White Horses

Praise for novels by Joan Wolf

“Romance writing at its very best.”

—Publishers Weekly starred review

on The Guardian

“Joan Wolf never fails to deliver the best.”

—Nora Roberts

“…an intensely emotional story…”

—Rendezvous on High Meadow

“Wolf…leaps into the contemporary romantic

suspense arena with this smart, compelling read.”

—Publishers Weekly on Silverbridge

“A quick-moving, enchanting tale…An excellent

choice for readers who want an exciting epic.”

—Booklist on Daughter of the Red Deer

“Captivating…endearing…heartwarming…

Wolf’s assured storytelling is simply the best.”

—BookPage on Royal Bride

“Fast paced, highly readable…”

—Library Journal on The Gamble

“An entertaining and thought-provoking read.”

—Washington Post Book World

on The Reindeer Hunters

“Joan Wolf is absolutely wonderful.

I’ve loved her work for years.”

—Iris Johansen

White Horses

Joan Wolf

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This one’s for Mike.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Epilogue

One

London, February 25, 1813

The sun was starting to shine through the fog when, dressed in civilian clothes, Colonel Leo Standish, Earl of Branford, passed through the front door of the Horse Guards building, home of the War Office. There was just the faintest trace of a limp in his walk, legacy of a wound he had taken at the siege of Burgos several months before.

Branford entered a functional room painted in a rich, dark green, with a desk, a glass-fronted bookcase and a large table with a map spread out upon it. Two men were sitting on either side of the desk, and when the earl walked in they both rose to their feet.

“My lord,” John Herries, commissary-in-chief of the British Army, addressed him. “Thank you for coming. I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Nathan Rothschild.”

“No, I have not. How do you do, Mr. Rothschild?” The earl came forward with an outstretched hand. He had certainly heard of Rothschild, the London scion of the industrious financial family, whose brothers were spread throughout Europe.

The short bald man was dressed in a flawless black coat, white necktie and buff pantaloons. He put his hand into the earl’s large grasp. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” he said.

The earl’s blue-green eyes moved from Rothschild to Herries. “What’s this all about, Herries?” he asked.

“Won’t you have a seat, my lord?” the commissary-in-chief said. “We have a job for you and I’d like to explain it.”

The earl drew his eyebrows together. “A job? I don’t have time to do any jobs, Herries. I am returning to my regiment next week.”

“If you would just let me explain, my lord…”

“Oh, all right.” The earl folded his six-foot-two body onto one of the chairs. “Go on.”

“I’m sure you are aware of the difficulties the Marquess of Wellington has been having with funds,” Herries began.

The earl nodded. “He needs to feed and pay the troops, and the local Spanish and Portuguese bankers won’t accept paper money anymore. He needs gold coin.”

Herries continued. “Mr. Rothschild has managed to buy up for us several million newly minted napoléon d’or coins in Holland.”

The earl’s face broke into a rare smile. “Good for you, Mr. Rothschild. Well done.”

Rothschild smiled back.

Herries went on. “Our only problem, my lord, is that we need a way to safely transport the gold to the army in Portugal.”

“It’s still in Holland?” the earl asked.

“Yes, and we need to get it through France to Wellington in Portugal. Needless to say, once the French government gets word of the sale of all those gold coins to Rothschild, they will be on the lookout for anything that might look like an English conveyance.”

The earl arched an eyebrow. “By any chance, does this job you have for me have something to do with the transportation of these coins?”

“It does, my lord.” Herries pulled at his lip, then turned to the other man. “I think I’ll let Mr. Rothschild explain.”

Rothschild looked earnestly at the tall, fair-haired man. “I have had some experience in this sort of thing, my lord. As you may or may not know, my family has transferred money around Europe all during the years of Napoléon’s regime. One of the most trustworthy means we have found for doing this is a French circus, the Cirque Equestre. The circus owner, François Robichon, used to be Master of the Horse to Louis XVI, and he has no love for the Revolution or for Napoléon. The circus can travel anywhere without question, and Pierre has moved money for us successfully on a number of occasions.”

“Two of the circus wagons have false bottoms where the gold can be stored,” Herries put in.

The earl nodded. “It sounds like an excellent idea, but how does it involve me?”

Herries looked at the splendid young man who was sitting across from him. He had never met the Earl of Branford before, and faced with the man in person, a task that had once seemed reasonable now seemed highly improbable. He looked again at Nathan Rothschild.

Nathan continued. “Very unfortunately, François died several months ago and the circus is now headed by his daughter. I am hesitant to commit such a large sum of money to the care of so young a girl. I want her to have a British escort to make certain that the money gets safely to Portugal.”

“And I want her to have a British escort to keep her honest. We don’t want little fingers dipping into the gold bags,” Herries said bluntly.

