Regency Surrender: Notorious Secrets: The Soldier's Dark Secret / The Soldier's Rebel Lover. Marguerite Kaye

he did not shoot the gun, and I think that’s not fair. Do you think that’s fair, Uncle Jack, do you?’

      ‘Well, I...’

      ‘Though maybe,’ Robert continued, having drawn breath, ‘maybe,’ he said, plucking at Jack’s shirt, ‘Papa was whipped because he is the eldest and did not show a good example? That is what he said I am to do, when Baby Donal is older. So maybe you would not have stolen the gun and shot the pigeon if Papa had told you not to?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Jack said, his eyes alight with laughter but his expression serious, ‘though I was a very naughty boy when I was your age. I tended not to do as I was told, I’m afraid.’

      Robert considered this, his head on one side. ‘Is that why you are not a soldier any more? Did you disobey orders?’

      Jack sat back on his heels, the light fading from his eyes. ‘I did not, but I wish to God I had.’

      Celeste caught her breath at this, but Robert had already moved on. ‘Uncle Jack, will you tell me about the time when you told the Duke of Wellington about that great big fort, and he said that it was a ruin, but you knew better. And there was a big battle and—and will you tell me, because when Papa tells me, he gets it all mixed up and forgets the regiments, and it is not the same as when you tell it.’

      Jack winced. ‘Robert, the war is over now.’

      ‘But you were there and you saw it with your own eyes,’ the child continued, heedless.

      ‘Robert...’

      ‘Robert, I think perhaps your uncle...’ Celeste interjected.

      Robert stamped his foot. ‘It is not fair! Why must I not ask you? Why won’t you tell me, when you have told Papa?’

      ‘Because Papa is a grown up. Because it was a long time ago,’ Jack said.

      ‘Well then, why will you not tell me about Waterloo? That was not a long time ago.’

      ‘Robert,’ Jack said, getting to his feet, obviously agitated, ‘I think it is best...’

      ‘But I only wanted to know what it was like,’ the child said, grabbing at his uncle’s leg, his face screwed up with temper, ‘because Steven, who is my best, best friend in the whole village, his papa fought under Sir Thomas Picton at Waterloo in the Fifth Infantry, and I said that you were much more important than even Sir Thomas Picton, and Steven said you could not be...’

      ‘Enough, child, for pity’s sake!’ Jack’s roar was so unexpected that Robert stopped in mid-flow, his jaw hanging open. Celeste, who felt as if her heart had attempted to jump out of her chest, was also speechless.

      Jack pointed at the door. ‘Out! You would test the patience of a saint. No war stories, today or ever. Have I made myself perfectly clear?’ He glowered at the child.

      Robert’s lip trembled, but he held his ground. ‘I hate you.’ He stamped his foot again. ‘I hate you,’ he said and burst into tears, storming from the room, violently slamming the door behind him.

      Shaken, white-faced, Jack slumped on to the sofa which was placed in the middle of the room and dropped his head, pinching the furrow between his brows hard. He rubbed his forehead viciously, as if he were trying to erase whatever thoughts lurked behind it. ‘I frightened him,’ he said starkly. ‘He’s five years old, for goodness’ sake, and I yelled at him as if he’d turned up on the parade ground without his musket. What the hell is wrong with me?’

      ‘Jack, I don’t think he was so very frightened. It seemed to me he was more angry than afraid.’

      ‘What blasted difference does it make? He ran away, bawling his eyes out, and that was my fault.’ Jack jumped to his feet, his fists clenched. ‘I’ve never upset a child like that before. What on earth is happening to me?’

      ‘Jack, I—’

      ‘No, don’t say another word.’ He rounded on her. ‘You! That is what is behind this. Ever since you— As if I didn’t have enough on my mind without having to lie awake thinking of you and your damned kisses and your damned questions. Why can’t I eat? Why can’t I sleep? Why do I— What did you call it?’

      ‘Disappear.’ Her voice was no more than a whisper. His anger was not directed at her, but it terrified her, the depths of his anxiety. Though he loomed over her, she stood her ground. ‘Jack...’

      He threw her hand from his arm. ‘Don’t pity me. I neither require nor desire your pity, Mademoiselle. I want—I want...’ He flung himself back on to the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. ‘Hell’s teeth, I don’t know what I want. I’m sorry. I’m better left to my own devices at the moment. Best if you leave.’

      Celeste turned to do as he bid her, remembering her own desire yesterday to retire to her bedchamber and lick her wounds, but then she stopped, and instead sat down on the sofa beside him. ‘I don’t feel sorry for you, Jack. I don’t know what I feel for you, to be honest, but I know it’s not pity.’

      He did not look up, but he did not turn away either.

      She wasn’t sure what it was she was trying to say. She was reluctant to say anything, especially if it was an unpalatable truth, but she knew she couldn’t leave him like this, bereft and seemingly lost. ‘You were correct,’ she said, though it made her feel quite sick to admit it, ‘when you said that Maman’s death was— That it meant more to me than I thought. You were right.’

      Jack lifted his head. Celeste had to fight the urge to run away. She dug her feet into the wooden floor. ‘I blamed you yesterday for what I was feeling. I thought, if it hadn’t been for you, I would not be feeling—’ She broke off, raising her hands helplessly. ‘I don’t know what. Something, as opposed to nothing.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I had no right to pry.’

      ‘No more than I did, but it didn’t stop me either. I am sorry too.’

      ‘I never used to have such a foul temper, you know.’

      ‘Moi aussi, never. Perhaps there is something in the air at Trestain Manor.’

      Jack’s smile was perfunctory, but it was a smile. ‘I don’t know what Charlie is playing at, telling Robert those stupid stories, making it sound as if war is some great adventure.’

      ‘Isn’t that what you thought at that age?’ Celeste asked carefully.

      ‘Precisely.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘And now I know better.’

      ‘Jack, Robert is just a little boy. He doesn’t need or deserve to have his illusions shattered at such a tender age. Why not indulge him a little? What is so different, really, from telling him the kind of stories you once told your brother?’

      ‘I only ever told Charlie the kind of things he wanted to hear.’

       ‘Exactement.’

      He was silent for a long time. Finally, he shook his head, pressed her hand and got to his feet. ‘I need some fresh air, and you are probably wanting to get on with your work. I’m going to try to manage an hour on horseback without falling off.’

      ‘But your arm...’

      ‘Will recover faster if I use the blasted thing. I’m not made of glass. Besides,’ Jack added with a grin, ‘you’ve no idea how embarrassing it is for an officer of the Dragoons to fall from his horse. If any of my comrades knew, I’d never be allowed to forget it.’

      * * *

      The next day, as Jack had predicted it would, it was raining. Not the kind of polite, soft rain that Celeste had imagined would fall in an English summer, but a heavy downpour rather like the kind of summer storm in Cassis that turned the narrow streets into raging torrents. Gazing out of the windows of her studio, it was as if the sky consisted of one leaden grey cloud that had been sliced open.