Authors: Roberta Gellis
“It is too heavy a price to pay,” Esmeralda agreed. “It is
very fortunate that Sir Arthur has recognized the facts, since the armistice
must surely go against the grain for him.”
“He hasn’t said much. He never does, but he’s a very
longsighted man.” Robert’s eyes brightened, and his lips started to curve a
little. “There’ll be plenty of fighting before we finally whip Boney.”
There was a slight pause while Esmeralda swallowed the fear
these words engendered in her and reminded herself of the conclusions she had
reached. Robert was going to find a war to fight in somewhere all of his life,
and if she showed the fear she felt, he would simply leave her behind. And that
brought to mind a more immediate problem. Now with armistice in the wind, would
they return to England?
“Has Sir Arthur given any indication of what he intends to
do once the negotiations are over?” Esmeralda asked.
“Not to any of us,” Robert replied, smiling wryly. “All of
us have been after him, but he’s tight as a clam, as he should be.” Then the
wry twist left his lips, and he wound a finger into one of Esmeralda’s curls.
“One thing’s sure. We’ll be leaving here and moving into Lisbon very soon.
You’ll like that. There’ll be lots of parties. Sir Arthur loves balls. Now
you’ll have to get some evening dresses and I’ll have to see about getting you
some trinkets to wear with them.”
Esmeralda touched the hand playing with her curls. “And will
you enjoy it, too?”
“Enormously,” Robert said, “if you will save some dances for
me.”
Robert’s prediction was correct, but he and Esmeralda
remained in Portugal only because of Sir Arthur’s very real patriotism, which
outweighed the chagrin, fury, and disgust he felt at the way the convention
with the French was negotiated and the way Dalrymple allowed Junot to interpret
the provisions in it. By the end of August, it was clear that Sir Arthur wanted
no more to do with the present management of the campaign in Portugal and that
he intended to return to England as soon as he received permission to do so.
Nevertheless, he was troubled about abandoning the army and
the people of Portugal to almost certain disaster in the hands of Dalrymple and
Burrard.
Robert first became aware that Sir Arthur had been giving
serious thought to how the situation might be amended when he was summoned to
the room Sir Arthur was using as an office early on September 17, the day
before they were to leave for England. He waved Robert to a seat and asked him
if he remembered correctly that Robert’s initial appointment in the army had
been to Sir John Moore’s staff.
“Yes, sir, it was.”
“And you parted with him on…ah…good terms?”
“Most excellent terms, Sir Arthur,” Robert replied, somewhat
puzzled. “I only left him because the Peace of Amiens had been signed and Sir
John was going on inactive service, which I did not wish to do.” Then he
grinned. “I was concerned, also, that my family would endeavor to persuade me
to leave the army altogether since ‘the war was over’. It seemed to me
expedient to put some distance between them and myself, and I had heard of your
brilliant campaigns in India. Well, India was a good distance.”
Wellesley loosed his whooping laugh. “I hope your family is
now resigned to your military ambitions?”
“Pretty well, sir. You remember, I suppose, that Fa insisted
that I go inactive while my brother Perce was with the Russian army and Fred
was at sea, but that was only reasonable. There’s Moreton to consider. But he
didn’t kick up a fuss when I said I wanted to join your staff again after Perce
came home.”
“Very good,” Sir Arthur approved. “Now, are you eager to get
home, or would you consider changing your plans on very short notice,
transferring to Sir John’s staff and remaining in Portugal?”
Robert blinked. Personal staff was a personal matter,
although most generals were saddled with an assortment of army-mad and
ne’er-do-well younger sons of influential people. Actually Robert had thought
of applying to Sir John again, but not until he was sure that Sir Arthur was
accepting inactive status and returning to his post as chief secretary for
Ireland rather than obtaining another military command elsewhere. There was,
after all, the question of a decent loyalty and not giving the appearance of
abandoning a “sinking ship”, for there were already signs that England was
furious about the so-called Convention of Cintra, which had been signed on
August 31. Many members of Parliament and most of the public were demanding
that those who had signed so pernicious a document be called to account.
