by Violet
Wellington glanced up at him thoughtfully. “Well, if you won’t, you won’t. But there is something else I want to discuss with you.”
Julian waited during a lengthening silence, unconvinced that his commander in chief had given up.
“I don’t need to tell you how skeptical the government is about this campaign,” Wellington said at last. “They say we exaggerate the importance of the victories, that we win them at too great an expense of men and money. God knows, they’ll have fodder enough for plaint when the casualties from this filthy business appear in the Gazette.”
Julian nodded. Everyone knew the opposition Wellington encountered from the English government and how near impossible it was for him to get the financial and material support he needed for the Peninsular campaign.
“I need someone to go and present our case at Westminster,” the duke said. “Someone reliable, someone the government will respect, who’ll give a firsthand account of the campaign. Dispatches don’t present the case adequately, and civilian observers are the very devil! They haven’t the faintest notion of what’s going on even when it’s under their noses.”
“And you’re fingering me for the task,” Julian said without inflection. He refilled the commander’s glass and then his own.
“You’re the perfect emissary,” Wellington said. “You’re the youngest colonel in my army, you’ve had a brilliant career thus far and are clearly headed for a general’s baton in a year or two. You’ve been mentioned countless times in dispatches, so your name’s well-known in government circles. They’ll give credence to what you say.”
Julian again made no immediate response, and the commander regarded him with the same shrewd look as before. What Wellington didn’t mention, because it went without saying, was that Colonel, Lord Julian St. Simon’s title was one of the oldest in the land. His fortune was beyond the dreams of avarice, and his estates, not including Tregarthan, covered entire counties. Such a position and influence made him an even more powerful spokesman to the lords of Westminster.
Julian walked to the window and stood frowning down into the street. “You’re asking me to leave the army just as the summer’s campaigning is to begin,” he said finally. “To abandon my brigade when they’re going to be facing months of marching and fighting.”
“I deem this mission to London to be of vital importance, St. Simon.” Wellington spoke now in the clipped tones of the commander in chief, the note of intimacy vanished. “I’ve colonels aplenty to take over your brigade, but I’ve no one better suited than you to undertake this diplomatic business. If you wish, I’ll give O’Connor field rank as colonel in your absence. I understand his wound isn’t going to send him home.” He paused, then said deliberately, “You’ll have regimental rank as brigadier immediately on your return.”
Julian’s heart jumped. From brigadier to general was a small step, and he’d promised himself he’d carry a general’s baton by the time he was thirty. But he thought he’d achieve it through fighting … leading his men to victory … not by smooth talk and careful politics in the corridors of Westminster.
“Am I to understand you’re ordering me to London, sir?”
“Precisely, Colonel.”
Julian turned from the window. “And this other business?”
“Oh, come now, Julian.” Wellington was smiling now. “You could surely shepherd her to England, help her make contact with her mother’s family. You’re going there, anyway.”
“Oh, escort duty would be simple enough,” Julian said aridly. “But that isn’t what Violette is demanding. She wants a schoolmaster, if you recall.”
Wellington chuckled. “Nervy little thing, isn’t she?”
Julian sighed. “I wouldn’t disagree with that, sir.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Supposing I arrange to hire a suitable house and a governess for her?” the colonel suggested, his back now to the wall. “I’ll escort her to England and leave the tutoring to some respectable female. Then I can be back here in a couple of months.”
Wellington shrugged. “We’ll put it to Violette. If she accepts that price, then it’s fine by me. I only want her information.”
“I’ll send Sanderson to fetch her.” Julian went to the door and gave the order to the brigade-major, then returned to the room. The commander was standing at the open window now, listening to the confused riot of noise coming from Badajos.
“I’ll give them until tomorrow; then, if we can’t get them out of there, we’ll erect a gallows in the square,” he said evenly. “Hang a couple of looters, that should bring them to their senses.”
“They’ll be in bad shape, sir.”
