Beth was happy to agree but found it difficult to strike up aconversation. The obvious topic was the play the night before and shewouldn’t touch that with a barge pole.
“No more news of a battle,” she said in the end. It was an idioticthing to say as the word would be all over Town in minutes when itarrived.
“Mad rumors. The news we’re getting is four or five days old. Someonewas spreading word that the allies are routed. Another that Napoleon isshot by his own men. Both are denied by the War Office.”
“Is it possible it won’t come to battle?”
“Not unless someone does shoot the Corsican. It seems mad that oneman’s overweening ambition can cause such destruction. So many lives . ..” He broke off and they walked a way in silence. “We have this group offriends,” he said at last. “We were all at Harrow together. Nicholas, Con,Francis, Hal, Dare. . . . There were twelve of us. Only ten are stillalive. Hal’s lost his arm ? Damn the Corsican.”
“Surely it isn’t all Napoleon’s fault,” Beth Pointed out. “Hal lost hisarm in the Americas, and that war can’t be laid at Bonaparte’s door. Men,after all, don’t seem to need much excuse for war.”
He flashed her an irritated look but then gave a brief laugh and said,“Oh no. I’m not going to be entangled in a topic like that just now. I’mpleased you want to get to know the Delaneys,” he said. “I think you’lllike Eleanor, though she’s not bookish. If you’re wise you won’t tangle ina battle of wits with Nicholas.”
“He’s a genius?” Beth queried skeptically.
“I don’t know what he is. He never went up to university. Took this madfit to travel then went to some strange places. Any meaningfulconversation with him travels equally unpredictable roads. I once saw himreduce a parson to incoherence. I’m not actually sure,” he saidthoughtfully, “that he’s a Christian.”
“Good heavens.”
Lucien looked at her in mock astonishment. “Have I shocked you? Dragyour mind out of narrow, conformist paths, my dear.”
Beth was shocked. She and Aunt Emma had questioned many things butnever Christianity. She and Lucien had arrived at a neat, narrow housewhich at least did not look pagan.
“What is he, then?” asked Beth nervously.
Lucien just grinned and applied the door knocker.
An immensely proper butler answered the door and smiled. “Welcome, mylord. They are at home.” Beth was somewhat reassured. This was not a houseof disrepute.
“Good,” said Lucien. “My dear, this is Hollygirt. Hollygirt, make knownmy wife, Lady Arden.”
The butler bowed. “Honored to make your acquaintance, yourladyship.”
It soon became clear formality at number eight, Lauriston Street,stopped with the butler. Lucien swept Beth along and into a large drawingroom which had more the look of the senior girls’ parlor at MissMallory’s, except that most of the occupants were male.
Nicholas Delaney was sitting on the floor with two young men ? one anamazingly handsome russet-haired specimen and one snub-nosed ginger ?apparently playing with a large toy soldier. Another man, a fine-bonedblond, was sitting at a table by the window writing. Hal Beaumont, EleanorDelaney, and a noticeably pregnant young lady were sitting in a groupbeing amused by a beautiful, amiable baby. A darkly poetic man was playingthe piano. He looked up as they entered and swung into a creditableversion of a fanfare of trumpets.
Everyone looked up and in an instant Beth was caught up in a whirlwindof welcomes, introductions, and questions. It was like a large and verystrange family.
She was snared by Eleanor and cut out of the group. “You’ll neverremember who’s who,” said Eleanor, “so pay no attention. Come and meetArabel instead. She has more manners than anyone else here.”
Beth found herself on a sofa beside Hal Beaumont, meeting him for thefirst time since that extraordinary conversation in the rose garden. Hesmiled at her without constraint. “You’re looking well, Elizabeth. I wassorry not to be at the wedding. Problems at my estate.”
That had been his excuse. Beth saw he was keeping to his word; now shewas married there was no hint of the warmth he had expressed just thatonce. “We missed you,” she said and added, “I have to tell you that Iprefer to be called Beth.”
He looked intrigued but said, “Beth, then.”
“And I’m Amy Lavering,” said the girl holding the baby. “And this isArabel. I hold her a lot in the hope she can teach my little one somedecorum. My husband’s Peter, the handsome one on the floor.”
Beth looked over. Peter Lavering certainly was handsome but sinceLucien had now joined that group, Beth felt she could debate the singular.She let it pass. “What are they doing?” she asked.
Eleanor explained. “Miles Cavanagh ? he’s the gingery one ? broughtthat thing as a gift for Arabel. Entirely unsuitable for a girl, butNicholas, of course., said there was no reason Arabel shouldn’t grow up tobe a soldier ? horrid man. It doesn’t work. Instead of marching it hurtleslike the mail. It shot right off the table and broke its musket, so nowit’s restricted to the floor.”
Someone released the switch and the rosy-cheeked grenadier shot forwardabout three feet and fell on its nose. Its feet gave a few pathetic littletwitches. Arabel’s attention was caught, and she gave a squeal andstretched for it.
Her father leapt to his feet and came to sweep her up. “No, no, littleplum. Learn to resist wounded soldiers. They’ve been the ruin of many afair maid.” He grinned at Hal with no awkwardness about the injury at all,then smiled over the child’s head at Beth. “Welcome. What form of insanitydoes your heart crave? Here we satisfy all.”
Beth was a second too late to stop the betraying flicker of her eyestowards Lucien, and she saw it register on Nicholas Delaney though hisexpression never altered. “I don’t know,” she said hastily. “I think Ilike sanity.”
