A Rose for Major Flint (Brides of Waterloo)

‘Miss Tatton!’ Heale, their butler, looked ready to burst into tears as he held the door wide. ‘You are home, praise be!’

‘Yes, thank you, Heale, here I am, safe and sound.’ Years of training in deportment kept the smile on her face, the cheerful tone in her voice. You never showed weakness in front of the servants, you certainly did not lose your breakfast in front of them through sheer nerves. ‘It is good to see you, too. My parents?’

‘In the drawing room, Miss Tatton.’ He bustled down the passage in front of her. ‘I’ll send for tea,’ he added as he threw open the door. ‘Miss Tatton, my lady.’

‘Catherine!’ Her mother was huddled on the sofa beside her husband. She looked up, her face blotchy with tears, and burst into fresh floods at the sight of Rose.

‘You foolish, wicked girl.’ Her father thrust a handkerchief into his wife’s hand and got to his feet. ‘And before you attempt to cozen us with some cock-and-bull story about where you have been, I should tell you that we know all about it. As if eloping with that moneyless whelp wasn’t enough!’

‘Lady Sarah Latymor has been here, I know. She has taken her brother, Major Flint, into dislike and as a consequence is determined to do him harm.’ Somehow she kept her face calm, even as she rec

oiled from the anger and grief she had caused. ‘Mama, Papa—I am truly sorry I ran away with Gerald Haslam. I thought I was in love with him and I wasn’t. I never meant you to have so much worry and distress over me.’

‘And now he’s dead and you cannot even marry him.’ Mama emerged from the white linen and gazed at her hopelessly.

‘I would not want to marry him. It was all a horrible mistake and besides we didn’t…I mean, we never…’ Oh, for goodness’ sake, you are not some innocent girl, say it. ‘We were not lovers.’

‘Then why did you not come home as soon as you realised you were mistaken?’ her father demanded. He seemed to have calmed down a little. ‘We would have done our best to salvage the situation. And sit down, for goodness’ sake, Catherine.’

Catherine, that is me. But I do not feel like that woman any longer. I am Rose now. Adam Flint’s Rose. But I must not be. She shook her head, dizzy with impossible choices.

She sat beside her mother and reached for her hand. The desperate clutch of fingers around hers was a knife to her conscience. ‘I had promised to marry Gerald and I could not go back on my word. Then we were caught up in the preparations for battle. I was with the baggage train during the fighting.’

‘With the camp followers,’ her mother lamented.

‘The women are brave and loyal to their men,’ Rose protested. ‘They helped me. After Quatre Bras we retreated to Waterloo and then there was the battle and Gerald did not come back. I went to look for him.’

‘On the battlefield?’ Her father sat down with a thump on the nearest chair. ‘What were you thinking of?’

‘That I had a duty to Gerald,’ she said. ‘If he was still alive but wounded, I had to help him. But I do not think I was rational by then. I was very tired and wet. Hungry and terrified. Then when I reached the battlefield…’ She could not go on, not with her mother gasping in distress beside her. She would never comprehend one tenth of the horror and Rose could not put those images into her head. ‘I found his body. I think I must have been in shock after that. I tried to scream, but my voice would not work, I didn’t know who I was.’

Her father was white around the lips. ‘Then what happened?’ he asked as though the question was being dragged from him by force.

‘I was being threatened by four deserters and Major Flint rescued me. I couldn’t tell him who I was because I did not know and, besides, I could not speak. He took me to the lodging house that one of his old sergeants and his wife keep. They are a respectable couple and very kind. My voice came back after a while and then little bits of my memory. I only remembered who I was today.’

‘Lady Sarah said that she found you and this man together,’ Lady Thetford whispered, as if by keeping her voice low she could pretend that this was not happening. ‘In his bedchamber. You were in his bed. She said he was…unclothed.’

What could she say that would protect Adam? Rose struggled to find some form of words as the door opened.

‘Are you receiving, my lady? A Major Flint is here asking for his lordship.’

‘Is he indeed?’ Lord Thetford rose to his feet. ‘Show him in. My dear, take Catherine into your boudoir.’

How did he know I was here? Maggie must have told him. Rose stood up. She must go to Adam, stop this confrontation before he said something that would ruin his career.

Then she looked across the room at the erect, steadfast figure of her father braced to defend his family and realised with a sudden pang of affection that he was no longer a young man, not even a young middle-aged man. The skin of his neck was beginning to sag, his hair was more grey than brown, he had a little paunch and there were the beginning of bags under his eyes. She loved him and she had worried him desperately, had disappointed him dreadfully, and now he was squaring up to deal with this threat to her from a man half his age.

‘I will stay here, Papa,’ she said. She had two men to shield from the damage she had wrought. Somehow.

‘Major Flint, my lord.’

Lady Thetford rose, quivering with outrage as Adam came into the room and stopped when he saw the tableau in front of him. She swept up to him. ‘You libertine,’ she hissed and slapped him hard across the face. ‘Scum. How dare you presume to lay a finger on my daughter?’ Without waiting for a reply she walked out of the room. The door closed quietly behind her.

Adam would stand like that, look like that, if he faced a court martial or a firing squad, Rose thought, aching to go to him, knowing that to do so would be another slap to his pride.

‘What have you to say for yourself?’ her father said at last.

‘I am at your disposal, my lord.’ The marks of Lady Thetford’s fingers stood out like a brand on Adam’s face.