Fortune’s Bride
Roberta Gellis
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the memory of Edwin J. Newman, who, with the greatest kindness and generosity, gave me invaluable source material and assisted me in the historical research upon which this novel is based.
Chapter One
Captain the Honorable Robert Francis Edward Moreton strode along Harley Street in London quite unmindful of the attention he was receiving. He was accustomed to creating a stir when he appeared in the full-dress uniform of the Fourteenth Light Dragoons, the regiment in which he held his regular commission. Dragoon uniforms were always dressy, and the Fourteenth, its blue coat trimmed with orange facings, silver lace, and topped with a fur-edged pelisse, was brighter than most.
Robert had, in fact, never served in the regiment, having been a staff officer from the beginning of his military career, but he liked the uniform, especially the Tarleton helmet, which he thought much more sensible than the busby or the shako. It was one of the reasons he was still only a captain, for he could well afford to buy a promotion. However, Robert did not wish to change regiments, and no vacancy had occurred in the Fourteenth that would permit him to purchase higher rank. He did not mind that. Since he did not serve in the regiment, he was not subject to the occasionally erratic orders of its superior officers. Nor did he need the increased stipend of a higher rank, having a very generous allowance from his father, the Earl of Moreton, and being a relatively sober young man, free of the vices of excessive drink and gambling to which so many of his peers were addicted.
In fact, Robert’s character would have been as perfect as his features, which were better fitted for a Greek god or an idealized painting than for a young English gentleman, had it not been for an obsession deplored even by his affectionate family—his fixation on a military career. Nothing his worried father could offer had been sufficient to blunt this passion, and, in 1798, when Robert was seventeen, Lord Moreton, fearing that his son would join a line regiment as a volunteer or even be so desperate as to join the ranks, had agreed to purchase a subaltern’s commission if his son would agree to serve on Sir John Moore’s staff.
Robert had not been very happy about that. He had been very eager to fling himself into the war against revolutionary France, but Sir John was stationed in Ireland. On considering the alternatives, Robert had accepted the compromise and soon was delighted with his decision. Sir John was an active and brilliant officer and by 1799 was engaged in a more thrilling campaign in Holland. In 1800 and 1801 he was in the fighting in the Mediterranean and Egypt. Robert was delighted, though his family was not, and he came through both disastrous campaigns in which Moore was wounded five times, twice quite severely, with no worse damage than a saber cut and a crease from a spent ball.
Neither these minor wounds nor the dreadful mismanagement of the campaigns by the government and high command had the smallest dampening effect on Robert’s military ardor. Actually, he developed so strong a taste for action and for tropical climates that when the Peace of Amiens was signed in 1801 and Sir John went on inactive status, Robert requested and obtained a recommendation to transfer to Sir Arthur Wellesley’s staff in India. He did not inform his family of what he had done until after he was safely aboard ship.
Letters, alternately furious and pleading, followed him, but Robert ignored them, aside from writing soothing, and often quite false, reassurances about his health and safety. It had turned out that he need not have transferred, as Sir John was back on active service the next year. Nonetheless, Robert never regretted his choice. He succumbed neither to the weird diseases of the East nor to the desperate battle of Assaye or those that followed, and he enjoyed the strange culture and developed a deep admiration for his commanding officer.
Robert had been genuinely sorry when Sir Arthur, who was not well owing to the climate and some professional disappointments, had decided to return to England. Being a member of General Wellesley’s personal staff, Robert had accompanied his commanding officer home. He had given some thought to requesting yet another transfer, but decided he would not want to serve under any of the senior officers remaining in India. However, general officers and staff officers with specific assignments, such as quartermaster general, were not so fortunate. Their posting was controlled by the Horse Guards, which was what everyone called the bureaucracy, including the Duke of York, who was commander in chief, and his staff, who together issued the orders that ran the army.
