Kindred Hearts (39 page)

He laughed. “Lottie! My father is old!”

“He can’t be much past sixty, if that,” she said reasonably. “I should like to see Ellen comfortably settled; she is of course welcome to stay with us forever, but I sometimes think she would like a home of her own.”

“I’m sure if my father had ever given thought to remarriage he might have done so any time in the last twenty-five years,” Tristan pointed out.

“Hmm,” Lottie said. “Still. It will be a way to pass the time while you and Charlie are gone.”

He laughed again. “Miss Mischief strikes again. If you keep up your matchmaking, we shall have to see about making you one of the Patronesses of Almack’s.”

She shuddered. “Good heavens, no, please! Dry cake and weak lemonade. No, thank you. It was bad enough when I had to attend there as a debutante.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to find you some bucolic farmers and milkmaids for you to matchmake for near the Cottage, if only to keep you from trouble.”

She patted her burgeoning belly. “I’m sure I will have plenty to do to keep me from trouble.”

“Only a few more weeks,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I know. Are you quite tired or would you be up for a game of whist?”

“I’m tired, but I’ll play a hand. I take it your addendum there is keeping you up?”

“As usual. Well, if you’re tired, at least I’ll have a chance of winning.” She tucked her hand in his shirt-sleeved arm and they went into the sitting room.

Brussels, 1815

The
carriage rattled to a stop, and a moment later Will the footman opened the door. Tristan rose from the seat, stiff from the hours immobile in the carriage, and stepped down onto clean-swept pavement, straightened, and looked around.

The house was on the small side, but all of those in this street were. That did not prevent them from looking well-tended and elegant, and substantial enough for Charlotte, if she and the children, now ensconced at Lilac Cottage, chose to visit. “The rue de Valois is one of the most exclusive in Brussels,” a faintly accented voice said behind Tris. He turned to see a small, dapper Belgian at his elbow. “
M’sieur
Nort’wood?” he inquired. “I am Etienne Bellocq. I ’ired this ’ouse for you at your lady’s request. I am sure you will find it all that you require. It is
petite
bijou
—a little gem.”

Tristan shook his hand. “Mr. Bellocq,” he acknowledged. “Very kind of you to meet me. How did you know I would be arriving today?”

“I did not,” the man said with a smile, and led the way to the front door, where he fished a handful of keys out of his pocket and started trying them in the lock. “But I ’ave a boy watching on the Antwerp gate, and he come and runs to me when you arrive. The soldiers there are very thorough with the checking of the documents, no?”

“Very thorough,” Tristan agreed.

“This is good—we are too close to Paris to be casual, no? But now that
M’sieur le Duc
’as arrived, we ’ave no fear of the Napoleons of this world.”

“I have no fear of any Napoleons, myself,” Tristan said with a faint grin. “I’ll wager I could best him in a brawl.”

Monsieur Bellocq looked confused, but rallied gamely. “I am sure of that too.” He found the right key, pushed the door open and escorted Tristan inside. “I ’ad my ’ousekeeper come and make sure all is clean for you. ’Ave you brought your servants with you or do you need to ’ire them? I warned milady Nort’wood that with all the British people here there are few decent servants to ’ire.”

“I’ve brought my own,” Tristan assured him. “My valet and a footman and a cook-maid. I shan’t be entertaining very much, so they should be enough for my comfort.”

“
Bien
,
bien
,” the Belgian said. “Good, good. Here is the drawing room—not so large, but not so small, either, and very comfortable. She looks out upon the garden on the side, see? No looking at walls or in other people’s windows. The chambers upstairs above here the same. There are chambers on the other side above the dining room, but they look upon the walls. Not so nice. But we give those rooms to people we do not like, no?”

Tristan laughed. “I hope I do not have to put up people I do not like,” he said with a snort. “Is there a study or bookroom here I can use for an office?”

“Be’ind the dining room. It was once the butler’s pantry but that ’as been moved to the old kitchen. The new kitchen is in the back; it was added only last year. The servants’, how you say,
quartiers
? No, that cannot be correct.”

“Quarters,” Tristan said. “
Quartier
is ‘district’ or ‘neighborhood’ in English.”

“
Merci
. Yes. The quarters are above the kitchen, but separate from the rest of the ’ouse. Their stairs go up from the kitchen.”

Will came in with valises under both arms. “Sir?”

“Upstairs, Will—the front bedroom, hopefully on the side overlooking the garden,” Tristan said, stepping out of the way so that he could climb the narrow stairs.

Reston, following Will into the house, said in concern, “The
front
bedroom, sir? On the street?”

“It’s a quiet enough street,” Tristan said carelessly.

Will went noisily up the stairs with Reston on his heels.

“It
is
a quiet street,” Monsieur Bellocq assured him. “The front bedroom will be fine, and you can see who comes to the calling, no?”

“Yes,” Tristan said. And, he thought complacently, with the servants in the back of the house, there would be no witnesses if he, perhaps, chose to have company in that front bedroom. He smiled to himself. “I have a friend on the Duke’s staff,” he said to Monsieur Bellocq. “He has a billet in the rue du Marais….”

“Oh, that is not so far! A few streets away only. But if he is on the staff of
M’sieur le Duc
, you may see him tonight. Lady Passingwell holds a little rout but the Duc will be there and he likes to see his young officers enjoying themselves. Your friend will no doubt be there.”

