The Officer and the Proper Lady (7 page)

‘Are you politely telling me I am on the shelf, Major Carlow? At my last prayers?'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘No, I am trying to under stand you, and you have avoided answering my question, just as you warned me you might.'

Julia felt the warmth of his hand enveloping hers and the stillness that surrounded them. He had used a cologne that morning, or perhaps it was his soap: just a faint hint of sandal wood teased her nostrils.

‘Yes, I do want to rebel some times,' she said finally. ‘I should not have entered that dressing room just now, I should not be standing here with you. I should have run from that clearing the moment you made Fellowes release me. And I should not snap at gentlemen who give me well-meaning warnings about my conduct.'

‘Is that what he did? Pompous idiot,' Hal said. ‘I should have called him out.'

‘You cannot call someone out for being pompous.' Her little finger had found the signet ring on Hal's hand and she realized she was fiddling with it. She stopped abruptly.

‘How did he find anything to criticise, anyway?' Hal asked.

‘I admitted I knew you,' Julia confessed.

‘Ah.' Hal released her hand and stood up straight. ‘Well, in that case, I forgive him. He was quite right to warn you.'

‘Major Carlow! You cannot spend time alone with me now, er, chatting and then lecture me on the
unwisdom
of such be ha vi our.'

‘Why not? I am dangerous; you know it and you should be avoiding me, for you have the evidence now. You are correct,
I'm afraid: Society being what it is, the responsibility is down to the lady.' He moved away and began opening doors and looking in.

‘Oh, so the responsibility is mine, is it? And what are you doing?'

‘You are supposed to be the virtuous one,' Hal pointed out with exasperating logic, closing another door. ‘Here we are, just the thing.' He ducked into the room and emerged with a large bouquet, ribbons trailing. ‘For
La Catalani?
But you cannot just steal flowers!'

‘It is only theft if I remove them from the premises with the intent to permanently deprive the owner of them,' Hal said, revealing a worrying familiarity with law-breaking. ‘Now, let me do the talking; this is her room.'

He knocked on the door with a name-card thumb-tacked to it. ‘Major Carlow and Miss Tresilian for
Madame,
' he announced to the elderly maid who answered, sweeping in on the words, then stopping dead so abruptly that Julia bumped into his back. ‘
Madame!
Your very humble servant and admirer. I had to come: I could not stay away when I heard the dreadful news that you were unwell.'

‘Unwell?' A heavily accented, rich voice demanded in tones of outrage. ‘Unwell? Me?'

‘But yes,
Madame.
When I heard that you had declined the most prestigious, most historic event ever to take place in Brussels, I knew there could be but one explanation. Do please accept this humble token.' He was presenting the flowers, Julia assumed, unable to see around him. She con tented herself with admiring the elegance of his back and the width of his shoulders.

‘Lovely,' Madame said vaguely. ‘Emily, find a vase. What event?'

At last, Hal moved far enough in for Julia to see. The singer reclined on a couch, eyeing her visitor with interest. And it
was not the event that she was concerned with, Julia could tell. It was the handsome man standing in front of her. She glanced at Julia, dismissed her of no importance, and fixed her large dark eyes on Hal again.

‘Why, Lady Geraldine Master's reception in honour of the Duke of Wellington,' he said. ‘The greatest living general, the man who will defeat Napoleon in the defining battle of our time. The man who will save Europe. Everyone will be there, their children will talk of it—and they will not be able to say,
Madame Catalani graced it with the power and beauty of her singing and the glamour of her presence
.'

You have to admire his technique, Julia thought, struggling to keep a straight face. The
prima donna
was almost certainly old enough to be his mother, her high-piled hair was an improbable shade of brown and her figure was, to be kind, voluptuous—and she was regarding Hal with the air of a cat who has just seen her next meal. It occurred to Julia that it was her responsibility to get Hal out of there with what remained of
his
virtue intact. She avoided thinking about the implications of the fierce feelings the other woman's scrutiny aroused.

‘I had no idea it was an event of such magnitude,' the singer said slowly. ‘You describe it with such…passion.'

‘How can one fail to be passionate in the presence of such high art and great beauty?' Hal said in throbbing tones. Julia raised her hands to her mouth and bit hard on one knuckle to suppress her giggles. ‘And when that passion meets the power of a man such as Wellington—history will be made.'

‘Tell me the date again. You will be there?'

‘The eighteenth of June. If I have to walk over hot coals,
Madame,
I will be there.'

Julia choked as quietly as she could. The dresser produced a diary; it was consulted, and Madame agreed she was free to attend.

‘The fee,' Julia murmured.

‘It may be that there is no fee,' Madame purred, her eyes on Hal. ‘If the event lives up to…expectation.'