Actually, Robert was thinking about the Horse Guards as he walked away from General Sir Arthur Wellesley’s house at 11 Harley Street. He was so lost in thought that he was quite unaware of several parties who were forced to step right off the walk to avoid him. Sir Arthur had just told Robert that he had new instructions from the government. The plans to invade South America were to be abandoned, and the force assembled at Cork was to be sent instead to Spain.
On a personal level the new orders were welcome. Robert had already been the recipient of a tearful lecture from his mother and an admonitory one from his eldest sister, both alarmed by the huge losses, largely from disease, that previous expeditions to South America had suffered. How they had heard of the proposed, supposedly “secret” invasion, Robert did not bother to wonder. In Robert’s opinion any spy with a modicum of sense would attend ton tea parties rather than skulk around military installations.
His father, who also certainly knew through government sources about the plans for a new invasion of South America, had made no remarks, having doubtless come to the conclusion that argument was useless and that Robert, at twenty-seven, was old enough to manage his own life. But it was clear that the earl was also worried sick. Thus, Robert, who was as fond of his family as they were of him, was pleased that his parents and siblings would have less cause for concern.
He was less pleased about the insecurity of Arthur Wellesley’s position as his commanding officer. The conservative and elderly officers of the Horse Guards who surrounded the Duke of York—equally elderly and conservative—did not like the brash and brilliant Arthur Wellesley. Sir Arthur had won his knighthood and his promotion, becoming the youngest lieutenant general in the army, by the brilliance and success of his campaigns in India. But he had won as much animosity for his stubborn honesty, his protection of the natives from the rapacity of the Indian and the English governments, and his fierce, unconcealed ambition. The response of the Horse Guards was to appoint one of their own favorites, who had seniority, to command over Sir Arthur’s head.
Robert was sure that it was only because Lord Castlereagh, a friend and great admirer of Sir Arthur, was now Minister of War that Sir Arthur had grudgingly been given the appointment to command the expedition to South America, and then only because no senior general was willing to go. But Spain was a different kettle of fish. Most of the doddering halfwits on the Duke of York’s staff would love an appointment to a command in Europe. Castlereagh had managed to get Sir Arthur the command temporarily on the grounds that only he and his troops were ready to leave immediately. However, could that last? With good winds, a fast ship could arrive at Corunna or Vigo in only five to eight days bringing a new, and probably incapable, commander.
Robert’s lips compressed. He had no very good opinion of any of the older generals, except Sir John Moore, and Sir John was not much older than Sir Arthur. Moreover, Sir John was already abroad with an expedition intended to defend the Swedish against the French and Russians. It had been impossible for Robert to voice his concern to Sir Arthur, partly because there had been no time, partly because he did not wish to add any worries to those Sir Arthur already had, and partly because he knew little beyond the bare fact that they would be going to Spain rather than to South America.
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There was no use going to the Horse Guards for information. Those willing to speak to him about the probability that Sir Arthur would be superseded by a senior general would not really know anything. His father was also unlikely to be able to obtain any reliable information on the intention of the Horse Guards because he was involved mostly with domestic issues of trade and agriculture. Robert frowned, but a moment later his brow cleared. His older brother, Perce, probably could find out through his betrothed’s foster father. Roger St. Eyre always seemed to know everything.
At the next crossing, Robert turned in the direction of the Stour mansion. Technically Perce was living in Moreton House, but actually he was seldom to be found there. All of his free time was spent with Sabrina. Robert smiled involuntarily. He liked his future sister-in-law, who was as sensible as she was beautiful. Come to think of it, Sabrina was the widow of a high-level diplomat, William, Lord Elvan, and had carefully maintained her own connections with the diplomatic community because Perce was also interested in entering the diplomatic service. She might know as much as Perce or St. Eyre about the reason for this change in plans and whether it was a lost cause that the senior generals would choose to avoid. If that was the case, Robert wasn’t worried. Sir Arthur had turned more than one forlorn hope into a resounding victory.
