“It seems to be the theme with this caravan, excess baggage and ‘necessities.’ Forty carriages, twenty servants just for the prince, plus courtiers, secretaries, and various hangers-on. Not to mention all the friends he invited along. And every one of them with luggage and servants.” Evan noted another wagon rumbling up, this one with more chairs and tables for the guests. His staff, the veterans and their wives, were working nearly around the clock to satisfy their guests’ needs and wants. Evan would have to find a suitable way to reward them once the royal carnival moved on to Brighton.
Marcus strolled over, thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “Do you think we’ll ever actually get to the target shooting?”
“You mean before I’m in my dotage?” Evan asked.
Percival’s loud laugh caught their attention. Evan’s brother-in-law stood in a circle of young bucks, writing names in a small notebook while Fitzroy took money.
“Those boys would gamble on their grandmothers’ coffins.” Shand kicked a tuft of grass. “I thought soldiers were bad, but aristocrats will bet on anything. Viscount Fitzroy cornered me this morning to find out just how good a shot you were, sir. I gather he fancies himself quite a hand with a long gun and wanted to know what his chances were.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were a veteran of more than a dozen battles and that you were still alive, so that should tell him something.” Shand grinned.
Evan took note of the grooms leading several horses down the slope from the stables. At dinner the night before, he’d shared with the prince about his efforts to rehabilitate both veterans and military horses here at White Haven. Though he hadn’t thought the prince all that interested at the time, this morning His Highness had asked to see some of the horses after the shooting competition. Evan’s head groom had chosen the most promising from amongst them, as well as Commodore, at Evan’s request. He thought the prince might like to see the animal who had saved Evan’s and Percival’s lives and as a result brought them all to this place and time.
He’d instructed the grooms to saddle several of the most suitable, in case the Prince took it into his head that he’d like to ride a war horse. Evan hoped not, but he wanted to be prepared. After all, one did not say no to the Prince Regent.
Though the horses would be kept well to the side, Evan thought the exposure to light arms gunfire from a distance would be a good reintroduction for the horses to help them get over their fears and nervousness.
Here by the lake, on the level ground, Shand and the gardeners had set up wooden markers paced off at varying distances. A dozen contestants had thrown their names into the mix to compete, and the prince had offered a prize, a silver coffee service engraved with the winner’s name. One of his attendants would be dispatched back to London to commission the work when the contest concluded.
The excess and expectations shouldn’t have surprised Evan, but they did. An impromptu friendly competition now needed a prize worth many pounds? Had he really existed on poor rations and scavenged oranges while deployed, while the aristocracy squandered their money on such frivolous things?
He said as much to Marcus, who as a veteran of combat himself, would understand. “I can’t help but think of our fellow soldiers still in Spain while I’m here playing games.”
“I received word this morning,” Marcus said, his voice low. “Wellington has set out from his winter base in Portugal, and he intends to march north with part of his army, while sending another part south in a pincers movement, in an effort to cut Marshal Jourdan off from a retreat to France. With Napoleon still licking his wounds after he had to flee from Russia, Wellington feels now is the time to strike and settle the war for the Peninsula at least. Once that’s done, he’ll form his plan to march on Paris.”
Evan nodded. Where Marcus got his information was a mystery, but Evan didn’t doubt its truth. It was the spring of the year and time for armies to be on the move. All winter Wellington would have been strategizing and provisioning and building up, as had the French. A renewal of the fighting was inevitable.
And Evan would be there now if not for the Prince Regent.
“Do you miss it?” he asked Marcus.
“The call of the bugle? I admit I don’t miss the mud, the stink of unwashed soldiers, or the constant danger, but part of me misses the men, the camaraderie, the conviction that we were doing something important that would be remembered for generations. Though there are many ways of serving your country beyond carrying a rifle. Wasn’t it Milton who said, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait’?”
“Yes, though I don’t think he was speaking of serving the British army, but rather God.” Evan smiled at Marcus’s expression. “I don’t look like much of a student of the classics, do I? But a classical education isn’t the sole purview of the upper classes. My father was a dedicated schoolmaster.”
“Ah, of course. You were blessed to have your minister-father as your teacher. I had rather more stern educators.” He rubbed the seat of his pants with a knowing grin. “But I did learn my Milton.”
“Sirs, I think I should get this soiree started, or we’ll still be standing around until dinnertime.” Shand sketched a bow and headed to the area he’d marked off for the shooters.
“Gentlemen, if you please.” He held up his hands, beckoning the contestants.
“Are you sure you won’t join in?” Evan asked as he shrugged out of his tight jacket and put it in Marcus’s offered hand.
“Blades are my weapon of choice, so I’ll leave it to you lot. I’ve been commandeered by your steward to serve as a judge. I vowed to be impartial, so make sure you win on your own merits.” He grinned.
“You haven’t placed a bet with Percival, have you?”
“No, I’m not a betting man, and as a judge, it wouldn’t be right for me to wager on the outcome. I just want to see you put him and Fitzroy into their places. They’re both acting strange. Pompous and secretive and whispering away like a pair of debutantes at their first ball.” He kept his eyes on them as they strode down to the line. “Watch out for them. I get the feeling they’re up to something.”
“That’s not strange behavior for them. They’ve always been pompous and secretive, and it seems they’re always planning something.” Evan slapped Marcus on the shoulder. “See you afterward.”
“Gentlemen.” Shand addressed the ones who would take part as they lined up. “The contest will be held in rounds. Everyone will shoot in the first round, and the top six will move to the next round as determined by the judges, Mr. Haverly and myself. If a third judge is required, His Highness has offered to fill that role.” Shand waved his hand up the slope to where the spectators sat under the sunshades and parasols. Even the ladies of the house had foregone some excursion that Diana had planned in favor of watching the target shoot.
Evan picked out his wife, seated next to the prince, her sky-blue dress easy to spot. For a brief moment he allowed his mind to drift back to the previous night, and he smiled, thankful they had reconciled and for once in their married life were in accord and honest with one another.
He was a blessed man with a lovely bride and now a … son. Because he had determined he would raise Cian as his own. If God should bless his marriage with more children, the law dictated that his firstborn son would be his heir, but Cian would never know want of love and family and a place at White Haven while Evan was alive.