Lord Harry's Daughter (9 page)

Chapter
14

During the next few days, however, no one, especially Lady Curtis and her daughter, had time or energy to spare on reflections of any sort, for the army had begun its move across the Pyrenees toward France. General Curtis debated in vain with his wife. “My dear, you and Sophia are comfortable here in Lesaca, not to mention safe. We shall, if we are lucky, just be able to make it into France before the weather turns bad and we are forced into winter quarters. Why not remain here until spring to avoid all the discomfort and confusion of moving a household across the mountains in weather that is bound to be unpredictable at best?"

“And when have safety and comfort been more important to us than the people we love? The weather, as you say, is beginning to turn. If we remain here any longer it will prevent us from joining you for some time. Sophia and I are coming with you, sir, and that is that!” Lady Curtis looked to her daughter for confirmation.

Sophia nodded vigorously. “I agree with Mama and besides, I have quite run out of subjects to sketch around here."

General Curtis smiled ruefully. “I knew I stood very little chance of convincing you ladies, fire eaters that you are. Very well, but mind you, you are to promise me that you will remain safely in the rear, well out of the way of any fighting."

“We shall.” Sophia's mother spoke for both of them.

“Just the way you did at Vitoria, I suppose.” There was no mistaking the irony in the general's tone. “The wounded barely had time to fall before the two of you were out there offering them aid and comfort."

Sophia and her mother said nothing, but the expressions on their faces were answer enough.

“Was there ever a man plagued with two more strong-minded females than I?” The general chuckled. “You may come along and help us over the rough spots; I know you will anyway no matter what I say. I wonder that I even waste my breath trying to convince you to think of your own safety."

Following the general was more easily said than done, for the bridge at Vera, the only bridge across the Bidassoa that had not been destroyed by the French, led directly to the heavily defended heights of the mountains separating France and Spain.

“You must wait until the fortifications have been captured and the surrounding countryside subdued,” the general instructed his wife. “But even when the French no longer pose a threat, the terrain may prove too much for the carriage. If the bridge at Behobie had not been burnt, you could follow easily enough on the road that leads from Irun to Bayonne, for it is excellent, but it will be some time before it will be rebuilt. It might be the wisest thing, though, to wait until it has been repaired."

Hearing this, Sophia and her mother were somewhat daunted. The prospect of spending the winter as the only English in a small village in Spain was not a particularly pleasant one. Sophia said as much to Mark one morning when she encountered him in the street outside headquarters.

“Good morning, Miss Featherstonaugh.” Mark could not help feeling pleased as he observed the conscious look in the hazel eyes and the faintest color in her cheeks. He had been thinking far too much about her since their last encounter and it was gratifying to see from her reaction that she had apparently felt much the same way. “What, no sketchbook, no satchel full of pencils and paints? What has come over you?"

“I am too busy at the moment to paint. There are too many things to attend to, for Mama and I are to leave soon.” The defiant tilt of her head and the obstinate compression of her lips suggested that the proposed move was a sore point.

“I can certainly understand your not wanting to leave the place where you have established yourselves so comfortably."

“On the contrary"—Sophia fixed him with a scornful glance—"we are quite as anxious to go into France as the rest of the army, but the general tells Mama that the only bridge left standing leads to a road no carriage could possibly travel. It is not for myself that I am worried, for I rarely travel in the carriage, but Mama does need one."

“I see.” Mark was silent for a moment as he debated with himself as to whether he should interfere. Since it would quickly become obvious that there were other ways to cross the Bidassoa, Sophia would find out sooner or later on her own. It was a question of angering General Curtis or Sophia. “I myself have recently received intelligence on that very topic.” He grinned as her expression changed in an instant from scornful to pleading.

“You have? Is there another way for us to travel into France? Mama is a trooper, but she does fret when she and the general are separated for very long."

Mark was somewhat surprised at the wistful note he heard in her voice. If he had the time to think about it, he might have wondered if Sophia were just the tiniest bit envious of her mother's newfound domestic happiness, but he was too busy thinking of how he was going to defend himself against General Curtis's wrath when he discovered Sophia and his wife were part of the British invasion of France. There was only one way to avoid it and that was to offer to look after the two of them himself.

The previous evening Wellington had delighted Mark by dispensing with his services for the moment.
You look too much of the Spaniard for you to do me much good in France, Adair. You will have to stay in uniform or you will be shot for a guerrilla for sure. No—
correctly interpreting the cavalry officer's hopeful expression, the duke had hastened to disabuse him of any notion that he might be returned to his cavalry duties—
I am not going to waste your talents by returning you to your regiment. Once we get into France I shall need your skill at reconnaissance, but you will just have to do it without relying on disguises. For the moment that means staying with us and seeing to it that we get smoothly across this damn river.

