Page 51 of A Hint of Scandal

She shook her head, managing a little chuckle. “Pray don’t think that they did that only to me. No one except Ogden goes anywhere while at Milford. As I said, only church. So not only I, but poor Letty as well, has been kept very much away from society.”

“No balls?”

“Very few, and neither she nor I were allowed to attend. She was too young, of course, and I was considered… as you say, unimportant. Letty’s brothers and sisters were too young to feel the lack of social life and have a governess so no need to go to school. Perhaps that accounts for how Letty has seized upon the Season’s events with such gusto.”

“I had noticed.”

“Don’t think badly of her. She cannot help the way she’s been brought up. She’s a lovely girl, really. Blame her parents for allowing her to be so selfish and demanding.”

“Only of you, I imagine.”

“Perhaps. But I love her, Max, so I excuse her because I know she knows no better. And she can be very kind.” She shook her head. “But what about Portugal? You started to tell me before we were sidetracked.”

He smiled, and her heart did a little uncontrollable flip. Sitting this close to him she could smell the musky masculine scent he must have applied this morning and it was almost too much to bear.

“Do you want me to start at the beginning? We have a long journey to make and it might pass the time.” To her nod, he continued. “I was a captain in the 20th Light Dragoons, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Charles Taylor, and last year we were sent out from England to Portugal to reinforce Sir Arthur Wellesley’s army. Our squadron joined with the rest of our men who’d been in South America, in Maidstone in Kent, while we waited embarkation orders.”

Never having had the opportunity to speak with a soldier, Serafina listened with interest as he spoke of his former life. She could, she realized, keeping her smile hidden, have listened to him reciting a list of imports and exports, or a shopping list. So listening to him speak of something close to his heart was no trouble at all. “Go on,” she said in encouragement, in case he might think her bored by his talk of manly things.

He rewarded her with a smile. “In the end four troops left for the Peninsular. Thirteen of us officers, three-hundred-and-sixty-eight men and two-hundred-and-fifteen horses. Sir Arthur, our Lieutenant General, had shipped from Cork with eleven-thousand men and was joined by four-thousand from Gibraltar, in Mondego Bay.” He eyed her a little suspiciously. “I’m not boring you, am I?”

She shook her head with vigor. “No. Not at all. Go on. I’m finding this very interesting.”

“It’s just that I’ve never met a lady who was interested in the affairs of war.”

She smiled. “Well, you have now.”

He returned her smile, once again making her heart do that delightful flutter and this time her stomach turned to water. Good heavens. She must make sure she hid the way she was feeling lest it unsettled her betrothed. After all, he wanted this to be a marriage based strictly on business. Didn’t he?

He cleared his throat. “They were reinforced by a squadron of the Lisbon Mounted Police, so with our cavalry included, we were quite a formidable army. Our first battle was at Rolica on the 17th of August, although we cavalry weren’t involved as the ground was unsuitable for a charge.”

Serafina watched his mouth as he spoke, finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on what he was saying by the minute. Perhaps she ought to go and sit in one of the rear facing seats opposite, just for the sake of her equilibrium. A fine sheen of moisture covered his brow, even though it wasn’t warm in the carriage. Might he be sickening for something?

“So what happened next?” she asked, determined to distance herself from how terribly distracting his presence so close beside her was. When she’d agreed to this trip, she hadn’t taken into account in how close a proximity they might have to be. For a long period of time. Hadn’t he said Oxford lay thirty miles off? How fast could horses go? No more than six miles per hour would be five hours. There and back. And they were to stay the night somewhere. Of course, having her maid would make that acceptable, but nevertheless…

“The French retreated, covered by their cavalry who were more numerous than ours, so we were still not put into the field. Then, a few days later, we took up position at a village called Vimeiro, near the mouth of the river Maceira, to allow two brigades of reinforcements to disembark.” He paused, a heavy frown on his face. “And with it came Sir Harry Burrard who outranked Sir Arthur—an arrival which turned out not to be a good thing.”

They had left the park well behind now and the carriage was rumbling down a narrow lane, the horses maintaining a spanking trot that made the scenery fairly rush past the window. Perhaps they’d arrive in Oxford sooner than she’d thought. “Why was that a bad thing?”

