Книга - The Brigadier’s Daughter

The Brigadier's Daughter
Catherine March


From Lonely Miss to Daring Bride It was an audacious plan – to marry her sister’s bridegroom – and Miss Alexandra Packard was shocked at her own daring. Once she was married, the sensible, logical part of her urged her to speak up. The other part – the romantic, womanly, lonely part – kept her silent.In truth, she did not want to stop being his wife. Indeed, she very much wanted to find out what it would be like to truly be Captain Reid Bowen’s wife in every sense of the word…







The moment had come to make her choice.

Alexandra stood still, poised in between two lives, two futures. She could speak up now and tell Captain Bowen the truth, and go back to her life as the lonely Miss Packard with no suitors. Or she could keep quiet, not say a word, until the ship sailed and they left England’s shores. She could step into Georgia’s shoes and the role of Mrs Reid Bowen.

A memory of his face came to her mind. His blue eyes, his fair hair, tanned skin, the set of his broad shoulders, his warmth, his smile and his voice, even his smell had already melted into her skin, her blood, into her heart, and she could not, however sensible it might be, do anything to part herself from him.


Catherine March was born in Zimbabwe. Her love of the written word began when she was ten years old and her English teacher gave her Lorna Doone to read. Encouraged by her mother, Catherine began writing stories while a teenager. Over the years her employment has varied from barmaid to bank clerk to legal secretary. Her favourite hobbies are watching rugby, walking by the sea, exploring castles and reading.


Novels by the same author:

MY LADY ENGLISH

THE KNIGHT’S VOW

THE KING’S CHAMPION




THE BRIGADIER’S

DAUGHTER

Catherine March















MILLS & BOON




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)




Chapter One


London—10 December, 1876

‘Congratulations, dear boy! Well done!’

Captain Reid Bowen rose from his seat in the lounge of the gentleman’s club in Mayfair and accepted the hearty handshake from his uncle, murmuring his thanks and waving a hand at the leather armchair opposite. ‘Would you care to join me, Uncle Percy?’

‘Indeed!’ He clicked his fingers at a nearby waiter. ‘This calls for champagne.’

Reid demurred, with a modest shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Come now, Uncle, let’s not go overboard.’

‘And why on earth not, dear boy? It’s not every day that my favourite nephew returns from India and is promoted to the rank of major!’

‘Uncle Percy.’ Reid Bowen laughed. ‘I am your only nephew!’

‘Indeed, indeed you are.’

‘And my promotion is not substantive until the spring.’

‘Major Bowen, humour an old man, please!’

They both laughed and a bottle of champagne was ordered.

With his usual generosity Percy, the Earl of Clermount, invited a few fellow club members to join them, but as the last drop of expensive and delightful golden liquid was drained and the gathering dispersed, Uncle Percy turned to his nephew with a gleam in his eye, to broach a subject that had long been a bone of contention.

‘Well, now, with your posting as military attaché to the Embassy in St Petersburg, you seem to be short of an essential item of kit, dear boy.’

Reid set down his empty champagne flute and looked at his uncle with a puzzled frown. ‘And what would that be, sir?’

‘A wife, of course!’

Reid laughed, and flicked up the tails of his black evening suit, before sitting down in the leather armchair. ‘I had not given it any consideration, but you may be right. I will need a hostess.’

‘A wife is far more than just a hostess, Reid.’

His nephew glanced at him with a twinkle in his dark blue eyes. ‘Shame on you, Uncle, I did not think you had such thoughts about the fairer sex.’

Uncle Percy blushed, his jowls wobbling as he shook his head and clucked his tongue. ‘I was thinking of progeny, my dear boy. Sons, to inherit all that I shall one day leave you.’

Reid Bowen sighed, and nodded his head, yet kept his thoughts within the seclusion of his mind.

Undaunted, Uncle Percy ploughed onwards. ‘Now, the Christmas Ball at Lady Westfaling’s this evening will be an ideal occasion to see what’s, um, er, on the market, so to speak. You did receive an invitation, did you not?’

‘Yes, I had the misfortune,’ Reid replied drily.

‘Splendid! We will go together and I will point out the most eligible young chits. There’s the Bellingham girl: pretty, intelligent, a little dull perhaps; and the Tinson-Byrne chit is a fine filly; not to mention the enchanting Packard girl, though she may be a trifle young and flighty.’

Reid gave him a keen look. ‘With all respect, Uncle, I think I am old enough to select my own wife.’

‘Then why have you not done so, Reid, dear boy?’ Uncle Percy returned his glance with one as equally penetrating. ‘I believe you will be thirty-four next spring, and it’s high time you got yourself down that aisle and acquired what every man needs most in life—the love and support of a good woman.’

‘When I find her, I will no doubt rush to drag her to the altar.’

‘Well, with that sort of attitude, it’s no wonder you’re still on the shelf.’

‘Indeed, Uncle?’

‘The chits today don’t much go in for the dragging bit; they much prefer to be courted with respect and devotion. I think you will find that, if you apply as much savvy to courting as you do to soldiering, you will have no trouble in finding a suitable wife.’

‘Sasha!’

Miss Alexandra Packard sat before her dressing table as her maid finished pinning up her hair. She glanced in the mirror at one of her three sisters, standing in her bedroom doorway and wailing with a most disgruntled expression on her pretty face.

‘What is it, Georgia?’ Her voice was soft and quiet, laced with a patience she was frequently called upon to exert.

‘I can’t find my white gloves. Have you seen them?’

‘I’m sure Polly laid them out on the bed, with your gown. Did you not, Polly dear?’ Sasha glanced at their ladies’ maid, who nodded her head and dipped a curtsy in confirmation of this fact.

‘Then someone’s taken them!’ cried Georgia, flouncing on her heel with a whirl of white petticoats. ‘Philippa!’

Sasha sighed and rolled her eyes at Polly, her glance skimming away from her own reflection. Compared to her beautiful sister Georgia, who had inherited their father’s blond and blue-eyed features, she felt there was nothing appealing about her appearance, being the only daughter to have the sable-dark hair and black eyes of their Russian-born mother, the Princess Olga Alexandrovna, now simply Lady Packard, who was also slightly built and somewhat pale. All that her sisters seemed to have inherited from their mother was her temperamental nature, sometimes passionate and full of life, at other times sinking into a sulk that could last for days. After the birth of four children in close succession, none of whom had been the son her parents had hoped for, her mother had been incapacitated by a weak heart and now spent much of her days lying upon a chaise longue, bravely insisting that there was nothing wrong with her and encouraging her daughters to go out and enjoy their own lives to the full.

It was left to her eldest daughter, Alexandra, twenty-three years old and fondly known as Sasha, to see to the girls: Georgia, the prettiest of them all; Philippa, nineteen and ripe for the marriage market, though she was cruelly afflicted by a glandular problem and a trifle overweight; and Victoria, the youngest, who shared her father’s passion for the library and spent much of her time with her nose buried in a book.

‘Thank you, Polly.’ Sasha rose from the dressing table, her fingers briefly touching the maid’s arm in an affectionate gesture as she passed to lift her maroon velvet shawl from the bed. ‘Don’t wait up, I’ll see to the girls when we get in.’

Polly smiled and wished her a good evening, rushing off to see to Miss Vic as she called urgently for assistance with her garters and stockings.

‘Come along, girls,’ Sasha called as she walked down the corridor, ‘Papa will be waiting.’

Voices shrieked, doors banged, slippered feet pattered on the thick carpet behind her, but Sasha did not pause or glance over her shoulder. She knew from experience that any sign of weakness on her part would be pounced upon and time would be wasted on whether this bracelet or that ribbon or those slippers were really the best to wear, so she merely glided as serenely as a swan, gathering her cygnets behind her as she descended the stairs to the hall.

Brigadier Sir Conrad Packard looked up as he fastened his cloak, and his eyes gleamed with pride as he watched his four daughters. No one could deny that he was the proudest of fathers, the only hint that he might have experienced some disappointment at the birth of a daughter being the bestowing of the feminine form of masculine names. Disappointment had long since faded, and he adored all his girls, fortified by the firm hope that one day soon he would be acquiring four strapping sons-by-marriage.

There was a flurry of activity as shawls were fastened and reticules clasped firmly about the wrist and then the butler, footmen and their father assisted and chivvied the four Packard girls into the waiting carriage. At last, settled in his seat and rolling his eyes in sympathy with their butler as the door closed, the Brigadier called, ‘Thank you, Lodge. We will not be too late.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Lodge bowed with a knowing smile at these familiar words and turned back to the house as the carriage set off, prepared for a night of rummy and copious cups of tea to keep him going until the early hours of the morning. He would not rest until the girls and the master were safely home again.

A fresh flurry of snow that afternoon slowed their progress as they joined other carriages on the slush-laden roads of London’s fashionable Mayfair, making their way to Lady Westfaling’s Christmas Ball. They were warm and snug within the carriage, a froth of white lawn petticoats, beneath silk gowns in shades of cream, red tartan and green, billowing as the girls sought to tame their skirts.

‘Do you think there will be a treasure hunt like last year?’ mused Philippa, offering a small bag of sugared almonds to her sisters.

The girls each selected one, and sucked on the sweet pink-and-white confections while they speculated on the evening ahead with eager anticipation.

Victoria helped herself to another sugared almond, her sister frowning and snatching the bag away, with an envious glance at Victoria’s slim waist. ‘I wonder if the Foreign Secretary, Lord Derby, will be there? I would so like to hear if the Turks—’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ exclaimed Georgia. ‘I wonder if Felix will be there? I want to dance all night!’

Their father looked up from adjusting his white bow tie, and offered snippets of advice and admonishments for their behaviour. A military man, he had served twenty-five years before a severe wound had forced him to retire from active service and spend a number of years in the Diplomatic Corps. He was a kind but very particular man, not overly tall and his pate bald of his once-fair hair, but he exuded the strength and bearing of a military officer. He still kept his hand in with the Army by making good use of his knowledge of French and Russian. Having tutored his own daughters, he now tutored young military officers who were in need of these languages. His quiet yet firm voice brooked no arguments and he was not known to suffer fools gladly, the antics of his daughters being no exception. They held him in slightly awed reverence, tempered by affection.

‘We’ll not be dancing too often with those young gentlemen,’ he said, glancing at Georgia with his ice-blue eyes, which seldom missed anything of importance. ‘Your mama was quite mortified when Lady Jessop called and commented about your behaviour at her dinner dance.’

Georgia pouted, recalling to mind the scolding her parents had delivered after that occasion, but made no reply as she sat back silently in her seat, peering out of the window as the wheels of the carriage slowed and they pulled into the portico of Lady Westfaling’s impressive mansion.

Sasha exchanged a glance with her father and smiled at him reassuringly, her silent promise to keep a better eye on Georgia. A golden glow from the lit hallway spilled out upon the steps as they descended from the carriage, with the assistance of several attentive footmen splendid in frogged uniforms. The Packards joined the crowd of other guests inching along a carpeted corridor to the ballroom, where the major-domo took the proffered invitation card from the Brigadier, rapped his staff upon the marble step and announced in stentorian tones worthy of any parade ground, ‘Brigadier Sir Conrad Packard, and the Misses Alexandra, Georgia, Philippa and Victoria Packard.’

They moved forwards, descending the steps to where their hosts, Lord and Lady Westfaling, their son, Felix, and daughter, Arabella, stood waiting in a line to greet them and to hand the young ladies their dance cards, which had tiny gilt pencils attached with ribbon.

‘Conrad, my dear,’ murmured Lady Westfaling, looking pointedly over the Brigadier’s shoulder as she let him kiss the air beside her cheek, ‘is Olga still not well?’

‘Alas.’ He shook his head and moved swiftly on from her cloying perfume and predatory clasp to extend his hand to his good friend, Avery, Lord Westfaling, with the promise to meet him in the library for cigars and brandy at the earliest opportunity. He nodded curtly at young Felix, who visibly blanched as he dragged his eyes from the delightful blonde-and-blue-eyed vision that was Georgia and bowed to the Brigadier, nervously murmuring good evening, punctuated with several ‘sir’s too many.

Sasha paused for a moment amidst the hubbub as her sisters chattered and looked eagerly about. Her glance fell to the dance card clasped in her white-gloved fingers. Wistfully she wondered if any gentleman would actually put his name down, or if once again she would be so busy chaperoning her sisters and dancing with her father to have time to dance with anyone else. Most likely she would be overlooked as the gentlemen made their choices elsewhere amongst the vast bevy of lovely and well-bred young ladies present. Unobtrusively she slipped the card into the tasselled reticule dangling from her wrist, and then looked up, with a well-trained smile fixed on her soft mouth.

The ballroom was indeed a magnificent sight, proof that Lady Westfaling had spent a good deal of money and employed numerous people to transform it into a Christmas wonderland. To one side, halfway down the vast room, stood a twenty-foot Scots pine, brought in from their own estate in Scotland, and decorated with red-and-gold baubles, ribbons, gingerbreads and tiny candles. The smell of the pine and ginger was very pleasant, refreshing the somewhat heavy atmosphere emanating from the odour of perfumed ladies and sweating gentlemen. Sasha breathed in the scent as they moved to examine the decorations, the orchestra playing discreetly in the background before the dancing began. She glanced at the garlands of holly and wreaths and ribbons festooned about the walls, and the brightly sparkling chandeliers that lit up the room so beautifully.

