The Officer and the Proper Lady

by Louise Allen

  ‘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.

  ‘He’s very big.’

  ‘Seventeen hands. Would you like a ride?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘If your mama permits.’

  ‘Major—’

  ‘He will be quite safe, ma’am. Phillip, hold up your hands.’ Hal leaned down, caught the boy’s wrists and swung him up onto the saddle before him. ‘There you are. Perhaps Miss Tresilian should walk with us, just in case he wants to get down?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Julia kept pace as Hal turned the horse down towards the river, through the long, un tram pled grass and away from the bustle of people leaving the review ground.

  Hal spoke quietly to the child. ‘I bred Max from one of my big hunters and a mare belonging to my brother, but he’s bigger than both of them. He is five years old, just a bit older than you.’

  Julia saw her brother relax and begin to grin. He leaned back trustingly against the man holding him and started to ask questions, all of which Hal answered with patience, speaking to the child as though to an equal. He seemed to under stand the little boy and be prepared to take any amount of trouble with him. Julia looked up and saw the two of them, chatting away like old friends as the horse wandered down towards the river. Then she stumbled as realization hit her like a blow.

  She was falling in love with Hal Carlow. She hadn’t seen it when she had looked at the dashing, dazzling cavalry officer; then, she had simply admired and desired him. It was this quiet man, absorbed in amusing a small boy he hardly knew, who had snatched her heart.

  ‘Yes please, sir!’ Phillip said and she stared, realizing she had missed something.

  Hal swung down, leaving Phillip perched up alone in the saddle. ‘Hold the reins like I showed you,’ Hal said, walking round to run the stirrups right up the leathers so the child could put his feet in them. ‘Sit up straight. There you go.’ He bent and whispered, ‘It is all right, Max will just walk with me. Come on, Mr Tresilian! At the walk. Forward!’

  He took Julia’s hand and tucked it under his elbow. ‘Did you enjoy the review?’ Max plodded after them.

  ‘It was wonderful, thank you so much for arranging it. The baron has been kindness itself.’ She hoped she was sounding normal; it was difficult to tell.

  ‘Go to him if you and your mother need to leave Brussels in a hurry,’ Hal said. ‘He will put a carriage at your disposal for you to go to Antwerp.’

  ‘Might we have to?’ It seemed impossible that any army, even one commanded by Napoleon, could get past the wall of men she had seen today. And none of the infantry had been there.

  ‘You never know.’ He squeezed her arm against his side. ‘And I don’t want to be worrying about you.’

  ‘You would worry?’ The question came out sounding curiously breath less. Julia kept her eyes fixed on the waving grasses in front of them.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Hal said softly. ‘I would worry.’

  ‘May I trot?’ Phillip demanded, peering down from his perch.

  ‘No, but we can gallop together,’ Hal said, letting down the stirrups again. ‘Sit up a bit.’ He swung into the saddle and looked down at Julia as he pushed his feet into the stirrups, his hands closing over Phillip’s on the reins. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were serious. ‘I need you to be safe. Hold tight,’ he added to Phillip and dug in his spurs to send the grey thundering along the river edge.

  Julia walked slowly back up to the carriage, her head spinning. She was falling in love with him and he worried about her. He wanted her safe. She watched as Hal brought them back at a flat-out gallop, the little boy in front of him shrieking with excitement. He wanted her safe—did that mean he wanted her safe from him?

  Chapter Eight

  The first of the month was an excellent day for good resolutions. Julia strolled down the wide central path of the Parc, her maid at her heels, her most sensible bonnet equipped with a modest veil which hid the fact that her eyes had dark shadows beneath them from lack of sleep.

  Any hope that she would recover her senses once away from the glamour of Major Carlow in full uniform on horseback in the sunshine had fled after three nights of dreaming about him and a third day when she just could not get him out of her head.

  On Tuesday, she made a list of the admirable qualities possessed by Mr Smyth and promptly burst into tears. On Wednesday, she deliberately instigated a discussion of who were the most dangerous men in Brussels amongst a group of young ladies at a party. Heading the list of those agreed to be incorrigible flirts, not to be trusted on the terrace after dark and incapable of sincere attachment or commitment was, as she had expected, Major the Honourable Hal Carlow.

  Then today, Thursday the first of June, she startled her mother by insisting on attending Matins before taking Phillip to play in the Parc. Efforts to set her thoughts on higher things, or even on her duty to encourage Mr Smyth, evaporated before the sight of a stained-glass window showing the fall of Lucifer. Hal Carlow might have acted as the model for the renegade angel in all his arrogant, defiant, beauty.

  Even Phillip seemed to have caught her mood and trudged along kicking gravel, leaving the pigeons unchased.

  ‘Miss Tresilian, good day.’ It was, inevitably, the Reverend Smyth, doffing his broad-brimmed hat.

  Julia put back her veil and forced a smile. She had asked for strength to do the right thing, now she must try. It felt as though her cheek muscles were cracking. ‘What a lovely day, Mr Smyth.’

