The Kent Heiress Page 7

  “What happened, Perce?” she asked, keeping to the safety of an impersonal subject. “At the battle I mean. Was it really that Austrian general’s fault, that Weyrother?”

  He looked without seeing at his half-empty cup of tea. “I‘m no general. I never even trained with the militia. I have no way to judge on my own, and my informants are prejudiced as hell. The blame was certainly dropped on him, and from what I can make out, what he did was incredibly stupid. Maybe the plans he devised could have worked if everyone had understood them, but about half the army didn’t even know what they were.”

  “But why was an Austrian making plans for the Russian army? I thought Marshal Kutuzov was supposed to be in command.”

  “Again, remember my sources are prejudiced.” Perce shrugged. “But I tend to agree with them. Look, all the talk is to obscure one point and one point only. From beginning to end, all the deaths, everything, the whole fiasco, was Alexander’s fault. No one will say it. They talk about Weyrother and the lack of training of the Russian troops and of the ‘unconquerable’ Napoleon Bonaparte. Maybe a little of all of it is true, except the last. Bonaparte isn’t unconquerable. Kutuzov could have beaten him.”

  “At Austerlitz?”

  “No Kutuzov had no intention of fighting him, at least not then and there.”

  “But Bonaparte would have attacked,” Sabrina protested. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

  Perce laughed. “One lesson I have learned about military tactics—you can’t attack an enemy that won’t fight unless you corner him, and old Kutuzov’s too smart for that. The old man looks half asleep all the time and talks like a rheumatic old maid, but he knows war. He’s clever and sly and brave as a lion when he needs to be. You should have seen him, streaming blood—he was wounded several times—and cool as if he were talking tactics in a drawing room. Alexander would have been captured, and the whole war would have been lost instead of one battle, if it hadn’t been for Kutuzov.”

  “You must be right,” Sabrina agreed. “That’s why Alexander tried to sneak into St. Petersburg in the middle of the night. And that’s why he hasn’t shown his face. He isn’t stupid. He knows it was all his fault, even if no one will say so. But why, Perce? Why did the tsar disregard Kutuzov’s advice? Before the battle when we all thought the Russians and Austrians would… William was really hopeful that Boney would get his comeuppance this time.”

  “I can tell you what General Bagration says. For one thing, Kutuzov is not in the least heroic. He always looks sleepy. Maybe he is sleepy, or his eyes bother him. He lost the sight of one eye in a battle some time ago. He’s not a young man, and he’s had a hell of a hard life. And all he talks about is physical comfort. Will there be good beds, good food and good wine in the town to be picked for headquarters.”

  “Well, that does seem—”

  “Damn it, I don’t care how it seems. He’s right! I tell you it makes a big difference if you’ve had a decent meal and a decent night’s sleep before you go into action.”

  There was real passion in Perce’s voice. Sabrina thought, He’s been through it. She reached across to touch his hand. He looked up at her. It was as if a fiery spark passed between them. Sabrina snatched her hand away, and Perce dropped his eyes to his teacup. There was a brief, breath-held silence.

  “The other consideration is that Kutuzov wouldn’t tell Alexander exactly what would happen if the allies attacked,” he went on quickly.

  There was a slightly rough quality to Perce’s voice. Otherwise nothing in his manner betrayed any special awareness. Sabrina knew she was blushing. She could only hope that Perce would not look up at her again. He didn’t, continuing to speak about Kutuzov and the battle as he idly arranged and rearranged the unused silverware on the table. He explained how Alexander had forced Kutuzov to order the attack even before all the units were in position and described the heroism of General Miloradovitch’s division and how the tsar’s brother Constantine had ruined the one chance to counterattack by bringing in the reserves too early.

  “Still,” he sighed, “maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. The fighting was so bad that Kutuzov’s aides just couldn’t get through to us.”

  “Us!” Sabrina exclaimed. “You were in the fighting. Perce!”

