An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

He drew in his breath, but did not speak for several turns. When he unclosed his lips again it was to say in a tone of careful nonchalance: ‘One becomes dramatic: a pity! Essayons encore! When is it to be, this marriage?’

‘Oh, confound you, is not a betrothal enough for one day? Are we not agreed that there is something terrible about that word marriage?’

His brows rose. ‘So! I am well content. Play the game out, amuse yourself with this so gallant colonel; in the end you will marry me.’

A gleam shot into her eyes. ‘A bet! What will you stake—gamester?’

‘Nothing! It is sure, and there is no sport in it, therefore.’

The music came to an end; Barbara stood free, smiling and dangerous. ‘I thank you, Etienne! If you knew the cross humour I was in! Now! Oh, it is entirely finished!’ She turned upon her heel; her gaze swept the room, and found Colonel Audley. She crossed the floor towards him, her draperies hushing about her feet as she walked.

‘That’s a grand creature!’ suddenly remarked Wellington, his attention caught. ‘Who is she, Duchess?’

The Duchess of Richmond glanced over her shoulder. ‘Barbara Childe,’ she answered. ‘She is a granddaughter of the Duke of Avon.’

‘Barbara Childe, is she? So that’s the prize that lucky young dog of mine has won! I must be off to offer my congratulations!’ He left her side as he spoke, and made his way to where Colonel Audley and Barbara were standing.

His congratulations, delivered with blunt heartiness, were perfectly well received by the lady. She shook hands, and met that piercing eagle stare with a look of candour, and her most enchanting smile. The Duke stayed talking to her until the quadrille was forming, but as soon as he saw the couples taking up their positions, he said briskly: ‘You must take your places, or you will be too late. No need to ask whether you dance the quadrille, Lady Barbara! As for this fellow, Audley, I’ll engage for it he won’t disgrace you.’

He waved them on to the floor, called a chaffing word to young Lennox on the subject of his celebrated pas de zéphyr, and stood back to watch the dance for a few minutes. Lady Worth, only a few paces distant, thought it must surely be impossible for anyone to look more carefree than his lordship. He was smiling, nodding to acquaintances, evidently enjoying himself. She watched him, wondering at him a little, and presently, as though aware of her gaze, he turned his head, recognised her, and said: ‘Oh, how d’ye do? A pretty sight, isn’t it?’

She agreed to it. ‘Yes, indeed. Do all your staff officers perform so creditably, Duke? They put the rest quite in the shade.’

‘Yes, I often wonder where would Society be without my boys?’ he replied. ‘Your brother acquits himself very well, but I believe that young scamp, Lennox, is the best of them. There he goes—but his partner is too heavy on her feet! Audley has the advantage of him in that respect.’

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Lady Barbara dances very well.’

‘Audley’s a fortunate fellow,’ said the Duke decidedly. ‘Won’t thank me for taking him away from Brussels, I daresay. Don’t blame him! But it can’t be helped.’

‘You are leaving us, then?’

‘Oh yes—yes! for a few days. No secret about it: I have to visit the Army.’

‘Of course. We shall await your return with impatience, I assure you, praying the Ogre may not descend upon us while you are absent!’

He gave one of his sudden whoops of laughter. ‘No fear of that! It’s all nonsense, this talk about Bonaparte! Ogre! Pooh! Jonathan Wild, that’s my name for him!’ He saw her look of astonishment, and laughed again, apparently much amused, either by her surprise or by his own words.

She was conscious of disappointment. He had been described to her as unaffected: he seemed to her almost inane.

Eight

Upon the following day was published a General Order, directing officers in future to make their reports to the Duke of Wellington. Upon the same day, a noble-browed gentleman with a suave address and great tact, was sent from Brussels to the Prussian Headquarters, there to assume the somewhat arduous duties of military commissioner to the Prussian Army. Sir Henry Hardinge had lately been employed by the Duke in watching Napoleon’s movements in France. He accepted his new rôle with his usual equanimity, and commiserated with by his friends on the particularly trying nature of his commission, merely smiled, and said that General von Gneisenau was not likely to be as tiresome as he was painted.

The Moniteur of this 11th day of April published gloomy tidings. In the south of France, the Duc d’Angoulême’s enterprise had failed. Angoulême had led his mixed force on Lyons, but the arrival from Paris of a competent person of the name of Grouchy had ended Royalist hopes in the south. Angoulême and his masterful wife had both set sail from France, and his army was fast dwindling away.

It was not known what King Louis, in Ghent, made of these tidings, but those who were acquainted with his character doubted whether his nephew’s failure would much perturb him. Never was there so lethargic a monarch: one could hardly blame France for welcoming Napoleon back.

The news disturbed others, however. It seemed as though it were all going to start again: victory upon victory for Napoleon; France overrunning Europe. Shocking to think of the Emperor’s progress through France, of the men who flocked to join his little force, of the crowds who welcomed him, hysterical with joy! Shocking to think of Marshal Ney, with his oath to King Louis on his conscience, deserting with his whole force to the Emperor’s side! There must be some wizardry in the man, for in all France there had not been found sufficient loyal men to stand by the King and make it possible for him to hold his capital in Napoleon’s teeth. He had fled, with his little Court, and his few troops, and if ever he found himself on his throne again it would be once more because foreign soldiers had placed him there.

But how unlikely it seemed that he would find himself there! With Napoleon at large, summoning his Champ de Mai assemblies, issuing his dramatic proclamations, gathering together his colossal armies, only the very optimistic could feel that there was any hope for King Louis.

Even Wellington doubted the ability of the Allies to put King Louis back on the throne, but this doubt sprang more from a just appreciation of the King’s character than from any fear of Napoleon. Sceptical people might ascribe the Duke’s attitude to the fact of his never having met Napoleon in the field, but the fact remained that his lordship was one of the few generals in Europe who did not prepare to meet Napoleon in a mood of spiritual defeat.

He accorded the news of Angoulême’s failure a sardonic laugh, and laid the Moniteur aside. He was too busy to waste time over that.

He kept his staff busy too, a circumstance which displeased Barbara Childe. To be loved by a man who sent her brief notes announcing his inability to accompany her on expeditions of her planning was a new experience. When she saw him at the end of a tiring day, she rallied him on his choice of profession. ‘For the future I shall be betrothed only to civilians.’

He laughed. He had been all the way to Oudenarde and back, with a message for General Colville, commanding the 4th Division, but he had found time to buy a ring of emeralds and diamonds for Barbara, and although there was a suggestion of weariness about his eyelids, he seemed to desire nothing as much as to dance with her the night through.