The Six Month Marriage (10 page)

‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she said.

‘It is. Beautiful. And worth protecting.’

Sensing that he was in a rare mood to talk, Madeline
made the most of the opportunity, wanting to know more about the man she was to
spend the next six months with. ‘You’re thinking of the war?’ she asked

‘Yes.’

‘Did the break-in last night have anything to do with
your time in the army?’ she asked.

There must have been more to it than met the eye, she
realised, or else Philip would not have asked her not to mention it to anyone,
and throughout the day the incident had never been far from her mind.

She thought for a moment that he would not answer her
question and half expected him to ride away, but although she could tell by his
frown that he did not like it, nevertheless he answered. ‘It may have done.’

‘And that is why you didn’t want me to mention it?’

‘In wartime, loose talk can cost lives,’ he remarked.

Madeline nodded. ‘I understand.’

They rode on for a while in silence. Then Madeline asked
‘How did . . .?’ She stopped, aware that she may be intruding into his private
life, a life she knew almost nothing about. But she wanted to know.

‘Go on.’

‘I was just wondering. How did you get your scar?’

She had an urge to reach out her hand and trail her
finger along the strangely attractive seam. But she suppressed it. To reach out
and touch him . . . it was impossible.

‘Ah. The scar.’ He said nothing, and she thought she had
offended him by mentioning it. But after a few minutes he said, ‘It was out on
the
Peninsula
. We had made camp
and settled down for the night, when we were caught unawares. Sentries had been
posted but they were quickly dispatched before they could raise the alarm. I
woke to find a Frenchman not ten feet away from me. I drew my sword, but before
I could get to my feet he lunged at me.’

Madeline shuddered.

‘I was lucky to survive,’ Philip went on. ‘I would
not
have survived if my friend had not knocked the Frenchman’s sword aside. The
deflection was just enough to make sure I ended up with a scar, instead of
ending up dead.’

‘Mr Fellows must be a brave man,’ said Madeline,
thinking of the friend who had been present at Philip’s house on the night she
had met him, and who had been present at their wedding.

Philip shook his head. ‘Not Jason. He’s a good friend,
but he was never in the army. No, this was someone else.’

He said no more.

‘Were you sorry to leave the Continent?’ she asked,
after a few minutes of silence.

It seemed a strange question, and yet she sensed that
although he had not enjoyed the war, he had wanted to fight to protect his
country, and with it his beloved estate.

‘In a way. I felt I was leaving with the job half done.
But once my father died I knew my place was here. We’ll defeat Boney in time.
It’s more a question of
when
than
if
.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

She had heard many conflicting opinions about the war. Her
uncle’s cronies had loved to talk about it, although she suspected they had
known little about it, and she was interested to know the opinion of someone
who had first-hand knowledge.

‘Yes, I do,’ said Philip. ‘He’s had a lot of luck, but
luck doesn’t last for ever. Not even with a man such as Bonaparte. He’s made many
mistakes recently. He tried to conquer
Russia
and he failed. He set out with over 600,00 men, but came back with
only 20,000. And it’s not only men he lost. He lost wagons and horses as well,
things he will find it difficult to replace.’

Madeline tried to imagine what it must be like on the
battlefield. ‘It must change you. Fighting in a war like that,’ she said.

He turned thoughtful eyes towards her. ‘For one so
young, Madeline, you have a surprising understanding of life.’

‘My life has been – unusual.’ She paused, then asked a
question that had troubled her for some time. ‘When you found my uncle at your
house would you really have called him out?’

Talk of the war had made her think of fighting, and
thoughts of fighting had recalled the incident to her mind. He didn’t answer
her question, but instead asked one of his own, as if he wanted to learn more
about her. ‘Would you have minded?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I would.’

‘After all he has done to you?’

‘I don’t approve of bloodshed. In war I know it is
necessary. But in ordinary life . . . ’

‘It may surprise you, but neither do I. My years in the
army changed me, but they did not turn me into a monster.’ He turned to look at
her, and his face softened. His eyes ran over her fair hair and her elfin face
and came to rest on her beautifully-shaped mouth. ‘In answer to your question,
no, I would not have called your uncle out. He is older than I am, and out of
condition. It would not have been a duel, it would have been slaughter.’

‘And if he had chosen pistols?’

Philip gave a wry smile. ‘Rumour has it that your uncle
is a dreadful shot.’ He became more serious. ‘I have seen enough of fighting,
Madeline, and don’t want to see it again. I threatened your uncle because I
knew he’d back down.’

They rode on in silence, each in their own thoughts.

Philip, to his surprise, found himself thinking of
Letitia.

What was it that made him think of her now? he wondered
as he rode along beside Madeline. Was it because she was the complete opposite
of Madeline, and because he found that knowledge disquieting? Letitia would have
loved him to fight a duel over her. The fact that a man had died for her would
have appealed to her vanity. She wouldn’t have been horrified at the violence,
she would have gloried in it.

But then Letitia was a vain woman who cared only for
herself, whereas Madeline had a depth and maturity to her character that he had
never met with in a woman before. Her sufferings at the hands of her uncle,
although they had brought her a lot of anguish, had also brought her wisdom and
understanding; things that age alone could not give.

He turned to look at her. She was lovely in profile.
Almost as lovely as in full face. But still, she was very young, and young
ladies one step removed from the schoolroom had never been his style.

‘We will be stopping soon for the night,’ he said,
looking ahead as though he recognised the road.

