Rogeringham

"Just wondering why you chose the garden party at Sir George's and not that of Lady Hampton?" the note from Elizabeth read.

After checking, it was found that Lady Hampton's invitation had been received at the same time as Sir George's but the General's was opened first and responded to first.

"We can always excuse ourselves from the general's party and attend the ball." Margaret suggested.

"No." I told her firmly. All of the heads at the table - Louise and Margaret's, Hermione's, Charlotte's and my mother's turned to look at me.

"We shall not do that." I explained. "We accepted the invitation; we shall attend the garden party."

"But Lady Hampton's ball will be ... everybody will be there!" Louise said.

"Everybody, bar ourselves and the Dorringtons apparently." I corrected her.

"It is quite simple," I explained, "What would it say of our manners, if having said that we will attend, we were to pass up the General's event and then be seen at another?"

"It would be very bad form indeed." Helena said, "I agree with William, and it is an important principle of life, having accepted an invitation, one must make every effort to honour it, even if a more prestigious one arrives later. After all, one never knows when the next invitation will come."

"Besides," Charlotte laughed, "All the very best people will be at the general's house."

"Oh!" said Margaret, "Who would that be?"

"Why, us of course!" My eldest sister laughed. "When news of William and Arabella being seen at the general's gets out," she went on, "People will be sick with envy at not being able to bask in the light from their glory."

"There is that of course," I added, dismissively, "The general's youngest daughter is counted to be the queen's favourite, so yes, all of the most desirable people will be there. Even you and Louise." I teased Margaret.

78. We went to a garden party...

The afternoon was warm and pleasant. The general's house was a short stone's throw from Kensington Palace, and stood in its own grounds. It was a very masculine dwelling, which was understandable as Sir George had been a widower for some fifteen years. He was the father to three daughters, of whom only one remained at home, the older two having married.

His remaining daughter, Lydia, was a charming girl, with a mind some years older than her eighteen summers. It was my impression that she was actually the mistress of the house, despite her years. It turned out that she had organised her own Presentation party, with only a minimum of input from her father. He was very proud of her and loudly proclaimed it, however, he wanted me to meet someone else.

"Your Grace!" Sir George greeted me, "May I present my nephew, Captain Richard Carter?"

I turned to the general's companion, a good-looking chap, with a boyish smile.

"Captain." I greeted the man in front of me, in the same uniform that I had once worn, though the lower left arm of the jacket was turned back on itself. Despite his youthful face, one merely had to look into the young man's eyes to see that he had known battle. "You are just returned, sir?"

"Two weeks, Your Grace."

"And will you return?" It was not unknown for men even with missing limbs - as long as they were not too debilitating, to return and fight in the line.

"I do not know yet, Your Grace. A French musket ball," he touched what remained of his arm. "Shattered it below the elbow. I was lucky, the surgeons managed to remove the damaged section quickly, saved the rest of the arm and saved me."

I nodded. "If you do not return, what will you do, sir?"

"I have a living from my father, in Oxfordshire, it will be amply sufficient." I could sense that he missed the army, and that Oxfordshire was seen as the less desirable option, "I believe I shall learn about cows and sheep and how they increase, and make that my future." I wasn't sure whether the slightly sardonic humour was real or forced.

I extended an invitation for the captain to call on me for lunch the next day. "It is my experience that the transition to civilian life is not an easy one, captain, if you feel the need to talk, I will be happy to accommodate you."

I was just giving Captain Carter my card, when Charlotte appeared at my side. "Oh! Hello! Will you introduce me to your friend, William?"

"Charlotte, this is Captain Carter, of the ... er?" I looked at the buttons on the captain's coat. "The 27^th Foot!" The 27^th was the regiment that my old mentor Thomas Raine had transferred to. He died defending their regimental colours.

"Indeed, Your Grace, the 27^th." The young man confirmed.

"Captain Carter, may I introduce my sister, Charlotte?"

"Lady Charlotte." The captain greeted her with a graceful bow.

Charlotte told me that my mother was looking for me, so I took my leave of the captain, while she remained conversing with Captain Carter and I went to find Helena who was chatting with General Bradley.

