Page 9 of Confounding Oaths
The elder Mr. Caesar regarded his son thoughtfully. “I am never entirely certain, but … your mother and I always wanted to give you and your sisters an ordinary life. As much as we can. I would not compromise that thoughtlessly, and for the moment I donot see that Mary needs to know the details of an incident that, if we are fortunate, we will soon be able to put behind us.”
Candidly, Mr. Caesar was not certain theywouldbe able to put it behind them, especially given what had happened afterwards with the major. And for a moment he tried to decide whether bringing up the tiny matter of an irate military officer instructing his servants to beat him and then swearing nonspecific vengeance was a good idea. He concluded, in the end, that it was. While he had realistic expectations about his father’s ability to intercede, they had always been honest with each other. “You should know,” he said, “that the man I struck, he—well, he had his servants attack me outside the ball.”
It wasn’t that the elder Mr. Caesar didn’t believe his son, but the facts were rather hard for him to reconcile. “You look remarkably well for it.”
“I was … rescued?”
“Rescued?”
“By another officer.”
That brought the trace of a smile to his father’s lips. “Perhaps a knack for attracting mysterious saviours runs in the family.”
“He—the first officer—also told me I’d regret crossing him.”
The elder Mr. Caesar shrugged. “They usually do.”
At this juncture, their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. The Caesars had only one servant, a maid of all work by the name of Nancy, who hustled in with a calling card.
“Gentleman downstairs, sir,” she explained. “Military.”
Having never expected to see Captain James again, Mr. Caesar was surprised, gratified, and not a little flustered as he hurried through to the drawing room to meet their guest. And he was, therefore, wonderfully disappointed when he discovered that it was not the captain at all.
“I’ve come to give my regards,” explained the too-young officer from the previous night, who held the inconsequential rank of ensign, the inconsequential given name of Robert, and the inconsequential surname of Bygrave. “And to reassure you all that nobody in the regiment thinks any ill of you for what transpired last night.”
The Misses Caesar looked up as one from their needlework.
“Oh, but you are too kind,” replied Miss Anne, which earned a warm smile from the ensign. Possibly because, sitting in her window seat the sunlight slashing lines of brilliant golden-brown across her bare forearms and her curls framing her face like she was a plate in a fashionable periodical, she looked almost angelic. Or at least as angelic as you can look if you aren’t a giant wheel of flaming eyes. “Far too kind,” echoed Miss Caesar. And this did not earn so warm a smile.
The five members of the Caesar household arranged themselves around the room in a pattern designed to put their guest just the right amount of at his ease.
“And is last night much discussed in the regiment?” asked Lady Mary. Being an earl’s daughter, the lady of the house had, despite her marriage, kept her Christian name, her title, and her propensity for pointed questions.
Mr. Bygrave nodded. “Amongst the officers at least. One doesn’t fraternise with the enlisted men, so I wouldn’t know about them.”
“Oh, well”—Miss Anne waved a hand—“they’re scarcely of consequence anyway.”
The elder Mr. Caesar gave his daughter a disapproving look that she steadfastly ignored, and offered the ensign tea.
Clearly an individual of what the misguided mortals of the day considered impeccable breeding—which is to say that his ancestors had been ruthless enough to acquire wealth and canny enough notto talk about it—Mr. Bygrave settled himself into an armchair and began making meaningless chitchat with the Caesars. Or rather, with Miss Anne Caesar, the others having far less of a hold on his attention.
“Have you been very long in the army?” asked Miss Caesar, in the hope that bringing the conversation around to martial matters might encourage the ensign to spread his attention more equally.
Mr. Bygrave looked almost abashed. “A few months only. My commission came through just after old Boney abdicated so I never got the opportunity. But, well, he’s back now and if His Majesty needs me, I—I trust that he shall not find me wanting.”
“I amsurehe will not,” declared Miss Anne with an earnestness I found flatly irritating. “You struck me as quite the boldest gentleman at the ball last night, though it seemed unfair to say so in front of the other officers.”
His abashment progressed from almost to definite. “You flatter me, Miss Anne. There were many present last night who have done far grander things than I. Though of course I aspire to someday be their equal.”
Attempting once more to participate, Miss Caesar asked him what kind of grand things the other officers had done and, when Mr. Bygrave noticed her presence, he deigned to answer.
“Well, Major Bloodworth—the gentleman your brother, ah, that gentleman—he fought with Wellington at Toulouse. And then there’s Captain James, of course. Although he’s rather …”
“Rather what?” asked Mr. Caesar.
Mr. Bygrave shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t mistake me. I hear he’s a very fine officer in many ways, but, well, he’s up from the ranks, you know. You’ll notice he didn’t dance at all at the ball. Never learned, you see.”
“Is dancing,” asked the elder Mr. Caesar, “important to leading men in battle?”
