On such a day as this, the war and all her fears about its outcome seemed far away, even as she traveled surrounded by redcoats. Everything in the country they floated past spoke of peace—all the level, green, fertile land, lushly planted with grain already well up, rippling in the gentle spring breezes. The laborers in the fields and pastures used the excuse of the passing barges to stop work for a few moments and stare at them with all the eager interest Elizabeth felt at seeing them.
At length the level countryside began to ripple into low hills and ridges. It was still a gentler, flatter country than she was accustomed to in Northumberland or Yorkshire and, oh, so green. She wasn’t the only one struck by the verdant richness of the country. She overheard a group of soldiers, weather-beaten veterans who had served in Portugal and Spain, admire the beauty of the countryside and talk of what a pleasure it would be to campaign here. She longed to ask them what the Peninsula had been like, but she was unsure of the protocols for her, a general’s lady, to open a conversation with a group of common soldiers.
When they arrived in Brussels, it too revealed itself to be a place of wonders. It reminded her of her native York, in that it still stood encircled by its ancient walls, but within them it was entirely itself, with its elegant streets of tall, many-windowed houses.
The house that she and Jack were to share with the Langs was as fine a place as could be found in the city now, packed as it was with British officers and visitors. It was by no means large or grand, but they were just a short walk from the park, within easy reach of the Duke of Wellington and most of the other important English personages, military or otherwise.
“Who owns the house?” Elizabeth asked as she walked through the drawing room alongside Louisa, admiring the beautiful, new furniture and light, elegant draperies at the windows.
“A merchant, and I gather a successful one,” Louisa said. “But I did not meet him. The house was already empty when we came. He has a young wife who is increasing, the baby expected within a month, I believe, and they concluded they would prefer to retire to her parents’ home in the country for the duration, rather than be obliged to share their house.”
Elizabeth nodded. Many of the townspeople and dwellers in the surrounding countryside had British soldiers billeted on them. While most of the arrangements seemed amicable enough—evidently British soldiers were considered preferable to their Prussian allies for being more polite and more willing to pay for their food rather than simply commandeer it—she could understand not wishing to have one’s elegantly comfortable home crowded with strangers, especially not when the lady of the house expected to be confined any day now.
“I couldn’t help smiling to learn the lady left because she’s increasing and yet here I am,” Louisa continued with a conscious hand on the burgeoning curve of her stomach.
“Well, you’ve many months to go yet. Who knows where we’ll be by then?”
“George swears we’ll be in Paris, or else home safe in England.”
“I pray he’s right.”
“As long as we’re not back home because we’re driven out,” Louisa amended. “Don’t tell George I said such a thing, though. He swears all will be well now that Wellington is here.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth promised. Wellington was the best commander the British had, and it was reassuring that soldiers like George Lang who had served under him for years placed such confidence in him. Yet Wellington had never yet faced Bonaparte. Elizabeth couldn’t forget that, and she was sure Louisa hadn’t either.
“In any case, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, and we’re fortunate enough to be lacking in any especial evils at present. Now that you’re here, I’ll have someone to walk with me in the park every morning. My mother says daily exercise is important when one is in my condition,” she said importantly.
Elizabeth hid a smile. She supposed she would be as proud and careful when her time came—if it came. It had been about three months now since she and Jack had consummated their marriage, and though she knew it was premature, she couldn’t help worrying a little each time her courses arrived on schedule. She was thirty now. Had she and Jack left it too late?
“I’ll be glad to walk with you,” she said. “It’s a delight to be settled in one place, even for a little while, after all those days shut up in carriages and aboard ship.”
“Yes, and we must also find a modiste for you. There are balls and entertainments almost every evening, and you’ll need to be prepared.”
“Truly? I doubt I’ll receive many invitations. It isn’t as if I’m known in society.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’ll be invited everywhere because of your husband’s rank, you see.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said. She had never thought of a military campaign as a social event before, but she supposed in a capital such as this, it was only natural. “And I know we’ll need to entertain here, as well, for Jack’s sake, though I don’t think we’ll have space for balls.”
“No, but you certainly must give dinners.” Louisa laid a soft hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “I hope it isn’t an intrusion for me to say how happy I would be to be of any assistance. I know you’ve lived quietly, while my family went about in society more. It’s not that I don’t think you’d be equal to anything—the dinners you gave to us in Selyhaugh were always most fine—but I would be happy to offer you my advice, and introductions to any acquaintances I find here.”
It rankled, a little, to be dependent upon anyone, especially a younger woman, and Elizabeth had a vague, nervous fear that as a general’s wife, she ought not to lean upon a lower-ranking officer’s lady. But she also knew she was in above her depth, and she and Louisa were firm friends, after all. If she couldn’t accept Louisa’s help, where would she be? “I’d be glad to have it.”
* * *
Early on the first morning after they arrived in Brussels, Jack walked with his wife and Mrs. Lang as far as the park. After remonstrating with Elizabeth that it was only a walking park, so they could not ride together there, he left the ladies to promenade the paths and admire the statuary while he made his way to the mansion facing onto the park’s green expanse where the Duke of Wellington had set up his headquarters.
