Fortune's Bride

by Roberta Gellis

  “We can be ready in half an hour,” Esmeralda said calmly. Since she was convinced that nothing could be worse than what she had already endured—and survived—she was not frightened.

  Robert looked at her blankly for just a moment, then his eyes cleared, and he came forward to the fire, smiling and reaching for her. “My dear,” he sighed, “you never fail me. But there’s no need to fly this moment. Boney’s army isn’t at our door. We may have to make some very long marches, but we are in no real danger.”

  Quite certain now that there was virtually no chance of a battle taking place, Esmeralda felt free to express regret at the lost opportunity. For this very false sentiment, she was fondly kissed and praised.

  “I’m damned sorry we couldn’t smash Soult’s division before we had to run, too,” he said, sitting down on the chair opposite Esmeralda’s and holding out his hands to the flames, but speaking much more cheerfully. “Still and all, in a way we’ve accomplished our purpose. With Bonaparte rushing north after us, it won’t be possible for him to send any armies to southern Spain. The Spanish will be able—I hope—to train some troops so that they can fight, and equip them so that they have something to fight with, poor sods. Anyhow,” he smiled grimly, “I’ll bet we’ve messed up Boney’s plans. He won’t be able to do much more until spring, and by then we’ll be ready for him.”

  By spring… Esmeralda’s throat tightened, but she managed to nod and ask steadily, “Will we retreat to Portugal?”

  “No, there’s no chance of that,” Robert said, looking troubled again. “The French can too easily cut us off from the roads west. We will go north toward Corunna. There are magazines of supplies in various towns along those roads. I don’t think it will be too difficult, but to tell the truth, Merry, I’m concerned about the men.”

  “The army, you mean? But if there are supplies, why should you worry about them?” She was considerably surprised. The men, she assumed, did what they were ordered to do, and it seemed to her they should be delighted with orders that would save them from a battle,

  “They don’t like to retreat,” Robert explained. “I’ve seen this problem before.”

  “They don’t like to retreat?” Esmeralda echoed, confused by what, to her, was irrational. “You mean they like the prospect of being killed or wounded?”

  That drew a short laugh from Robert. “Not that, but they like the prospect of beating the French. No one else has done it, and they have. Those who were at Roliça and Vimeiro have been strutting around like heroes, and all the others are just burning to match or overmatch them.” He shrugged. “And it will be worse this time because they don’t understand why we are retreating. Had they fought and been beaten, they would have understood the need to withdraw to re-form, but we haven’t been beaten. Even if they had a sight of the enemy and realized the odds were overwhelming—but all they’ve heard about is Lord Paget’s cavalry exercise, and that was a flaming success.”

  “But surely the officers could pass the word about the new information.”

  “I don’t know what Sir John will decide about that. But even if he decides to make the information public, it might not help.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why, but there’s something about retreat that kills the men’s spirits.”

  “I’m sorry,” Esmeralda offered. There was sympathy in her voice, but it was for Robert’s worry. She did not connect what he was saying with herself in any way.

  “Well, it depends on the officers and the discipline, but sometimes there are disorders, and I don’t want you caught up in anything like that, Merry.”

  “Me!” She was about to say that the men were always pleasant and respectful to her, but she suddenly remembered how they had become drunk and unruly during those early days in Portugal.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” Robert assured her quickly. “I just wanted to explain why I’ve changed your marching position. You will now ride with the Coldstream Guards. The first battalion’s commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Cocks and the second by Wheatley. There won’t be any trouble among the Guards, and you know Wheatley and Cocks, don’t you?”

  “I have met them, of course,” Esmeralda said, controlling her voice with difficulty, “but I am sure they will not wish to be encumbered with—”

  “I’ve spoken to them already. Both have said they would be delighted to have you join them. I’m sending M’Guire along with you, too.”

