“I suppose he simply thinks you should moulder here, like some warden watching her prisoner,” Fanny said, blinking several times in baffled innocence as she turned the screw. “And why he should punish you, his dear and loving sister? Why, it passes beyond my imagination, it truly does. Your brother seems to have no consideration for you. Some—not you or I, of course—might even call him a selfish brute.”
Lucie drew up her features in a scowl, and then rose quickly, her spine straight, and began to pace. “Yes, the brute! How dare he? Giving me orders, as if he was Wellington himself. My stars! The whole world is here, enjoying the fun, and here I am, wardening a perfectly rational young woman who is at least presentable now, no thanks to him, but thanks to me. And what is my reward? I’m supposed to just sit here…sit here…”
“Twiddling your thumbs?” Fanny suggested helpfully, then winced, fearing she may have overplayed her hand.
But, with Lady Whalley, Fanny would not only have to overplay her hand, she’d probably have to write on the nearest wall, in foot-high letters: I’m leading you down the garden path, madam.
“Yes! Yes, that’s it—twiddling my thumbs,” Lucie said, tugging on the bell pull. “The nerve of that man! Fanny, run upstairs and have Frances bring me my things. We’re going out!”
Fanny all but flew up the stairs to alert the maid and fetch her new bonnet—a lovely thing, all buttery-yellow straw, and with cherries on the brim—and was back in the hallway before skidding to a halt, remembering her gloves and shawl, and skidding back into the small bedchamber to retrieve them. Seconds later, and only slightly out of breath, she was descending the stairs in a most ladylike-Elly fashion, a refined young miss about to take the air.
Frances came huffing and puffing from the rear of the narrow hallway, having had to negotiate the steep servant stairs, and the carriage was waiting for them in the street.
Fanny kept looking to her left and right, sure Brede would show up somehow and ruin all her fine plans, but the carriage, a pretty thing of foreign make, with its leather top folded down so that she and Lucie were sitting in the sun, moved off toward the wide avenue at the corner.
“You forgot your parasol,” Lucie scolded as Frances, commandeered to ride along, unfurled Lucie’s and held it over her head. “Are you going to make me order the roof put up? Oh, stars, I hope not. Nobody’s seen my new bonnet as yet, you know.” She frowned. “I don’t know that I should have let you have that one. I do like those cherries. Perhaps even more than my silk roses. I’m just so glad William’s gone six months now and I can wear my lavenders, too. Black is so boring, although I will say I do believe it flatters me.”
Fanny smiled and nodded, and Lucie kept on talking, when she wasn’t waving at passersby and then making quiet comments to Fanny. “Did you see her cane? My stars, does she think wrapping it in satin ribbon will make anyone forget she’s older than dirt? Oh, look, isn’t that the Marquess of Daventry? Yes, yes, it is! And doesn’t he look marvelous in his uniform? So handsome. Yoo-hoo—Banning!”
“I don’t think he heard you, Lucie,” Fanny said, biting on the insides of her cheeks, as the man had most definitely heard Lady Whalley, and seen her, but he’d then made a quick business out of stepping into a nearby shop rather than speak to her. She could be wrong in her conclusion, but she was fairly certain that fine London gentlemen did not make it a habit of frequenting corsetiers. Lady Whalley could talk the ears off a donkey, and if she, Fanny, saw a handy corset-makers shop, she might duck into it, too, poor man.
“Well, that is too bad. He’s single, you know, and quite wealthy. Although cut much in the same pattern as Valentine, so he most probably would feel the need to throttle me within days of the wedding. Oh, well,” Lucie said, sighing, “there are so many other lovely men to choose from. Valentine says I should be on the lookout for a deaf one, but he was just being facetious….”
Fanny bit the insides of her cheeks once more, nodded, and then pretended a great interest in her surroundings as Lucie prattled on and on about nothing.
Not that she had to feign interest for long, for Brussels was quite the largest city she’d ever seen, and full of things to look at, admire. Several times she saw scarlet-jacketed soldiers traveling in groups down the flagway, but none of them walked with that certain elegance and grace that came so naturally to Rian.
It was only when the carriage left the city for a smooth path that ran along through greener-than-green grass that Fanny began to despair of finding her brother, for the fields seemed to have grown full regiments of scarlet-jacketed soldiers. They were everywhere, some marching in close formation, others sitting in groups, cleaning their weapons, others cooking over small fires.
“Oh, wait,” she said at last. “There, just at the crest of that hill, all those large tents. That must be the Duke’s headquarters, don’t you think?”
Lucie sat up straight and squinted into the sun. “Yes, I would suppose Wellington could be there. See the flags? Everything looks so…regimental. Do you think your brother is with him? He’d make a lovely excuse to get down and stroll about a bit, don’t you think? Unless you think the sight of a widow in her mourning, even her half-mourning, would perhaps be seen as a bad omen? You know, it would have been ever so much better if William had died in battle rather than by simply falling off his horse and cracking his head in the gutter, because then I’d be welcomed as the widow of a hero. That was so inconsiderate of him. But, then, that was William all over, and never a thought for me.”
Fanny opened her mouth to say something, but then realized that, as with so many of Lucie’s statements, there was just no proper way to comment, to answer. “There—I see Jupiter. Rian has to be here. Please tell your coachman to stop.”
“Jupiter? But isn’t that a—Oh, my stars, you don’t mean a planet, do you? And not some ancient God, either, I’d imagine.”
“Lucie, please?” Fanny said as the carriage moved on along the roadway. “I really want to stop here.”
Lucie called an order to the coachman and then looked at her reprovingly. “High-strung, aren’t you, my dear? But I can see the grass, Fanny, and it’s still wet from last night’s rain, so I’ll just sit here and you can take Frances with you to—Oh, my stars! Fanny, you should wait for the coachman to put down the stairs.”
But Fanny had seen Rian striding toward Jupiter, and she wanted to reach him before he could mount and ride off. She’d fussed with the handle of the low door for a moment, ready to vault over it if the latch wouldn’t budge, and then jumped down to the ground, almost immediately feeling the squish of water running into her brand-new black patent slippers. She lifted her skirts and headed up the hill.
“Rian, wait!” she called out when she was halfway there and a Private was holding Jupiter for him to mount. At first she thought he didn’t hear her, or was going to ignore her as the Marquess of Daventry had ignored Lucie. But then he turned her way, his fists jammed on his hips, and impatiently waited for her to climb all the way to the top of the hill.
“Well, look at you,” he said, his tone not all that welcoming. “Does his lordship know you’re off the leash?”
“I don’t care what his lordship knows,” Fanny said, still holding up her skirts, as the hill was not only wet, but covered in horse manure. “Don’t let Jupiter get any of this mess stuck beneath his shoes or he’ll—”
“Fanny, I know how to take care of my own horse,” Rian interrupted, and then looked past her, toward the
