Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die. ~ Herbert Hoover

Chapter 41.

What Napoleon Did.

The next morning was a bleak, dreary. Catrin was glad March was almost over. It had been a rather grey month. The Earl and his wife had a morning engagement and departed soon after breakfast. Mrs. Llewelyn was feeling 'under the weather' and requested Beatrice and Catrin to play some music in the music room. They had only been at it for an hour when the door opened and a servant came. He approached Mrs. Llewelyn and held out a silver satin in which a note lay.

"It is from Lord Woodworth," Mrs. Llewelyn stated, sitting up straight. "He asks if he may call on us within the hour." Hurrying over to the fancy little writing table that stood in the corner of the grand and beautiful music room, Mrs. Llewelyn hurridly wrote a gracious approval of such a request and instructed the servant have it delivered at once.

After a moment of quick thinking Catrin stood up from her place at the harp.

"Mamma," she stated in a meek voice. "Seeing as Lord Woodworth is no doubt here to visit Beatrice may I call on Mrs. Fairfax?"

Beatrice turned to look at Catrin in shock. Since when did she want to run off away from Lord Woodworth.

Mrs. Llewelyn, however, was delighted with such an arrangement. "Why, Cadi, what a splendied thought. Hurry and dress and go and pay the dear woman a visit, be sure to inform her that we will have tea with her tomorrow."

Looking very pleased with herself, Catrin hurried out of the room and by the time Charles had arrived at the fancy house Beatrice's uncle, she was long gone.

It was not the first time Charles was in the Worthington home and he knew his way around the large halls and fancy staircases fairly well. He was shown to the music room, where Beatrice was still playing piano and Mrs. Llewelyn was listening. They both rose when he entered.

"Miss Morton plays most beautifully," Charles said with a bow towards Beatrice. He scanned the room but to his dismay there was no sign of Catrin.

"We are delighted with your visit, Lord Woodworth," Mrs. Llewelyn stated with her most charming smile. He returned the smile and took the seat offered to him.

"And pray tell," Mrs. Llewelyn continued. "When is your father to arrive in London?"

"He is already here," Charles replied. "And getting settled in. He of course will call when he has a chance."

"I hear you have gotten into Parliament, Lord Woodworth," Beatrice spoke from her place at the piano.

"I have," Charles nodded.

"Dear me," Mrs. Llewelyn shook her head. "I never thought you would ever want to be a politition."

They made small talk till Mrs. Llewelyn excused herself, remembering of some important errand she had to do. A relaxed feeling came to the atmosphere the moment she was gone. Charles lost no time in getting straight to the point.

"Miss Llewelyn is not here?"

Beatrice shook her head. "No, she went to call on Mrs. Fairfax."

"When?"

"Only about half an hour before you called."

"Perhaps I scared her away," Charles mused.

"Whatever could you mean?"

In a few word Charles described what took place at the ball.

"No, no," Beatrice reassured. "It couldn't be that! No indeed, Catrin could never be scared away when you open your heart to her. That is what she loves the most. It is cold, unfeeling silence that frightens her."

"Then why would she run upon discovering that I am visiting?"

Beatrice didn't exactly have an answer to that question and sat to ponder for a moment. Why would Catrin suddenly run off? Then it began to dawn on her. Yesterday Beatrice had asked Catrin to write a note to Captain Fleets. Catrin had no doubt written as soon as she came to her room. But writing was only half the task. She still had to get it to the post and on a slushy, wet, rainy day such as this one Catrin needed a good excuse to get out of the house. Thus the stepsister and played her stepmother's cards. Mrs. Llewelyn would take any excuse to have Catrin out of the house if Lord Woodworth was coming and she would care where Catrin was going as long as she left.

"There was some urgent buisness she had to take care of," Beatrice summed it up. "Believe me when I say, Lord Woodworth, it had nothing to do with you."