"You were saying, Major.” Sophia recalled his attention to the present problem.

“Oh, yes. I have it on the best authority of the local fishermen, and not false fishermen such as Pablo, but real ones, that it is possible to ford the Bidassoa River in several places at low tide."

“But I thought it was very swift and very deep."

“So it is, but several fishermen have reassured me that when the tide is at its lowest ebb the river falls as much as sixteen feet. I should be happy to see to it that you get safely across once the First and the Fifth divisions have secured the other bank."

“You would? But surely you have much more important things to do?"

“Wellington will not need my services until we are established in France and helping you and your mother is the most important thing I could be doing."

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much."

He could not help smiling at her eager gratitude. Every other woman he had ever met would be complaining of the loss of comfortable quarters while this one was thanking him for helping her to make a risky and no doubt uncomfortable journey into enemy territory. “The Fifth is to cross at about half past seven on the seventh when the tide will be at its lowest possible point. They will be camped at Fuenterrabia before that. I suggest you plan to arrive in Fuenterrabia in the evening after they have crossed. It is an easy distance from Lesaca and you should be able to find suitable accommodations after everyone has left."

Lady Curtis, however, was less enthusiastic than her daughter when she heard the news. “It sounds rather uncertain, counting on the tides in such a way. And I would not wish to cause the general any undue alarm."

“But, Mama, Major Adair has assured me that he will accompany us and assist us in crossing."

Lady Curtis laid down the sock she was darning and looked curiously at her daughter. “That is most gentlemanly of Major Adair, but surely he must have many more pressing duties than escorting two women across a river."

“He assures me that until the army has established itself in France, his services are not necessary."

“Very well, then.” Lady Curtis did not discuss the issue further, but she had not missed the slight flush that stole across her daughter's face at the mention of Major Adair, a flush that was remarkably similar to the one she had seen when she had spoken to her daughter the morning after she had retired without saying good night. So that was how it was. Lady Curtis had been an officer's wife long enough to know that on the whole, men preferred to avoid the complication of ladies altogether, especially where any sort of tactical maneuver was concerned. And here was the major actually volunteering to take on the responsibility of the two of them, their baggage, servants, and all the attendant possibilities for disaster. She could only conclude, therefore, that some powerful motivating force was impelling him to tackle such an undertaking. Glancing once again at her daughter's face, she deduced that Sophia herself was the source of his inspiration.

Lady Curtis bent quickly back over her darning to hide the smile she was unable to suppress. She had wondered when, if ever, one of the daring young men who were their constant companions would make an impression on her daughter. Until now, she had been of the opinion that Sophia was so accustomed to military men that she looked upon anyone in a scarlet coat as a brother and nothing more, but the situation appeared to have changed somewhat. It would certainly bear watching at any rate.

Lady Curtis folded the sock with its mate and returned her needle and thread to her workbasket. “Then that is all the more reason to make sure that we are carefully packed and ready the minute we are called upon to move."

Chapter
15

On a gloomy morning several days later they finished supervising the loading of the household items into a second carriage, which left just enough room for Jorge to climb in and Luis to mount the box. They bade good-bye to a tearful Maria and Teresa, and were off, lumbering slowly down the road to Fuenterrabia, where Mark had agreed to meet them.

The sky grew more ominous as they neared their destination. Lightning crackled across the sky, and thunder echoed loudly among the mountaintops. Sophia, riding Atalanta, glanced up at the storm clouds racing overhead and resigned herself to being thoroughly soaked. She and her mother hoped against hope that they would reach Fuenterrabia before the roads became so muddy as to be impassable They had to reach the Bidassoa in the next day, when the tides at the mouth of the river were near their lowest, or it would be impossible to cross, and there was no telling how long it would take the Royal Engineers to establish a bridge over the river.

A crack of thunder more violent than the rest crashed directly overhead and the heavens opened. Rain poured down in such a torrent that Sophia could barely see the road in front of her.

Pushing down the carriage window. Lady Curtis stuck her head out. “Sophia, please come inside the carriage. You will catch your death of cold."

. “It is only rain. Mama,” Sophia shouted back between thunderclaps. “I won't melt, and besides, there is no room for me inside the carriage."

“We do not have to take everything with us. There are some things in here we could do without. I certainly have no need of the looking glass that is beside me here on the seat. We could strap it on the outside."

“We cannot do that, it may break. It has been with us in all our lodgings since we left England."

“Then let Jorge sit on the box with Luis and you may ride inside the other carriage."

“I am far better suited to this than Jorge. His rheumatism bothers him enough already as it is."

Her mother closed the window. She had known at the outset that it would be useless to remonstrate with her daughter. Sophia was as stubborn as the mules that made up the army's supply trains, especially where her family was concerned. Lady Curtis comforted herself with the thought that perhaps maybe Major Adair might succeed in convincing her daughter where she had failed.

