“I have great faith in the duke,” he said. “But I cannot take the risk of placing the lives of my wife and children in his hands, Alex. We must leave. Not immediately. But soon, I think. I want you to be ready.”
“No,” she said. “No, I won’t leave. It would be cowardly, Edmund. And how could we be back in England, not knowing what is happening here? It would be Spain all over again.”
“I cannot put you in unnecessary danger, Alex,” he said. “And more especially the children. I will not. And I am sorry, but the matter is not open for discussion. I have decided.”
“Have you?” she said. “And what has happened to your promise that I might always argue with you, that I need never feel that I must obey you just because you are my husband? I want to argue now.”
But she had to wait for a few minutes while a footman and a maid brought in the tea tray and cakes.
Lord Amberley smiled at her when they were alone again. “You may argue, my love,” he said. “You may fight me if you like. But I will not let you win. And don’t cry unfair, Alex. Sometimes one feels too strongly about something to be willing to change one’s mind. As you did about our coming here. You insisted on having your way then because you knew how worried I was about Dominic. Remember?”
“I hate you,” she said.
He grinned. “Would it be safer to change the subject now that that unpleasantness is behind us?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “You have said that I may argue. Let us compromise, then, Edmund. I will take the children home. You stay here. Dominic needs you.”
“No.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Dominic does not need us, love. We need him. He has a job to do. Perhaps he would do it better without having our feelings to worry about. Certainly he is going to be too busy soon to spare us a thought. He has the training and the welfare of many men to concern himself with. We are the ones who need to cling to him because we love him and know we may lose him.”
“No,” she said. “Dominic has always survived.”
“Yes,” he said. “And we will pray that he will survive one more battle. But we will not keep him alive by staying here. I must come with you. When all is said and done, my first duty is to you, Alex, and to our children. You three are my life. I cannot be separated from you.”
“How will you break the news to Madeline?” she asked.
“Very carefully,” he said with a rueful grin. “I expected worse explosions from you. I am quite sure I will have them from my sister.”
“Will it be very soon?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It is impossible to say,” he said. “But when it finally comes, Alex, there is going to be a rush to leave Brussels and reach the ports. I don’t want to wait that long.”
She nodded. “I hate you when you are so wise and right,” she said.
“Kiss me,” he said. “I have been dreading this interview and am feeling in need of some reassurance.”
“The tea will get cold,” she said.
“At the risk of shocking your delicate ears, my love,” he said, “to hell with the tea. Kiss me.”
“I shouldn’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I hate you.”
“I know,” he said. “Kiss me, Alex. Don’t tease me. I need you.”
MADELINE HAD GONE to the park with her brother and sister-in-law and the children. They had met Ellen and Jennifer Simpson there, and she had stayed to stroll with them after the baby had begun to fuss and show signs of hunger and had been taken home.
Madeline had grown fond of both ladies. Jennifer reminded her of herself at the same age. She seemed to have an endless capacity to enjoy herself and a quite genuine exuberance for life. And men were attracted to her like bees to flowers, especially the very young officers.
The girl favored Dominic, Madeline thought sometimes. Certainly she blushed whenever he came into her sight, and gazed upward at him almost worshipfully. But was she in love with him? Or was it a hero worship she felt? Equally uncertain were Dominic’s feelings for her. He certainly favored her, dancing with her at every ball, escorting her to the theater, taking her for walks in the park and rides in the Allee Verte beyond the walls of the city, calling almost daily at her father’s rooms. And he had a way of looking at the girl, with a type of gentle affection, that was different from the way he usually looked at his flirts.
But was it love? He did not confide his feelings to his sister, as he always had. And that in itself was perhaps significant. Madeline was not sure how she would feel about having Miss Jennifer Simpson as a sister-in-law. She liked the girl. But she did not seem right for Dom, somehow. But then, Madeline thought, and turned weak at the knees with horror at the thought, perhaps the question of approving a bride for her brother would not be relevant at all by the end of the summer.
“Can you quite believe that the weather can be so lovely day after day?” she asked the two ladies. “I wonder if they are having an unusually fine spring in England, too.”
“It is lovely,” Ellen Simpson said. “You would appreciate it even more if you had spent several years in Spain, Lady Madeline. There is nothing there but searing heat and dust, or rain in torrents when it comes.”
“Dominic wrote to us about it,” Madeline said. “It must have been dreadful. I used to cry over his letters when they came.”
“There were compensations,” Ellen said. “Living like that sometimes destroys people. I have seen men go mad. But much more often it brings people closer together. There was a wonderful camaraderie among the men in Spain, and examples of great kindness and heroic self-denial. It is a strange irony that soldiers whose business it is to kill can often be the kindest and most generous of men. A life like that builds character in a man. And those are not empty words spoken by a recruiting officer,” she added with a laugh. “They come from my experience.”
That life built character not only in men, Madeline thought, as two young ensigns appeared on the path before them, their faces wreathed in smiles when they saw Jennifer. Bows and curtsies and bright pleasantries had to be exchanged with these acquaintances. The life she had lived had built character in Mrs. Simpson too. Madeline had grown to admire her, though she had been prepared at first to find her spineless.
Lady Lawrence and Maisie Hardcastle had done their best in the previous few weeks to raise a scandal over the fact that Mrs. Simpson, who was received at all the best homes in Brussels as the wife of Captain Simpson, was the daughter of the Countess of Harrowby. Madeline did not know the significance of the fact since she scorned to listen to the explanation that Maisie burned to give her, and Alexandra and Edmund knew no more than that the countess had a reputation for loose living and indeed lived separate from her husband the earl.
She had not asked Dominic what he knew. Dom was very friendly with the captain, and she was shy of asking him anything quite so personal about his friend’s wife, and something that smacked so much of malicious gossip. She guessed that Mrs. Simpson must be an illegitimate daughter of the countess.
And Mrs. Simpson must know of the gossip herself. Fortunately most people did not seem to feel that it was of any great significance. And the Simpsons did not go out into society a great deal and had their own circle of friends, who would not be affected by society scandal. But there were those, mostly matrons who felt they were better than the general run of mortals, who took every opportunity to snub her. And yet that lady was as dignified, as warmly friendly and charming, as she had ever been.
“Here comes Papa!” Jennifer cried as they were walking beside the lake. “And Lord Eden.”
“They are finished early today,” Ellen said. “They both look tired.”
Both men were smiling, but, yes, Madeline thought, there was that set quality to Dom’s smile that usually denoted tiredness.
The captain winked at his daughter and bowed to Madeline before smiling at his wife in that way that had begun to make Madeline envious.
“Charlie,” Ellen said, “you are on your way home? You are tired.”
“Not too tired to accompany you on your walk,” he said, offering her his arm.
Madeline heard no more as she was caught up in an exchange of words with her brother and Jennifer. But it was soon clear that Mrs. Simpson had insisted that her husband go home with her.
“We must have Lady Madeline and Eden come home to tea with us, Ellen,” the captain said.
“They will be very welcome,” she said. “But I would not wish them to feel obliged to come, Charlie. Lord Eden is tired.”
Who else would have noticed? Madeline wondered. Dominic’s eyes were twinkling from some teasing remark he had just made to Jennifer. Living close to an army had made Mrs. Simpson sensitive to such things, it
