Thus, at the end of October, when the army began to move, it took very little to convince Sir John not to oppose Esmeralda’s stated intention of traveling with them.
To Robert’s surprise, he had received no answer to his letter home. At first he had felt only relief, assuming that its arrival had been delayed and that he would have a reply in good time. Then, between the fact that he was busy and that Esmeralda seemed so content, he had almost forgotten having written. Finally it occurred to him that either his parents were showing their displeasure by refusing to answer him, or, what Robert preferred to believe, his letter had somehow been lost.
In either case, he was in a quandary. He could write again, giving a fuller explanation that would absolve Merry of anything other than misfortune, but it was really too late for an answer to his second letter to arrive before they moved. And without a direct invitation from his parents, Merry would be afraid to go alone to England. Perhaps since he did not speak Spanish or have any particular knowledge of Spain, it was his duty to ask for leave from Sir John to take his wife to safety, but Robert did not want to miss the campaign, and from day to day he delayed his request for leave.
Before Robert had come to a decision, Esmeralda had taken matters out of his hands. Quite casually on the day after the first units of the army had marched east, as if the question of whether she would be accompanying Sir John and his staff had long been settled, she had asked Sir John whether it would be necessary for her to hire servants or whether she could continue to use M’Guire and his wife. The phrasing of the question, implying as it did complete familiarity with an army on the move, did not invite expostulation on the difficulties and discomforts of the journey, and a few more exchanges settled everything. One man more or less in a unit could make little difference. Sir John wrote a request that M’Guire be detached to act as Robert’s batman, and Esmeralda’s continued presence became an accepted fact.
As the army struggled toward Spain, there were so many difficulties that the presence of a woman who made none sank into insignificance. Because of the insufficiency of the roads and supplies, Sir John was forced to divide his forces and send General Hope with five brigades of artillery and four regiments of infantry the long way around by Elvas to Badajoz and Espinar and so eventually to Salamanca, where Sir John and the remainder of the army would, hopefully, be waiting. Meanwhile, the British government had dispatched another fifteen thousand men under the command of Sir David Baird. These troops were to be put ashore at Corunna and would move south through Galicia also to rendezvous with Moore at Salamanca.
It was all very easy on paper. However, the contract to provision the troops was not honored and the Portuguese outside of Lisbon refused to take either British government promissory notes or even paper money in exchange for supplies. This put a serious strain on the British army’s exchequer and nearly wiped out the fund of gold and silver coins with which Robert had provided himself. Still, the march through Portugal was not too difficult. For Esmeralda in particular it was actually pleasant. She suffered none of the doubts and uncertainties that had plagued her when she first accompanied the army. She knew how to find her quarters and how to make them comfortable most efficiently. Carlos, Molly, and M’Guire knew their duties and worked well as a team. There was a good deal of rain and cold, but Robert had had the foresight to buy her a very warm fur-lined cloak, and a broad hat and oiled silk overgarment kept her reasonably dry.
There was only one worry that prevented Esmeralda’s contentment from being complete. Robert was not quite as happy as she. He was not overtly bad tempered or miserable, but there seemed to be a cloud over his sunny nature. Esmeralda tried to explain it away by attributing it to the difficulties in provisioning the army and news from Spain, all of which was bad. The junta of Corunna was totally uncooperative about assisting the British in any way. Unfortunately, Esmeralda could not convince herself that Robert’s trouble really had anything to do with his duties. Too often there was doubt in his eyes or a frown on his brow when he was looking at her and did not know she was watching him.
Actually, Robert was more puzzled than unhappy, but he was not accustomed to feeling any doubts about life. From childhood he had been sure of what he wanted to do and the right way to do it. Now his relationship with Esmeralda was making him uncomfortable. At first it had been right. He had done his duty to succor a distressed British gentlewoman, and Merry had responded in a sensible way. But since then everything had become very complicated.
Why in the world had he permitted her to come? Two words from him to Sir John would have prevented her accompanying them, but he had said nothing. Why? Well, he knew the answer to that. He had wanted Merry to be with him. But why? He had never felt that kind of need for any person before in his life. When he had gone to school and later into the army, he had missed his family, but he had never manufactured reasons to keep them near. Over and over Robert raised the same questions and found no answer, until the afternoon of November 13 when they had reached Salamanca.
Directly after arriving at his headquarters, Sir John had written a long letter to Sir William Bentinck in Madrid, who was acting as minister from the British Court. He had described the difficulties facing the British forces and, under the circumstances, the impossibility of their achieving what the Spaniards seemed to expect of them. Then, worn out with worry as well as work, he had dismissed all but two of his staff and had lain down to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Robert and Major Colborne were thus alone in the staff room.
Having finished his copy of Moore’s letter, Colborne sighed. “It’s damned unfair,” he said. “Every time they give Sir John a command, it’s already a lost cause.”
Robert shook his head. “I hope they shoot Burrard and Dalrymple.”
“What, shoot the white-haired boys of the Horse Guards? The absolute proof that seniority is the one and only qualification for command? No, they won’t do that,” Colborne retorted sardonically.
