Death Comes to London (3 page)

Sophia sighed. “Not really. They are all very nice, but none of them can hold a candle to my Charlie. I know I said I wished to remarry and have children, but I don’t intend to just pick anyone. Charlie would only want the best for me.”

“Well, he was an exceptional man.” Lucy drew out a fresh sheet of paper. “I doubt it will be easy to replace him.” She looked up as the butler appeared, and took the two letters he offered her from the tray. “Thank you.”

As Sophia and Mrs. Hathaway discussed what they would wear to the Clavelly ball, Lucy wrote to her aunt and then turned her attention to the letters she’d received. After a week away, news from home was definitely welcome. She was surprised how much she missed the irascible Major Kurland and Kurland St. Mary.

“Oh dear.”

“What is it, Lucy?” Sophia came over to her.

“Nicholas Jenkins is coming to London expressly to see Anna.”

“Well, that isn’t a surprise, is it? Everyone knows he’s in love with her. He was threatening to follow her here months ago.”

“But I didn’t think he’d actually do it.” Lucy passed the letter to Sophia. “I can’t wait to tell Anna this news.”

“Foley, stop fussing.” Robert stood patiently as his butler brushed down the dark blue coat of his uniform for the third time. “I’ll be fine. I’m not seeing the Prince Regent this morning. I’m just going to my regimental headquarters.”

“And you still need to look your best.”

Foley tweaked the ornate gold braiding cascading down from Robert’s shoulder before finally handing him his tall hat.

“You look very smart, Major.”

“Thank you.”

In truth, after almost two years without active military service, Robert felt quite uncomfortable in his uniform. After he’d been cut out of his last set of clothing after Waterloo, Bookman, his former valet, had ordered him a whole new kit from his military tailor. The heavy fabrics were rigid and the gold braid that covered most of the front of his coat was so stiff it wouldn’t lie down properly. He’d heard the Prince Regent had a hand in the design of the 10th Hussars uniform, and that wouldn’t surprise him. It was rather too ornate for his taste and hopelessly impractical in battle. But that was true of most uniforms. At least the majority of his regiment wore blue, unlike the poor redcoats who stood out like a sore thumb in every battle scenario imaginable. He’d been told that red had been chosen so that blood didn’t show and strike fear into the hearts of the enemy.

Somehow he doubted that worked.

He tucked his scarlet peaked shako under his arm, avoiding the feathers, and assessed his appearance in the mirror. He looked quite impressive. His fingers traced his clean-shaven upper lip where once, like most of his military associates, he’d sported a fine moustache. He hadn’t the heart to grow it back. Foley had made his boots shine and polished all the metal buttons and facings on his coat until he could see his reflection in them.

“Your sword, Major?”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” Robert threw the gray fur-lined pelisse back over his shoulder and buckled on his sword. “I think I’ll do. Can you go down and find a hackney cab for me?”

Foley paused at the door. “You don’t wish to drive yourself, or ride, sir? I believe your phaeton is available, as are several of your horses.”

“Not today.”

He might look the part of a dashing Hussar officer, but the thought of actually getting back on a horse still terrified him. Of all the scars left from his horrific injuries at Waterloo, that ridiculous fear was the hardest to bear. He’d managed to force himself to sit in a horse-drawn vehicle, but even that brought him out in a sweat. The thought of navigating through the streets of London on the back of a nervous steed was too much for him to deal with.

He’d become what the professional soldiers jokingly referred to as a Hyde Park soldier, one who never saw active service, but always looked impeccably dressed and was seen in all the right social quarters. His mouth twisted and he turned away from his resplendent image. Better to get this over with. If there was a way to slide out of accepting the baronetcy, his commander in chief would surely know of it.

Robert went down to the hotel entrance and got into the hackney cab Foley had called for him. If his visit with his commanding officer went well, he might be more inclined to seek out the Harrington sisters and see how they were faring in the bustling metropolis. Foley had managed to find both addresses, and it would be uncivil of him not to acknowledge the ladies.