‘Who is that?’ Georgia murmured suddenly in her ear.

‘Hmm?’ Sasha turned as her sister’s urgent fingers dug into her elbow, looking in the direction of a gentleman greeting Lady Westfaling. He was handsome, tall and broad-shouldered, his ash-brown hair flecked with blond and his face unusually suntanned. Sasha turned away. ‘I have no idea, but do stop gaping, before Papa notices. Oh, look, Felix is about to mark your dance card.’

‘How wonderful to see you, Reid,’ Lady Westfaling greeted her guest, her glance slightly disapproving, ‘but not in uniform?’

Captain Bowen bowed. ‘My apologies, Lady Westfaling. I am on leave, added to which my uniform is sadly shabby. A friend has made me the loan of his tails for the evening.’

Her glance now admiring as she took in the wide set of his shoulders and the expanse of white shirt tapering to a flat stomach beneath a white waistcoat, Lady Westfaling murmured, ‘You must introduce me to your friend; from his clothing he seems to be a fine figure of a man.’

Taken aback, Reid narrowed his dark blue eyes as he took the measure of his hostess and swiftly retreated, moving on to extend his hand to her husband further down the line, casting a wry glance to his Uncle Percy over one shoulder.

‘Jolly good to have you back, Bowen,’ Lord Westfaling declared. ‘Take no notice of the old gel, she’s always had an eye for good-looking chaps, that’s why she married me!’ He laughed, but there was a note of warning in his tone. ‘All talk and no action, I can assure you.’

‘Of course,’ Reid murmured, practising his diplomatic skills by adding, ‘I have spent so long out in the field that I have forgotten how…charming ladies can be.’

‘Indeed. Now then, what’s this I hear about a promotion? Congratulations!’

‘Thank you.’ He accepted another handshake.

‘Must introduce you to our good friend Packard, Army man himself before a damn Abyssinian spear crippled his knee. How’s your Russian?’

‘Oh, Avery!’ cried Lady Westfaling, ‘Do stop nattering, you’re holding things up!’

The guests were merging in a crowd about the steps, forcing his lordship to curtail his conversation and usher them on, with the proviso, ‘Percy, bring him to the library, soon as I’ve got this damned dancing on the go.’

‘Avery!’

They walked away, Uncle Percy purloining glass flutes of golden champagne from a passing waiter, and raising one to toast his nephew. ‘Here’s to the future Mrs Bowen.’

Reid hesitated before he sipped his champagne, glancing around at the crowded ballroom and the dazzling array of women in evening gowns and glittering jewellery. ‘I must confess, Uncle, that I feel a touch nervous. I would rather be facing a hundred screaming tribesmen pouring down the Hindu Kush than entangle myself with any of these mamas and their offspring.’

‘Oh, pish! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Uncle Percy finished his glass with a flourish and narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the room with a discreet yet discerning eye. ‘Let’s take a wander round. My advice would be to select two or three young ladies, a few dances, a little light conversation, then leave it at that for the time being. There are plenty more balls and parties between now and New Year.’

Reid laughed wryly. ‘Sounds to me as though you have the whole campaign well planned. Is this to be a full-frontal, noisy attack? Or a covert, silent offensive?’

‘My dear boy, do not be facetious!’

‘Speaking of time, I had a letter this morning from the Defence Secretary to say that my posting has been brought forwards. So I shall be leaving for Russia at the end of April.’

‘Damn me!’ Uncle Percy muttered. ‘It would have to be a whirlwind courtship, then.’

‘I am reluctant to rush into anything.’

‘So you have said. For the past ten years. Neither of us is getting any younger, you know.’ He paused, and lowered his chin as he murmured, ‘Now, there’s a girl you may want to get to know, Araminta Cunningham-Ellis. Well bred, elegant, plenty of money.’

Reid snorted, helping himself to another glass of champagne. ‘I may not be rich, but I have enough money of my own, thank you.’ He glanced carefully sideways at the strawberry blonde in question. ‘She’s rather tall, for a girl.’

They both gazed upon Araminta, Uncle Percy with frank admiration and Reid with amusement. ‘Come along,’ he urged his uncle, nudging his elbow, ‘before her mama cuffs you with that enormous fan she’s brandishing.’

‘Can’t see what you’re complaining about,’ Uncle Percy muttered. ‘Perfect breeding stock for sons—’ He coughed and cleared his throat as an elderly gentleman stepped into his path. ‘Good evening, Hallam, is it not a splendid do?’

They paused for a few moments in polite conversation and then moved onwards, Uncle Percy pointing out several more eligible females along the way. To his disappointment, and frustration, his nephew seemed little impressed and he could not persuade him to make any introductions. At last they came to the raised dais leading to open French doors and the verandah beyond. They mounted the steps on the pretext of taking in a breath of fresh air, yet from their elevated position they now had a perfect view of the ballroom. Uncle Percy looked towards four young ladies dressed in simple yet charming green, red and cream evening gowns, blending in with the Christmas theme.

‘Now you couldn’t go far wrong with one of Packard’s gels, all of them splendid creatures. And very useful, too, being fluent in French and Russian. Georgia, the one in the green dress, is the prettiest, and about the right age, I would say.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Almost twenty-one.’

Reid glanced discreetly, and had to admit that Georgia Packard was indeed very lovely, the sort of girl he would be attracted to and the sort of blonde, beautiful girl that in the past had been his mistress.

‘And there’s Victoria, the one in the tartan dress. She’s seventeen.’

‘Too young.’

‘And Philippa, in the maroon dress.’

‘The one in the cream dress, the small one with the dark hair, is she a Packard?’

‘Of course, that’s Sasha, christened Alexandra after her mother—a Russian princess by birth, you know. Very beautiful, but afflicted by poor health, and somewhat highly strung.’

‘Hmm.’ Reid mused doubtfully, ‘I would prefer a lady who is strong and capable.’

‘I am sure in nature Sasha is both of those qualities, but you never know if she has inherited more than just her mother’s looks. If it’s a strong gel you want, then you would be wise to settle on Georgia.’ They both surveyed the young lady. ‘Mind you, she would not give you a quiet life.’

‘Indeed?’ Reid smiled at the prospect of a challenge, as he gazed at the four young ladies hovering near the Christmas tree, blissfully unaware of his Uncle Percy’s grand designs. ‘What’s the papa like? I believe he’s an Army man himself, and not to be trifled with by all accounts.’

‘He’s a splendid fellow! Shall I introduce you?’

‘By all means.’

The orchestra began to play and Lord and Lady Westfaling opened the dancing with an elegant polonaise. Sasha felt the beat of the music vibrate through her whole body, her soul stirred by the rousing tune. Beneath the long skirts of her evening gown her brocade slipper tapped in time to the beat.

‘Don’t look, but he’s coming over!’

‘What?’ Sasha glanced at her sister with a puzzled frown. ‘What on earth—?’

‘Don’t look!’ Georgia repeated in an urgent undertone.

Puzzled and curious, Sasha did indeed look. Just for a moment her gaze met the dark blue eyes of the handsome, suntanned man they had seen earlier, before her lashes lowered and she glanced away. She did not know him, but recognised the Earl of Clermount walking at his side, and dipped a curtsy in greeting as her father beamed at his old friend.

‘Percy, old boy, glad to see you!’

‘Conrad.’ After an exchange of bows, Percy turned slightly. ‘I’d like you to meet my nephew, Captain Reid Bowen. He’s been out on the North-West Frontier for the past seven years, and now that he’s returned, bathed in glory and a well-earned commission to major—’

‘In the spring,’ Reid interjected.

‘Quite.’ Percy cast him an exasperated glance. ‘I am persuading him to enjoy life a little, before he takes up a posting to St Petersburg.’

The Brigadier perked up at this fact, and turned to Reid with hand extended. ‘How do you do? Which regiment are you with?’

‘The Royal Fusiliers, Seventh Battalion.’

‘Fine body of men. Queen’s Light Dragoons myself.’

‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance, sir,’ Reid responded truthfully, and for a few moments they made conversation on military matters, before Uncle Percy’s sharp elbow in his ribs reminded him of his duty. ‘Might I have the honour of marking your daughter’s dance card?’

The Brigadier smiled, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. ‘Which one? I have four of ‘em, as you can see.’

Reid hesitated, just for the blink of an eye, in a quandary as to whether he should state where his interest lay openly, or be more subtle. He plumped for the latter. ‘Well, of course, I would be delighted with any Miss Packard who might care to risk my clumsy two left feet. It has been some while since I practised my dancing.’

Before he had even finished speaking Victoria and Philippa had already thrust their cards beneath his nose, and he dutifully surveyed them and pencilled in his name, while Georgia exclaimed, ‘Oh, what a shame, my card is full! Excuse me, Papa, here is Felix to claim me for the mazurka.’

‘You’ve already had a dance with him this evening, Georgia,’ the Brigadier growled, as his brows lowered upon an anxiously hovering the Right Honourable Felix Westfaling. ‘Scratch him out and let Captain Bowen take his place.’

‘Oh, Papa, that would not do at all!’ exclaimed Georgia. ‘It would be very rude, would it not, Sasha?’

Sasha felt a warm blush creep up her neck as all eyes turned on her, but she murmured in agreement, ‘It may be construed as rather impolite.’

‘Besides, Sasha has not had even one dance yet—can’t he go with her?’

‘I-I’ve lost my card,’ stammered Sasha.

‘Nonsense, it’s in your reticule.’ And with that Georgia whirled away with a flounce of green silk as she took Felix firmly by the elbow and set off to dance around the ballroom floor with him.

The Brigadier felt a brief spurt of annoyance, which boded ill, as his gaze followed that of his errant and impetuous daughter, yet he calmed as Sasha laid her hand on his forearm and murmured soothingly, ‘‘Tis but a phase, Papa, it will soon pass.’ She turned to Captain Bowen and smiled politely. ‘I would be delighted to dance with you, sir.’

‘Me first!’ cried Victoria.

Somewhat curious, Reid Bowen held out his hand to take Sasha’s dance card. He was puzzled, as he glanced at the blank sheet, and resisted the temptation to cast a perusing stare. What was wrong with the girl that no one wanted to dance with her? Buck teeth? Bad breath? A total bore? From his greater height, his eyes lowered, he looked at her, and though she was no great beauty he could find no fault with her neat features, smooth, pale skin and dark brown eyes that glowed with intelligence. He pencilled himself in for two dances, both of them a waltz, later in the evening, and then he turned to the young Victoria and escorted her onto the dance floor. Despite her initial enthusiasm, Victoria was overawed by the handsome and mature gentleman in whose arms she suddenly found herself, and for the life of her she could not think of a word to say, which suited her partner well enough. At the end of the dance, he returned her to her family and then bowed as he went off in search of a much-needed drink.

At ten o’clock a buffet of the most lavish and delicious food was served. Sasha indulged in a portion of sherry trifle and was licking her spoon when Captain Bowen returned to claim her for the first waltz of the evening. As he paused in front of her, with an amused smile and twinkle in his blue eyes, she hurriedly set aside the spoon and bowl, as he proffered his crooked arm to her.

‘Shall we?’

The strains of the ‘Blue Danube’ made her smile with anticipation and pleasure, the waltz being her favourite dance. She accepted with a small inclination of her head, and slipped her hand through his elbow as he led her forwards, every part of her aware of his tall frame at her side.

Though he had to stoop slightly, and she had to reach up to place her hand upon his broad shoulder, Reid was not in the least bit clumsy. Indeed, she had never enjoyed a waltz quite so much. She glanced up at his profile, his straight nose and lean cheeks very masculine. His jaw was firm and his eyes, when he glanced at her as he placed his hand on her waist, were a very dark blue. Following his lead, she swayed and stepped in time to the rhythm of the waltz, her feet and legs moving between his own as he guided her. Though she often had to dance backwards with no idea of what was behind her, her long cream silk skirts swirling about her legs, she had every confidence in Captain Bowen and the music as they swayed about.

‘You are an excellent dancer, Miss Packard.’

Reid noticed that she bowed her head, with a smile, in a shy yet charmingly graceful gesture, acknowledging his compliment and yet neither bold nor brazen in her acceptance. He noticed, also, the tiny speck of cream at the corner of her mouth, and agonised over whether to mention it, or remain silent. He found himself glancing time and again, as they danced, at her mouth, until she turned her head, aware of his gaze, a slight frown on her well-shaped, dark brows and a pink blush staining her neck and cheeks.

‘Forgive me, Miss Packard.’ It was unconscionably rude of him to have embarrassed a lady, so he erred on the side of truth and his judgement that Miss Packard favoured honesty. ‘But, um, please do not take offence, but you may wish to dab your handkerchief to the corner of your mouth.’

‘Oh!’ Sasha was instantly mortified. ‘Have I cream?’

‘Indeed you do. Just a tiny speck.’

Sasha felt a red-hot heat of embarrassment wash over her entire body, and wished with all her being she could flee. She made a tiny move to jerk from his arms, but he pulled her back and smoothly manoeuvred her through the flowing steps of the waltz.