“Besides, Sir Arthur is involved, and he doesn’t deserve to be blackened. He should never have signed that thing.”
“He was ordered to sign it,” Robert pointed out. “Anyway, once the opportunity of catching Junot while he was trying to control a rout was lost, getting the French out by convention was really best.”
“Not with the provisions agreed to,” Colborne said dryly, to which Robert shrugged. “Besides,” he went on, “the Convention has nothing to do with our troubles right now. It’s the damned Spaniards. For them, everything can be done mañana. They want us to push ourselves between them and the French, but they won’t supply us with food or transport, or tell us where the hell they are or what they plan to do.”
Robert shrugged again. “I’ve told Sir John he can’t trust a word they say. It’s not only stupid, it’s dangerous to lie to a military ally. The Portuguese are sometimes damned ignorant, but they mostly mean well and they’ll tell you they don’t know. The Spanish are liars—well, not the people—it’s the government.”
“But we’ve got to have information about what’s going on in the country…” Colborne let the words fade out. Robert knew what he was about to say as well as he did.
He rose a little stiffly, for they had been riding all morning, and moved to a more comfortable chair near the fire. A rather discouraged silence remained. Both men were very fond of Sir John and could see that he would be blamed if the army were defeated and forced to retreat. The Tory government, which disliked him on principle because he was a Whig, would not be willing to admit that they had been led down the garden path by Spanish lies. It would be politically expedient to make Sir John the scapegoat. Worse yet, he knew it, and it was draining his confidence.
After a few minutes Colborne yawned. Naturally, Robert echoed. They were both tired, too. Colborne blinked his eyes exaggeratedly and screwed up his face, then yawned again. If it had been night, he would have allowed himself to drowse in the chair, however, since it was afternoon and they had only just arrived, there was a good cha
nce that messages or visitors would appear despite their having gone through a formal welcoming. It would not do, Colborne thought, to have the Spanish discover only two sleeping men in Sir John’s office.
“How does Mrs. Moreton like your quarters?” he asked Robert, more for something to say to keep them awake than for any other reason. To his surprise, a black frown spread over Robert’s face. “If she is not comfortable, I am sure we could find something better for her,” Colborne added anxiously. “We are likely to be here for some time, a week or two, at least.”
“Oh, Merry never makes a fuss,” Robert replied, but the frown only grew more marked.
Colborne looked at him uneasily and said tentatively, “You are very fortunate to have found a wife like Mrs. Moreton. She is a woman of the greatest intelligence and easiest temper and has been of considerable assistance to me.” Then he smiled and, trying to lift Robert’s spirits, said, “I wish I had met her first.”
“Apparently so does every man in the British army,” Robert riposted sourly.
“Good God,” Colborne exclaimed, “you can’t think Mrs. Moreton has ever given the slightest—”
“No, no,” Robert interrupted. “Merry’s good as gold.”
There was a pause, and Colborne finally said, “We’ve known each other a long time, Moreton. I don’t want to intrude, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”
“God damn it!” Robert exploded. “How can I ask for help when I don’t know what’s wrong?”
But the very word “wrong” had been an admission, a confession of uneasiness and discomfort he had not openly avowed before now. The quiet intimacy of the situation and the knowledge of Colborne’s complete trustworthiness were also inducements to the unburdening of Robert’s heart. Before he knew what he was about to do, he had confessed the whole story, not only the actual events but his feelings and his confusion about the relationship.
Somewhere about the middle of the tale, Colborne had risen to his feet and walked over to lean on the mantelpiece and stare into the fire. When he moved, Robert hesitated, wondering if he was exposing overly personal matters and causing Colborne discomfort, but he needed desperately to talk to someone, and a single, rather muffled word of encouragement started him off again. He found himself able to talk even more freely now that his friend’s eyes were not on his face and was grateful, believing, because he wanted to believe, that that had been Colborne’s intention in moving away.
In fact, although Colborne would gladly have spared Robert any embarrassment, he had not been considering his comfort. He was thinking only of hiding his own expression because he was trying hard not to laugh.
Like all of Robert’s friends, he was familiar with Robert’s struggle to avoid female entanglements. A young man who does not wish to be loved obviously is not likely to fancy himself in love. Moreover, Robert’s single-minded preoccupation with military matters had precluded interest in novels describing the tender passions and the effects of love. All in all, Robert was totally ignorant of the subject. Having married as he did, without desire or even thinking of Esmeralda as other than “a distressed citizen”, it had simply not occurred to him that he had fallen in love with her.
“So you see,” Robert concluded, his voice both angry and exhausted, “I’m behaving in a completely irrational way. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing much,” Colborne remarked after a little silence indicated that Robert had no more to say. “You’re in love with your wife, that’s all.” His voice was quivering with suppressed mirth, but fortunately Robert was so stunned by this pronouncement that he did not notice.
“But she isn’t even pretty!” he exclaimed, voicing the only idea he had ever had about love, which was that it was engendered by feminine beauty. Then he added doubtfully, “Is she?”
It was too much for Colborne, who gasped and choked, “Not beautiful, perhaps, but very attractive and charming.”
“Are you laughing at me?” Robert asked, standing up abruptly.
