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“Mrs. Anderson,” Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild said, walking over to bow before the wife of their neighboring regiment’s colonel. “I hope your trip through the lines wasn’t too difficult.”

After making a quick, sharp-eyed inspection of the bare stone house in which the late Colonel Montague and his daughter, Jenna, had been billeted, Mrs. Anderson sniffed before deigning to accept the crude chair Garrett indicated. “A few impertinent sentries,” she replied as she seated herself, “but I’d rather have the lads watchful as not. And ’tis safer to journey among the men now, while the worst of them are still making mischief inside the walls of Badajoz.”

The older woman shook her head, the iron-gray curls beneath her bonnet jiggling. “A bad business, the end of a siege, and this one looks to be worse than most. Lord Wellington will be ordering hangings before this day’s work is done, mark my words. You’d best keep close within the regimental area until it’s over, Miss Montague.”

Jenna acknowledged Mrs. Anderson’s advice with a nod, not sure whether she was glad or sorry to have the discussion about her future interrupted. “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson. I shall appreciate your help in…in sorting out my plans,” she finished, unable as yet to make her father’s death seem more real by speaking about it.

“Lieutenants Hartwell and Percy,” Garrett said, indicating the two, who bowed. “Lieutenant Lord Nelthorpe I believe you already know.”

“Mrs. Anderson, a great pleasure to see you again,” Lord Anthony said, making an elaborate bow before bringing the woman’s hand to his lips.

The colonel’s wife actually blushed at that gallantry. “I remember you well, my lord. Your mama and I had a delightful dinner together before Lady Weatherford’s ball when the colonel and I were last in London.”

Jenna’s spirits sank lower as she covertly inspected this snobbish granddaughter of an earl who was to escort her to Lisbon on the first stage of her journey to England. A trip she was commencing with as little enthusiasm as she expected to discover in the faces of the distant relations whom civility and kinship would force to welcome her.

Still, Mrs. Anderson was ostensibly doing her a service and Jenna owed her courtesy. “May I offer you some refreshment, ma’am? Our meal was somewhat…delayed, but -”

“I’ve already dined, thank you. My husband’s batman prepares quite an excellent paella. And I should like to complete preparations for your departure as speedily as possible. The Marquesa of Oporto will be having her spring ball soon, and I hope to reach Lisbon in time to attend

.” “I know you cannot mean for Miss Montague to begin so arduous a journey immediately,” Garrett interposed, to Jenna’s relief. “She must have a little time to recover from the shock of her father’s death.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Lieutenant “Heedless Harry” Hartwell added, “Jenna - Miss Montague don’t need to leave at all.”

“No, ma’am,” Lieutenant Alastair Percy, prodded by a subtle gesture from his idol, Harry, to enter the conversation. “Jenna - Miss Montague - is to stay here and marry one of us.”

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