At Stour mansion Robert found his brother and Sabrina in what was to be their sitting room, studying swatches of wallpaper and cloth. Both looked up and smiled, and Perce lifted his fair brows as he remarked, “I see there’s been some change of plans.”
“Have you heard already?” Robert asked, astonished.
“No, I haven’t heard anything,” Perce replied, “but I can’t imagine that you’d be out walking in full regimentals in this heat if you weren’t running errands for Sir Arthur, or that you wouldn’t have changed before you came here unless there was something urgent you wanted to talk about.”
“We aren’t going to South America,” Robert said.
“Thank God for that!” Sabrina exclaimed.
Robert looked at her in some surprise. She hadn’t previously voiced any concern about the expedition or about him, and neither had Perce. “I didn’t know you didn’t like the idea.”
Both of them laughed. “Don’t be so thick,” Perce commented. “How could we like you going into that hell? We’ve lost eighty thousand men there, as many from fever as from action.”
“There was no sense in nagging at you,” Sabrina said with a slight shudder. “It was your duty.”
Robert felt surprised again. His mother and sisters, although quick enough to point out such duties as escorting them to balls, never seemed to associate his military work with duty. They understood that he was required to obey the orders of his commanding officer, but they seemed to feel he should sell his commission and leave the service any time such an order was dangerous or disagreeable. Sabrina was the first woman of his acquaintance who had recognized his army career as a patriotic duty, not a form of amusement.
Perhaps, he thought, if there were more women like Sabrina, marriage would not be utterly impossible for him. But in the next moment he dismissed the idea. Marriage would still be impossible. One could not drag a woman through the hardships of a campaign, and to leave her behind was to condemn her to constant loneliness and anxiety or, far more likely, to invite unfaithfulness. These fleeting and not very serious thoughts were scattered by his brother’s voice.
“Besides,” Perce was saying, “Mama and Mary were at it hammer and tongs, and Fa was walking around with a face like a corpse. I thought you were getting enough objections from them without me adding any, but I’m damned glad it’s off. I knew Wellesley didn’t really approve of the objectives of the South American mission, and he approved even less of that Venezuelan general, Miranda. Who are they sending instead? Another old fool like—”
“No, I’m pretty sure that campaign won’t be undertaken,” Robert interrupted. “Sir Arthur told me we will be ordered to Spain instead, but—”
“Spain!” Perce stood up. “You mean there’s been confirmation of the uprisings against the French?”
“Yes, but that’s about all I do know,” Robert said. “I was supposed to leave for Cork tomorrow with instructions, and Sir Arthur sent for me to tell me to return to the Horse Guards the papers I was to carry, but he didn’t have time to say much else. You may be glad South America is off, but if there’s too good a chance of making headway in Spain, Sir Arthur will be superseded, and I’m not so sure I like that.”
“Take off your helmet and sit down,” Sabrina suggested. “Would you like something to drink?”
Robert nodded in reply to her question and not only took off his helmet but unhooked his pelisse, threw it on a chair, and unbuttoned the top of his dolman. The removal of the helmet exposed a head of bright gold curls, flattened and darkened by perspiration, but detracting nothing from his exceptional good looks. His brow was broad and well shaped. His eyes were large, and their bright blue was only intensified by the tanning of his naturally fair skin. A straight nose set over exquisitely curved lips, which lifted just a trifle at the corners as if always ready to smile, and a rounded but determined chin made for a countenance that was totally ravishing.
Nor did removal of the pelisse, which for some men disguised narrow or sloping shoulders, prove in the least detrimental to Robert’s figure. He was not as tall as his elder brother, but the strong neck exposed by the loosened dolman and the way the cloth fitted his shoulders without need for padding hinted at considerable power. If confirmation were needed, it could be found in the muscular thighs, well exposed by the molding of the tight breeches.
