Isabella had tried to dissuade Patrick. She had threatened to leave him and return to Badajoz. She had cursed him. She had wept, but Harper had dismissed her fears. “I’m only going to trade a few horses, woman, nothing else.”
“You won’t be fighting?”
“Now why in the name of all Ireland would I want to be fighting?”
“Because of him,” Isabella knew her man, “and because you can’t resist joining a fight.”
“I’m not in the army, woman. I just want to make a few pennies by selling some horseflesh. Where’s the harm in that?”
In the end Harper had sworn a sacred oath on the Holy Mother and on all the bleeding wounds of Christ that he would not go into battle, that he would remember he was a husband and a father, and that if he so much as heard a musket shot he would turn tail and run away.
“Did you hear there was a wee scrap down south today?” Harper’s voice had a note of relish as he spoke of the fighting to Lucille.
“A battle?” Lucille sounded alarmed.
“Probably just a skirmish, ma’am.” Harper thrust aside the beggars who shuffled and reached towards Lucille. “I expect the Emperor’s getting bored with the waiting and decided to see if anyone was awake on this side of the border.”
“Perhaps that’s why I haven’t heard from Richard today.”
“If he’s got a choice between a battle and a dance, ma’am, then begging your presence, he’ll take the battle any day.” Harper laughed. “He’s never been much of a man for dancing, not unless he’s drunk and then he’ll dance with the best of them.” Harper suddenly realized that he might be betraying some confidences. “Not that I’ve ever seen him drunk, ma’am.”
Lucille smiled. “Of course not, Patrick.”
“But we’ll hear from him soon enough.” Harper raised the cudgel to drive away the beggars who swarmed ever more threateningly the closer they got to the Duke and Duchess of Richmond’s rented house. There were beggars throughout Europe. Peace had not brought prosperity, but higher prices, and the normal ranks of the indigent had been swollen by discharged soldiers. By day a woman could safely walk Brussels’ streets, but at night the pavements became dangerous. “Get back, you bastards! Get back!” Harper thrust two ragged men aside. Beyond the gutter shouting children pursued the polished carriages that rattled towards the rue de la Blanchisserie, but the coachmem were experts with their long whips which snapped sharply back to drive the urchins off.
A squadron of British Hussars were on duty in the rue de la Blanchisserie to keep the beggars away from the wealthy. A helpful corporal with a drawn sabre rode his horse in front of Harper to help clear Lucille’s passage to the big house.
,I’ll wait for you, ma’am,” Harper told Lucille when they were safely in the courtyard.
“You don’t have to, Patrick. I’m sure Richard will escort me home.”
,I’ll wait here, ma’am,” Harper insisted.
Lucille was nervous as she climbed the steps. A gorgeously dressed footman inspected her ticket, then bowed her into the hallway which was brilliant with candles and thronged~ with people. Lucille already felt dowdy. She glanced about the hall, hoping against hope that Richard would be waiting for her, but there was no sign of Sharpe, nor of any of the Prince of Orange’s staff. Lucille felt friendless in an enemy country, but then was relieved to see the Dowager Countess of Mauberges who, like so many other Belgian aristocracy, thought of herself as French and wanted the world to know it. The old lady was defiantly wearing her dead husband’s Legion d’honneur about her neck. “Your husband was a member of the Legion, was he not?” she greeted Lucille.
“Indeed he was.”
“Then you should wear his medal.”
Not that the ball needed an extra medal for, to Lucille, it seemed as though a jewel shop had been exploded into extravagant shards of light and colour. The colour came from the men’s uniforms, gorgeous uniforms, uniforms of scarlet and gold, royal blue and saffron, silver and black; uniforms of Hussars, Dragoons, Guards, Jaegers and kilted Highlanders. There were plumes, froggings, epaulettes, aigulettes, and gold-furnished scabbards. There were fur-edged dolmans, silk-lined pelisses, and gorgets of pure gold. There were princes, dukes, earls, and counts. There were plenipotentiaries in court uniforms so decked with gold that their coats seemed like sheets of light. There were jewelled stars and enamelled crosses worn on sashes of brilliant silk, and all lit by the glittering chandeliers which had been hoisted to the ceiling with their burdens of fine white candles.