“Don’t let your nerves show,” Lang had said the night before as they lingered over their port at dinner. Jack had shifted self-consciously in his chair. He hadn’t said anything about being worried, so it troubled him that his friend had been able to see his fears. “And if you’ve any notes or papers you wish to discuss,” Lang had continued, “make sure you’ve committed them to memory. The Peer hates to see men fumble and stutter over their papers. But don’t worry. He’s a fair man. Most of the time.”
Jack supposed he was safe on that score, at least. He hadn’t been in the country long enough to develop a list of proposed improvements or questions about his post. But he was acutely aware that he had the least proper command experience of any major-general in the army, and that Wellington no doubt had any number of lieutenant-colonels he would rather see in command of a brigade than an untried major-general from Canada.
Jack took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He must simply walk in with confidence and make the best of what knowledge and experience he did have.
A courteous young aide in a captain’s uniform admitted him and directed him to wait in a parlor. Jack took a seat and waited as instructed, ignoring the temptation to rub at his leg. It wasn’t especially sore, but he had developed a nervous habit of massaging the muscles whenever he had the solitude to do so. He wouldn’t have even noticed it had become a habit had Elizabeth not pointed it out to him.
After a quarter hour, during which Jack bent and extended his sore leg but resisted the urge to rub it, the aide returned and led him to a large upstairs room overlooking the park where a lean, fit man of slightly above middling height sat at a table frowning over a stack of correspondence. Jack instantly recognized the Duke of Wellington from newspaper caricatures, which had ex
aggerated his long, hooked nose and emphatic chin, but not by much.
“Sir John Armstrong is here, sir,” the aide said quietly, then withdrew as unobtrusively as he had arrived.
The duke set aside the letter he was reading and fixed Jack with a cool, expressionless stare. “So,” he said, his voice as neutral and unwelcoming as his face, “you’re the young Canadian frontier general who took it upon himself to countermand my orders as to the speedy unloading of all transports.”
Jack stood straighter and fought to contain his temper by mirroring Wellington’s cool voice. It occurred to him, incongruously, that it was almost like arguing with Elizabeth, but he dared not allow himself a smile at the idea. “I beg your pardon, sir. I would never presume to countermand your orders, but I did take it upon myself, as the ranking officer on the spot, to correct what I believed must be a misinterpretation of those orders.”
Wellington leaned forward slightly, one eyebrow cocked. “And what did that misinterpretation entail?”
“Sir, the captain’s idea of unloading with all possible haste would have led to the injury and loss of a great many horses, not to mention soaking and fouling our powder and stranding cannon in shallow waters with no ready means of retrieval. His kind of haste would have led to loss and delays far greater than spending an hour or two unloading the ships properly, so I took it upon myself to see that we delivered you cannons with horses fit to pull them and dry powder to fire them.”
“Sir John, I desire that my orders shall be obeyed without question.” Wellington held his face expressionless for a few breaths longer, then broke into a smile. “But you did exactly as you ought. God spare us from many fools like that captain. One wonders how the navy does as well as they do.”
Jack smiled back. “Doubtless there is a reason he is commanding a transport rather than a frigate or a ship of the line.”
“Indeed.” Wellington waved his hand at a chair opposite him. “Do sit, Sir John. I’ve had two letters about you this morning.”
Jack took the chair. “You have, sir?”
“Yes.” He picked them up from the top of his stack, one in each hand. “One from your friend the transport captain, most indignant at his treatment, and wasting my time with the extent and volubility of his complaints, and another from Colonel Hastings, commending you for your good management of the landing.”
“I’m greatly obliged to him, I’m sure.”
“He considers himself greatly obliged to you, for saving him from just the sort of trouble and loss you mentioned.” He set the letters down and regarded Jack levelly. There was none of the forbidding chill from a few minutes earlier, but neither was it precisely a welcoming look. “You acquitted yourself well, but you have the least experience of any of the brigade commanders Horse Guards in its wisdom has sent out to me.”
“I am aware of that, sir.” There was no use in trying to pretend otherwise. “But I had the great honor to serve under Sir Isaac Brock for many years, and I hope and believe I learned from his example.”
“Ah, yes. I know his reputation. I understand you assumed command after he fell at Queenston Heights and secured our victory there, though you were injured in the action yourself.”
“Yes. My only regret is that I did not heal from those injuries sooner, or that the war did not last longer, to allow me to resume command.”
“Hmph. I cannot regret that the war ended when it did. Would that it have ended earlier, so that we would have more of our regiments here where they are needed, and that sad business outside New Orleans might’ve been avoided.”
Belatedly Jack remembered that the commander who’d lost both his life and the battle there had been Wellington’s own brother-in-law. He bit the inside of his cheek and wished he could take back his words.
“But I am sorry for your injuries,” the duke continued. “You are healed enough now to withstand the rigors of campaign, I trust? If not, there would be no shame in stepping aside.”
