Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress (8 page)

The manservant spoke up. ‘If I may be so bold, sir. This soldier may use my bed and I’ll make up a cot for myself.’

‘Very well.’ Sir Roger looked relieved. ‘Take him below. He may stay.’

The Captain did not protest when the man offered his shoulder to assist him. Marian watched them make their way to the door down to the servants’ quarters. The manservant glanced back at her. ‘Do not fret, miss. I’ll see he is well tended.’

She waited until they closed the door behind them before climbing the stairs to the room where she once so happily spent her nights. When she passed Sir Roger and Lady Fenton on the first landing, she refused to even look at them. Her room was one flight up, but she deliberately set a slow pace.
Let them not see the distress burning inside her. When she reached the room, she still did not hurry.

After she closed the door behind her she leaned against it for a moment. By God, she would not give in to tears now, not even angry ones.

With a groan of frustration she removed her half-boots, all scratched and worn, and tore off the cap that had hidden her hair. At least she would finally be able to brush out its tangles.

There was a faint knock at the door. Domina’s maid peeked in. ‘I came to help you, if you wish, miss.’ Becky was young, but aspired to be a fine lady’s maid some day.

At least her face was friendly. ‘Oh, Becky, I do not wish to get you in trouble.’

The maid shrugged. ‘We won’t tell them, then, will we?’ She picked up the cap and jacket off the floor. ‘What happened to you, miss?’

Marian glanced away. ‘I wound up in the middle of the battle for a while, and have since been trying to get back.’ She lifted her gaze to the girl. ‘Miss Fenton told them I went alone, but that was not the truth. She must have found her way back; I do thank God for that.’

‘I think she came in before dawn,’ Becky admitted, folding the jacket. ‘But there is time to talk of that later. What might I do for you now?’

‘I do not know what to request.’ She put her hand in her hair. ‘All I really want is to wash myself and my hair, but I dare not request a bath.’

Becky smiled. ‘Let’s get you out of the rest of those clothes and into a wrapper. We’ll sneak you down to the kitchen for a bath. Lady Fenton will never know.’

Marian hugged her. ‘I cannot think of anything that would be more generous.’

‘I’ll come back for you when the water is ready,’ Becky said.

Marian shed the rest of her clothing and nearly cheered
aloud when she freed herself from the scarf binding her chest. She rolled the garments into a ball, intending to burn them. She’d send Domina’s brother new ones.

Standing in the room naked felt better than wearing those clothes. She could still smell the blood and smoke of Hougoumont upon them even though she’d tried to scrub them clean.

She turned to the trunk and opened it, searching through to find her nightrail and her brush and comb. She wrapped the robe around her, tied the sash, and sat in the chair in front of her dressing table. Starting from the ends, she combed the tangles from her hair.

Half an hour had gone by before she could pass the comb through without it catching on a knot.

Becky returned. ‘We can sneak you down to the kitchen now. We’ve set up a tub in the scullery. It will be quite private there.’

Marian followed her down the servants’ staircase to the area below stairs where, as well as the kitchen, the housekeeper’s and the manservant’s rooms were located. Marian had never been in this part of the house.

When they entered the kitchen, Captain Landon was the first person she saw. He sat at the table, a huge plate of food in front of him. Also in a robe, he was clean-shaven and his wet brown hair gleamed almost black. He’d obviously also been offered a bath.

She warmed at the idea he’d been so well tended. ‘Captain, they appear to be taking good care of you.’

‘They are indeed.’ His gaze flickered over her.

She wrapped her nightrail tighter and touched her hair, wishing she had tied it back with a ribbon.

‘Enjoy your bath,’ he said.

She might have, except with every stroke of the wash cloth against her skin, she thought of his hand stroking her. The look he had just given her when gazing on her dishabille had been unreadable.

When she finished her bath, he was no longer in the kitchen, but the cook insisted she eat a meal. Not nearly as hungry as she thought she might be, she ate enough to show Cook how grateful she was for the kindness. Afterwards she climbed the servants’ stairs to her room with no one to see her.

She entered her room and found Domina sitting on the bed.

Domina jumped off. ‘Oh, Marian! I’ve been waiting ages for you.’

Marian felt cold. ‘Domina.’

