Carola Dunn by Lord Roworth's Reward Read Free Book Online Page B

Sophia had said she would not attend, Felix thought he might as well go. He was bound to see acquaintances there, and he might even meet up with Fanny and discover the identity of her unnamed escort.
    Spectators were beginning to gather as he walked without haste along the wide avenue of lime trees, paralleling the canal. Plumply pretty Bruxelloises clucked at swarms of children while their solid burgher husbands gathered in groups to discuss matters of import.
    Felix knew Wellington intended the display of the crack troops of his Reserve to reassure the faint-hearted. The Duke also wanted to show French sympathizers among the Belgians that the Corsican usurper would not find smooth sailing if he decided to march on Brussels.
    The opinions of the Belgians would doubtless be of interest to Rothschild. Felix decided to mingle with the crowd and listen to what the man in the street was saying--the French-speaking man in the street at least. Miriam had taught him to speak French; now doubtless hers was rusty with disuse while his had been polished by constant exercise.
    He caught odd phrases: “What’s to choose between a Dutch King and a French...?” “They say the Russians...” “Milord Wellington has never faced the Emperor in...” “Milord does not worry: balls, horse races, le cricket...” “And the English pay in good gold, and besides...” He grinned at the notion that Rothschild gold had won more allegiance among the Belgians than their own King William.
    Listening and strolling, Felix watched out for Fanny and her unknown escort, but he wasn’t surprised to miss them. He stopped when he reached the bridge over the canal and leaned against the parapet. Slow barges, painted red and yellow and green, slid past on the still water, neither bargees nor their plodding, be-tasselled horses paying much attention to the crowds on land.
    A commotion at the far end of the Allée Verte resolved itself, as it drew closer, into cheers and the stirring, martial clamour of bagpipes. Whatever their feelings about the Allies, the Belgians adored the Scots. Small boys jumped up and down in an ecstasy of excitement as the Cameron Highlanders marched past with swinging kilts, followed by the Royal Scots, then the Gay Gordons. Between them came a battalion of Riflemen in their dark green, their caps set at a jaunty angle. Felix recognized Major Sir Henry Bissell riding alongside his men. At least, at this precise moment, one of his rivals was not busy fixing his interest with Lady Sophia.
    The Belgians lost interest and began to head for home as a Hanoverian regiment brought up the rear. Felix strolled back along the alley, wondering whether the Duke had heard yet from King William about the Hanover subsidy. He would mention the matter tonight, to Lord Fitzroy if not to Wellington himself. The Duke had invited him to dine before the British Ambassador’s ball.
    A pair of riders, waiting in the shade of a tree for the crowds to pass, caught his attention. Their horses were no Thoroughbred hacks but heavy troopers, dwarfing one of the mounted figures.
    It was Fanny, in a brown habit and practical black hat, perched high above the ground on a side-saddle, looking perfectly at ease. She was smiling at her companion. Felix switched his gaze to the other rider and scowled as he noted the Horse Artillery blue and scarlet.
    Was it Captain Mercer who dared to risk her life on a brute far too powerful for any female? Or that young lieutenant who had gazed at her like a mooncalf when they met in the park? Aghast at the risk she was taking, furious with her careless escort, he pushed through the leisurely throng towards them, his heart in his mouth.
    By the time he was close enough to recognize Lieutenant Farrow--not the adoring mooncalf--three more mounted artillerymen had joined them. Two were strangers, the third was Frank. He said something to his sister and she laughed. Handling the reins with unselfconscious competence, she turned her