Fortune's Bride (Heiress, Book Four)

by Roberta Gellis

  “It is too heavy a price to pay,” Esmeralda agreed. “It is very fortunate that Sir Arthur has recognized the facts, since the armistice must surely go against the grain for him.”

  “He hasn’t said much. He never does, but he’s a very longsighted man.” Robert’s eyes brightened, and his lips started to curve a little. “There’ll be plenty of fighting before we finally whip Boney.”

  There was a slight pause while Esmeralda swallowed the fear these words engendered in her and reminded herself of the conclusions she had reached. Robert was going to find a war to fight in somewhere all of his life, and if she showed the fear she felt, he would simply leave her behind. And that brought to mind a more immediate problem. Now with armistice in the wind, would they return to England?

  “Has Sir Arthur given any indication of what he intends to do once the negotiations are over?” Esmeralda asked.

  “Not to any of us,” Robert replied, smiling wryly. “All of us have been after him, but he’s tight as a clam, as he should be.” Then the wry twist left his lips, and he wound a finger into one of Esmeralda’s curls. “One thing’s sure. We’ll be leaving here and moving into Lisbon very soon. You’ll like that. There’ll be lots of parties. Sir Arthur loves balls. Now you’ll have to get some evening dresses and I’ll have to see about getting you some trinkets to wear with them.”

  Esmeralda touched the hand playing with her curls. “And will you enjoy it, too?”

  “Enormously,” Robert said, “if you will save some dances for me.”

  Robert’s prediction was correct, but he and Esmeralda remained in Portugal only because of Sir Arthur’s very real patriotism, which outweighed the chagrin, fury, and disgust he felt at the way the convention with the French was negotiated and the way Dalrymple allowed Junot to interpret the provisions in it. By the end of August, it was clear that Sir Arthur wanted no more to do with the present management of the campaign in Portugal and that he intended to return to England as soon as he received permission to do so.

  Nevertheless, he was troubled about abandoning the army and the people of Portugal to almost certain disaster in the hands of Dalrymple and Burrard.

  Robert first became aware that Sir Arthur had been giving serious thought to how the situation might be amended when he was summoned to the room Sir Arthur was using as an office early on September 17, the day before they were to leave for England. He waved Robert to a seat and asked him if he remembered correctly that Robert’s initial appointment in the army had been to Sir John Moore’s staff.

  “Yes, sir, it was.”

  “And you parted with him on…ah…good terms?”

  “Most excellent terms, Sir Arthur,” Robert replied, somewhat puzzled. “I only left him because the Peace of Amiens had been signed and Sir John was going on inactive service, which I did not wish to do.” Then he grinned. “I was concerned, also, that my family would endeavor to persuade me to leave the army altogether since ‘the war was over’. It seemed to me expedient to put some distance between them and myself, and I had heard of your brilliant campaigns in India. Well, India was a good distance.”

  Wellesley loosed his whooping laugh. “I hope your family is now resigned to your military ambitions?”

  “Pretty well, sir. You remember, I suppose, that Fa insisted that I go inactive while my brother Perce was with the Russian army and Fred was at sea, but that was only reasonable. There’s Moreton to consider. But he didn’t kick up a fuss when I said I wanted to join your staff again after Perce came home.”

  “Very good,” Sir Arthur approved. “Now, are you eager to get home, or would you consider changing your plans on very short notice, transferring to Sir John’s staff and remaining in Portugal?”

  Robert blinked. Personal staff was a personal matter, although most generals were saddled with an assortment of army-mad and ne’er-do-well younger sons of influential people. Actually Robert had thought of applying to Sir John again, but not until he was sure that Sir Arthur was accepting inactive status and returning to his post as chief secretary for Ireland rather than obtaining another military command elsewhere. There was, after all, the question of a decent loyalty and not giving the appearance of abandoning a “sinking ship”, for there were already signs that England was furious about the so-called Convention of Cintra, which had been signed on August 31. Many members of Parliament and most of the public were demanding that those who had signed so pernicious a document be called to account.

