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Belgians of Wellington’s confidence in victory, persuading them it was not in their interest to go over to Boney.
    He said as much to the Duke when they left the house together.
    “Yes, of course, we must not let them doubt us.” His whooping laugh rang out: “Besides, I promised the duchess to keep Richmond’s mind at ease. But, ‘fore God, Roworth, I’ll be surprised if that cricket match takes place.”
    “It’s scheduled for the 12th, is it not? You expect war before then, sir?”
    “No doubt Fitzroy has told you that Boney is at Laon.”
    “I have not heard from Jakob Rothschild that he has left Paris,” said Felix doubtfully.
    “My dear fellow, I trust absolutely the information you receive from the Rothschilds, but a lack of information is another matter. Though my Intelligence is damnable, I must act as if it is accurate.”
    “I suppose so, sir.”
    “Never fear, I’ll not do anything irrevocable. The French Army is a well-oiled machine, that breaks down with a little grit in the gears. I treat a campaign like a harness--if it breaks I tie a knot and go on. By the way, you may tell Rothschild that King William has reneged on the Hanover subsidy. It’s up to our Government now, Lord help us.”
    * * * *
    Felix was changing for the Duke’s informal party on Wednesday when he heard a rapping at the front door below. A moment later Fanny called up the stairs, “Lord Roworth, someone is here to see you.”
    “Damn!” he swore, annoyed. Lady Sophia had accepted his escort for the evening and invited him to dine first. Nothing must spoil the occasion. “Damn!” he repeated with more force as he realized he had ruined his neckcloth. He only owned three of the lengths of snowy-white starched muslin, which left little room for error.
    “His lordship will be down presently,” Trevor called tactfully.
    When Felix entered the parlour, Fanny was regaling the visitor with a glass of wine. He looked as if he could do with it. His dark hair was matted with sweat, his face drawn and smudged with road dust. He started to rise as Felix came in, but she pushed him down with one hand on his shoulder and without protest he wearily subsided.
    Felix’s annoyance faded as he recognized one of Jakob Rothschild’s couriers, from Paris. “ Quelles nouvelles? ” he demanded. “You have ridden hard, mon vieux .”
    “It was necessary, milord. Barely did I slip through.” He hesitated, glancing at Fanny.
    “You can speak freely in front of Miss Ingram.”
    “ Alors --the Emperor has closed the border, milord. Not a carriage may cross, not a horseman, not a hay cart, not a peasant on foot. No fishing boat may leave the Channel ports.”
    “And Napoleon,” Felix asked urgently, “where is he?”
    The man shrugged. “He was in Paris when I left. Now, who knows?”
    “I shall tell Wellington at once. You, mon ami , must be prepared to leave for England with a report for Mr Nathan.”
    “Not tonight!” Fanny protested.
    He smiled at her. “Not tonight. May I leave him in your care? I must go, I’m late.”
    “For Wellington--or for Lady Sophia?” she murmured almost inaudibly.
    He strode through streets aglow with evening light to the Daventrys’ hôtel. Lady Sophia greeted him graciously, her flawless beauty set off by an elegant gown of wild rose crêpe lisse caught up with rosettes of Mechlin lace over a darker rose petticoat. The only other guests were Sir William de Lancey, with his perpetual worried frown, his young bride Lady Magdalen, and the Marquis and Marquise d’Assche. No competition there for the Goddess’s favours.
    If only he were not so impatient to give Wellington his news! Still, an hour or two’s delay hardly mattered.
    The talk at dinner was of the races at Grammont, of the respective merits of riversides and woods as locations for a picnic, of the Brussels Opera’s latest production. The prospect of war seemed to belong to another world, and even the Quartermaster-General’s