  Delighted to have her, indeed! What else could the poor men say, since they were gentlemen? Wasn’t that what they called the Guards—“the Gentlemen’s Sons”? Could they refuse to watch over a fellow gentleman’s wife? A tide of fury rose in Esmeralda at the thought that she was to be thrust on two near-strangers, handed over like a parcel to be placed in storage. That was all she was to Robert, still—an inconvenient burden.

  “And where will you be?” she asked icily. “Where will you be while Colonel Wheatley and Colonel Cocks see to my well-being?”

  “I’m not altogether sure,” Robert said.

  He was aware that Esmeralda was upset by his answer, but he did not want to tell her that he had been detached to remain with Lord Paget and the rear guard. She would guess there would be fighting and would worry—whether she loved him or not, he was necessary to her. He knew, too, that Esmeralda was having a hard time and that there was very little he could do for her. Sir John’s accommodations were no better than hers.

  Robert blamed himself bitterly for selfishly having allowed her to follow him just because he wanted her near, for letting himself forget what a winter campaign could be like. He thought Esmeralda might be angry for the same cause, but too just to accuse him because she herself had wanted to come. Each time he thought of that, of the clever way she had obtained tacit permission from Sir John without even raising the question, as if it had long been decided, it lifted his spirits. She could have stayed in Lisbon if she were afraid to go alone to England. It must be for his sake that she had arranged to follow him to Spain.

  He looked across at her and sexual urgency swept him. How long had it been since they had slept together? More than a week, anyway. Damn Moore! He said, “Merry—” and reached toward her, but she did not look up from the mending, to which she had returned her attention, and he became aware of how pinched and pale she was. She must be exhausted. It would be unfair to thrust himself on her.

  Besides, he was scarcely a sweet object to take into bed. He stank of horse and sweat and mud, and it was out of the question to bathe and change. Even if he had time, which he did not—in fact, he should be on his way right now—he would spend the afternoon riding all over with orders and getting himself filthy again. It made more sense to stay in the dirty clothes. He stood up abruptly, knowing that if he stayed a moment longer he would have her in his arms and be quite incapable of stopping.

  “You’ll leave tomorrow with whichever battalion marches first. I’ve arranged for Cocks or Wheatley to send a man for you. Stay with the Guards, Merry. That way, if the baggage train goes or the other corps start to straggle, I’ll know where to find you.”

  “Very well, Robert,” she replied, her depression making her nurse her resentment to hold back tears.

  He stood a moment, irresolutely, duty fighting desire. If she had looked up, he would have been lost, but she did not, and duty won.

  * * * * *

  Resentment, however unhealthy, is a great stiffener of the spine, as Esmeralda knew well. It was resentment against her father that had permitted her to keep her soul intact and outwit him, too. Now resentment preserved her from drooping, and she greeted with a smile the young subaltern, one of Colonel Wheatley’s ADCs, who came to guide her to her place in General Baird’s column.

  He arrived at about ten o’clock in the morning, his boyish face wearing an anxious expression, which cleared to astonishment when he realized that everything was packed and ready to be loaded. Obviously he had expected the worst, perhaps that there were no pack anima
ls or that he would have to supervise the packing himself, for he explained, in some embarrassment, that he had actually come rather too early. The column would not begin to move until noon.

  “Well, then,” Esmeralda said lightly, “we will have time for a luncheon. We are experienced marchers, you know, and everything is to hand.”

  They ate and chatted pleasantly, the young man growing more relaxed by the moment as he became convinced that his task was not nearly so onerous as he had originally thought. He looked anxious again when he saw Molly, now unmistakably heavy with child, but he shrugged off that worry. Molly was no business of his, particularly since her husband was with her. His duty was to see that Mrs. Moreton was safe and as comfortable as circumstances would permit.