  He looked up now and smiled deprecatingly. “It was an accident. When Bonaparte’s Marshal Murat rode into Vienna on November thirteenth instead of pursuing the Russian army, Kutuzov nearly wiped out some advance columns of French. Boney must have burned off Murat’s ears. He came racing up into Moravia, and he fought Bagration at Hollabrunn. We stopped them but couldn’t hold them. Mikhail Ivanovitch, my friend, and several other aides had been wounded in the previous action, and I was just helping out in the emergency. Before I knew it, I, well, I was sort of on the staff.”

  “Perce! You’d better get yourself off the staff. Your father will have a fit.”

  “No, he won’t, at least not when he understands the situation. I can’t quit, Sabrina.”

  “You mean you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t know,” he said soberly. “After it’s over I’m always scared witless and sick as a dog. It’s horrible, and yet during the battle it’s exciting as hell. That’s not my reason for sticking to it, though, not really. There’s some pretty bad feeling about the English, a lot of talk about how we’re cowards—rich cowards, but cowards nonetheless, who pay others to risk their lives. If I quit now, after Austerlitz, I’ll only confirm that view.”

  “Do they call Trafalgar cowardice? The British navy nearly wiped out the French and Spanish navies in one battle!” Sabrina asked indignantly.

  “Most of these men don’t understand sea battles. Also, Trafalgar was far away and just words. I’m here and real.”

  “If they want to believe we’re cowards, they’ll just say you’re a crazy exception,” Sabrina insisted.

  “Some might. Those who have fixed anti-British feelings will, I suppose. But those who are willing to accept whatever evidence comes to hand may add me in.”

  “Don’t Perce! I don’t want you to be a dead noble example.”

  He laughed but didn’t look at her. “I don’t intend to be.”

  “But bullets aren’t very smart,” Sabrina, protested. “They might not know what you intend.”

  Perce’s eyes rose quickly and fixed on her. “You’re sure there will be more bullets? I mean, are you sure Alexander will continue the war? Austria agreed to a truce immediately after the defeat at Austerlitz. Maybe the Russians will follow suit.”

  “I didn’t think there was any doubt about Alexander continuing the war,” Sabrina answered, her eyes widening. “Does General Bagration think Alexander wants to make peace?”

  “He doesn’t know, but he sure as hell thought there was a big smell of bad fish when Kutuzov was ordered to go to Czartoryski’s ball. The old man was worried. He said he was too ill with his wounds. Maybe that’s even true. He isn’t young. Anyway, Bagration decided to go in Kutuzov’s place. He knows he’s clean—a hero in spite of the disaster, but if the tsar wants to cover his mistake with Austria’s General Weyrother, he could try throwing the blame on Kutuzov.”

  Sabrina frowned. “That sounds as if it might be true. He might even convince himself that it was Kutuzov’s fault. William said last night that Alexander doesn’t let his head know what his right or left hand is doing—and they’re usually doing opposite things.”

  “Yes, but what does that mean for the war? Do the people at the embassy think he’ll pursue the war or just look the other way while Boney eats up the rest of Europe? I know that’s what I’m supposed to find out, but I swear Bagration doesn’t know and is just as worried as I am.”

  “No one’s seen Alexander. He’s sent out some notes, but no one’s spoken to him that I know of,” Sabrina replied anxiously. “But William says he’s immature—”

  Sabrina saw one of Perce’s fair brows lift. His lips quirked as if he were abou
t to make a caustic remark, too. Sabrina was sure Perce was thinking of William’s own immaturity. She felt warmed, although she was grateful he had not spoken, because she could not think of how to respond to such a remark.

  “Children don’t like being trounced by inferiors,” she hurried on, “and I’m pretty sure Alexander has this feeling that a genuine Russian tsar is very superior to an upstart Corsican corporal. Don’t you think he’d want to hit back hard and be revenged of Austerlitz?”

  “You may be right. I hope so. But why try to associate Kutuzov—oh, damn! I bet he’s just trying to get rid of Kutuzov himself.”

  “What if he does, Perce? Is that going to affect the war?” Sabrina asked.

