Free Shattered Rainbows by Mary Jo Putney Page B

Frenchmen would have suited me right down to the ground."
    It was true that hunting had been a popular pastime in the Peninsula. Catherine knew for a fact that once Wellington had been conferring on horseback with a Spanish general when a pack of hounds went by after a hare. The duke had instantly turned and joined the pursuit. After the kill, he had returned to the amazed Spaniard and resumed speaking as if nothing had happened.
    Wellington, however, had earned his right to recreation. Lord Haldoran appeared to be the sort who had done nothing useful in his life, and done it very expensively.
    Across the room, Lady Trowbridge announced that the concert was about to begin in the opposite salon. Haldoran said, "Shall we find a seat together, Mrs. Melbourne?"
    "Thank you, but I've already arranged to sit with friends." She gave a wide, false smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you."
    He bowed. "I'm sure we shall meet again."
    Perhaps, but as she slipped into the crowd, she knew that she would not be sorry if that failed to happen.
     

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Chapter 7

     
    The spring weather was exceptionally fair, which added to the air of holiday that hung over Brussels. Catherine, however, liked the weather for more maternal reasons: it allowed the children to play outside. She was sitting under the chestnut tree in the back garden, mending and keeping an eye on her daughter and the young Mowbrys late one afternoon, when Michael Kenyon rode into the driveway. He was home early.
    Catherine watched as he dismounted and led his horse into the stable. He moved beautifully, without a single wasted motion. She felt one of the odd lurches of the heart that occurred whenever he appeared.
    In the past weeks, he had been her escort a dozen times. At balls, he would always claim a lively country dance— never a waltz—then keep out of her way until it was time to leave. Yet on the occasion when a drunken ensign had cornered her in an alcove and attempted to declare his love, Michael had appeared and removed the youth as firmly as an older brother would have.
    A pity that her feelings weren't quite sisterly.
    Michael came out of the stable and hesitated, then turned into the garden and walked toward her, his shako in his hand. The sun found glowing auburn highlights in his tangled brown hair. "Good afternoon, Catherine."
    "Hello." She reached into her basket and pulled out a torn petticoat of Amy's. "You look tired."
    "Commanding a raw new regiment is worse than digging ditches." He nodded toward the energetic game of hide and seek. "I heard the children and thought it would be pleasant to watch someone else do the running for a while."
    In the distance, Amy emerged stealthily from behind one rhododendron and slipped behind another. "She does that well," Michael said approvingly. "It wouldn't take much to turn your daughter into a first-rate skirmisher."
    "Don't tell her that! She's a dreadful tomboy—you should see her with a cricket ball. And she has had to be restrained from telling Wellington that women fought with the Spanish guerrillas, so why can't Englishwomen do the same?" Catherine began stitching a torn flounce. "How are your men shaping up?"
    "I have grave doubts whether they know which end of a musket the ball comes out."
    Catherine laughed. "Surely it's not that bad."
    "I exaggerate, but only slightly. I've been trying to convince them that the most dangerous thing soldiers can do in battle is break and run, so they're better off holding their ground. If they learn that, they may be of some use. Thank God for my sergeants. If it weren't for them, I would give up now."
    "I see you're still wearing your Rifleman uniform instead of infantry scarlet."
    "The official reason is that I haven't had time to visit a tailor." His eyes gleamed with humor. "But that's only an excuse. The truth is I don't want to give up my Rifle green."
    "A good thing the duke doesn't care an iota what his men wear. I swear, I've never seen two officers who were