"Mother?" I greeted her. "You asked for me?"

Drawing me away from the general, with an apology, my mother whispered that she didn't really need me for anything, but that Charlotte had been devouring the young man I was talking to with her eyes, Helena had used it as a chance to get them introduced.

"He reminds me of you very much," she said, guiding me towards Arabella and her mother.

I moved around Helena so that I could see Charlotte and Captain Carter, without appearing to be looking at them. They seemed to be involved in a conversation which absorbed both of them. At one point the captain made a remark which amused Charlotte greatly, though she did not laugh out loud, (that would have been most unpolite of her), she did laugh and it seemed a very natural and unforced humour. If Charlotte - who up to now had shown no interest in suitors - found the captain interesting, then our attendance had been worthwhile.

79. ... and the prince was there

The afternoon took a sharp downward turn with the arrival of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, Prince George, the king's oldest son, also known as 'Prinny' to his confederates.

His entry was suitably spectacular as he manoeuvred his bulk through the house and gardens, with the General and a group of his extravagantly dressed companions, in tow.

When he saw me, and my mother, he simply inclined his head and said "Cousin". Again, we Rogeringhams have no royal blood, so I have no idea where he came across that idea. And while we bowed and curtseyed with suitable deference, he was off, with his eyes roaming the assembly looking for attractive young women, and an audience.

It might be observed that I do not have a high opinion of the man who may be our future king - God save King George and give him long life. The prince is a man of great personality, and no little charm, when he wants to exercise it. He is also most stylish, in fact it is from his set of admirers and hangers on that most of the more outlandish of men's fashions originate, as each of them endeavours to outdo the others, as they seek even a simple word of recognition from His Royal Highness.

Personally, I think the man is an arse, of the first order.

Aside from the idiocy of some of the fashions emanating from his court, he has a great pretension to military prowess, which is totally undeserved due to the fact that his mother and the government refuse to let him take ship and be even in the same country as any sort of fight. But that does not stop him from proclaiming to anyone nearby how he and Wellesley beat the French at such and such a battle, or how he led his brave soldiers to victory in such and such fight. There are also many rumours about the man, about a secret marriage to a catholic woman and several bastard children. This is all very unbecoming and completely inappropriate for a man who may actually be crowned king of England, Scotland and Ireland one day.

As I said, an arse.

And he behaved as one as well, standing in the garden, surrounded by many of the party goers, as he recounted how he and Wellesley had set the French back in the Peninsula, to the polite applause of the audience, all of whom knew it was utter horse-shit, but they indulged him anyway.

Still Lydia Bradley had crafted an excellent party and despite my feelings about 'Prinny', it was most enjoyable. Arabella and I managed to craft a 'moment' for the gossip rags, when I secured a small prize at a hoop-la stall and presented it to her. (Helena had suggested that I win Arabella a prize for precisely that reason. I also secured a second one, which I gave to Helena, but they appear not to have noticed that one).

80. The next morning

I mentioned that I would be having lunch with Captain Carter to my mother at breakfast.

"I'm sorry?" Charlotte looked at me, innocently. "Who?"

"Captain Richard Carter, of the 27^th Foot, just returned from the Peninsular, the nephew of General Bradley, wealthy with an estate in Oxford?" I reminded her.

"Oh? Who was this?" Margaret asked.

"That very dashing looking officer, most handsome he was, at the garden party." Louise told her.

"Oh, with the ... er?" Margaret held her left arm up. "That one?"

Louise nodded, "Yes, a foot officer though, not Horse or even a dragoon sadly, but other than that, no disfiguring scars, quite handsome." She said with an impish grin, looking directly at me. I smiled back at her. By mentioning the two cavalry types, Louise was implying that they were worth more than a mere foot soldier. That might be something worth addressing with her some time.

"Was he as charming as he looked, Charlotte?" Margaret asked, with an air of feigned innocence.

"We only talked for a few moments, so I am sure that I could not say. He did seem quite pleasant though."

"Excellent," I smiled, "I am going to suggest that he and I go for a ride on Rotten Row this afternoon."

Charlotte's face was a picture, she did not seem to know where to look, or even what to do. She finished her breakfast and immediately went upstairs.

