Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

by Diane Gaston

  His mother rose from her seat to embrace him. ‘I was so worried about you.’

  ‘Yes, I knew you would be.’ He kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear, ‘What is he doing here?’

  She led Jack to a chair. ‘Lionel came here last night.’

  Jack stared at him. ‘You spent the night here?’

  Tranville gave him an incredulous look. ‘Of course I did. I could not go back to Mayfair after all that rioting business.’

  ‘What about Edwin?’

  Tranville frowned. ‘I sent him off with the coachman.’

  Jack turned to his mother. ‘You allowed him to stay, after all that has transpired?’

  Her cheeks turned red, but it was Tranville who responded, ‘Your mother is an excellent woman.’

  A foolish one, thought Jack, appalled at his mother’s behaviour.

  ‘Come, have breakfast,’ his mother said.

  He shook his head. ‘I merely came to assuage any worries you might have had over my welfare.’

  His mother glanced toward Tranville. ‘Lionel told me you were not seriously hurt.’

  ‘I am glad you were spared distress.’ Jack said stiffly. He turned back to Tranville. ‘I want to speak with you. Not here. Name the hour and I will call upon you.’

  Tranville wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘No need. I will call upon you when I am finished eating.’

  Jack nodded his agreement. ‘I will expect you soon, then.’ His mother did not look at him as he left the room.

  Wilson met him in the hall, an anxious look upon his face. ‘Tell me what to do. Your sister is missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘The maid thought she was abed when she came to tend the fire earlier, but, when she peeked in a moment ago, she realised the bed was filled with pillows.’ He handed Jack a folded piece of paper. ‘She left your mother this note.’

  Jack peered at him. ‘You read a note addressed to my mother?’

  Wilson lowered his head. ‘It was not sealed. I thought only to protect your mother. And your sister.’

  Jack opened it and read:

  Dearest Mama,

  I have run away. Do not try to find me and do not worry. I shall be kept very safe. Forgive me, but I cannot marry Lord Ullman. You will not be poor, though, for you will always have a home with me. I will write to you very soon.

  Your affectionate daughter,

  Nancy

  Nancy had wasted no time, he thought. He folded the note again.

  Wilson asked, ‘Do I show it to your mother—?’

  ‘Show it to her after Lord Tranville has left,’ Jack told him. ‘And tell her I will come back and talk to her about it.’ He clapped Wilson on the shoulder. ‘Do not worry, this is good news.’

  Wilson looked relieved. ‘If I may be so bold, I did not think Miss Nancy was happy in her betrothal.’

  Jack smiled at him. ‘I heartily agree.’ He pointed to the note. ‘She will be happy now, though.’

  Wilson turned to a chair in the hall. ‘I have your hat and top coat.’ He helped Jack on with his coat.

  Jack walked back to his studio and opened the curtains to let in the light. He went over to his easel where Ariana’s portrait still remained. He aimed it into the light and gazed upon it as he waited for Lord Tranville to arrive.

  Ariana paced her room, looking out of the window at every round to see if Jack was coming back. She very much disliked not knowing what was happening.

  There was a knock on her bedchamber door. The maid Betsy called through the door, ‘Someone is here to see you, miss.’

  Ariana gasped. How could she have missed seeing him arrive?

  She flung open the door and rushed past the maid.

  ‘Thank you, Betsy,’ she cried as she ran down the stairs.

  The hall was empty so she hurried into the drawing room, ready to fling herself into Jack’s arms.

  Instead she came to an abrupt halt.

  Nancy and Michael, fingers entwined, turned at her entrance.

  Nancy immediately rushed over to her. ‘I know it is unforgivable for us to call at such an early hour, but we do not have much time before our coach departs.’

  Michael came to her side and grasped Ariana’s hand. ‘I do not know how to thank you—’

  Ariana looked at them both in bewilderment. ‘But why are you here?’

  ‘To thank you,’ Michael began.

  ‘And to convince you not to make the same mistake that I almost made.’ She gazed adoringly at Michael. ‘I might have given up on happiness if not for your gift.’

  Ariana smiled. ‘The bracelet?’