  He shrugged dyspeptically. “I don’t know. It depends on whom Alexander appoints to take Kutuzov’s place and whether the tsar has learned his lesson about interfering in military matters. You know, Sabrina, I think I’d better go to the embassy and have a word or two with them. Who’s reliable and has a brain?”

  There was an awkward pause. Perce made an indeterminate sound of irritation, and Sabrina said, “William,” in a small voice. “But he is a good diplomat,” she added. “He has brains and uses them.”

  There was another brief pause while Perce very obviously did not say what he was thinking.

  “Try Mr. Stuart, then, the secretary of the legation. He’s busy, though. Perce, you can’t avoid William, not if you intend to stay in St Petersburg. We go to almost every large social function. To see him at the embassy about a matter of business would be a good way to—to bury what you know in—in formal politeness.”

  “And learn to accept it? Is that what you intend to do?’ His voice was hard.

  “I don’t know,” Sabrina replied. “You said I shouldn’t talk to you about it.”

  “I won’t give you any advice.”

  Perce knew he was being stupid again, but he couldn’t resist. He wanted to hear her say she didn’t care for Elvan. He wanted to know how far her “not caring” went.

  “I don’t know what good talking about it will do if you won’t say what you think.”

  “You know what I think.”

  But she didn’t know. Nonetheless Sabrina realized there was a good reason to tell Perce the situation clearly and unemotionally. If he were sure she wasn’t in agony, it would be easier for him to be civil to William, and that was necessary in the tight society in which they moved.

  “You have to understand that I could stop his playing around,” Sabrina said calmly “I told you I had done it before. William—he’s just a born hunter, or chaser. Once he has a woman…there are a few happy weeks or even months. I guess he likes the intrigue, the sneaking around and the danger of getting caught. And then he gets bored, I suppose. It’s the hunt that matters. I just don’t want to play, that’s all. He—what he has to offer me isn’t worth the effort.”

  “Then…”

  Sabrina waited, but Perce had set his teeth over whatever else he had to say, so she went on. “Naturally, the first thing I thought of when I knew I’d made a mistake was to pack up and go home. But it isn’t as easy as that, even though I probably could find an excuse that wouldn’t damage William’s career.”

  “Wouldn’t damage his career? I’d like to damage his hide with a horsewhip,” Perce choked.

  Sabrina smiled and started to reach out to touch him, but she remembered the sensation their last contact had given her. She wasn’t ready for that—not until she was sure Perce’s ferocity was caused by more than just a desire to protect her. After all, Philip would have reacted the same way, perhaps even more ferociously. She changed her movement to picking up and putting down a spoon on the table.

  “My motives aren’t really very noble, Perce,” she said wryly. “I don’t want William, but I do want this type of life. You must understand, I have something real to do. I’m as much in the diplomatic service as William. I have my work, and he has his. He goes to the office, and I go visiting. But sometimes I know more than he does. Women are very powerful in Russia.”

  “I never thought about that,” Perce admitted. “Yes. I see. Elvan wouldn’t be nearly as effective without you.”

  “Now you’re trying to make a patriot and martyr out of me when all I am is greedy for excitement.” Sabrina smiled at him. “It’s very kind of you. I can lay ‘that flattering unction’ to my soul. Maybe it will obscure the fact that my personal prospects won’t be very bright if I divorce William.”

  Perce opened his mouth to assure her he would be ready and waiting to receive her, then closed it. He wouldn’t be able to marry her if she were divorced, and there was a strong possibility—in fact, a near certainty—that she wouldn’t be received by society. She wouldn’t be invited to balls or given vouchers to Almack’s, and she would be ostracized in public places. His gray eyes blazed almost white with rage.

  “Stupid!” he snarled.

  Sabrina had caught her breath at the intense flare of emotion that passed over Perce’s face. The furious word that followed was a dreadful shock. “Perhaps so,” she said icily.