Charles didn't exactly look convinced, but decided there was little point pursuing the subject. "Why have you come so suddenly to London?"

"Because Mamma wants to pair me off with you as quick as possible, she is tired of waiting."

This sentence produced a frown from Charles.

"What is more, she will attack your father the moment he comes to call on us and get him to pressure you to make a propsal to me. We're really in a tight spot here. Mamma no doubt ran off in the hopes that you will make me an offer while she is gone."

The frown deepened on Charles' face, then his face brightened. "Miss Morton, what if I were to make an offer to you?"

Beatrice raised both her eyebrows.

"Oh, do not look at me like that. What if I were to make you an offer and you were to turn me down? Then I would get offended and never want to ask you again? And, having done what my father wanted of me, I will turn my attentions to Miss Llewelyn and no one can say anything against it. I did my duty, I tried, and I failed. It will not be the first time it happens with you. Many men men try and all of them fail."

Beatrice had a smile on her face. "Lord Woodworth, that is a truly inspired idea. Come, let me have the offer of marriage right now! Let us see if you are any better than the other gentlemen who came down on one knee before me."

"Only," Charles' face suddenly clouded. "Only will you not get into trouble for this? Your mother will not be glad that you turned me down. I should not want to bring you any harm."

The pretty features of Beatrice's face soften. "Lord Woodworth, you are very noble. I shall be glad to have you as a stepbrother-in-law. Please, do not trouble yourself on my account. I would have never wanted to marry you anyway, and sooner or later I would have turned you down. Let's just get on with the offer."

Charles shrugged and walking over to Beatrice, took her hand. "Miss Morton, surely you must know..." He paused her trying to surpress his laughter. "I'm sorry," he coughed. "Surely you must know how much I have come to adore...adore..." He smirked and coughed a bit. "Dear me, this would be easier if I didn't have to look at you. Ahem. Adore you. I should like nothing more if...you...would...please...marry...me." Charles barely got the words out. He kept twisting his face to keep from laughing. Beatrice was all giggles by now.

"I have never had such an amusing proposal," she laughed. "Please, do try to keep a straight face, you are about to be turned down. Lord Woodworth, I am sorry, but I do not return your feelings and my answer is no."

Charles looked away and gripped her hand tighter. "How shall I live now? Please," he looked back at her, and once again began making faces to try and keep from laughing. "Will you not reconsider?"

"No, no I will not," Beatrice replied, also trying to be serious, but being about as good at it as Charles. "Please, never ask this of me again. I will never want to be your wife."

"You have crushed me," Charles patronized. "I was so sure you cared for me. How could you have been so eager to follow along with the courtship? And now to turn me down? You have no heart!"

"You misread everything, Lord Woodworth. Please, leave right now."

Taking a deep breath and trying very hard to look broken hearted, Charles rose. "As you wish, Miss Morton," he stated in a gruff voice, mainly to hide his laughter. "I will bid you a good morning."

They both exchanged smiles then Charles turned, took a deep breath and put on his most offended face and marched towards the door. Upon opening it he found himself face to face with his Uncle Iestyn.

"Charles!" Iestyn said. "Going so soon."

"Not soon enough," Charles retorted. "I beg of you, Uncle, let me pass." He brushed passed him and huffed down the hallway. Iestyn's gaze followed his nephew till he was out of sight, then he turned to Beatrice, who was still sitting by the piano.

"Mamma should be here any moment," Beatrice said in a slightly subdued voice. "We did not know you were coming."

"I sent my card, I do not know why it didn't get to you." Iestyn walked into the room but left the door open. "What have you done to make my nephew so upset?"

Beatrice let out a completely fake sigh. "Lord Woodworth made me an offer of marriage but I could not accept."

Iestyn's trained face did not betray the relief that swept over him. That was one nephew out of the way. Now he would get rid of the second and Beatrice Morton would be his for pursuing.

"It seems you have a reputation," was all he said outloud as he sat down on the sofa.