  ‘Indeed it is, we are enjoying a most clement summer. May I walk with you a little?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Julia took his proffered arm and immediately adjusted her gait to the slow stroll he obviously thought fitting for a lady. ‘We had a great treat on Monday: the Baron vander Helvig was kind enough to take us to see the cavalry review.’

  ‘Baron vander Helvig? I do not have the pleasure of his acquaintance.’ He sounded so put out that Julia rushed to reassure him, realizing as she spoke that she was only encouraging him. As I must, I need a declaration.

  ‘An elderly gentleman. He was very charming to Mama,’ she added. ‘And it was such a treat for Phillip.’

  ‘But hardly the sort of entertainment for ladies, I would have thought. However, those of us expecting to find a quiet retreat in Brussels are now finding our selves in the midst of stirring events,’ Mr Smyth commented. ‘No doubt, Mrs Tresilian is making plans to return to England before the menace from France becomes any greater.’

  ‘Why no, we had no plans to do so,’ Julia said.

  ‘Because when you do, it would be my pleasure to offer you my escort. I will be travel ling to take up my new living shortly.’

  ‘Oh yes, in Suffolk, is it not?’ She tried not to feel annoyance that he had simply ignored her own statement.

  ‘You remembered?’ He sounded de lighted. ‘Perhaps you would all come
and visit me once I am settled.’

  ‘I… Oh, thank you, but our plans are not to return…’

  ‘Let us sit here and young Phillip can play with his ball.’ He took out his pocket handkerchief and brushed some dust off a seat for her, then gestured to the grass before them. ‘There you are, young man.’

  Phillip stared stolidly back, the ball clutched to his stomach. ‘I rode a big grey horse the other day and I galloped.’

  ‘What an imagination,’ Mr Smyth chuckled. ‘He needs a steady male presence in his life, of course. A boy that age, before the influence of tutor or school, requires firm but tender guidance.’

  He needs someone like Hal who would take him on ad ventures and who listens to him, Julia thought mutinously as Phillip walked off and began to kick his ball. He did not appear to like the clergyman very much.

  ‘…of course, we poor males all need a steadying influence in our lives.’ Mr Smyth was saying something; Julia hastened to murmur agreement. ‘I am glad you think so,’ he said warmly, as her brain caught up with his last few sentences.

  He is going to make a declaration at any moment. He is perfect, really he is. Mama would be so pleased. I ought to say Yes if he asks. She met his eyes and saw the intent in them. Oh dear, not if, but when.

  She should either say something encouraging, and precipitate matters, or snub him now, before this got any further.

  ‘Disgraceful!’

  ‘What?’ Julia thought for a startled moment that he was reading her thoughts, then saw his gaze was fixed on a group of blue-jacketed officers on one of the paths crossing at right angles to where they sat. Her heart sank as she recognized them. They were Hal’s friends from the theatre, and in the middle, laughing as the others slapped him on the back and teased him loudly about something, was Hal.

  She pulled her veil down without thinking, then saw Phillip. Hal would recognize him and look for her and then…

  ‘Do not worry,’ Mr Smyth said. ‘Should one of those young bucks so much as glance in your direction, I will know what to do.’

  ‘Oh good,’ Julia said faintly, imagining the clergyman squaring up to the group who looked as though they had all break fasted from the brandy bottle. But they were almost at the end of the path now, their backs to Phillip who was running over to her.

  ‘Drunk, I have no doubt—and at this hour!’

  ‘Perhaps not drunk exactly—they seemed to be celebrating,’ Julia ventured, scooping up the ball and throwing it for Phillip before he said anything about Major Carlow and his big horse. ‘It is only eleven in the morning.’

  ‘They will have been at the Literary Institute all night,’ the reverend said in a tone of voice that would not have been un suitable if he had said they had been in Sodom and Gomorrah.

  ‘I thought that was a very respectable club,’ Julia said, tearing her gaze from the retreating group.

  ‘It is, upstairs. Down stairs is a gaming hell. Those rake shames will have been playing cards and drinking all night.’

  ‘Shocking.’ And of course it was. But they had all looked and sounded so happy and cheerful. Was it really doing any harm if they did not gamble more than they could afford to lose, or so long as they did not win money from someone who would then be ruined? Hal said he rarely lost: perhaps those he played with stumbled out of the card rooms destitute and desperate. She had to stop thinking about him, wanting him.

  Julia put up her veil again and turned a bright, determined smile on Mr Smyth. He was a kind, decent man. She must do the right thing, even if it broke her heart. ‘Do tell me more about your living. Is it in a pretty part of the county?’

  Hal walked into his hotel room and let the door bang behind him. He’d been feeling good. Better than good. His men had turned out so well at the review that both the duke and Marshal Blücher had stopped to comment favourably. The atmosphere back at their quarters had been better than he could ever remember it, the men itching for the fight, morale sky-high.

  And then there were those few moments in the meadow with Julia, her voice soft and breath less when she had asked him if he would worry about her. Moments like clear, still waters in the midst of a maelstrom. He did not dare think about what her emotions might be, because he was not sure he could live with his conscience if he broke her heart, even if all she felt was an illusion of first love.

