Chapter Ten
From a window in the taproom of La Truite Argentée, Will kept an eye on the road to Bonneville as he shared a tankard with Colbert.
Dust rose and spun in the sunlight behind a draught horse clopping along, a young farm boy perched high on its back.
The boy’s legs stuck out, unable to bend around the girth of the giant horse.
Will’s horse was stabled out the back. If he mounted and turned its head to the right, he’d be heading home. He’d no longer need the room that Jeannette had kept prepared for him since he’d settled on the inn as his base soon after his arrival in the region.
He would no longer sit at this window and watch as local men returned home each week. If he rode west, he would be one of the hordes of returning men, heading towards the woman who held his heart. The woman he loved.
In his mind, he traveled along the length of dusty road to Calais, heading ever west to the coast, sailing in a boat across the gray-blue waves to Dover, then riding another horse all the way to London . . . and Clem.
“You’ve been looking out the window all morning. Are you expecting someone? Hey, Guy?”
“What?” The shortened French form of Will’s name broke into his thoughts, reminding him to stay alert and attentive.
Even though the war had ended, there was still information to be gained, but not if he blew his cover.
Shaking away the cobwebs in his head, he grounded himself in the moment.
“Apologies, my friend. I was thinking about a girl.”
“She is special, this girl? Is she the one you wish to marry?”
“She is, and she’s waiting for me to come home to her.”
“In Paris?”
Will shook his head.
“Calais, perhaps? You’ve been staring west along that road since you sat down.”
Will shrugged and deflected. It would be unwise to deviate from his cover story by allowing that a woman who was not a Parisienne could possibly interest him.
But neither could he entirely deny Clem’s existence.
“Her family owns a country estate west of here.” A long way west. That, at least, was truth. “We spent several wonderful weeks of summer there. I was thinking of how we passed our time.”
“Tu la fais tomber?” Colbert nudged his arm, causing ale to splash on the table. He and his wife had a very physical marriage, and his eyes were greedy for any salacious details he could winkle out of Will. “Tell me you made love to this woman who holds tes noix in the palm of her hand.”
Beneath the table, Will’s hand clenched into a hard fist. He wanted to have the right to make love to Clem, but hearing the act of love referred to in so earthy a manner hurt.
He gritted his teeth and sucked in a hard breath. The heavy oak door opened, and a dusty rider entered. The tavern owner’s head turned sharply like a fox’s scenting dinner.
The man slapped his hat against his leg and looked around. Will took little notice until the man spoke. “Guy, is that you?”
Will’s gaze narrowed at the familiar voice, and then he saw Rufus, limping towards him.
Will jumped to his feet and gripped Rufus’s shoulder. “Mon vieux, what are you doing in this neck of the woods? Colbert, a tankard for my parched friend.”
Colbert pushed his chair back, making way for the new customer. “Don’t think this means you’re not telling me about your lady love later. I must know what sort of woman occupies your thoughts so completely when you are far from her.” He held out a chair for Rufus, who dropped gratefully onto it.
“Would monsieur like to sample my wife’s cooking after his long ride as well as a tankard of my best ale? Perhaps a room for the night as well. Then you can really celebrate with your friend.”
Rufus turned to Will and raised an eyebrow. “Is it good?”
“You’ll not find better food for miles. Jeannette looks after me very well.”
“Done,” Rufus said, “and a room for tonight.”
“Two servings of my wife’s very delicious pie coming up.” Colbert grinned and retreated to the bar where he drew two tankards. Once he had delivered them, he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
“Colbert will be gone a while now you’re here.
He and his wife enjoy a—shall we say—an active marriage.
When the tavern isn’t busy, they retreat to their bedroom above.
” Will finished his tankard and set it aside before reaching for the freshly drawn ale Colbert had brought, claiming Will wouldn’t want to let his friend drink alone.
Usually, he limited himself to one, which he nursed through an evening listening to the chatter of men weary of battle and beaten down by defeat.
Gripping the handle of his tankard, Will pinned Rufus. “How’s Clem? When did you last see her? How did she look?”
“Beautiful and still missing you. She’s waiting for you, never fear, my friend.”