  Sir Arthur misunderstood Robert’s hesitation, which was owing exclusively to surprise, and frowned. “I suppose it is inconvenient. You must be all packed to leave.”

  “Oh, no, it isn’t the inconvenience, sir. I just—”

  “Good Lord!” Wellesley exclaimed. “You must want to take your wife home. I had forgotten for the moment about Mrs. Moreton’s situation. Hmmm.”

  “No, it’s nothing to do with Merry,” Robert assured him. “I was just surprised. I didn’t know that you and Sir John were in communication.”

  “We aren’t,” Sir Arthur said, “but I have just written to him, and I would like you—since you know him—to deliver the letter and urge him to meet with me, as I have requested, sometime today at his convenience. I understand that he has had a disagreement with Lord Castlereagh.” Sir Arthur’s lips twisted wryly. “He was dissatisfied with the expedition to Sweden on which he was sent and also did not like being placed as third in command to Sir Hew and Sir Harry.”

  Robert choked.

  Sir Arthur eyed him frostily but continued without comment, “The good of the nation and the successful prosecution of the war against Bonaparte are far more important than Sir John’s personal feelings—or mine. Or, for that matter, Mrs. Moreton’s convenience. If you would like, I will escort her to England myself and see that her affairs are placed in proper and competent hands.”

  It was a very generous offer. Sir Arthur must know he would be put to a great deal of trouble. Nor was there any reason for it beyond genuine kindness. He could simply have ordered Robert to ask for the transfer and ignored any personal problems his orders caused. Robert flushed.

  “That’s very good of you, sir, but I-I don’t know what Merry will want to do,” he said. “It’s…there’s no longer any question of annulment.”

  Sir Arthur raised his brows. “Well then, it is simpler. I need only place Mrs. Moreton under the protection of your family.”

  Poor Robert flushed even darker, but he only repeated that he must discuss the matter with his wife and then said desperately, “I also think it would be best to settle matters with Sir John.”

  “Very well, Moreton. It is your affair, of course, but keep in mind that I am willing to help in any way I can.”

  Robert thanked him again and, having obtained the direction of Sir John’s quarters, took his leave. But his mind would not stay fixed on what to say to Sir John. The truth was that Robert did not want to put Sir Arthur’s proposition to Merry. He felt that she would jump at the chance. With Sir Arthur’s support, she could establish herself, and she was all packed and ready to go. He would miss her damnably.

  Surprisingly, Robert’s loins tightened, as if he had been too long without a woman, but that wasn’t the case at all. He had made love to Merry only a few hours before. They made love almost every night, and sometimes even twice. It was crazy. Before he had met her, a few times a month was enough when he was on campaign, but he seemed to want Merry all the time. Just crazy. She wasn’t even beautiful. She was plain… Or was she?

  As Robert mounted his horse and rode off, he was trying to visualize Merry’s face, but there seemed to be many images superimposed. That was odd, but odder still was the fact that he responded just as strongly when he remembered her as plain as dishwater as when he imagined a dramatically beautiful face, pale and large eyed, surrounded by masses of gleaming dark hair, a face he knew could not be real. It didn’t seem to matter how she looked. He just wanted her.

  Well, he didn’t have to tell her about
Sir Arthur’s offer. He realized that Sir Arthur must have some notion he intended to present to Sir John that would place the command of the Portuguese campaign in Sir John’s hands, but Robert told himself that the Horse Guards would not be easy to circumvent. If those wooden soldiers had their way and Dalrymple remained in charge, there probably wouldn’t be any more action. Then there wouldn’t be any danger or hardship for Merry to endure. Would it be so wrong in that case to explain the situation and not tell her that Sir Arthur had offered to escort her to England?

  Robert had found no answer that would satisfy him when he dismounted, but he was greeted with considerable enthusiasm by such old friends as Major John Colborne, now Sir John’s military secretary, and Colonel Thomas Graham of Balgowan, who teased him about arriving so early in hopes of getting a good breakfast to make up for the bad dinner at Sir Arthur’s table the previous evening. Robert laughed and shook his head, happy to push the problem of Merry out of his mind. It was not the first time he had seen his old friends, of course. He had paid a courtesy call soon after Sir John arrived in the Lisbon area, but when he said he was on business, he was escorted without delay, although with looks of considerable curiosity, into Sir John’s chamber.

