As Michael transferred his gear to his second horse, Bryn, he wondered if Melbourne would be so cheerful if he knew how Michael felt about Catherine. Probably he wouldn't care, since his wife's fidelity was beyond question.

Michael collected his servants and rode into the night. For honor's sake, he had done what he could to help Catherine's husband survive. All else was in God's hands.

Chapter 10

Catherine packed her husband's personal belongings while Colin readied his horses. All too soon, she, her husband, and the Mowbrys were in the stable yard. Two torches illuminated ten saddled horses, two servants for each of the officers, and Catherine's groom, Everett, who had come down to help.

Charles had just come from kissing his sleepy children good-bye and his expression was strained. Anne went straight into his arms. They held each other tightly, neither of them speaking. Catherine envied her friends their closeness even as she grieved for their distress. It would be worth the pain to have such love.

Turning to her husband, Catherine said, "Are you sure you don't want to see Amy?"

"No need to disturb her." Colin had the bright, impervious expression that meant he was thinking about the action that lay ahead. "It won't be long until you'll both be joining me."

She blinked back the tears that threatened, knowing that Colin would hate it if she became weepy. Yet it was impossible to live with a man for a dozen years and not care about him. In an ideal world, perhaps it would have been Michael she had met and married, leaving Colin free to chase foxes, women, and the French without the responsibilities of a family. But that hadn't happened. In the real world, she and Colin had wed, and in spite of being grievously mismatched, they each in their own way had honored their marriage. She whispered, "Take care, Colin."

He gave a jaunty smile. "Don't look so worried. You know I share Wellington's magical immunity to bullets." He chucked her under the chin as if she were Amy's age. Then he swung onto his horse. "I'll see you in Paris, sooner if it's safe."

Then he and Charles and their entourage clattered out into the cobbled street. Catherine gazed after her husband. Sadly, she recognized that if he had loved her even a little bit, she would have loved him in spite of his women. Oh, he was rather fond of her. He enjoyed his comfortable home and took great satisfaction in the fact that other men envied him his wife. But she would lay long odds that he cared more deeply for his horse.

His horse. She blinked, only now registering what she had seen. Turning to her groom, she asked, "Was Captain Melbourne riding Colonel Kenyon's horse?"

"Aye," Everett replied. "The captain didn't want to risk Caesar, so the colonel said he could take Thor instead."

Oh, Lord, how typical of Colin to assume that his luck would carry him safely through a battle even on a mediocre mount. And it was equally typical of Michael to look out for another person.

Numbly she turned to Anne and they went into the house, going straight to the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Anne poured each of them a measure of brandy. After downing half of her drink, she said vehemently, "Why the devil didn't some sensible person assassinate Bonaparte? One bullet would have saved the world so much grief."

Catherine gave a humorless smile. "Men tend to think such things are dishonorable."

"Fools." Anne bent her head and rubbed her temples. "Saying good-bye doesn't get any easier with practice."

"I didn't get to say good-bye to Kenneth at all." Catherine sighed. "Did I mention that two days ago, I asked him to do some sketches of everyone in the household? I should have asked sooner. He was willing, but there wasn't enough time."

Anne raised her head. "Are you sure? There are a couple of portfolios on the table over there. I noticed them earlier, but I was too distracted to take a look."

They went to investigate. The top portfolio contained a note from Kenneth to Catherine. He apologized for the fact that he had not had the chance to give the drawings to her in person, and said that the other portfolio was for Anne.

Catherine gave the second folder to her friend, then paged through her own. The drawings were wonderful, particularly the ones of the children. A sketch of Amy swinging joyfully from a branch in the back garden caught her daughter's intrepid spirit perfectly. A laughing Colin was being nuzzled by his horse, Caesar. He looked confident and dashing and very handsome.

The drawing of Michael made her heart ache. In a handful of lines, Kenneth had caught the qualities of strength and humor, honor and intelligence, that stirred her so deeply.

Though Kenneth had included the self-portrait she had requested, it was the weakest drawing of the lot. The features were recognizable, but the overall effect was harsh and rather intimidating, revealing none of his imagination or dry wit. It must be hard to see oneself clearly.