  And young Phillip. Hal grinned as he thought of the boy’s excitement, of his courage when he found himself alone on top of the mountain that was Max. The smile faded as he recalled him moments ago in the Parc. The child had not seen him, thank God, and neither, he thought, had Julia.

  Those officers who were off duty had got back from their bases in the small hours, too stimulated after the day’s hard work to sleep. And there, in the Institute’s card rooms, had been a Prussian count whom they all suspected at fuzzing the cards. It had been too much of a temptation not to take him for every franc in his pockets, matching Hal’s skill against the count’s sleight of hand, and all too natural to drink solidly while he was doing it.

  Julia had been sitting demurely with her clergyman as they’d passed, high as kites on success and wine. He had been almost past them when he first recognized Phillip and then saw her. For her sake, he dared not risk scandalising another of her worthy suitors: he was sober enough to remember his good resolutions—just.

  There were letters on the table with one in Marcus’s hand on top. Hal slit the seal and opened it one handed while reaching for the decanter with the other. He did not want to sober up. Sober, he thought too much about Julia Tresilian.

  The news started soothingly enough. Marcus had an idea about an ideal man for their younger sister, Verity. Mama had sprained her ankle, but only mildly and she was on the mend. Nell, his wife, was six months gone with child. Half a sheet was filled with domestic details by a man in love with his wife, besotted with his baby son and torn between anxiety and joy over the next arrival.

  Hal dropped the letter, hating the twist of jealousy that he felt for his brother. He had burned his own boats. Married bliss—with its ties and terrors—was not for him. He was a career soldier and, of his free choice, had made himself unfit for any decent girl. He had decided his own fate, and it was too late to regret it now, just because of one brown-eyed girl who was too good for him.

  Cursing his sentimental weakness, he picked up the letter and made himself focus.

  I could wish this French business over and you safely home, Marcus wrote. The letter from Mildenhall confirmed the rumours I have been hearing. Someone is stirring matters and, although I have no proof, I cannot believe that this time it is entirely down to Hebden, or Beshaley, or what ever the damned man is calling him self this week. Or not him alone, at any rate. He was certainly to blame for the attack on Nell, for that appalling episode with Honoria. And I could wring his neck, the bastard, for the anxiety he put Nell through so recently, worrying about her sister Rosalind. But this feels different, not like his direct attacks or the confounded silk en ropes he leaves to alarm us.

  The rumours are at too high a level in government. Men of our father’s generation stop me to have a quiet word in my ear. They do not believe something is seriously amiss, of course, but they are uneasy.

  You recall that three pages were torn from Father’s journal for ’94 when we finally got it back? I still cannot get Father to talk about what is in them. He says he does not recall, that there can be nothing he has not told us. Sooner or later he is going to hear these rumours too, and then the rats will be out of the bag with a vengeance.

  Take care of your self. I am oppressed by a feeling of danger for you—which is a damn fool thing to worry about with a soldier, I know!

  Nell sends her love…

  Nell was free with her love, Hal thought with a smile, generous with it even for her brother in law who had enjoyed teasing Marcus by flirting with her. Perhaps that had helped his brother realize he loved her.

  But Marcus was the sensible one, the steady son. He would kn
ow how to deal with the rumours in government circles—just so long as they did not reach their father’s ears.

  And he sensed danger, did he? So did Hal, but it was not coming from the muzzle of a French gun.

  ‘Oh, for some real news!’ Mrs Tresilian exclaimed on the eighth of June as the last of her Thursday afternoon guests departed, sustained by tea, pastries and gossip. ‘No-one seems to know what is happening, but every one has a theory,’ she added irritably. ‘First we hear Napoleon is still in Paris, and then he is on the borders, and then the duke is going to invade. And then he is not.’

  ‘The Harringtons have packed up and left for Ostend,’ Julia said. ‘But the Wing fields—you recall they moved to Antwerp ten days ago?—they have come back. I do believe they are rather ashamed of their jittery nerves.’

  ‘I might be jittery myself, if it were not for the dear baron,’ her mother confided, sinking down in the most comfortable chair and putting her feet up. ‘The knowledge that we can get away when we want to is so reassuring.’

  Thank you, Hal, Julia thought, breaking, yet again, her resolution to put him out of her mind. And what am I going to do about Mr Smyth? She could not convince herself that she was not in love with Hal, so was she wrong to encourage the clergyman’s advances? Many people married who were not in love with their spouses; she knew that. But it was different to agree to marry when one’s affections were already engaged, or so it seemed to her.

  She sighed. If he did make an offer, then she was going to have to confess that she loved another. If Thomas Smyth still wanted her on those terms, then so be it. The prospect of possibly forty years of marriage to a nice, kind, dull man she did not love made her heart sink. Somehow she would have to learn to keep Hal locked away in her heart and not think about him, for to do that would be wrong. At least he would not be affected: she had fallen for an experienced man, not some youngster with a heart as vulnerable as her own.