The Victory (15 page)

The only clue was the presence, tied to the ring in the wall,
of a visitor's horse. Her heart fluttered for a moment before
her commonsense told it sternly that the animal was a job
horse, and not one from Morland Place.

‘
My lady,' Stephen said, holding the ponies' heads while
Héloïse climbed down. 'There is a visitor arrived to see you.’

 
‘
Yes, so I see. Who is it?'

‘It is a gentleman, my lady.'

‘
I can see that, too,' Héloïse said gently. The horse does
not wear a side-saddle.' Stephen looked more than ever
confused. 'What has upset you? Who is it, Stephen?' She came to his side and looked up at him with concern.

‘
He — I am not acquainted with the gentleman myself, my
lady. He gave me his card,' Stephen said in a desperate voice.

‘
Then you must know what his name is,' Héloïse said
reasonably. There was no reply. 'Come, Stephen, was there
no name on the card?'

‘
There was a name on the card, my lady,' he said wretchedly, 'but the fact is ... the fact is, it is a French name, my
lady, and I can't pronounce it. Not if I was to die for it.’

Héloïse just managed not to laugh. She looked at her servant
affectionately. 'Oh, Stephen! Where is the card of this un
pronouncable gentleman?' He produced it from his waistcoat
pocket. 'Well,' she exclaimed as she read it, 'I am not at all
surprised. I can hardly pronounce it myself. He is in the
parlour?'

‘Yes, my lady.'

‘
I shall go and see him at once. Come, Mathilde, Sophie.'
She hurried into the parlour, stripping off her gloves, and
there discovered the visitor sitting by the fire talking to
Madame Chouflon. 'I am so sorry I was not here to welcome
you,' she said, looking at him enquiringly.

The visitor stood up and made a very French bow to her. 'Charles-Auguste de Brouilly, Duc de Veslne-d'Estienne,' he
introduced himself, and bowed over the hand she offered.
'Completely at your service.'

‘
I am happy to see you, Monsieur le Duc,' Héloïse said in
French, and he fell gratefully into that language.

‘
As I was in the neighbourhood, madame, I took the liberty
of calling. When one is in exile, one longs for the sight of a fellow-countryman.'

‘
That was kind of you,' Héloïse said, gesturing him to sit
down again. 'But indeed, you need not apologise for calling.
We have not met before, but I knew your — well, I suppose it
must have been your grandfather,' she said, calculating her
visitor's age. 'I danced with him at Chenonceau, the year
before the Revolution. By a strange coincidence, I was telling
my ward about the occasion only this morning.'

‘
My great-grandfather, it must have been, madame,' he
replied with a charming smile. 'My grandfather was killed at
Quebec. Great-grandpapa never tired of telling the tale.'

‘
And as you are in England, I suppose you are in the same
unhappy situation as the rest of us?' Héloïse went on.

‘
I'm afraid so. My family are all dead, my estates confis
cated. I am fortunate to have many friends in England, as
well as some relatives on my mother's side. The English are
all kindness, but now that war has been declared I hope to do something positive to remedy my situation.’

The Duc was about Héloïse's own age, very handsome, tall
and well-built, with chestnut hair and blue eyes, and beauti
ful teeth which he shewed in a most attractive smile. His
manners were open and pleasant, and as they talked, he
looked at Héloïse with frank admiration which she found
unexpectedly pleasant, and a balm to her sad heart. She
found herself hoping he would not too soon go away to join
the fighting.

‘
You are staying nearby?' she asked when the opportunity
arose.

‘
With Colonel Spencer, madame. The friend of a close
acquaintance of mine.'

‘And do you stay long?' she asked casually.

‘
Colonel Spencer has asked me to stay for the summer. I
had not formed any definite plans, but I must say that my
inclination for staying is increasing all the time. It seems a
most pleasant neighbourhood.’

Héloïse found herself pleasantly flattered by what was
evidently meant as a compliment to her. 'Then you must do
me the honour of dining with us one day,' she managed to
reply.

A sharply indrawn breath from beside her made her glance
towards Mathilde, to discover that she was not the only
person to have succumbed to the young duke's charm.
Mathilde's face was pinker than usual, and her eyes were very
bright, and she was gazing at the visitor in a way which
suggested that, had Mr Antrobus entered the parlour at that
moment and proposed marriage to her on his knees, she
would not even have known he was there.

*

At the end of July, Roberta, widow of Charles sixth Earl of
Chelmsford, arrived at Shawes to prepare for a large party
she was expecting for race-week. With her was her son
Bobbie, the seventh earl, her father Colonel Taske, her son's
tutor Mr Firth, and her friend Lady Aylesbury. Shawes was
about half a mile from Morland Place, and the walk to it
across its beautifully laid-out park was a pleasant one even for
lightly-shod ladies; so a party at Shawes had always meant a
good deal of coming and going between the two houses.

