A discreet tap on the door startled her. ‘Jack. Thank goodness. I was not sure if I was expected to make my way down myself.
He was wearing the tight red military dress uniform with its high, gold-braided collar. His jaw was clean-shaven, tanned against the gleaming white of his starched shirt and neatly tied cravat, just visible beneath the coat. His hair was swept back from his brow. The gold braid ran in a broad line down the front of his uniform, which fitted snuggly at his waist, where a heavy gold sash was tied. More gold braid on his cuffs, and more on the short tails of the coat, made him look quite magnificent. White gloves, white, very tight breeches, and boots polished so highly that they could have acted as a mirror. ‘You look exactly like your portrait!’
‘I seem to remember you thought I looked like a pompous ass.’
‘You said that. I said you looked like a Greek god, peering down on us mere mortals.’ Her smile faded a little as she studied his face. ‘I know as your aide-de-camp I am to be all stiff upper lip, but am I permitted to ask how you feel in uniform?’
‘Damned uncomfortable.’ Jack coloured. ‘Fine. Odd. I feel like an imposter. But fine. This is my dress uniform. I never— The only bad memories it has are of dinners such as this one, with too many egos recounting their own particular tales of bravery, and far too many toasts.’ He bowed low over her hand, brushing his lips to her glove. ‘I have been remiss. Mademoiselle Marmion, may I say that you look utterly radiant.’
‘Lieutenant-Colonel Trestain, may I say in return that you look exceedingly dashing.’
He smiled faintly, tucking her hand into his arm and making for the stairs. ‘Are
‘Not at all.’ Jack raised his brow. ‘Only a little. Mostly of Wellington. Will he look down that famous nose at me because I am French? Then there is your English politics. I can’t tell the difference between a Tory and a Wig.’
‘Whig. Frankly, neither can they,’ Jack said drily. He led her to a first-floor balcony which overlooked the Great Hall. ‘You have nothing to worry about, you know. They are just people.’
Celeste gripped the wooden banister, peering down at the glittering crowd through the huge iron light-fitting, shaped like a carriage wheel, which was suspended from the ceiling. ‘People with titles, dripping in jewels, who talk as if they own the land.’
Jack laughed. ‘That’s because many of them do. Where is your Revolutionary spirit?’
‘Beheaded,’ Celeste said, her eyes fixed on the crowd. Most of the men were in red, a positive battalion of senior British military personnel. If it was daunting for her it would be even more so for Jack, who was doing this for her. She waved her hand at the swarm of Redcoats beneath. ‘Do you know all of these officers?’
‘Most of them.’
She studied his face anxiously, torn between awed admiration at his courage, and concern lest he fail this challenge he had set himself. Was he really prepared for this? No matter, this was not the time for doubts or questions. Jack wanted his aide-de-camp to watch his back, not cower like a frightened rabbit. She stiffened her shoulders, preparing to do battle.
* * *
The Duke of Wellington was receiving his guests at the foot of the stairs. He had the aloof carriage and expression of a man who at the same time disdained and expected reverence. He was immaculately dressed, his scarlet coat giving the appearance of having been moulded to his fine shoulders. The famous nose was not nearly so hooked as the caricatures portrayed, Celeste noted, though his eyes were every bit as hooded. And every bit as observant. The mouth was unexpectedly sensual. As he treated the woman in the queue in front of them to a charming smile, Celeste understood why his Grace had his pick of the ladies.
‘Trestain. You are looking well. Regimentals suit you.’
Jack, Celeste noticed, instinctively straightened his shoulders as if he were being inspected which, she supposed, he was. ‘Your Grace. May I introduce Mademoiselle Marmion.’
‘A pleasure,
Flustered, Celeste nodded, casting an enquiring look at Jack, but he looked just as surprised as she.
‘You must not think that because I no longer have you in my service, that I am entirely bereft of spies to gather the latest intelligence on you, despite the exceedingly short notice the Scots Upstart provided me with,’ Wellington said to Jack with a diffident smile. ‘I confess, I was surprised to hear that you had been tempted out of hibernation. It gives me some hope that we may yet tempt you back into harness.’