The short auburn curls that framed Domina’s round face bobbed as she hurried towards Marian. ‘I expect you are angry because of what I said to Mama and Papa, but I had to do it. They were so angry.’ Her eyes filled with fat tears. ‘Marian, it is so dreadful. So terribly dreadful.’ She threw her arms around Marian and sobbed. ‘Ollie is dead! His name was on a list. He was killed in the battle.’

Lieutenant Harry Oliver had proudly worn the uniform and gleaming Grecian helmet of the Inniskilling Dragoons, and Domina had fallen head over ears in love with him. She and Ollie were secretly betrothed, because Ollie had no title and Domina’s mother would never have approved the match, but they were in
love
.

Now Ollie, the reason they’d ridden off to be near the battle, was dead.

Marian set her anger aside. ‘I am so sorry, Domina.’ She held her grieving friend.

Domina sniffled. ‘Mama and Papa do not understand. But you do, don’t you, Marian?’

Marian had never understood Domina’s infatuation with the rather ordinary Harry Oliver, but she did understand loss and now she knew the horror of a soldier’s death.

She coaxed her friend back to the bed and sat next to her. ‘I am so sad for you.’

Domina went into great detail about how devastated she
was, how perfect a man Ollie had been, and how her life was over. ‘And…and the worst of it is—’ tears streamed down her cheeks ‘—I have not had my monthly courses.’

‘What?’ Marian gaped at her.

Domina blew her nose into a soggy handkerchief. ‘I may have Ollie’s child inside me.’

‘Do not say you bedded him, Domina.’ Marian shook her head.

Domina sighed. ‘How could I resist? We had such a passion for each other.’ She collapsed against the pillow with fresh sobs.

Marian lifted her so Domina was forced to look at her. ‘Do your parents know?’

Domina’s eyes widened as if she thought Marian had lost her wits. ‘Certainly not.’

Marian held her firmly. ‘You must tell them. If you are increasing, they will have to make plans—’

‘I will never give up Ollie’s baby!’ Domina cried.

Marian shook her. ‘Then you had better tell your parents so they can make plans for both of you. Your reputation and your child’s future are at stake.’

Domina sobered. ‘My child’s future. Yes, you are right.’ She gave Marian a quick hug and hopped off the bed. ‘I will tell them directly.’ Her curls danced as if she were still a carefree débutante as she ran to the door. She turned to wave at Marian before she fled into the hallway, never once asking about Marian’s health or about what had happened after Marian fell off the horse.

Soon the sound of raised voices reached Marian’s ears, Lady Fenton’s shrill cries, Sir Roger’s booming tones and Domina’s strident wails.

Domina had taken her advice.

Marian donned her nightdress and crawled into bed and fell asleep quickly in spite of the verbal battle being waged. She slept soundly until a knock on the door woke her.

Becky entered carrying a candle. ‘Miss Pallant, I came to tell you we are leaving as soon as it is light.’

‘Leaving?’ Marian sat up.

Becky nodded. ‘Sir Roger and Lady Fenton have ordered a carriage. We are to return to England posthaste, but you are not to come with us.’ The candle illuminated the maid’s worried face. ‘What will you do, miss?’

The Fentons had already planned to abandon her, so this came as no great surprise.

‘Do not worry over me.’ The Captain would not desert her, that much she knew.

‘Then, goodbye, miss.’ Becky turned to leave.

Marian rose from the bed. ‘Wait a moment.’

She ran to her trunk and rummaged through it until she found her coin purse. She dropped several coins into the maid’s hands.

Becky stared at the money. ‘Oh, miss, it is too much.’

Marian gave her a quick embrace. ‘Your kindness deserves reward. If you ever need any assistance at all, you must find me.’

The girl stared at her hand again before curtsying and rushing out of the room.

Marian sat upon the edge of the bed to wait until dawn and the Fentons’ departure. After that, she and the Captain would decide what to do.

Glad as she was to delay saying goodbye to him, she knew it was only a matter of time.

Perhaps he would find her a way to return to England. Or maybe he would locate her cousin Edwin and place her in Edwin’s care. Edwin would want to return to England. He would inherit his father’s title and estate and there would be much for him to arrange.

Marian had almost forgotten that her Uncle Tranville had also lost his life at Waterloo. She had never been close to him, so it was difficult to feel grief. He had rarely been in her company. If he hadn’t been away at war, he had been with
his mistress, breaking her aunt’s heart and, Marian believed, hastening her death.

