His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

had been reliable, General Ward was keen to maintain the relationship.

      ‘You’ll be gone for a couple of weeks then.’

      ‘I expect so.’

      Falconbridge glanced towards the partially written letter. ‘I sometimes think war is hardest on those left behind.’

      ‘As a single man you haven’t got that worry.’

      ‘Nor would I seek it, notwithstanding your most excellent example.’

      Brudenell shook his head. ‘I am hardly an excellent example. Indeed it has been so long since I saw my wife that she has likely forgotten what I look like.’

      ‘That must be hard.’

      ‘Not in the least. Ours was an arranged marriage with no choice offered to either party. I am quite sure that Claudia enjoys an agreeable lifestyle in London without being overly troubled by my absence.’

      The tone was cheerful enough but Falconbridge glimpsed something very like bleakness in those startling blue eyes. Then it was gone. Privately he owned to surprise, for while he knew that his friend was married, he had only ever referred to the matter in the most general terms, until now. The subject was not one that Falconbridge would have chosen to discuss anyway. Even after all this time it was an aspect of the past that he preferred to forget.

      It seemed he wasn’t going to be allowed that luxury as Brudenell continued,

      ‘Have you never been tempted to take the plunge?’

      ‘I almost did once but the lady cried off.’

      ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

      Falconbridge achieved a faint shrug. ‘Don’t be. It was undoubtedly a lucky escape. Ever since then I’ve preferred to take my pleasure where I find it.’

      ‘Very wise.’

      ‘You condemn matrimony then?’

      ‘Not so,’ said Brudenell, ‘though I would certainly caution against arranged matches.’

      ‘Advice I shall heed, I promise you.’

      ‘Of course, you might meet the right woman. Have you considered that?’

      ‘I’ve yet to meet any woman with whom I would wish to spend the rest of my life,’ replied Falconbridge. ‘The fair sex is charming but they are capricious and, in my experience, not to be trusted. Brief liaisons with women of a certain class are far more satisfactory.’

      ‘You are a cynic, my friend.’

      ‘No, I am a realist.’

      What Brudenell might have said in response was never known because an adjutant appeared at the door. He looked at Falconbridge.

      ‘Beg pardon, Major, but General Ward requires your presence at once.’

      ‘Very well. I’ll attend him directly.’

      As the adjutant departed, the two men exchanged glances. Falconbridge raised an eyebrow.

      ‘This should be interesting.’

      ‘A euphemism if ever I heard one,’ replied his companion.

      ‘Well, I’ll find out soon enough I expect.’

      With that, Falconbridge ducked out of the room and was gone.

      It was late afternoon of the following day before Sabrina and her companions crossed the Roman bridge over the Agueda River, and reached the rendezvous in the Castillo at Ciudad Rodrigo. After the siege in January that year, the French had been driven out by British troops. Capture of the town and the big artillery batteries on the Great Teson had opened up the eastern corridor for Wellington’s advance into Spain. The Castillo was a hive of activity. The guards at the gate of the fortress recognised the party in the wagon and sent word of their approach, so that by the time they drew to a halt in the courtyard Albermarle was waiting. The Colonel was in his mid-fifties and of just above the average height, but for all his grey hairs he was of an upright bearing and the blue eyes were sharp and astute. When he saw Sabrina his craggy face lit with a smile.

      ‘You’re late, my dear. I was getting worried.’

      ‘We had a damaged wheel, sir, and it took longer than expected to repair.’

      ‘Unfortunate, but these things happen. Any other trouble on the way?’

      For a moment Major Falconbridge’s face swam into her memory. She pushed it aside.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Good.’ He eyed the oranges on the wagon. ‘And the guns?’

      Sabrina nodded to Ramon. He pushed aside part of the top layer of fruit and lifted the sacking on which it rested to reveal the stocks of the Baker rifles beneath. Albermarle smiled.

      ‘You’ve done well, my dear, as always.’ He eyed her dusty garments and then went on, ‘Lodgings have been arranged for you nearby. You’ll find Jacinta there with your things. When you’ve had a chance to bathe and change we’ll have dinner together.’

      ‘That sounds delightful, sir.’

      ‘Good. We’ll talk then.’

      Sabrina rejoined him some time later, elegantly gowned in a sprigged muslin frock and with her hair neatly dressed. The meal was good and so far removed from the rations of the last few days that she ate with real enjoyment. Her companion kept the conversation to general topics but, knowing him of old, she sensed there was something on his mind. In this she was correct, though the matter was not broached until they had finished eating and were lingering over the remains of the wine. The colonel leaned back in his chair, surveying her keenly.

      ‘Have you thought any more about our last conversation, my dear?’

      ‘Yes, and my answer is the same.’

      ‘I thought it might be.’ He smiled gently. ‘Does England hold no charms for you then?’

      ‘I barely remember the place, much less my aunt’s family. It is kind of her to offer me a home but I would feel like a fish out of water. My life has revolved around the army. Father could have left me behind in England when he went abroad, but he chose not to and I’m glad of it.’

      ‘I have known your father a long time. John Huntley was always an unusual man, some might even say eccentric, but he is brave and honourable and I am proud to count him among my friends. He is also a very fine cartographer.’

      ‘Yes, he is, and it’s thanks to him that I have received such an unusual education. How many young women have been where I’ve been or done what I’ve done?’

      He chuckled. ‘Precious few I imagine.’

      ‘I have sometimes thought that it might be pleasant to have a permanent home and to attend parties and balls and the like, but the bohemian life is not without its charms, too. I suppose the habit has become ingrained, even though Father is gone.’

      ‘You miss him, don’t you?’

      ‘It has been four months now, but not a day passes when I don’t think of him.’

      ‘His capture was a severe blow to the army.’

      ‘I can’t bear to think of him languishing somewhere in a French prison. I cling to the hope that one day he will be freed and I shall see him again.’

      ‘When the war is over who knows what may happen?’

      She sighed. ‘I think that day is far off.’

      ‘I know how lonely you must be without him.’ He hesitated. ‘Did you never think about settling down?’

      ‘Marriage?’ She shook her head. ‘I have never been in one place long enough to form that kind of attachment.’

      ‘Just so, my dear, and it worries me.’

      ‘There