The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [98]
And with that, he drew Olivia into the drawing room. The dowager moved forward with a smile; Quin turned around from a conversation. Before either of them could greet him, Canterwick waved the assembly to silence as if he owned the house.
He was something of an actor, Olivia thought, starting to get over the shock of his arrival and the astounding news he brought. First she had thought Rupert was dead, and now . . . Now?
“As you may know, my son, the Marquess of Montsurrey, is the major of the First Company of Canterwick Rifles,” the duke was saying, once again at a near-shout. He rocked back and forth on his heels, the words tumbling out. “For one reason or another, the Rifles landed at Oporto in Portugal. Apparently, when my son discovered this error, he shaped up his men and took them across country to Badajoz, the fort of Badajoz.”
The entire room was rapt, attention fixed on the duke. Except Quin; his eyes were fixed on Olivia’s back. Olivia could feel her shoulder blades prickling.
“As I’m sure you know, Badajoz has been under siege, under the command of General Thomas Picton. There had been many an attempt to scale the ramparts—some of them detailed in the London papers—but to no avail. Not, that is, until my son arrived!”
Olivia doubted that the duke knew how triumphant his tone was whenever he said the words my son.
“He’s glowing,” Georgiana murmured to her. “Isn’t it wonderful, Olivia? I mean, wonderful for Rupert. This will change everything for him.”
Olivia nodded.
“The general labeled the Canterwick Rifles the ‘Forlorn Hope,’ ” the duke went on. “That’s the term they give to a company that has no hope of success. ‘Forlorn Hope’! My son! Picton had to eat his words.”
“I expect Picton didn’t want to let them climb the ramparts,” Olivia whispered back to Georgiana. “It’s rather nice to see that even a general can’t stop Rupert once he puts his mind to something.”
“He and his men surmounted those ramparts, although every other English company had failed,” the duke bellowed. “Scaled then and held them for several days, until the Fifth Division was able to return. They’d given up, you see. Given up and moved on, thinking the French were keeping the fort at Badajoz. They weren’t, thanks to my son!”
Olivia couldn’t stop herself; she glanced to her right. Quin was looking at her; their eyes met, and it felt as if a gulf had opened between them.
“Most of the French defenders retreated to San Cristobal, and surrendered from there,” the duke said, his voice growing louder by the moment. “The marquess led his company up those ramparts, then held the fort, and captured many French soldiers. Held it. With one hundred men, he held the whole fort.” The duke leveled a ferocious look around the room. “There have been those who said things behind my son’s back. Made fun of him. Never again! They’re talking of the Order of the Bath. An honor held by twenty-four men at the most. My son!”
There was a moment of silence and then, spontaneously, applause . . . spreading from hand to hand until the whole party was cheering, even tearful in some cases.
The duke suddenly turned to the side and caught Olivia’s arm, pulled her to him. “Miss Lytton believed in him,” he said, looking around the room, fierce. “I present to you my son’s fiancée, the future Marchioness of Montsurrey.”
Olivia almost tripped, caught herself, smiled. The applause