tried to bed you yet?"
"Nonsense," she snapped. "Are you suggesting that I have behaved improperly?"
"Of course not," he said with bitter amusement. "Who would know that better than I?"
There was sudden, sharp tension as the room pulsed with all of the issues that divided them. Realizing she had overreacted to Colin's casual remark, Catherine said evenly, "Michael is pleasant, but he has escorted me from courtesy, not because he's trying to bed me." And if her words were not quite the whole truth, they were close enough.
Accepting her statement at face value, Colin said, "See if you can turn him up sweet in whatever time is left in this billet. I've been doing some thinking about the future."
Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
"After Boney is defeated, the government will cut the army to a fraction of its present size. There's a good chance I'll be retired on half pay. It's time to start looking for another occupation, preferably a nice government post that pays well and leaves plenty of time for hunting." He pulled on a fresh shirt. "Getting such a position will require influence. Luckily, Brussels is teeming with aristocrats this spring. When you're hobnobbing with 'em, be extra charming to anyone who might be helpful when the time comes."
"Very well." The idea did not enthrall her, but since their future would depend on Colin finding a decent post, she must do her part. "Are you going to be dining here?"
"No, I'm meeting friends."
She sighed. "Try not to lose any more money. I can make a shilling stretch until it squeaks, but I'm not a miracle worker."
"There won't be any gaming tonight."
Which meant he would be with one of his women. She wished him a pleasant evening and went downstairs. It was early and Kenneth was the only person in the salon. He was gazing out the window, his shoulders as broad as those of a blacksmith.
"Good evening, Kenneth," she said lightly. "You've been as busy as Michael. I'm beginning to think the infantry works harder than the cavalry."
He turned to her. "Of course—everyone knows that."
She smiled. "You're as bad as my father. He was in the infantry, you know."
Kenneth looked horrified. "The devil you say! How come a nice lass like you married a dragoon?"
"The usual reasons." She poured two glasses of sherry and joined him at the window. The sun was hidden behind the trees, but it gilded the clouds with ocher and crimson and turned Brussels' graceful church spires to dramatic silhouettes. "A lovely sky. At times like this, I wish I could paint."
He sipped his sherry. "So do I."
"You don't? I assumed you must, since you draw so well."
He shrugged. "Drawing is a mere knack. Painting is quite another matter, one I know nothing about."
She glanced at his stern profile. Something in his tone suggested that he regretted that, but an army on campaign would have presented few opportunities to learn, particularly in the years before he received a commission.
Outside, the colors were fading and indigo clouds were gathering on the horizon. How quickly the night was falling. "It's not going to be much longer, is it?" she said softly.
He knew exactly what she meant. "I'm afraid not. The emperor has sealed France's northern borders. There's not a stagecoach, fishing boat, or document getting across— except for the false information Napoleon's agents are merrily spreading, of course. They say the authorities don't expect the campaign to begin before July, but I think war could come at any time."
"I have this sense that… that we're all living in a glass bubble that's about to shatter," she said intensely. "Everything seems larger than life. These last two months feel like a special time that won't come again."
"All times are special, and none ever comes again," he said quietly.
Yet it was human to try to hold back the night. On impulse, she asked, "Could you do a favor for me?"
"Of course. What would you like?"
"Could you do drawings of everyone in the household? Anne
"Nonsense," she snapped. "Are you suggesting that I have behaved improperly?"
"Of course not," he said with bitter amusement. "Who would know that better than I?"
There was sudden, sharp tension as the room pulsed with all of the issues that divided them. Realizing she had overreacted to Colin's casual remark, Catherine said evenly, "Michael is pleasant, but he has escorted me from courtesy, not because he's trying to bed me." And if her words were not quite the whole truth, they were close enough.
Accepting her statement at face value, Colin said, "See if you can turn him up sweet in whatever time is left in this billet. I've been doing some thinking about the future."
Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
"After Boney is defeated, the government will cut the army to a fraction of its present size. There's a good chance I'll be retired on half pay. It's time to start looking for another occupation, preferably a nice government post that pays well and leaves plenty of time for hunting." He pulled on a fresh shirt. "Getting such a position will require influence. Luckily, Brussels is teeming with aristocrats this spring. When you're hobnobbing with 'em, be extra charming to anyone who might be helpful when the time comes."
"Very well." The idea did not enthrall her, but since their future would depend on Colin finding a decent post, she must do her part. "Are you going to be dining here?"
"No, I'm meeting friends."
She sighed. "Try not to lose any more money. I can make a shilling stretch until it squeaks, but I'm not a miracle worker."
"There won't be any gaming tonight."
Which meant he would be with one of his women. She wished him a pleasant evening and went downstairs. It was early and Kenneth was the only person in the salon. He was gazing out the window, his shoulders as broad as those of a blacksmith.
"Good evening, Kenneth," she said lightly. "You've been as busy as Michael. I'm beginning to think the infantry works harder than the cavalry."
He turned to her. "Of course—everyone knows that."
She smiled. "You're as bad as my father. He was in the infantry, you know."
Kenneth looked horrified. "The devil you say! How come a nice lass like you married a dragoon?"
"The usual reasons." She poured two glasses of sherry and joined him at the window. The sun was hidden behind the trees, but it gilded the clouds with ocher and crimson and turned Brussels' graceful church spires to dramatic silhouettes. "A lovely sky. At times like this, I wish I could paint."
He sipped his sherry. "So do I."
"You don't? I assumed you must, since you draw so well."
He shrugged. "Drawing is a mere knack. Painting is quite another matter, one I know nothing about."
She glanced at his stern profile. Something in his tone suggested that he regretted that, but an army on campaign would have presented few opportunities to learn, particularly in the years before he received a commission.
Outside, the colors were fading and indigo clouds were gathering on the horizon. How quickly the night was falling. "It's not going to be much longer, is it?" she said softly.
He knew exactly what she meant. "I'm afraid not. The emperor has sealed France's northern borders. There's not a stagecoach, fishing boat, or document getting across— except for the false information Napoleon's agents are merrily spreading, of course. They say the authorities don't expect the campaign to begin before July, but I think war could come at any time."
"I have this sense that… that we're all living in a glass bubble that's about to shatter," she said intensely. "Everything seems larger than life. These last two months feel like a special time that won't come again."
"All times are special, and none ever comes again," he said quietly.
Yet it was human to try to hold back the night. On impulse, she asked, "Could you do a favor for me?"
"Of course. What would you like?"
"Could you do drawings of everyone in the household? Anne
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