‘Oh, sir, please do let me go!’

‘Why?’

‘I—I—’ Sasha stammered. ‘Let me retire to the ladies’ cloakroom, please.’ In agony she felt her cheeks blaze.

‘There is no need.’ As they danced into the corner, and his broad shoulders shielded her from prying eyes, deftly, quickly, he reached out with one gloved finger and flicked the offending blob of cream away. ‘There now, it is gone. All is well. And no one could see.’

Sasha tried to pull away again, but he held on to her, and she glanced up at him. ‘You must think me very…gauche.’

‘Not at all.’ He gazed down, saw the telltale glimmer of tears in her eyes, and repeated firmly, ‘Not at all. And in the grand scheme of things, what is a mere speck of cream? It’s not as though you had lost a slipper or, God forbid, a stocking trailed about your ankle.’

She could not help but laugh, nor could she help it as another painful blush warmed her exposed neck. ‘You should not speak of such things.’

He smiled, enjoying the pleasant sound of her laugh, and even her blushes, for it had been a long time since he had been close to a woman who could still blush.

‘No, indeed I should not.’ It began to dawn him on him then why Miss Alexandra Packard might not be the belle of the ball, for he sensed there was something infinitely fragile about her. To his surprise he felt the surge of a most unfamiliar emotion, as though he would fight dragons and villains to protect her from all harm. He brushed it off, annoyed with himself. This would not do, as many men no doubt felt, judging from her empty dance card, it would not do at all for an officer’s wife to be anything other than a strong and capable woman who could take care of herself, the home and the children while her soldier husband was away winning his medals.

At the end of the waltz they parted company, and Sasha wondered, as he coolly bid her adieu, whether he would return for the second. To her surprise and pleasure, he did, and firmly took the lead, moving her slender body about the ballroom with infinite ease and confidence. He made no move to open conversation, so politely she enquired if he was looking forward to his posting to St Petersburg, and from there they enjoyed a dialogue about Russia.

‘I must confess, Miss Packard,’ murmured Captain Bowen, above her ear, ‘that I have not enjoyed a dance quite so much this evening, as I have with you. Not only are you an exquisite dancer, but very interesting to talk to.’

‘Thank you.’

They continued the dance until its end—all too soon, Sasha thought—and then he walked with her back to where her father and her sisters sat. He did not depart at once, but lingered to converse with her father on the Army and the possibility of Russian lessons.

In the dark, early hours of morning the clop-clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels roused Lady Packard as she lay dozing, waiting for the return of her family to their home in Roseberry Street. She stirred and reached to turn up the wick on the glass-shaded lamp beside the bed. Beyond her bedroom she could hear footsteps and the bang of a door, and her husband’s deep voice as he admonished his daughters to be quiet. She sat up and plumped her pillows, checked her braided hair and turned her face eagerly to the door. A few moments later it opened, and the Brigadier stepped in, tossing aside his white gloves and bow tie as he walked with soundless footsteps across the carpet.

‘Did the girls have a wonderful evening?’ she asked in her soft, husky voice, even after all these years still influenced by her native Russian accent.

‘My dear—’ Conrad turned to face his wife, as he shrugged off his jacket ‘—you did not have to wait up.’ He spoke gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gazing at her.

Olga held out her arms to him, and with a contented sigh he pulled her into an embrace, affectionate and yet restrained, mindful of her delicate health. He kissed the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and stroking back tendrils of dark hair from her temple. ‘How are you, my love?’

‘I am well,’ she replied gently. ‘I have missed you.’

‘You should have come with us. The Westfalings were asking after you, as well as Percy, and many others.’

Tears glowed in her eyes, her turbulent emotions easily aroused, ‘Next time, I promise. Soon I will be feeling much stronger. Did Georgia behave?’

‘No.’ Conrad could not help but laugh, his annoyance tempered by admiration for his daughter’s passionate, if stubborn and wayward, nature. He sat back and pulled off his shoes and stockings, undressing swiftly and then climbing into bed with his wife, a sigh escaping from his throat as he lay back. ‘I am getting too old for all of this nonsense.’ He turned his head on the pillow and gazed at his wife. ‘What a pair we are! It’s high time these girls of ours were married off. Their husbands can run around after them and we can enjoy a little time to ourselves.’ He mused for a moment, a vision of rusticating at their country manor in Shropshire taking hold in his mind, hopeful that the country air and quiet life would help improve Olga’s strength. ‘I think Georgia may have acquired a beau this evening, though not the one she would no doubt prefer. Percy introduced his nephew, a Captain Reid Bowen. I found him most personable and highly suitable, more than capable enough of keeping Georgia in line. However, he’s off to St Petersburg in the spring, on a posting to the Embassy as military attaché.’

‘Oh, Conrad, how wonderful.’ Olga turned to lie against him, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Tell me more! Just think, one of our girls married to an officer.’

‘Steady on now, my love, they’ve only just met. Though he did ask my permission to call, and I have invited him for dinner on Christmas Eve. I hope that will not be inconvenient.’ He looked down at her with raised brows.

Olga shook her head. ‘We were short of one gentleman, so it will be perfect. But what of my Sasha? Did anyone dance with my Sasha?’

‘Only Captain Bowen, but as always she kept close to my side and seemed unable to overcome her shyness. I fear she does rather live in Georgia’s shadow.’

In her bedroom Sasha kicked off her slippers and padded barefoot to stand before the dressing table, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Slowly she raised her hands and removed the pins from her hair, avoiding her own eyes and her flushed cheeks, hesitating as Georgia called from the adjoining bedchamber. She leaned a little closer then, bravely daring to look at her own face…How strange, she thought, she looked exactly the same, but she did not feel the same…not since Captain Reid Bowen had held her in his arms and waltzed her around the ballroom…

‘Oh, Sasha, darling, do hurry, I can’t wait to get this corset off!’ cried an indignant Georgia.

‘I’m coming.’ Sasha turned away from the mirror and hurried to her sister’s assistance.

‘I don’t know why Polly can’t stay up.’

‘It’s two o’clock in the morning,’ Sasha replied, nimbly dealing with the ribbons of Georgia’s corset. ‘It would be unkind to keep Polly awake all night just to unlace us, when we can very well do it for ourselves.’

Georgia scowled and muttered and then stepped out of the pool of her discarded gown, turning to do the same for Sasha. When at last freed from the constriction of their ball gowns and corsets, they laid them out on a chaise longue beside the wardrobe, for Polly to put away in the morning. Georgia flung herself down on her bed and began to brush out her long butter-blonde hair, her sapphire eyes glowing as she exclaimed, ‘Was it not a wonderful evening?’

‘Hmm.’

‘Felix is the most wonderful dancer, and he makes me laugh. I absolutely adore him!’

Sasha sat down and laid cool fingers on her sister’s wrist. ‘Don’t, Georgia, please don’t. You know Papa will never allow a match between the two of you.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘You know very well why not. Felix was embroiled in that horrible scandal with the, er, enceinte governess.’

‘He swears that was nothing of his doing. She was lying through her teeth just to snare him!’

‘And he refused a commission into the Army, preferring to stay at home with his mama. In Father’s eyes that makes him well and truly damned.’

Georgia rose from the bed and flounced away, moving to the far side and drawing back her bedcovers. ‘Felix cannot help it if he has an aversion to killing people, and being sent abroad to God-forsaken places for years on end.’

Sasha suspected that Georgia was quoting Felix and not her own opinion. ‘Papa says he lacks discipline and is a coward.’

‘I am going to sleep,’ said Georgia firmly, climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over her shoulders. ‘Goodnight.’

With a sigh Sasha rose and murmured, ‘Goodnight, sweet dreams.’

Georgia grunted, and Sasha knew better than to pursue the matter further. Once Georgia had made her mind up about something, she could be very stubborn indeed. Sasha went to her own bedchamber and closed the connecting door, slipping beneath the heavy covers of her canopied bed and lying awake in the darkened room for some while. Her thoughts wandered back to the first waltz she had danced with Captain Bowen. Sasha squirmed, hugging a pillow in both hands as she remembered the embarrassing moment when he had pointed out she had cream on her face. She rolled over in the expanse of her bed, trying to convince herself the moment was best forgotten. In the grand scheme of things, as he had pointed out, it was of no importance. She remembered the feel of his broad, solid body as he guided her through the maze of other dancing couples, very sure and certain of himself, his voice a steady sound—even the smell of him, a clean masculine tang, lingered in her memory.

Yet whilst he had been talking to her papa, she had noticed him glance several times at Georgia, as she danced, and then as she had returned and chatted animatedly with her dear friend, Arabella. But he had also made conversation with herself, and Philippa, and even young Victoria. He had asked her father if he might call upon them, and her father, much to her surprise, had nodded his agreement and even gone so far as to invite Captain Bowen to accompany Uncle Percy to dinner on Christmas Eve. Sasha closed her eyes, falling asleep on her last, and pleasant, thought—that soon she would see the very handsome Captain Reid Bowen again.




Chapter Two


Despite retiring in the early hours of morning, Reid was awake and up at his usual time, his routine dictated by a lifetime of military discipline. He had declined his uncle’s invitation to stay with him and had taken a room in the Officer’s Mess of the Royal Fusiliers, conveniently situated for the town and stables behind the barracks near the Tower of London. At nine o’clock precisely his batman came in with his shaving gear and a bowl of hot water. Reid shrugged on a robe and dutifully sat down to be shaved, facing the light of a long sash window.

Through the open curtains of thick, dark green brocade, he could see a square of blue sky. He would take a ride in Hyde Park before luncheon; it would help to clear his mind. He was not a man who usually brooded, or had any difficulty in life that required mental wrestling, but on this bright December morning his thoughts were indeed a little disordered, and that irked him.

All was not going according to plan. The intention was that he would acquire a wife, take her with him to St Petersburg, and settle down to enjoy his career. But here was the rub—choosing a suitable woman was not as easy as he, or Uncle Percy, had thought it would be. In the past he had felt no inclination to acquire anything as permanent as a wife, and, though he was not a man who felt the constant need for a woman, he had enjoyed the occasional yet discreet liaison. Always with a woman who was very beautiful, not very intelligent and yet one who understood that she could expect nothing more than his presence in her bed. When the attraction had been satisfied, and one or the other of them had moved on, there had been no great dilemma or drama, as neither had expected any form of commitment. Ah, Reid mused as he rinsed his face clean in the hot water and stroked his fingers over his smooth jaw, perhaps it was the noose of commitment that he could feel tightening around his neck that bothered him this morning.

He went to his dressing room and selected a tweed riding jacket and fawn breeches, a cream shirt and matching cravat, pondering that perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was the memory that lingered in his mind of dancing a waltz with a certain Miss Packard. She had been so unlike any woman he had ever met before. Graceful—yes, she had been light as a feather dancing in his arms. Intelligent—undoubtedly, her knowledge of Russia, of languages and music and goodness knew what else had been most apparent, and yet she had not been a bore at all, interspersing her conversation with humorous, wry little snippets and that delightful, husky, almost shy laugh. Yet in appearance she was not the sort he would normally lust after—indeed not! He admonished himself, for Miss Packard was far too respectable to be his mistress! On the other hand, one does not choose a wife according to the standards of a mistress. She might not be blonde and buxom, but there was a certain charm about her dark-haired and creamy-skinned femininity that appealed to him. She was certainly intelligent and well read; he could envisage many a cosy evening together and the conversation would be neither boring nor stilted. She was petite, though, which in itself he found quite attractive and he entertained himself with delicious thoughts of carrying her up the stairs to bed, or sitting before the fire and letting her curl up on his lap, a prelude to making love.

However, Uncle Percy had mentioned the importance of producing an heir and he wondered if her small slim frame would be, er, adequate. He frowned, hesitating even within the privacy of his thoughts to dwell on Miss Packard’s nether regions. Well, one just wouldn’t breed a Suffolk Punch with a delicate little Arabian filly, now would one? It would not do. No, definitely not, he told himself firmly, it would not do at all.

He would be better off if he looked to the other Miss Packard, the blonde one, who appeared to be everything that he desired in a wife—confident, vivacious, and her figure was certainly admirable. Evidently a strong young woman, her speech and manners a little too loud perhaps, a little wilful…selfish, even? He hadn’t yet enjoyed a particularly entertaining conversation with her, and she was frequently looking over her shoulder at that damned Westfaling whippersnapper. His enthusiasm began to wane as he dwelled on the attributes of one sister, and then the other, but even as he made his way downstairs, enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and then to the stables, mounted his bay gelding and rode off in the direction of Hyde Park, he could not come to any satisfactory conclusion about either of them.

‘Sasha, wake up!’

From beneath a pile of bedcovers Sasha groaned, and shrugged off the hand shaking her shoulder. She burrowed deeper into the bed, in a vain attempt to escape a persistent Georgia.

‘Oh, go away, Georgia, leave me alone!’ she muttered from beneath her pillow, her heavy and aching eyes trying to sink back into the bliss of sleep.

‘Sasha, you must get up.’ Georgia marched over to the window and thrust back the curtains, flooding the room with bright sunshine. ‘I promised Felix that I would meet him in the park. Do get dressed, I’ve persuaded one of the grooms to be ready and waiting at ten o’clock.’

