Richmond's ball, Michael and Kenneth attended a dinner to welcome several officers of the 95th who had just arrived from America. Inevitably, the conversation turned to Peninsular days. It was a good evening, but Michael said dryly as he and Kenneth rode home, "There is nothing like distance to make bad food, bad wine, and bad housing look romantic."
"The real romance is that we were young, and we survived." Kenneth chuckled. "Lord, remember the time we held the Rifles anniversary banquet on the bank of the Bidassoa?"
"Sitting with our legs in trenches and using the turf as both table and chair is not the sort of thing one forgets."
They turned into the Rue de la Reine, moving at a quiet walk. As he dismounted and opened the gate, Michael said slowly, "There's a bad storm coming in the next few days."
Kenneth looked at him sharply. "Literal or metaphorical?"
"Perhaps both." Michael unconsciously rubbed his left shoulder, which ached before major changes in the weather. "It's going to be an almighty thunderstorm. That may be all—but remember how often storms hit before battles on the Peninsula?"
Kenneth nodded. "Wellington weather. It was uncanny. Perhaps you should tell the duke."
Michael laughed. "He'd throw me out of his office. He's a man who deals in facts, not fancies."
"No doubt he's right—but I'll tell my batman to make sure my kit is ready to go in case we have to move out quickly."
"I intend to do the same."
They led their horses into the stable. A lamp was lit inside, and its light showed Colin Melbourne sprawled in a pile of hay, snoring heavily. His mount, still saddled and bridled, was standing nearby, looking bored. Kenneth knelt and examined the sleeping man. "Drunk as a lord," he reported.
"I beg your pardon?" Michael said icily.
Kenneth grinned. "Very well, he's as drunk as some lords. I've never seen you that far gone."
"No, and you never will."
"Give the man his due, though. He was able to stay in the saddle long enough to get home. A credit to the cavalry."
After bedding down his own horse, Michael did the same for Melbourne's mount. No sense in the beast suffering because its master had overindulged. When he finished, Kenneth hauled their drunken companion to his feet.
Colin came alive, asking Wearily, "Am I home yet?"
"Almost. All you have to do is walk to the house."
"The bloody infantry to the rescue. You fellows do have your uses." Colin took a step and almost pitched to the floor.
Kenneth grabbed him barely in time. "Give me a hand, Michael. It's going to take both of us to get him inside."
"We could leave him here," Michael suggested. "The night is mild, and the condition he's in, he won't mind."
"Catherine might worry if she's expecting him home tonight."
Since that was undoubtedly true, Michael pulled Melbourne's right arm over his shoulders. There was a heavy scent of perfume underlying the smell of port. The bastard had been with a woman.
He tried not to think of the fact that this drunken dolt was Catherine's husband. That he had the right to caress her, to possess her with his own promiscuous body…
Gritting his teeth, he took his share of Colin's substantial weight and supported the man through the stable doors. Revived slightly by the fresh air, Colin turned his head and blinked at Michael. "It's the aristocratic colonel. Much obliged to you."
"No need," Michael said tersely. "I'd do the same for anyone."
"No," Colin corrected him. "You're doing it for Catherine 'cause you're in love with her."
Michael went rigid.
"Everyone's in love with her," Colin said drunkenly. "The Honorable Sergeant Kenneth, the faithful Charles Mowbry, the damned duke himself dotes on her. Everyone loves her because she's perfect." He belched. "Do you know how hard it is to live with a woman who's perfect?"
Kenneth snapped, "That's enough, Melbourne!"
Relentlessly Colin continued, "I'll bet your noble lordship would like nothing better than to roll Catherine into the hay and make a
"The real romance is that we were young, and we survived." Kenneth chuckled. "Lord, remember the time we held the Rifles anniversary banquet on the bank of the Bidassoa?"
"Sitting with our legs in trenches and using the turf as both table and chair is not the sort of thing one forgets."
They turned into the Rue de la Reine, moving at a quiet walk. As he dismounted and opened the gate, Michael said slowly, "There's a bad storm coming in the next few days."
Kenneth looked at him sharply. "Literal or metaphorical?"
"Perhaps both." Michael unconsciously rubbed his left shoulder, which ached before major changes in the weather. "It's going to be an almighty thunderstorm. That may be all—but remember how often storms hit before battles on the Peninsula?"
Kenneth nodded. "Wellington weather. It was uncanny. Perhaps you should tell the duke."
Michael laughed. "He'd throw me out of his office. He's a man who deals in facts, not fancies."
"No doubt he's right—but I'll tell my batman to make sure my kit is ready to go in case we have to move out quickly."
"I intend to do the same."
They led their horses into the stable. A lamp was lit inside, and its light showed Colin Melbourne sprawled in a pile of hay, snoring heavily. His mount, still saddled and bridled, was standing nearby, looking bored. Kenneth knelt and examined the sleeping man. "Drunk as a lord," he reported.
"I beg your pardon?" Michael said icily.
Kenneth grinned. "Very well, he's as drunk as some lords. I've never seen you that far gone."
"No, and you never will."
"Give the man his due, though. He was able to stay in the saddle long enough to get home. A credit to the cavalry."
After bedding down his own horse, Michael did the same for Melbourne's mount. No sense in the beast suffering because its master had overindulged. When he finished, Kenneth hauled their drunken companion to his feet.
Colin came alive, asking Wearily, "Am I home yet?"
"Almost. All you have to do is walk to the house."
"The bloody infantry to the rescue. You fellows do have your uses." Colin took a step and almost pitched to the floor.
Kenneth grabbed him barely in time. "Give me a hand, Michael. It's going to take both of us to get him inside."
"We could leave him here," Michael suggested. "The night is mild, and the condition he's in, he won't mind."
"Catherine might worry if she's expecting him home tonight."
Since that was undoubtedly true, Michael pulled Melbourne's right arm over his shoulders. There was a heavy scent of perfume underlying the smell of port. The bastard had been with a woman.
He tried not to think of the fact that this drunken dolt was Catherine's husband. That he had the right to caress her, to possess her with his own promiscuous body…
Gritting his teeth, he took his share of Colin's substantial weight and supported the man through the stable doors. Revived slightly by the fresh air, Colin turned his head and blinked at Michael. "It's the aristocratic colonel. Much obliged to you."
"No need," Michael said tersely. "I'd do the same for anyone."
"No," Colin corrected him. "You're doing it for Catherine 'cause you're in love with her."
Michael went rigid.
"Everyone's in love with her," Colin said drunkenly. "The Honorable Sergeant Kenneth, the faithful Charles Mowbry, the damned duke himself dotes on her. Everyone loves her because she's perfect." He belched. "Do you know how hard it is to live with a woman who's perfect?"
Kenneth snapped, "That's enough, Melbourne!"
Relentlessly Colin continued, "I'll bet your noble lordship would like nothing better than to roll Catherine into the hay and make a
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