  Moore smiled at him, but with a question in his eyes, and asked in what way he could be of service. Robert handed over the letter and repeated Sir Arthur’s hope that he and Sir John could meet. Moore stared at Robert for a long moment without answering, then broke the seal and began to read Sir Arthur’s letter. The rather austere expression that had given his handsome features the look of a fine carving relaxed as he read, and when he looked up, his warm and enchanting smile assured Robert of the success of the first part of his mission.

  “I would be honored to meet Sir Arthur, anywhere and at any time,” he said. “He writes most excellent good sense, and he is a brilliant officer.”

  “That he is, Sir John,” Robert agreed, “and thoughtful of the men and kindhearted, too. Don’t be put off by his manner,” he added. “He has an air of great reserve, but he is a good and steady friend.”

  Robert would never have volunteered that kind of personal comment in speaking to Sir Arthur, who always wished to see and judge for himself. But Sir John’s disposition was very different. He was of open and friendly temper, though he could be cold and distant enough to those he did not like, and he valued a free proffering of well-meant information from those he trusted.

  He nodded, smiling, and said, “So I have heard, and I have also heard he has a reputation for keeping his own counsel, but his letter seems very open and honest.”

  “I would not say that he is, in general, open,” Robert said carefully, “but what he says is always honest, and in this case I am sure he believes openness to be necessary. What he said to me was that the good of the nation and the successful prosecution of the war against Bonaparte were far more important than your personal feelings or his.”

  Moore looked rather startled, but after a brief pause nodded. “I agree most heartily.”

  “What is more,” Robert continued, “he desires me to ask for a transfer to your staff. I know a good deal about the difficulties of working with the Portuguese, I know the Bishop of Oporto personally, and I can speak the language moderately well.”

  Since the Bishop of Oporto was now a member of the ruling junta of Portugal, Robert’s acquaintance with him might be of considerable value.

  “Really,” Sir John remarked thoughtfully. “How kind of Sir Arthur. Well, I will be delighted to have you back, so you may consider that settled. Now there is only the question of where and when to meet. I assume Sir Arthur would not like me to come to him, nor would he wish to come here and perhaps give the impression of…er…collusion.”

  Robert smiled broadly. He had not wanted to suggest such a thing himself but it had been in his mind. There could be little doubt that Dalrymple had his knife out for Sir Arthur and very likely for Moore, too, since Moore was a passionate advocate of new methods, both for the training and disciplining of soldiers and of battle tactics.

  “There is a palace, a fascinating little gem of a palace actually, just outside of Lisbon at Queluz,” Sir John went on. “Do you know it?”

  “No. But the local people will know, and I speak the language.”

  “Yes. Well, I have been wanting a closer look at the place. I’ll ride out as soon as I clean up a few papers here and will stay until…oh, three of the clock or so.”

  “Very good, sir,” Robert said. “I’m sure that will suit Sir Arthur very well, but if it should not, I’ll be back before you leave.”

  In a sense Robert was delighted with the way things were going. If he thought Wellesley a shade more brilliant in action than Moore, it was only a shade, and Sir John was far easier to work for. Not to mention the fact that he would finally get something decent to eat and drink at mess for a change. But best of all, he would remain in Portugal, where there was bound to be action even if Dalrymple did hold command for a while. Boney wasn’t going to take having his army thrown out without a fight.

  But that thought made nonsense of Robert’s earlier rationalizations that there would be no danger and hardship for Merry if she remained in Portugal. Thus, it was wrong not to tell her about Sir Arthur’s offer. Well, it would have to wait until he had delivered Sir John’s message, Robert thought. Duty came first. As soon as he had told Sir Arthur the gist of his conversation with Sir John, he would go home and speak to Merry. But Sir Arthur invited him to be present at his meeting with Moore, and although that took only a few hours, Robert somehow found himself too busy all day long to get back to the elegant apartment he had rented until very late indeed.