‘Ten o’clock!’ Sasha sat up then, turning to look at the clock ticking gently in its gilt case on the mantel above the fireplace, and then at her fully dressed sister. ‘Are you mad, Georgia, or just totally insensitive to other people? It’s the crack of dawn and I’m exhausted from last night.’

‘Rubbish! It’s almost nine and you’ve had plenty of sleep. Here, darling, put on your lovely blue riding habit and I’ll ring for Polly to bring you some tea and toast.’

Emerging from the dressing room with her arms full of Sasha’s riding habit, she laid it down on the bed and then crossed the room to pull the bell-rope.

Sasha yawned and stretched, seeing that there was no help for it but to get up. And now that she was awake, and her thoughts returned to the memory of Captain Bowen, she was far too restless to go back to sleep. She glanced out of the window at the clear blue sky, and mused that a ride in the park seemed just the thing. The snow had stopped and was beginning to thaw, and though later it would be slushy out, for now it would be crisp but not too cold or treacherous. She dressed and enjoyed a cup of fragrant Earl Grey and a slice of toast with butter and marmalade, ignoring Georgia as she nagged and badgered in the background. At last she was dressed, and stood before her mirror to place her top hat on, pulling down the spotted black netting over her face, and slipped her fingers into kid gloves.

‘At last!’ cried Georgia, springing to her feet and ushering her sister downstairs and out to the stables, glancing now and then over her shoulder.

Sasha became suspicious. ‘Papa does know we are going out? He gave his permission?’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Georgia waved her hand airily, and beamed at the young groom waiting for them, holding two big, dappled-grey hunters by their bridles. ‘Good morning, Farrell.’

‘Mornin’, miss.’ The young Irish lad tugged at the peak of his cloth cap and then led the two horses over to the mounting block.

The Brigadier had trained his daughters to ride long before they could read or write, and the two girls jumped aboard and settled themselves side-saddle, waited while Farrell mounted his hack, and then the trio set off for Hyde Park, Georgia setting the pace at a smart trot.

Though the day was crisp and bright, there were not many people abroad at this early hour, and some families had left the city to spend the Christmas holidays on their estates. The limbs of the trees etched bare and stark along the wide avenue that Georgia led them down, and Sasha called out to her sister to slow down, but she was ignored. As they came to a long open stretch Georgia urged her horse into a canter, her skirts and veil flying on the wind as the hunter obliged.

Sasha sighed with vexation, giving the command to her own mount to canter, taking a firm hold of the reins and her riding crop, leaning slightly forwards as they rode after Georgia. She glanced back over her shoulder, to make sure that Farrell still followed; though he lagged behind on his ancient hack, he kept them within sight. By the time she had caught up with Georgia, her errant sister had dismounted and was happily engaged in building a snowman with Felix Westfaling. Sasha drew rein, breathing hard, her horse snorting and pawing the ground, and she gazed at Georgia with exasperation.

‘Your skirts are getting all wet,’ she called out, ‘and where’s your hat?’

Georgia laughed, her face glowing in the cold air and beautiful against the virgin white background of the snow, ‘Come and help us, Sasha!’

Felix straightened up from patting lumps of snow into the shape of an arm, scooped up a ball of snow in the palm of his hand, and tossed it in Sasha’s direction. ‘Good morning, Sash, do join us, got to get this finished before it starts to melt.’

Her horse leapt and shied to one side as the snowball splashed on the path, but Sasha kept her seat and replied, ‘No, I will not. Georgia, please, do put your hat on and mount up.’

Her sister laughed, whirling away as she and Felix pelted each other with snowballs. With a sigh Sasha glanced at Farrell as he sidled up. He merely shrugged and grinned while she looked in both directions to see if they had been observed. There was no one about, except a lone horseman in the distance. What harm would it do? And it did look like such fun. She handed her reins to Farrell and jumped down, her boots crunching through the thick, powdery snow as she walked over to the snowman.

‘I say, Sasha, how would you like a toboggan race? A whole bunch of us are meeting over at Birch Hill this afternoon.’ Felix was wise to the fact that if he could persuade one sister, then the other would follow.

‘I would not like it at all,’ Sasha replied tartly, surveying the round ball he was rolling together to make the snowman’s head, and then she gasped as a cold wet lump of snow hit her on the shoulder. ‘Georgia!’

With cries threatening revenge, she leaned down and made her own ammunition, and the three of them were soon lobbing snowballs, ducking and rolling in the snow amidst shrieks of laughter.

‘Good morning, Miss Packard.’

A deep, masculine, familiar voice echoed from behind her. They froze, Georgia and Sasha both turning to stare wideeyed at the horseman who had halted nearby. Sasha’s already flushed face deepened in colour as she recognised Captain Bowen. She dropped the half-made snowball in her hands, straightened her jacket and looked up to reply, ‘Good morning, Captain Bowen.’

‘Marvellous day.’ He waved his riding crop about at the park in general.

‘Yes, it is.’

From the corner of her eye she spied Felix and Georgia slinking behind the bulk of the snowman, leaving her to deal with the Captain on her own. Like Georgia, she had removed her hat and veil, and her cravat flapped all askew.

‘That’s a fine-looking snowman—need any help?’

‘Um, er—’ She heard a snort of suppressed giggles as her accomplices ducked. But, undeterred, the Captain had swung down from his horse and was striding towards them. Her heart sank. She must look a sight, she feared, brushing with the back of her hand at the escaped and messy tendrils of hair curling about her face, and the smudge of snow on her nose.

‘Miss Packard,’ he greeted Georgia as belatedly, and unavoidably, she straightened. ‘And young Felix, is it not?’

‘How do you do, sir?’ Felix flushed and brushed at his coat. ‘We were just—’

‘Just about to go,’ Sasha interjected, reaching to pick up her hat and pass Georgia her own.

‘Don’t rush away on my account. Please.’

Captain Bowen turned to look at Sasha, and she was struck again by the blueness of his eyes and how very good looking he was, his sun-bleached hair gleaming gold in the winter sunshine. She could not help but glance at his mouth, the welldisciplined line of the upper lip complimented by the slightly fuller lower, curving into an attractive smile. His shoulders seemed very broad and masculine, and his legs in beige jodhpurs left her in no doubt that he was a well-made man.

Georgia was not one to let her natural effervescence be dampened and, undeterred by the new arrival on the scene, she and Felix resumed their building of the snowman.

‘We need some twigs for his hands,’ Georgia said, looking about.

‘There’s a hawthorn bush over there,’ Captain Bowen pointed out.

Being the nearest to it, Sasha set off and trudged through the drifts of snow to a nearby flower bed, reaching out to grasp a twig and snap it off. But it was resistant to her efforts and she struggled, leaning forwards and tugging with both hands, trying to avoid the adjacent prickly holly bush, and then she gave a little cry as her feet slipped and she lost her balance. She teetered, but before she fell two hands fastened on her waist and pulled her back against the solid bulk of a very male and warm body.

‘Steady on, Miss Packard.’ Captain Bowen laughed. ‘Can’t have you falling into the holly and getting scratched now, can we?’

Sasha blushed, but it was hardly noticeable as her face was already so flushed from the cold and the exertions of the snowball fights.

‘Try that one over there,’ called Georgia with subtle cunning, as she directed her sister and Captain Bowen further away. ‘We need some big pieces and that bush is too small.’

‘Oh, Georgia! We really should be going,’ objected Sasha.

‘Go on!’ her sister urged, casting a glance at Felix. ‘And find two pebbles for his eyes.’

With a sigh and an apologetic glance up at Captain Bowen, Sasha turned and walked away, round the corner of the flower bed, her eyes searching for anything suitable. As soon as they were out of sight, Felix and Georgia fell into each other’s arms, the groom holding the horses discreetly looking in the other direction.

‘Here we are, this will do. Captain Bowen—’ Sasha turned to him ‘—would you be so kind? I can’t quite reach.’

‘Of course.’

He reached up and effortlessly snapped off two long twigs, while Sasha knelt and picked out some small dark stones from the flower bed. She tried to think of some polite conversation to say to him, but nothing came to mind.

‘Your father has kindly invited me to dinner on Christmas Eve.’ Captain Bowen took the initiative and spoke first.

‘Oh.’

‘I wondered if you might have any suggestions for a gift I might bring for your parents?’

‘Um,’ Sasha mused, nerves paralysing her thoughts. ‘Well, I’m sure anything will do.’ She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. ‘We really must get back.’ She did not like to mention the fact that she feared what Georgia might be getting up to in her absence and, taking her skirts in both hands, turned about and began to march back to the snowman.

Unfortunately, she was not to know that beneath the snow someone had left a croquet iron; it was against this that her booted foot caught, tripping her up, and she fell headlong and face down into the snow.

‘Miss Packard!’ Captain Bowen hurried to her side and knelt down as she raised herself up, spluttering and gasping. ‘Are you all right?’

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sasha brushed off the cold wetness clinging to her face, ignored the offer of his helping hand and rose to her feet. ‘I am perfectly all right, thank you.’ Stiffly, she walked on, and called out in a tone much like her father when he would countenance no objection, ‘Georgia, we must be on our way.’

Her sister, having achieved her objective and realising that she had gone as close to the boundaries of propriety as she dared, made no protest, and quietly picked up her hat and set it upon her head as she walked to her horse. Sasha followed suit and, while Farrell assisted Georgia to mount, Captain Bowen offered his linked hands to Sasha and boosted her up into the saddle. Once the two Packard girls were mounted, he turned to young Felix and gave him a calculating glance before leaping up into the saddle of his own horse.

‘I take it you are on foot, Westfaling.’

‘Indeed I am.’ Felix stared back at him, with a slightly belligerent set to his mouth, elbows akimbo.

‘Well, then, I will escort the ladies home.’

‘There’s no need!’ Sasha exclaimed. ‘We have Farrell.’

‘Of course I must, Miss Packard. I would be failing in my duty as a gentleman if I did not.’

Georgia was having none of this, and with a wink for Felix, she dug her heels in and her horse leapt into a canter towards the park gates, her glance at Captain Bowen clearly challenging with a catch-me-if-you-can bravado. Sasha followed after her. It was obvious to him that both the Misses Packard were excellent horsewomen and he set his own horse into a gallop as he went after them, the groom Farrell struggling to urge his lazy hack into a trot and lagging far behind.

‘Georgia!’ Sasha called, the drumming hoofbeats of their horses smothering her voice.

Her sister thundered on, and only lessened pace as they neared the park gates and she was forced to slow her horse to a trot as they clattered onto the hard surface of the paved road.

‘Wait,’ Sasha told her sister firmly. ‘Captain Bowen will think it extremely rude if we do not let him escort us. I am sure he thinks I am a complete ninny as it is.’

‘Oh, don’t be so silly, Sasha darling,’ scoffed Georgia. ‘Besides, does it really matter what Captain Bowen thinks?’

‘Yes!’ retorted Sasha. ‘Yes, actually, it does!’

Georgia was somewhat taken aback by her gentle sister’s vehemence, and she glanced back at the fast-approaching Captain Bowen with a thoughtful light in her bold blue eyes. ‘Very well, Sasha, we will let him escort us home, and even invite him in for a nice cup of hot chocolate.’

‘Oh, but—’

Georgia looked at her with raised brows, her head tilted slightly to one side. ‘What, changed your mind? Come now, you can’t be blowing hot and then cold in the space of a few seconds.’

‘I am not blowing hot! Really, Georgia, you try my patience, you are the most exasperating—’ Sasha bit her tongue as Captain Bowen approached, and the girls drew their horses level on either side of him, making a picturesque tableau that drew admiring glances, the two elegantly attired young women on their dappled-grey hunters riding alongside the handsome gentleman astride his big, gleaming bay.

A few moments later they turned into the stable mews near Roseberry Street, and dismounted. Captain Bowen accepted Georgia’s invitation and spent a pleasant half-hour in the drawing room enjoying a cup of hot chocolate and the company of ladies, a novel situation for one who had spent years in the rough company of his soldiers in the wilds of the North-West Frontier.

Lady Packard had descended downstairs and was settled on a sofa in the drawing room, near the long window overlooking the gardens to the rear of the house, where she could gaze out and enjoy the warmth of the winter sunshine. A tartan rug covered her legs; she was pale and a little breathless, yet she smiled at Captain Bowen and he soon fell under the spell of her charm and beauty.

‘My husband tells me you are posted to St Petersburg,’ Olga purred in her sultry, heavily accented voice. ‘It is my home town, you know, I was born and raised there.’

‘Indeed, ma’am?’ Captain Bowen sat attentively on the edge of his seat, setting the cup of hot chocolate in its saucer as he answered her. ‘And you are quite correct, I am due to sail at the end of April, weather permitting.’

‘Have you been there before?’

‘No, ma’am, I have not had the pleasure.’

‘Do you speak Russian?’

‘Unfortunately I do not, but the Brigadier has offered to tutor me. I do manage to get by in French, though.’

‘Russian is a difficult language, not one that can be learned in a hurry.’ Lady Packard frowned, absently stroking her slender white fingers over the tartan of her rug, several ornate and expensive rings glinting. ‘I am a little puzzled, then, my dear Captain, as to why you should be sent, having no experience.’