Marian remembered seeing Uncle Tranville once in Bath, strolling in the square with the woman who’d been his mistress for years. Her uncle had touched the woman as if to remove a bit of lint from her spencer. The woman had pressed his hand against her breast.

Another memory flashed through her mind, one more painful, a memory of her father. In India she’d been out in the market with her
amah
when she glimpsed her father in a carriage, his arms around an exotic creature draped in colourful silks. The woman slipped on to her father’s lap and put her lips on her father’s mouth.

Later when her parents became sick with the fever, her mother accused her father of catching it from
that woman.
Marian, though a child, somehow she knew who her mother meant, just as she knew
that woman,
and later her Uncle Tranville’s mistress, had chosen to be carnal with a man.

Marian gave a cry and lay back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.

She’d never understood before what would drive a woman to abandon all morality and be carnal with a man not her husband.

Not until now. Not until Captain Landon.

‘C
aptain!’

The man’s voice roused Allan from a sleep so deep and welcome he did not wish to leave it.

‘Captain, wake up.’ He recognised the voice as Johnson’s, the manservant who had given up his bed for him.

Allan opened his eyes to the man’s Spartan room.

Johnson stood over him. ‘I must leave, Captain. We depart within the hour.’

Allan sat up. ‘Depart?’

‘For England, sir. Sir Roger and Lady Fenton decided quite abruptly. The Belgian cook and housemaids remain, but the rest of us travel with the family.’ He stepped forwards. ‘If you rise now, I have time to change your bandage and assist with your dress.’

‘What of Miss Pallant?’ Returning to England would be best for her. He must see her, though, before she departed.

‘She is not to travel with us.’

Allan rose from the bed. This was outrageous. ‘They would leave her here? What sort of people are they?’

The man frowned. ‘It is not my place to criticise my employers, sir.’

Allan lifted a hand. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean for you to speak against them.’

The manservant untied the bandage.

Allan asked, ‘Why the haste in leaving? Are you able to tell me that much?’

‘I do not know, sir,’ the man admitted. ‘It came after heated words with their daughter.’

About Miss Pallant? Allan wondered. Perhaps the daughter had told the truth, but, if so, how could these people leave Miss Pallant alone in Brussels? It was unconscionable no matter what she had done.

He sat still as Johnson re-bandaged his wounds. There was still the problem of finding someone to take charge of Miss Pallant before irreparable damage was done to her reputation.

The bandaging completed, the manservant brought Allan’s clothes, freshly laundered and brushed. Mended, as well. There were no longer holes in his shirt and coat, no stains on his trousers.

‘This is indeed a kindness.’ Allan fingered the mended area of his coat. Even his wounds felt on the mend. After Johnson helped him dress, Allan spoke. ‘I want to show you my appreciation, but I have no money with me.’

The manservant looked embarrassed. ‘No need, sir.’ He handed Allan his boots, polished to gleaming black. ‘I must be off, sir. I’ll be needed by now.’

None the less, Allan would not forget this kind man. As soon as he could arrange it, a token of his gratitude would be sent to him. ‘I am very grateful to you.’

The servant bowed his head. ‘We are all grateful to
you
, sir, and to the rest of our soldiers.’ He hurried out.

After donning his boots and buttoning his coat, Allan climbed the stairs and watched from the recesses of the hall as the Fentons’ trunks and bandboxes were carried out the
door. Lastly Sir Roger, Lady Fenton and a young woman Allan presumed was their daughter bustled down the stairway, followed by a grumbling boy of about fourteen years.

‘I still do not see why we have to leave,’ the boy complained.

The family reached the front door. Only the daughter, her face shrouded by a hooded cape, turned back and glanced towards the top of the stairs.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Allan stepped out into the hall. He, too, glanced to the top of the stairs.

Miss Pallant stood there.

Gone was the scruffy lad or the dishevelled nurse or the alluring creature dressed in nothing but a robe. All were replaced by a woman who ought to have been decorating London’s finest drawing rooms. Her blonde hair was pulled on top of her head with curls framing her flawless complexion. Her lips were full and her cheeks tinged with pink. She wore a filmy white gown, like an angel might wear, and her shoulders were draped with a colourful shawl.

‘Captain.’ To his surprise, her voice was excited and her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled. ‘I have a wonderful notion.’ She started down the stairs, and he felt riveted to the spot waiting for her. ‘The Fentons have left for England, but I know they paid for these rooms for another month, at least. We can use the house for the injured soldiers.’

