Read Online The Duke's Tattoo: A Regency Romance of Love and Revenge, Though Not in That Order by Miranda Davis - Free Book Online Page B

swords.”
    They chuckled and drank again. Each recalled the Battle of Waterloo, fought the day following the Duchess of Richmond’s now famous ball in Brussels. It had been chaos that night and into the early morning hours. Many men died, many they saw for the last time at Her Grace’s soirée.
    Led by Lord Uxbridge, the Household Cavalry rode to reinforce hard-pressed British infantry as it wavered under withering fire from Comte d’Erlon’s I Corps of the Armée du Nord. The Royal Horse Guards Blue charged into the thick of battle, routing d’Erlon’s left flank but took heavy losses to do so, their friend Maubrey apparently among the casualties.
    “Haven’t seen his name listed,” Percy said. The newspapers still periodically published amendments to the list of war dead, even a twelve-month later.
    “Tens of thousands died, Percy. Plenty of names yet to be published,” Clun replied.
    “Always looking on the bright side, eh, Clun?” The Duke of Ainsworth drawled as he sauntered into the room. “Such a gloomy little gnome!” He took up the waiting glass of port from the table. “I am merely tardy, my lords. Not yet ‘late.’”
    The somber mood evaporated. The seated men lurched to their feet to welcome their friend.
    “Already the insufferable punning, Jem!” Seelye grinned ear to ear. “You make us sorry you’ve come after all.”
    The ‘little gnome’ Clun clasped Ainsworth roughly in a rib-cracking hug. “Glad to see you, Maubrey!”
    “Ainsworth now,” the duke corrected quietly.
    “Oh? Oh. Of course, forgot, damn it.” Clun consoled now in earnest, “Good man, Phillip.”
    “And brother.”
    “To the ninth Duke of Ainsworth!” Percy toasted. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse brought their glasses together.
    “And to the tenth Duke of Ainsworth!” Seelye toasted and added, “Must get another bottle, Jem. We’ve been drinking to everything we can think of since we got here.”
    “Little of it flattering to you,” Clun said. The tipsy three laughed uproariously, their hilarity in proportion to their vast relief.
    “Should that surprise me?” Ainsworth retorted. “Always were a useless bunch of jackanapes.”
    “Though we mean well,” Clun demurred.
    The duke grinned, reassured that their friendship remained the same. Duke or no, Ainsworth could be himself with his three brothers in arms. They sat down together and His Grace recounted in as few words as possible how his sister and mother moved to the British military enclave in Brussels after his elder brother broke his neck tumbling off a hunter. If not for them, no one would have found him, dying among the dead. No one would have hauled him to Brussels in a dogcart, forcibly waylaid an army surgeon or nursed him through the weeks he hovered near death.
    “Have your mother and sister returned with you?” Clun asked.
    “My sister remains on the continent. Married a captain attached to the diplomatic mission. The duchess died of fever while I was ill,” Ainsworth said. “I wasn’t told at the time, according to her instructions.”
    Sincere expressions of condolence from his friends eased Ainsworth’s heartache somewhat.
    “How do you get on now, Jem?” Clun asked.
    “I’m on the mend,” the duke answered. “By August, it was either return to England crippled or lose my bloody mind. God bless my sister, I owe her my life and I know she meant well, but I much prefer the benign neglect of my staff to her infernal fussing. Speaking of staff, remember Smeeth? He’s my valet now.”
    “What happened to…?”
    “Thorpe? Phillip kept him on along with father’s butler, Middleton. They received pensions when Philip died. I’m just as happy to hire my own staff. Fewer reminders of my unpromising youth.”
    “Capable man, Smeeth,” Seelye said.
    “Brought me Thatcher, late of the 71 st Foot, my new butler,” the duke added. “Fought at Hougoumont. Lost an arm.”
    “Back since last August?” Percy asked.