‘Have you chosen an inn?’ asked Madeline.

‘Yes,
The King’s Arms
,’ said Philip. ‘It isn’t
far now.’

As he spoke the outriders began to pick up speed, the
six horsemen riding on ahead to arrange suitable rooms for the Earl and
Countess. It was one of their many useful purposes, Madeline realised. By the
time she and Philip arrived at the inn everything would be ready for them.

The outriders were soon lost to view and the coach rumbled
on with Madeline and Philip riding beside it. They rounded a bend . . . and saw
three masked horsemen on the road ahead, holding pistols. Immediately Philip
swung his horse round, but another three masked horsemen appeared from the
woods at the side of the road and closed in behind the coach, levelling pistols
at Madeline and Philip.

Madeline felt her heart leap into her throat. They were
trapped.

‘Do nothing,’ said Philip in an undertone to Madeline,
his eyes narrowing into slits as he watched the three men in front of them ride
slowly towards the coach.

‘Are they highwaymen?’ asked Madeline in an aside,
patting the neck of her nervous mare in an effort to steady the animal.

Philip’s voice was grim. ‘Highwaymen don’t travel in
packs.’

There was time for nothing more. One of the masked men
had ridden forward and dismounted. Whilst his fellows covered him, he threw
open the door of the coach then, seeing it empty, climbed in for a more
thorough search.

From her vantage point on horseback, Madeline watched
him as he searched under the seats and then looked on in horror as he took out
a knife and began slashing the squabs.

‘What’s he doing?’ she whispered to Philip.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied in an undertone. ‘But I
believe he’s looking for something. Or someone,’ he added as if to himself.

The masked man then proceeded to tap the floor, roof and
sides of the coach, sticking his knife in at various points as if to satisfy
himself that nothing was being hidden there.

Then, apparently convinced, he climbed out of the
carriage. He cocked his gun and pointed it at Philip.

Philip did not flinch.

The two men faced each other for a fraction of a second.
Then the masked man lowered his gun, turned on his heel and sprang back onto
his horse.

As quickly as they had come, the masked men melted away.

‘What was the meaning of that?’ asked Madeline in
concern..

‘I don’t know,’ said Philip, his face grim. ‘But I
intend to find out.’

The outriders were at that moment returning. Having
arranged for the night’s accommodation, they had realised the coach was slow in
arriving and had turned back to see what was causing the delay.

Philip called out to the two foremost, ‘You, and you.
Come with me. The rest of you see the coach safely to the inn.’ He turned to
Madeline. ‘I’ll meet you at
The King’s Arms
.’

And swinging his horse he set off in the direction the
masked men had taken, followed by the two outriders.

Madeline, shaken by the incident but curious as to why
the coach had been searched, was left with no alternative but to do as he said.

The inn was soon reached. Pondering over the day’s
events, Madeline went up to her room. She washed and changed, refreshing
herself after the journey, and then waited for Philip to return.

It
was late when Philip finally arrived at the inn.

‘What have you discovered?’ asked Madeline as he walked
into their private sitting room.

He threw down his gloves. ‘Nothing,’ he said, sounding
dissatisfied.

‘But you know why we were stopped.’

It was a statement and not a question.

‘Madeline,’ he said. ‘There are things in my life that
are better hidden. At least for now.’

‘When you asked me not to mention the break-in to
anyone, I agreed, but I will no longer be kept in the dark,’ she said. ‘I asked
for an explanation then but you refused to give me one. Now, however, the
danger has increased and I will go no further until I know what this is all
about.’

‘You will do as you are bid,’ he said.

‘And I must therefore do as you say?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said abruptly.

‘But I will not,’ she informed him, thinking how wise
she had been to keep up her guard. For all the rapport they shared, Philip was
still a man, and she was glad she had not trusted him. She did not intend to
let him dictate to her, for she had seen all too clearly where that would lead.
Instead she was determined to stand up to him.

‘We made a bargain,’ he said, his brows drawing
together. ‘You agreed to play the part of my wife —’

‘But I did not agree to risk my life,’ she returned. ‘I
need to know why the coach was stopped.’

‘The more you know, the more risk there is,’ he said. ‘The
less you know, the safer you are.’

‘I will be the judge of that,’ she returned.

‘Madeline —’ he began.

But she would not let him finish. ‘I will go no further
until I know what kind of danger I am in,’ she said firmly. ‘And why.’

He looked at her penetratingly for a moment, as though
to gauge how determined she was, then gave a curt nod. ‘Very well.’

There was nothing conciliatory in his tone, and Madeline
felt a moment of doubt. What if she
was
safer not knowing what dangers
threatened? What if knowing put her at greater risk? Philip had spent many
years in the army. The war was still raging just across the Channel. There were
things in his life, perhaps, it was better not to know.

But it was too late to change her mind now.

‘Do you remember when I told you about my scar?’ he
asked.

Madeline nodded. ‘You told me that without the help of
one of your friends, you would not just have been scarred, you would have been dead.’

‘That’s right. The friend I told you about did not leave
the army when I did. Instead he remained. But not as part of the regular
forces. He became a spy.’

‘A spy?’ asked Madeline. It seemed she had stumbled into
something much more serious than she had realised.

‘We need spies,’ said Philip curtly. ‘They do a
dangerous and thankless job. They discover vital information. Without them we
wouldn’t know when Napoleon was going to make his next move, or where he was
going to strike.’

‘And your friend is involved in this?’ asked Madeline.