‘Madame.'
Hal went forward, dropped to one knee and saluted the heavily be-ringed hand that was held out to him. ‘Lady Geraldine will confirm all the details in writing. I cannot tell you my relief at finding that you are well.'

‘Foolish boy.' She petted his hair for a fleeting moment, then Hal was on his feet and backing out of the room as though from the presence of royalty. Julia followed with what grace she could muster, bobbing curtseys as she went.

She pursued him down the corridor and into the dressing room he had been using before. ‘Of all the shocking things! She expects
you
for the fee! It is outrageous, disgusting! What on earth are you going to do, Hal?' Julia demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them. Then she realized she had called him by his first name.

‘Run like hell,' he said with feeling. ‘But she will be all over the duke, there's no need to fear for my virtue, Julia.'

‘You went in there,' she said, still so aghast at what had happened that she could not stop talking. ‘You went in,
in tending
to flirt with her,
intending
to seduce her!'

‘Seduce? Hell's teeth,' he said with feeling. ‘I didn't have to do any seducing. The woman's ravenous.' He frowned at her. ‘
You
lecturing
me?
I used the weapons I have, and I got what you wanted—possibly at no cost to Lady Geraldine.'

‘Weapons? Your looks, your charm I suppose. You, Hal Carlow, are utterly unscrupulous. I am shocked.' Julia found that she was, indeed, scandalised.

The animation drained out of Hal's face leaving him expression less. ‘Me? You find me unscrupulous?'

Julia caught her breath. If she did not know better, she would have thought she had hurt his feelings. But this was the man who freely confessed to being a rake, who
admitted the ploys he had just used to get what he wanted from a woman. How could her words, or her poor opinion, hurt Hal Carlow?

U
nscrupulous?
That hurt, Hal realized, hurt more than he could have imagined. Even as he thought it, even as he saw the look of alarm in Julia's face at his sudden coldness, he knew he was being unreasonable. How could she have any idea what he was going through? She had no inkling of how he was having to control himself not to do any of the unscrupulous things he was perfectly capable of to seduce a woman.

In the wood, he had simply let his passion have full rein, but now, he wanted her so much it hurt physically and it required conscious discipline not to flirt, not to cajole, not to seduce her into his arms. And mentally, it was an effort to concentrate on anything else except the co nun drum of why he was obsessed with her.

Laughing with her and his friends had been bliss fully dangerous. Holding her hand, alone in the corridor, had been self-inflicted torture. And it was perilous, not only to her virtue, but to her heart. He had no intention of having her fall in love with him, but he knew, without vanity, there was that risk.

‘I am sorry,' she said, her voice faltering. God knows what she had seen in his face.

‘No, I am.' Hal smiled, rueful. ‘Was I looking so fierce? It is only that you are quite right: I am unscrupulous. But I am trying very hard not to be so with you.'

‘No, not fierce.' She smiled, happier, and something stabbed under his breast bone like a sharp finger, warning him. ‘But your eyes change colour when you are angry. They go completely grey, all the blue vanishes. I know you would never harm me, Hal. I trust you.'

Oh God, it needs only that. If she had any idea of the fantasies I have about her, of the things I want to do with her…
The acute physical desire for her had gripped him from the moment when she had stumbled into his arms in the forest. Now, to his shame, he wanted her in his bed, under him, around him. He wanted her innocence.

Hal was not used to feeling guilty about anything. He did his military duty with passion and integrity, because that was his life and his responsibility and his honour would not allow him to do anything else. The women he associated with were all at least as experienced as he—nothing to feel guilty about there—and all his other sins harmed no-one but himself.

But now he felt guilt, not for what he had almost done, but for what he wanted to do. A sense of utter unworthiness swept through him. Julia was standing there, trusting and friendly. How would the lookin those clear brown eyes change if she saw what he knew was the real Hal Carlow and not the fiction he had created for her?

She was an innocent who believed he was her friend, a rake who had momentarily lost control of himself. Hal tried to find the strength to snub her, drive her away, and he failed utterly. He must, if nothing else, distance himself from her after today.
I am not worthy of her.

‘Are you going to the cavalry review next week?' he asked, aghast to hear the words coming out of his own mouth.

‘No, we are not asked. I believe Lady Geraldine has been invited to the banquet afterwards, so I could not go with her.' She sounded regretful, despite her smile. ‘And in any case, it is at Ninove, is it not? That is miles away.'

There, she had handed him the opportunity to negate that reckless enquiry. All he had to do was agree that it was a pity she would not be there. With an escape route clear before him, Hal promptly dug himself in deeper. ‘I have an acquaintance, an older gentleman native to Brussels, who will be driving there in his barouche. He would be de lighted to take you and Mrs Tresilian and young Phillip along with him. I know he was planning a picnic. He is most respectable—not at all like me.'

