He passed by familiar, and yet somehow not familiar, landmarks with a growing sense of trepidation as he entered Piccadilly. His heart began to beat faster, and he slowed his horse as he approached the entrance to Hamilton Place. There he stopped, looking down the houses lining the wide street towards the door where Kitty and his children awaited him. The news of his return to England would surely have reached them by now and Arthur wondered if they were sitting inside, watching the street for the first sign of him. He edged his mount over to the corner, to keep out of sight.

What was holding him back, he wondered. It was almost as if he dared not continue. For a moment he was tempted to ride on, and report his return to Horseguards, and perhaps visit Richard. Anything but face Kitty and two sons he barely knew.

‘Damned fool!’ he muttered to himself. This was how wars ended. No man could or should fight for his entire life. War was a necessary evil, as Arthur had frequently pointed out to his officers, and its sole purpose was the restitution of peace and the return of soldiers to the arms of their families. And yet here he stood, on the threshold of his return, reluctant to cross it.

With a quick kick of his heels and a tug on the reins Arthur turned the horse into Hamilton Place and trotted along the row of neat steps rising to imposing columned entrances. He drew up outside the house and eased himself down from the saddle. Hitching the reins to the railing, he took a calming breath and climbed the steps to the front door. Before he could reach it, the door opened, and there stood Kitty, in a plain muslin dress, drawn close beneath her bust as if she were still a young girl at the court of the Viceroy in Dublin. She squinted slightly and her bottom lip trembled until she bit down on it gently.

‘Arthur?’ She raised a hand to her face. ‘Arthur.’

He stood still and stared at her for an instant, and then nodded. ‘I’ve come home.’

He felt a fool as soon as he said it, and then stepped up and took her hands in his. Any more words he might have said dried in his throat as he looked down at her. She seemed older than he had thought she would. There were faint creases around her eyes and the eyes themselves had lost the sparkling lustre he had recalled whenever he had thought of her in the Peninsula. Yet there was still the same small nose and fine lips that had first caught his attention.