I was in my study, composing a letter to Henry, who was in Rogeringham supervising the changes to what we were calling the estate office, and his own house, when Charlotte sought me out.

Her pretty face was sullen and she had a pout one could stand upon.

"Should I not have invited Captain Carter?" I asked.

"You might have asked me first," She growled.

"Really? And why was that?" I asked, "'He was pleasant', and you 'only talked for a few minutes'." I reminded her. Her frown deepened.

"I invited Richard Carter here as a friend," and I explained about Thomas Raine and how I hoped that Captain Carter could shed more light on his passing. "I did not invite him as a possible suitor for you. Now, if you wish to change that situation, that is entirely up to you. Based on what I have seen so far, I would have no problem with that, but - and I repeat - that choice is yours, and yours alone."

Her visage darkened even more, but she did not say anything.

I put down my pen and leaned forwards on the desk. "No one, especially not me, is ever going to make you do anything that you do not wish to do, Charlotte, no one will force you one way or another.

"He is very pleasant company." Charlotte said quietly after some thought.

"May I make a suggestion then?" I asked, Charlotte nodded. "I expect Arabella will be here soon, she normally is. It looks like a nice day, Captain Carter and I will probably ride out on Rotten Row, why don't you suggest a trip around Hyde Park with her, this afternoon? Failing that take Caroline with you, in the brougham."

81. Lunch with Captain Carter

Richard and I lunched together. After we had dined, I asked him whether he had met Thomas Raine, who had purchased the rank of Lt.-Colonel in the 27^th Foot.

"Of course, Your Grace. It would have been difficult to have been anywhere in the Peninsular and not to have been aware of Colonel Raine. I take it that you served with him?"

"In the West Indies. We must have crossed - he must have arrived in Portugal as I left for England. Were you there, sir?"

Richard Carter knew exactly what I meant, had he been in the fight where Raine had been killed?

"It was where I lost this." He gestured with his forefinger at the stump of his arm. "Our battalion was ordered to take a hamlet on the flank of the army's advance.

"As we progressed, our advance was suddenly stalled in an olive grove, where we were crossing a wall in the face of French musket fire. Of a sudden, we were flanked. The colour party were decimated, Colonel Raine picked up the regimental colour, the Regimental Sergeant-Major picked up the King's colour and the two of them formed an island in the middle of it all. With the men that were left to them, they stood firm. The enemy were piled up around them.

"The French had driven a wedge into our column, the colonel and his men were on one side by the wall, and the rest of us were prevented from reaching them by the intrusion of the French. All order in our column was thrown away, the companies intermingled. Captain Bolton of the Grenadier Company, gathered the remaining part of the battalion and led us forwards towards the colours.

"I never saw our men fight better sir, never." He said slowly, reliving the fight in his head as he spoke, his body unconsciously moving in a vague memory of his actions. "They were ferocious, each man a lion in a red coat. It was all bayonet work. Bayonets, musket butts and fists. Ferocious, to a man.

"Sadly, even as we reached them, Colonel Raine fell from his wounds."

"But the colours were saved?" I asked, Captain Carter nodded. A regiment's colours are its heart and soul, and by his actions Raine had saved the 27^th from the greatest ignominy known to the British army - the loss of their colours. "And your part in this, sir?"

"Mine?" Richard Carter laughed, ironically. "I was carried along by it, caught up in the assault trying to reach our colours. I scarcely recall a moment of it, it was so intense as we fought and bit and clawed our way towards the colours. So intense, so fierce was it that I do not even recall being struck. Not until it was all done, and I collapsed from the loss of blood."

I stood up, Captain Carter doing the same. I offered him my right hand and we shook.

"Captain." It was all I could say. Even after all the months away from it, I had great emotions that I found hard to verbalise. That emotion, my regard for Colonel Raine and my sadness at his death even though it was typical of the man, and my esteem for the man in front of me, it all went into that one word.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"If there is anything you need, sir, ever."

I think - I know - it surprised him. It surprised me, and I realised that though the dust of Portugal and Spain had long been cleaned from my uniform, it still lingered on my soul.

