Lord Eden looked guarded. “She is Charlie Simpson’s daughter,” he said.

Lord Amberley chuckled. “There is no pinning you down, is there, Dominic?” he said. “But don’t worry. Alex and I will take good care of her and deliver her safe and sound to her aunt. On your way, then. Nothing can be gained from a prolonged parting, can it?”

Lord Eden turned to his twin, who had sat in stony silence throughout the previous scene. “See me to the door, Mad?” he said.

She rose and preceded him from the room.

“You will not reconsider?” he asked when the door was closed behind him. “No, of course you won’t. You have a splendid courage, Mad, and I honor you for it. I will come to see you every day, shall I?”

“If you don’t,” she said, “I shall come and find you out.”

“Don’t do that!” he said. “You will be all right with Lady Andrea? She has always reminded me of a horse, I must say.”

“I have always been fond of horses,” she said. “Dom, you will come to me before you have to go?”

He did not misunderstand the meaning of her vague words. “If there is any chance,” he said, “I will come to you, Mad. But don’t hate me for the rest of your life if I don’t. There may not be time.”

“I love you,” she said, putting her arms up around his neck despite the presence of a footman who was waiting to open the door into the street for Lord Eden. “If you don’t have time to come, that is all I want you to know and take with you. I love you.”

“I know that, you goose,” he said, hugging her briefly but hard. “I am just a little fond of you too, if you would believe it.” He grinned at her and was gone.

Madeline resisted the urge to throw something at his retreating back only because there was nothing within her reach to throw. She sighed and turned back to the drawing room.

LORD EDEN CALLED at Captain Simpson’s rooms on the Rue de la Montagne that same evening, though he was not sure that they were to be at home. He might have been sure before the arrival of Miss Simpson, since Charlie and his wife far preferred to sit at home together in the evenings than to seek out some entertainment. But things had changed, of course, with the arrival of that young lady.

He wanted to take his leave of her. And he wanted it done that day rather than wait until early the following morning before she left with Edmund and Alexandra. He wanted it all over with. He wanted them gone. And how could he admit as much even to himself without sounding as if he were lacking in natural affections?

Lord Eden had always found leave-takings painful. He would have liked to walk out of Edmund’s house that afternoon without saying a word to anyone. He would like to avoid this farewell to Miss Simpson. Saying good-bye was difficult at any time. Saying it when one knew that it might well be forever was grueling beyond words.

He wanted to be free of all ties of affection. He wanted to be able to concentrate his mind and his emotions on what was coming. He wished Madeline had decided to go home too. He did not want her there in Brussels, making a constant claim on his emotional energy. And how ungrateful that sounded when she was risking her very life just so that she might stay close to him. She would never understand if he tried to explain to her. She would think that he did not care for her. And she would start hurling things at his head and yelling unladylike imprecations, and otherwise showing him that she was deeply hurt.

It was at times like this that he was glad that he was not married or even deeply attached to one woman. For he had found from past experience that before a major battle he must blank from his mind all the people who were most dear to him. He must live as if they did not exist. The men under him must become his family, the only persons for whose safety and welfare he had any concern. His commanding officers must become the only persons who had any claim on his loyalty and obedience and trust.

He did not envy Charlie at such times. Mrs. Simpson was always with him. How would it be possible to take one’s leave of one’s wife and go immediately into battle? How would it be possible to concentrate on the task at hand when one knew her to be very close and like to get hurt if the tide of battle went against one’s own army? He shuddered.

He had watched them once, when they had come out of Charlie’s tent with perhaps one minute in which to say their farewells. They had clung wordlessly together, the faces of both pale and totally without expression, so that he had turned away from the sight, more pained than embarrassed that he had been the unwitting witness to such an embrace between husband and wife. And it had taken Charlie a good ten minutes to come out of his stupor and become his usual cheerful, determined, even reckless self as he rushed into battle.