‘Then how do you know him?' she asked wickedly, making him laugh.

He comes regularly to the Literary Institute.' In fact the Baron vander Helvig came solely for the high-stakes card play, but other than that, he was a respectable and sober widower in his sixties. He was wealthy, sociable and amiable, and Hal had conceived the plan of asking him to keep an eye on the Tresilian house hold when the situation with Bonaparte came to a head. They might need to leave Brussels in a hurry, and the baron had a large stable.

The review would be an admirable opportunity to introduce Mrs Tresilian to him, and the baron was enough in Hal's debt—quite literally—to be obliging, although he suspected that the sociable Belgian would agree anyway. He tried to tell himself that this was his reason for persuading Julia to come to the review. It was not, he knew perfectly well. His newly awakened conscience was pointing out to him that he wanted to parade in front of her in his uniform, on his big
horse, at the head of his men, to prove himself worthy in his profession, if nothing else.
Cock scomb,
he told himself.

‘Mama would not wish to impose upon him,' Julia said doubt fully.

‘He would enjoy it. He's a sociable man, but rather lonely since his wife died, I suspect. And he was going in any case.'

‘You must not tell him you have mentioned it to me,' Julia said. ‘If he thinks we know, then he will feel obligated.'

‘Very well. I will be tact itself,' Hal assured her, opening the door. ‘Now, I had better find you a cab.'

They stood under the portico, surveying the street. ‘There's one.' Hal took a step forward and then backed into the shadow. ‘And here comes the Reverend Mr Smyth. I think I will make myself scarce, before I am the cause of you losing yet another of your worthy suitors, Julia.' He allowed himself the indulgence of lifting her gloved hand to his lips. ‘I hope to see you at the review.'

 

Julia felt suddenly bereft as Hal vanished back into the theatre. He was so vivid, so alive that when she was with him she felt more alive too. Mr Smyth was making his way past the theatre, heading perhaps for the cathedral. Julia walked out into the sunlight and down the steps. ‘Mr Smyth!'

‘Miss Tresilian.' He stopped and doffed his hat. ‘You appear to have lost your maid.'

‘I had to send her home with the fish,' Julia said vaguely, hoping that house keeping details would distract him from her un chaperoned state. ‘I had an errand for Lady Geraldine, but I would be most grateful if you would call me a cab.'

‘Of course.' He looked happier now she was relying on him. Julia re pressed a sigh. He was a very nice, decent man, but no-one, however charitable, could call him
vivid.

However he was excellent husband material, she reminded
herself as she got into the cab he most efficiently found for her. She waved to him as he stood on the pavement—solid, patient, kind. She must remember that. It would make all the difference in the world to Mama and Philip if she were to be respectably married. The obligation, the realization that she could do something to help them should make her happy—proud even. She felt miserably aware of her own lack of dutifulness: it was beginning to seem like an intolerable burden.

As the cab rattled up the hill to the Upper Town she sighed. It was her duty to marry, even if it were to a man who could most charitably be termed
mousy.

What had Hal said about his sister? That she was
fast
and had found a man as wild and unconventional as she was. It sounded exciting and passionate and dangerous. Would life with Hal Carlow be like that? She must not think about it, even in her dreams.

 

‘Julia.'

She started, feeling un ac count ably guilty, and put down her slice of bread and butter. ‘Mama?'

Mrs Tresilian waved a sheet of thick cream paper. ‘I have just received this letter from a Baron vander Helvig, who introduces himself as a friend of Major Carlow and an acquaintance of Lady Geraldine. What do you know about him?'

Julia smiled brightly. ‘I have never met the baron, Mama.'

‘That is not what I asked you.'

‘Major Carlow mentioned him. He is a widower, I believe. In his sixties.'

‘He is inviting all three of us to accompany him in his barouche to the cavalry review near Ninove. He
says
he was mentioning to Major Carlow that he was without company
for the event and the major suggested we might like to go. What do you know about that?'

‘Er…Major Carlow did suggest it, but I asked him not to mention to the baron that we had any idea, so he did not feel obligated.'

‘
We
certainly had no idea.'

Julia shifted uneasily as her mother looked at her. ‘Phillip would love it,' she suggested, ‘and you would enjoy the spectacle and the opportunity of getting out of the city, Mama.'

‘Julia,' Mrs Tresilian said care fully. ‘You are not
meeting
Major Carlow, are you?'

