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gallantry.’
    ‘And I am flattered to be felt worthy of such spontaneous ingenuity,’ he replied, surprising himself at being able to imply even gentle criticism. He had loved Miss MacAndrews from the very first moment he saw her, an emotion which had grown unflinchingly. Months before he had declared that love, at the same time confessing his inability to ask for anything, lacking any income beyond his pay. Deep down he knew that he had hoped for some affirmation from her – not a promise, for that would be unreasonable to expect, but the slightest acknowledgement that she would consider his proposal, should he ever be in a position to make one. That had not been given. She assured him of friendship, and had certainly lived up to this statement. The disappointment did not reduce his love in the slightest degree.
    Jane returned to the attack. ‘And do you feel a rapid fluency sufficient to excuse such behaviour? The charge of cruelty remains, and it seems I must be convicted.’
    Williams faltered again. ‘Never, never,’ he pleaded. ‘Not unless the sun is cruel because of its brightness, or the stars because of their …’ He struggled to think of something stars did, for sparkle seemed inadequate.
    ‘Gallantry is no doubt an appropriate defence for a soldier, although perhaps there are circumstances where it is insufficient in itself.’ The girl was disappointed that he was unable to continue such a promising exchange for very long. His adoration was so akin to worship that at times it wearied her. She had no wish to be a goddess, exalted, but not given the dignity of directness or exposure to even gentle wit. At nineteen she accepted her attractiveness to men – as far as she could see, almost all men – as a simple fact. This complacency made praise of her perfection unexceptional, and while she found it pleasant enough, it failed to provoke a deep response. So much was anyway habitual, although at least Williams had the virtue of utter sincerity and obviously steadfast conviction.
    On its own that was not enough. Jane was genuinely fond of him, but there was no more than a remote prospect that this would one day amount to anything more. Occasionally he showed just a spark of something which might perhaps foster deeper feeling. Yet such matters rarely exercised her thoughts for long. She was young and had no desire to marry until she had seen more of the world. The year before she had been with her mother in America, visiting their family. Since then they had rejoined her father in England, before following him to Portugal and Spain. Life was filled with new and interesting places and people. Marriage and children, even domesticity itself, for the moment had no more than distant appeal.
    She decided to lead the conversation in another direction. ‘I am aware of your diverse and numerous talents, Mr Williams, but I confess that until now I had not suspected great equestrian prowess.’ Miss MacAndrews sat straight backed on her grey, and was a confident – indeed, like her mother, at times somewhat reckless – rider. ‘Is it true that you rode in the charge?’
    ‘I was there,’ he said. Williams found it difficult to talk about a battle or skirmish. Somehow words struggled to match the confused memories and the stark peaks of anger and fear.
    Jane leaned forward a little to whisper mischievously, ‘And did you fall off?’
    ‘He did. Right in front of Lord Paget himself.’ Neither had noticed Wickham walk his horse over to join them. ‘Best to stay with the infantry, old boy.’ His smile was broad, the mockery ostensibly generous. Jane laughed, and Williams felt obliged to smile.
    ‘May I say how uncommonly elegant you are, Miss MacAndrews. The finest ornament the army could possess.’ Wickham had met Jane when the regiment was still in England, but not remarked her to any degree. This morning he was struck by her charms.
    ‘You, of course, have an excellent seat, Captain Wickham.’ Williams