‘Oh, Mama,’ protested Sasha gently, who sat on the far side of the room near the fireplace, where the light from the front window fell behind her, her figure a silhouette, ‘what an embarrassing question.’

Her mother laughed. ‘Sasha dear, I am sure Captain Bowen is made of sterner stuff.’

‘Indeed. I am flattered by your interest,’ he replied politely, glancing over at Sasha, and then to Georgia, seated to her mother’s right and as close to Captain Bowen as she could contrive, flashing her brilliant sapphire eyes at him. ‘I believe it may be my experience in Afghanistan that is the chief reason why I have been posted to St Petersburg. The Russians have long been conniving to get a foothold there.’

‘And why would they do that?’ Sasha asked, intrigued.

He turned slightly to face her, his eyes roaming over her shadowed face as he tried to discern her expression. ‘Because, Miss Packard, Afghanistan is close to India, indeed, a crossroads between Europe and Asia, and the routes from one country to the other are much valued, either for trade or war.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Sasha looked away.

‘And do tell us,’ Georgia gasped in a breathy voice as she leaned towards him, ‘what Mrs Bowen thinks of her imminent removal to such a distant land?’

‘Um…’ He cleared his throat and looked at his cup. ‘Er, there is no Mrs Bowen. I am a bachelor.’

‘Oh, pardon me!’

‘It’s not a disease, darling.’ Her mother laughed. ‘I do believe you are to join us for dinner on Christmas Eve, Captain Bowen.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you, I am looking forward to it.’

‘Are you?’ Georgia asked, leaning towards him, her eyes soft and moist, inviting, holding his gaze for a moment almost too long beyond the limits of propriety, then her lashes swept down, and she looked away. ‘I do so love Christmas, don’t you, Captain Bowen? It’s a wonderful time of year, all the presents and the tree and the food, and then even better still is New Year. I do so enjoy a good New Year’s Eve party, with all the hugging and kissing under the mistletoe.’

‘Georgia,’ her mother admonished, in a soft voice, laced with mischievous laughter very similar to the sound purring from her daughter’s throat.

‘Indeed.’ Captain Bowen quickly finished his cup of chocolate and set it on a small table, rising to his feet. With a small bow towards Lady Packard, he bade her farewell and gave his thanks.

When he had left and the door closed behind him, Sasha leapt to her feet, exclaiming, ‘Oh, Georgia, I am so ashamed of you!’

Her sister looked up with a wide-eyed gasp. ‘Goodness, Sash, what on earth have I done?’

With a swish of her skirts Sasha hurried to the door, retorting over her shoulder, ‘Oh, you know very well! You were like a cat with a mouse! You are going to toy with him, just like all the others.’

‘Rubbish! Why would I?’ snorted Georgia with a little toss of her head.

‘To make Felix jealous! And just because you are so beautiful, you can!’

‘Of course not, darling Sasha.’ Georgia smiled, casting a wary, sidelong glance to her frowning mama. ‘Anyway, what do you mean? What others?’

‘Hamish?’

‘Oh, he had red hair and was a terrible bore!’

‘I liked him!’

‘He was no good for you.’

‘Robert.’

‘He was French!’ Georgia waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

Sasha rarely lost her temper, but now she made a strangled noise in her throat, her fists clenched. ‘Sometimes, Georgia, I absolutely loathe you!’

The drawing-room door banged on her retreat and they could hear her feet pounding as she ran up the stairs. Lady Packard clucked her tongue and gave her daughter Georgia a look that was both a little amused and chastising. Georgia merely shrugged, with raised brows and a demure smile playing on her shapely lips.

In the next few days Captain Bowen was a frequent visitor to Roseberry Street, yet the girls saw little of him, as he spent long hours with the Brigadier in the library, engaged in intensive Russian lessons. Until the day before Christmas Eve, when the Brigadier summoned his daughters to assist him, a not unusual occurrence if he had more than one student. He directed Sasha to sit with Colonel Bellamy and converse with him in French, and Captain Bowen he assigned to Georgia. The two sisters, impeccably dressed in long-sleeved, crêpe de Chine tartan dresses, bustled and bowed, sat down at opposite ends of the room and not for the first time the Brigadier noticed that his eldest two daughters were not on speaking terms. He frowned, hands behind his back as he contemplated Sasha for a moment, and then Georgia, yet he had no idea what ailed them. He returned his grim attention to young Lieutenant Liptrott, whose inability to grasp the basics of either French or Russian would most likely get him killed in some far and foreign land.

Colonel Bellamy, a portly man well into his sixties, sprouting a thick white beard and a monocle from one eye, did not hold much truck with a snippet of a girl trying to educate him on the niceties of the French language. Sasha, too, was not greatly concerned with her charge, her eyes wandering across the room to where Georgia sat with Captain Bowen. They laughed a lot, and Georgia was leaning towards him, touching his arm with her fingers, tossing her blonde head in a most coquettish, annoying manner, Sasha thought. And here she was lumbered with Colonel Bellamy, who clearly would rather be somewhere else, the Officer’s Mess, presumably.

‘How are we getting on?’ The Brigadier stopped by their desk, hands behind his back as he made his enquiry.

‘Listen here, old chap—’ the Colonel began to remonstrate about his youthful tutor, but he was cut off mid-sentence by the Brigadier.

‘Sasha, I wonder if I might have a word?’

‘Of course, Papa.’ She rose from her seat, with obvious haste and relief.

‘Won’t be a moment, Colonel.’

‘But listen here—’ exclaimed the Colonel and then muttered, ‘Oh, damn and blast!’ What was the point? he fumed inwardly. He might have the advantage of age over Packard, but he was damn well outranked by him!

In a quiet corner of the library, between the heavy curtains and a potted palm, the Brigadier confronted his daughter in his usual direct manner.

‘What on earth is going on between you and Georgia?’ he asked in a soft voice, his bright blue eyes catching her firmly in their spotlight.

‘Nothing, Papa.’ Sasha turned her face away and stared out of the window, her eyebrows raised a little defiantly.

‘Oh, come now.’ Her father was not convinced by this nonchalant denial. ‘Something’s afoot, you are not speaking a word to each other.’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Sasha, tell me at once what is going on!’

‘There’s nothing going on, Papa.’

‘Is it because of that young Felix Westfaling?’

Sasha turned to look at him then, with her dark, soulful eyes so like her mother’s, and assured him truthfully, ‘No, Papa, it is nothing to do with Felix.’

‘Aha! I knew it, there is something afoot.’

‘Papa, I really must get back to Colonel Bellamy, he looks fit to burst like a Christmas cracker, and liable to pounce on poor Lieutenant Liptrott at any moment.’

Her father turned then, and with a sigh hurried off to rescue the young cavalryman from a nasty verbal volley. The Brigadier realised that nothing more could be achieved on this afternoon when thoughts were wandering to the Christmas festivities and goodness knew what else. He dismissed the class, with a stern reminder to practise their vocabulary and to return in the New Year. As the three gentleman left, the Brigadier called out, ‘Georgia, wait a moment, if you please. Close the door behind you, Sasha.’

Sasha did as her father asked and turned to find Captain Bowen hovering, and he fell into step with her as they walked to the front of the house. He spoke a few faltering words of farewell in Russian, and she turned, with a smile, answering him in the same language. In the hallway, as Lodge handed him his coat and hat, Captain Bowen bowed to Sasha.

‘Your Russian is much better than your sister’s.’

‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She smiled, her hands clasped as she waited for him to depart, but he seemed in no hurry to go. He was quite tall; she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and the late afternoon sun beaming in through the glass fanlight above the front door gilded his blond hair and shone a light in his dark blue eyes. He was certainly a most handsome man, she sighed inwardly, watching as he shrugged on his coat over broad shoulders.

‘I shall see you all tomorrow evening, then.’

‘Oh?’ Sasha frowned, puzzled.

‘Christmas Eve,’ he reminded her.

‘Of course.’ She felt her cheeks heat with a pink blush, and wondered why she always made the impression, with this man, of being a ninny.

‘Goodbye, Miss Packard.’

‘Goodbye, Captain Bowen.’

He bowed and walked to the door, and then turned back and called out in Russian, ‘Until tomorrow.’

She smiled and nodded. ‘Da.’ Her heart was aflutter, hardly daring to believe that a man like Captain Bowen would even look at her. Not when Georgia was about.

Christmas was always a special occasion in the Packard home, and that afternoon on the Eve the four sisters spent a happy few hours decorating a magnificent tree in the hallway, despite the frosty relations between Sasha and Georgia, who, beneath their father’s watchful, frowning gaze, made the pretence that all was well between them. The house smelled pleasantly of pine, roasting turkey and plum pudding, and great boughs of holly and ivy were strewn in garlands about the walls and stairs and over the mantel of the fireplace. The girls had decorated oranges with cloves and ribbons to make fragrant pomanders, and hung them all about the drawing room and hallway. Presents had been wrapped and placed under the tree and by four o’clock they had hurried to their rooms to dress for the evening’s festivities.

When Sasha came downstairs, wearing an emerald-green, off-the-shoulder evening gown and her hair swept elegantly up, she went into the drawing room and checked that all was ready for their guests. A great silver punchbowl with mulled red wine steamed gently by the dancing flames of the fireplace, and a table covered with a snowy white cloth was being stacked by one of the maids with plates of fresh-baked mince pies, and small silver dishes of dried figs, nuts and pink Turkish delight.

The Brigadier carried his wife downstairs and settled her on the chaise longue near the fire, with a rug over her lap. If it was up to him he was quite content to spend the evening with just himself and the girls. Yet he knew how Olga loved company and so he had invited a dozen friends to dinner, including Avery Westfaling, to whom he was distantly related, although he had little liking for his wife and offspring. Lady Westfaling had a doubtful pedigree and he considered her to be a loose woman, and her son certainly seemed to have inherited her less attractive traits, being fickle and vain. Why, the boy would squander his inheritance before he was thirty and no daughter of his was going to get involved with a fellow like that!

The guests began to arrive, bearing gifts, the sisters taking turns to receive these and place them under the Christmas tree in the hallway. The drawing room was warm and noisy with the gathering, the hubbub of chattering voices interspersed with laughter. Olga was surrounded by her favourite friends, who remarked on how well she looked and would she soon be out in the park taking the air? The Brigadier and Sasha hovered nearby, anxious that she not be overexerted by the evening. When Lodge came in to announce that dinner was served, Olga refused to be carried, insisting that she could manage to walk the few steps down the corridor to the dining room.

The long table was beautifully set, with a white tablecloth, silver candelabra, sparkling cut-crystal wine glasses, and a splendid centrepiece of winter fruit, berries and flowers. Olga had deliberated long and carefully over the seating, and she had placed herself and the Brigadier at either end, with Sasha sat next to Felix, Georgia next to Captain Bowen, Philippa beside the son of a Scottish friend, and Victoria, still very young, between Percy and another friend she knew well. They were eighteen sitting down, and Olga looked down the table as she sat at one end, her gaze pausing on each of her daughters, a proud glow adding to her satisfaction.

Sasha was disgruntled about the dinner partner she had been placed with, but she enjoyed herself far more than expected. Felix was in a good mood and she could not help but laugh at his jokes and silly conversation; really, he was such a featherbrain that it was no wonder he and Georgia were so drawn to each other. Like two peas in a pod, they were. She glanced down the table at Georgia as she sat next to Captain Bowen. She thought her sister seemed a little pensive, and she wondered what her father had said to Georgia in the library yesterday. Glancing down the table as she finished her salmon pâté, she noticed that Georgia was listening attentively to Captain Bowen, but was not her usual bright and bubbly self. Sasha felt a pang, and made up her mind to bury the hatchet and make amends with Georgia as soon as possible. Why, there was no man on earth worthy of coming between sisters!

After dinner they returned to the drawing room, where Sasha sat down at the piano and played Christmas carols, the guests gathering around and singing in good voice, liberally loosened by the fine wines enjoyed over dinner. They played charades, enjoyed coffee and mince pies, and then those who were willing to accompany the family to midnight mass donned their coats. They were a mere few, the Westfalings, except for the son, and most others, declining and departing for their warms beds at home. So it was only Felix, Uncle Percy, Captain Bowen and two fellow officers who accompanied the Brigadier and his two eldest daughters to church, while the officers’ wives and the two younger girls stayed behind to keep Olga company.

The Church of St Ann was not far, and they walked in muffled silence, well wrapped up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves. The church bells of St Ann’s clanged with dull resonance amidst a fine flurry of snow drifting through the darkness, blanketing the night. The double doors stood open, welcoming the faithful, a golden light spilling out on the street. The vicar’s wife was handing out hymn books as they entered, and then they followed the Brigadier to the front of the church, and Sasha found herself standing between her father and Captain Bowen, the former frowning and twisting about to see where Georgia had got to. She was in a pew several rows to the rear, near the door, standing with Felix with as angelic a look upon her face as the alabaster figurine of Mary in the Nativity scene to one side of the altar. Sasha sensed her father’s wrath rise rapidly, and she put a soothing hand on his sleeve. But with Captain Bowen standing so close, they neither of them could utter a censorious word.