  “Not you,” Perce snapped. “The whole situation is stupid, but I’m afraid you’re right. I’m glad I said I wouldn’t advise you. Frankly, I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t think anyone can say anything useful,” Sabrina sighed. “It’s just a decision I’ll have to make. Either way, it will be…unpleasant. I’ll have time to think it over. With the political situation so unsettled here, I wouldn’t want to add even a straw to the embassy’s problems. Probably no one would notice, but it is barely possible that some silly significance would be attached to my leaving Russia right now.”

  “But maybe there’s a way around it. No! Whatever decision you make, I’ll back you any way I can Brina. And I’ll do anything else I can to help, but—but you’ll have to tell me what it is you want me to do.”

  “The first step is to promise to treat William civilly.” Sabrina chuckled at Perce’s outraged expression. “You must, Perce. I can’t have you standing around glowering at him. And as long as you’re free to do it, I’d like you to—to visit me, if—if you don’t mind. It’s a comfort to see you.”

  With some effort, Perce unfastened his set jaw. He had said he would not declare his love or make physical advances. Perhaps he would not abide by that statement absolutely, but today was too soon. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. He needed time to consider what Sabrina had said when he wasn’t dazzled by her presence. There were hints that she might be getting interested, but maybe he was reading too much meaning into glances and hesitations and a single touch.

  “All right,” he said gratingly. “I’ll be sweet as sugar pie.”

  “Not in that voice or with that expression on your face, I hope,” Sabrina protested, laughing. Then she sighed. “Why did you come here this morning? You didn’t really intend to horsewhip William or—or challenge him?”

  “Well, I did think of challenging him,” Perce admitted, “but I knew he wouldn’t accept. He would be right, too. It would have been murder. I couldn’t have done it, anyway. I had thought of a horsewhip, but I’m afraid I allowed political consequences to prevail over personal feelings. It wouldn’t have been very edifying—or too edifying, perhaps—to have such a scandal in the British community.”

  Sabrina smiled at his reasoning, but she hadn’t been distracted. “Then why did you come?” she insisted.

  “My reason isn’t very flattering to Lord Elvan.” Perce found it impossible to say ”your husband”. It was a warning. If Sabrina didn’t want to hear ill of the man, she could stop him, but she said nothing. Perce went on with a certain satisfaction, “After you went into the ballroom, I wandered around a bit to cool off. Later, when was with General Bagration, Elvan came up to us again particularly to tell the prince that I was an old friend of yours. He said it in such a way that Bagration released me from my acceptance of his invitation to accompany him to his estate near Moscow.”
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  “But William was probably only trying—”

  “He was trying to do exactly what he did! I saw the satisfaction in his face when Bagration withdrew that invitation, and he was positively fulsome about his assurances that I would not be lonely or neglected, that I was practically part of your family.”

  “Well, it’s true, Perce. And you probably put on your dead-fish face so William didn’t know you were furious with him.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t know,” Perce agreed, furious again. “He was trying to use me to keep you safely occupied so that he would be free to—to pursue his present object.”

  “Yes,” Sabrina said after a short thoughtful silence. You’re right, of course. As you were a childhood friend, it wouldn’t cause gossip if you escorted me, and—and we are easy with each other, Perce.” Suddenly Sabrina blushed hotly. “At least… Well, but even if that was what William wanted, I don’t see what that has to do with your coming to see William this morning.”

  “I intended to tell him I wouldn’t play—and why,” Perce growled.

  Sabrina sat looking at the table. Her blush had diminished, now it intensified again. “But why shouldn’t we…play?” she asked. “I’d rather be with you than with William. And I’d like to give him a dose of his own medicine. No matter what story he tells people, a lot of them are going to be sympathetic to him if you and I are seen together very often. I’ve never allowed anyone to be my escort more than twice and even then at long intervals. In fact, the more William talks about you as my childhood friend, the less anyone will believe him, if—”

  “If I look smitten. That won’t be hard.”

  “No, not you,” Sabrina pointed out. “If I look smitten.”

  Perce sat perfectly still, staring at his clasped hands on the table. “I said I’d do anything you wanted, Brina,” he said slowly.