He put on his gloves and settled back in the seat. And if Miss Harrington was responsible for bringing him to the attention of his regiment’s fond patron, the Prince Regent, he might have a few specific things to say for her ears alone.

When the hackney pulled up, Robert alighted with as much speed as he could manage and, using his walking stick to balance on the uneven cobbled street, paid off the driver. Just as he approached the daunting array of steps, a man coming down them hailed him.

“Major Kurland? Is that you? By all that’s holy!”

He looked up into the familiar face of one of his fellow officers.

“Lieutenant Broughton. What a pleasure to see you.” Robert transferred his stick into his left hand and shook Broughton’s hand. “What brings you here today?”

“I’m selling my commission.” Broughton made a face. “There’s no point in remaining in the service if the regiment is bound for the Americas or India, and I don’t want to sit around on half pay.” His gaze swept over Robert, lingering on his walking stick. “I heard you were badly injured at Waterloo.”

“As you see, I’m probably going to be selling out myself.”

Broughton glanced up the steps. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes.”

“Then I won’t keep you.” He paused. “Would you consider meeting me at my club when you’re done? It’s Fletchers on Portland Square, a new meeting place for those of a scientific bent.”

“I would be delighted.” Robert had always liked Broughton’s no-nonsense approach to life, although some of the other officers had thought him lacking in social graces. Lacking them himself, Robert had never taken offense at the man’s blunt manners. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Where are you putting up?”

“Fenton’s.”

Broughton tipped his hat. “I look forward to seeing you again very shortly.”

Robert laboriously made his way up the steps and inside the dark paneled entrance hall with its massive portrait of the Prince Regent dressed in an even more glorified version of the uniform of the Royal 10th Hussars. A man rose to greet him from behind a desk.

“How may I help you, Major?”

Robert saluted. “I have an appointment with Lieutenant Colonel Sir George Quentin. I’m Major Robert Kurland.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll show you right up.”

Robert followed the man into the shadowy depths of the house and into another anteroom, where the lieutenant colonel’s aide guarded his master’s door.

“Major Kurland.” The aide snapped to attention. “The lieutenant colonel will see you now.”

Robert saluted again and was taken through into the lair of the lieutenant colonel. He was an interesting man of Germanic origins who had been famously court-martialed for excessive brutality to his men in 1814 and had survived to continue his career. Privately, Robert thought him something of a tyrant, but also understood that when dealing with common men, especially soldiers after a battle, displaying superior strength was as necessary as breathing.

“Major Kurland.”

Robert saluted and stood to attention. “Sir.”

“Please sit down.” His commanding officer grimaced. “I see we both still bear the scars of our victory at Waterloo.”

“I’m recovering, sir, but I doubt I’ll ever return to the regiment.”

“That’s a shame, Kurland. You were an excellent officer.”

“Thank you.” Robert wasn’t sure if he was relieved or terrified by the thought of the permanent end of his army career. “I intend to sell my commission.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any problem finding a purchaser. Due to our royal patron, this regiment is still considered a prime place to advance a military career.” The lieutenant colonel looked down at some papers on his desk. “Now, as to that other matter—”

“May I ask how the Prince Regent heard about my so-called heroic exploits?” Robert interrupted him. “I did nothing more than any other commissioned officer during that battle.”

“I beg to disagree, Major. You led the charge that took out that French gun position that had half a brigade pinned down in the ruins.”

“I hardly remember, sir. It still doesn’t explain how I came to the prince’s notice.”

“Ah, that would be because your secretary replied to a dinner invitation directly to the Prince Regent’s private secretary rather than to our office here. The Regent happened to take a personal interest in who was attending the reception. Sir John McMahon showed him the letter sending your regrets and mentioning your injuries. The prince tends toward the sentimental, as we know, and ordered Sir John to find out about you. I was able to provide additional information, and the Regent decided to honor you with the baronetcy.”

Robert shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “With all due respect, sir, is there any way to decline such an honor? I hardly feel I deserve it.”

“I fear it is unavoidable, Major. The prince needs the popular vote too much to resist ennobling a hero. I would prepare yourself to be lionized.”