‘Only accidentally,' Julia said, her conscience clear on that at least. ‘I came across him when I was calling on Madame Catalani for Lady Geraldine. But then I met Mr Smyth and he got me a cab home from the Lower Town.' That was, she knew perfectly well, an outrageous editing of the events. Julia wondered uneasily if association with Hal Carlow was as dangerous as he had warned her it could be. Her moral standards seemed to be slipping; she could feel it almost as though the ground were moving slightly below her feet. But the thought of never seeing him again made her feel positively unwell. It was very hard to under stand.

Mrs Tresilian re-read the letter. ‘I will ask Lady Geraldine's advice,' she said after anagonising few moments of suspense. ‘I would not like to deprive any of us of a day's harmless entertainment, and this could be a spectacle of historic significance.'

 

‘Wake up, Phillip.' Julia shook her brother's shoulder as he lay curled up on the carriage seat beside her. ‘Look, we are almost there.'

Phillip wriggled upright, scrubbing at his eyes. ‘Ooh! Is that for us?'
That
was the decoration of leafy branches that covered every upright pole or surface and drooped from ropes
and frame works. Ahead was a great triumphal arch, topped with what looked like laurel wreaths. Even Mrs Tresilian leaned out of the open carriage to see.

‘I think it is to honour the duke and Marshal Blücher,' Julia explained.

‘And the Prince of Orange,' the baron added, smiling at the small boy. Rotund, jovial and expressing himself de lighted to have two ‘lovely ladies' in his carriage, Baron vander Helvig had made the journey pass with an in exhaustible flow of good-natured gossip, enquiries about London and stories about life in the Low Countries under Napoleon.

‘What time will it begin?' Mrs Tresilian asked as the baron checked his pocket watch.

‘Not until noon at least, ma'am, and it is half past eleven now. I have a place reserved in the meadow which is just a little way beyond the town.' The carriage turned down from the main street amidst crowds on foot, horse back and in carriages, all heading in the same direction into the country-side.

Then Mrs Tresilian gasped, and Julia craned round to look. Ahead was nothing but a sea of colour and a milling mass of horses and riders covering the wide meadows that stretched along the River Dender, up to the sharp slope of the woods.

‘There must be thou sands of them,' Julia murmured in awe as the coachman manoeuvred the barouche into position.

‘Six or seven thousand,' he agreed. ‘Forty six squadrons, so Major Carlow tells me. There, you see: the heavy dragoons, then the light dragoons.'

Julia craned her neck: Hal would be there, impossible to distinguish in the mass of horsemen.

‘And the batteries-howitzers as well,' the baron explained. ‘And I believe they have the Rocket Brigade in there somewhere.'

‘It is like a wall of red brick,' Mrs Tresilian murmured,
gazing at the heavy dragoons, but Julia was searching the lines of blue, distracted by the shifting pattern of broad lapels in at least four colours. And then she saw the big horse, ghostly grey amongst the darker bays, blacks and chest nuts. There were other greys, but none as big and pale as that one. She had found Hal. Julia sat back against the squabs, her eyes fixed on the distant figure, happy.

The sun shone and the troops manoeuvred, wheeled, reformed. The inspecting dignitaries came down over a temporary bridge and then passed up and down the ranks; the picnic was unpacked and consumed; and Julia nearly spilled her lemonade down her new walking dress when the twenty-one gun salute was fired.

Phillip was struck almost dumb with excitement, his eyes wide, fixed on the shifting pattern of horsemen, the displays of artillery drill, the glitter of weapons and orders.

Then the duke and his guests left, heading—so the baron informed them—for a grand dinner at Lord Uxbridge's headquarters. Julia took a deep breath, half dazzled by the spectacle, half disappointed that it had all been at a distance.

‘Ah, they are beginning to break up,' the baron said. ‘Many of them have a distance to go back to their quarters. If we stay here, young Philip will see some of them closer. You would like that? Eh?'

Julia kept a firm hand on her brother's shoulder as they stood by the carriage watching the troops clatter past in small groups. And then Phillip gave an excited squeak and Julia turned. A big grey horse was approaching from behind them.

‘Baron.' Hal touched his hand to his shako. ‘Mrs Tresilian, Miss Tresilian. And Master Phillip, are you enjoying yourself?'

Julia could only be thankful he was talking to her brother. If he had asked her a question, she doubted she could have
made a sensible remark. It was ridiculous, she told herself. She was a mature woman, not some silly chit to be dazzled by a uniform. But here she was, her heart pounding, wanting to smile like a looby, all because one man was there looking like a statue of valour come to life.

‘What's your horse called, Major?' Phillip asked. He was standing, at a cautious distance from the big hooves, hands behind his back.

‘Max.' The horse turned his head and looked down at the small boy who stood his ground and stared back.