Voice quavering, Anne said, "Look at this."

The drawing she held up showed her family in the garden. Jamie was gleefully astride his father's back as Charles played the part of cavalry horse. Molly sat by her mother, looking immensely superior from the pinnacle of her advanced years, while at the same time secretly feeding a cake to Clancy. Catherine laughed. "Bless Kenneth. To think he remembered to put these together for us when so much else was happening."

Anne studied a picture of Charles in his uniform, his plumed helmet tucked under his arm. He wore the grave expression of a man who had experienced war without being coarsened by it. "A century from now, future Mowbrys will look at this and know what kind of man their great-great-grandfather was."

"They'll be proud to be his descendants."

Anne drew the back of her hand across her eyes. "I won't cry again," she said fiercely. "I won't."

There was a long silence, broken only by the harsh rhythm of distant drums. Hearing that, Catherine suggested, "Neither of us will sleep a wink. Let's go to the city center and watch the mustering of the troops."

Anne agreed and they went to change from their ball gowns to simpler garments. As Catherine prepared to join Anne, Amy poked her head from the door of her room. "Has Papa gone?"

Wishing Colin had taken the time to wake his daughter, Catherine said, "Yes. He didn't want to disturb you."

"I wouldn't have minded," Amy said with a scowl. "Are you and Aunt Anne going out to watch what's happening?"

When Catherine nodded, Amy pleaded, "Please, can I go with you? It's horrid to be alone and unable to sleep."

Catherine could sympathize with that. "Very well. Put on a warm dress and come with us."

It was only a week until the summer solstice, and the sky was already tightening in the east as the three walked along the Rue de Namur. The drums were louder now. Their thunder was overlaid by strident trumpets calling assembly. Allied soldiers were billeted all over Brussels, and the streets boiled with activity as men responded to the summons, buttoning their jackets and dragging on their packs as they stumbled from the houses.

A British infantry regiment swung past them, marching toward the Namur Gate to the harsh rumma-dum-dum of the drums. The hammering rhythm entered the blood, as exciting as it was alarming. Catherine studied the tramping soldiers, wondering if the regiment might be Michael's. It was too dark to identify the uniform markings, and she could not see his erect form among the officers who rode alongside their troops. No matter; even if it was his regiment, they had already said their good-byes. To do so again, in front of Anne and Amy, would be excruciating.

The Place Royale was sheer chaos. Soldiers from half a dozen nations searched for their companies, sometimes with weeping women beside them. A few veteran campaigners slept with heads on their packs, oblivious to the racket of horses, cannons, and wagons clattering across the stones.

Amy's hand crept into Catherine's. "Boney doesn't have a chance, does he?"

"Not against Wellington. The duke has never lost a battle in his life," Catherine said, trying to sound confident.

They made their way from the Place Royale to the nearby park. It was about four o'clock, and the summer sun was edging above the horizon. Oblique rays of light caught the spires of the Cathedrale St. Michel. Catherine smiled wryly at the sight. Reminders of Michael were everywhere.

In the park, the fierce, blunt Welsh General Picton was mustering his division. Anne said, "The Rifle Brigade is with Picton, isn't it? Perhaps we can find Kenneth."

They scanned the seething mass of green-jacketed Riflemen, looking for officers. Amy's sharp eyes found him. "Look!" she said excitedly. "Captain Wilding is over there."

He was on horseback, snapping orders to his junior officers, but he turned when Catherine called his name. She went to him and reached up to clasp his hand. "I'm so glad we found you, Kenneth. It didn't seem right not to wish you Godspeed."

He gave the rare smile that turned his craggy face handsome. "You're very kind, Catherine."

"You've become family. If you're wounded, be sure they bring you home, so we can take care of you properly."

His face tightened. Not wanting to embarrass him further, she added, "Thank you for the drawings. They're splendid."

"I will keep mine forever," Anne said vehemently.

"I'll rest easier for knowing I have achieved immortality of a sort," he said with a faint smile. "But what makes a picture interesting is the subject, so it is you and your families who deserve the credit."