As Sabrina rose to ring the bell and to hang Robert’s pelisse more neatly, she suppressed a sigh. It was not that she desired her dear Perce to look like his brother—to her, Perce was utterly perfect just as he was—but Robert’s total indifference to women was such a waste. Any girl he chose would be a devoted slave for life and would fit herself to any pattern he desired. That sounded dreadful, but it would not be a bad thing because Robert was the kindest creature. He seemed completely unaware of how handsome he was and always picked out the unlovely and neglected girls at any social affair as if he expected to be rejected by the beautiful, sought-after belles.
Sabrina had once talked to him about his preference for wallflowers—timidly, for she did not know whether he would be angry—but he had only smiled and said it was unimportant because he would never marry anyway. That had frightened her enough to ask Perce if Robert was “different”. It was as near as she could come to asking if he preferred men or boys, but Perce had assured her his brother was quite normal and satisfied his sexual urges regularly, as her foster brother Philip had done for many years before he married Megaera. Robert, Perce explained, confined himself to light-skirts because he did not think a soldier had a right to marry. A military man could spend so little time with a wife and his children that he soon became a stranger to them.
There was some truth in that, of course. Sabrina agreed that children must not be exposed to the dangers of a war zone. A wife was another matter. Sabrina heartily concurred with Robert’s notion that there was no sense in marriage if one’s husband would be at home only a few months, weeks, or not at all for years at a time. However, the right woman would think nothing of accompanying her husband, no matter what the danger. Sabrina knew of several such women, and she herself had been in situations of considerable peril owing to her late husband’s diplomatic posts. She had never minded the danger, in fact, it had exhilarated her. It was William’s personal doings that had caused her to accept his death with so little grief.
As for any children Robert might have, something could easily be managed. Even if the wife Robert chose did not have a mother, or he did not like her, Lady Moreton would gladly oversee the children. Like her son, Lady Moreton was kindness itself. Or if Robert felt his mother would be too indulgent, Sabrina would be glad to care for her brother-in-law’s chil
dren, only she might not be in England. But that would not matter, for Leonie would watch over them as Leonie would watch over her own children if God would only allow her to have them.
“Brina?”
The anxious note in Perce’s voice woke Sabrina to the fact that she was standing with her hand on the bell pull and staring blankly at the wall behind it. She started slightly and pulled the delicate tapestry ribbon that would ring a bell in the servants’ quarters below. Then she turned and smiled.
“I was thinking,” she said not quite truthfully, “that if Spain really has rebelled against Bonaparte, it might be important to us, too, Perce. If you were to be sent there, or to Portugal, or if we had the expectation of such an appointment, even if it did not come through, that would be a good reason to set our marriage ahead.”
Perce’s expression cleared, but before he could answer Sabrina, Robert said, “There will have to be a government not at war with England before any diplomats are likely to be appointed. And I tell you right now that if they replace Sir Arthur with one of those old fools from the Horse Guards, Spain and Portugal will have to win against Boney on their own. Do you think Castlereagh can hold out against them?”
“No,” Perce replied, “not indefinitely, anyway, because the Duke of York has too much influence, but they might not push the matter too hard until they see whether Sir Arthur makes any headway. In any case, Sir Arthur may be more fortunate to be relieved of his command than to keep it. I know the government presently believes Spain only needs a little help to push out Bonaparte, but I don’t think the Spanish emissaries who are here are representing the political situation accurately. I’m afraid—”
“I don’t care about Spain’s political situation. All I want to know is whether Sir Arthur will keep his command.”
Perce sighed with gentle resignation. Robert’s obsession with military matters did not yet include the recognition that political maneuvering all too frequently was concluded on the battlefield. Robert was not unintelligent. He was an ardent student of the art of war, ancient and modern. He read every book on military history and military tactics he could obtain, and he remembered everything he had heard from Sir John and Sir Arthur about the battles they had directed. However, he was still young enough to regard the subjects of where and why one fought as irrelevant. In a sense he had the perfect military mind. He was quite willing to obey orders without ever requesting an explanation.
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