The three of them were at home when Lord Eden arrived at his friend’s house. But he did not stay long. Conversation was labored. All four of them were fully aware that there was so little time left in which to talk. And how could one talk meaningfully when constrained to do so? He took tea with them and rose to leave. He held out a hand to Jennifer and smiled at her.

“I will wish you bon voyage, Miss Simpson,” he said, “and hope that you will not be seasick on the return journey.”

Charlie drew his wife into an adjoining room, he noticed, leaving the door open between.

“I am sure I shall not,” she said, “now that I am a seasoned traveler.” She placed her hand in his.

“I am glad you came,” he said. “I have been happy to make your acquaintance.”

“And I yours,” she said. “I hope this horrid war comes to nothing after all.”

He smiled. “There are many soldiers wishing differently,” he said. “There are many wanting just one more chance to score a big victory against Bonaparte.”

“And you?” she said. “Are you eager for battle?”

How could he explain to her that it was a necessity of his nature to fight for his country and all it stood for, with his life if need be? That there was almost an exhilaration now, a need to assert what he believed in?

“Not for the killing,” he said. “But I want to be part of this fight against tyranny.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Good-bye, my lord. I will pray that you will be kept safe.”

“Will you?” he said. “And may I call on you when I return to England?”

She flushed as she looked up at him. “If you wish,” she said. “I would like that.”

He lifted her hand, which still lay in his, and kissed it. “I do wish it,” he said. “I am glad you are to travel with my brother. I will know that you are safe.”

“He is very kind,” she said, “and her ladyship. I like them.”

“Good-bye, then,” he said. And he squeezed her hand until he was aware of her wincing. He released it immediately.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Please keep yourself safe,” she said. “Please!” And she lifted both hands and placed her fingertips lightly against his cheeks for a brief moment. She looked over her shoulder rather jerkily. “Papa,” she called. “Papa, Lord Eden wishes to say good night to you.” And she was gone from the room almost before Charlie was back in it.

Damnation to all leave-taking, Lord Eden was thinking a few minutes later as he strode down the street in the direction of his new billet. Now what had he done? Had he raised expectations? Was he now honor-bound to make her an offer when he returned to England? And did he want to? He was not at all sure. And he did not want to be plagued by such thoughts, such problems, such doubts. He wanted to be free of all emotion.

Devil take it. He had only just stopped himself from scooping her into his arms and pouring out his love for her and his desire to keep her safe from anxiety for the rest of her life. Would he never learn? Did he love her?

He did not know and did not want to know at that particular moment. He would not think of it. How much longer before they were finally engaged against the French? A week? Two? It could not be soon enough for him. He was ready. He was restless. He needed to get at it, this great battle that he had decided would be his last in one way or another. Time enough afterward to think about love. Not now!

He was glad to find his friend at home in the rather sparsely furnished and very masculine rooms that were now his new home too. Captain Norton’s boots, none too clean, were crossed at the ankles on the table before him. His hands were clasped behind his head as he contemplated a corner of the ceiling. There were a half-empty bottle of cognac and a glass on the table.

“Old Picton is due to arrive in Brussels any day,” Lord Eden said, flinging his hat onto a chair that was already overloaded with discarded clothes. “Newly appointed commander of the Fifth, in case you had forgotten, Norton my lad. You had better not thrust those boots into his face the way they look now if you know what is good for you.”

“Why polish them before it is absolutely necessary to do so?” his friend asked cheerfully, a slight slur to his speech. “Find a glass, Eden, and pour yourself some cognac. Hate to drink alone. There should be one underneath all those papers on the chair. Letters from m’mother and the girls. They all write books instead of letters. I must read them sometime. Remind me.”

Lord Eden found a glass, carefully avoided inspecting it too closely for cleanliness, settled at the table, his own highly polished boots joining those of his friend, and reached for the bottle.

ON WEDNESDAY, JUNE 14, the rumor began to circulate that the French army was concentrated about Mauberge to the south and had even crossed the frontier into Belgium. Word had it that Bonaparte himself was at its head. If it was true, people said, old Boney had done it again. He had taken his fellow generals of Europe by surprise.