The organ creaked and groaned into the first hymn, and Sasha fumbled to find the page. She was a little short-sighted and peered at the board hanging on one pillar, the numbers slightly blurred.

‘Number fifty-two,’ Captain Bowen whispered in her ear, leaning down.

She flashed a smile of thanks and then found the page and began to sing. Beside her she noticed that the Captain had a very pleasant baritone voice, and not too loud, unlike her father, who consistently embarrassed his daughters as he bellowed out hymns, tone deaf and oblivious to that fact. She noticed, too, that her father was not the only one glancing over his shoulder at Georgia, and it irked her that Captain Bowen should be so easily smitten by her sister’s shallow charms. She began to rapidly revise her intentions about making up with Georgia, but relented as the vicar’s sermon rattled on about Christmas being a time for forgiveness and new beginnings.

After the service, the congregation exchanged greetings and well wishes.

‘Happy Christmas.’ Captain Bowen leaned down and kissed Sasha on the cheek.

She thought how nice he smelled, how warm his face felt against her own as his lips quickly brushed her cheek, the hint of bronze stubble on his jaw a rough and yet not unpleasant sensation. Then she turned to her father and hugged him, wishing him happy Christmas too, and she followed him as they filed out of the church. Georgia was waiting on the steps for them, but Felix had melted away into the night. The Brigadier said nothing, merely accepted Georgia’s wishes, her voice and her eyes apprehensive, and then the party trudged through the thick snow back to the house.

Though the hour was late, they gathered in the drawing room for welcome cups of hot chocolate, the men lacing theirs with brandy. With fewer guests, and those being close friends and family, there was a more relaxed air. Victoria sat in her slippers in front of the hearth, at the foot of her mother’s sofa, and Uncle Percy loosened his bow tie as he sat back in an armchair. Feigning a snooze, he watched his nephew, and the delightful Georgia, and the equally charming, though entirely different, Sasha. At last the party came to an end, the Brigadier hinting that his wife was very tired and wishing them all a very happy Christmas Day as he waved the guests goodbye from the front door.

Reid and his uncle settled in their seats as their carriage took off, the light and warmth of Roseberry Street a loss they both felt as they plunged into the dark streets.

‘Do stay the night, Reid, no sense in continuing across London to your mess rooms. Besides, you would only need to come back again in a few hours for lunch.’

Reid laughed, and nodded his agreement. ‘Very well, Uncle, as you wish.’

After a few moments’ silence Uncle Percy said, ‘Charming people, the Packards. Did you enjoy yourself?’

‘They are, indeed, and, yes, I enjoyed a very pleasant evening.’

‘Superb meal.’

Reid nodded, and glanced sideways. ‘Is there something on your mind, Uncle?’

‘Indeed.’ He hesitated for a brief moment. ‘Charming girls, Georgia and Sasha.’

‘They are.’

‘Made up your mind yet which one of ‘em you want?’

Laughing, Reid shook his head. ‘I don’t believe I have.’

Uncle Percy made a grunting noise. ‘I noticed young Felix Westfaling sniffing around Georgia. I’d pop the question to her fairly soon, before the rascal snaps her up.’

‘He’d have to get past the Brigadier first, and somehow I don’t think Westfaling is up to the job.’

His uncle made another throaty rumble of disapproval. ‘Well, time is marching on, dear boy, time is marching on.’




Chapter Three


Sasha retired to her bedroom, weary and yet glowing pleasantly after the enjoyable evening. She undressed and put on her nightgown, sitting down on the edge of her bed to brush out her long dark hair when she heard a small sound. Her hand hesitated, as it swept downwards, and then she rose from the bed and crept to the closed door connecting her room and Georgia’s. Placing her ear close to the panels, she listened and heard the soft, muffled sounds of weeping. Quietly, Sasha opened the door and hurried to her sister, who lay prostrate across her bed, crying bitterly. She knelt and laid her hand on Georgia’s shoulder, asking gently, ‘Dearest, whatever is the matter?’

‘Oh, Sasha!’ Turning around, Georgia threw herself into Sasha’s embrace, sobbing against her shoulder, all thoughts of rivalry banished. ‘Papa has forbidden me to see Felix again. Not ever!’

‘Shh,’ Sasha soothed, stroking her sister’s hair. ‘What do you mean, he’s forbidden you? Is that why he asked to speak to you in the library?’

Georgia nodded, disengaging herself and mopping at her eyes, sniffing loudly. ‘Papa says he is very disappointed with me and this “association” with Felix must cease at once. Apparently Captain Bowen has mentioned our little meeting in the park, and then tonight Papa did not approve of me sitting with Felix in church and he gave me another telling off.’ With a gulp, Georgia began to cry again. ‘Oh, Sasha, how can I bear it? I do love him so!’

Sasha rose from the floor and sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Of course you do, he is the best of fathers and is always wise about our welfare.’

‘Not Papa!’ wailed Georgia. ‘Felix! I love Felix! I couldn’t bear to live without him!’

Inwardly Sasha sighed, nonplussed in the face of Georgia’s stubbornness. She had no doubt that their papa was right and that Georgia’s attachment to Felix would have to end, sooner or later. She was fairly certain that Felix did not have any plans for marriage and Georgia would only have her heart broken. Picking up her sister’s hand, she stroked the back of it, her voice soft and gently encouraging. ‘I know it hurts, but with time you will forget all about Felix. Just as you thought Hamish wasn’t any good for me, so Papa is convinced that Felix isn’t any good for you.’ Glancing at Georgia, she could see the doubt and confusion warring on her face, blotchy red from crying but still beautiful, and hurried to press on. ‘Why don’t you try, just for a little while? Test how strong your feelings really are for Felix, and his for you? Why don’t you do as Papa asks, just for now, and—’ though she felt a little stab of pain herself at her own words, she ventured onwards ‘—and maybe even enjoy the attentions of Captain Bowen.’

‘Oh, that man! I hate him! Conniving, sneaky wretch!’

‘He seems to like you.’ Sasha hoped the painful note in her voice was not apparent.

With a little disparaging snort Georgia shook her head and turned up her nose.

Gently Sasha persisted, as always putting her sister first, before her own feelings and desires, adding gently, ‘He’s a reputable man, and very handsome.’

‘Felix is much better looking.’

‘Captain Bowen would make a good husband.’

‘He’s too old.’

‘Only thirty-three.’

Dabbing her nose on a square of lawn handkerchief, more in command of herself now, Georgia retorted, ‘Well, if he’s so wonderful, why don’t you marry him?’

That little stab of pain somewhere in the region of her heart was now suddenly more intense, but Sasha merely lowered her eyelashes and refrained from admitting that if she could, she would, replying softly, ‘Come now, Georgia, it would do Felix no harm at all if you kept your distance for a few weeks. Let Captain Bowen pay court to you.’

‘No, never!’

‘Don’t make any judgements, dearest, just sit back and let whatever happens, happen. You never know, you might be able to look at things differently then.’

Georgia was not entirely convinced, yet with more gentle persuasion Sasha at last secured a promise from her sister that, just for a few weeks, she would not engineer any secret meetings with Felix. For all her faults and failings, Georgia always kept her word.

Once Christmas Day and Boxing Day were over—quiet family affairs spent opening presents and visiting relatives—there came a few days of rest before the hectic round of balls and dinner parties to see out the old year and welcome in the new. Captain Bowen singled Georgia out at many of these parties, dancing with her frequently, sitting with her in between and talking. They did seem to enjoy each other’s company, Sasha noticed, watching as Georgia laughed, not with the same exuberance as she would with Felix, but perhaps it was high time that Georgia acquired some maturity and capped her youthful effervescence into a less fizzy yet just as delightful charm.

Though Captain Bowen was equally polite to her, Sasha, and danced one or two dances and entered into conversation with her, he did not make her the object of his pursuit. It became obvious to her, and others, that Captain Bowen was courting her sister. She could not at once understand the feelings that jolted her, and thought that the unpleasant sense of envy would quickly evaporate, for how could she not be happy for her sister to be courted by such an eligible bachelor? Why, he was such a contrast to Felix, who was young, fickle, had dark rumours attached to his name regarding the dismissal and unexpected pregnancy of a young governess, and only seemed to bring out the worst in Georgia. No, indeed, Sasha mused, Captain Bowen would steady Georgia and be a good influence on her.

On a Sunday afternoon at the end of January, after several weeks of calling, escorting Georgia to the park, the theatre, dances and dinner parties, after luncheon had been cleared and the gentlemen had retired to the library, Captain Bowen asked permission of the Brigadier to marry his daughter. He quietly agreed.

Yet it was not until Valentine’s Day that Captain Bowen called upon Georgia, bringing her the obligatory bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates, and formally asked her to marry him.

They were in the conservatory, and the Brigadier had deliberately allowed them to be alone, having waited some two weeks now for an announcement, and a small furrow of anxiety had begun to crease his brow at the lack of one. It was a bright day, the sunshine slanting through the glass and the aroma of orchids and potted palms pleasant enough in the warm humidity of the conservatory. Yet Georgia stood by a window and looked out, her face sombre, her eyes straying across the rooftops of London, to a place far away and only seen in her most private thoughts.

‘Georgia?’ Captain Bowen took a step towards her, a diamond engagement ring clutched in his fist.

After a long moment, she turned around and gave him a sorrowful glance.

‘Well?’ he prompted. ‘Will you?’

Her silence was unusual, then she smiled and looked up at him, ‘Are you sure you have asked the right sister, Captain Bowen?’

‘What?’ He frowned.

‘Have you not considered that Sasha would make you a much better wife than I?’

‘I—I—’ The self-assured soldier was momentarily confused. It was not the response he had been expecting.

‘Sasha is clever, she’s brave and always knows just how to behave. Do you not think Sasha is quite attractive?’

Captain Bowen squared his shoulders, and thought he understood Georgia’s hesitation. The sisters were very close, and he had given some of his attention to Sasha, perhaps causing some confusion. He took a step closer to Georgia, raised her chin with his thumb and forefinger, telling her quite firmly, ‘You are a very beautiful young woman. You’re strong, intelligent and resourceful. That is why I have chosen you, and I assure you, Georgia, that it is you that I want.’

Suddenly anxious that he was about to make protestations of love and kiss her, Georgia pulled away. She returned to her former stance by the window, looking out, her eyes lifted to the blue of the heavens. What use offering up another prayer, when none of the others had been answered? Felix had been furious when she had ignored him, flirting with several other eligible young ladies, and she had heard on the grapevine that he had taken himself off to his family estate in Scotland to do some shooting. She had wanted to contact him, by letter or telegram, but Sasha had insisted that it was out of the question, not becoming of a lady or some such nonsense. She had thought Felix would soon come back to her, would perhaps even challenge Captain Bowen’s suit, but it seemed he had not loved her as much as she thought. His mama had quite loudly announced at a luncheon of his intention to stay in Scotland for some long while, something to do with the novel idea of establishing a whisky distillery on the family estate and how good it would be for him away from any ‘distractions’. The only option now was to forget all about Felix, and change her life for ever, so that nothing would be the same and there would be no memory of happiness to break her heart. She turned then, impulsively taking a deep breath, and held out her hand. ‘Very well, Captain Bowen. I will marry you.’

He breathed a sigh of relief, and promptly slid the very expensive diamond-and-gold ring on her finger. He leaned down to kiss her, aiming for her mouth, but at the last moment she moved aside and his lips landed on her cheek. She pulled away and though he would not have credited Georgia Packard as being coy, he felt it only natural for a young lady to be slightly overwhelmed by a proposal and acceptance of marriage.

He filled the awkward moment by saying, ‘Shall we tell your family?’

Georgia nodded, and they walked together to the drawing room, her arm linked through the crook of his. The family were all expectantly gathered and the moment they walked through the door Lady Packard glanced at the glinting diamond on her daughter’s finger and gave a little cry, holding open her arms to embrace the supposedly happy couple. The Brigadier shook hands with his future son-in-law, and Georgia’s sisters all came to give her a kiss and hug of congratulations. Sasha held her a moment longer than necessary, and drew back slightly to look at her sister keenly. In reply to the unspoken question in Sasha’s dark eyes, Georgia merely smiled.

‘We shall go at once and call upon the vicar,’ said the Brigadier, striding to the door, and then paused for a moment as he eyed Captain Bowen. ‘I trust you have no objection that Georgia is married from her own home and at the Church of St Ann?’

‘No, sir, of course not. I have no family of my own, apart from Uncle Percy. My parents and my elder brother all died in a sailing accident off the Isle of Wight when I was a young boy.’

The Brigadier stared at his feet and murmured his condolences, then he looked up and said in a brighter tone, ‘I gather your plans to sail for St Petersburg at the end of April still hold fast?’

‘Indeed. It has been impressed upon me by the Foreign Office that I should not fail to make that sailing. They are expecting me at the Embassy as soon as may be.’

‘Very good. That means we have just under two months to plan this wedding.’ The Brigadier almost rubbed his hands with glee, relishing the challenge of achieving a tricky objective and clearly about to apply all his military expertise to the task.

Sasha and Georgia exchanged a nervous glance, yet already the wheels of a fast-moving train were greased and rolling into action. They were all aboard and as the days flew swiftly by and the train picked up speed, it seemed impossible for anyone to even think about jumping off.