Was that what Wellington wanted him to do, complain of his leg so he could return to England and be replaced? If so, he’d be obliged to push far harder. “Almost a month has passed since I left Northumberland,” he said, “and but for a single day in London and two in Ramsgate awaiting our convoy, I’ve spent every day either on horseback or aboard a ship or barge, and I am as you see me. I’ll never win a footrace, and my dancing days are over. But on horseback I’m the equal of any man, and on my own feet I manage well enough. Let me serve, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”
Wellington smiled, a little sourly. “It isn’t a matter of letting, Sir John. I must employ those who are sent to me, and at least I’ve nothing to say against you beyond wishing you’d fought in another dozen battles or so. As to disappointment—do your duty and follow my orders. You’ll have a veteran brigade, with good officers.”
A veteran brigade for an untried commander was a mixed blessing. Jack would have reliable soldiers who would have the courage and experience to follow his orders even if they proved foolish and officers who, like those he had shared the transport with, might look askance at a stranger who had only fought in Canada.
Wellington spoke a little longer, telling him of the regiments in his brigade and recommending that he take one of the lieutenants of the Seventy-Ninth who was a nephew of a friend as his aide-de-camp. Jack said he would—when one’s commander, especially this commander, suggested that one direct one’s patronage to a friend, it amounted to an order.
Evidently the duke noticed his surreptitious stretching of his sore leg, for as soon as he’d finished giving Jack the young lieutenant’s name and current direction, he abruptly remarked, “Stiffens up when you sit for too long, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought so. I’ve been fortunate in avoiding such injuries myself, but I’ve often observed them in others. Take a turn about the room if it will help.”
Jack did, standing carefully lest he stumble upon rising.
His commander and host rose as well, and they walked together to the windows and gazed out over the park. “You’re quartered near the park, too, I understand,” Wellington said.
Jack smiled. “Not so near as this, but yes.”
They contemplated what would have been a peaceful prospect had fewer of the strolling figures been in uniform. Jack spotted Elizabeth and Mrs. Lang walking slowly past the house, arm in arm, clearly in the midst of some comfortable, confidential conversation. He was so glad Elizabeth had come with him on this campaign. Now that he’d discovered her, he didn’t know how he’d ever got by without her smiles, her laughter—especially when she laughed at him; he couldn’t bear mockery from anyone else, but hers was a delight—and her cleverness. And he treasured his secret knowledge that the demure, correct, modest lady walking there in the park was none of those things in bed.
“Do you know those two ladies in blue and green, or are you only admiring them?”
The duke was admiring them, Jack saw as he looked sidelong at his chief. Gossip painted Wellington as—well, at least as bad as Jack himself had been before he had fallen in love with his own wife and vowed to be a reformed character from now on. Jack strove to keep any offended possessiveness out of his voice as he replied. “The lady in green is my wife, and her friend is Mrs. Lang, wife of Colonel Lang of the Fifty-First. They are our neighbors in Northumberland, and we are lodging together here.”
“So you brought your wife with you. Did she go to Canada, too?”
“No, sir. She stayed behind in Northumberland and managed my lands. Did a splendid job of it, too. Brought in sheep, and she saved my favorite mare’s life a few months ago when her foaling went badly. But this time we decided we’d been apart too long to immediately separate again.” Abruptly aware that he was babbling his wife’s praises, he stared out the window at Elizabeth.
“You’re a fortunate man, for she must be a remarkable woman. Will you introduce us?”
Jack agreed. He could hardly refuse. At least Wellington seeme
d to have taken a liking to him, of a sort, and he couldn’t spoil that over the suspicion that the duke might attempt to flirt with his wife.
Elizabeth and Mrs. Lang were walking slowly enough that Jack and the duke easily caught up with them. Jack took the exercise as something of a test to prove that his injuries didn’t hinder him, and made a point of walking with all the speed and confidence he could manage.
He performed the introductions, worrying that Elizabeth might be overawed on her first morning in Brussels to meet not just any duke, but the most famous peer in all England. But she rose to the occasion, making her curtsey with calm grace, and in response to Wellington’s inquiry, pronouncing herself pleased with what she had seen of the city thus far.
“Your husband is quick to speak your praises, ma’am,” Wellington said. “He tells me you saved his favorite mare’s life.”
Elizabeth favored Jack with a smile that assured him she was remembering the morning after that memorable night, then turned a cooler, more reserved smile upon the duke. “One does what one must. I was simply glad all ended well.”
After a few more commonplaces, Wellington asked the ladies if they danced. Mrs. Lang responded in the affirmative, and Elizabeth colored a little before replying, “I haven’t had the opportunity in quite some time.”
With that, they were promised cards for a ball to be held the next week. Jack blinked a little at the invitation’s suddenness. Wellington was a different man, here in the park in the company of ladies, than the cool, rather ruthless general Jack had met a quarter of an hour before. The duke caught his look and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Don’t look startled, Sir John. In Brussels, dancing—and dinners, and horse races and any number of other amusements—are serious business. I’m sure Bonaparte’s spies think us a frivolous army indeed.”
An Infamous Marriage Page 21