  It was an auspicious beginning, and from Esmeralda’s point of view, the weather cooperated at first. There was a thaw on Christmas Eve, warm enough to melt much of the snow they had had. Since they were accompanying infantry, Boa Viagem was not hard pressed, but it was heavy going for those afoot. The roads were little better than bogs. Christmas Day passed drearily as they slowly but steadily progressed on their wet journey, but by the next day the thaw and the continuous rain had made the passage of the Esla River, which they crossed at Valencia de Don Juan, rather dangerous. However, Esmeralda’s party was ferried across without trouble, and fortunately there were few accidents.

  By this time Esmeralda, who had had a good deal of the young subaltern’s company and conversation, had begun to realize that Robert was not simply trying to pass off the burden of protecting her and knew what he was doing. Even among so well disciplined a group as the Guards, the men were surly, and when they reached Astorga on December 29, Esmeralda heard that the behavior in the other divisions had been much worse. Men had broken ranks to seize food in towns without waiting for the distribution of rations which were available. The countryside being virtually destitute of wood, the men had torn down sheds and doors and even broken into houses to seize furniture with which to build their bivouac fires. In Benavente, the castle of the Duchess of Ossuna had been villainously damaged, the precious medieval furniture broken up to burn, the priceless tapestries torn down, and the porcelain friezes and alcoves wantonly destroyed.

  Thus far, the subaltern remarked, trying to conceal his pride in the superior behavior of his own unit, there had been few outrages against persons, but if the officers did not control the troops better, that would come, too. Had Robert appeared at Astorga, Esmeralda would have greeted him with far more warmth than she had offered when they parted. She thought often about him, sometimes worrying, sometimes dwelling on how she would tell him, when it seemed safe to do so, of the child she carried.

  Robert, however, did not give Esmeralda a thought. He was enjoying himself enormously, for he was in almost constant action from the time he joined Lord Paget. The cavalry was having a far more thrilling time than dully plodding through mud and rain. They and the two light brigades that remained at Sahagun had so successfully harassed Soult’s advance forces that the marshal was left in doubt on December 24 as to whether he was about to be attacked. He hesitated until the twenty-sixth, and even after the pursuit began, the cavalry and light divisions continued their rearguard action so successfully that the main body of the army was completely unmolested. And, on December 28, they pulled off a magnificent coup, breaking a charge by about five or six hundred chasseurs of the Guard and capturing their commander.

  It had been rumored that Sir John would stand and fight at Astorga. There were plentiful supplies at no great distance, the town itself was walled, and although it could not be held long against forces so much superior to their own, there was a formidable range of mountains rising behind, cut only by two narrow and easily defensible passes. The rumors were false. Not only was there no attempt to hold the passes beyond Astorga, but the army did not even remain long enough in that place to distribute the huge masses of stores accumulated there. Part of the problem was the inevitable inefficiency of all armies, but a great deal more was owing to the growing disorder among the troops. M’Guire, having been out trying to get shoes for himself, Molly, and Carlos, reported that hearing they were to retreat again had exasperated the men to the last degree. He warned Esmeralda to remain indoors and stood guard at their door, gun in hand.

  There was never any danger for Esmeralda. Before dark a detachment of Guards was at her service, and both Colonel Cocks and Colonel Wheatley came to bear her company at dinner and on into the evening. Nonetheless, Esmeralda was distressed. She was bitterly ashamed that British troops should misbehave in such a fashion. Unfortunately, the little she saw and heard in Astorga was only the beginning of a long nightmare.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  By December 30, when Esmeralda and the main body of the army left Astorga, the thaw was over. Rain had begun to change to snow, but on that day and the next, there was not enough to cause serious inconvenience. It was at Bembibre, on the evening of the thirty-first, when the trouble began. The village, unfortunately, was a local depot for the storage of wine, and marauders from the angry, disheartened troops found their way into the vaults and cellars.

  On the morning of January 1, 1809, nearly a thousand men were drunk and incapable. A few companies of the Guards were called out to attempt to rouse the stragglers. Not one Guardsman was among the bodies strewn in the streets and the houses of the village. A combination of vigilant officers and a strong sense of pride kept them free of such excesses while on duty. Esmeralda’s party was attached to one of the companies called out, not by chance but because it was one of the smartest and best disciplined. However, since she and her companions gave so little trouble, no one had remembered to order her on ahead in the emergency.