That night it was Sasha who lay upon her bed and cried, but her tears were silent ones that dripped from the corners of her eyes and soaked unseen into her pillow. She chided herself, reminding herself that it had never been a reality that Captain Bowen would desire her, merely her own little fantasy. Now was no time to be moping and feeling sorry for herself; she knew how much Georgia, strangely pale and listless for a bride-to-be, would need her love and support in the next few weeks.

Georgia would be married at eleven o’clock on the twentyninth of April. After the wedding ceremony there would be a luncheon in the Officer’s Mess of the Light Dragoons for a hundred guests, and then the happy couple would depart for their ship and set sail for Russia on the evening tide.

The invitations were ordered and sent without delay, and Lady Packard set about enjoying herself as she had not done for many years, poring over dressmaker patterns for Georgia’s wedding gown, choosing the material, the ribbons and pearls, the shoes, the veil, and stockings and garter, even the nightgown Georgia would wear to bed. She chose the flowers for the church, posies of pink tulips, cream carnations, baby’s breath and ivy to decorate the pew ends, and several large and lavish floral displays to stand on either side of the altar. The colour theme was cream, pink and lilac, which Sasha pointed out would clash horribly with Captain Bowen’s bright red military mess dress. Her mother merely shrugged, murmuring that there would be many guests in different military uniforms and they could not be expected to colour coordinate for all of them, surely?

The sisters would all be Georgia’s bridesmaids, and their gowns, in palest pink, were also made by the French seamstress creating the bride’s. The wedding cake was ordered, five tiers of ornately decorated rich fruit cake, the champagne and the food agreed with the Officer’s Mess, bon-bonnières of fine net and sugared almonds ordered as gifts for the ladies on the tables, and hymns were agreed with the organist at the church.

The days melted one into the other, and it alarmed Georgia how quickly time seemed to fly. The dark cold days of winter had ended and there was now a warmth and brightness to each day, the evenings more pleasant as dusk lingered, and the gardens were brightened by shy snowdrops and nodding yellow daffodils. Captain Bowen called less frequently, much to Georgia’s relief, and when he did suggest a ride in the park, or lunch at a nearby hotel, she always made sure that Sasha came along, too. He seemed much preoccupied with his forthcoming posting to Russia, and now that he had settled the matter of a wife, he saw no need to make a nuisance of himself. Sasha was somewhat chagrined to watch as the now-engaged couple seemed to have little to say to one another. She did not like to mention to Georgia that surely there should be some emotion if she was to spend the rest of her life with this man, share his bed and give birth to his children. Yet she could not say such a thing to Georgia, all too aware how fragile she was, and how much she pined for Felix. On most nights she could hear the telltale sniffs and nose-blowing that indicated Georgia was weeping in the privacy of her own bedroom. She ached for her sister, and there were many moments when she felt guilty for persuading her to allow Captain Bowen to court her.

It was very true that he was a good man, they had no evidence to suggest otherwise, and he was indeed very pleasing to look at, with his blond hair, blue eyes, firm chin and jaw, intelligent brow and his firm yet sensual mouth. Sasha sighed, forcing herself not to think about Captain Reid Bowen, soon to be her sister’s husband. Once they were married, all would be well; Georgia would be happy and would forget all about that Felix Westfaling. Though Sasha feared that it would take her much longer to forget about Captain Bowen; already he was part of her thoughts and had found a place in her heart. She tried to remind herself that it was wrong and sinful to have such feelings for a man who would soon be her sister’s husband, yet this did nothing to soothe the ache in her heart, aching for a love that she had hoped would blossom between her and this Captain.

On the eve of the wedding, a quiet sense of expectation descended upon the household. There was a hush, as at last all the hasty preparations had been accomplished and all that remained was for the great day to dawn. Gowns hung on cupboard doors, uniforms pressed and medals polished. The sweet scent of flowers filled the air, and the house was full of guests from all over the country.

No one seemed to notice that both the bride and her chief bridesmaid were afflicted by a sense of melancholy and had retired early to their bedchambers. Georgia could not bear all the hearty congratulations and the knowing looks as everyone wished her good luck for the next day, and she went to her room to nurse her sense of impending doom in private. Sasha, too, found the company hard to take; it was much easier to bear her aching heart in solitude. As she sat on the window seat in her bedroom, gazing up at the stars and the pearly glow of a half-moon, she reflected on how she would get through tomorrow and not reveal by so much as a word or a glance how much she envied Georgia: Georgia, the beautiful golden girl, her personality like champagne, bubbly and intoxicating and hard to resist; Georgia, who did not even seem to appreciate how lucky she was and that from tomorrow onwards, for the rest of her life, she would never be alone again. Georgia would awaken every day to the warmth and comfort of Reid lying beside her, in whose arms she would experience the joy of passion. Georgia would have his help in all matters of daily life, and she would have his friendship and companionship simply by mere virtue of being his wife.

Sasha swallowed back another wave of tears, just as a knock sounded upon her door, followed quickly by the entrance of Victoria and Philippa, bearing a dish of purloined marzipan fruits and chocolate peppermints. They giggled and Victoria went to fetch Georgia, who reluctantly allowed herself to be towed in.

With a smile Sasha descended from the window seat and went to join her sisters on the bed. All four girls gathered close together in a circle around the dish of sweets, their nightgowns billowing in a froth of white muslin, long unbound hair swirling in shades of gold and sable, richly glossy against the pale skin of their slender arms. The two younger girls were full of excitement for the drama of the big day—The Wedding—talked about and planned and anticipated constantly in these weeks past. And there was burning curiosity in their round eyes as they looked at Georgia.

Victoria blushed, leaning closer as she whispered in confidence, ‘What do you think it will be like?’

Georgia frowned as she licked chocolate from her fingertips. ‘What?’

‘You know.’ Victoria giggled. ‘It!’

Philippa snorted and buried her face in the bedcovers as she stifled her laughter, and then she lifted her head and asked, ‘Has Mama said anything?’

Seeing the look of puzzlement on Georgia’s face, Sasha admonished the two younger girls. ‘Leave her be.’

‘Oh, Georgia, you are so lucky!’ sighed Victoria, rolling onto her back and gazing up at the canopy of the bed. ‘I couldn’t imagine anyone nicer than Captain Bowen to be surrendering my bloomers too!’

‘I don’t think it’s just her bloomers he’s interested in.’ The earthy Philippa grinned.

The two girls shrieked, drumming their heels as they laughed in a most unladylike way, and Sasha gave them each a playful slap as Georgia suddenly went scarlet, the full understanding of what it meant to be married dawning on her. A most peculiar noise erupted from her throat, and Georgia burst into tears, flounced from the bed and ran to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Her sisters exclaimed, mortified at what they had done and making to rush after her, but Sasha firmly stopped them, pulling them both back.

‘Let her alone,’ she insisted, picking up the empty dish and placing it on a table. ‘Now, you two, off to bed. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner the day will be here.’

With little squeals of excitement Victoria and Philippa hurried away to their room, and with a sigh of relief Sasha closed her door. Then she tip-toed to Georgia’s door and knocked gently on it.

‘Georgie, are you all right?’

‘Go away!’

‘Shall I come in?’

‘No, just go away and leave me alone.’

Sasha stood and listened for a few moments to the sounds of muffled weeping, then with a regretful little grimace she went to her own bed and climbed beneath the covers. She lay awake for a while, anxiously wondering if she should try again to go in to Georgia, or maybe it was best to leave her to some peace and privacy…

When Sasha awoke next it was still dark, but a sound had disturbed her from the depths of her dreams. She opened her eyes and gazed about, her glance straying to the curtained window. There was no glimmer of daylight and there was still the heavy hush of night about the house. Yet her ears had been alerted to strange noises, and she listened, her breath tensely held—a bump, and a thump, and the low murmur of voices.

Sasha sat up, swinging her bare feet out of bed, pausing, listening keenly. With a small intake of breath, as alarm bells rang, she jumped out of bed and ran to Georgia’s bedroom door, along the way seizing her heavy silver-backed hairbrush as a weapon. She flung the door open and was ready to strike the unknown assailant, her arm upraised, when a startled Georgia and Felix Westfaling turned to stare at her.

‘Oh, damn!’ exclaimed Felix, setting down two Moroccan leather portmanteaus on the floor and raising placating hands towards Sasha. ‘Now listen here, old girl…’

Sasha noticed at once that Georgia was fully dressed; indeed, she was shrugging on her dark wool coat with the foxfur trim over her going-away outfit of sapphire silk.

‘What on earth!’ Sasha exclaimed, her eyes flitting between the frozen couple, who stared back at her with guilty, nervous eyes.

Then Georgia came rushing towards her. ‘Oh, Sash, please, do be quiet! I beg you, do not give us away.’

Sasha lowered her arm and stared at them. ‘What’s going on? Felix, how did you get in here? We thought you were in Scotland.’

Felix shrugged, with a defensive frown. ‘I’ve been lurking in the back alley all day and bribed Farrell to let me in through the servants’ door in the mews. He took pity on us—the servants don’t miss a thing, believe you me. I came back when my mama wrote to tell me about Georgia getting married to that Bowen chap.’ He glanced at his beloved with a sheepish smile. ‘Only wish I’d come to my senses and got back sooner.’

Her sister grasped both of her hands and gushed an explanation. ‘Felix and I are running away. We are going to Gretna Green to be married and then to Paris for a wonderful honeymoon! Papa gave me all my travelling papers last night, so I can go anywhere in the world that I want to!’

‘Oh, no, you’re not!’ exclaimed Sasha. ‘Have you gone completely mad, Georgia? You are getting married in the morning to Captain Bowen, it’s all arranged, everyone will be there, everyone expects—’

‘No!’ said Georgia vehemently, almost stamping her foot, her mouth set in a mulish line. ‘I don’t love Captain Bowen and I don’t want to marry him! I won’t! In a few days’ time I will be twenty-one and can do as I please.’

‘But—’

Felix came towards them, his arm curling around Georgia’s waist. ‘Now listen here, Sash, old girl, you know I’m besotted with Georgia. Can’t bear to see her getting hitched to another chap, just not the right thing, not the right thing at all.’

‘But—’

‘Oh, Sasha, darling, please, please, I beg you, don’t say anything, just let us get away.’

‘But—’

‘Better get a move on, Georgie, before someone notices the hansom cab lurking in the mews and starts getting nosy,’ Felix urged.

As the couple hastened to pick up their bags, Sasha suddenly ran to the door and blocked their path. ‘Georgia, no, I can’t let you do this! Have you thought this through? You know how impulsive you can be! Why, tomorrow the church will be full of people and Captain Bowen will be left standing there like a complete fool!’

Georgia sighed, and then tugged the diamond engagement ring off her finger and pressed it into Sasha’s palm, firmly closing her fingers over it. ‘Tell him I’m sorry, but—but, well, just say I’m sorry.’

‘I’ll do no such thing! Tell him yourself!’

‘Come now, Sash, old girl, out of the way, we really must get going,’ Felix said, in a soft voice that held a thread of steel in its depths.

Sasha looked at him in surprise, hardly believing that funloving Felix was capable of a serious thought for more than a blink of an eye. The cold hard contours of gold and diamond seemed to burn into her hand, and she asked, looking him directly in the eye, ‘Tell me, Felix, do you love Georgia?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, quietly, returning her gaze unwaveringly. ‘I do, very much, and I promise that I will look after her.’

Sasha wavered then, as he turned to smile at Georgia, and she saw in that one glance how much they adored each other. How could she stand in the way of her sister’s happiness, when it was so obvious that this was what she truly wanted?

‘Are you sure, Georgia?’ she asked again, desperate to ascertain that this was no mere whim on her sister’s part and that she understood all the consequences, ‘Captain Bowen will be so hurt; he’s such a lovely man, so strong and kind and handsome.’

‘Oh?’ Felix bristled, with a disgruntled thrust of his lower lip.

Georgia clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘Oh, please do stop, Sash, it will do no good, I’ve made up my mind. Goodness, if you feel that way, why don’t you marry him?’

With a sharp intake of breath, Georgia and Felix looked at each other, suddenly taken by the merits of an excellent plan.

‘Splendid idea!’ exclaimed Felix, dropping his voice as Georgia quickly hushed him, glancing nervously about. ‘Always thought the two of you made a fine-looking pair.’

‘Oh, do,’ Georgia gasped. ‘What a perfectly perfect solution. No one would be any wiser and once you are safely on board ship to Russia it will be far too late to do anything about it. And no one would think to be looking for us—’ Georgia glanced slyly at her sister ‘—and you have to admit, Sash, you are smitten with the man. And he’s probably smitten with you, but just doesn’t know it yet.’

Sasha shook her head, wondering if she should laugh or cry, and quite speechless for words. Then, as her senses returned, she glared at Georgia and retorted, ‘Why, you really are the most selfish, conniving, manipulative little minx—’

‘Steady on, Sash!’ Felix objected, a frown marring his brow at this maligning of his much beloved.

With her own brows sceptically arched, Sasha asked, ‘And how exactly am I to accomplish this feat? Marrying my sister’s bridegroom, that is? Do you think that Captain Bowen will be so overcome by the joys of his wedding day that he will not notice that his bride is slightly shorter than he remembered? And has dark hair instead of blonde? Brown eyes instead of blue?’