“I am very sorry,” Colborne exclaimed. “I assure you I do not find your…er…problems amusing. It is only your…ah…”
But fortunately Robert was not attending to Colborne’s rather lame excuses. Although he had been offended and had reacted automatically, that was a minor matter in comparison with a revelation that grew momentarily more astounding. He was not really as ignorant about love as Colborne thought. No man can avoid the effusions of his friends on the subject, whether or not he is interested. Robert simply had never associated all the things he had been told with himself. However, stripped of the flowery language, which Robert still found embarrassing, what they had said about a desire to be with, talk to, possess their beloveds applied very well to him and explained his reactions accurately.
“By God,” Robert burst out, cutting across Colborne’s flounderings, “you’re right! I’m in love with Merry!” And then, to Colborne’s great relief, he burst out laughing himself and sank back down into the chair from which he had jumped. “How ridiculous not to have known it,” he went on, still chuckling, “but with one thing and another I’ve been so busy and had so much on my mind, and she grew on me slowly—”
“For God’s sake!” Colborne gasped, struggling against renewed mirth, for though a man may laugh at himself he does not like to have others do so. “Will you please stop talking as if Mrs. Moreton is some kind of loathsome disease? I understand that because of the reasons for your marriage you would naturally avoid thinking of her in a romantic light, and that might become a habit. And God knows we’ve got enough to keep our minds busy with a chance of French reinforcements advancing and the Spaniards disappearing like smoke in the wind. It’s not really so very odd that you should misunderstand a personal problem, but the expressions you use and the look on your face are comical, Moreton.”
“Then laugh,” Robert said, but he was frowning again.
“Now what’s the matter?” Colborne asked, returning to the chair he had vacated and not laughing although he was still amused.
“Since you know so much, tell me how to get Merry to love me,” Robert snapped.
“Don’t be a fool,” Colborne replied. “She must love you. I’ve never seen a girl that wouldn’t follow you around like a dog if you so much as blinked an eye.”
“Oh, yes,” Robert snarled, “all the brainless little ninnies fresh out of the schoolroom. Merry’s not a fool. You just pointed out that a pretty face isn’t everything, and it’s damned near all I’ve got.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Moreton. You aren’t a fool either—”
“Yes, I am,” Robert interrupted, “about everything but the army. And don’t tell me I’m an earl’s son and I have an easy competence with which to support a wife. I don’t want to hear the reasons why a woman would marry. I know them, and they don’t necessarily include love. And I know that Merry will never cheat on me, that she’ll be loyal and agreeable, the best wife any man could ever have. But I want her to love me…”
“Why the devil do you think she doesn’t love you?” Colborne asked, rather exasperated by Robert’s doubts, considering his appearance and his advantages.
“She’s too…too calm,” Robert answered in a rather depressed voice, and went on to describe Esmeralda’s seeming indifference to his going into action and to whether or not he spent his time with her.
“Well, she’s a sensible woman,” Colborne said, “and from the beginning she has known your profession.”
But there was now a note of uncertainty in his voice. It did seem odd that a young woman in love should accept with so little protest the constant necessity of dining alone and, what was more, be so casual about the danger into which her husband was going.
“That’s what I said,” Robert rejoined, a little bitterly. “She’s a sensible woman. What would she see in me?”
“Come, come, now you are talking nonsense,” Colborne remonstrated, “and indulging, if you will forgive me for saying so, in se
lf-pity.” He hesitated, frowned, and then said, “You know, Moreton, I still think you are mistaken and that your wife does love you, but if she has resisted, does it not occur to you that it might be for her own protection?”
“Her own protection?” Robert echoed. “What the devil does that mean?”
“Simply that Mrs. Moreton is no less aware than you of the circumstances under which you married and…er…under which the marriage changed from one of convenience, to be dissolved as soon as possible, to a permanent arrangement. Might she not feel that you do not love her and might…er…give your affection elsewhere in the future? Under those circumstances, she would spare herself a great deal of pain if her own heart were not engaged.”
“You mean Merry might expect me to be unfaithful to her?” Robert asked.
“Will you stop sounding like an idiot!” Colborne exclaimed, exasperated again. “You’ve got more brains than you want to admit. Use them. You married her out of pity. You consummated the marriage when you were drunk. You then did the honorable thing and offered permanence. What is there in that to imply more than a dutiful arrangement? Have you ever told her you loved her?”
“I must have,” Robert said, but the truth was that he could not remember doing so. “After all, we—” He stopped abruptly as an officer entered to report that the first regiments were entering Salamanca, and after that, he and Major Colborne were too busy to resume the discussion.
Neither really wished to do so anyway. What had been said had sprung naturally from the time and place and their own fatigue, which had stripped away their usual defenses. Now Colborne could only thank God that he had not mortally offended Robert by his interference and his levity—although he still burst out laughing each time he thought of Robert’s amazement at discovering he was in love with his wife, but he did that in privacy. And Robert, who had stopped short just as he had been about to describe the frequency and intensity of his lovemaking, realized that that would, indeed, have been going too far.
Fortune's Bride (Heiress, Book Four) Page 33