“Oh, I know. Demoralized, hung over, ashamed. Sieges are filthy work, Julian.”
“None worse,” Julian agreed somberly, sipping his wine.
Sanderson returned in five minutes with the information that La Violette was not in her lodgings and had taken her horse from the stables.
“Left us?” Wellington raised an eyebrow at the colonel.
Julian shook his head. “No, she doesn’t give up that easily. Besides, I heard her promise that giant bodyguard that she’d wait for him in Elvas.” He put down his glass. “I’ll go and look for her.”
He left, trying to disguise his alarm at the thought that she might have returned to Badajos. He couldn’t imagine that she’d do anything so foolhardy, but Violette was a law unto herself, beyond the fathoming of any ordinary man. He couldn’t understand why he was worried about her; it was the most annoying aspect of the whole business. She’d thrown his life and career into chaos, manipulated his emotions as easily as she manipulated his physical responses, and yet he needed to know she was safe.
He found her sitting amid a circle of his officers outside his tent, Cesar idly cropping the sparse grass beside her.
“Oh, there you are, milord colonel.” She offered him a sunny smile as he rode up. “I have a small favor to ask, so I was looking for you and met your staff. And Dobbin very kindly made me some tea.” She indicated the enamel mug in her hand.
“How pleasant,” he said aridly. “Gentlemen, have we nothing better to do this morning than lounge around over the teacups?”
“We were talking of the situation in Badajos,” Tamsyn said swiftly as her companions rose to their feet in one collective movement. “Captain Frobisher was telling me what he’d done with the girl I rescued this morning. And these other officers were explaining how they’d managed to secure the doors of a convent as a safe house. They’ve been conducting parties of women there and are just returned from the town for some rest.”
Julian regretted his sarcasm as he looked at the exhausted faces of his officers. “My apologies,” he said readily, with his quick, irresistible smile that had earned him pardon since childhood. “I’m out of sorts. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“Oh, we’re all out of sorts,” Frank said with a weary answering smile. “We were wondering whether we could round up our own men from the streets if we headed up a sizable party of noncommissioned officers.”
“Get some rest first. We’ll try this evening. They might be so insensible by then they’ll come quietly.” He turned back to Tamsyn. “Wellington wishes to talk to you, Violette. If you’d come with me now.”
It didn’t sound much like a request to Tamsyn, but she merely smiled and said mischievously, “I’d be delighted to come with you, milord colonel. As I’ve made clear on many occasions.”
Julian’s lips almost disappeared and the bright-blue eyes shot sparks as the other men suppressed their grins.
“Allow me to assist you to mount, ma’am?” Frank offered before Julian’s temper could find voice. He cupped his palms for her foot, and she sprang up into the saddle with a word of thanks.
Gathering the reins together, she raised an eyebrow at the still-fulminating colonel and said, “I’m ready to accompany you, sir.”
Julian turned his horse without a word and moved off down the narrow aisle between the rows o
f tents. Tamsyn waved a cheery hand in farewell to her companions and followed.
They rode in single file over the pontoon bridge into Elvas and into the stableyard at headquarters. Still in silence, Julian strode ahead of her up the stairs and into the building. “Is his lordship alone, Sanderson?”
“Yes, sir. Lord March left a few minutes ago.”
“Good.” He knocked and opened the door, gesturing brusquely to Tamsyn that she should precede him into the sanctum.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted the commander in chief politely. “May I congratulate you on such a splendid victory.” There was no mistaking the note of bitter irony beneath the apparent courtesy, and Wellington looked at her sharply, frowning.
“My men fought like tigers,” he stated. “And they died like heroes.”
“I’m sure,” she returned in much the same tone. “Colonel St. Simon says you wish to speak to me.” She perched on the deep windowsill and regarded him with her shining head to one side, her eyes alert, like a cheeky robin, Julian thought, amused despite his irritation.
“We have a proposal to put to you. It’s the colonel’s suggestion, so perhaps he should explain it.”
