Shattered Rainbows (14 page)

"What happened?" she asked.

"Don't worry, Colin isn't hurt," Kenneth said reassuringly. "A bit drunk, and I think he bruised his chin falling in the stable, but nothing serious."

She stood back, holding the door open. "Bring him in and lay him on the bed, please."

As they carried Colin into the room, Michael saw her nostrils flare slightly as the scent of alcohol and perfume wafted toward her. In that moment, he realized that Kenneth had been right: Catherine knew about her husband's other women, but whatever his failings, she accepted them with dignity. Michael admired her even as he wanted to beat Colin to a bloody pulp.

They tilted Melbourne onto the bed and Kenneth pulled off his boots. "Can you manage the rest, Catherine?

"Oh, yes. This isn't the first time." She sighed, then said with forced good humor, "Luckily, it doesn't happen often. Thank you for bringing him up."

Her words were for both of them, but she did not look directly at Michael. Ever since that day in the garden, they had avoided meeting each other's gazes.

The men said good night, then left the room and walked silently toward the other wing. Privately Michael acknowledged that his fury had not been merely because Melbourne's comments had been crude, vulgar, and unbefitting a gentleman.

The really upsetting part was that everything the bastard had said was true.

Early the next morning; Michael was finishing a quick breakfast when Colin
entered the dining room. Since no one else was there, it was impossible to
ignore the man.

"Colin headed straight for the coffeepot. "I have no memory of it, but my
wife says that you and Wilding brought me in last night. Thank you."

Glad the other man didn't remember, Michael replied, "Your horse deserves most of the credit for getting you home."

"Caesar is the cleverest mount I've ever had." Colin poured a cup of steaming coffee with an unsteady hand. "My head feels as if it was hit by a spent cannonball, and
I deserve every ache. At my age I should know better than to drink beer, brandy, and wine punch the same night."

His expression was sp ruefully amused that Michael could not help smiling back. He was struck by the uncomfortable realization that if Colin were not married to Catherine, Michael would like him well enough. At least, he would have been tolerant of the other man's failings. Trying to treat Colin as if Catherine didn't exist, he said pleasantly, "It sounds like a wicked combination. You're lucky to be moving this morning."

"No choice." Colin put sugar and milk in his coffee and took a deep swallow. "I have to get out to the regiment, then back here in time to take my wife to the Richmond ball." …

It was, after all, impossible to forget about Catherine. Michael said in a neutral voice, "She'll be glad you can attend."

Colin made a face. "I dislike such functions, but it's too important to miss."

"I'll see you there, then." Michael finished his own coffee and left the dining room. It was ironic that he wanted to despise Melbourne, yet for Catherine's sake he must hope that her husband was kind, decent, and reliable. Why did life have to be such a damned muddle of grays? Blacks and whites were easier.

Outside, he looked up at the fair morning sky and rubbed his left shoulder. The storm was drawing nearer.

The footman intoned, "Captain and Mrs. Melbourne. Captain and Mrs. Mowbry."

Catherine blinked as they stepped into the ballroom. The scene was dizzying, the light from the brilliant chandeliers reflecting from the richly colored draperies and rose-trellised wallpaper, then spilling through the open windows to the Rue de la Blanchisserie outside. Beside her, Anne murmured, "The air fairly burns with tension."

"By this time, everyone in Brussels has heard of the three different dispatch riders that came galloping into the duke's headquarters this afternoon," Catherine replied. "Obviously something is happening. The question is what, and where?"

The best guess was that Napoleon was invading Belgium. Even now, his army might be marching toward the capital. They would all know the truth soon enough. She glanced at her husband. He was strung as tightly as harp wire, almost quivering with anticipation of the action to come. He was never more alive than when in battle. Perhaps the pursuit and conquest of women was his way of capturing some of the same thrill in mundane life.

After arranging later dances with Colin and Charles, she set herself to enjoying the ball. God only knew if there would ever be another such occasion. Every important diplomat, officer, and aristocrat in Brussels was present, so there was no shortage of partners. Catherine even discovered Wellington's surgeon, Dr. Hume, lurking in a corner. Since he was an old friend from the Peninsula, she coaxed him onto the floor.

Expression martyred, Hume said, "I would do this only for you, Mrs. Melbourne, and only because you're such a fine nurse."

"Liar," she said affectionately. "You're enjoying yourself."

He laughed and agreed just before the figures of the dance separated them. When they came together again, he said, "Your friend Dr. Kinlock arrived in Brussels today."

"Ian's here? How splendid! But I thought he'd left the army after two years in the Peninsula."

Hume's eyes twinkled. "He went to Bart's Hospital in London, but he can't resist the prospect of a lovely assortment of wounds. Several other surgeons have come over with him."

Catherine had to smile. "I should have guessed. You surgeons are such
ghouls
."