Sir Arthur misunderstood Robert’s hesitation, which was
owing exclusively to surprise, and frowned. “I suppose it is inconvenient. You
must be all packed to leave.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t the inconvenience, sir. I just—”
“Good Lord!” Wellesley exclaimed. “You must want to take
your wife home. I had forgotten for the moment about Mrs. Moreton’s situation.
Hmmm
.”
“No, it’s nothing to do with Merry,” Robert assured him. “I
was just surprised. I didn’t know that you and Sir John were in communication.”
“We aren’t,” Sir Arthur said, “but I have just written to
him, and I would like you—since you know him—to deliver the letter and urge him
to meet with me, as I have requested, sometime today at his convenience. I
understand that he has had a disagreement with Lord Castlereagh.” Sir Arthur’s
lips twisted wryly. “He was dissatisfied with the expedition to Sweden on which
he was sent and also did not like being placed as third in command to Sir Hew
and Sir Harry.”
Robert choked.
Sir Arthur eyed him frostily but continued without comment,
“The good of the nation and the successful prosecution of the war against
Bonaparte are far more important than Sir John’s personal feelings—or mine. Or,
for that matter, Mrs. Moreton’s convenience. If you would like, I will escort
her to England myself and see that her affairs are placed in proper and
competent hands.”
It was a very generous offer. Sir Arthur must know he would
be put to a great deal of trouble. Nor was there any reason for it beyond
genuine kindness. He could simply have ordered Robert to ask for the transfer
and ignored any personal problems his orders caused. Robert flushed.
“That’s very good of you, sir, but I-I don’t know what Merry
will want to do,” he said. “It’s…there’s no longer any question of annulment.”
Sir Arthur raised his brows. “Well then, it is simpler. I
need only place Mrs. Moreton under the protection of your family.”
Poor Robert flushed even darker, but he only repeated that
he must discuss the matter with his wife and then said desperately, “I also
think it would be best to settle matters with Sir John.”
“Very well, Moreton. It is your affair, of course, but keep
in mind that I am willing to help in any way I can.”
Robert thanked him again and, having obtained the direction
of Sir John’s quarters, took his leave. But his mind would not stay fixed on
what to say to Sir John. The truth was that Robert did not want to put Sir
Arthur’s proposition to Merry. He felt that she would jump at the chance. With
Sir Arthur’s support, she could establish herself, and she was all packed and
ready to go. He would miss her damnably.
Surprisingly, Robert’s loins tightened, as if he had been
too long without a woman, but that wasn’t the case at all. He had made love to
Merry only a few hours before. They made love almost every night, and sometimes
even twice. It was crazy. Before he had met her, a few times a month was enough
when he was on campaign, but he seemed to want Merry all the time. Just crazy.
She wasn’t even beautiful. She was plain… Or was she?
As Robert mounted his horse and rode off, he was trying to
visualize Merry’s face, but there seemed to be many images superimposed. That
was odd, but odder still was the fact that he responded just as strongly when
he remembered her as plain as dishwater as when he imagined a dramatically
beautiful face, pale and large eyed, surrounded by masses of gleaming dark
hair, a face he knew could not be real. It didn’t seem to matter how she
looked. He just wanted her.
Well, he didn’t have to tell her about Sir Arthur’s offer.
He realized that Sir Arthur must have some notion he intended to present to Sir
John that would place the command of the Portuguese campaign in Sir John’s
hands, but Robert told himself that the Horse Guards would not be easy to
circumvent. If those wooden soldiers had their way and Dalrymple remained in
charge, there probably wouldn’t be any more action. Then there wouldn’t be any
danger or hardship for Merry to endure. Would it be so wrong in that case to
explain the situation and not tell her that Sir Arthur had offered to escort
her to England?
Robert had found no answer that would satisfy him when he
dismounted, but he was greeted with considerable enthusiasm by such old friends
as Major John Colborne, now Sir John’s military secretary, and Colonel Thomas
Graham of Balgowan, who teased him about arriving so early in hopes of getting
a good breakfast to make up for the bad dinner at Sir Arthur’s table the
previous evening. Robert laughed and shook his head, happy to push the problem
of Merry out of his mind. It was not the first time he had seen his old
friends, of course. He had paid a courtesy call soon after Sir John arrived in
the Lisbon area, but when he said he was on business, he was escorted without
delay, although with looks of considerable curiosity, into Sir John’s chamber.
