His Cavalry Lady. Joanna Maitland

collect her thoughts. ‘You will be aware, I’m sure, Mr Calder, that his Imperial Majesty’s sister, the Grand Duchess, Catherine of Oldenburg, is already in London, on a private visit.’

      Calder nodded.

      ‘His Imperial Majesty has no desire to inconvenience his royal host, but he is extremely fond of his sister, and he has decided that he will reside with her, at the Pulteney Hotel. I assume that will be in order?’ She tried to say it in the airy voice of real assurance, knowing that the Tsar’s mind was absolutely made up on the issue. By failing to forewarn the Prince Regent of his plans, he had also ensured that nothing could be done to thwart them.

      ‘The Regent, like his Imperial Majesty, is a man of impeccable manners. I can assure you, Captain Alexandrov, that everything shall be done exactly as the Emperor wishes. Provided, of course, that the Pulteney Hotel is able to offer the necessary accommodation for such a guest.’ He quirked an eyebrow.

      Alex had a feeling she was blushing. She knew perfectly well that the arrangements had already been made, by the Grand Duchess. ‘I am sure that his Majesty will be more than happy to accept the Prince Regent’s hospitality if the Pulteney fails to come up to scratch. But since it is his Majesty’s own choice, I do sincerely hope that the Pulteney can provide adequate facilities.’

      ‘No doubt it will,’ Calder said laconically. ‘No doubt it will.’

      ‘I have explained the arrangements to the Emperor’s junior aide-de-camp,’ Dominic said to the captain of the Impregnable a little later. ‘You may have a spot of bother with him on the voyage. He turns green at the slightest lift of the deck.’

      ‘Poor lad. He has my sympathy.’ Captain Wood smiled. ‘He doesn’t seem old enough to be an aide-de-camp.’

      ‘He doesn’t seem old enough to be in uniform at all. But he must be. Firstly, he’s a captain, though I suppose that could be a temporary promotion. But also—did you notice?—he wears the Cross of St George. That’s one of Russia’s highest honours for gallantry. He must have seen action, in spite of his youth.’

      Dominic was still finding it difficult to account for his own initial reaction to the young Russian. Alexandrov looked nothing at all like Dominic’s admittedly hazy memory of the amazing young woman at the stable fire, though that was the image that the sound of Alexandrov’s voice had conjured up in Dominic’s mind. Apart from the short hair, there could be no similarity. Dominic’s smoke-fuddled brain must be playing tricks on him. Alexandrov was a small, thin young man with closely cropped hair and unremarkable features, but he seemed a nice enough lad, and one whose quick wits would make him good company. Dominic would just have to learn to ignore the melodious richness of his voice and to banish the memories of that girl for good. That should not be too difficult, surely? After all, he had no chance of ever finding her again. The only practical course was to forget about her.

      ‘Tell me, Duke, is it true that the Emperor has brought dozens of Russian hangers-on?’

      ‘Yes. But console yourself. Your fellow captain on the Jason will have not only the Prussian King, but also two of his sons, at least one of his brothers, and various uncles and nephews to boot.’

      ‘Well, the Royal Navy is big enough to deal with whatever they send. They have armies, but we have the Navy, and that’s what matters. And it will be even stronger once we have the Dutch alliance, from Princess Charlotte’s marriage.’

      Dominic nodded. ‘How soon do you expect to sail, Captain?’

      ‘In about two hours. With the wind in its present quarter, we should make Dover in very good time.’

      ‘Dare I hope that the voyage will be quick enough to save that young lad from too much distress?’

      ‘You are generous, Duke, to concern yourself with him.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ Dominic tried again to banish the embarrassing memory of that quayside encounter. ‘But, as the British liaison officer, I’d rather not have an invalid on my hands. Not when I have to house them all. And, incidentally, to explain to the Regent that the Emperor has spurned his very expensive hospitality.’

      ‘Truly?’

      ‘So it appears. Young Alexandrov tells me—that is to say, it rather slipped out—that the Emperor is determined to stay at the Pulteney Hotel along with his sister, the Grand Duchess. So the Regent’s plans to house him in the utmost state in St James’s Palace have come to naught. The first round goes to the Emperor.’

      Alex groaned yet again. How could she possibly be so sick when everything inside her was one vast, aching emptiness? At least, the Emperor had excused her from attendance on him. If only she could just—

      ‘Ah, Alexandrov.’ The cabin door had opened to admit Calder, followed by a swarthy seaman carrying a steaming mug. ‘Give that to me now, man,’ Calder said in English, gesturing towards the mug. ‘I’ll take charge of our guest.’

      ‘Aye aye, your Grace.’ The sailor passed the mug to Calder. ‘Prefers rum meself,’ he said, casting a look of profound distrust at the strange brew. ‘Sovereign, rum is, for most any ailment.’

      ‘You may return to your duties,’ Calder said sharply, slipping a coin into the seaman’s hand. The man knuckled his forehead and left, with the slap of bare feet on wood.

      Alex had tried to ignore the English. But one thing she had understood quite clearly. The seaman had addressed Calder as ‘your Grace’. Surely that title was given only to dukes? Was Calder a duke? If so, his role as a liaison officer was even stranger than she had thought. The ship lurched and she groaned again.

      Calder—the Duke?—put an arm under Alex’s shoulders and raised her enough to bring the mug to her lips. ‘Drink a little,’ he said in French. ‘This will help to settle your stomach.’

      The smell was slightly perfumed, and spicy. It was— The nausea overcame her again, and she tried to push the mug away.

      ‘Believe me, it will be worth the effort. Come now.’ He brought the mug back to her mouth.

      Trying to ignore the smell, she sipped. It did taste of spice. Ginger, was it? She swallowed. The nausea did not immediately return.

      ‘Good. Now a little more.’

      She sipped again. Soon she had drunk about a quarter of the tisane. It warmed her aching stomach.

      ‘I will leave it here by your bunk. It is best drunk hot, but, even cold, it will help. Now, you should sleep, if you can, or, better still, come up on deck.’

      The thought of walking up the steps, and standing on that swaying deck, made Alex’s head reel. Would she ever stand upright again?

      He must have seen the reaction in her face, for he said, ‘I know it sounds like the least attractive prospect in the world but, believe me, the fresh air in your face will make you feel much better. So, which shall it be? Sleep? Or fresh air?’

      ‘I shall follow your advice, sir.’

      Calder smiled suddenly. It transformed his rather harsh features. ‘You are feeling better. I am glad of it. We shall soon be able to see the white cliffs of Dover. And that, my fine young friend, will be where your ordeal will end.’

      Alex groaned. Just at the moment, she was sure it never would.

      ‘I do understand,’ he said. ‘You feel as if you are about to die and nothing can save you. But, after five minutes on dry land and with some food inside you—’

      She clapped a hand over her mouth at the very thought.

      ‘With some food inside you,’ he repeated, ignoring her distress, ‘you will feel quite yourself again. And we shall be able to join the Emperor’s suite on its way to London. You would not wish to be left behind, would you?’

      ‘Oh, no! I am here to serve his Majesty. Where he goes, I must follow, no matter what the circumstances.’

      ‘You’re