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Authors: Lord Roworth's Reward
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invited.”
“Your rival? Then Lady Sophia has, I collect.”
“Yes. I doubt many of her other suitors will be there either, though they will be invited to his formal ball later in the month.”
“You must make the most of the opportunity,” she said dryly. She kept hoping that he’d grow disillusioned with Lady Sophia, but he continued in hot pursuit, and continued to confide in Fanny his progress or lack thereof.
Now frowning at Lord Fitzroy’s note, he did not respond to her words. “That’s odd. He says Wellington has definite word from Colonel Grant--his head of Intelligence--that Napoleon is at Laon, and on his way to Lille.”
“Where is Laon?”
“About eighty miles north of Paris, more than half way to the Belgian border. I cannot believe it! Moving troops takes time. Jakob Rothschild would have informed me if Boney had left Paris.”
“Might not his courier have come to grief?”
“Possibly, though I had rather trust a Rothschild courier than British Intelligence. Do you know, our Government will not allow Grant to send patrols into French territory because we are not officially at war?”
“So I have heard, but I didn’t believe it. In Portugal and Spain, the information the guerrilla patrols gathered was invaluable.”
“It’s true. Who can guess where Grant gets his information? From Boney’s agents, I wager. I’m sure he is mistaken. Don’t repeat this to anyone, if you please. Fitzroy told me in confidence.”
His trust in her discretion gratified her. She knew he never discussed such matters with Lady Sophia, and for some reason that gave her comfort. “Shall you tell Old Hookey you think Colonel Grant is wrong?” she asked.
Felix ran his fingers through his hair. “All I can do is tell him I have heard nothing to confirm the news.”
“Then do that. Stop worrying and eat your breakfast.”
“Yes’m.” He applied himself to his plateful of eggs and muffins.
“You didn’t eat all yours, Tía,” Anita pointed out. “I finished mine. Tía, can we feed the swans today?”
“Yes, we’ll go this morning if you promise not to give the pigeons all the bread.” She dipped a corner of her napkin in the fingerbowl set there for the purpose and removed a quantity of jam from sticky little face and fingers.
“I’ll go with you,” Felix said, consulting his watch, “if you can wait until I’ve been to Headquarters. I shan’t be long.”
Fanny guessed he was calculating that Lady Sophia would not be in the park before noon. When her cynical glance brought a tinge of colour to his cheeks, she was sure she was right, but all she said was, “We shall not be ready to go for at least an hour.”
“We won’t go wivout you,” Anita promised, and to Fanny’s amusement his expression became downright penitent. He retreated in disorder.
When Felix reached Headquarters, neither the Duke nor Fitzroy was there. As he had nothing definite to report, he didn’t leave a message but returned after accompanying Fanny and Anita to the park. By then Fitzroy had sent word that he would spend the morning at home as his young wife was unwell. Wellington, Cathcart thought, was calling on the Richmonds.
Felix made his way to the Rue de la Blanchisserie and ran his quarry to earth. As he was shown into the Richmonds’ drawing room, Lady Georgiana was telling Wellington about the planned picnic to Lille or Tournai.
“You’d better not go, Georgy,” said the Duke authoritatively. “Say nothing about it, but let the project drop.”
“Must we?” mourned Lady Jane. “We have been looking forward to it so, and William is nearly well enough.”
“I’ll take you to the Guards’ cricket match at Enghien instead,” suggested the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Armies.
Felix could only admire his sang-froid, if he really believed Boney was at Laon. He recalled the remark he had overheard at the Review. “Balls, horse races, le cricket” all added up to convincing wavering
“Your rival? Then Lady Sophia has, I collect.”
“Yes. I doubt many of her other suitors will be there either, though they will be invited to his formal ball later in the month.”
“You must make the most of the opportunity,” she said dryly. She kept hoping that he’d grow disillusioned with Lady Sophia, but he continued in hot pursuit, and continued to confide in Fanny his progress or lack thereof.
Now frowning at Lord Fitzroy’s note, he did not respond to her words. “That’s odd. He says Wellington has definite word from Colonel Grant--his head of Intelligence--that Napoleon is at Laon, and on his way to Lille.”
“Where is Laon?”
“About eighty miles north of Paris, more than half way to the Belgian border. I cannot believe it! Moving troops takes time. Jakob Rothschild would have informed me if Boney had left Paris.”
“Might not his courier have come to grief?”
“Possibly, though I had rather trust a Rothschild courier than British Intelligence. Do you know, our Government will not allow Grant to send patrols into French territory because we are not officially at war?”
“So I have heard, but I didn’t believe it. In Portugal and Spain, the information the guerrilla patrols gathered was invaluable.”
“It’s true. Who can guess where Grant gets his information? From Boney’s agents, I wager. I’m sure he is mistaken. Don’t repeat this to anyone, if you please. Fitzroy told me in confidence.”
His trust in her discretion gratified her. She knew he never discussed such matters with Lady Sophia, and for some reason that gave her comfort. “Shall you tell Old Hookey you think Colonel Grant is wrong?” she asked.
Felix ran his fingers through his hair. “All I can do is tell him I have heard nothing to confirm the news.”
“Then do that. Stop worrying and eat your breakfast.”
“Yes’m.” He applied himself to his plateful of eggs and muffins.
“You didn’t eat all yours, Tía,” Anita pointed out. “I finished mine. Tía, can we feed the swans today?”
“Yes, we’ll go this morning if you promise not to give the pigeons all the bread.” She dipped a corner of her napkin in the fingerbowl set there for the purpose and removed a quantity of jam from sticky little face and fingers.
“I’ll go with you,” Felix said, consulting his watch, “if you can wait until I’ve been to Headquarters. I shan’t be long.”
Fanny guessed he was calculating that Lady Sophia would not be in the park before noon. When her cynical glance brought a tinge of colour to his cheeks, she was sure she was right, but all she said was, “We shall not be ready to go for at least an hour.”
“We won’t go wivout you,” Anita promised, and to Fanny’s amusement his expression became downright penitent. He retreated in disorder.
When Felix reached Headquarters, neither the Duke nor Fitzroy was there. As he had nothing definite to report, he didn’t leave a message but returned after accompanying Fanny and Anita to the park. By then Fitzroy had sent word that he would spend the morning at home as his young wife was unwell. Wellington, Cathcart thought, was calling on the Richmonds.
Felix made his way to the Rue de la Blanchisserie and ran his quarry to earth. As he was shown into the Richmonds’ drawing room, Lady Georgiana was telling Wellington about the planned picnic to Lille or Tournai.
“You’d better not go, Georgy,” said the Duke authoritatively. “Say nothing about it, but let the project drop.”
“Must we?” mourned Lady Jane. “We have been looking forward to it so, and William is nearly well enough.”
“I’ll take you to the Guards’ cricket match at Enghien instead,” suggested the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Armies.
Felix could only admire his sang-froid, if he really believed Boney was at Laon. He recalled the remark he had overheard at the Review. “Balls, horse races, le cricket” all added up to convincing wavering
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