Romance
Read Chapter One of The Secret Wedding (continued):
With the French and Indian War over, Christian had been ready for lighter times, and playing the military beau in London had promised amusement. London was the center of the world, full of good company and lovely ladies. He'd be close to old friends, especially Robin Fitzvitry, now Earl of Huntersdown, and Thorn, the most eminent Duke of Ithorne.
His new life had amused for a while, but he was beginning to itch for action, any action, near or far. Delahew would hardly choose this moment to discuss some adventurous posting, alas.
Christian took the glass of wine and sipped, hoping he could cut this short. There was a wager running to do with the reigning actress, Betty Prickett, with Christian the favorite.
"Got a relative by the name Jack Hill, Grandiston?"
Christian returned his attention to Delahew. "Yes, sir."
"Dead?"
"Gads, I hope not." A spark of alarm fizzled. No one would send Delahew to inform him of a death in the family. "Younger brother. About seven years of age."
"Ah." Delahew drank. "Thought you might be able to cut through a knot."
"Sorry not to be able to help, sir." Christian drained his glass and declined more, hoping that was it. "I could ask my father. There might be a family reason he called a son John — that's Jack's baptismal name — though now I think of it, he'd been reduced to using the evangelists by the twelfth child."
"Twelve?" Delahew stared.
"Ninth was Matt, sir, then Mark, Luke, and Jack."
"All surviving?"
"My parents haven't lost a one."
"Twelve," Delahew said, shaking his head. It could have been admiring, but Christian supposed he was thinking it unnatural in the extreme.
"Thirteen, actually, sir," Christian said, to rub the salt in. "Benjamin, aged three."
Silence fell. Christian glanced at the door. His friends were leaving. "This other Hill in trouble, sir?"
"No, no," Delahew worked his heavy jaw as if chewing stringy meat. "Letter came from York asking for any information about a Jack Hill, regiment unknown, rank unknown, but an officer said to have died at Quebec. No one of that name in the casualty lists there. Probably an inheritance issue, but I'm not about to order a search of records on a fool's chase like that."
"No, of course not. Get many like that, sir?"
The offices of the Horse Guards had become the headquarters for administration of the whole army.
"Every now and then. Even more difficult if it's one of the common men. Many are illiterate so their names end up spelled by guess, and they often enlist under a false one, trying to escape the law or some woman."
He drained his glass. "Charging the enemy's guns is a damned sight easier than paper pushing, I can tell you."
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