Death Comes to London Read Free Page B

fine. I’m not seeing the Prince Regent this morning. I’m just going to my regimental headquarters.”
    “And you still need to look your best.”
    Foley tweaked the ornate gold braiding cascading down from Robert’s shoulder before finally handing him his tall hat.
    “You look very smart, Major.”
    “Thank you.”
    In truth, after almost two years without active military service, Robert felt quite uncomfortable in his uniform. After he’d been cut out of his last set of clothing after Waterloo, Bookman, his former valet, had ordered him a whole new kit from his military tailor. The heavy fabrics were rigid and the gold braid that covered most of the front of his coat was so stiff it wouldn’t lie down properly. He’d heard the Prince Regent had a hand in the design of the 10th Hussars uniform, and that wouldn’t surprise him. It was rather too ornate for his taste and hopelessly impractical in battle. But that was true of most uniforms. At least the majority of his regiment wore blue, unlike the poor redcoats who stood out like a sore thumb in every battle scenario imaginable. He’d been told that red had been chosen so that blood didn’t show and strike fear into the hearts of the enemy.
    Somehow he doubted that worked.
    He tucked his scarlet peaked shako under his arm, avoiding the feathers, and assessed his appearance in the mirror. He looked quite impressive. His fingers traced his clean-shaven upper lip where once, like most of his military associates, he’d sported a fine moustache. He hadn’t the heart to grow it back. Foley had made his boots shine and polished all the metal buttons and facings on his coat until he could see his reflection in them.
    “Your sword, Major?”
    “Ah, yes, thank you.” Robert threw the gray fur-lined pelisse back over his shoulder and buckled on his sword. “I think I’ll do. Can you go down and find a hackney cab for me?”
    Foley paused at the door. “You don’t wish to drive yourself, or ride, sir? I believe your phaeton is available, as are several of your horses.”
    “Not today.”
    He might look the part of a dashing Hussar officer, but the thought of actually getting back on a horse still terrified him. Of all the scars left from his horrific injuries at Waterloo, that ridiculous fear was the hardest to bear. He’d managed to force himself to sit in a horse-drawn vehicle, but even that brought him out in a sweat. The thought of navigating through the streets of London on the back of a nervous steed was too much for him to deal with.
    He’d become what the professional soldiers jokingly referred to as a Hyde Park soldier, one who never saw active service, but always looked impeccably dressed and was seen in all the right social quarters. His mouth twisted and he turned away from his resplendent image. Better to get this over with. If there was a way to slide out of accepting the baronetcy, his commander in chief would surely know of it.
    Robert went down to the hotel entrance and got into the hackney cab Foley had called for him. If his visit with his commanding officer went well, he might be more inclined to seek out the Harrington sisters and see how they were faring in the bustling metropolis. Foley had managed to find both addresses, and it would be uncivil of him not to acknowledge the ladies.
    He put on his gloves and settled back in the seat. And if Miss Harrington was responsible for bringing him to the attention of his regiment’s fond patron, the Prince Regent, he might have a few specific things to say for her ears alone.
    When the hackney pulled up, Robert alighted with as much speed as he could manage and, using his walking stick to balance on the uneven cobbled street, paid off the driver. Just as he approached the daunting array of steps, a man coming down them hailed him.
    “Major Kurland? Is that you? By all that’s holy!”
    He looked up into the familiar face of one of his fellow officers.
    “Lieutenant Broughton. What a pleasure to