‘Oh, with that ridiculous Spanish lace veil he won’t be able to see a thing,’ scoffed Georgia. ‘And our feet are the same size, so you can borrow my shoes with the two-inch heels. I am sure he won’t notice.’

‘Until it’s too late,’ interjected Felix.

‘Far too late,’ Georgia agreed.

‘And what about at the end of the marriage ceremony, when the vicar says you may kiss the bride?’ There was now a heavy note of sarcasm in Sasha’s voice, and she felt as though she had stumbled into one of her own dreams, for surely none of this could be real? ‘What do I do then?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, pretend you have a cold or something!’

‘And at the reception?’

‘Overcome by nerves,’ suggested Felix. ‘Come along, Georgie, the train for Edinburgh leaves in an hour. We really must go.’

Georgia suddenly embraced her sister, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, darling, and thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For helping us.’

‘I didn’t say that I would.’

Georgia smiled, hugging Sasha one last time and smugly replied, ‘Oh, but you will, darling Sasha, I know you will.’

And with that, Felix and Georgia departed. The door closed. She listened pensively to their muffled footfalls, until there was only silence, followed by the sudden clip-clop of a carriage passing in the street. Sasha ran lightfooted to the window, thrust back the heavy brocade curtain and peered out, catching a mere glimpse of the hackney carriage bearing Felix and Georgia. It was cold by the window, and she drew back, pulling the curtain into place. With a shiver she hurried to her own room and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers high up around her ears and curling into a ball, her knees drawn up to her waist.

For a while she could not think of anything at all, and stared blankly into the dark, the first glimmer of dawn just beginning to touch the window. Then she felt the small round object in the palm of her hand and opened it, staring at the diamond engagement ring Georgia had relinquished.

A sudden stab of panic and alarm sent goosebumps rippling over her skin, as Sasha contemplated the débâcle that would be tomorrow—no, this morning, the great day, The Wedding Day. Damn Georgia! How could she? How could she do this to them? To Captain Bowen? She drew in a painful breath as she wondered just how to tell him. Or should she go to her father and let him do the nasty deed? Yes, yes, she decided with a sigh of relief, Papa would handle it all quite admirably. With the matter settled, Sasha wriggled and snuggled down to sleep, but it was not long before her lashes flew open and she was again brooding on the impending doom about to fall upon her family.

It was no use, she couldn’t possibly go back to sleep with all these thoughts raging inside her mind. With a sigh Sasha sat up, holding her head in her hands as she sat cross-legged in the bed, her thoughts roaming this way and that. She imagined that Georgia was most probably boarding her train for Scotland now, totally oblivious to anything except her own happiness.

Poor Captain Bowen. Would he be very heartbroken?

Would Mama have a fit of the vapours in church, as they stood waiting expectantly for the bride to appear and walk up the aisle?

Would Papa have a stroke at the shame of it all? With a gasp she wondered if he would go charging after Felix, no doubt armed with his pair of revolvers. Good God, Papa might even shoot him! Captain Bowen was a soldier, too—why, he might even join Papa and shoot Felix, too! Sasha pressed a hand to her mouth as she envisaged murder and mayhem in the days to follow.

Unless…she did as Georgia had suggested. She could quite literally step into Georgia’s shoes, and the wedding would go ahead, no one any the wiser. All would be as it should be, the bride would arrive on her father’s arm, and she would marry the groom. There would be peace and happiness. What had Georgia said? ‘…a perfectly perfect solution.’ Sasha’s lip trembled as she contemplated such an audacious plan. Could it be done? Would she, could she, possibly have the nerve to carry it off? Sasha chewed her lip, and surmised that it would only be for a day or two, until Georgia and Felix were married, just to keep the peace and avoid a tragic family scandal. For a moment or two she wondered how Reid would react and how it would affect his posting to St Petersburg. Did he desperately need to have a wife at his side? Surely it would not matter one way or another; besides, once he got to the Embassy and the Russian court there were bound to be plenty of beautiful young ladies only too willing to become his bride.

Certainly Georgia’s madcap suggestion that she marry Reid in her place was going to be difficult to achieve, but in the circumstances she could see no other solution, none that would not bring dishonour and disgrace on both Reid, Georgia and the Packard family.

Climbing out of bed again, Sasha tip-toed into Georgia’s bedroom. She lit a candle and then opened the door of the dressing room to stand and gaze at the spectacular frothy white creation of Georgia’s wedding gown. She felt the blood drain from her face as she wondered if she would indeed be able to fit into it. Georgia most definitely had a bigger bosom, but no doubt she could pad the bodice out with a few stockings if it gaped. And the hem would be too long, yet there was no time to alter it. But she could wear the shoes with the twoinch heels; with that in mind, she searched through the shoe rack until she found them. They were beige silk and did not exactly go with the dress, but with the length of it she hoped that no one would notice anyway.

The plan began to form, and one link led to another as she hurried about in an attempt to cover every possibility. She made sure Georgia’s door was locked, as well as her own, and when Polly came knocking she would pretend that Georgia had had an attack of the nerves and would see no one except her own sister, Sasha. And then she would have to dash out and convince Mama that she would not be able to attend the wedding; after all, it would be impossible to play both bride and bridesmaid at the same time. But what possible excuse would Mama tolerate on this, the grandest day of her year, her life even? A cold or headache would not be enough, she was sure; it would have to be something nasty, something contagious.

She had an idea and hurried to Georgia’s dressing table, reaching for a small bottle of lavender oil that had long been abandoned, as neither of them cared much for the scent and it had given Sasha a most unpleasant rash. Biting her lips, Sasha opened the vial and sprinkled a few drops on her forearms, rubbed it into her skin, and then her neck. Sure enough, within a few moments it began to burn and itch. Her nose tingled and she sneezed, and in a panic she rushed to the washstand, scrubbing with soap and water at her arms and neck. Not even for Georgia could she put herself through this! But it was too late; even though she had removed all traces of the lavender oil, her skin was indeed irritated and would take a few days to recover.

The household was beginning to stir, the maids knocking on doors and delivering trays of tea, drawing back the curtains, the footmen bringing up shoes that had been polished the night before, and jugs of hot water for the guests’ morning ablutions.

Sasha realised that she would not be able to dress herself unaided, there were far too many tiny hooks and eyes on the back of the wedding gown, and she would need Polly to help her put the veil on. She decided to take Polly into her confidence, and when the little maid arrived, she let her into Georgia’s room, locked the door behind her, and gave her a very brief summary of the night’s events, swearing a shocked, yet loyal, Polly to absolute secrecy.

‘Will I be in trouble, miss?’ asked a nervous Polly. ‘Jobs is hard to come by nowdays.’

‘Oh, no, Polly, don’t worry.’ Sasha hugged the young maid. ‘I will leave a note explaining everything, and that you had no idea whatsoever what was going on. Besides, you know the Brigadier and her ladyship well enough, they would never vent their wrath upon you.’

The hardest part was to convince Victoria and Philippa that they could not come in. They wailed, and moaned, and made threats and promises in equal quantities if only they could please, please come in, just for a moment. Sasha was reduced to lying, making false promises that as soon as Georgia was ready they could come in to see her, but first they must go and enjoy a hearty breakfast to keep them going through the long day, and then get ready themselves.

Her mother proved to be an easier case, as she did not appear at all, having herself succumbed to a fit of nerves and was resting in her room at her father’s insistence, Polly reported. Her father knocked once upon Georgia’s door, and Polly called out in reassuring tones that ‘they’ were busy bathing and getting dressed.

‘Very well,’ replied the Brigadier through the door panel, in relieved tones. ‘But, Georgia, make sure you are downstairs in the hall at ten forty-five sharp, the carriage will be here then to take us to the church.’

He moved on down the corridor to check on his other daughter, and when Sasha called out in a feeble whimper for him to enter, the Brigadier poked his head around the door with an alarmed exclamation.

‘Come along, Sasha, what on earth are you doing still in bed?’

‘Papa, I feel very unwell. I think I may have a fever, and look, a horrible rash.’ She pushed back the long sleeves of her nightgown and showed him her arms and neck.

‘Good Lord!’ He edged nervously away, half-closing the door. ‘Really, Sasha, how very inconvenient! As if we don’t have enough to worry about today, of all days.’ He sighed heavily, preoccupied with his father-of-the-bride duties. ‘We will send for Dr Symons later, but there’s just no time now. Stay in bed, and for goodness’ sake do stay away from your mother, you know how delicate she is.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ Sasha replied in a meek voice, as he began to close the door. ‘I’m so sorry, Papa.’

The Brigadier grunted and went off, deciding to keep to himself Sasha’s condition, a frown creasing his brow as he went to his dressing room to sit with a brandy and the newspaper before his valet helped him don his best dress military jacket, striped breeches, leather belt and sword, and attached his medals. All he was most concerned with was getting Georgia to the church and married to that Bowen fellow—why did he have this nagging feeling that the girl was going to be contrary?

As soon as the door had closed, Sasha threw back the bed covers and Polly came hurrying in from Georgia’s bedchamber. The maid began to help her into the bridal gown and when she was fully dressed, the veil secure, Sasha paused and looked at herself in the mirror. But she cringed, horrified at what she was about to do. She thanked the maid and then sent her to check the luggage was ready for removal to the ship, seeking a quiet moment in which to gather her thoughts, and to sit down at her writing desk and pen a note. For long moments, anxiously aware of the ticking clock, she stared at the blank sheet of cream paper, and then with a tremulous sigh set the pen’s nib to write, ‘Dearest Mama and Papa, please do not worry or be too angry, but…’ When she had finished, she folded the page and slipped it into an envelope, rising from the desk and looking about the room for a place to leave the note, where it would be found, but not too soon. Eventually she propped it on the mantelpiece, behind the gently ticking ornate gilt clock. It was twenty minutes before eleven o’clock and with a last glance about her bedroom she settled the veil over her face, leaving the room quickly before she changed her mind.

The carriage conveyed them to the Church of St Ann at precisely five minutes before the bells of eleven o’clock began to peal. When they rumbled to a halt, Sasha stepped down from the carriage, assisted by her father and her two young sisters acting as bridesmaids. The heavy Spanish lace veil was indeed so thick that no one could see her face, but she could hardly see anything either. Her father was extremely smart in his dark green-and-gold Light Dragoons uniform, yet he was indistinct. She could not see more than a green shadow and she reached out blindly to take his arm as they mounted the steps of the church. She could hear the genteel tones of the organ music; when they came to a halt in the vast arched door way, her heart suddenly lurched and pounded very hard in rapid beats.

This was it. She stood on the threshold of a moment—her life, and the life of everyone else involved in this marriage, was about to change in ways unimaginable.

The organ paused for a moment, and then launched into Handel’s ‘Hornpipe in D Water Music’. Her father took a step forwards, and she followed, placing her feet slowly and carefully on the dark blue carpet, the congregation on either side a mere blur. That walk seemed the longest of her life and she wondered if it would ever end, but then at last her father halted, and she became aware of another taller, broader shape in a scarlet jacket, moving to stand at her side.

Remembering the rehearsal a few days ago, Sasha turned to Philippa and handed her the bridal bouquet, a heavy and ornate arrangement of lilies, roses, ivy and forget-me-nots that made her arms ache and her nose tingle. She could feel a sneeze tickling in her nose and throat, the scent of all the flowers arranged in the church upsetting her already lavenderannoyed senses. As Captain Bowen reached out to take her left hand in his, she could not stem the succession of sneezes that erupted from her.

The congregation were amused and sympathetic, murmuring gently with soft chuckles, yet Sasha was mortified. She felt the prickling heat of a red-hot blush sear her cheeks and she glanced up nervously to Captain Bowen. But she could not see his face, whether he was amused or annoyed at this lack of decorum, but fortunately the vicar had a pressing timetable and he launched at once into the ceremony.

Sasha whispered the vows, flinching inwardly and praying that she would not be struck down by lightning as she professed to be Georgia Louisa Roberta, who promised that she would love, cherish, honour and obey Reid Peter Michael for all the days of her life until death parted them. At one point, as she sniffed and was tempted to wipe her nose with the back of her sleeve, her mama leaned forwards and pressed a lawn handkerchief into her hand. The vicar had to pause for a moment as the bride blew her nose, but then at last, to his relief and the Brigadier’s, he pronounced them man and wife. The final hymn was sung, the bride avoided being kissed by blowing her nose and reaching for her bouquet, and then they departed to the registry to sign the marriage document. Sasha scrawled Georgia’s name, albeit illegibly, and now considered it the right moment to swoon and make her escape.

The Brigadier muttered darkly that his eldest girl was at home unwell and feared that it might be catching. Captain Bowen lifted his bride up from where she had collapsed on the stone floor, in a froth of shimmering white organza, silk and tulle, holding her in his arms and somewhat surprised at how small and light she felt as he carried her prostrate form from a side door of the church and out to a waiting carriage. He climbed in beside her and ordered the driver to take them at once to the docks at Tilbury. He feared that his wife’s family would insist that she was not well enough to travel, and he could not possibly afford to miss the sailing of the naval warship HMS Dorset





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