Major Lord David (22 page)

“I think I might suffer this one dance, my dear,” he said, extending a gloved hand, “if you would honor me. It avoids
that exhausting skippin’ about”

She smiled and took his hand. But they had scarcely taken
their place in a set with Demarest and Lady Constance when a
hubbub arose from the street below. Billie thought the Corn
Law rioters must once again have invaded the West End. But
these cries were different; the crowd was elated, not angry. As
the music stopped, the Boehms’ guests rushed to the wide windows, which, standing open, had carried all the noise from the
square. Billie could just catch sight of a speedy post chaise
escorted by a running, cheering throng. Two poles, with what
looked like flags and gilded statues at their ends, poked from
the carriage windows.

“What are those?” Billie asked Hayden. He stood next to
her, but, as he was at least half a foot taller, he had a much better view.

“Eagles,” he said. “From Bonaparte’s army.” His voice was
strangely flat. Strangely, she thought, because all those pressing about them were so eager. The crowd in the street was jubilant.

A mussed and dusty figure tumbled out of the carriage,
pulling the two “eagles” awkwardly along with him. Billie lost
sight of him; the crowd appeared to part only reluctantly as he
forged a path to the Boehms’ front steps. There was a great
commotion from the hall, on the stairs. Within seconds the
waiting company had turned expectantly from the windows, to
observe a handsome but extremely untidy young officer enter
the ballroom.

“Percy,” Hayden said softly. He grasped Billie’s arm and
drew her closer to the visitor. “Percy” had dropped the poles
before the Regent and knelt now upon one knee.

“Victory, sir! Victory!”

Billie drew a sharp breath. The Prince Regent, after one second’s relieved smile, gravely took some papers from Percy’s
hand and retired without a word to a side room to read them. While everyone else seemed struck immobile, Hayden moved
quickly to Percy’s side. Billie watched Hayden clap him on
the shoulder and pump his hand. The younger man looked
dazed. Others gathered around the messenger even as Hayden
turned away.

“That’s Henry Percy,” Knowles whispered in her ear. “ADC
to Wellington. Hayden knows him.”

Hayden knew everyone. Billie watched his face as he returned to them.

“A victory south of Brussels, at Waterloo,” he said. “Bonaparte bested and tearing back to France. And we must be off
ahead of this lot.” He was already steering Billie back through
the now wildly exuberant crowd. “Thanks be, I had my carriage wait.”

“But where are we off to, Hayden?” Demarest asked. “The
Horse Guards?”

Hayden nodded sharply.

Billie thought she should be happy. Surely she should be
happy. This was wonderful, astonishing news. But as they raced
ahead of the other guests, down the stairs and out into the middle of the street, she felt only urgency-and dread.

“Why do we rush to the Horse Guards?” she asked.

“For the list,” Demarest told her. “The first list of casualties.”

Hayden’s luxurious carriage easily held the six of them,
but the air seemed as close and cloying as that in the
Boehms’ ballroom. Billie leaned her head back against the
squabs and closed her eyes. She wished Hayden would not
look so grim. Ephie was holding her hand. The trees in St.
James’s park blurred as the carriage sped past. When it stopped,
Hayden leapt out, then checked-and turned to help Billie down.
Billie had never seen him so quick and impatient. Whereas
she-she felt numb.

“Come,” Ephie said, taking her elbow. “We are some of the
first here.”

Indeed, they did not have to struggle to gain admittance.
When Billie and Ephie passed the door, Hayden was already
reading through pages. But he was still frowning. When he
looked up and caught her gaze, she thought the frown deepened.

She forced herself to his side. Lord Demarest and Lord
Knowles and the two other women were close behind herlike a wall, Billie thought, to help keep her upright.

Hayden handed her the list. “There is some mystery here,”
he said, pointing with a long forefinger at the list.

Billie’s gaze fell to read: Caswell, Christopher. Major, First
Division, Guards/Coldstream. Wounded.