"I cannot help that I do not wish to marry him, can I? There would be no joy in the marriage. Let him find a girl that would make him happy. In the long run he will thank me."

"I suppose there is wisdom there, Miss Morton."

"Colonel Blethyn," Beatrice suddenly noticed. "You are in mourning! Do not tell me that your mother has passed away?"

"No, no," Iestyn shook his head. "My mother is well. I have only just returned from a funeral. That is to say the funeral was yesterday, but it was not in London. I fear I have buried an officer of mine."

"Oh dear," Beatrice's face filled with sympathy. "I know Napoleon is out and no doubt gathering an army, but it is far to soon to have been any sort of war."

Iestyn gave a sad sigh. "With Napoleon loose of course we are preparing for anything that man may have up his sleeve, and a battle of somekind is no doubt one of the tricks he'll come up with. My officer was on his way to join our regiment when he caught cold and came down with pneumonia and died. I could not believe it. He survived so much, even a terrible accident that nearly burned him alive and then to suddenly die from inflamation of the lungs caused by a common cold. It is cruel!"

The fact that he had nearly been burned alive caused Beatrice to become alert. But it could not be.

"I told him not to come," Iestyn went on. "After his accident he was never as strong as he once was, and to suddenly make a long journey in the damp and rain and cold. He was coming from Wales you see. On horseback no less. I wish he would have listened to me, but he was so determined. He said if I did not take him back into my command he would find another regiment to join. I suppose since he was not there to see Napoloen defeated the first time, he wanted to see it the second time. As a result he saw neither."

Beatrice was pale by now, but she strove to remain calm. "What was his name?" She mumbled out.

"Fleets," Iestyn replied. "Captain William Fleets. But Miss Morton, are you well?"

Beatrice shook her head, trying to appear nonchalent. "I am fine, fine." She stated. "I am sorry that it should have been this way for your officer. Was he...was he...how old was he?"

"Twenty and six," Iestyn sighed. "Didn't even make it to thirty years of age. Poor fellow. He was only a few weeks away from turning twenty seven."

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Llewelyn.

"Colonel Blethyn," she said with a small bow. "We are delighted to have you. I am sorry I was out, I trust Beatrice was good company until I got back. But you are in mourning! Has something happened?"

"I just lost an officer," Colonel Blethyn summed up what he told Beatrice. "Pneumonia took him...and Napoloen too I suppose. If that confounded fellow hadn't decided to escape from exile and turned the world upsidown the young man might still be living."

Mrs. Llewelyn, who didn't care a penny about any of Colonel Blethyn's officers, glanced around the room. "But where is Lord Woodworth?" She asked.

"He left, Mamma," Beatrice stated in a distance voice.

"Left?" Mrs. Llewelyn gasped. "When?"

"Quite some time ago," Iestyn replied. "He was in a great hurry too."

Mrs. Llewelyn looked at Beatrice, who would not meet her mother's gaze. Giving a small gasp Mrs. Llewelyn hurridly excused herself.

"I must go too, Miss Morton," Iestyn said, rising from his seat. "I do fear the turn of the tide may take me from England, but I hope to see you again before it does."

Beatrice nodded absently. Iestyn pretended not to notice how shook up she was. He kissed her hand, she bid him good morning and he was gone. The silence of the empty room filled up Beatrice's heart.

Why had he decided to join the army again? What had driven him to do it? And to ride out in horseback in bad weather! What was he trying to accomplish? Had he been offended at her? Did he think she played with his heart and threw it away? Did he just want to find comfort in death? And he never even made it to the battlefield!

She didn't notice Catrin slip in the room. "Bea," she called to her. "How glad I am to catch you alone here. I sent the note, Bea. But what happened? Why are you so sad? Why has Mamma been treating you so terrible? Did she do or say something? Burn a book?"

Beatrice lifted her tear stained face to look at her stepsister. "Thank you, Cadi, for your concern and all your pains to help me, but you needn't have bothered."