  It was a good revenge on Tranville to give Nancy the bracelet and a much better gesture than seeing her in the poor house.

  ‘I suggest you not sell it in London, though,’ she told them. ‘Tranville discovered it missing and thinks the ruffians last night took it from my arm. He will be looking for it to be sold here, I suspect.’

  ‘We shall heed your advice and sell it later,’ Michael assured her. He cast a worshipful glance at Nancy. ‘I have funds enough to see us to Gretna Green.’

  Ariana surmised that was where their coach was headed.

  ‘But you must promise me something,’ Nancy said, a pleading look on her face. ‘You must promise not to marry Lord Tranville.’

  Ariana laughed. ‘That I most certainly will promise.’

  Nancy continued, ‘You must marry Jack.’

  Ariana sobered and looked down at the carpet. ‘I—I cannot promise that, but I do assure you I love Jack with all my heart.’

  ‘Then you must marry him!’ Nancy insisted.

  Michael put his arm around Nancy. ‘Let it be enough that she will not marry Tranville. She and Jack must work out the rest.’

  Nancy blinked up at him. ‘You are so wise, Michael.’

  Ariana thought them quite endearing. And quite young. ‘Whatever happens,’ she said, ‘do not worry. Just be happy.’

  ‘We will!’ cried Nancy. She bit her lip. ‘Perhaps you had better not tell Jack where we have gone.’

  She hugged the girl. ‘Do not fear. He will not stop you. He loves you both.’

  Nancy sniffled. ‘I should be desolated if my brother was angry at me for this.’

  ‘He will not be,’ Ariana assured her.

  Michael glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘We had better make haste.’

  Ariana hugged them both and wished them well once more, and watched them depart with tears in her eyes.

  When Tranville’s knock sounded on the door, Jack was seated on a wooden chair, his hands steepled against his lips.

  He was ready.

  He rose and walked slowly to the door and opened it.

  Tranville entered hurriedly, already removing his hat and top coat. ‘See here, Jack. I must speak to you—’ Jack walked away from him ‘—about Edwin.’

  ‘Edwin?’ He was taken aback.

  Tranville gave him a pleading look. ‘No one must know of his cowardice. It is a terrible shame upon our family.’

  Jack turned away. Could it be Tranville was giving him the means to rid them all of Tranville, once and for all?

  ‘Do you want more money for the portraits?’ Tranville sounded desperate. ‘I will pay you more money.’

  ‘I do not want money.’ Jack was calculating. How far could he go?

  Tranville lowered himself into a chair and put his face in his hands. When he looked up it was with a resentful expression. ‘You always were the one to show off and make Edwin look cowardly. Even when you were boys.’

  ‘I did not make Edwin a coward.’ Jack pointed to Tranville. ‘You reared him, not I. But you will not speak to me in this manner ever again. I am finished with your abuse and Edwin’s. Do you wish the world to know the extent of Edwin’s cowardice? I will be delighted to oblige.’

  ‘No!’ Tranville looked aghast. ‘I will be a laughingstock. Me, a general. A peer of the realm. To have such a son—’ He shook his fist. ‘It was
his mother’s doing! She turned him into a namby-pamby.’

  And who was responsible for that poor lady’s unhappiness? Jack wondered.

  ‘Very well. I will keep silent.’ Jack glared at him. ‘In exchange I want you out of my family’s lives. I want you to settle a sum on my mother that will pay in interest what you dole out to her quarterly. I want you to resign from your damned theatre committee and make no further effort to see Miss Blane. You will not involve yourself in my life, my mother’s life, my sister’s nor Miss Blane’s. Do you understand me, Tranville?’

  Tranville’s face turned red. ‘You overstep your bounds.’ He rose. ‘No inferior tells me who I see and what I do. Go ahead and tell the world my son is a snivelling coward. Who would believe you?’ He started for the door.

  ‘Wait,’ Jack cried.

  Tranville stopped.

  ‘I have proof.’

  Tranville’s expression was scornful. ‘Proof of what?’

  ‘Of Edwin’s cowardice.’ He paused. ‘Of more than his cowardice.’