Moore smiled at him, but with a question in his eyes, and
asked in what way he could be of service. Robert handed over the letter and
repeated Sir Arthur’s hope that he and Sir John could meet. Moore stared at
Robert for a long moment without answering, then broke the seal and began to
read Sir Arthur’s letter. The rather austere expression that had given his
handsome features the look of a fine carving relaxed as he read, and when he
looked up, his warm and enchanting smile assured Robert of the success of the
first part of his mission.
“I would be honored to meet Sir Arthur, anywhere and at any
time,” he said. “He writes most excellent good sense, and he is a brilliant
officer.”
“That he is, Sir John,” Robert agreed, “and thoughtful of
the men and kindhearted, too. Don’t be put off by his manner,” he added. “He
has an air of great reserve, but he is a good and steady friend.”
Robert would never have volunteered that kind of personal
comment in speaking to Sir Arthur, who always wished to see and judge for
himself. But Sir John’s disposition was very different. He was of open and
friendly temper, though he could be cold and distant enough to those he did not
like, and he valued a free proffering of well-meant information from those he
trusted.
He nodded, smiling, and said, “So I have heard, and I have
also heard he has a reputation for keeping his own counsel, but his letter
seems very open and honest.”
“I would not say that he is, in general, open,” Robert said
carefully, “but what he says is always honest, and in this case I am sure he
believes openness to be necessary. What he said to me was that the good of the
nation and the successful prosecution of the war against Bonaparte were far
more important than your personal feelings or his.”
Moore looked rather startled, but after a brief pause
nodded. “I agree most heartily.”
“What is more,” Robert continued, “he desires me to ask for
a transfer to your staff. I know a good deal about the difficulties of working
with the Portuguese, I know the Bishop of Oporto personally, and I can speak
the language moderately well.”
Since the Bishop of Oporto was now a member of the ruling
junta of Portugal, Robert’s acquaintance with him might be of considerable
value.
“Really,” Sir John remarked thoughtfully. “How kind of Sir
Arthur. Well, I will be delighted to have you back, so you may consider that
settled. Now there is only the question of where and when to meet. I assume Sir
Arthur would not like me to come to him, nor would he wish to come here and perhaps
give the impression of…er…collusion.”
Robert smiled broadly. He had not wanted to suggest such a
thing himself but it had been in his mind. There could be little doubt that
Dalrymple had his knife out for Sir Arthur and very likely for Moore, too,
since Moore was a passionate advocate of new methods, both for the training and
disciplining of soldiers and of battle tactics.
“There is a palace, a fascinating little gem of a palace
actually, just outside of Lisbon at Queluz,” Sir John went on. “Do you know it?”
“No. But the local people will know, and I speak the
language.”
“Yes. Well, I have been wanting a closer look at the place.
I’ll ride out as soon as I clean up a few papers here and will stay until…oh,
three of the clock or so.”
“Very good, sir,” Robert said. “I’m sure that will suit Sir
Arthur very well, but if it should not, I’ll be back before you leave.”
In a sense Robert was delighted with the way things were
going. If he thought Wellesley a shade more brilliant in action than Moore, it
was only a shade, and Sir John was far easier to work for. Not to mention the
fact that he would finally get something decent to eat and drink at mess for a
change. But best of all, he would remain in Portugal, where there was bound to
be action even if Dalrymple did hold command for a while. Boney wasn’t going to
take having his army thrown out without a fight.
But that thought made nonsense of Robert’s earlier
rationalizations that there would be no danger and hardship for Merry if she
remained in Portugal. Thus, it
was
wrong not to tell her about Sir
Arthur’s offer. Well, it would have to wait until he had delivered Sir John’s
message, Robert thought. Duty came first. As soon as he had told Sir Arthur the
gist of his conversation with Sir John, he would go home and speak to Merry.
But Sir Arthur invited him to be present at his meeting with Moore, and
although that took only a few hours, Robert somehow found himself too busy all
day long to get back to the elegant apartment he had rented until very late
indeed.