Typical of Arthur

Chapter 24 of "A Sword for Wellington", Book Three of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles. Now the Chosen Court seeks another Arthurian treasure. New here? Save this post and have a binge read. You deserve it.

In the Parc, Llyr shared his concerns about Jasper’s motives with Eidothea. Eidothea contemplated a romantic future with her prophet.

Meanwhile Gwenddydd has been shot. She and Sir Hugh went in pursuit, but lost him.

The Duchess of Richmond hosted a masquerade ball. Sir Hugh wore very tight pirate trousers. (Is this all that happened? No, of course not.) Gwenddydd loves Sir Hugh but believes she’s the wrong woman for him. Llyr and Eidothea danced sensually but Eidothea pulled away.

The hooded monk flicked back his hood, allowing Lady Meredith to recognise him as Mr. Pendyr. Concealing his face once more, he grabbed her hand and drew her away. Lady Meredith allowed him.

He stopped when they reached an alcove surrounded by small palms. He pulled her into the greenery. “You look like a goddess,” he breathed.

“Hestia perhaps.” Miss Jones had eschewed stays but Lady Meredith most certainly had not.

Mr. Pendyr reached for her hand, gathering it. The bracelets on her arm tinkled. “Tell me everything, Meredith. Everything that has happened to you these last thirty years. Why did you not answer my letters?”

Lady Meredith withdrew her hand from his grasp. “You have not given up it seems. Which letters do you speak of? The ones you sent recently, or the ones from long ago?”

“Both.” He kept utterly still, his shadowed face watching her.

“The reason is the same,” she replied in her coldest voice, hoping he could not tell how her heart pounded at his proximity. “You are not worth my time.”

Mr. Pendyr sucked in a breath. “You could have fooled me, Meredith. I meant something to you that summer—”

“A dalliance. My brother told our parents about it and that was that. I had to make a good match.” Her voice cracked like ice.

“Oh, Meredith.” Her frozen heart split open at that. His arms rose to embrace her but fell back to his sides. “Did you find a good husband?”

“One with a sufficient fortune for me to keep Craiglyn House. It is entailed to the female line.”

“Because of the stone circle.”

He remembered. Lady Meredith managed a noise of agreement. “My husband, Lord Rathven, went off to fight and never came home. He fell at Combahee River. The war was practically over. He had spent most of our brief married life away from me.” She did not know why she felt compelled to share that vulnerable news with him. To let him know that he had ruined her and her deceased husband had learnt of it, choosing to flee halfway around the world?

“Children?” Mr. Pendyr reached for her but let his hands rest at his side.

“None.” Lady Meredith turned her back on the assembly and on Mr. Pendyr. She stared at the wall, willing her incipient tears to vanish.

“I have only my daughter,” Mr. Pendyr murmured, his shoulder near hers. He faced the dancers. “She is grown now, and her path is far from mine. I am glad I can be with her for these few months before she leaves again.”

Lady Meredith turned her head toward him. “Goes? She is not married.”

“Her secrets are not mine to tell.” He held out a hand. “Shall we dance?”

She placed her hand in his. One dance would not hurt and at this masquerade ball, nobody would know it was they who danced together.

“Miss Jones?” came a man’s voice from behind Gwenddydd.

She spun, defensive, her hand going to her waist even though she had come unarmed. “Mr. Tregallas. Are you recovered from that attack?”

He managed a smile, his gaze sliding past her to the dancers. “Yes, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Ahh, Miss Pendyr tells me that you were shot at in the Parc.”

Gwenddydd raised a hand to brush her wounded shoulder but aborted the motion. “It was but a scratch.”

“But who would do this? Has the scoundrel been caught?” Mr. Tregallas shuffled in agitation upon his crutch.

She smiled at him, a bit bemused by his outrage. “Not yet. Sir Hugh and I are working on it.” She decided not to tell him about the attempt on Wellington’s life.

“I know I don’t look much, but I do have connections in the city. If you ever need help tracking him down, do let me know.”

Gwenddydd blinked at him. “I am sure it is not necessary—”

Jasper moved closer, lowering his voice. “You saved my life, Miss Jones, or at least saved me from a terrible beating. Please allow me to clear the debt.”

She looked deep into his ice-blue eyes, finding sincerity in them. “If there is a way you can help, I will let you know,” she promised.

His grin gave him a boyish air. “I thank you. I would ask you to take a turn but with this—” He tapped the handlebar of his crutch. “May we stroll until we find your chaperone? Lady Meredith Rathven, is it not?”

She nodded and they made a slow and careful promenade around the perimeter of the ballroom.