“But this is wrong,” she said.

“Yes. But it would seem your brother is still with us” Hayden took the list from her hands and perused it again before
passing it on to Demarest and Knowles. “Miss Billie, there is
no mention of David.”

“Yes, I-yes, I saw.”

“Not on the list as wounded or dead. Not on the list. And
Percy knew nothing.”

Around them, ladies were swooning, weeping. Lord Demarest was comforting Lady Constance, whose cousin, a cavalry officer, had been wounded. Not on the list. Should they
believe, then, that David was well? She looked over Knowles’
shoulder, to scan the many, many names-hundreds and hundreds of names. Athington-Charis’ brother-dead? No,
wounded. And there were too many other names. Someone
beside her said most of Wellington’s staff had been wounded
or killed-all young, proud officers, some of whom Billie had
just met this spring, gone, lost. And Kit wounded-how
badly? She was still staring at the list, looking for a name she
did not wish to find.

Lord Knowles was talking to Lady Constance, not with his
usual easy flow of chatter but in a warm and coaxing manner.
“This means nothing,” he said reassuringly. Constance’s eyes were red. “There is hope. You must rally. What are we, if not
steadfast? We have certainly taken our blows. Why, you must
know Demarest here is the last of his line. And George Gillen’s
two brothers went at Badajoz. I hardly knew my pater, lost at
Aboukir Bay back in ninety-eight. You must have heard Percy’s
cry-“Victory!” Ah, what victory means to us all! ‘Tis what
has been taken from us in the winning that hurts so. Such decades of war! But think of all we have preserved. For coming
years of peace! Your cousin will be well, Lady Cee. He might
dance at your wedding!”

Billie had not realized she was standing with her eyes
closed, listening, until she opened them in wonder. Lady Constance had stopped crying. And Billie looked to Knowles.

“I thank you, my lord,” she told him. “I thank you most sincerely.” Knowles looked surprised and pleased as he turned to
her. “Without your aid,” she admitted, “I fear I might have
embarrassed myself.”

“Never, Miss Caswell,” he said gallantly. “And now I
think-” He craned his neck to catch sight of Hayden returning to them. “Yes, I think we shall be off. Hayden’s yacht is at
Gravesend. Should cross within a day-”

“There is no word,” Hayden said, interrupting him. He
looked directly at Billie. “No word, good or bad. Do you understand me? This is a preliminary list. There were tens of
thousands there, at Waterloo. It is a victory, but a disaster all
the same. I shall leave before midnight. And, Knowles”-he
looked to his friend-“will you venture over with me? Your
French is passable.”

Knowles beamed. “Certainly!”

Before Knowles could speak further, Hayden told Billie, “I
must get you home” He attempted to lead her back toward the
entrance. “This is a wretched business-”

“No,” she said, balking. At the single, stubborn word he
looked startled. “No, I will not go home. I am coming with
you.”

“But, Miss Billie, you cannot mean it! You do not understand. There is no room-”

“On your yacht, my lord? Or in Brussels? I should think an
extra pair of hands would be welcome.”

He tried to smile. “Yours-always. But the discomforts . .

“I would decide that for myself, Lord Hayden. I also have a
brother who is wounded. And under the circumstances, we
needn’t continue to-to playact. Aunt Ephie needn’t come.”

“Aunt Ephie will most certainly come,” Ephie inserted
mildly. “As she also has a worthy pair of hands”

Hayden considered Billie with obvious resignation, but perhaps an equal measure of understanding. He sighed. “Then,
ladies, let us collect your luggage and be off. Demarest?” he
asked. “Will you join us?”

“I think I must be staying, Hayden. At least a day or two.
If possible, I shall sail my own bark across later.” He placed
a consoling hand on the arm of Lady Constance, who still
sniffled.

“I know Mama will not let me go,” she choked, “even ifeven if it is Freddy.”

