A Rose for Major Flint (Brides of Waterloo)

Rose recounted the short conversation. ‘Miss Endacott seems very upset. Is she betrothed to the colonel?’

‘I hadn’t heard anything. But never mind them—Rose, are you going to marry the major?’

‘He isn’t the marrying kind,’ Rose said with a casual shrug.

‘None of them are,’ Maggie said crisply as she slapped a lump of dough on to the kneading board. ‘Not until they meet the right woman, that is. And then they usually need hitting over the head with it before they notice.’

Rose had a delicious image of Maggie taking her rolling pin to Moss until he admitted he loved her. ‘Even if Adam did think…I don’t know whether…’ She ground to a halt and tried again. ‘I don’t know who I am, so how do I know what I feel for him?’

Maggie grunted and slapped the dough as if it was an uncooperative man. ‘You had a nasty shock, he looked after you—good at looking after strays is the major—and now you don’t know if you’re just plain grateful, is that it?’

‘It’s more than that,’ Rose admitted, hoping the heat in the kitchen accounted for the warmth in her cheeks.

‘Aye, well, I’ve heard he doesn’t disappoint in other ways.’

Now she was feeling jealous of all the other women in Adam’s life. He said he wasn’t the faithful kind, so why had the word marriage even entered her head? She had been looking for a man she could trust and love ever since she came out, that certainty was growing the more she thought about it. She was not swayed by wealth or power or titles, but she did care about honesty and faithfulness and love. Adam would give her the first of those in uncomfortable abundance, but he had also told her plainly that the other two were not in him to give.

‘I can’t think about any of that now,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ll worry about it later.’ If he ever asks me. ‘I need to find out who I am and let my parents know I am safe.’ And she had to do it without causing a scandal. They might well have been able to cover up an elopement, but a young woman enquiring of the British authorities whether any genteel family had misplaced a daughter would cause an uproar.

I need to take control, she thought. She could not simply lean on Adam until her memory came back, if it ever did. It muddled her thinking to be so dependent and it hurt her pride.

It was all very well to worry about her pride and her independence, first she had to know who she really was and what that woman felt about Major Adam Flint. She could simply go into the fashionable part of town—she could find her way around there, she was certain—and wait to be recognised, she supposed. But not dressed like a respectable but humble servant, which is how she looked now. She needed a gown and a bonnet. Gloves, a reticule…

‘Maggie, Adam said something about letting me have money for anything I needed, didn’t he?’ She could pay it back as soon as she discovered who she was. She sensed she had never wanted for money, that her quarterly allowance had been more than generous.

‘He left a wallet in the dresser.’ Maggie nodded towards a chest of drawers. ‘You help yourself, I’m all over dough.’

There seemed to be a considerable amount in the battered leather folder. How much would she need in order to present a ladylike appearance? She certainly could not go to a modiste and order a gown to be made, not with no name and no credit. But there were second-hand shops, places where ladies’ maids took the cast-off garments that formed one of their most valuable perks. The simpler items they might adjust for their own use, but the money was more valuable to them, she knew from conversations with her own maid, Jane.

Jane. I can remember her. I can remember her careful diction and the efforts she made to put her East End background behind her. Rose put a number of banknotes in her pocket and shook her head in frustration with being able to recall so much and yet none of it the essentials. ‘I need some things, so I will go out now. I might be a while. I want to see if anywhere looks familiar.’

‘Do you want Lucille with you?’ Maggie called as Rose ran upstairs for her borrowed bonnet.

‘No, thank you.’ She looked round the kitchen door with a smile, tying the bonnet ribbons, her spirits lifted by the thought of doing something positive. ‘I will be all right when I reach the centre of town. Which way do I go?’

‘Left out of the door,’ Maggie said. ‘Then straight on and you’ll soon find the Grand Place.’

The plain straw bonnet had a large brim which hid her face and gave her confidence. There were some respectable second-hand clothes shops in the network of streets behind the Grand Place, she knew, and the market stalls would provide cheap stockings and handkerchiefs, perhaps a shawl.

At first it was simply wonderful to be outside again. The sun was shining, the city, despite the remaining encampments of soldiers under awnings on the streets, was returning to its normal pristine, bustling self. Rose made her way rapidly along the pavement, wishing she could run, just for the chance to stretch her legs. As she went further into the centre of town her pace slowed. Buildings began to look familiar, she knew their names. She stopped on the corner of the Rue des Bouchers

and stared around in frustration. Why could she not recall the name of the street where she had lived?

What would she do if she saw someone whose face she recognised? She had vague memories of social calls, of knowing people, of stopping to chat in the Parc. Whatever her family’s station in life, their social circle was wide.

Rose began to walk again, more slowly now. If she saw a face she recognised, she would follow them home, she decided. Then, when she was respectably dressed, she could call on them. The thought of accosting someone in the street and asking what her own name was made her dizzy. Scandal, it seemed, was far from her normal experience.

But there was no one who looked at all familiar. Rose was not certain she was relieved or sorry. Relieved, she decided as she stood outside the second-hand dress shop Jane had mentioned. Coward. This strange bubble she lived in with Adam, with no past and no future, felt safe, even if that was only an illusion. She would have to prick the bubble and emerge sooner or later. But not just yet.

*

It was even easier than she had expected to outfit herself. This establishment only accepted garments in good condition and the gowns had been made by high-quality seamstresses. Rose found a walking dress that was an almost perfect fit at a much lower price than she had feared having to pay. A bonnet to match, gloves and a reticule and there was still money in her pocket. She could afford a day dress—or, rather, Adam could.

She smiled at the thought of his face if he had been dragged in here amongst the feminine frills and furbelows. Or perhaps he took his mistresses to dress shops and milliners, let them choose gowns and hats which he would pay for. But he did not have mistresses like some town buck, set up in a luxurious little love nest, she suspected. Adam’s women lived with him for as long as the relationship lasted. Which was not very long, by the sound of it.

Rose blinked to clear the sudden blurring of her vision. She was here to shop, not to mope. That soft green fabric looked nice. In fact, it looked…familiar. She lifted the garment from the rack, held it against herself and studied her reflection in the long mirror.

‘That is perfect, mademoiselle,’ the shopkeeper remarked in accented English. ‘It might have been made for you.’