and prisoners, Ann, I was relieved. The longer I fought, the more the whole undertaking struck me as stupid.”
Ann sipped her tea, while the cat was eyeing her lap. Orion scooped the beast up rather than risk hot tea all over Ann’s dress.
“Should we have allowed Napoleon to invade England?” she asked.
“Once Nelson scuttled the French fleet at Trafalgar, that was unlikely. Britain started the campaign on the Iberian Peninsula knowing there was little risk of France invading our shores.”
“But Bonaparte stopped our trade with the Continent. He forbade even delivery of British mail.”
“And this interfered with your correspondence exactly how? We blockaded his ports far more effectively than he stopped us from smuggling our goods into Continental markets. In any case, I kept my sword in plain view to remind me that war for those fighting it isn’t about markets, political theories, or the benefits of monarchy over representative governments. It’s about killing, violence, and destruction, and I want no more of any of it.”
“Thus you take in ragged children and sell your champagne, when nobody is stealing it from you.”
“The children just… They come along, and I have more room than I need, and that has nothing to do with anything.”
Ann smiled at him, and the idea that he must bid farewell to her, and to those sweet, knowing smiles… He pet the cat, who commenced rumbling.
“What has your sword to do with the stolen goods?”
“My sword was left at the warehouse in place of the purloined champagne. The stolen sword tells me that somebody violated my household, where I billet those self-same children. The watchman who was drugged was old and frail, Ann. He’s not fit for anything more vigorous than sounding the alarm, and whoever took the champagne could just as easily have tossed Nicolas into the river. I am being warned, repeatedly, that I and those I care about are in danger.”
“And thus you are leaving for France?”
She posed the question calmly, while presiding over her pretty tea service in this genteel parlor full of the contented purring of an overfed feline.
This is what I thought I was fighting for. England’s domestic tranquility; the good, dear people at home; the quiet, honorable values that made John Bull the equal of any man the world over.
“In Spain, I gave up my field command without complaint and contented myself with battling reams of paperwork, Ann. When the Hundred Days came, I accepted that I was not welcome to rejoin the fight. As I tried to establish my business here in London, I grasped that doors to certain regimental homes were closed to me. I have accepted my lot and tried to be grateful for it.”
“You deserve none of those slights.”
“So fierce, and you don’t deserve Jules Delacourt’s meanness, but you aren’t wasting your powers taking him on, are you?”
“I cannot, or somebody wholly innocent of wrongdoing could end up gashed by an accidental knife, burned with a spilled pot of glaze, or out of a job because Jules considers that sort of cruelty an expedient means of punishing me.”
“Punishing you for being good at what you do. And I sense that somehow I have stumbled into the same sort of trap, Ann. Horace Upchurch was my commanding officer when that board of inquiry was convened. He did what he could for me, and even he is telling me to leave London.”
Ann petted the cat, who’d draped himself across Rye’s thighs. “Uncle isn’t one to advocate retreat, but he’s put distance between you?”
“Yes.” Orion watched her hand stroking gently over soft, soft fur.
“You did not want me to know that my own uncle has suggested you leave Town.”
“I was surprised to learn that Upchurch was your uncle. I should be grateful he hasn’t disparaged me in your hearing.” If Ann did not cease petting the damned cat, Orion would have to continue this discussion upstairs.
“This is all so unfair and awkward.”
Wasn’t it just? “Complicated,” Rye said. “I have retreated and retreated, and every wise general knows to be gracious in victory. Somebody is determined to see me not only defeated, but routed and hounded from the field.”
Ann lifted the cat onto her own lap, and the beast, after peering about with a disgruntled air, settled in to knead her skirts.
“You fight,” Ann said. “You fight for those boys, Orion. You fight for that old lady among the émigrés. You fought for your sister in as much as you could, and you have fought for Hannah. By hiring old