Now both of the earl’s eyebrows went up. “A British escort would most certainly draw French attention to the circus, exactly what you are trying to avoid.”

“Not if the escort pretended to be a part of the circus,” Rothschild reasoned bluntly.

There was a moment of silence. “And you want that escort to be me?” the earl asked at last.

Herries shifted on his chair. The earl hadn’t changed his own position, but there was a dangerous look in his eyes. Herries cleared his throat. “That’s right, my lord.”

“May I ask whose idea it was to attach me to a circus?” the earl asked, his pleasant voice in contrast to the look in his eyes.

Herries could not bring himself to meet that blue-green gaze. “Lord Castlereagh put forth your name, my lord. As you can understand, he is quite anxious that the gold arrive as safely and as promptly as possible. Wellington will need it to finance his next campaign and his subsequent entry into France.”

Silence. Finally the earl asked with awful courtesy, “Am I supposed to—perform?”

“Of course not, my lord,” the two men chorused in horror.

The earl linked his long, manicured fingers together on his lap. “Then how are we to account for my sudden attachment to a circus? I speak French, but not like a Frenchman. And I’m not the sort of person who just blends into the background,” he added ironically.

“We have thought about that problem, my lord, and we have come up with a solution,” Herries assured him. “You will pretend to be Gabrielle Robichon’s new husband.”

This time the earl’s eyebrows almost disappeared under the lock of golden hair that had fallen over his forehead. “What?”

Herries said earnestly, “It is the only way to disguise you, my lord, other than making you a performer. Mademoiselle Robichon’s family will have to know the truth, but the rest of the circus performers will think you are married.”

“I see,” the earl said slowly. “I am to pretend to be the husband of a circus owner.”

Herries and Rothschild exchanged glances. Neither one of them dared to answer.

There was a long silence.

“I suppose I shall have to do it,” the earl finally said. “It’s essential that the money get to the army.”

For the first time Herries realized that he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly.

Rothschild said, “Thank you, my lord. I realize that this duty may be distasteful to you, but we do feel it is necessary.”

“And the girl is willing to pretend that I am her husband?”

Rothschild nodded decisively. “She agreed.”

The earl asked, “What’s in it for her? Are you paying her to carry the gold?”

Rothschild said with dignity, “Of course I will pay her, but she is also doing it because she knows her father would want her to. François Robichon was a royalist through and through.”

The earl unlaced his fingers. “Where am I to meet this circus?”

Herries said, “I think it would be a good idea for you and Gabrielle to meet in Brussels. That is where you will tell people that you were married. Then you can return to the circus together.”

“Very well.” The earl stood up. “I imagine you would like me to get started as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my lord. Gabrielle will be waiting for you at the Hôtel Royale.”

“Is there any particular name I am to go by?”

Herries said, “You could use your given name, my lord. I don’t think anyone would recognize it.”

The earl smoothed one of his sleeves. “Very well. I will meet this Gabrielle and go with her to the circus, where I will pretend to be her husband. What about the gold?”

“It will be loaded into the circus wagons before you get there, my lord. You should be able to start your journey immediately.”

“How long will it take us to get to Portugal?”

“If you get the gold to Biarritz, the army will take it over the Pyrenees to Wellington,” Rothschild said. “The journey from Lille to Biarritz should take about a month, my lord. The circus will have to make stops to perform. It would look suspicious if it didn’t.”

The earl’s finely chiseled lips settled into a grim line. “The things I do for my country,” he said. “Very well. I will leave for Brussels tomorrow.”

“Thank you, my lord,” both men chorused. After the earl had gone and the door was closed behind him, both Herries and Rothschild looked at each other. “Couldn’t Castlereagh have gotten someone who was not quite so noticeable?” Rothschild said.

Herries shook his head. “He wanted Lord Branford. Said if anyone could get the money through, it was he.”

Rothschild said, “I hope he was right, Herries. I hope he was right.”

Outside, the earl got into his chaise, tipped the boy who had been holding his grays and started the horses, driving through the city streets toward Grosvenor Square, where his town house was located. He pulled into the mews behind the house, relinquished his horse and carriage to one of his grooms, and went into the house from the back.

He was surprised by his eighteen-year-old sister in the hallway in front of the library.

“Oh, there you are, Leo,” Dolly cried. “Mama and I have come to call on you.”

“Have you?” he asked. “And whose idea was that?”

“Mine. Come into the drawing room and join us.”

“I can’t stay long, I have things to do. I am leaving for the Peninsula tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Dolly was clearly upset. “So soon?” Her gaze dropped to his injured leg.

“I am perfectly healthy. There’s no reason for me to linger in England when my regiment needs me.”

“But there is a reason,” Dolly lamented. “I wanted you to help me with my come-out. I thought you could be my escort to Almacks when I make my first appearance there.”