James was the first visitor from Morland Place to arrive to
pay his respects.

‘
No Fanny?' Lucy asked him at once. 'I'm surprised she let
you come on a visit to Shawes without her.'

‘
She didn't see me go,' he answered succinctly. 'I might
equally well ask you where your children are, my dear sister,
but unlike you I'm too polite.'

‘
Fustian!' Lucy retorted. 'My children are at Wolvercote of
course. Nobody wants them here.'

‘
That's not quite true,' Roberta's gentle voice made itself
heard. 'I did say that I thought it would be nice for Bobbie to
have his cousins to play with.'

‘
If you wanted Bobbie to pay with his cousins, you should
have left him at Wolvercote, as I suggested,' Lucy said firmly.
‘The business of removing six children and all their attendant
nurses two hundred and fifty miles is beyond anything.'

‘Six children?' James queried.

Lucy made a face. 'Lady Barbara found it convenient to
leave her two at Wolvercote for two months while she went to
Belvoir with Horatio. The Duke of Rutland's got a large
house-party there for the summer. He's raising his own troop
of cavalry — the Belvoir Volunteers — and naturally he
wants his old friends from the Dragoons as officers. He's
made George Brummell a major, of all things! Well, of
course, Rutland wants his company, or he'd never have done
it, because nothing will ever get Brummell out of bed at dawn
for inspection —'

‘
But what's Horace doing there?' James interrupted. 'He
can't hope for a commission — he's already got one.'

‘What a foolish question! Rutland is amazingly rich and
good-natured, and keeps the most expensive table in
England,' Lucy said. 'And with their children living at my
expense, Horace and Lady Barbara can close up their house
and save any amount of money. You should be thankful they
have gone to Belvoir,' she added with a stern look at Roberta.
‘Nothing else would have kept them from plaguing us here,
after Roberta was so weak as to invite them.'

‘
I could hardly do anything else, when Lady Barbara
hinted so dreadfully. And after all, Horatio is my brother-in-
law,' Roberta defended herself.

‘
But you detest him,' Lucy said. 'You shouldn't let yourself
be bound by foolish conventions. I don't.’

James grinned. 'No, you don't, do you, Luce? Well, I'm
very glad to see you both, with or without children. Young
Bobbie can have Fanny to play with if he wants company —
and William's boy Frederick, if you don't mind his illegi
timacy, Roberta.'

‘And Henry?' Lucy enquired.

‘
No, Henry's not here. His mother's taken him to Manches
ter to spend the summer with his grandpapa.'

‘
Oh yes, they went last year, too, didn't they?' Roberta
said. ‘It must be pleasant for Mary Ann to be with her father.' Roberta was very fond of her own father, so this arrangement
seemed perfectly natural to her.

‘
Well, yes,' James said, ‘she does seem fond of the old boy.
But, to tell the truth, I think she's more anxious to get away
from William and Mrs Smith. She was less than pleased when
they arrived, and when she discovered they were likely to be
staying for some time, she sent off word to her papa at once.'

‘
Mr Hobsbawn will be interested to see his grandson, I'm
sure,' Roberta said tactfully. little Henry is his heir, after
all.'

‘
And Mary Ann was anxious to keep her precious Henry from being contaminated by Frederick,' James added. ‘Not that the poor child is anything but inoffensive, but she has
somewhat Gothic ideas about these things.'

‘
We'll all be more comfortable without her,' Lucy said
briskly, shocking Roberta, ‘but you won't be able to entertain
without a hostess.'

‘
We'll manage somehow,' James said dismissively. ‘I don't
suppose we'll be doing much entertaining if you're having a
large party, Roberta. Who have you invited?'

‘Well, there are Charles's sisters Amelia and Sophia and
their husbands,' Roberta replied, ‘and Lord and Lady
Tonbridge: they're just coming for race-week. But before that
I'm expecting Maurice Ballincrea and his new wife — I
haven't met her yet, but I'm told she's very agreeable — and
Lord and Lady Greyshott. And Lord Ballincrea is bringing a widowed cousin of his, Lady Serena Knaresborough, and her
son Robert. I don't know much about them — they're only
cousins by marriage — but apparently he was made trustee over the boy, Robert, when Sir Henry Knaresborough died,
and he feels responsible for them, so of course I told him to
bring them.’

James smiled. 'You are so kind-hearted, Roberta. You
don't like anyone to be left out in the cold, do you?’

Roberta blushed. ‘It's very hard, sometimes, when people
are in conflict with each other, to do what's right by every
one,' she said. ‘But one must try.’

Neither Lucy nor James asked her what she meant by that.
There were conflicts enough in the immediate family not to
want to probe too deeply. With his wife away, James's
thoughts turned more strongly than ever towards Héloïse;
and Lucy wondered what she would do if, as was quite likely,
Edward asked her to act as hostess at Morland Place after
Chetwyn arrived.