Certainly Mark was suitably horrified by Sophia's appearance as they entered the taproom of the Venta del Rey, a cozy inn nestled next to Charles V's imposing castle. “My poor girl, you are wet through!” He hurried forward to remove the soaking cloak that Sophia had grabbed and flung over her riding habit when the rain had first started. “Here, let me.” Long fingers untied the strings of her hat which her hands were too stiff to manage.

“Whatever were you thinking to ride in a torrent such as this?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the remaining raindrops from her face. “There. Now come sit by the fire.” And taking her arm, he led her into a small private parlor while her mother looked on with a good deal of satisfaction. If the major was concerned enough over the condition of her daughter to forget the comfort of the mother completely, it was surely a sign that his interest in Sophia was as strong as her interest was in him.

“If you will excuse me, I took the liberty of ordering supper for you so that you would have something hot to eat when you arrived.” Mark poked the logs in the fireplace into a warming blaze and then turned to nod at the innkeeper, who was hovering in the doorway. In no time at all the innkeeper's wife appeared bearing a platter of roast chicken while her daughters followed with wine and fresh bread.

It was not until she stretched her hands to the warmth of the roaring fire in front of her or smelled the savory aroma of the chicken that Sophia realized quite how tired and hungry she was, so tired and hungry that she did not even change out of her damp clothes. She could do nothing but watch hungrily as Mark carved the chicken and then tuck into it eagerly as one of the innkeeper's daughters placed a heavily ladened plate in front of her. But she was not alone; both her mother and the major were equally famished, and silence reigned for some time after they had been served.

At last, mindful of her manners, Lady Curtis laid down her fork. “And was the attack across the river successful? I assume that it was as Fuenterrabia seems remarkably empty of soldiers."

Mark took a drink of wine. “Yes, it was most successful. At seven-thirty this morning the Fifth Division led the plunge into the river and by eight o'clock, when the rocket was shot from the church tower signaling the attack of the Fist Division, the Fifth had overrun Hendaye and were swarming up the slopes of Mount Calvaire."

Sophia laid down her own fork. “So the British Army is in France at last. How you must have longed to be part of the force that first established our foothold in Bonaparte's own territory. We are indeed honored that you volunteered to see to our welfare."

Mark examined Sophia's face suspiciously over the rim of his wineglass, but there was not an ounce of guile in it. She truly did understand what it had cost him not to be one of the first to set foot in France. Most women he knew would still be complaining about the unpleasantness of the journey, but this one, who had scorned even the dubious comforts of the carriage, was able to put aside her own concerns long enough to see things from his point of view. Her understanding was even more warming than the excellent Madeira whose heady fumes he inhaled appreciatively.

“Do tell us more about the attack. Major, was the passage across the river very difficult? Will the tide remain low enough tomorrow for us to make it across?” Lady Curtis, less intensely aware of the major's state of mind than her daughter, was more interested in the practical aspects of the situation.

“I should think that the Bidassoa would pose no risk were you to attempt to cross it tomorrow, but I still urge you to wait until the engineers have constructed a suitable bridge. We have a pontoon train with the army that only wants setting up now that we have secured the other side of the river. It should merely be a matter of days before you may cross safely without the risk of getting yourselves wet."

“If you think it possible for us to cross tomorrow, then I prefer to join my husband as soon as I can. And now, if you will excuse me, Major, my daughter and I are somewhat fatigued after our journey today and, with the prospect of a more arduous day tomorrow, must get some rest."

Mark rose as well and signaled to one of the girls who had reappeared with a fresh bottle of wine. “The landlord's daughter will show you to your room, which, I trust, will be to your satisfaction."

Lady Curtis managed a tired smile as they left the room. “I am sure they will. Thank you. Major, for looking after us."

“I am happy to do so, ma'am.” He spoke to the mother, but his eyes were on the daughter, who looked worn out after her day in the saddle.

Mark poured himself another glass of wine and strolled over to the window. Darkness had fallen and the rain clouds blocked out stars and moon while a light rain still continued. He wondered how the troops across the river were faring. After the torrential rains, the banks of the river must have been murderously slippery. Certainly the cavalry would have been useless. But he did wish, as Sophia had so acutely suggested, that he had been among the first wave of British to cross into France. Well, there was no use repining. Wellington had made his duty clear to him. He had done it, and would continue to do it to the best of his ability, which meant that it was time for him to rest up for the journey tomorrow. But first, he would see to it that the horses had been taken care of. Setting down his glass and picking up a lantern hanging by the door. Mark crossed the courtyard to the stable.