“Good God,” the earl said. “Whatever put that into your head?”

“Well, there is one other thing you can do for me. Come along and talk to Mama,” Dolly said, and, taking her brother’s arm, steered him past the magnificent circular staircase into the marble-floored front hall and thence into the drawing room, which looked out onto Grosvenor Square. Sitting on a gold velvet sofa in front of an alabaster fireplace was a lovely middle-aged woman whose hair was so fair that it scarcely showed the white that had begun to streak it.

“Hello, Leo,” she said quietly.

“Hello, Mama,” he replied. He made no attempt to go to her. “This is a surprise.”

“Dolly dragged me. We are planning her come-out and she has a question she wants to ask you.”

His eyes, the same shade as his mother’s, moved to his sister’s animated face. “What question?” he asked.

His sister looked at him pleadingly. “Please, can we use the ballroom here at Standish House for my come-out ball? It would be so wonderful to have it here. If we have it at Jasper’s house we will have to use the drawing room, and it isn’t very big.”

Jasper Marley, Lord Rivers, was Dolly and Leo’s stepfather. Dolly, along with Leo’s two young brothers and his half brother, lived with her mother and stepfather.

Leo looked at his mother. “Was this Dolly’s idea or yours?”

“Believe it or not, the idea was Dolly’s,” she replied composedly.

“Yes, it was,” Dolly said. “I think Papa would want me to have the best come-out, Leo. I think he would want me to use the ballroom.”

He looked into his sister’s anxious face. “I’m sure he would. Of course you may use the ballroom. But I won’t be here for the great occasion.” He turned his eyes back to his mother. “I am leaving tomorrow for the Peninsula.”

Her fair eyebrows drew together with concern. “Must you go back, Leo? Surely you have done more than your share in this war. You’re twenty-eight. It’s time for you to be thinking of marrying and setting up your nursery. You have the succession to think of.”

His mouth set. “I have two younger brothers, Mama. If something happens to me, the earldom will stay in the family. And I believe in finishing what I start. The war is not over yet.”

She met and held his eyes. “You took a bullet in your leg. You may not be so lucky the next time.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Would you care?”

Her eyes watered. “Of course I would care! You’re my son.”

“Lucky me,” he replied.

Dolly said anxiously, “I wish you wouldn’t fight with Mama, Leo. I know you don’t like Jasper, but he’s not that bad. I think you and Mama should make up your quarrel before you go back to the war.”

“We don’t have a quarrel,” the earl said. “Do we, Mama?”

She surprised him by answering, “Yes, we do. And I wish we could put it behind us, Leo. I hate to see you going into danger again.” She stood up and clasped her hands in front of her. “Can’t you forgive me?”

His face was hard as stone. “Some things can’t be forgotten…or forgiven. And now, if there’s nothing more you need me for, I have a number of things to do before I leave tomorrow.”

A ripple of pain passed over his mother’s face.

“Leo!” Dolly said sharply.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dolly,” he replied curtly. “You came here to get use of the ballroom—well, you’ve got it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. Good afternoon.” He turned and strode out of the room.

“Mama, are you all right?” Dolly flew to her mother’s side.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Tears were running down Lady Rivers’s face.

“What is wrong?” Dolly asked in bewilderment. “Can Leo still be angry with you for marrying so soon after Papa died?”

“Leo has his reasons, Dolly. I don’t blame him for his actions toward me. I just wish he had a little more charity in his heart, that’s all.”

She took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes dry. “Come along, dear.” She tried to smile. “Leo isn’t the only one who has things to do.”

Two

It was raining when Gabrielle Robichon’s elderly carriage pulled up in front of the Hôtel Royale. She got out of the carriage and went to talk to the driver. “You can stable the horses in the mews in back of the hotel, Gerard. Make sure they are rubbed down and give them a bran mash.”

“I know, Gabrielle,” said the driver, who was almost as venerable as the carriage. “I’ve been taking care of horses for longer than you’ve been alive.”

Gabrielle smiled at him.

Gabrielle’s older companion appeared at her side. “For heavens sake, chérie, let’s get out of this rain!”

“All right, Emma, all right,” Gabrielle said. The two women hurried toward the door of the hotel, which was opened for them by a liveried doorman.

“Our bags are in the carriage,” Emma said to the doorman. “Will you have them fetched, please?”

“Yes, madame,” the man replied. “I will have them sent up to your room.”

“Thank you.”

The two women approached the desk. “We are supposed to have a reservation, Emma,” Gabrielle said.

The clerk behind the desk looked at them, and Emma said, “Madame Dumas and Madame Rieux. I believe we have a reservation.”

The clerk looked at his book. “Yes, I see it here. I will have someone show you to your room, mesdames.”

“Thank you.”

