He smiled with appreciation at the girl and turned back to Mrs. Simpson. “I stepped inside to keep Charlie company if you had not yet arrived, ma’am,” he said, “and to welcome you home if you had. I will not stay. You are travel-weary, I can see.”
“Will you not take tea with us, my lord?” she asked, smiling at him. “It will be no trouble at all. You are no stranger.”
“You see?” the captain said. “I told you she would be offended, did I not, Eden?”
But Lord Eden looked into her tired eyes and smiled. “My own family has arrived since you left, ma’am,” he said. “Amberley, my brother, with his wife and children. And my twin sister. They were convinced that I needed fussing over, and came. I told my sister-in-law that I would probably be home for tea. And my nephew is planning to share his bread and jam with me, I was warned. He is going to feed me.”
“Then you must certainly make yourself available for target practice,” Ellen said. “Perhaps some other time, my lord. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow it is,” he said. “I would like to make you known to my sister and my sister-in-law sometime, ma’am. They have heard a great deal about Mrs. Simpson, who spoils me with cups of tea and who does not object to my sitting for hours on end in her living room, droning on to her husband about topics that are not designed for a lady’s amusement.” He grinned at her and took her hand again.
“I shall look forward to meeting them,” she said, and turned to smile at her husband with that warmth that always made Lord Eden vaguely envious.
“Lady Madeline Raine has the same green eyes as Eden,” the captain said. “She is far prettier than he is, though.”
They both laughed.
Lord Eden took one more appreciative glance at Miss Simpson before bowing and taking his leave. Yes, she was very pretty indeed. And very much his type.
THE EARL AND COUNTESS of Amberley and Lady Madeline Raine were gathered in the drawing room of the house they had rented in Brussels, waiting for Lord Eden’s arrival for tea. The earl’s infant son and daughter were with them, Lady Caroline Raine in her aunt’s arms, staring unblinkingly up at her, Viscount Cleeves crawling under chairs and tables, intent on some quiet game of his own.
“How can such tiny fingers be so perfect?” Madeline said, spreading the baby’s fingers over one of her own. “Oh, Alexandra, I am so envious of you at times.”
The Earl of Amberley lowered his paper and looked over the top of it at his sister. “You have no need to be, Madeline,” he said. “You could have a nursery full of your own children by now. The Duke of Wellington could make up a separate regiment of all the suitors you have had and rejected in the last seven or eight years. You could have been married twenty times over.”
“I know,” she said. “I suppose I am just not the marrying kind, Edmund. Perhaps there will be someone quite irresistible at the duke’s ball, and I shall live happily ever after with him.”
“I thought you were already interested in Colonel Huxtable,” the countess said.
“I am,” Madeline said. “At least I am interested in his uniform. I am quite in love with it, in fact.” She laughed and returned her attention to the baby.
The earl put down his papers when he felt his son tug at the leg of his breeches. “Are you getting impatient for your tea, tiger?” he asked, scooping the child up into his arms and getting to his feet. “And that wicked Uncle Dominic is late. I think perhaps I hear him coming, though.”
The child shrieked with laughter as he was tossed toward the ceiling and caught again.
“You had better go and meet him,” the earl said, setting his son down again and watching as he scurried across the room to meet Lord Eden.
The child was soon being tossed in the air again.
“I should have asked before I did that if you have had your tea yet,” Lord Eden said. “You aren’t about to toss bread and jam all over my uniform, are you, old pal?”
“No, old pal,” the child said, laughing merrily.
“Any news?” Lord Amberley asked.
“More troops and artillery arriving daily,” Lord Eden said. “And the duke apparently bellowing for more. The usual.”
“Will it really come to war, Dominic?” the countess asked. “Surely Bonaparte could not be that foolhardy. The British are here, the Dutch and Belgians, the Prussians. And more arriving daily. And promise of troops from Austria and Russia.”
“I wouldn’t count on those last,” Lord Eden said, “and there aren’t enough of the former. And those soldiers we have are Johnny Raws, half of them. It’s a pity most of the veterans were sent off to America. It will be touch and go whether they will be back in time.”
Madeline surged to her feet, the baby held to her shoulder, contentedly sucking on the muslin of her day dress. “I hate all this talk of war,” she said. “Can we talk of nothing else here?”
“You should not have left England,” her twin said unsympathetically. “You have done nothing but grumble ever since you arrived, Mad. You should have stayed in London with Mama as she wanted you to do. And with Uncle William and Aunt Viola. Anna is making her come-out this spring, is she not?”
“And bemoaning the fact that you are not there to see her,” she said. “But you know I could not have stayed. Not with you here, Dom. Why did you not sell out when you came home from Spain, as I begged you to do? I think you enjoy all the killing and all the danger to your own life.”
“If you really think that, you must be stupid,” he said. “No one willingly puts himself into a position to stare death in the face. There is such a thing as loyalty to one’s country and belief in certain principles.”
“I just think you have done enough,” Madeline said. “It should be someone else’s turn now, Dom. And you don’t have to bring talk of war into the house, anyway.”
“I have come from Charlie Simpson’s house,” he said. “Mrs. Simpson has just come back from England with Charlie’s young daughter. You should be more like her, Mad. Charlie and I sometimes sit and talk for hours about military matters, and I have never heard one word of complaint from her or one hint that perhaps her husband should sell out. And he has been in for longer than twenty years.”
“Then she must be a very foolish woman,” Madeline said. “Perhaps she does not care for him a great deal.”
“Don’t argue in front of the children,” Lord Amberley said in the quiet tones that had always quelled the twins’ frequent differences of opinion.
The countess spoke almost simultaneously. “Captain Simpson must be very glad to have his daughter safely here,” she said. “And how reassuring it must have been for the girl to have an older woman with whom to travel.”
Lord Eden laughed. “I don’t think Mrs. Simpson is any older than Mad and I, Alexandra,” he said. “She must have been little more than a girl when Charlie married her five years ago. I am glad to see her home again. I will be taking tea there tomorrow, by the way. And I have told her that I want to present her to you and Mad. I hope you will not mind.”
“Of course not,” the countess said. “I will be delighted to meet the captain’s wife. I like him, Dominic.”
“I take it I am to learn from her how to be docile,” Madeline said, “and how to accept male stupidity. I heartily dislike her already, Dom. She must be totally lacking in spirit.”
Lord Eden raised his eyebrows. “If you had seen her in Spain,” he said, “living in a tent, tramping through mud, fording swollen rivers on horseback, saying good-bye to Charlie every day, never knowing if she would see him again, you would not say anything so foolish, Mad.”
“The children will be back in the nursery after tea,” the earl said with quiet authority. “The two of you may go at it then, if you wish. You may even come to blows. Alex and I will be obliging enough to remove ourselves beyond earshot. But for now you will be civil. And I see the tea tray has arrived.”
“With bread and jam included for Christopher,” the countess said. “If I were you, Dominic, I should make a quick trip upstairs to change out of your uniform. I believe my son still has his heart set on feeding you.”