  In fact, Esmeralda was already in bed and asleep. She had had a very exhausting day finishing the packing and worrying about her reception by Robert’s parents. A good reception would probably mean that Robert would leave her behind on his next campaign. A bad one would hurt him. Good or bad, Esmeralda did not like the prospects and, what was worse, it no longer seemed so simple to tell Robert that she had over half a million pounds. She had suddenly realized that it might seem to Robert that she had concealed her wealth for fear he might be greedy or dishonest.

  The truth was that most of the time she had simply forgotten about the money. But he would never believe that. No one would ever believe one could forget half a million pounds. The thing was that Esmeralda had lived with that knowledge most of her life but had been forbidden to speak of it, and the money had been out of her reach. Silence on the subject had become second nature to Esmeralda. Besides, the things money could buy were not at all as interesting as the things that had been happening to her lately.

  In the beginning, Esmeralda had shuddered at the thought that Robert might pretend devotion for the sake of her wealth. That fear had long passed, for she knew Robert now and could not believe money had such influence over him. It was far more likely that he would be indifferent to the money but very angry about her secrecy. Perhaps she could pretend that she had not known how much money there was? Only that would get her into still deeper trouble if Robert ever discovered that she had written most of the letters to the bankers. Esmeralda had finally fallen asleep without making any decision.

  When he entered the apartment and realized Esmeralda was asleep, Robert had thought, with relief, that it would be unkind to wake her and tell her of Sir Arthur’s offer. In the back of his mind was the notion that she might decide it was not worth the trouble to separate their belongings and repack if she had to hurry.

  As always when she went to bed before Robert—for he had night duty sometimes—Esmeralda had left a lamp burning low. She had turned into the light while she slept, and with her bright, knowing eyes closed, her tumbled hair and stubby, indeterminate nose gave her face the unformed look of a little girl.

  Robert’s conscience stabbed him painfully. He remembered how she had gone to help the wounded during the battle of Vimeiro and how she had exhausted herself, and how sickened she had been by
the unburied dead. She had had nightmares for a few nights afterward, waking and clutching at him. And Robert knew Vimeiro had not been a great or desperate battle. How could he think of inflicting more horrors of war on her? Furious with himself for delaying, Robert crossed to the bed and shook Esmeralda by the shoulder.

  “Merry. Merry, wake up.”

  Esmeralda started upright, her eyes wide and terrified. He had found out, she thought, mixing her worries and dreams into reality.

  “Merry, I’m not going back to England,” Robert said.

  “What?” she whispered, still half asleep and thus half-convinced that he was angry because she had concealed her wealth and was punishing her by sending her away. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s nothing to do with you,” he assured her, his heart sinking at what he believed to be her disappointment. “Sir Arthur has offered to escort you and to present you to my parents. I have transferred to Sir John Moore’s staff.”

  “No!” Esmeralda cried, waking up and realizing this was no dream argument about money. “No! Don’t send me to England alone, Robert. Everyone will hate me. They’ll…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Robert said sharply, fighting the impulse to take advantage of her silly fears and keep her with him. “My parents aren’t monsters, and it was not a matter left to my choice. Sir Arthur desired that I remain with Sir John because I know the language and might be of assistance to him in dealing with the Portuguese.”

  “But the war is over,” Esmeralda pleaded. “l will be safe here. Please. I don’t want to face your family alone.”

  “The war isn’t over!” Robert exclaimed, growing more insistent because he was ashamed of his desire to grasp at any excuse to let her stay. “Don’t talk like a silly goose. Do you think Boney is going to sit back and accept Junot’s failure? We will be moving into Spain soon. You will be much safer with my mother and father in England, and if for some reason you cannot agree—although I cannot imagine that will be true—or if the life in Cornwall is too quiet, you can go to my brother and sister-in-law, Perce and Sabrina. They are young and very active socially.”