The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📕

Still, she reminded herself that in life there were no guarantees, and a lady had no choice in the selection of her husband. Lord Rockingham presented the chance for something more. For something real. With him, there existed the hope for an equal partnership, and that was precisely what she wanted, so she would fight for him, regardless of previous reservations.

With that, Arabella opened the door.

In the study, Lord Rockingham and Lord Greyson occupied a matched pair of chairs before the hearth.

“Well, I believe that is my cue to depart.” After setting a glass atop a small table, Lord Greyson stood and walked toward her. When she dawdled, her conspirator gave her a gentle nudge and secured the door behind her.

“My lord.” Nervous, she curtseyed and prayed for the strength to persist, as her heart pounded in her chest. “It is remarkably pleasing to see you, again.”

“And you, Lady Arabella.” So resplendent in his black formal wear, he stretched tall to greet her. “I gather this was not your idea.”

His was a statement, not a question.

“Not exactly, but neither did I protest.” To her surprise, he expressed no anger. Instead, he extended a hand and flicked his fingers, and she stumbled forward. “Shall I join you?”

“For a brandy?” His eyes widened. “Do you favor it?”

“Actually, I have never tasted it.” To foster amity, she stared at the glass he held in his grasp. Recalling Dr. Larrey’s advice, she sought common ground to put Anthony at ease. If only she could put herself at ease. “May I sample yours?”

“Be my guest.” Without hesitation, he passed her the elegant crystal balloon.

In her mind, she toasted to strong women everywhere and took a healthy gulp.

A wicked burning sensation stung her throat, searing a fiery path to her belly, and she yielded to a violent coughing fit. Tears streamed her cheeks, and she feared she might be ill. Laughing, Anthony patted her back. Just when she regained her composure, she surrendered to another embarrassing, unladylike bout of hacking.

“Are you all right?” To her chagrin, he chuckled. “You should not have tried to consume such a large amount in a single swallow, because brandy is to be sipped. It is to be savored.”

“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you warn me?” She set the offensive concoction on the table. “I would have followed your advice, had I known it could be so potent. I’m not daft.”

“Lady Arabella, in some respects, you are the smartest person of my acquaintance, and you are blessed with an uncanny ability to offer comfort and support when I most need it.” His kind words did much to alleviate her chagrin and trepidation. She still thought she might revisit her supper. “While I could have cautioned you, I must confess I wanted to see how you would handle it because, if you are to be my bride, you must possess an adventurous spirit.”

“Am I to be your wife?” Of course, Lord Beaulieu proclaimed as much, that afternoon in the drawing room at her home, but she needed to hear the news from Anthony. “Because you made it clear you didn’t welcome our union.”

“My dear, if I may be so bold, I regret to inform you that my father learned of my plans to escape London, and he hired men to guard me, thus I am going nowhere, so I altered my position.” He shifted his weight to face her. “But before you take insult, I should explain that I have other reasons for marrying you, none of which have anything to do with my father and everything to do with you.”

“Oh?” It was the moment for which she waited, and the declaration, freely given, did much to allay her fears. “Might you clarify your statement?”

“It would be my pleasure.” In that instant, he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I practiced this discussion, yet I know not where to start.”

“The beginning is usually best, in such circumstances.” When he twined his fingers in hers, she relaxed. “Perhaps, you might describe how your father discovered your plan?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I should start with Waterloo, although I have never told anyone what I endured, but I would share it with you, if you permit me.”

“I should be honored to witness your account, my lord.” Sitting upright, she mirrored his stance. “And I would have you know that I count myself most fortunate to be your fiancée.”

“You might feel otherwise, after hearing my sad tale.” When Arabella shook her head, Anthony smiled. “All right, little one. If you are so determined, I would describe the morning of the great battle, which commenced with my regular ration of stirabout—”

“What is that?” While she loathed interrupting his story, she wanted to understand him.

“It is what we call oatmeal and water, and it tastes as awful as it sounds.” With his thumb, he traced circles on her palm. “After breaking our fast, the men prepared to fight, when Napoleon attacked Hougoumont and Wyndham’s second battalion of Coldstream Guards. It was a diversion to draw Wellington’s reserves to our right flank, but our artillery soundly defeated Baudin’s brigade.”

“Yes, I read the details in The Times.” And what she recalled of the savagery chilled her blood. “Were you at Hougoumont?”

“No.” Frowning, he averted his stare, but she recognized the familiar signs of distress. The rigidity in his posture. The clenched jaw. The rapid rise and fall of his chest. “I was camped at Le Haye Sainte, at the foot of the escarpment near Charleroi-Brussels road, where the fighting was by far the most intense, given we were woefully outnumbered. The bugles blared, heralding the charge, while squadron after squadron of Cuirassiers, Hussars, and Dragoons advanced, and we were overrun. Columns of infantry assailed us, and I led my men into the fray. From a distance, the Marseillaise played, as if to taunt us, and I drove for the enemy’s heart, but…but…”

Anthony opened his mouth and closed it.

Then he bowed his head and