  Tranville looked concerned.

  ‘Wait a moment and I will show you.’ Jack left him and went to gather a packet from his trunk. He’d broken his promise to his mother and now he would break his word. He returned to Tranville.

  ‘What is this nonsense?’ Tranville barked.

  ‘Badajoz,’ Jack said.

  He opened the packet and lay the pages in a row on the floor. Strung together they told the story of Badajoz.

  Tranville stared at them. ‘That looks like—’

  ‘Edwin.’ Jack continued to lay them down.

  Jack had drawn his memory of the incident, from his first glimpse of Edwin trying to rape the woman, to him choking the boy, to Edwin’s being slashed in the face by the boy’s mother.

  Tranville took a step back. ‘You made this up.’

  Jack kept his gaze level. ‘It happened. Edwin was too drunk to know I was there.’ He lay down the last pages, showing the two officers who’d also witnessed part of the scene. He’d not drawn their faces or shown their uniforms. ‘As you can see, I was not the only one there.’

  Tranville kicked at them, scattering them. ‘Fabrication.’

  Jack picked up one of the papers and showed Tranville the back, correspondence in French with a date a month before the siege.

  Tranville threw it aside. ‘Edwin’s face was cut storming the wall of the fortress.’

  Jack spoke quietly. ‘You and I both know Edwin hid at the bottom. I saw him, cowering among the dead.’

  ‘You are lying!’ Tranville lunged at Jack, knocking him to the floor, scattering the sketches.

  Tranville put his hands around Jack’s neck and tried to squeeze the life from him. Jack dug his fingers into Tranville’s eyes and he let go. Jack sprang to his feet, but Tranville grabbed his ankles and knocked him down again. The two men rolled on the floor, hitting with their fists. They smashed into the canvas and Ariana’s portrait fell on top of them. Jack pushed it aside, and got to his feet again, seizing Tranville by his coat and slamming him against the wall.

  ‘Stop this, Tranville,’ Jack shouted. ‘You cannot win. It is time to give up.’

  But Tranville’s eyes burned red and he tried to lunge at Jack again. Jack stepped aside and Tranville fell against a table, smashing it to pieces.

  He got back on his feet. ‘I’ll kill you!’

  There was some pleasure for Jack in feeling his fist connect with Tranville’s jaw, but the fight would solve nothing.

  Tranville grabbed a leg of the table and swung it at Jack, who ducked and managed to put his hands around the weapon. The two men strained for control. Jack’s muscles trembled with the effort and he won the contest. The chair leg was in his hands.

  Tranville backed away.

  At that moment someone pounded at the door.

  Jack glared at the older man, who was clutching his sides, trying to catch his breath.

  ‘Enough!’ Jack threw away the chair leg. ‘Let it be over.’

  Jack walked to the door and opened it.

  An army officer, wearing the red coat and white lace of the Royal Scots, stood there. ‘General Lord Tranville?’ he said with surprise.

  Jack gestured to where Tranville leaned against the wall, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘What do you want?’

  The man still looked mystified. ‘Sir. I inquired at your townhouse and was sent to the lodging of Mrs Vernon, who sent me here.’

  Tranville waved a hand. ‘Yes. Yes. For what?’

  The officer stood ramrod stiff. ‘I have been sent to inform you that your services for your country are again requested. It is my duty to inform you that the Emperor Napoleon has escaped from Elba and is now in France raising an army.’

  Tranville managed to stand upright. ‘Napoleon escaped?’

  The officer clicked his heels. ‘Your presence is requested immediately at the Adjutant General’s Office.’

  Tranville tried to straighten his clothing. ‘I will come with you at once.’ When he passed Jack, he growled, ‘It is not over, Jack.’

  He followed the soldier out to the street and into a waiting carriage.

  Jack leaned against the door jamb. Only one thing was decided as a result of their altercation.

  Jack was about to go back to war.

  Chapter Twenty

  Quatre Bras—16 June 1815

  Jack rode into the protection of the centre of the square. The East Essex regiment quickly assumed the formation as the French lancers began their attack. The regiment had already endured artillery fire, now the terrifying aspect of charging horses and men with tall plumed helmets and long pointed lancers filled their vision.

