The Soldier's Dark Secret

She got hurriedly to her feet to do so, rather than summon a servant or allow him to help himself, obviously keen to encourage his returning appetite. Her concern touched him. It struck him that before he went to London, it would merely have irked him. He wondered guiltily how many other such small acts of kindness he’d misconstrued. ‘Thank you,’ he said with a smile as she handed him the plate.

Eleanor blushed. ‘You are most welcome, Jack,’ she said.

He made a point of taking a bite of egg and nodding his appreciation. ‘By the way, I brought Robert back a present from London.’

‘A present? That is exceedingly thoughtful of you. May I ask what it is?’

Eleanor’s face lit up, and Jack felt another twinge of guilt. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled at him like that. ‘It’s a box of soldiers,’ he said. ‘Actually, rather a large box. Models of the armies who fought at Waterloo. I thought he could invite his little friend from the village round later, and I’d set it out for him, just as it was. Explain how the battle unfolded, that sort of thing.’

‘Jack!’ Eleanor clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Jack, that is most—most— I must say, I am quite flabbergasted.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘Did you hear that, my love? Robert will be delighted.’

‘I am sure he will be, but—are you sure about this, Jack? I mean, you’ve been rather keen to avoid the subject, and...’

‘And now I see that it was wrong of me,’ Jack said smoothly. ‘Robert ought to understand both sides of the story. To read some of the accounts in the press, you’d think that we— Wellington had an easy triumph. In fact the victory meant all the more for our—his having such a worthy adversary in Napoleon.’

‘Well then, provided that Wellington still triumphs,’ Charlie said with a rumble of laugher. ‘Indeed, Jack, that is most— You won’t mind if I sit in? I’d be fascinated to hear your thoughts for myself.’

‘Not at all.’

‘I must go and tell Robert at once,’ Eleanor said. ‘Will two o’clock suit you? He will be—Charles, my love, come with me. We should both be there when he hears the exciting news. You will excuse us.’

Jack finished his egg. Celeste poured herself another cup of coffee. ‘Mission accomplished?’ she asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.

He laughed at her choosing his own words. ‘I think so.’

‘And these toy soldiers, would they happen to be another test?’

Jack pushed his chair back. ‘Sometimes the trouble with a beautiful, clever and talented woman is that she is rather too perceptive. I must go, I have a battleground to prepare.’

Chapter Ten

Four days later, Celeste gazed out of the window of her guest bedchamber at Hunter’s Reach, the country estate in neighbouring Surrey where Wellington was hosting his dinner—although in actual fact it was Lord and Lady Elmsford, the owners of the house, who were the nominal hosts.

The house had been constructed during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, built in the classic ‘E’ shape which was a common tribute to the Virgin Queen. Celeste’s room was on the third floor on the north wing of the house, facing towards a long sweep of carriageway. Jack had been clearly on edge when they arrived a few hours ago, as much on her behalf as his, but she had managed to reassure him that she was more than capable of playing her part. Though as Celeste watched the stream of carriages arriving, she felt less certain with every passing minute.

Moving restlessly to the mirror, she studied her reflection critically. Her evening dress was of white silk, the overdress gauze woven with sky-blue leaves of flossed silk, trimmed with net and satin. She had had it made in Paris on a whim a month after her mother died, a fruitless attempt to console herself with something utterly frivolous which she would never have the opportunity to wear. She had no idea what impulse had made her bring it with her to England, but she was vastly relieved that she had. Her long evening gloves were also new, as were the sky-blue slippers which matched her gown. Her fingers went automatically to the locket, glittering at her throat. ‘I wish I had you here to advise me, Maman,’ she whispered. ‘You would know all the protocols regarding how deep I should curtsy to each rank of attendee.’

She had refused her host’s offer of a lady’s maid, never having had one, and kept her coiffure simple, in a topknot held by a ribbon to match her gown, with a few artful curls. Now, peering nervously at the result, Celeste worried that it was overly simple for such a grand occasion. She had no shawl, and could only hope that the throng of guests would warm the cavernous rooms downstairs. Another thing she could not understand about the English, the way they made a virtue of the cold. Staring at the empty grate in her bedchamber, she wondered if there was some unwritten rule that fires were not to be lit until the first snowfall.