“But I don’t have an invitation,” Tristan pointed out.

Monsieur Bellocq tapped the side of his nose. “You leave such things to Etienne Bellocq. Lady Passingwell is well known to me, and I shall see that you receive an invitation to the little rout.”

“My thanks, but I think I’ll still send a note round to his billet,” Tristan said in amusement.

“But of course you should,” Monsieur Bellocq rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “So! I leave you to, how you say, ess-plore?”

“Explore.”

“Yes, yes. You settle in and I will see to the invitation. Oh! Yes!” He took a card case from his pocket and handed Tristan his card. “Here is my direction, should you have questions. And welcome to Brussels,
M’sieur
Nort’wood.”

“Thank you,
M’sieur
Bellocq.” They shook hands, and Tristan watched him go, a smile on his face. He was exactly as Charles had described him, and a relief it was to have someone make all the arrangements for this visit.

The house was as promised, a little gem, but the front bedroom took up the whole width of the house and featured an enormous bed with heavy brocade drapes. He tugged on the fabric, pleased to see them sturdy and dust-free, and imagining himself and Charles tucked up there, the curtains drawn around the bed, together in a dark, sheltered cave of silk and linen. God, he missed Charles. The ache was as physical as it was emotional; a need for the touch of his hand, the scent of his skin, his warmth, his strength, the sound of his voice rumbling in Tristan’s ear. His hand turned gentle on the silk brocade, his fingers stroking it without thinking. Soon, he promised himself. Soon he would see Charles again, and as soon after that as he could arrange it, he would hold him, and kiss him, and love him the way he’d longed to these dreadful, lonely weeks. Soon.

Charles
snagged a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and turned back to Randall. “I didn’t have time to stop back at my billet,” he explained, “since I went straight to His Grace when I got back from Namur, but fortunately Griffin’s my size and had spare pantaloons and a waistcoat at his. His jackets were all too narrow in the shoulders, but his valet kindly brushed out my coat for me. It’s not what I would have chosen to wear here, but the Duke wanted me to accompany him so that I could finish my report.” He tugged on the hem of the black waistcoat. He was a little taller than Griffin, too, but fortunately his Hessians hid the fault in the pantaloons.

Randall said, “You were to Namur and back this afternoon? That’s sixty miles.”

“That’s His Grace,” Charles said dryly. “And it was where Blucher was today. It would be easier if Blucher were headquartered closer, but he’s been ensconced here longer than we have.”

“The Duke’s not happy lately, is he?”

“Have you ever known him to be?” Charles asked rhetorically. “No, but he’s happier now that he has his own Quartermaster again. What possessed those idiots at Whitehall? And then to saddle him with Uxbridge as his second. His Grace is fit to be tied.”

“Can you blame him? The man ran off with his sister-in-law.”

Charles snorted. “He’s a damn good commander.”

“Of cavalry. And you know the Duke’s opinion of cavalry.”

That brought a laugh. “I hear it often enough. I wonder if Uxbridge is the reason. God, I hope they serve supper soon; I missed dinner. I’d kill for a sandwich.”

“Come along, old boy,” Randall said, catching hold of his sleeve and dragging him across the crowded room. “I’ll do you one better. I’ve an acquaintance with the chef here; he’s the son of our old butler. He’ll find something for you to gnaw on while you’re waiting for the real thing. I assume the Duke’s done with you?”

“For now,” Charles said darkly. “Until he thinks of another question or wants me off to Moscow to visit the Tsar.”

Randall laughed. “Your own fault for bein’ so damned efficient, Monty. Mess something up next time.”

“And have to face him with his temper up? No, thank you. I’ve seen him turn that cold gaze on too many hapless underlings to want it focused on me. I’d
rather
be off to visit the Tsar.” Charles grinned unwillingly. “Though frankly, it’s exciting, being one of his lads. You never know what he’s going to throw at you. And him perfectly confident you’ll manage it. Makes you want to excel, Randy.”

“Thanks—I’ll stick to the Young Frog.”

“Don’t let the Duke hear you referring to Slender Billy that way,” Charles warned.

Randall held up his hands. “Not on your life, Monty. Come on, the kitchen’s this way. We’ll be back in plenty of time for His Grace to send you off to Moscow.”

“Mr. Northwood
, how good to see you!” Lady Passingwell greeted him, stretching out both hands. “If I had known you were going to be in Brussels, I would have sent you a card. How remiss of Charlotte not to write me.”

“It was a rather spontaneous decision,” Tristan said, taking her hands and bowing low over them. “She was fussing about her brother, and I said I would be happy to make a quick trip over to check on him. Although I believe she receives a letter from him daily, she won’t be content until I have seen him and confirmed that he is indeed well.”

“Was he the one who recommended Mr. Bellocq? Such a delightful little man, for a Belgian. I was quite astonished when he told me today you were here. He’s an old friend of the Richmonds’ solicitor, you know. But quite unexceptionable, and of an excellent character.” She tucked her hand in Tristan’s arm and guided him around the drawing room. “The Richmonds will be here later; Her Grace has sent a message that they are waiting on His Grace’s return from some review or other. You know of course that the Duke of Richmond is in charge of the defense of Brussels in the event of a French attack? Such a responsibility, but if anyone is capable, it’s Charles Lennox. You do know that his son March is ADC to the Prince of Orange?”