“Oh,” she said, understanding. She turned her head again and observed Major Reynolds, now talking to a young man she recognized as his brother’s oldest son. “He was a good officer?”
“The best,” Lieutenant Mayhew said simply. “There’s no one else I’d rather have served under.”
The quadrille claimed their attention and Isabella spent an agreeable half hour, the lieutenant’s tongue being light and flirtatious and never wanting for words. Their bows made and the musicians’ instruments laid down, the lieutenant escorted her to where Major Reynolds stood. Young Harold Reynolds was sporting a black eye. He bowed politely to Isabella and greeted Lieutenant Mayhew most correctly, but his expression as he gazed at the lieutenant’s uniform approached awe.
“Do you remember the ball at Ciudad Rodrig