“Because he took over from Wellesley, a man of far greater experience than Burrard. We, the 20th, were bivouacked on Vimeiro Hill, watching out for the French advance from Torres Vedras, with the rest of Sir Arthur’s army hidden behind two ridges to the north of the hill. We were in the valley with the village on our right. The French arrived and battle commenced.” His eyes took on a faraway look, as though he were seeing that battle again. Not something Serafina could come anywhere close to imagining.

“Then what? Did you fight them?”

He shook his head. “Not us. Not at first. We were left to stand and wait as our infantry met theirs.” He shook his head. “The frustration of standing idle while you see the battle going on is something I can’t explain. We all wanted to be at them, but even though Colonel Taylor rode up the hill to plead for us to go into battle, Brigadier Fane refused.”

Frustration was something Serafina could comprehend, so she nodded. Although not of the type a soldier might feel in battle. “Then what happened?” He must have been in the battle eventually, in order to have been injured.

“At last Fane shouted to us, ‘Now we want you, 20th! Forward and charge! And show them what you are made of.’ Those were his exact words. We needed no other command. Every horse was fighting for its head, each man was keyed up for the charge. We galloped up the slope to the sound of cheers from the rest of the army and in columns of half-squadrons, with the Lisbon Policemen on either flank, we charged at the French grenadiers.” His eyes were alight now and a real passion filled his voice. This was something he remembered with pride, even though he’d been wounded. Serafina felt her own heart, already deeply embroiled, begin to quicken. He told a good story.

“The Grenadiers were in retreat, and we galloped through them and out the other side to find we were facing over a thousand of the enemy’s cavalry—Dragoons and Chasseurs. We ploughed into them, as well, our swords cutting and hacking until they broke and bolted in every direction.” He shook his head and chuckled. “The trouble with a charging cavalryman and his horse, is that they don’t know when to stop. The light of battle seizes you, and your horse is like a galloper in the Derby, hooves flying across the ground. Out of control of our Colonel now, we kept on going in pursuit of the enemy. In fact, our Colonel was in the lead, so I doubt if he wanted to stop either.” He shook his head again. “Unfortunately for him, someone shot him dead. But it was an honorable death. A soldier’s death. Serving his king and country.”

That faraway look was back in his eyes. Would he have preferred to have died a soldier’s death himself, instead of having to return to Britain, wounded? That anyone might think like that had never occurred to Serafina before, and her heart went out to him. If she could do nothing else, she determined to make him happy.

“We ended up in a field, surrounded by the enemy, which was when I took a musket ball in my shoulder. It nearly knocked me from my horse, but I had my soldier servant with me, Watkins, who’s my valet now, and he kept me upright. I thought we’d all be killed for our recklessness, but we were saved by the intervention of the 50th. As for those Portuguese Policemen—they were spotless while we were drenched in blood—ours and our enemies’. Those cowardly bastards hadn’t lifted a finger to help us. Sorry. I shouldn’t have used that word, but…’

“That’s quite all right. I think you were justified. I’m not shocked, have no fear. I’m not easily shockable.”

“We lost fifty-five men, including our colonel, and some were missing but rejoined us later. Those ungrateful locals, whom we were defending from the French, stripped our colonel’s body naked. So not such a glorious death as it might have been.”

“But you won?”

He nodded. “We did, but that idiot Burrard didn’t allow our Sir Arthur to follow up on our success. Not that I could have joined in. By then I was in a hospital tent. Instead, they allowed the whole French army to take transport back to France. Taken by our own navy, no less. Along with all their loot and guns and equipment. That’s not how to fight a war and I think the powers that be have realized. I believe Sir Arthur’s back in charge in Spain and Portugal. As he should have been all along.”

“And your arm?”

“The doctors tried, but the musket ball had severed the nerves. I have some feeling here and there, but I can’t use it.” He lifted his right hand with his left. “See here? I can feel with my little finger. How useful is that?”

Before she could stop herself, she’d reached out and touched his little finger. Under her hand, it twitched. “It moved.”

“I know. It’s about all I can do.” His voice had gone a little hoarse and color flared on his cheeks. Might he possibly like that she’d touched his hand?

Serafina swallowed. “Thank you for telling me your story.”

“And now,” he said, “you’d better tell me yours. We still have a long way to go.”