Two hours later, they were all settled in the small house that Michael had mentioned. As it turned out, small might have been an exaggeration. The truth of the matter was that it was tiny, though it did have three rooms and a kitchen. William and Ryan had immediately suggested that they share the larger of the three rooms, in spite of the fact that it had no beds since it had clearly been intended to serve as a drawing room of sorts. They’d merely shrugged however, claiming that the sofas present would do well enough, at which Alexandra had looked rather dubious. For a good minute she’d tried to determine how her brothers’ large figures could possibly manage to fit into the confining spaces that the sofas offered. However, she could hardly complain, given the fact that this afforded her with a comfortable room of her own while Michael had taken the other.
“I think it’s time you told us what happened,” she found herself saying as they all convened in William’s and Ryan’s makeshift bedroom. Of all the things the house had to offer, Alexandra had been most relieved to discover that there were dry men’s clothing of varying sizes in the closets, along with some money, hidden away in a box beneath a floorboard. Percy really did think of everything, she mused, even if the clothes had probably been there for a good number of years without being used. “Why did you insist on leaving Andrew behind, William? He doesn’t stand a chance on his own, especially not as wounded as he was.”
Silence filled the room as they all turned to William for an explanation. His eyes darkened. “Finch wasn’t who we thought him to be,” he muttered after what seemed to be an unbearable amount of time. “He let me down in the worst possible way. Indeed, he let us all down. You came here, intent on accusing me of treachery.” His eyes turned to Michael who seemed to want to deny the claim, but William stopped him, saying forcefully, “I would never dream of betraying my country or my people . . . my family for God’s sake. Though I must admit that in your situation, Ashford, I probably would have had my doubts as well—especially given the fact that you didn’t know me. However, the true culprit as it turns out, was Andrew. He is the double agent, not I.”
“What?” Alexandra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. It couldn’t be—surely not. “You two were such close friends—you’ve known each other for years. You went to Oxford together for heaven’s sake. Why on earth would he do such a thing?”
“Because, as it turns out, Finch was too greedy for his own good.” William’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He requested an exorbitant amount of money in exchange for the information he was selling, and was very swiftly locked away as a result. Apparently, Bonaparte was not to be fooled. He knew Andrew would run straight back to England, only to sell whatever secrets he’d learned about the French.”
Alexandra stared at her brother for a long moment. “So what you’re telling me,” she finally managed to get out. “Is that I risked all of our lives to save a man who should have been left exactly where he was.”
“Yes,” William said simply. “That pretty much sums it up.”
Alexandra buried her face in her hands. “I am by far the biggest idiot there is,” she mumbled.
“Well, perhaps not the biggest idiot,” Ryan put in. “There was that Hatchfield fellow who married the Italian woman—the one who took off with all his family heirlooms. I never did understand why he failed to see that one coming when everybody else did. But to put it bluntly, you’re not far behind.”
“Urgh,” Alexandra groaned. She was disgusted with herself. She’d been so wrong, so foolishly stubborn and headstrong. She’d blown William’s cover and . . . dear Lord, had he even managed to complete his mission before she’d done so? If not, then she’d single-handedly ruined everything. She dared not even look at Michael.
“I’m terribly sorry about this mess,” she muttered, wishing that there was a carpet for her to crawl away under.
Alex, you mustn’t put all the blame on yourself,” Michael said, grabbing her attention. “Truth is we’re all to blame for this mess.”
“But it was my idea.”
“And Ryan and I went along with it quite willingly, did we not?”
“I feel like I coerced you,” she moaned, looking away.
“Alex?” he asked her seriously. “Did you know that Finch was attempting to sell information to both the English and the French before we helped him escape?”
“No,” she groaned. “But if I’d only spoken to William, then—”
“Stop blaming yourself,” Michael exclaimed with a small degree of frustration. “It wasn’t your fault any more than it was mine or Ryan’s.”
“He’s right, you know,” Ryan told her gently. “None of us knew.”
“I need a drink,” William suddenly stated.
“I could make some tea,” Alexandra offered. At least she knew how to do that much, as long as Michael would see to lighting the stove.
William snorted. “Seriously?” He turned to Ryan. “Have a look in that cabinet next to your chair, will you? Surely, Percy will have supplied us with some stronger stuff.”
“It seems we are in luck,” Ryan announced with the delight of discovery. “It’s only half full, but it is indeed a bottle of whiskey.”
William strode over to him, taking the bottle from his brother’s outstretched hand with a smile of glee. “Fetch some glasses will you?”