“Damn,” Robert said feelingly. “I can’t think of anything worse.”

“Well, it is too late to do anything about it now. Steps have already been taken to start the process. I’ve been ordered to bring you to a private audience with the prince in the next week or so.”

“I suppose that means I’ll have to stay in London? What was my ‘secretary’ thinking?”

“It’s an honor, and one that is well deserved. Let my aide know where you are staying.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Robert saluted, turned as smartly on his heel as he could, and left the room. So he did have Miss Harrington to thank for the unexpected and unwanted honor. His scowl deepened as he made his way carefully down the steps and looked about for a hackney. After his meeting with Broughton he’d find out the truth from the lady herself.

Luckily, the driver knew exactly which building in Portland Square housed Fletchers and set Robert down right outside it. The interior looked much like any other gentlemen’s club he’d ever frequented, but rather less intimidating than Whites or Boodles. The members appeared a lot younger and rather less blue-blooded, which in his opinion was a blessing. Having served alongside a lot of bumbling aristocratic offspring in the army, he’d never had much patience for the arrogance of the nobility.

And now he was to become one of them....

A footman had him sign the guestbook and wait until Lord Broughton came and claimed him. He followed his old acquaintance through into a paneled room with a roaring fire and several seating areas where a man could choose to read the paper, converse with his friends, or play a hand of cards. Broughton sat in a large wing chair and Robert took the one opposite him. A waiter immediately appeared and they ordered their drinks and were assured that if they wished to eat, the club’s dining room was still open.

Robert toasted the other man and then drank his brandy, which was excellent.

“How did your meeting go?” Broughton asked.

“Well enough. I told the Lieutenant Colonel I was going to leave the regiment, and he took it in good part. Do you know who is the agent for selling commissions at the moment?”

“Yes, it’s Dagliesh. I’ll get his information for you.”

“Thank you. And how about yourself? What do you intend to do if you’re no longer in the army?”

“Take up my duties as my father’s heir.” Broughton’s mouth twisted. “Not that I see the old man much. He’s stationed in India at present as an ambassador to one of the minor royal courts. My mother’s been nagging me for months to settle down and secure the succession.”

“All worthy objectives,” Robert said diplomatically.

“And all fairly pointless.” Broughton sighed. “My
real
objective is to establish my reputation as a man of science.”

“And what exactly does that entail?”

“Using my mind instead of blindly following my family’s dictates for one. Learning about the new science and sharing my knowledge with the pioneers in their fields.”

“It sounds rather like going back to school to me.” Robert shuddered. “I intend to concentrate on managing my estate and making it profitable.”

Broughton grinned. “Well, to each his own. How long do you intend to stay in London?”

“I’ll be here for at least the next couple of weeks.”

“If you plan to settle down in the countryside, you can accompany me on my search for a suitable wife, and perhaps find one for yourself.”

“I’d rather not contemplate matrimony at this point.”

“Then perhaps you might just keep me company? I’d appreciate having a second opinion about my selection.”

“I’ll certainly do that, but I must warn you that my opinions are rather too forthright for most people.” Robert hesitated. Broughton’s matter-of-fact manner made him sound rather like he was about to pick a new horse at Tattersalls rather than a bride. “I have little to no understanding of the
ton
and the ramifications of choosing one young lady over another.”

“Which is exactly what I need. I’d rather have a military man by my side than anyone else.”

Robert put down his brandy glass. “Then if you insist, I’ll accompany you. I can hardly leave a fellow officer out in the open without adequate cover.”

He suspected he had weeks of dawdling his heels while he waited for his audience with the Prince Regent. Staying in Town would also give him the opportunity to see how the Harrington ladies and Sophia Giffin were dealing with London and perhaps reconnect with some of his old acquaintances.

“There is one young lady I rather like. She is remarkably forthright.”

He realized Broughton was still talking. “And who might that be?”

“Miss Chingford. Do you know of her?”

Robert took a deep breath. “Miss
Penelope
Chingford?”