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he is to fight.” She faced John. “I understand that duty impels you to wait until the last minute to leave, but please don’t misjudge it.”
    John had learned this evening that Mary’s parents had misjudged their departure from France after the Revolution. They had escaped with the clothes they were wearing and no more.
    “Please don’t worry. I have no intention of being here when Bonaparte arrives.”
    “Where will you stay in Brussels?” asked Sophia.
    John glanced at Edmund.
    “I’ve invited John to stay with us, but he thinks it would be better if he took lodgings elsewhere.”
    They had argued about this, too.
    “A soldier’s hours can be irregular,” explained John, “and I would not wish to disrupt the household.”
    “But we will see you,” persisted Sophia.
    “You will see me,” he agreed.
    It was as he was leaving that John received his greatest shock. Edmund was showing him out when Sophia joined them.
    “Let me stay in Paris,” she said to Edmund.
    He and Edmund exchanged glances over her head. For a moment Edmund seemed every bit as stupid as John had always believed him to be, then he recovered.
    “There is work for you to do in Brussels,” said Edmund.
    “There is more for me to do here.”
    “Sophia,” said John, gently, easing Edmund out of the conversation. “I know it will be difficult in Brussels. Your mother…”
    She flinched. Against his better judgement he caught one of her hands in his.
    “You can’t avoid her, you know.”
    She looked steadfastly into his eyes.
    “I don’t want to see her.”
    “I know, but it’s not worth risking your life here.”
    “No one will miss me,” she said.
    “I will miss you,” said Edmund hastily. “Mary will miss you. The boys will miss you. Your father and sisters will miss you.”
    John turned to leave; he really did not want to put himself in the position of having to tell her that he would miss her.

Chapter Three
    Mid-March 1815
    It took four carriages and two carts to transport them from Paris. Edmund and Mary rode in the first with Philippe, their son, and Sophia and Franz rode in the second with Freddie, Edmund’s son with his first wife. The nurse, valet, lady’s maid, two maids and two footmen took up the last two carriages. John’s horse was attached to one of the carts and, as she got into the carriage, Sophia waved at the carter’s daughter, who sat beside her father. The child, who was pretty and delicate looking, did not wave back.
    “Her name is Claire,” said Freddie importantly, as they settled themselves into their seats.
    At eight Freddie was possessed of a self-confidence that Sophia could not have predicted a few years ago. Now that he was an older brother, rather than an only child, he seemed to have a purpose in life. Sophia had expected the arrival of Philippe to upset him, for Freddie had once been unable to understand that someone could love more than one person at a time and he had been used to being the sole recipient of his father’s love all his life. Instead, Freddie had loved Philippe from the start and had set himself up as his brother’s protector. Now he awaited the arrival of his new sibling with impatience and fussed over Mary almost more than his father did.
    Always polite, the child made sure that Sophia and his father’s guest were comfortable and had what they needed before he took his own place. It was like him to have been interested in the daughter of a servant. During the months they had been hiding from the French agents who had kidnapped him and tried to kill his father, he had always been the first to learn the names of all the new servants as they had moved around the country. In return they had all fallen in love with him and cosseted him.
    “She doesn’t say much,” he continued.
    “Perhaps she’s shy,” suggested Sophia.
    “No, just sad.”
    Sophia did not question how he knew this if the girl would only tell him her name. If Freddie said she was sad, she was