Finding Lady Meredith, she stood beside her chair, watching the dancers twist and turn upon the glittering dance floor. At the far wall, Hugh stood, the scarred side of his face turned away from the general assembly. He often stood alone, she noted, and wondered why. Of course, Charles Somerset spent some time beside him, like now, but he mingled. Hugh never did. Never dared, perhaps?

Her heart softened, aching for him, but hardened again. She couldn’t lose herself in him. For once she handed the sword to Wellington…

As if she had conjured him, the Duke of Wellington bowed before her and Lady Meredith. “May I steal your companion, Miss Jones, for a dance? That is, if she cares to?” The duke rose from his bow. He hadn’t bothered with a disguise but the gold buttons on his dress uniform sparkled. A silver star with a red cross in the centre shone against the bright red of his uniform.

Gwenddydd’s cheeks flushed. The man himself wanted to dance with her! She inclined her head, accepting, and hoped she would not step on his feet.

She glanced past Wellington’s polite smile to Hugh, who looked about to burst in a reined-in fit of apoplexy. He exchanged a word with Somerset and limped toward them, his steps uncertain in sidestepping the dancers.

Without effort, Wellington merged them into the swirl of waltzing dancers. Twirling around, she caught a glimpse of Hugh stopped in his tracks, staring with a look of angry disbelief.

She refocused her attention on the great man who danced with her. “You honour me, sir—Your Grace.” She bit her lip at her error.

“’Sir’ is fine, Miss Jones.” His lips twitched, swallowing his amusement. “You must be wondering why I wished to dance with you.”

She managed a humble response, her brains scrambling at his close presence.

“You are an unusual woman, Miss Jones. You have the bearing of a soldier and do not shy away from coming to the defence of others.” He looked down the length of his long nose at her. “You are a very dangerous woman to dance with.”

“Yet you dance with me,” she pointed out. “So I cannot be that dangerous.”

“You saved my life.” He cocked his head to one side, examining her with cool disinterest. “Indeed, the danger is leashed, for now. I saw your stormy looks at Sir Hugh.”

She ducked her head. “Yes, sir.” Had she been so obvious? What else had she revealed?

“Persistent though.” A glimmer of humour won through his voice.

She willed away her flaming cheeks and answered him with military calm. She must focus on her mission and this one chance the Goddess had presented her. “Yes, sir, I have to be.”

“Why?”

“Because the future of Britain rests on it.”

Wellington held her at arm’s length. “Talk like that will make people think you are not sane.”

She tried to smile. “Call it superstition, sir. But the gift we wish to give to you, and to no other, is considered a powerful talisman. Surely, you would not object to a bit of luck when you face Napoleon?”

“Who marches ever nearer.” The duke’s face took on a faraway expression. His brows furrowed. “I do not need luck when I face Napoleon. I need men who know how to obey orders.”

“But—“

“No buts. We had a deal. You have not caught the assassin. Although I understand he almost caught you.” He flashed a grin and glanced over her shoulder. “I think I had best return you to Lady Meredith before Sir Hugh calls out a contingent of the local gendarmerie.” His smile held little warmth.

It took her a few moments to realise Wellington examined her. She let his gaze rake over her, keeping her own expression equable. He deposited her next to Lady Meredith and bowed to them. Hugh joined him in his continued progression around the ballroom.

“My dear, did you just stare down the Duke of Wellington?” Lady Meredith. She spoke with a pleasantness underlaid with a hint of steel.

Gwenddydd shrugged. She had not been aware of it.

“Well? What did he say?”

“He doesn’t need luck, he says.”

“Typical of Arthur,” the older woman replied, speaking of the reincarnated soul. “His arrogance lost him the sword in the first place.” Gwenddydd wondered how that had happened but the history lesson could wait.

Hugh stared at Wellington, shocked beyond all reason. It didn’t matter that every fibre of his being burned while he watched the Duke dance with Gwen. His Gwen.

The moment Wellington returned her to Lady Meredith, Hugh joined him, waiting until they moved out of earshot before demanding to know why he’d taken such a course of action.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you. Her actions intrigue me, nothing more,” Wellington replied, unperturbed by his aide’s vehemence.

“I am not jealous,” he persisted, knowing very well he lied to his commander. The quirk of the Duke’s eyebrow told him he knew it too. “Your reputation is important, sir. You cannot flirt with every miss.”

Wellington scoffed at the idea. “I have bigger things to worry about and keeping the civilians calm is one of them.” He walked on, bowing before Lady Frances Wedderburn-Webster. In a few moments, the young matron had him laughing, his distinctive bray getting the room’s entire attention.

Hugh turned away, glancing back to where Gwen stood. She looked so...so lost.

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