His request wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but since neither Ryan nor Michael seemed to stir, Alexandra eventually got up and went to the kitchen. Returning with glasses in hand, she placed them on a table and watched as William began to pour himself a large glass. “How about the rest of you?”
“I’ll have a glass too,” Michael said.
“Just half a glass for me,” Ryan added.
“To victory,” William then said, raising his own glass as soon as he’d supplied both Ryan and Michael with theirs.
“What about me?” Alexandra asked, feeling quite left out. How typical of them to think she wouldn’t care to join in. The three men turned to her, their glasses paused mere inches from their lips, their look of surprise unmistakable. She tried not to smile too much at their befuddlement and shrugged instead. “Why not?”
“Why indeed?” Michael muttered, his eyes brightening with amusement as he offered her his glass. “Pour me another, Summersby.”
William did and then repeated his toast. “To victory!”
Alexandra watched as they each tossed back their glasses, before following suit.
A split second later, she thought she might die. Heaven help her. This was not at all like the wine or champagne she was used to. This . . . Lord have mercy . . . but it burned. She opened her eyes, realizing that she must have closed them in anguish, only to find the men trying terribly hard not to burst into fits of laughter.
“You truly are too stubborn for your own good,” Ryan choked out.
Inwardly, Alexandra couldn’t help but agree. But her pride forced a different reaction. “Laugh all you want,” she said carelessly, holding out her empty glass toward William. “In the meantime, I’ll have another.”
William complied without question, knowing full well that arguing the point would come to no avail. Instead he refilled his own, took a large gulp, then set his glass down and began to pace. There was still an awful lot of information that he had to get out, and he couldn’t do it sitting down or standing still. He needed to move.
“Bonaparte will begin his campaign tomorrow,” he finally said as he glanced about, taking in all of their expressions. He was glad to find that they didn’t look worried or startled by his statement. Instead, they waited for him to continue. This was, after all, the reason they were there.
“When Bonaparte returned from Elba,” he continued. “He had about fifty-six thousand troops, of which only forty-six thousand were ready to do battle. As of last week, that number has risen to a staggering one hundred and ninety-eight thousand with another sixty-six thousand in various training camps around the city. How many men does Wellington have? Do any of you know?”
“I believe it must be roughly ninety thousand,” Michael replied.
William nodded. “And Blücher?”
“The Prussian?” Alexandra asked, with a frown. “I’ve no idea.”
“I would give an estimate of one hundred thousand if I were to place a bet on it,” Ryan said.
“That’s fairly accurate,” William agreed. He retrieved his glass and took another swig. “It’s important you see, because that is who Bonaparte will be attacking.”
Alexandra sank back against the sofa with a deflated sigh. She bit her lip as if she was trying quite hard to make sense of it all. “Tell us the rest,” she finally said as she looked to her brother for answers.
Stopping for a moment to gather his thoughts, William’s eyes went to each of them in turn as he continued with slow deliberation. “Bonaparte is hoping to bring the Seventh Coalition—Great Britain, Austria, Prussia, and Russia to the peace table.”
“By attacking them?” Alexandra asked. William turned to her with a frown. Was it too much to hope for that she might just sit there quietly and listen? “Sorry,” she muttered. “Please go ahead.”
“He believes,” William continued. “That he can cause enough damage to their armies, so they’ll be willing to listen to whatever it is he has to say. It goes without saying that what he’s interested in obtaining is peace for France with himself as its Emperor. If the Coalition rejects his proposal, he’ll merely continue the war until the Coalition armies are defeated.”
“And he’s marching on Belgium because of the odds?” Michael asked with a great deal of curiosity.
“Precisely,” William agreed. “He’s learned that the British and Prussian troops are not only widely dispersed, but that the British armed forces consist primarily of second—line troops since all the soldiers who fought in the Peninsular War were sent to America three years ago and have yet to return.”
He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Then of course, he’s also counting on French-speaking Brussels sympathizing with his cause. He thinks a French victory might instigate a revolution there.”
“Bloody hell,” Michael and Ryan muttered in unison.
Alexandra just stared at William. “We have to warn Wellington,” she told them in a clear voice of determination. “Do you know where Bonaparte intends to strike?”
William’s eyes met hers and exhaustion suddenly seemed to swamp him. This whole business had taxed his energy more than he’d realized. They couldn’t stop now though. Alexandra was right. They had to warn the duke. “I can’t be certain,” he said with an almost defeated shake of his head. “But if I were to venture a guess, then I’d imagine he’ll attack at Mons. This will cut off all access to the ports Wellington relies upon for supplies.”