‘Will you be seeing her again?’ The question was asked too innocently. Gaise looked up at his friend.
‘What is bothering you, Mulgrave?’
The swordsman shrugged and forced a smile. ‘This is not a good time to fall in love, sir. We are surrounded by enemies.’
‘Fear not, my friend. She and the general are leaving in four days. He has fresh orders.’
‘I thought he was to stay for a month to establish the depot.’
‘So did I. But that’s the army for you, Mulgrave.’
‘The army,’ muttered Mulgrave, with a shake of his head. ‘What we are facing here, sir, is not about armies at war. By heaven, you’d be safer if you led the men to join Luden Macks. At least then you’d know the enemy would be in front of you.’
Cordelia Lowen stood patiently as the elderly maid struggled to unfasten the twenty small mother of pearl buttons at the back of her gown. Cordelia loved the gown, but it was definitely impractical. Without a servant to hand she would have been forced to cut the garment clear. She had made this point to her father, when he bought it for her. He had laughed.
‘That is entirely the point, my dear. Peasants wear dresses that are easily removed. Only the rich can wear this gown.’
It still seemed stupid to Cordelia. The buttons were beautiful, but they could just as easily have been placed at the front.
‘Can’t seem to get this one, my dear,’ said Mrs Broadley. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting so.’
‘That’s all right, Mara. It is loose enough now.’ Stepping away from the woman Cordelia undid the buttons of the sleeves then began to tug the waist upwards. The old woman tried to help.
After a few moments of useless struggle Cordelia suddenly burst into laughter. ‘This is not a gown,’ she said. ‘It is an instrument of torture. Cut the damned button off.’
‘Oh no, my lady,’ wailed Mrs Broadley. ‘It will ruin it. Let me try one more time.’
Cordelia’s good humour faded as she heard the terror in the old woman’s voice. If the dress was ruined she would be blamed, for being too arthritic to unbutton it. That then might be the end of her employment. She, and old Broadley her husband, had been with Cordley Lowen for almost twenty years, having served his father before that. Cordelia wondered what they would do when their time of service was at an end. Did they have money saved? If they did it wouldn’t be much.
‘I’ve got it,’ said Mrs Broadley, happily. ‘Stand up, my dear.’ Within moments the garment was laid upon the bed and Cordelia breathed a sigh of deep relief.
‘I could scarcely breathe in that thing,’ she said. ‘I felt faint the whole evening.’
‘I expect you were the centre of attention. All the men there were dumbstruck by your beauty.’
Cordelia moved to the chair by the mirror. Mrs Broadley removed the pins from the young woman’s hair, allowing it to tumble to her shoulders. Then the servant took up a silver-backed brush. ‘Have you seen General Macon?’ asked Cordelia, as her hair was being brushed.
‘Unpleasant young man,’ said Mrs Broadley. ‘I remember Mr Broadley telling me of his rudeness back at the old house.’
‘Yes, yes, but have you seen him?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Of what, my lady?’
‘Do you find him presentable?’
‘It has never crossed my mind. He is handsome, I would say. He carries himself well. Though I don’t know why he should march everywhere with an honour guard.’
‘There was an attempt on his life. Luden Macks sent two assassins to kill him. He fought them and killed them.’
That is what soldiers do, I suppose. Kill people,’ said Mrs Broadley, primly. ‘He is a noted duellist as well. He shot that Lord Person.’
‘No, he didn’t. Lord Person was not shot. Gaise did not kill him.’
‘Oh, Gaise is it? Best not to let the general hear you use his given name, my lady. Mr Broadley says the general does not hold this soldier in high regard. He was very rude, you know.’