Page 6 of The Banished Bride
Miss Robertson ran an eye the length of Aurora’s willowy figure. “That’s true,” she said after a moment. “You did not shoot up to your present height until the following year. “However, it cannot be said that your, er, husband isn’t fashioned from good cloth when it comes to appearance. Simmy Cummings, who saw him ride off on his stallion, said he cut quite a dashing figure in his scarlet regimentals.”
“I abhor the color red. It does not suit me,” she muttered under her breath as she twisted another errant strand of coppery hair around her finger. “Such sentimental rubbish is out of character for you, Robbie. You must be more ill than you think, to be waxing so girlishly romantic over a fellow we both know to be a jaded scoundrel.”
The other lady’s remonstrance was cut short by a hacking cough.
“That’s it.” Aurora crossed her arms. “I’ll hear no more argument on the matter. You are taking to your bed this instant.”
“B-but the journey to Scotland! I need to pack my bags and have?—”
“The only journey you will be making is to your bedchamber.”
“You cannot travel alone,” protested Miss Robertson.
“I will not be alone,” pointed out Aurora with unassailable logic. “Mary will be with me. And since it is perfectly acceptable for a lady to be traveling with her maid, propriety will be served. Not to speak of the fact that such a disguise will hide our friend’s flight from any would-be pursuer.”
“Still,” croaked Miss Robertson, her voice becoming more gravelly by the moment. “If you would but wait a day or two, I’m sure I shall be fully recovered.”
Aurora only rolled her eyes. “And pigs may fly. Seriously, Robbie, we don’t have any time to spare. Despite Alice’s dire threats, I doubt she and her cleaver would prove a match against Mary’s brute of a husband should he take it into his head to search for her here. We must leave tomorrow.”
At the sight of her friend’s crestfallen expression, she got up and went to drape an arm around the quivering shoulders. “The Duchess has kindly offered me the use of one of her old carriages whenever I have need of it, and one of the undercoachmen to go with it. I assure you, it will only be a long, boring and tiresome trip that you are missing. If it is adventure and romance you are looking for, you had best stick to your novels.”
“Blimey, it’s hot.”The man wiped at the stream of sweat running down the bridge of his nose , then slapped at a fly buzzing around his wide brimmed hat. ”Hades could not be much worse, I imagine. Although at least then we’d already be dead, and not constantly worrying about someone trying to put a period to our existence.”
His companion chuckled. “This is merely a trifle warm, Fitz. Now India—India was hot.” He paused to shift the brass spyglass a fraction to the left, then motioned for the other man to duck a lower among the tumble of boulders that concealed their presence. “Ah, just as I thought. Here they come,” he whispered. “Stay down. I’m going to crawl out a bit farther on that ledge so I can be sure to get an accurate count.”
The man’s roughspun garments were coated with enough dust and dried mud that they blended into the fallen scree and weathered rock as he slithered toward the edge of the overhang.Below, a troop of mounted French cavalry trotted by, followed by what looked to be a brigade of Spanish conscripts marching at a desultory pace, though their officers kept up a steady stream of harangues. It took some time for all the soldiers to pass, and even then, the two observers waited another quarter of an hour before retreating from their hiding place on the ridge.
“You were right again, Alex,” said Captain Fitzherbert Battersley as he mopped at his brow with a dirty bandanna. “Soult definitely appears to be shifting his men north. That’s the fourth group in two days that we’ve observed on the move.”
The other man nodded. “Aye, something’s brewing.” He ran a hand over the three day stubble covering his chin. ”I think we had best cut short the rest of this reconnaissance mission and report back to headquarters. Wellesley should know of this without delay.”
They picked their way back down the steep path until reaching the scrubby stand of cork trees where their horses were tethered. Checking to make sure both their pistols and rifles were properly primed and cocked, the two English officers mounted and rode off.
“Ah,” sighed Captain Battersley as they trotted in camp some hours later. “I am looking forward to sluicing some of this damn grit from my delicate peaches and cream complexion, some measure of cover from the unrelenting sun, and a long swig of something wet—preferably good English ale rather than that thin red swill our allies call wine.” There was a fraction of a pause. “Though not necessarily in that order.”
Before his companion could frame a suitably pithy rejoinder, a young adjutant, his slightly bewildered expression betraying his recent arrival to the Peninsula, ran up and gave a tentative salute. “M-major Lord Fenimore?”
The ensuing nod seemed to relieve a good deal of his anxiety. “The General ordered me to keep a close watch for your arrival, sir, but I wasn’t quite sure I had the description right.”
Battersley laughed. “You mean he told you to be on the lookout for a scruffy looking devil with eyes the color of India sapphires and like as naught a dusky senorita in hot pursuit?”
The young officer blushed. “Well, sir, as to that?—”
Taking pity on the young man’s embarrassment, the major cut off his stutterings. “You said the General is looking for me?”
“Yes, sir.” As if suddenly recalling the superior rank of the shabby figure before him, the newly arrived lieutenant threw back his shoulders and snapped to attention. ”He said he wanted to see you the moment you rode in.”
Alex gave a weary sigh. “No rest for the wicked, I see. It looks as if I shall have to wait to join you in draining that tankard of ale.” He dismounted and tossed the reins of his stallion to his friend. “I’ll meet up with you later.”
“Fenimore,” growled General Winthrop, looking up from a sheaf of dispatches as the Major was ushered in. “Glad to see that once again, you have returned to us in one piece. I should loath losing one of my best officers on one of these damn dangerous reconnaissance missions you insist on taking part in.”
“The lives saved are more than worth the risk of my own calloused hide, sir, Besides, the Peninsula seems rather tame compared to the oppressive climate, rampant disease and bloodthirsty Sepoys of India.”
The general motioned for him to take a seat at the folding camp table, then asked his orderly to pour two brandies and bring them over, along with the bottle. “Still, it appears that I shall be losing you, Fenimore.” He raised the spirits halfway to his lips before adding, “I mean Woodbridge.”
Alex’s glass of brandy hung in mid air. “What did you say?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper, though he was sure enough of his hearing to know he had not mistaken the words.
“I regret being the bearer of bad news, but it appears your brother Charles succumbed to a putrid throat some months past. This letter from Whitehall just arrived with the news.” He pushed the wrinkled missive across the scarred wood. “Your man of affairs thinks it imperative that you sell out as soon as possible and return home to take up your responsibilities as the new Earl of Woodbridge. As does the War Department. They don’t like the idea one bit that an old and respected title such as yours is threatened. After you, the next in line is some damned tobacco farmer from the former Colonies. Can’t have that.”