As their group left the Horse Guards’, they shouldered their
way out to the carriage. The place was now flooding with those
running into the offices seeking information, some of them
having arrived by foot from the Boehms’.

“Where is your brother this evening?” Hayden asked Billie.
“We must tell him.”

As Morty was dining at the Urquharts’, just a few streets
away from Ephie’s town home, they stopped to see him first.
Demarest set off on foot to escort Lady Constance around the
corner. Billie and Hayden entered the Urquharts’ and asked
for Morty.

The Urquharts and their guests had just sat down to a late dinner. After summoning an obviously irritated Morty into the hall,
Hayden took him aside to explain their plans. As Billie waited
impatiently at the door, she heard only Morty’s “Kit!” All else was low, tense, and surprisingly brief. When Hayden walked on
into the dining room to convey the news to those of his acquaintance at table, Morty came swiftly to Billie’s side.

“Would you like me to go as well, Billie?” he asked. But
she could tell he had little desire to do so.

“No. Ephie and I shall look to Kit, Morty. You mustn’t
leave Esther.” She smiled at Esther, who had slipped out to
join them in the hall. Behind her, the dining room had erupted
in cheers.

“I am so sorry, Miss Billie,” she said sweetly, “about Christopher.”

“We will hope his injuries are not serious, Miss Esther,”
Billie assured her. “I must go now, Morty. We must leave at
once. Lord Hayden told you Ephie comes with me?”

Morty nodded. “I should have insisted on it in any event,” he
said, sounding affronted. Looking over his shoulder at the entrance to the dining room, where Hayden was still engaged, he
added disagreeably, “You really intend to marry that man?”

“Oh, Morty!” She did not know whether to laugh or to cry.
“Can you truly be so insensible?”

As Morty looked nonplussed, Esther took her arm and led
her to the door. “I shall explain it to him,” she said softly.
Hayden was returning promptly. “And I will pray you find
your major.”

Billie had never before been at sea; she had only ever been
aboard a simple skiff on calm lake waters. The crossing to Ostend left her bilious and green. As no one else on board was so
affected, she had to bear the particular care and solicitude of
her companions. That in itself would not have been difficult,
had she not also had to endure Hayden’s carefully blank face.
He had warned her of the “discomforts” after all; they had not
even reached Brussels, and she was already in distress. Despite her queasiness she stayed determinedly on deck, from
their dawn departure on. Her one solace was that the crossing
was brief.

She thought Hayden must regret consenting to her company. So she was surprised, once they were transferring to a
slow canal barge from Ostend, when he troubled to relieve her
mind.

“David has told me he never does well on the Channel
crossing,” he said simply, and Billie instantly viewed him with
greater favor.

They moved on to Ghent, and at Ghent to a carriage pulled
by a team that had seen better days. The driver told them that
the army had requisitioned every serviceable horse-and that
many thousands of them had been killed at Waterloo. The report silenced their already serious party. Billie was left to
consider that this was the very same route that David had traveled in March. Indeed, she had his letter with her. If she had replied to him promptly … if she had somehow managed to
control Kit … I f, i f! As her anxiety mounted, she forced herself to pay attention to their surroundings.

What little she could see of the countryside in this last week
of June was of farming-dairy cattle and vegetables and the occasional field of grain, with the consequent local farm vehicles.
They were not the only travelers; there were also streams of
people moving north, including one contingent of French
prisoners.

Encountering any English troops, Hayden always inquired
after David. No one had news of him. But much of the allied
army, including the 52nd-Alan Athington’s regiment and,
initially, Kit’s-had gone on to France, chasing Bonaparte.

Hayden was most generous with the ready, paying to send
messengers to Hals, Enghien, and elsewhere asking after
Guards officers. The response was always the same: casualties
among all infantry officers from the battles at Quatre Bras and
Waterloo had been appalling, perhaps as high as fifty percent.
Many were as yet “unrecovered.” Swallowing her dismay, Billie chose to believe they would soon learn something of import
at Brussels.