And he’d expected her to lament being abandoned.

‘You can stay here, as well. You need a place to recuperate.’ She reached the bottom step. ‘Have you eaten? Come to the kitchen. If we can convince the cook and the maids to stay, we should be able to offer good care to a great many of them.’

He held up a hand. ‘One moment, Miss Pallant—’

But she continued past him. ‘I will need your help, because I have no idea who to contact or which of the soldiers are most in need. There are several rooms here. And if we could find extra bedding—’

He seized her arm. ‘You cannot do this!’

She lifted her chin. ‘After the manner in which Sir Roger and Lady Fenton treated me, I have no qualms about using rooms for which they have already paid.’

‘That is not what I meant.’ Allan felt like shaking her. ‘You cannot care for wounded soldiers.’

She gaped at him. ‘Why not? I have cared for you, have I not? And the men at Hougoumont?’ Her voice cracked and he realised her high spirits hid more painful emotions.

He suddenly had the urge to hold her, to comfort her for all she had seen and endured.

But he did not. ‘Can you not see?’ he said instead. ‘I gave you no other choice. Besides, you were disguised as a boy then. No one knew you were a respectable young lady. In Brussels your identity will become known. You must consider your reputation—’

‘Oh, do not prose on about my reputation again.’ She pulled away with a scornful laugh. ‘Am I to pit my reputation against their suffering? Do not be nonsensical, Captain.’ She walked towards the servants’ staircase.

He followed her. ‘I do not dispute that using this house would be a great service to those men, only that you should not provide their care.’

She stopped and again pain flitted through her eyes. ‘My chaperons have abandoned me, Captain. I do not know anyone who might take me in. Indeed, I know of no one but you upon whom I may depend. Let me be of some use.’ Her expression turned pleading. ‘I will ask Cook and the maids. If they do not object to helping the soldiers, then neither should we.’

The cook and the maids, all women with grey hair and lined faces, spoke enough French and English that Miss Pallant was able to communicate her plan. While Cook fed them breakfast, Miss Pallant explained to them, ‘I will pay you and pay for the food and other supplies the soldiers will need.’

‘Can you afford such an expense?’ Allan asked her.

She made a dismissive gesture. ‘I have wealth enough. My
father made a great deal of money in the East India Company. Neither Lord Tranville nor his man of business bothered overmuch with the amounts I drew out, so I have plenty with me to pay for what we need.’

She had wealth? A woman with wealth had excellent prospects—if she preserved her good name.

The cook and two maids enthusiastically agreed to help care for the wounded soldiers. Apparently these women were not among the Belgians supporting the French.

Miss Pallant gazed at him from across the kitchen table. ‘Will you help, Captain? You must know where to go or who to speak to about this.’

He knew her well enough now to be certain she could not be persuaded to abandon this idea. ‘I will assist only if you agree not to personally provide care to the men.’

Her gaze did not waver. ‘I will do what is required.’

Blast her. Her stubborn streak had already created more trouble for her than she deserved.

He stood. ‘Miss Pallant, would you be so good as to speak with me above stairs.’

Allan walked out, hearing with relief her footsteps behind him. He climbed the stairs to the drawing room, the room where the Fentons had so cruelly turned her away. He held the door open for her and caught the scent of roses as she walked by him.

She whirled on him as he closed the door. ‘You are going to try to talk me out of this.’

He felt no need to apologise. ‘I certainly am. Will you sit?’

She merely walked over to the window and looked out, arms crossed over her chest.

He cleared his throat. ‘Very well. Do not sit.’ He walked over to stand behind her, wanting to put his hands on her shoulders, remembering how soft and warm she’d felt in his arms when they’d shared the bed—

He dared not think of that. ‘Consider this carefully. It is generous of you to pay for the care of the soldiers, and I’ve
certainly no objection to using this house, but you cannot be a lone woman caring for men.’

‘The cook and the maids will be helping,’ she responded defensively.

‘But they are not proper chaperons for you. We must find you a respectable place to stay.’ He was distracted by the graceful shape of her neck and by the golden tendrils that caressed its nape.

She turned and was inches from him. ‘Where, Captain? I have no friends here who were not friends of the Fentons. My guardian is dead and my cousin, if he is alive, surely is in no position to help me at the moment. Why would anyone take me in when Sir Roger and Lady Fenton have cast me off?’

