An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘By all means!’ she returned. ‘The more Bab sees of him the sooner she’ll be bored by him. He may dine with us tonight, if he chooses, and accompany us to Madame van der Capellan’s party afterwards.’

The civil note was, accordingly sent round by hand to the British Headquarters, where it found Colonel Audley in the company of the Prince of Orange and Lord Fitzroy Somerset.

The Colonel took the note, and tore it open with an eagerness which did not escape the Prince. That young gentleman, observing the elegance of the hot-pressed paper and the unmistakably feminine character of the handwriting, winked at Lord Fitzroy, and said: ‘Aha! The affair progresses!’

The Colonel ignored this sally, and moved across to a desk and sat down at it to write an acceptance of the invitation. The Prince strolled after him, and perched on the opposite side of the desk, swinging his thin legs. ‘It is certainly an assignation,’ he said.

‘It is. An invitation to dinner,’ replied the Colonel, rejecting one quill and choosing another.

‘And it was I who set your feet on the road to ruin! Fitzroy, Charles is in love!’

Lord Fitzroy’s small, firm mouth remained grave, but a smile twinkled in his eyes. ‘I thought he seemed a little elated. Who is she?’

‘The Widow!’ answered the Prince.

‘What widow?’

The Prince flung up his hands. ‘He asks me what widow! Mon Dieu, Fitzroy, don’t you know there is only one? The Incomparable, the Dashing, the Fatal Barbara!’

‘I am not a penny the wiser,’ said Lord Fitzroy, his quiet, slightly drawling voice in as great a contrast to the Prince’s vivacity as were his fair locks and square, handsome countenance to the Prince’s dark hair and erratic features. ‘You forget how long it is since I was in England. Charles, that’s my pen, and it suits me very well without your mending it. What’s more, it’s my desk, and I’ve work to do.’

‘I shan’t be more than a minute,’ replied the Colonel. ‘Have you noticed how devilish official he’s become lately, Billy? It’s from standing in the Great Man’s shoes, I suppose.’

‘You shall not divert me,’ said the Prince. ‘I observe the attempt, but it is useless. When do you announce your approaching marriage?’

‘Now, if you like,’ said the Colonel, dipping his pen in the ink, and drawing a sheet of paper towards him.

The Prince’s jaw dropped. He stared at Colonel Audley and then laughed. ‘Oh yes, I am very stupid! I shall certainly swallow that canard!’

‘If he’s going to conduct his flirtations on Government paper, I demand to know the identity of the Fatal—what did you say her name was, Billy?’

‘Barbara! The disastrous Lady Barbara Childe!’ answered the Prince dramatically.

‘Barbara Childe? Oh, I know! Bab Alastair that was. Is she accounted fatal?’

‘But entirely, Fitzroy! A veritable Circe—and I delivered Charles into her power!’

The Colonel looked up. ‘Yes, you did, so you shall be the first to know that she is going to become my wife.’

The Prince blinked at him. ‘Plaît-il?’

Colonel Audley sealed his letter, wrote the direction, and got up. ‘Quite true,’ he assured the Prince, and went out to deliver his note to the waiting servant.

The Prince turned an astonished countenance towards Lord Fitzroy, and said, stammering a little, as he always did when excited ‘B—but it’s—it’s n—not possible! Scores of men have offered for Lady Bab, and she refused them all!’

‘Well, she’s chosen a very good man in the end,’ responded Fitzroy, seating himself at the desk.

‘My poor Fitzroy, you do not understand! It is most remarkable—éclatant!’

‘I see nothing very remarkable in two persons falling in love,’ said Fitzroy with unaltered calm. ‘Did I happen to mention that I was busy?’

‘I am your superior officer,’ declared the Prince. ‘I command that you attend to me, and immediately treat me with respect.’

Lord Fitzroy promptly stood up, and clicked his heels together. ‘I beg your Royal Highness’s pardon!’

His Royal Highness made a grab at a heavy paperweight on the desk, but Lord Fitzroy was quicker. The entrance into the room of a very junior member of the staff put an end to what promised to be a most undignified scene. Lord Fitzroy at once released the paperweight, and the Prince, acknowledging the newcomer’s salute, departed in search of a more appreciative audience.

By the end of the day the news of the engagement had spread all over Brussels. Both parties to it had had to endure congratulation, incredulity, and much raillery. The Colonel bore it with his usual good humour, but he was not surprised, on his arrival in the Rue Ducale, to find his betrothed in a stormy mood. Neither his host nor his hostess was in the salon when he entered it; there was only Lady Barbara, standing by the fireplace with her elbow on the mantelshelf, and one sandalled foot angrily tapping the floor.