Page 67

Not tentative. Not polite. Purposeful.

Arthur did not turn from the window.

"Enter."

The single word was delivered with such clipped authority that Eliza hardly recognised the voice. It belonged neither to the man who had so patiently answered her endless questions only moments before nor to the Duke who had indulged her wandering through his study that afternoon.

The door opened. Mr Ellis stepped inside carrying a sealed dispatch upon a silver tray. He crossed directly to Arthur, stopping only when he stood within arm's reach. Laurence moved instinctively to Arthur's shoulder, the two men forming a tight circle that spoke of long familiarity with moments such as these.

Eliza remained where she was. She had no desire to intrude. Yet every instinct compelled her to listen.

"Missive from Major General Ashcombe, Your Grace."

Arthur did not wait for a letter knife.

He broke the seal with his thumb in one swift movement before unfolding the paper. His eyes travelled rapidly across the page, moving with increasing urgency as each line revealed itself.

"Damned devil..." The curse escaped Laurence in little more than a breath as Arthur passed the letter into his friend's waiting hand.

Arthur said nothing. For one suspended heartbeat he remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed upon some point far beyond the study walls, before the stillness vanished altogether.

"Ellis."

His voice was clipped.

"Have the travelling carriage prepared immediately."

The butler did not hesitate. "At once, Your Grace."

Arthur was already halfway to the door before the sentence had finished, his long strides carrying him from the study with such purpose that the tails of his coat swept behind him. Within moments, the sound of his boots striking the marble floor disappeared into the corridor, replaced by the distant echo of orders being issued with military precision.

Laurence finished reading the dispatch. The colour had fled from his face.

Without another word, he let the letter fall carelessly onto the chair behind him before striding after Arthur. The study door swung shut behind them.

Silence settled.

Eliza remained exactly where she was. What had happened?

Everything had changed in the space of mere minutes. She knew she ought to leave the letter where it was. It was not addressed to her. Nor did she wish to intrude upon whatever private matter had transformed the room so completely.

Yet curiosity, and something very much like dread, drew her quietly across the room.

She picked up the discarded dispatch.

Dear Duke of Buckingham,

I regret to inform Your Grace that Lieutenant Colonel Radnor was severely wounded by enemy artillery during the Battle at Waterloo. Though he survived the initial wound, his condition has deteriorated considerably, rendering him wholly unfit to undertake the journey home unaccompanied.

Unfortunately, no officer of the regiment is currently able to escort him due to our ongoing obligations following the campaign. Knowing the strength of your friendship, and having served alongside you both, I would willingly permit Colonel Radnor to return to your care should you be able to arrange suitable transport.

I would hate to leave a good man behind to perish.

If Your Grace intends to come, I would advise travelling without delay.

M.G. Ashcombe

The words seemed to blur before her eyes.