Her gaze reached his eyes and he forgot for a moment to breathe.

‘Perhaps they have said nothing to their friends,’ he managed, though his voice turned husky. ‘To speak of it would reveal their failure to properly chaperon you, and, do not forget, everyone would have been preoccupied by the battle. We can invent a story to protect your reputation.’

‘Do I deserve the protection, Captain?’ she whispered. ‘Have I not demonstrated all the wanton behaviour of which I have been accused? Should you, of all people, not know how little I deserve a good name?’ Her eyes filled with tears, but she ruthlessly blinked them away.

Not before one fell on to her cheek.

Allan brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. ‘My fault,’ he murmured. He leaned down, closer, so close he felt her breath on his lips.

She made a tiny, yearning sound, tilting her head up to his.

No! He had hurt her enough with his seduction.

He moved away. ‘Heed me.’ He was unable to more than glance at the surprised expression on her face. ‘If we say nothing, no one will know you and I shared the—the time together.’

She turned back to the window, but her breathing quickened. ‘I am already lost. Let me at least stay busy. Do some good. After it is all done, perhaps Edwin will be free to take me back to England.’ Edwin.

Allan would be damned if he put her in the care of such a man. She could not know the despicable behaviour of which Edwin was capable.

But Allan’s own behaviour deserved censure, as well, did it not? Guilt tore at his insides. He had not forced her, perhaps, but he certainly had taken advantage of her.

And almost did so again in this room.

He straightened. ‘I will go to the Place Royale and see if there is someone else with whom you can stay. I must go there and report in, in any event.’ He started for the door but turned back. ‘I will inform the authorities that there are accommodations for several soldiers at this address.’

She looked over her shoulder. ‘Thank you, Captain.’ Her voice seemed sad. ‘I doubt you will find anyone willing to accept me, but would you also enquire of my cousin Edwin? I should like to know if he is alive and how I might contact him to inform him I am here?’

He nodded, but enquiring of her cousin did not mean he would ever put her into Edwin’s care.

The walk to the Place Royale tired Allan more than he expected, and the sheer number and condition of the wounded on the streets tore at his emotions.

The Place Royale was all chaos. There was no question of finding an English family in Brussels who might offer Miss Pallant their hospitality. He could find no one even willing to discuss the matter. Most English families, it seemed, had fled to Antwerp and those who remained apparently had been prevailed upon to house wounded soldiers. News of another house available for the wounded was welcomed, however. He was told to expect arrivals that very day.

Allan reported to the regimental office, another place fraught with confusion. He was able to report in and be listed as wounded. He gave the Fentons’ house as his direction.

He also learned that the battle cost about forty thousand lives, both Allies and French. The men in the office were too busy for him to ask about Edwin Tranville or, more importantly, whether Gabe and his other friends had survived. He was too exhausted to pore through the lists posted of all the dead and wounded officers. The regiment had already marched for France and, until he was well enough to rejoin it, he would not discover how many of the soldiers had survived, men who’d fought at his side throughout Spain and France and now Waterloo.

He walked into the square.

Forty thousand men lost. The battlefield must have been thick with bodies. At least Miss Pallant had been spared that sight.

In the square vendors were selling the casualty list. Allan used one of his last coins to purchase a copy to peruse later when he was alone. He’d discover then who among his friends he must grieve.

As he crossed the square, the faces of his men flashed through his mind. He stopped to catch his breath and looked around him. Soldiers slept on the pavement, others sat on the benches, still others sat with their backs against the stone walls. They all stared vacantly.

You are right, Marian,
he said to himself, using her given name for the first time.
You are right to help them.

He spied a uniform of the Royal Scots, a man lying on a spot of grass. With one hand clasped to his wounded shoulder, he hurried over.

It was a corporal from his old company. ‘Reilly!’

The man’s uniform sleeve was stained with blood and his face was flushed with fever.

He opened his eyes. ‘Captain?’

Allan crouched down. ‘Can you stand, Reilly? I’m taking you with me.’

Allan helped him to his feet, his own wound aching with the effort. Had Allan been stronger, he would have carried Reilly, but, taking frequent rests, they hobbled back to the Fentons’ house. Allan knocked upon the door.

Marian—he’d turned a corner; she was no longer Miss Pallant in his mind—answered the door, her arms laden with bed linens. She dropped them to the floor.