The two women followed a livery-clad young man up the central staircase to a room on the second floor. Emma and Gabrielle looked around at the four-poster bed, the aged Oriental carpet, and the nightstand with a pitcher of water and a basin. When the young man had left, Emma said, “Well, here we are, ready to embark on this crazy scheme.”

“It’s not so crazy,” Gabrielle said, taking off her bonnet. “Papa transferred gold for the Rothschilds many times.”

Emma took off her own hat, baring her dyed red hair. “That may be true, but you never had to masquerade as the wife of a strange Englishman before!”

“Mr. Rothschild insisted. It’s stupid, of course. He should know we can be trusted to get his gold to Biarritz without an English bodyguard to make us more noticeable.” Gabrielle looked disgusted. “If Papa were still alive they would never have thought of doing this.”

Emma said, “On the other hand, it will be nice to have someone along who will be responsible for the gold besides us.” She put her bonnet on a walnut chest with a lace runner on the top. “If something bad happens, he can take the blame.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Gabrielle said firmly. “Except I am going to have to pretend this anglais is my husband.”

“I hope he is a gentleman,” Emma said nervously. “Just think, Gabrielle, you may have to share your bedroom with him!”

“Don’t worry, Emma, nothing is going to happen.”

Gabrielle smiled. “I will keep my trusty knife handy, believe me. If he tries anything, I’ll skewer him.”

Emma shivered. “Please God it will not come to that.”

“I doubt it will,” Gabrielle said soothingly. “Mr. Rothschild said the man is a colonel on his way back to the army after being wounded. A colonel should be a gentleman.”

“I hope so,” Emma said “There’s a dining room downstairs,” Gabrielle said. “Let’s go and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Emma smiled in agreement. “We don’t often get the chance to eat in a hotel of this quality.”

The two women removed their pelisses, hung them in the wardrobe and went down to the dining room.

The earl arrived in Brussels the following afternoon to meet Gabrielle Robichon. He checked into his room at the hotel and was told that the ladies were out. He asked to be notified when they came back.

At five o’clock a hotel employee brought him word that Mesdames Rieux and Dumas had returned and would receive him in room 203. The earl, who was on the third floor, went down a flight of stairs and knocked at the designated door. It was opened by a middle-aged woman with dyed red hair and faintly slanted green eyes. She was wearing rouge.

“Good afternoon,” the earl said pleasantly. “I am Colonel Leo Standish.”

“Good heavens,” the woman said, staring up at him. Then, visibly gathering her wits, she opened the door wider and said, “Come in, Colonel.”

The earl stepped into the room. A charmingly husky voice said, “How do you do, Colonel. I am Gabrielle Robichon Rieux.”

He turned slightly and looked into the huge brown eyes of one of the loveliest girls he had ever seen. Her shining brown hair was parted in the middle and drawn back into a single braid that went halfway down her back. Her nose was small and delicate and her lips were clear-cut and perfect. She was holding out her hand but she was not smiling. He crossed the floor to take her hand into his own. She was quite small; her head did not reach the top of his shoulder, but her handshake was as firm as a man’s.

“You are married?” he said in surprise.

“I was married,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Now I am a widow.”

“You’re very young to be a widow,” he said. He was a little discomposed. He had not expected her to be so pretty.

She shrugged, a very Gallic gesture. “This stupid war has made widows of many young women. I am sure that is true in your country as well.”

“Unfortunately, it is. Was your husband killed in the war?” he asked.

“No. He was kicked in the forehead by one of the circus horses.” Her face was grave. “It was such a stupid accident. André lifted the horse’s rear foot to clean it and Sandi kicked out—something he never does. It was just bad luck that he got André in the head.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“We had only been married for a few months. It was very sad,” Gabrielle said. “And now let me introduce you to my companion, Madame Emma Dumas.”

He turned to the older woman and held out his hand. “How do you do, Madame Dumas.”

They shook hands and then he turned back to Gabrielle. “I appreciate the awkwardness of this situation for you, Madame Rieux. You are very generous, allowing me to masquerade as your husband.”

She shrugged again. “I myself do not think it is necessary, but Monsieur Rothschild insisted. Frankly, Colonel, you are likely to call more attention to us than to be a help.”

He said stiffly, “I will do the best I can to blend into the circus, madame. You are carrying a huge amount of money that is vital to the British forces. It is only natural that the army wants someone along to keep an eye on it.”

She bristled visibly. “Monsieur Rothschild trusted Papa implicitly!”

“But your father is not here any longer,” he pointed out. “And even if he was, the army would probably want to have someone go along.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him up and down. “You are not the sort of person who can easily blend in,” she said.

He was annoyed. “I will do the best that I can, madame.”

There was a little silence. Then she said, “If we are to be married you must call me by my Christian name, Gabrielle.”