As he entered the stable, he was somewhat surprised to see light from another lantern coming from one of the stalls and to hear the low murmur of a voice. Surely the servants had taken care of the horses long ago. Mark crept quietly toward the stall. Theoretically, he was in friendly territory, the British having pushed the enemy back into France, but one could never be too careful.

Cautiously he peered around the corner of the stall and there, still clad in her damp riding habit, was Sophia chatting with Atalanta as she inspected the mare's hooves and gave her a final pat on the neck. Then she moved over to the saddle and bridle hanging on the wall and carefully inspected them for signs of wear.

He watched in fascination. He had never seen a woman so at home in what was usually the realm of servants, male servants at that, nor had he ever observed a woman so enthralled by such a mundane task. There was something extraordinarily attractive in watching the slender, capable hands feeling every inch of bridle and testing every buckle.

At last she finished her task and restored the saddle and bridle to their places, but she did not leave. What else was there to be done? Mark could not imagine what she had in mind. He quickly withdrew into the empty stall next to Atalanta's as Sophia bade good night to the horse and, picking up the lantern, crossed to the stall just opposite, where she went through the same routine with the carriage horses.

Mark could stand it no longer. “Surely your coachman, if not the stable boys, could be counted upon to see to the horses?"

Sophia whirled around. “You! What are you doing here?"

“I?” He raised one eyebrow in faint surprise. “The same thing that you are, I expect, checking to see that Caesar is comfortably housed and fed."

Sophia bit her lip. Judging from his expression, the major was not accustomed to being addressed in such a peremptory fashion by a female. Undoubtedly most females were all smiles and fluttering eyelashes where he was concerned, but she had had an exhausting day and she did not relish being startled the way he had just startled her, or being observed unawares, as he had obviously been observing her. It made her feel vulnerable and most uncomfortable. “I beg your pardon. I expect it did sound rather rude of me. It is just that I had thought you already retired.” Blast, her face grew hot as she realized how she must sound, as though she were watching every move he made. And the fact that she was constantly aware of his presence, especially now, with the light from his lantern emphasizing the angular planes of his face, the firm line of his jaw, and the deep-set eyes made her face grow even hotter. “I, er, you are correct, I did come to check on the horses. And yes, the coachman already checked on them, but I like to see to them myself."

“Ah."

“It is not because I am rigid or controlling,” she began defensively.

“Now did I say that?"

“You did not have to.” But Sophia could not suppress a tiny smile in response to the sly grin that tugged at one corner of his mouth. “But even Papa, who was so havey-cavey about everything else, always made sure that his cattle, at least, were well looked after."

Despite her obvious effort to sound offhanded, there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. Mark felt the oddest urge to pull her into his arms and reassure her that while he was her escort, her welfare, and that of her mother, would be his primary goal. But he resisted the urge. Sophia Featherstonaugh was not the sort of woman who asked for, or expected assistance in any way, and she might take such a gesture as a slur on her capability rather than an expression of concern. “Undoubtedly he assumed that you and your mother were more capable of looking after yourselves than his cattle was and left you to your own devices. I am sure you took care of yourselves admirably, proving his point and freeing him from any pangs of guilt that might have assailed him from time to time."

Sophia was silent, her head tilted thoughtfully. “You are quite clever, are you not? That is my father to perfection. Without even knowing him, you have captured his very essence."

“Perhaps it is because his daughter has portrayed his very essence to me.” He had moved closer to her now so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “But just because he expected you to look after yourselves does not mean that every man who travels with you expects you to do so. As long as you are traveling with me, you are to let me worry about the details. No"—he held up his hand to forestall the words of protest that rose to her lips—"it will not inconvenience me, and yes, I am just as capable of looking after things, if not more so, than you are. More importantly, I wish to save you the effort. And furthermore"—this time he laid a finger on her lips as she opened them to object—"it would do you good to relax and let someone else take care of things for you. Now"—he gently grasped her shoulders and turned her toward the door—"I want you to march right out of here and back to your chamber, where you can change into something dry and get some rest."

Sophia turned around to face him. “But I cannot let you."

“And why ever not?” Mark's hands slid down from her shoulders to her arms. “You are still quite damp, you know, and we do not want you catching your death of cold when the journey has only just begun."

“I ... it...” Intensely conscious of the warmth of his hands through the damp fabric of her riding habit, Sophia paused in some confusion. “It is not fair."

“Fair?” The air of mild amusement gave way to surprise.

“Yes. Fair. You have had as long and as tiring a day as I have. Why should you look after the horses and carriages, especially since they are our horses and our carriages?"

“Why indeed?” It was the major's turn to look bemused. Never in his life had a woman, except for his mother, concerned herself with his welfare. It was a novel sensation and he found it oddly touching. A slow smile spread across his face. “So I have, but I am accustomed to such days."