curtsy in greeting as her father beamed at his old friend.

  ‘Percy, old boy, glad to see you!’

  ‘Conrad.’ After an exchange of bows, Percy turned slightly. ‘I’d like you to meet my nephew, Captain Reid Bowen. He’s been out on the North-West Frontier for the past seven years, and now that he’s returned, bathed in glory and a well-earned commission to major—’

  ‘In the spring,’ Reid interjected.

  ‘Quite.’ Percy cast him an exasperated glance. ‘I am persuading him to enjoy life a little, before he takes up a posting to St Petersburg.’

  The Brigadier perked up at this fact, and turned to Reid with hand extended. ‘How do you do? Which regiment are you with?’

  ‘The Royal Fusiliers, Seventh Battalion.’

  ‘Fine body of men. Queen’s Light Dragoons, myself.’

  ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance, sir,’ Reid responded truthfully, and for a few moments they made conversation on military matters, before Uncle Percy’s sharp elbow in his ribs reminded him of his duty. ‘Might I have the honour of marking your daughter’s dance card?’

  The Brigadier smiled, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. ‘Which one? I have four of ’em, as you can see.’

  Reid hesitated, just for the blink of an eye, in a quandary as to whether he should state where his interest lay openly, or be more subtle. He plumped for the latter. ‘Well, of course, I would be delighted with any Miss Packard who might care to risk my clumsy two left feet. It has been some while since I practised my dancing.’

  Before he had even finished speaking Victoria and Philippa had already thrust their cards beneath his nose, and he dutifully surveyed them and pencilled in his name, while Georgia exclaimed, ‘Oh, what a shame, my card is full! Excuse me, Papa, here is Felix to claim me for the mazurka.’

  ‘You’ve already had a dance with him this evening, Georgia,’ the Brigadier growled, as his brows lowered upon the anxiously hovering Right Honourable Felix Westfaling. ‘Scratch him out and let Captain Bowen take his place.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, that would not do at all!’ exclaimed Georgia. ‘It would be very rude, would it not, Sasha?’

  Sasha felt a warm blush creep up her neck as all eyes turned on her, but she murmured in agreement, ‘It may be construed as rather impolite.’

  ‘Besides, Sasha has not had even one dance yet—can’t he go with her?’

  ‘I-I’ve lost my card,’ stammered Sasha.

  ‘
Nonsense, it’s in your reticule.’ And with that Georgia whirled away with a flounce of green silk as she took Felix firmly by the elbow and set off to dance around the ballroom floor with him.

  The Brigadier felt a brief spurt of annoyance, which boded ill, as his gaze followed that of his errant and impetuous daughter, yet he calmed as Sasha laid her hand on his forearm and murmured soothingly, ‘’Tis but a phase, Papa, it will soon pass.’ She turned to Captain Bowen and smiled politely. ‘I would be delighted to dance with you, sir.’

  ‘Me first!’ cried Victoria.

  Somewhat curious, Reid Bowen held out his hand to take Sasha’s dance card. He was puzzled, as he glanced at the blank sheet, and resisted the temptation to cast a perusing stare. What was wrong with the girl that no one wanted to dance with her? Buck teeth? Bad breath? A total bore? From his greater height, his eyes lowered, he looked at her, and though she was no great beauty he could find no fault with her neat features, smooth, pale skin and dark brown eyes that glowed with intelligence. He pencilled himself in for two dances, both of them a waltz, later in the evening, and then he turned to the young Victoria and escorted her onto the dance floor. Despite her initial enthusiasm, Victoria was overawed by the handsome and mature gentleman in whose arms she suddenly found herself, and for the life of her she could not think of a word to say, which suited her partner well enough. At the end of the dance, he returned her to her family and then bowed as he went off in search of a much-needed drink.

  At ten o’clock a buffet of the most lavish and delicious food was served. Sasha indulged in a portion of sherry trifle and was licking her spoon when Captain Bowen returned to claim her for the first waltz of the evening. As he paused in front of her, with an amused smile and twinkle in his blue eyes, she hurriedly set aside the spoon and bowl, as he proffered his crooked arm to her.

  ‘Shall we?’

  The strains of the ‘Blue Danube’ made her smile with anticipation and pleasure, the waltz being her favourite dance. She accepted with a small inclination of her head, and slipped her hand through his elbow as he led her forwards, every part of her aware of his tall frame at her side.

  Though he had to stoop slightly, and she had to reach up to place her hand upon his broad shoulder, Reid was not in the least bit clumsy. Indeed, she had never enjoyed a waltz quite so much. She glanced up at his profile, his straight nose and lean cheeks very masculine. His jaw was firm and his eyes, when he glanced at her as he placed his hand on her waist, were a very dark blue. Following his lead, she swayed and stepped in time to the rhythm of the waltz, her feet and legs moving between his own as he guided her. Though she often had to dance backwards with no idea of what was behind her, her long cream silk skirts swirling about her legs, she had every confidence in Captain Bowen and the music as they swayed about.

  ‘You are an excellent dancer, Miss Packard.’

  Reid noticed that she bowed her head, with a smile, in a shy yet charmingly graceful gesture, acknowledging his compliment and yet neither bold nor brazen in her acceptance. He noticed, also, the tiny speck of cream at the corner of her mouth, and agonised over whether to mention it, or remain silent. He found himself glancing time and again, as they danced, at her mouth, until she turned her head, aware of his gaze, a slight frown on her well-shaped, dark brows and a pink blush staining her neck and cheeks.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Packard.’ It was unconscionably rude of him to have embarrassed a lady, so he erred on the side of truth and his judgement that Miss Packard favoured honesty. ‘But, um, please do not take offence, but you may wish to dab your handkerchief to the corner of your mouth.’