Tamsyn turned her look of bright inquiry on the colonel. “I’m all ears, milord colonel.”
Julian explained his proposal, his voice expressionless, his face impassive, and Tamsyn listened with the same air of alert interest.
When he’d finished, she said simply, “Oh, no, that won’t do at all.”
The cool negative fell into a stunned silence. Both men stared at her; then St. Simon said, “And just why won’t it?”
“Well, you must see that a mere governess couldn’t give me what I need,” she said reasonably. “Since I’m certain my mother’s family are aristocrats, I need to know how to go on in the highest circles of Society. Governesses don’t know that kind of thing. I’ll need to know all sorts of things about the top families as well as all the little mannerisms and quirks and tricks of dress that only an intimate of those circles would know. And how could a governess perform the introductions when I’m ready to be presented to the family? Someone unimpeachable has to vouch for me … explain about the Duke of Wellington’s kind protection.” Another winning smile in the duke’s direction.
“She has a point, Julian.”
Julian met his commander’s steady gaze, reading the immutable message. He swung round toward the figure on the windowsill. Tamsyn was examining her fingernails with an air of absorption.
“Damn you, Violette!” he hissed. “Damn you for a tricky, conniving witch!”
Clearly this was not a good moment to ask for a small loan. Tamsyn raised her eyes and offered a tentative smile. “I won’t be a nuisance, milord colonel, I promise you. I’ll be a most obedient pupil and a credit to your tutoring.”
Julian’s expression registered total disbelief, and Wellington gave vent to his neighing laugh.
“She has you there, Julian. Sewn up tight as a Christmas goose.”
Julian walked over to Tamsyn. He leaned over her, his hands braced on the window on either side of her head, and said softly so that only she could hear, “You just might have bitten off more than you can chew, Violette. I’m going to have you jumping through hoops until you don’t know whether you’re in this week or the next. So be warned.”
Tamsyn touched her tongue to her lips and her eyes narrowed. “I think I can handle anything you throw at me, milord colonel.”
Their eyes locked. There was antagonism and challenge, but there was a perverse excitement too at the war game they were about to play.
Then Julian straightened and spoke at an ordinary pitch, but his voice was completely devoid of expression. “So we’ve agreed to your price, Violette. It’s time to fulfill your side of the bargain.”
“Certainly,” she said.
Wellington called for Sanderson to take notes, and they began. St. Simon sat in a chair by the hearth, listening intently to the brigand’s answers, listening for any evasion, any hint that she might be fooling them. They had only her word for the truth of the information she was providing, but he found that he trusted her to be good to that word. She was as slippery as an eel, but he thought that if she said she was playing fair, then she was.
Why he should have this faith in her, he didn’t know.
It was a long and exhaustive session. At the end Tamsyn drew an elaborate map indicating the passes through the Guadarrama heights, then stretched, arching her back against her hands. “I think that’s everything I agreed to.”
“Yes,” Wellington said with a pleased nod. “Most satisfactory. Thank you.”
“I won’t say it was a pleasure,” Tamsyn said frankly.
“Oh, don’t give me that!” Julian scoffed. “You’ve got precisely what you wanted for your information.”
“True.” And the means now to be revenged upon the Penhallans. “Do we begin our journey as soon as Gabriel arrives?”
“The sooner the better,” he said harshly. “And I want this in writing, too.” He gestured to Sanderson, still sitting at the table. “The contract is for six months, beginning this day, April seventh, 1812. It will conclude on October seventh. Whether you’ve achieved what you wish or no. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly.”
Sanderson wrote busily, sanded the sheet, and pushed it across the table for Tamsyn’s signature.
“How very formal,” she murmured, affixing her signature to the document. “Anyone would think you didn’t trust me, milord colonel.”
“Anyone would think I had reason to trust you,” he retorted, striding to the door.
