Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(91)

“There’s a good boy!”

“Look smart, fellow!”

“No accidents in front of the queen!”

“And all that goes for you too, Albert,” someone added, causing the lot of them to snicker.

Giving his friends a damning glance, which only amused them further, Christopher took Albert to meet the queen.

Her Majesty was even shorter and stouter than he had expected, her nose hawklike, her chin nonexistent, her eyes penetrating. She was dressed in a scarlet riding coat, a general’s sash over one shoulder, and a general’s plume of red and white feathers on her open riding hat. A band of black mourning crepe, a customary token of military mourning, had been tied around one plump arm. On horseback beside the dais, she was at the same level as the medal recipients.

Christopher was gratified by the businesslike manner with which she conducted the ceremony. The men filed past her, each stopping to be presented and have the queen pin a bronze cross with a red ribbon to his chest, and then he was efficiently ushered away. At this rate, the entire process wouldn’t take more than a quarter hour.

As soon as Christopher and Albert stepped up to the dais, he was disconcerted to hear a cheer rising from the crowd, spreading and growing until the noise was deafening. It wasn’t right for him to receive more acclamation than the other soldiers—they deserved just as much recognition for their courage and gallantry. And yet the ranks were cheering as well, humbling him utterly. Albert looked up at him uneasily, staying close to his side. “Easy, boy,” he murmured.

The queen regarded the pair of them curiously as they stopped before her.

“Captain Phelan,” she said. “Our subjects’ enthusiasm does you honor.”

Christopher replied carefully. “The honor belongs to all the soldiers who have fought in Your Majesty’s service—and to the families who waited for them to return.”

“Well and modestly said, Captain.” There was a slight deepening of the creases at the corners of her eyes. “Come forward.”

As he complied, the queen leaned from the horse to pin the bronze cross with its crimson ribbon to his coat. Christopher made to withdraw, but she stopped him with a gesture and a word. “Remain.” Her attention switched to Albert, who sat on the dais and cocked his head as he regarded her curiously. “What is your companion’s name?”

“His name is Albert, Your Majesty.”

Her lips quirked as if she were tempted to smile. She slid a brief glance to her left, at the prince consort. “We are informed that he campaigned with you at Inkerman and Sebastopol.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He performed many difficult and dangerous duties to keep the men safe. This cross belongs partly to him—he assisted in recovering a wounded officer under enemy fire.”

The general charged with handing the orders to the queen approached and gave her a curious object. It looked like . . . a dog collar?

“Come forward, Albert,” she said.

Albert obeyed promptly, sitting at the edge of the dais. The queen reached over and fastened the collar around his neck with a deft efficiency that revealed some experience with the procedure. Christopher recalled having heard that she owned several dogs and was partial to collies. “This collar,” she said to Albert, as if he could understand her, “has been engraved with regimental distinctions and battle honors. We have added a silver clasp to commend the valor and devotion you have displayed in our service.”

Albert waited patiently until the collar was fastened, and then licked her wrist.

“Impertinent,” she scolded in a whisper, and patted his head. And she sent a brief, discreet smile to Christopher as they left to make way for the next recipient.

“Albert, friend to royalty,” Beatrix said later at the Rutledge Hotel, laughing as she sat on the floor of their suite and examined the new collar. “I hope you don’t get above yourself, and put on airs.”

“Not around your family, he won’t,” Christopher said, stripping off his coat and waistcoat, and removing his cravat. He lowered himself to the settee, relishing the coolness of the room. Albert went to drink from his bowl of water, lapping noisily.

Beatrix went to Christopher, stretched full length atop him, and braced her arms on his chest. “I was so proud of you today,” she said, smiling down at him. “And perhaps a tiny bit smug that with all the women swooning and sighing over you, I’m the one you went home with.”

Arching a brow, Christopher asked, “Only a tiny bit smug?”

“Oh, very well. Enormously smug.” She began to play with his hair. “Now that all this medal business is done with, I have something to discuss with you.”

Closing his eyes, Christopher enjoyed the sensation of her fingers stroking his scalp. “What is it?”

“What would you say to adding a new member to the family?”

This was not an unusual question. Since they had established a household at Riverton, Beatrix had increased the size of her menagerie, and was constantly occupied with animal-related charities and concerns. She had also compiled a report for the newly established natural history society in London. For some reason it had not been at all difficult to convince the group of elderly entomologists, ornithologists, and other naturalists to include a pretty young woman in their midst. Especially when it became clear that Beatrix could talk for hours about migration patterns, plant cycles, and other matters relating to animal habitats and behavior. There was even discussion of Beatrix’s joining a board to form a new natural history museum, to provide a lady’s perspective on various aspects of the project.