  ‘Oh!’ Sasha was instantly mortified. ‘Have I cream?’

  ‘Indeed, you do. Just a tiny speck.’

  Sasha felt a red-hot heat of embarrassment wash over her entire body, and wished with all her being she could flee. She made a tiny move to jerk from his arms, but he pulled her back and smoothly manoeuvred her through the flowing steps of the waltz.

  ‘Oh, sir, please do let me go!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I— I—’ Sasha stammered. ‘Let me retire to the ladies’ cloakroom, please.’ In agony she felt her cheeks blaze.

  ‘There is no need.’ As they danced into the corner, and his broad shoulders shielded her from prying eyes, deftly, quickly, he reached out with one gloved finger and flicked the offending blob of cream away. ‘There now, it is gone. All is well. And no one could see.’

  Sasha tried to pull away again, but he held on to her, and she glanced up at him. ‘You must think me very…gauche.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He gazed down, saw the telltale glimmer of tears in her eyes, and repeated firmly, ‘Not at all. And in the grand scheme of things, what is a mere speck of cream? It’s not as though you had lost a slipper or, God forbid, a stocking trailed about your ankle.’

  She could not help but laugh, nor could she help it as another painful blush warmed her exposed neck. ‘You should not speak of such things.’

  He smiled, enjoying the pleasant sound of her laugh, and even her blushes, for it had been a long time since he had been close to a woman who could still blush.

  ‘No, indeed I should not.’ It began to dawn him on him then why Miss Alexandra Packard might not be the belle of the ball, for he sensed there was something infinitely fragile about her. To his surprise he felt the surge of a most unfamiliar emotion, as though he would fight dragons and villains to protect her from all harm. He brushed it off, annoyed with himself. This would not do, as many men no doubt felt, judging from her empty dance card, it would not do at all for an officer’s wife to be anything other than a strong and capable woman who could take care of herself, the home and the children while her soldier husband was away winning his medals.

  At the end of the waltz they parted company, and Sasha wondered, as he coolly bid her adieu, whether he would return for the second. To her surprise and pleasure, he did, and firmly took the lead, moving her slender body about the ballroom with infinite ease and confidence. He made no move to open conversation, so politely she enquired if he was looking forward to his posting to St Petersburg, and from there they enjoyed a dialogue about Russia.

  ‘I must confess, Miss Packard,’ murmured Captain Bowen, above her ear, ‘that I have not enjoyed a dance quite so much this evening, as I have with you. Not only are you an exquisite dancer, but very interesting to talk to.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  They continued the dance until its end—all too soon, Sasha thought—and then he walked with her back to where her father and her sisters sat. He did not depart at once, but lingered to converse with her father about the Army and the possibility of Russian lessons.

  In the dark, early hours of morning the clop-clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels roused Lady Packard as she lay dozing, waiting for the return of her family to their home on Roseberry Street. She stirred and reached to turn up the wick on the glass-shaded lamp beside the bed. Beyond her bedroom she could hear footsteps and the bang of a door, and her husband’s deep voice as he admonished his daughters to be quiet. She sat up and plumped her pillows, checked her braided hair and turned her face eagerly to the door. A few moments later it opened, and the Brigadier stepped in, tossing aside his white gloves and bow tie as he walked with soundless footsteps across the carpet.

  ‘Did the girls have a wonderful evening?’ she asked in her soft, husky voice, even after all these years still influenced by her native Russian accent.

  ‘My dear—’ Conrad turned to face his wife, as he shrugged off his jacket ‘—you did not have to wait up.’ He spoke gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gazing at her.

  Olga held out her arms to him, and with a contented sigh he pulled her into an embrace, affectionate and yet restrained, mindful of her delicate health. He kissed the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and stroking back tendrils of dark hair from her temple. ‘How are you, my love?’

  ‘I am well,’ she replied g
ently. ‘I have missed you.’

  ‘You should have come with us. The Westfalings were asking after you, as well as Percy, and many others.’

  Tears glowed in her eyes, her turbulent emotions easily aroused, ‘Next time, I promise. Soon I will be feeling much stronger. Did Georgia behave?’

  ‘No.’ Conrad could not help but laugh, his annoyance tempered by admiration for his daughter’s passionate, if stubborn and wayward, nature. He sat back and pulled off his shoes and stockings, undressing swiftly and then climbing into bed with his wife, a sigh escaping from his throat as he lay back. ‘I am getting too old for all of this nonsense.’ He turned his head on the pillow and gazed at his wife. ‘What a pair we are! It’s high time these girls of ours were married off. Their husbands can run around after them and we can enjoy a little time to ourselves.’ He mused for a moment, a vision of rusticating at their country manor in Shropshire taking hold in his mind, hopeful that the country air and quiet life would help improve Olga’s strength. ‘I think Georgia may have acquired a beau this evening, though not the one she would no doubt prefer. Percy introduced his nephew, a Captain Reid Bowen. I found him most personable and highly suitable, more than capable enough of keeping Georgia in line. However, he’s off to St Petersburg in the spring, on a posting to the Embassy as military attaché.’

  ‘Oh, Conrad, how wonderful.’ Olga turned to lie against him, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Tell me more! Just think, one of our girls married to an officer.’

  ‘Steady on now, my love, they’ve only just met. Though he did ask my permission to call, and I have invited him for dinner on Christmas Eve. I hope that will not be inconvenient.’ He looked down at her with raised brows.

  Olga shook her head. ‘We were short of one gentleman, so it will be perfect. But what of my Sasha? Did anyone dance with my Sasha?’