After lunch he and I rode out.

Despite his missing hand, he handled his mount well, compensating by riding with more leg aids than I usually use. He was quite fussy about the reins, one of my grooms passed them up to him, and he went to take them with his left hand. Realising his mistake, he cursed himself, before he apologised to the groom and gathered them up in his right hand.

We had talked much over lunch about his return to London, and his situation. He had few friends in town apart from family, but he was less concerned about that. He had only attended his uncle's garden party because the general had insisted.

"Practically ordered me." He laughed.

Captain Carter was still sensitive about the loss of his hand, and was uncomfortable about being seen without it, which I could fully understand. The problem was that Richard Carter, I discovered, was an intelligent, irrepressible man, with an innately cheerful disposition and a keen sense of humour that fought its way through to the front, more often than not. It wasn't that he was putting a brave face on his situation, rather this was his natural character shining through, despite everything. Sometimes there was a dark edge to his humour, biting or self-deprecating, but I have seen that before in men. Suffering the trauma of a wound like Richard's will do that to a person. But I was certain that he would accommodate himself to his situation, and even if he did not fully accept it, he would live a full life in spite of it.

Captain Carter was doing a very passable impression of Sir Arthur Wellesley while we walked the horses on Rotten Row, "Well, damn me, sir," he said, mimicking Wellesley perfectly, "If I thought my hair knew what my plan was, I would cut it all off, sir!" when Arabella's brougham passed us going in the opposite direction.

"Is that not your sister, Your Grace?"

"I do believe it is Richard."

"Shall we catch up with them?" and he wheeled his horse about and nudged it into a trot. The problem normally is stopping Naiad from trotting, so she cheerfully wheeled about, and we set off after them. We soon caught up with the brougham.

"Lady Rogeringham, Miss Dorrington!" We both greeted the passengers, Richard walking his horse up on the same side as Charlotte, and I walking Naiad on the same side as Arabella.

"Edward! How are you this fine day?" I called out to Arabella's footman, who nodded back, looking pleased at being recalled. "Don't worry man, we shall not make you wait with the horses today."

After talking with the ladies for a few minutes, our progress around the park was halted by a troop of the Royal Dragoon Guards (the third regiment in the Household Cavalry brigade) making their way by column of threes into the park.

"Oh, how magnificent!" Charlotte enthused, clapping her hands, as the column made its way past us. They wore nearly full uniform, all accoutrements, but rather than their bicorne hats the troopers rode out in forage caps. The officer in charge rode a dark bay stallion that curvetted and pranced - and darted and jumped at anything and everything. He was a vociferous chap, shouting all sorts of commands and comments, though he was courteous - he tipped the peak of his bicorne in the direction of the carriage.

I could sense that Naiad wanted to go with them, but she waited dutifully, until they had gone and we made our way onwards.

Charlotte looked at me, "You do not seem to have been impressed, William? Nor you Captain Carter?"

"I think it is because they have seen too many cavalry men like that, all puff and show." Arabella told her.

"How so?" Charlotte asked her.

"That captain was trying too hard at his work, he should have given one order and let his corporals do the rest," Arabella explained.

"Astutely observed, Miss Dorrington." Richard observed approvingly.

"Arabella, please captain?"

"Miss Dorrington spent some time with the army in Portugal," I told my younger friend. "What else did you notice, Arabella?"

"He has a very fine mount, but it would be no use when 'the ball opens', as they say. He is too highly strung - the poor fellow would spend all of his time controlling his own horse and not handling his troop."

"But they looked most excellent?" Charlotte suggested.

"They did indeed, Lady Rogeringham." Captain Carter agreed. "A very good turn-out. Do you not think, Your Grace?"

"Passable." I granted.

At which point Arabella chipped in, "Spoken like a true foot soldier, Your Grace. Lady Charlotte, I believe you will find that your brother is not a great believer in the qualities of English cavalry. Is that not so, Your Grace?"

I believe that when written down the sound I made was an 'harumph!' Arabella laughed at me, her girlish laugh, a pleasant sound.

"William very rarely speaks of his military experiences," Charlotte told her. "I do not recall him expounding on the virtues of our cavalry."