better than that profane captain. He recalled with relief that she had sworn never to marry a soldier.
Late the following afternoon, another of her admirers arrived at Madame Vilvoorde’s. Moses Solomon had galloped ahead of a slow-moving coachload of gold from London to bring electrifying news.
Following Fanny into the parlour, he announced importantly, “Napoleon left Paris yesterday, my lord, in the early hours of the morning. His headquarters are said to be at Beaumont, though Mr Rothschild had no definite word on that.” He gave Felix two letters, one addressed to the Duke of Wellington.
Felix had just come in after riding in the park with Lady Sophia--and the count and Lord Garforth. He seized his hat and gloves from the table. “This cannot wait. I’m off to the Duke’s.”
He strode out, knowing he could rely upon Fanny to take care of the weary courier. Moses failed to hide his delight at being left in her hands.
As he hurried towards the Rue Royale, Felix read his letter from Nathan Rothschild. After repeating the news of Bonaparte’s movements, his employer went on to stress the utmost importance of keeping him informed of developments in Belgium. Felix had two couriers at his disposal. Once they had been despatched back to England, in the event of further urgent news he must come himself.
Rothschild went on to discuss business matters, closing with an assurance of his complete confidence in Felix. The wisdom of his decision to employ Viscount Roworth had been proved again and again.
Felix was gratified to have earned the gruff banker’s rare praise. Fanny would be pleased and proud of him. Folding the three close-written sheets, he slipped them into the inside pocket of his coat and entered the Duke’s Headquarters with a spring in his step.
“Good news, my lord?” asked young George Cathcart, looking up from a hand of cards.
“Not exactly, though you might call it positive.”
“Boney’s made his move,” stated Lord Arthur Hill with placid certainty, dropping his cards as Felix nodded, and heaving his bulk out of the chair. “Fitzroy’s with the Beau now, but for this I’ll risk losing my head.”
“If you’re lucky he’ll put you on bread and water and you’ll find your waistline,” observed another officer. “It’s true, Roworth? What have you heard?”
None but the Duke’s personal staff was present, so Felix told them what little he knew.
“Beaumont?” said Canning, consulting a map pinned to the wall. “The devil! That’s where the road to Mons splits from the road to Charleroi. He could be aiming to outflank our right, or to divide us from the Prussians, or even to march directly on Brussels.”
The Duke said the same when Felix reported to him. “Things are moving at last, and I don’t doubt we shall have a fight of it, but I cannot make a move until I have definite word from Grant at Mons or from the Prussians at Charleroi. Fitzroy, send a couple of the fellows to inform them of this latest. My thanks, Roworth. I shall see you at the Richmonds’ ball, I expect?”
“Yes, sir, if you think...?”
“Her grace would never forgive me if I broke my promise that she could hold her ball without fear of interruption.”
By the following evening, when Lady Conynghame held a soirée, everyone had heard talk of serious French troop movements on the border. Felix had been in and out of Headquarters all day, but he refused to confirm the rumours until Wellington came in and calmly corroborated the most recent report: the French had crossed the frontier.
Felix was flattered when Lady Daventry consulted him as to the advisability of removing herself and her daughter from Brussels immediately.
“Just to Antwerp,” she said anxiously, “until we see what happens.”
“No one else is leaving, Mama. Can we not stay for the Duchess’s ball? There will be time enough to go to Antwerp afterwards.” she said, dispassionate as always.
“I daresay you are right, my
Late the following afternoon, another of her admirers arrived at Madame Vilvoorde’s. Moses Solomon had galloped ahead of a slow-moving coachload of gold from London to bring electrifying news.
Following Fanny into the parlour, he announced importantly, “Napoleon left Paris yesterday, my lord, in the early hours of the morning. His headquarters are said to be at Beaumont, though Mr Rothschild had no definite word on that.” He gave Felix two letters, one addressed to the Duke of Wellington.
Felix had just come in after riding in the park with Lady Sophia--and the count and Lord Garforth. He seized his hat and gloves from the table. “This cannot wait. I’m off to the Duke’s.”
He strode out, knowing he could rely upon Fanny to take care of the weary courier. Moses failed to hide his delight at being left in her hands.
As he hurried towards the Rue Royale, Felix read his letter from Nathan Rothschild. After repeating the news of Bonaparte’s movements, his employer went on to stress the utmost importance of keeping him informed of developments in Belgium. Felix had two couriers at his disposal. Once they had been despatched back to England, in the event of further urgent news he must come himself.
Rothschild went on to discuss business matters, closing with an assurance of his complete confidence in Felix. The wisdom of his decision to employ Viscount Roworth had been proved again and again.
Felix was gratified to have earned the gruff banker’s rare praise. Fanny would be pleased and proud of him. Folding the three close-written sheets, he slipped them into the inside pocket of his coat and entered the Duke’s Headquarters with a spring in his step.
“Good news, my lord?” asked young George Cathcart, looking up from a hand of cards.
“Not exactly, though you might call it positive.”
“Boney’s made his move,” stated Lord Arthur Hill with placid certainty, dropping his cards as Felix nodded, and heaving his bulk out of the chair. “Fitzroy’s with the Beau now, but for this I’ll risk losing my head.”
“If you’re lucky he’ll put you on bread and water and you’ll find your waistline,” observed another officer. “It’s true, Roworth? What have you heard?”
None but the Duke’s personal staff was present, so Felix told them what little he knew.
“Beaumont?” said Canning, consulting a map pinned to the wall. “The devil! That’s where the road to Mons splits from the road to Charleroi. He could be aiming to outflank our right, or to divide us from the Prussians, or even to march directly on Brussels.”
The Duke said the same when Felix reported to him. “Things are moving at last, and I don’t doubt we shall have a fight of it, but I cannot make a move until I have definite word from Grant at Mons or from the Prussians at Charleroi. Fitzroy, send a couple of the fellows to inform them of this latest. My thanks, Roworth. I shall see you at the Richmonds’ ball, I expect?”
“Yes, sir, if you think...?”
“Her grace would never forgive me if I broke my promise that she could hold her ball without fear of interruption.”
By the following evening, when Lady Conynghame held a soirée, everyone had heard talk of serious French troop movements on the border. Felix had been in and out of Headquarters all day, but he refused to confirm the rumours until Wellington came in and calmly corroborated the most recent report: the French had crossed the frontier.
Felix was flattered when Lady Daventry consulted him as to the advisability of removing herself and her daughter from Brussels immediately.
“Just to Antwerp,” she said anxiously, “until we see what happens.”
“No one else is leaving, Mama. Can we not stay for the Duchess’s ball? There will be time enough to go to Antwerp afterwards.” she said, dispassionate as always.
“I daresay you are right, my
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