"Aye, but useful ones." Hume's expression became sober. "We'll need every man who
can wield a knife soon enough."

It was another reminder of war in a night that was saturated with a sense of impending doom. As the evening advanced, Catherine noticed officers from more distantly placed regiments quietly supping away. But the man she most wanted to see had not come. Even when she was dancing, she unobtrusively searched the room for Michael. He had planned to attend, but what if he had already left to join his men? She might never see him again.

Lord Haldoran, the sporting gentleman who had decided against the army rather than go to Manchester, came to claim her for a dance. She still found him disquieting, and not only because of the predatory expression she
had sometimes seen in his eyes. However, he had made no improper advances and
his anecdotes were amusing, so she gave him a polite smile. Fanning her heated face, she said, "It's dreadfully warm in here. Would you mind if we sat this one out?"

"I'd be glad to," Haldoran replied. "The servants are sprinkling water on the
flowers to keep them from wilting. It's most unkind of the duchess not to do the
same for her guests."

Catherine chuckled as she seated herself on a chair near an open window. "Wellington should be here soon."

"When the French may already be in Belgium?" Haldoran whisked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and presented one to Catherine before sitting down beside her. "Surely the duke should be in the field, with his army."

"Not really. By coming here, he shows confidence and allays panic among the civilian population." She took a sip of the chilled, bubbly wine. "Also, with all of the top commanders at the ball, it will be easy for him to confer with them quietly."

"A good point." Haldoran's brows drew together. "The emperor is known for striking with great speed. If he advances on Brussels, are you and Mrs. Mowbry planning to withdraw to Antwerp?"

"My place is here. Besides, the question is moot. The duke will never permit Napoleon to reach the city."

"He may not have a choice," Haldoran said, his expression sober. "You are a brave woman, Mrs. Melbourne, but will you expose your daughter to the hazards of an occupying army?"

"The French are a civilized people," she said coolly. "They do not make war on children."

"No doubt you are right, but I would not like to see harm befall you and Mrs. Mowbry and your families."

"No more would I, Lord Haldoran." Catherine studied the tentlike draperies that fell in great swoops of gold and scarlet and black, and wished Haldoran would stop talking about her own secret fears. Though she didn't believe she was endangering her daughter, the uncertainty was enough to make any mother nervous.

The music ended and Charles Mowbry approached to lead her into the next dance. She rose. "Thank you for indulging my fatigue, Lord Haldoran. Until next time?"

He smiled and took her empty glass. "Until next time."

Charles was not only one of Catherine's dearest friends, but an excellent dancer. Their cotillion was a pleasure. They had just finished when the air was pierced by the skirl of bagpipes. "Good God, those devils in skirts are coming!" Charles exclaimed.

Catherine laughed with delight. "That sound always makes my blood stand up and salute." They turned to see soldiers from two Highland regiments marching into the ballroom, kilts swinging and feathered bonnets nodding to the wild song of the pipes.

In a stroke of entertaining genius, the Duchess of Richmond had engaged the Highlanders to dance. The guests drew back to the sides of the room as the Scots began whirling and stamping through their traditional reels, strathspeys, and one stunning sword dance. The contrast of elegance and primitive splendor was one Catherine would never forget.

Yet even in the eerie magic of the moment, her restless gaze never stopped seeking Michael.

Preparing his regiment to march kept Michael busy through a long day. It was late when he reached the Richmond ball. The room buzzed with excitement. An island of calm, Wellington was sitting on a sofa chatting amiably with one of his lady friends.

Michael stopped a friend, an officer of the Household Guards who was about to leave the ball. "What has happened?"

"The duke says the army will march in the morning," was the terse reply. "I'm on my way to my regiment now. Luck to you."

Time was running out. Perhaps it was self-indulgent to come to the ball, but Michael had wanted to see Catherine one last time. He halted by a flower-twined pillar and scanned the crowd.

She was not hard to find. Because her clothing budget and jewelry were modest, she dressed with relative simplicity, maintaining a stylish appearance by expertly changing the trimming of her few gowns. As a result, no one looked at Catherine Melbourne and remarked on the splendor of her costume or the sumptuousness of her ornaments. What they saw and remembered was her heart-stopping beauty.

Tonight she wore ice-white satin and lustrous pearls that set off her dark glossy hair and flawless complexion to perfection. In a room full of brilliantly colored uniforms, she stood out like an angel on loan from heaven.

Colin stood next to her, a proprietary hand on her elbow. It was obvious from his smug expression that he was aware of how other men envied him for possessing the most beautiful woman in a room full of beautiful women.

Face set, Michael began working his way through the crowded ballroom. After
paying his respects to his hostess, he went to Catherine. Colin had moved away,
but the Mowbrys had joined her.

Her eyes lit as he approached. "I'm glad you could come, Michael. I thought perhaps you had already been called away."