Page 6 of The Major's Mistake
He drew in a breath. He knew vaguely of his friend’s past and searched for a careful way to say what he had in mind. “Now that you have come back to England to take your place in Society I should hope you are too intelligent to allow yourself to become … bitter towards the world.”
Julian gave a sigh. “Sorry. I suppose I am a bit out of sorts tonight.”
Atwater dropped his gaze. “Is your leg causing you much pain?” he asked quietly.
“No more than can be expected.” As a footman passed in front of them with a tray of champagne, the marquess exchanged his empty glass for a full one. “And I promise I am not about to sink into a fit of sullens, moaning about life like that idiot in Lord Byron’s new work. Come now, let us discuss something more interesting than the past. I should like to hear about what you are doing.”
Atwater glanced around to ensure that no one else was within earshot. “Actually,” he said in a low voice, “I am dealing with a rather serious matter of late. News has just arrived concerning the recent unrest in the north. We are not entirely sure yet, but it may be instigated by an agent of France. Apparently Bonaparte believes that if he can encourage any sort of uprising, especially one that may spread into Scotland, it would severely hamper our war efforts. Unfortunately, he is right.”
His hand tightened around his glass. “And whoever is responsible for fomenting the actual trouble has proven damn elusive. He wreaks havoc, but manages to disappear before we can move in the militia, only to surface not long after in some other place. I’ve just received word that there have been suspicious doings around Hingham that may indicate he is ready to strike yet again.”
Julian frowned. “What do you intend to do to stop him?.
His friend looked grim. “I am not sure yet. The one man I trust to handle such a important mission is away?—”
“You say the trouble is around Hingham?” he interrupted.
Atwater nodded.
“Send me.”
“What!”
“As a matter of fact, I have just been planning a visit there—my bags are already packed. Think on it. I have a large estate nearby and therefore have a perfectly plausible reason for being there. I shall be able to look into things without attracting undue suspicion.”
“The arrival of a marquess will hardly go unnoticed,” remarked the other man dryly.
Julian played his trump card. “That may be so, but you remember my batman, Sykes?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Well, he is now my valet. He will be along too. Between the two of us, you may rest assured we will get to the bottom of what is going on in the area.”
Atwater stared at the tiny bubbles in his glass. “I’m well aware of your prowess in the field. But do you truly wish to undertake such dirty work when you are so recently returned from the rigors of war? I need not tell you it may be … dangerous.”
Julian fixed him with a withering look.
“Very well. Come by my office first thing tomorrow morning and I will fill you in on all the details.” He cleared his throat. “You have solved my dilemma, Julian. I’m immensely grateful, however I can’t help but feel a bit guilty for dragging you away from height of the Season after all the years you have been away.”
“Not at all, Fitz. In fact you are doing me an immense favor.” Julian raised his glass in toast. “Here is to overcoming the challenge ahead.”
Three
Julian reined his mount to a halt on top of the ridge and paused to take in the view. The Lake District was certainly worthy of all the countless stanzas of poetry penned in its praises. The sun was sinking slowly into a feathering of clouds, and the diffusion of light cast a soft yellow glow over the still surface of the lake below. In the distance, the craggy cliffs and steep hills of yew mixed with pine took on a flat, ethereal quality in the gathering shadows.
The big bay stallion tossed its head and gave a whinny of impatience. Julian lingered a moment longer, then turned the horse back down the narrow trail. He didn’t regret in the least his decision to quit Town. Somehow the balls did not seem nearly so glittering nor the conversations quite so entertaining as they had in his youth. Theton—the gentlemen in their impeccably tailored evening clothes and the ladies in their silks and jewels—were no longer as perfect as he had remembered, merely ordinary people with the same strengths and frailties as the rest of humanity.
Perhaps the grueling years of military action on the Peninsula had changed more than just his physical appearance, he mused. Hunger, thirst, fear, suffering, the prospect of death—all had the effect of making the artifices of Polite Society seem so very superficial. After such experiences, it was hard to listen to eligible young ladies carefully schooled to chatter on about nothing more substantial than the weather or the latest fashion.
Even worse were those who hung on his every word, assiduously nodding in agreement to any opinion he voiced. At times, he felt he could have announced he was going to strap on wings and fly to the moon and no one would have dared dissent. After all, he was a marquess, and he was wealthy.
And eligible.The combination gave him rein to have whatever it was he wanted in life.
He let out a weary sigh. Maybe while he was here he would begin to figure out just what that was.
The trail threaded down through a stand of live oak, thick with an undergrowth of brambles and bushes. As he rounded a tight bend, still deep in thought, his mount came up short, shying sharply enough to nearly send him tumbling from the saddle. With a few choice words, Julian settled the stallion and urged him forward. The big bay still refused, and the marquess was forced to dismount and lead the way on foot.
Then he saw what the problem was.
