The Three Colonels

When he was mere inches from his trembling quarry, he leaned in and said, “Go.”

Wickham was not one to miss an opportunity when it was presented. Without a sound, he squeezed past his tormentor and ran unsteadily down the hall. Not completely trusting his old childhood companion, he kept looking over his shoulder for the expected pursuit. A mistake—for the next moment he collided with someone.

“Watch it, you damn fool!” snarled Wickham as he picked himself off the floor.

“Wickham?” cried his commanding colonel as he sat upright on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Sir!” Wickham was able to cry before his mouth went completely dry. “I… I… excuse me, sir. I regret —”

“What are you doing here?”

“I… I was at liberty. Hewitt has the post tonight. Oh, let me help you, sir.”

After being assisted to his feet, the colonel rudely showed no sense of appreciation. “An oversight, I assure you! Get back to camp, Wickham—now!”

Wickham blinked twice and ran out the door.

Fitzwilliam leaned against the door of the library and laughed his head off.

Chapter 24

Sir John raged as he sipped his brandy. Roxanne—of all the people to see here tonight!

He thought of Roxanne’s beauty and allurements, so wasted on him, for his thoughts kept returning to Caroline. Never did he long for her as now. He needed her laugh, her sharp, biting humor, and her sweet attentions. Why was it that he could not have what he wanted? He should never have sent Caroline away.

Just then, he noticed that Annabella Norris was in attendance. The faint hope that she might have some news of Caroline overcame his revulsion of the woman. He crossed the floor and bowed. He found her with two other former acquaintances from the old days—Lord Braxton and his latest paramour, Lady Daphne Glevering.

“Are you enjoying Brussels?” Buford asked Braxton after they exchanged the usual greetings.

“It has pleasures enough, Buford. A change of scenery is always welcome in the summer,” replied Braxton carelessly.

“We in the army are always hungry for news from home. No matter how many letters one receives, it is never enough. How did you leave London?”

“The same—blasted hot this year.”

“Yes,” simpered Annabella. “Town is so boring! I am so glad we took this opportunity to come to the Continent. It is so exciting!”

“Come, Daphne—the music’s started,” said Braxton, tugging at her arm. “Another time, Buford.” The two made their way to the dance floor.

Annabella and Sir John watched them depart. Sir John was temporarily trapped—it would not be good form to abandon the lady before another of her acquaintances arrived.

Annabella asked, “Are you not dancing, sir?”

Sir John looked nonplused at her. Finding no polite reason to excuse himself, he held out his hand. “As you wish.”

“Oh, no. Do not think I am looking for a partner. I should be content to share some conversation if you would indulge me. I much prefer talking to dancing.”

Buford nodded his acquiescence, wondering what the woman was about.

“I hope I am not detaining you. Is Lady Caroline here?”

“No. She is in London.”

“How sad! Her grand adventure is over. I feel for her, poor dear—to miss such parties and lively, elevated company.” She glanced at Buford with a smile.

Buford stiffened. He supposed that she was trying to tempt him into an assignation, but the officer vowed that no matter what arts and allurements Mrs. Norris might employ, the woman would not succeed. “We thought it best that she return to England with hostilities imminent.”

Annabella looked about the room with amusement. “Really? Are the French here? Which one is Napoleon?”

“Mrs. Norris, war is not a joke.”

“Of course not, but to abandon you to your own devices while still on your honeymoon—how sad. But that is my dear Caroline; she must have her own way. I am sure she is well occupied. You must be very lonely.”

“I manage, madam.” Annabella’s implication of Caroline’s possible activities in London both angered and frightened Buford. Such thoughts had begun to take root in his mind, no matter how hard he fought it. He lashed out. “By the way, where is your husband?”

“In the West Indies, inspecting his plantations. So, you see, I too have been abandoned. Cold and lonely.” The unspoken offer floated in the charged air.

“How unfortunate for you. As for me, I find thoughts of home keep me warm enough at night.” He had had a bellyful of her insinuations. “If you would excuse me.”

“Sir John, you would leave me?”

Buford hissed, “Mrs. Norris, do not think that my wife and I have not talked about our former acquaintances in Town! Oh, yes, I know exactly what you are about. I was a fool to waste my time speaking to you. You are no friend to my wife and can have no knowledge of her. Your behavior is infamous. Find someone else to share your bed, madam. You disgust me.”

Annabella Norris turned purple in her outrage and dismissal. Grimly satisfied, Buford turned on his heel and went in search of another brandy.

*   *   *

Buford nursed his drink, glowering, when he was interrupted again.

“Come, cheri, things cannot be all that bad,” said Countess de Pontchartrain from behind his left shoulder.

Buford expected her. “Enjoying yourself, Roxanne?”

“Tremendously. Are you still angry with me?”

He turned to her. “That ball in Vienna. Why did you introduce Lady Buford to Baron von Odbart, of all people? What game were you playing? Surely you could not expect an assignation on my honeymoon.”

She chuckled. “Oh, Jean, you are as clever as I remember.”

“I knew you were trying to entrap my wife! But why? Surely you do not think I would divorce her, do you?”

“Jean, Jean, I was not trying to entrap your wife…” She let the sentence linger as she eyed him closely.

“Me—you were after me? You knew how I would respond!”

“Almost—you showed amazing restraint. We thought surely you would challenge the baron.”

Buford knew he almost had. “What purpose would that serve? I would have either lived or died. What difference would that make? I am not that important.”

“You are not important—but the Congress was.”

With a sinking feeling, Buford realized he had been played for a fool. Such a scandal as a duel between delegates would disrupt the Congress and hurt negotiations, particularly between England and Prussia. It had been a trap, and he almost fell into it, nearly causing immeasurable damage to his country.

“Who are you working for, Comtesse?” he demanded.

A haughty laugh escaped her lovely lips. “You think only those who wear a uniform are patriots, Colonel? I serve France!”

Buford’s mind raced through the possibilities, but only one name remained. Only M. Talleyrand could have approved such an operation. The ambassador had been so helpful at the ball just so Buford could find his wife and the baron together. The French must have hoped, he now suspected, that the two would have been caught in flagrante delicto.

“Was this operation your idea or the ambassador’s?”