The Sergeant's Lady by Susanna Fraser

heard of him, though we’ve never met.”
    There it was, the familiar greed in his eyes, which she had seen so often when a gentleman learned who her brother was, and therefore who her father had been. Everyone had heard of Josiah Wright, the shabby-genteel curate’s son who had gone to India, made his fortune, and performed diplomatic services that earned him royal favor and a title. And everyone had a shrewd idea how great an heiress the nabob viscount’s daughter must be.
    Suddenly the air in the tent seemed unbearably close, and she longed for solitude. She attempted what she hoped was a wistful smile. “Will you all excuse me? I find myself amazingly tired this evening.”
    Everyone assured her they understood and urged her to get whatever rest she could. However, they would not let her slip off alone, and Lieutenant Montmorency offered to escort her to the tent she and Mrs. Kent shared.
    He stooped as they stepped through the tent flap into the darkness. Short as she was, even Anna had to duck slightly. Gratefully she inhaled the cooler air. The night was beautiful, lit by a crescent moon and a wealth of stars. A little way off, near her tent, the soldiers sat around a fire singing to the accompaniment of a flute and a fiddle. Anna recognized the tune and sang under her breath about how the French would never drink little England dry.
    Lieutenant Montmorency looked askance at her. She stopped singing and colored slightly. “When I was a child and everyone feared an invasion, everyone in our house from my father down to the scullery maid sang that song.”
    “Yes,” he said. “I remember. I’m afraid I’m not musical.”
    “Neither was my father.” She laughed. “He never could begin to find a tune, but that didn’t keep him from singing.”
    His only reply was a slight bow, and neither spoke again until they reached her tent. “I bid you good evening, ma’am.”
    “Good night, Lieutenant.”
    He bowed again and left.
    Anna ducked inside. She meant to go straight to her cot, but in her restless mood she found the tent too stifling. She would never be able to sleep with that singing going on close by. In any case, Mrs. Kent would return within the hour. There was no point attempting to rest when disturbances were guaranteed.
    She longed to join the group by the fire, but that would never do after she had used weariness as an excuse to escape dinner. Also, she might spoil the men’s fun. She was a stranger to all of them but the sergeants and Juana, and she did not wish to embarrass the others with her ladylike presence.
    Then she remembered seeing a flat-topped boulder a little distance from her tent—a perfect place to sit out of sight, listen to the music, and commune with the night. After peering out to make sure no one noticed her, she slipped outside and picked her way through the darkness to her seat.
    What bliss it was to be alone! Leaning back, she gazed at the stars, so dazzling on such a clear night with hardly any moonlight. She found Ursa Major and Minor, pointing true north, toward home. And there was Leo, like a great interrogative in the sky. Arching over all shone the Milky Way, bright and splendid as she had ever seen it.
    The musicians began a jig, and several of the figures around the fire got up to dance wildly, most likely drunkenly. Anna envied them. Oh, to be that lighthearted and free to dance!
    She jumped at the sound of a man’s strong footsteps approaching behind her.
    “Mrs. Arrington.” With another start, she recognized Sergeant Atkins’s voice. “You shouldn’t be out alone, ma’am.” He halted beside her, and she peered up at his shadowed form.
    “I know,” she said. “But if I cannot be alone properly, I’ll risk a little impropriety. That’s the worst of life in the army. There’s never any solitude.”
    “It’s hardly my place to tell you what’s proper, ma’am. I’m worried about your safety.”
    “My safety? In the middle of