Catrin ran up to her stepsister and sat beside her on the piano stool. "Beatrice, dearest Beatrice, what happened? You never cry over trifles."

Beatrice covered her face with her hands. "He's dead, Cadi, dead."

Catrin let out a gasp. "Captain Fleets?"

Beatrice nodded. "Colonel Iestyn was just here, he said Captain Fleets wanted to join the army. They are preparing for arms because of Napoleon. He was riding in the cold and rain and came down with pneumonia and died! It's over, Cadi! And it's all my fault!"

"No, Bea, no! It couldn't have been your fault. Tell me what happened. Right from the very start."

Trying to control herself, Beatrice related to her stepsister all that happened in Wales, how she had kissed the captain under the Hanging Tree, how someone had seen them, how Mamma had found out.

"See, see? It is my fault."

"No, no it is not!" Catrin argued. "It is Mamma's fault. But wait half a minute. Perhaps there has been some mistake. Perhaps we could ask Lord Woodworth, he knows Captain Fleets as well. I saw him entering the tower on occasion. Write to him, Beatrice. He knows you went up there to see Captain Fleets once. While Mamma is not here, write and we'll send Fanny to take the note. Oh do hurry, before the dragon returns."

A flicker of hope appeared in Beatrice's dark soul and she hastily wrote a simple note to Charles, saying she heard from Colonel Iestyn of the death of Captain Fleets, whom of course Lord Woodworth remembered that Beatrice had once met. She asked if it was really true and sent her condolence if it was.

When the note was finished Fanny was sent for and instructed to take the note to the house of Lord Woodworth as quickly as possible.

The wait nearly drove Beatrice mad. She tried to amuse herself with playing music and reading, but all she could do in the end was sit and stare out the window. It seemed to take forever, but in reality was but an hour when Fanny came back with the answer, in which Charles confirmed that Captain Fleets had died due to complications after a severe cold he caught while riding in heavy rain and sleet. He was buried only yesterday not far from where he passed away.

"But it's not you, Beatrice," Catrin tried to sooth her now truly heart-broken sister. "Not you. Perhaps he would have never bothered to leave the tower if he hadn't heard that Napoleon was out and about. He wanted to fight. You said yourself how he was so upset that he never was there in the first defeat of the Frenchman!"

"Oh, I hate that man," Beatrice burst out. "How dare he declare war and make Captain Fleets get away from that tower. Oh couldn't he have escaped exile a few months from now? I could have sorted it out with the captain, we would have worked out a way to write each other, maybe I could have kept him from wanting to go to war. Or at very least the weather would have been warmer. And worst of all, Cadi, he died thinking I had only been playing with his feelings. But I hadn't, I promise on all I know and love that I hadn't!"

"Of course you hadn't, Bea." Catrin put her arms around Beatrice. "I am so sorry, I wish there was something I could do. You were so fond of him."

"Fond of him? Cadi I loved him! He was the only man, of the whole lot that I have met since the age of fifteen, that I allowed myself to love."

Their conversation was interrupted by the door bursting open and Mrs. Llewelyn walking in.

"Catrin," she commanded in a voice that sent chills down the two girls spines. "Leave me with my daughter."

Catrin drew her stepsister closer. She could not leave her sister, who was already so crushed, to face Mamma alone. "I am sure there is no need for that, Mamma."

"Get out of this room now."

"I wish to remain with Beatrice. Whatever you have to say to her I can hear it too."

Marching over to Catrin, Mrs. Llewelyn grabbed her by the ear and pulled her roughly to her feet. Catrin winced from the sharp pain this action called.

"When I say leave the room I mean leave the ROOM!"

Mrs. Llewelyn dragged Catrin to the door and shoved her out. "Eavesdrop and you'll regret the day you were born, Catrin Llewelyn!" With that she slammed the door in her stepdaughter's face and turned to face Beatrice.