Momentary relief coursed through Will’s body. He knew in the deepest part of his soul that Clem was true to him but hearing it from his friend eased his loneliness for now. “I need to see her, hold her, Rufus. And Clem needs me by her side. When can I go home?”
“Soon, I hope, but we need more information about the level of support for the emperor. Do many men hereabout express a desire for the return of Bonaparte?”
Will looked into his ale and shrugged. “Most of the men around here are simply relieved to be home at last. How long that continues is anyone’s guess. There have been a few mutterings of late, mostly about the arrogance of the rest of Europe telling France what she can and cannot do.”
“Do any talk of missing fighting for Boney?”
“Hard to say what that looks like since I’ve never been on a battlefield. My work is conducted in the shadows, but you . . . weren’t you at the Battle of Rolica in oh-eight with Wellesley?”
“I was, but only as an aide. That wasn’t long after our days at university. My father was still alive, but as the heir without a spare, he had given Wellesley strict orders to keep me off the battlefield. I watched the English victory from a distance.”
“And you came home unscathed from that encounter.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? To be safe on a field of battle and later to be shot because, on a covert mission, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But once wounded, Carstairs decided I was of more use directing operations from London.” Rufus took a long swig of his ale and leaned back in his chair.
Will took a cautious swig of his drink and set it down, watching Rufus carefully.
He seemed at ease and believable in his role: just a clerk with a boring life, happy because he had encountered a friend at the end of a long ride. But dressed as a clerk and with none of the usual trappings of his elevated station, Will thought Rufus hadn’t looked so happy in a long time.
“You miss this life, don’t you?”
“What? Miss sleeping rough with one eye open and half a dozen back stories at hand, depending on who I encounter?” But the gleam in his eyes belied his denial, which was not denial but a yearning to be back where the action was.
“I think this life makes you feel alive in a way that wielding a quill never could. You’re great at what you do, Rufus.”
“I feel earthbound, where before I was free.”
“I assume your wound is why you had to give up spying on the French; why you recruited me?”
“That, and a better appreciation of my mortality. Nothing lasts forever. And there are duties I owe my name and title. I must sire an heir and administer my lands. When Jasper told me you wanted to join up, the timing could not have been better.”
Will sighed. “Not everyone sees it that way.”
“I regret that it must be this way. I acknowledge it would have been easier for Clem if you had already proposed, but much more difficult to explain away your sudden and prolonged absence once you’d announced your betrothal.”
Something about the careful way Rufus framed his comment caught Will’s attention. Then comprehension dawned, and his anger exploded, brighter and hotter than any fire Will had ever known.
He leaned across the table and glared at Rufus.
“You! You timed it that way. I could have stayed another day and asked for her hand. I would have kept it private, and she would have known for certain I love her. Her family would have known, and she wouldn’t be being importuned by other suitors.
How dare you mess with Clem’s and my happiness like that? ”
Rufus shrugged, but his shoulders were rigid as he picked up his tankard in a tight grip and drank deeply. He set it down with a thud. “It was necessary. Someone, most likely Lady Basingthwaite, would have forgotten that your engagement was a secret and blabbed. Loose lips and all that.”
It didn’t help that Will knew Rufus was right. Secrets shared with one person might as well be announced in the newspapers and cut out the middleman.
He stabbed the table with a finger. “That was why my orders demanded my immediate departure from London, and why I kicked my heels in Dover for the better part of three days.” Fury vibrated through his body. Betrayal lay near the surface of his anger. “I thought you were my best friend.”
“Truly, I am sorry, Will, but it had to be done that way. And I have done my best to protect Clem from behind the scenes, but I may have to take more drastic action.”
“Drastic?” Heart sinking, Will demanded, “What do you mean? How bad are things?”
“Hetherington is becoming persistent, but I have a plan to manage him.”
Will gritted his teeth, using every ounce of his willpower to control the rage that threatened to burst out of his skin and undo months of carefully laid cover. If he gave himself away now, he’d be able to return home.
He’d have to return home.
To Clem.
Would that be a terrible way to end his mission? The idea was more than tempting.
Rufus leaned forward and gripped his forearm. “Will, don’t. Think of all the other Clementines who will lose their men again if we don’t have the information we need to keep Boney under control.”