  Thus, she watched with horror as men were lifted and shaken, beaten and dragged, in an effort to rouse them. Only a few responded. At last, the order was given to abandon those who could not or would not stir. If they could not be roused by the rear guard, which was a day behind, they would have to be abandoned to the French. As it was, the Guards companies that had been delayed in getting the stragglers moving had to step out smartly to catch up with their regiment.

  Moving with them as they passed other regiments to overtake their own, Esmeralda saw further results of the breakdown in spirit that Robert had predicted. Many of the companies were preceded by a motley group who broke from the road whenever they were attracted by something they thought worth stealing. Behind came others, limping or sick or simply unwilling to keep pace.

  But the disorders on the march were nothing compared with the scenes Esmeralda witnessed after they arrived in Villa Franca, Sir John’s most important depot for military supplies. Sir John had ordered these to be burnt because there was no transport capable of carrying them off and because he had given up all notions of opposing the French. With the last hope of facing their enemies gone, most of the troops became openly mutinous at the idea of all the food and drink being wantonly destroyed. They broke into the magazines and began to load themselves with everything they could carry.

  Hurrying through one square, Esmeralda saw a company break ranks despite their officers, who actually drew their swords and slashed at them. At the next crossing, M’Guire called out that Molly could go no farther. Esmeralda pulled Boa Viagem to a stop, and the entire group moved into the side street to be out of the way of the steadily marching Guards while Carlos and M’Guire rearranged the packs so that Molly could ride. Before M’Guire had lifted her to the saddle pad, two soldiers, already drunk on the rum that had been in the stores, staggered into the street demanding the two mules.

  M’Guire’s gun was slung on his shoulder, but the two drunks were in fact far less prepared to enforce their demand, since their arms were full of bottles and bags. Carlos slipped around under Luisa’s nose and knocked the legs from under one, while M’Guire hit the other in the face. There was a roar of outrage from several other equally drunken men who were just turning the corner. By then, however,
M’Guire had his gun at the ready, and Carlos had his knife out. The renegades paused, none of them quite drunk enough to want to take M’Guire’s shot.

  Esmeralda held her breath. It was an ugly situation. Once M’Guire fired, the gun was useless, except as a club, because the men were too close to give him time to reload or to fix his bayonet. But then she heard the regular tramp of marching feet. Uttering a shrill scream and simultaneously bringing her whip down on Boa Viagem’s croup, Esmeralda drove her mare right through the group into the main road, knocking two men to the ground. A Guards officer was already turning toward the disturbance. In another two minutes the incident was over, but Esmeralda was terribly shaken.

  It was not that she had been so very frightened. There had hardly been time enough for shock and surprise to turn to fear. However, she could not dismiss the incident from her mind as she had dismissed the attack of the French soldier at Roliça. He was an enemy, and it was natural that he should attack her to seize what he wanted. That English soldiers should do so turned her world upside down. She had not forgotten that Robert had warned her and had placed her in the care of the Guards battalions to avoid just such a situation, but she had never really believed it could happen.

  Seeing how white and strained she was, the officer had remained with her, had seen her to her quarters, and had obviously reported the incident to his superior officer, for Colonel Wheatley himself had come not half an hour later. He had apologized for the failure of his men to protect her and assured her it would not occur again. He was most sincere. Nonetheless, Esmeralda cried herself to sleep that night. No matter if a thousand Guards surrounded her, they could not give her security. She wanted Robert.

  She was not to have him. Robert was only six miles away with Lord Paget, but the French were hard on their heels and Robert could not ask for leave, although he did think of Esmeralda. He had been thinking about her for the last few days. Several times in the past week he had escaped serious injury or death by very narrow margins, and it had occurred to him that, if he were killed, she would never know that he had loved her.