Page 2 of The Scarred Duchess
Three enemy soldiers turned upon him, two tripping over their muskets. He ended their lives quickly. The remaining sentry reared and thrust a bayonet forward. Bennet parried the attack, his fencing expertise from his university years guiding his defence. He slashed his enemy’s thigh; the man hissed and fell to his knees. Suddenly his chin jerked upwards and a knife blade cut across his throat. As his foe sank to the ground. Bennet smiled at his armourer, who had apparently escaped capture and found him.
“Sergeant Reeves,” he whispered. He noticed the bloody bandage covering his forehead and right eye. “What of Hill?”
“I set him down a way back. He ain’t in as good a shape as me.”
“Lead on,” Bennet commanded.
The men crept quietly and slowly, stopping frequently to assess their environment. Where Reeves had said he had left their compatriot, a trio of colonials sat. A moan from aprostrate, red-coated man caught their attention. Reeves sneered and pulled his dirk.
“This is not the Seven Dials, Sergeant,” whispered Bennet. Although Reeves hailed from London’s most dangerous slums, the battlefield gave quarter to none. Bennet had time and time again warned caution to him, but his vocabulary did not contain the word.
“I be coming up the rear.” Reeves ran off.
Bennet crawled to within yards of the trio. He spied Hill on the ground, bloody and groaning, and stepped towards him. As the three enemy soldiers fumbled for their muskets, Reeves plied his talents, rapidly adding three more dead colonials to his tally. With their position secure, Bennet attended to his injured batman.
Over the next days, the trio travelled as fast as they could towards the safety and promise of Lake Oneida. Five days later, they stumbled into the British-occupied landing. While his men received medical care, Bennet reported on all that had occurred since the skirmishes outside of Johnstown—describing the colonial tactics, the death of the enemy commander, and the heavy munitions loss. His success, audacity, and—admittedly—luck, seemed to impress his audience, not least his commanding officer.
That Captain Bennet had eluded capture spoke of his competence; his constancy to his injured men said much of his character, a trait lacking in much of the British officer corps.
“Command has a new assignment for you,” said Major Ross. “You will take the first secure transport, when your men are ambulatory, and return to England. The adjutant will have your order packets ready on the morrow.”
Ross stood, and Bennet followed suit. “Do you have further questions?”
“I do not, sir.”
“Then I wish you Godspeed, Captain.”
CHAPTER TWO
September 1783, Meryton
The Gardiner family gathered to say their goodbyes. It had been twelve months since they had lost their mother and elder sister to illness. With their mourning complete, the family resolved to move forwards.
Master Edward Gardiner was eager to attend Harrow and continue to Cambridge. An amiable young man, his fair colouring and good looks added to his appeal. His father, Meryton’s most respected solicitor, expected high success for his son as he sharpened his mind alongside affluent men his own age.
Miss Frances Gardiner, his twin sister—younger by twelve minutes—had greater difficulty. She clung to her brother, her slender frame still as she stared fixedly into his eyes. He returned her look with equal intensity. A moment later, she released her grip. “I shall take care of Papa,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Edward smiled at her as their father gazed lovingly upon them both. With hisarm around his daughter’s shoulder, he watched his son’s carriage until it disappeared behind the trees.
His son’s departure would allow the patriarch to focus solely on his daughter. Andrew Gardiner had long since resolved to hire a governess for Franny, reasoning that with her beauty and inherent grace, she could raise her station above the expected merchant class. After interviewing dozens of potential governesses—and not finding that which he sought—he almost gave up until an impoverished gentleman’s daughter came to his attention in a most unceremonious manner.
Nearly a month after Edward’s departure, the household was awakened by a pounding on the front door in the middle of the night. Gardiner carried a candle, demanding. “Who wakes me at such an hour?”
“It is I, Goulding. The magistrate requires your counsel.”
Franny ran to him. “What is it, Papa?”
“Work, my dear. Extraordinary at this hour, but it is so.” He opened the door to find his grey-haired friend of many years standing on the stoop, holding a lantern aloft. “Where shall I find the magistrate?”
“They should return in an hour or two at the most. Come to the smithy.” Goulding turned and departed.
“Papa?”
Gardiner closed the door and turned to his daughter. “I fear someone within the county has met with an unfortunate accident. I must go help them.”
He dressed and allowed Franny to accompany him to the door. “Lock the door and return to your dreams, my dear.”
“I shall await your return. Expect something hot to warm you.”
Gardiner hugged his precious girl. “Thank you.”