  ‘Make ready,’ Lieutenant Colonel Hamerton shouted as the lancers’ horses pounded through the tall rye grass, racing towards them.

  The infantrymen’s fingers twitched on the muskets’ triggers.

  ‘Wait for it,’ Jack cautioned.

  Napoleon had marched from Paris faster and sooner than anyone predicted. Blücher’s forces were still some distance away in a battle of their own. If the French army was victorious here at Quatre Bras, there might be no stopping Napoleon.

  The sight of the soldiers in the square, the smell of men who’d marched since midnight, the pounding of guns and advancing horses’ hooves seemed more real to him than his life as an artist. Maybe he’d dreamed Sir Cecil’s instruction, the exhibition at Somerset House, Ariana’s portrait.

  Her lovemaking.

  He’d said goodbye to her and refused to encumber her with promises. If Antony and Cleopatra was a sensation, who knew where success might lead her? Even Tranville could not stop her then.

  ‘Present!’ Hamerton shouted. The lancers were so close Jack could see the hairs of their moustaches.

  The men took aim.

  ‘Fire!’

  The muskets exploded in the summer air.

  ‘Reload,’ Jack called through the smoke, but the men near him didn’t need reminding. After reloading, the front line fired and dropped down so that the back line could fire. The men moved in a steady, methodical rhythm, one line firing, the other reloading, while the lancers came at them, shouting, firing, impaling. When the first wave passed, more cavalry came, a never-ending onslaught.

  Some of their lances hit their mark and men fell. They were quickly pulled into the centre of the square and others immediately closed ranks. Their firing never ceased. Jack kept moving, encouraging the men, watching for weak points, firing his pistol.

  It all seemed so automatic, so familiar.

  For one second time froze in Jack’s mind and he saw the scene before him as if it were a painting. Blue sky and clouds like cotton wool, tall rye, still green and waving in the wind, verdant, thick woods in the distance. The violence, death and destruction marring its beauty.

  A man screamed and blood gushed from his eye. He staggered backwards to join the growing number of dead and wounded. One brazen French lancer took advantage and broke
through the square, riding straight for Jack. Jack raised his pistol and fired. The Frenchmen fell and his dazed horse galloped away. They threw his body outside the square.

  The cavalry still came, slowed only by the piles of their own dead, until the East Essex were strained to fatigue. The square, becoming smaller and smaller as the numbers of killed and injured grew, could not hold for ever. Despair showed on the tired soldiers’ faces.

  Hamerton shouted, ‘Look, men! The Scots!’

  The Royal Scots regiment appeared, quickly forming a square and joining the fight. Jack glimpsed Tranville among them and all his rage at the man came rushing back.

  After Tranville had left Jack that day of their altercation he’d sent a missive informing Jack that he had not abandoned his plan to ruin him, his family and Ariana. Their destruction would merely be delayed until he and Jack returned from Belgium.

  If they returned.

  A pistol shot zinged past Jack’s ear, and he raised his hand as if he could ward off another one. He’d be damned if he would allow death to catch up to him now. His family depended upon him to come through.

  And he wanted to at least glimpse Ariana one more time.

  Ariana feared she had entered a nightmare.

  Four days earlier Ariana, Jack’s mother, her maid and her manservant, Wilson, boarded a packet at Ramsgate and travelled, first by sea, now by land, bound for Brussels.

  Ariana had come in order to see Jack, to spend with him whatever time they might have before the battle.

  She was too late. The battle with Napoleon had begun.

  The sound of cannon fire had reached them early that afternoon and it boomed louder and louder the closer they came to Brussels.

  Ariana had begged to accompany Jack to Belgium, so she could see to his needs or tend his wounds or whatever women do who follow the drum. If the unthinkable happened, she wanted to hold him in her arms one last time.

  Jack had refused her.

  He insisted she stay to perform in Antony and Cleopatra, to become the sensation on stage she had once so desired. Her success was her best protection against Tranville, he’d said. Worse, he refused to bind her to him. When he had said goodbye, he’d freed her.