“Oh,” Tamsyn ran after him as he marched down the stairs. “Since our contract is to begin today, even though we haven’t started our journey, I feel sure I can ask you a favor. Could you make me a small loan? Just until Gabriel returns.”
He stopped at the street door and stared at her incredulously. “You want me to lend you money on top of everything?”
“Just to buy some clothes. These I have on are falling apart. I’ll repay you as soon as Gabriel returns.”
He regarded her in frowning silence for a moment; then slowly he nodded. “Very well. Since, as you say, our contract is to begin today, then I agree, you certainly stand in sore need of different clothes. I know just the place. Colonel Delacourt’s wife was telling me all about it.” Briskly, he set off up the street without looking to see if she was accompanying him.
Tamsyn hesitated. There’d been a look in his eye that made her a little uneasy, a glint of amusement that didn’t strike her as particularly friendly. Then, with a shrug, she set off after him, running to catch up.
“There’s no need for you to accompany me, milord colonel.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” she asked with an innocent smile.
“I don’t care for the tone.”
“Ahh. Then what should I call you?”
“Colonel will do fine. Lord St. Simon, if you prefer.”
Tamsyn pulled a wry face. “That seems very formal for a six-months liaison.”
“We are not having a liaison.” He kept his voice even.
“Oh.” Tamsyn followed as he turned down a narrow side street. “Why don’t I call you Julian?”
“My friends call me that, and I see no reason for you to do so.” He pushed open a door into the cool, dim interior of a milliner’s shop, setting a bell jangling. “In here.”
Tamsyn paused on the threshold. “I suppose I can buy underclothes here. There really isn’t any need for you to come in with me, my lord colonel.”
The colonel didn’t reply, merely planted a hand in the small of her back and pushed her ahead of him into the shop.
A woman came out from the back. She wore a gown of dark bombazine with a crisp white muslin apron and a black lace mantilla draped over her shoulders. One quick glance took in her visitor’s rank, and she smiled with a hint of obsequiousness, greeting him in Spanish. “Go
od afternoon, sir. How may I be of service?” She cast a cursory look at the colonel’s companion, seeing a somewhat undersize lad in the dimness.
“My companion here needs to be reclothed from the skin out,” St. Simon said briskly, pushing Tamsyn into the ray of light falling through the window. “I think it would be simplest if she removes all her clothes and we start from there.”
“Hey, just a minute,” Tamsyn said. “I need a new pair of drawers, a new shirt, of lawn or silk, and a pair of stockings. Since I’m sure the senhora doesn’t sell britches, I’ll find them elsewhere.”
The colonel ignored her, saying calmly to the astonished senhora, “She needs drawers, a chemise, petticoats, silk stockings, and a gown … something simple, I think. Muslin or cambric.”
“What are you talking about?” Tamsyn protested, switching to English. “I cannot possibly wear women’s clothes here.”
“And why not? Countless other women appear to,” the colonel demanded dryly.
“Because it’s different … I’m different,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you’re thinking of.”
“When did you last wear petticoats?” he inquired, untroubled by her rising annoyance.
“I never have,” she said dismissively. “Neither did Cecile … or at least she did occasionally,” she added. “But I think that was all part of their love play. Skirts were quite impractical for the way we lived.”
“Well, they’re not impractical for the game you’ve chosen to play,” Julian stated. “In fact they’re indispensable. Permit me to remind you that at your instigation I hold the reins in that game; therefore, you’ll accept my ruling. As of today you adopt women’s clothes.”
“But … but we are to ride to Lisbon presumably, to take ship. How can I do that in women’s clothes?”
“The way other women do,” he said. “Unless you’d rather travel in a spring wagon.”
“Oh, don’t be absurd.” She turned back to the door with an impatient gesture. “I’ll manage as I am until Gabriel arrives. He’ll be bringing all my clothes.”
Julian took her arm, swinging her back to face him. His eyes rested with calm certainty on her flushed face. “You wish to cancel the contract, Violette?”
