bloody battle at Talavera that had turned into more of a rout than a retreat, Captain Delverson lay on a cot in a deserted, bug-infested farmhouse, feverish from a saber slash across the palm of his left hand. The field surgeons were all for amputation, but the captain could still walk, and walk he did, right out to his horse and Rudd and this abandoned hacienda where he would either recover or not, without suffering worse at those butchers' hands. Rudd was able to bring him food and medicine and mail from headquarters. The batman was pleased to see the letter with the crested seal, for now maybe the captain would rest easy, knowing his cousin was looking after the lasses.
Carey ripped the envelope awkwardly with one hand and eagerly read Harry's scrawl.
Not to worry, cuz, Harry wrote. All at first oars. You've got a good steward, lands in good heart. And Joss and I found a likely widow in the village, hired her on to move into Delmere. Good-looking woman too, this Mrs. Reardon. Now you've got nothing to worry about except learning the fandango and keeping all the señoritas happy.
Carey fell back on the bed, groaning. Things could be worse, he told himself. Harry could have installed Harriet Wilson, the most notorious courtesan in London, to chaperone the innocents. Instead he'd only hired Mrs. Reardon, the late Lord Delverson's mistress!
Chapter Seven
« ^ »
L ord Wellesley himself called Captain Delverson into headquarters concerning his request for leave.
"You could sell out, boy. No one could fault you for that, now that you have duties at home. You've given your pound of flesh, aye, and accounted for more French losses than half a battalion of Home Guard."
"No, sir, the job's not done. I'll come back, if I can just take care of family matters. I'd like to see a proper surgeon about my hand too, while I am in England. These quacks here tell me to keep it in a sling, that I'll never have use of it again, and it's liable to cause blood poisoning. I've been rubbing in horse liniment, though, and I think it's loosening up some. Oh, and with your permission, sir, I'll need to take my batman Rudd. It's deuced hard dressing with one hand."
Sir Arthur stacked some papers on his desk. "You go take care of the family business, lad, but I am not sure about Rudd or the physicians." He looked down his grand beak and smiled. "If you smell like a stable and you cannot get your pants down, maybe you'll stay out of trouble."
Carey's first stop in London was Delverson House, the St. Dillon town residence. Even with only one working hand, he was ready to strangle Harry. Every gentleman worth the name knew and honored the ancient tenet about not fouling one's own nest. A man did not introduce his mother to his lightskirts, he did not bring his bits of muslin to tea with his aunts, and he did not set up his uncle's mistress two doors down from his cousin's schoolroom! Harry had a lot to answer for. If he knew about Mrs. Reardon… No, Carey decided, not even Harry could be so skitter-witted or so lost to convention. If he did not know, he damn well should have made inquiries before throwing Emonda and Suzannah into such a devilish coil.
Strangling was too good for Harry. Captain Delverson decided he'd make his cousin accompany him to Dorset instead, to face the hysterical scene bound to be waiting at Delmere. Harry could have the task of explaining to Emonda that she had been living with a demi-rep for months. For himself, Captain Delverson would rather face Marshal Soult again.
Unfortunately for Carey's plans, Delverson House looked and smelled like an abandoned barracks. Which was not to say Harry was not in residence. The only housemaids willing to work for St. Dillon were more familiar with his bedroom than his broom closet, and a little grease and grime were beneath Harry's notice as long as the stables were spotless. Harry was as liable to be down in the kitchens dicing with the footmen as sleeping in some hell in a
Carey ripped the envelope awkwardly with one hand and eagerly read Harry's scrawl.
Not to worry, cuz, Harry wrote. All at first oars. You've got a good steward, lands in good heart. And Joss and I found a likely widow in the village, hired her on to move into Delmere. Good-looking woman too, this Mrs. Reardon. Now you've got nothing to worry about except learning the fandango and keeping all the señoritas happy.
Carey fell back on the bed, groaning. Things could be worse, he told himself. Harry could have installed Harriet Wilson, the most notorious courtesan in London, to chaperone the innocents. Instead he'd only hired Mrs. Reardon, the late Lord Delverson's mistress!
Chapter Seven
« ^ »
L ord Wellesley himself called Captain Delverson into headquarters concerning his request for leave.
"You could sell out, boy. No one could fault you for that, now that you have duties at home. You've given your pound of flesh, aye, and accounted for more French losses than half a battalion of Home Guard."
"No, sir, the job's not done. I'll come back, if I can just take care of family matters. I'd like to see a proper surgeon about my hand too, while I am in England. These quacks here tell me to keep it in a sling, that I'll never have use of it again, and it's liable to cause blood poisoning. I've been rubbing in horse liniment, though, and I think it's loosening up some. Oh, and with your permission, sir, I'll need to take my batman Rudd. It's deuced hard dressing with one hand."
Sir Arthur stacked some papers on his desk. "You go take care of the family business, lad, but I am not sure about Rudd or the physicians." He looked down his grand beak and smiled. "If you smell like a stable and you cannot get your pants down, maybe you'll stay out of trouble."
Carey's first stop in London was Delverson House, the St. Dillon town residence. Even with only one working hand, he was ready to strangle Harry. Every gentleman worth the name knew and honored the ancient tenet about not fouling one's own nest. A man did not introduce his mother to his lightskirts, he did not bring his bits of muslin to tea with his aunts, and he did not set up his uncle's mistress two doors down from his cousin's schoolroom! Harry had a lot to answer for. If he knew about Mrs. Reardon… No, Carey decided, not even Harry could be so skitter-witted or so lost to convention. If he did not know, he damn well should have made inquiries before throwing Emonda and Suzannah into such a devilish coil.
Strangling was too good for Harry. Captain Delverson decided he'd make his cousin accompany him to Dorset instead, to face the hysterical scene bound to be waiting at Delmere. Harry could have the task of explaining to Emonda that she had been living with a demi-rep for months. For himself, Captain Delverson would rather face Marshal Soult again.
Unfortunately for Carey's plans, Delverson House looked and smelled like an abandoned barracks. Which was not to say Harry was not in residence. The only housemaids willing to work for St. Dillon were more familiar with his bedroom than his broom closet, and a little grease and grime were beneath Harry's notice as long as the stables were spotless. Harry was as liable to be down in the kitchens dicing with the footmen as sleeping in some hell in a
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