Page 68
Waterloo. There was a battle. Enemy artillery. Deteriorated without delay.
Her fingers tightened instinctively around the paper.
Radnor.
She had only known the Colonel a matter of weeks, yet she had watched enough of the three friends together to understand what he meant to Arthur. Laurence and Radnor were among the very few people capable of making the Duke speak without ceremony or caution. Arthur possessed remarkably little patience for the world at large, dismissing tutors, tradesmen and even members of the peerage with equal efficiency whenever they tried it.
But not them.
Clutching the letter against her chest, Eliza hurried from the study.
By the time she reached the gallery overlooking the great entrance hall, Winworth House had transformed into something she did not recognise.
Only minutes earlier its halls echoed with little more than the tick of a clock and the faint scratching of quills. Now footmen crossed the marble floor carrying travelling trunks upon their shoulders. Stable boys raced through the open front doors towards the courtyard, shouting instructions to one another as horses stamped impatiently upon the cobbles outside. Somewhere below, harness buckles clinked against polished leather whilst the travelling carriage was drawn hurriedly beneath the portico.
She followed the gallery a little further until she found Arthur.
He stood in the centre of the entrance hall beside an open valise resting upon the entrance table, packing with the swift, practised movements of a man who had prepared for departure more times than he cared to remember.
Laurence stood beside him. Gone entirely was the man who had spent breakfast teasing Arthur over marmalade and bedchambers.
His hand rested against the back of his neck, his shoulders drawn tight.
"I would demand to accompany you, Buck," she heard him say quietly, "but I fear I'd only slow you down."
Arthur continued fastening the straps of the valise.
"I would be grateful if you stayed here, Ben."
The gravity of his words struck her. He loved these men.
"Keep an eye on things."
Laurence lowered his head.
"Of course."
No argument. No teasing. Only resignation.
Watching them together, Eliza's heart ached.
From everything she had observed over the past weeks, the three men had shared more than just friendship. Laurence belonged to Arthur's youth, their years together at Eton having forged a bond neither title nor time had weakened. Radnor belonged to another life entirely, yet they functioned remarkably well as a trio. Whether her own husband knew it or not, the three men formed a silent brotherhood.
Their conversation continued in voices too low for her to distinguish, though she did not need to hear the words to understand what passed between them.
Duty.
Concern.
Hope.
Mr Ellis approached carrying Arthur's heavy black travelling coat. With practised care, the valet settled it across his master's shoulders before smoothing the collar into place. Ever dutiful, Mr Ellis cast a discreet glance towards the gallery, signalling her arrival without uttering a word.
Arthur followed Mr Ellis’ gaze.
His eyes found her immediately. She stood motionless, one hand gripping the carved balustrade, the dispatch still clutched tightly in the other.
For the briefest moment, neither of them spoke.
