by Diane Gaston
Helene turned her face away. She had no counterargument for that.
He pressed on. ‘If I left the army I would be as your father said—fit for nothing. I am trained as a soldier, Helene. Nothing else. I have no other options.’ He made a helpless gesture. ‘We are in no better a place than five years ago.’
That was not true. Helene felt changed from five years ago. She was ready to take chances, to leap into an unknown future. Surely they could surmount any obstacle as long as they were together.
She rose and walked to the window. The alley below looked bleak, as alleys often do.
She turned back to Rhys, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head high. ‘I will not argue with you, Rhys. I wish only to point this out.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘If the issues that kept us apart five years ago are unchanged, as you say, so will be the fact that we are repeating the same mistake. We are parting.’
He stared back at her.
She suddenly could not stand to be in the room with him one moment more. She strode to the door. ‘I need to be away from you for a while. I’ll go downstairs and tell Louise and Wilson that David and I will be leaving tomorrow.’
She had thanked God that Rhys lived after the battle, but saying goodbye to him this time, as it had done before, killed any chance at her happiness.
* * *
Rhys saw little of Helene the rest of the day. She busied herself with packing or spending time with Louise or Wilson or David. Anyone but him. This would be their last night together and she wanted nothing to do with him.
If she only understood it had torn him apart to say those things to her, but her welfare was paramount in his mind. He would not risk her suffering again, not the way she’d suffered at Waterloo.
* * *
After a glum, uncomfortable dinner, the low spirits of which Rhys had no doubt were his fault, Wilson surprised him by inviting him out for beer at a nearby tavern while Helene and Louise served David dinner and cleaned up the kitchen.
As they walked out into the cool evening air, Wilson said, ‘I am glad you accepted my invitation. It is difficult for me to know what is proper and not in my situation.’
‘Proper?’ Rhys did not follow at all.
Wilson smiled wryly. ‘Am I servant or not? Am I acting out of place?’
Rhys laughed. ‘I was never so high as to consider you my servant. You were, though, one of the few men around who would allow me to pester you.’
‘You never pestered me, lad.’ Wilson touched his shoulder.
Rhys smiled inside. Wilson called him lad, as he had done when Rhys was a boy.
When they entered the tavern they were met by the familiar smells of hops, frites and men. There were almost as many men in the place as would be expected before the battle, and as great a variety of uniforms, but the men who wore them also wore bandages or carried crutches or wore that same vacant look that was often in David’s eyes. Gone was the air of bravado that had been present before the battle. Now the atmosphere was subdued, weary, pained.
Rhys and Wilson found a table, sat and ordered tankards of beer.
When the maid placed the tankards on the table, Wilson took a sip and said to Rhys, ‘I suppose Lady Helene is not happy to be leaving you.’
Rhys recognised that as an invitation to speak, but he’d spent too many years pushing his emotions down to be able to confide in anyone. He’d not even been able to share with Helene the desolation he felt inside at parting from her.
He asked Wilson instead, ‘Tell me. Did you ever regret leaving Louise? Did you ever wish you would have stayed?’
‘Regret?’ Wilson looked pensive. He took another sip. ‘Not regret. I was sorry about it, to be sure. Grieved for the loss. Missed her, but we did the right thing. She had a good life and so did I.’
This should have made Rhys feel better about his decision, but it did not.
‘I take it you will not marry Lady Helene, then.’ Wilson persisted.
‘I cannot ask her to follow the drum,’ Rhys replied. ‘That’s a hard life and I have nothing else to offer. Very little money, as well.’
Wilson nodded. ‘Yes, lad. That was my situation, as well. Nothing to offer. No money.’
Rhys steered the conversation away from him and Helene and instead asked Wilson about other people at Yarford House and in the village. Rhys’s parents never mentioned anything to do with Helene or her family in their letters, so there was much to catch up on.
* * *
When they walked back to Louise’s house, Wilson talked about his and Louise’s plan to marry. Wilson had saved his money and had enough to make their lives easy.
‘That is what you should do, lad,’ Wilson said. ‘Save your money. When your fortunes change, come looking for her again. Might work out then, when it does not now.’
Wait twenty-five years like Wilson had? That prospect felt even worse.
Rhys loved Helene. It was shredding his insides to have to say goodbye to her, but he must stand firm. Above all else, no harm must come to her. No suffering. After the battle when she appeared in front of him covered in blood, he’d thought she’d been mortally injured. It shook him to the core. He would not risk that fear ever coming true.
* * *
Later that night Rhys helped David get ready for bed.
‘I will be so glad to be home and in my own bed,’ David said. ‘I never want to see this place again. Or any of these people.’
‘Wilson, Louise and Mrs Jacobs have been very good to you, David,’ Rhys chided him.
‘Oh, I know,’ admitted David as Rhys helped him into a clean night shirt. ‘They just remind me...’ His voice trailed off and his face contorted in pain.
‘Of the battle?’ Rhys guessed.
David shook his head. ‘Do not say the word. Do not speak of it! I hate thinking about it. It comes back. It all comes back!’
Rhys gave him a direct look. ‘I know, David. I’ve been through many a battle.’
‘Yes, but you wanted to be in the army,’ he protested. ‘You were supposed to be in battles. I was not.’
Rhys lowered his voice, as he helped David into the bed. ‘You chose to be in the battle, too, David. I saw you join the charge. Accept the fact that it was your choice to come to Brussels, to witness the battle, to join the cavalry charge. What you experienced was the consequence of your decisions.’
David’s eyes widened. ‘You saw me?’
David seemed to miss the point, but Rhys answered him. ‘I was too far away to stop you. Your friend Lennox told us he tried to stop you, but you didn’t heed him.’
David glanced away. ‘Odd. I did not remember that until now. My memory started with my horse galloping—’ His breaths came fast. ‘I wish I had never come here! I want to go home.’
Rhys put a hand on David’s shoulder. ‘Calm yourself, David. Get some sleep.’
David’s voice became more strident. ‘I hate to sleep! It all comes back when I sleep.’
Rhys firmed his grip. ‘Listen to me. You survived a battle when thousands did not. That counts for something.’
‘I was a coward!’ David cried. ‘I hid and played dead while they—while they—’
‘You were clever,’ Rhys said. ‘You did what you had to do to survive.’
David peered at him uncertainly. ‘Clever?’
Let him think on that a while. ‘Tackle your nightmares like a man. Face them. Face the decisions you made and make amends.’
‘Oh, yes.’ David’s voice turned sarcastic. ‘Quite the easy thing for you to tell me to do.’
Rhys responded soberly, ‘On the contrary. Facing the results of one’s own decisions can be very, very difficult.’ He patted David’s shoulder. ‘I’ll say goodnight. Try to sleep. The travel tomorrow will be hard going for you.’
David relaxed against the pillows.
>
Rhys started to leave the room.
‘Rhys?’ David called him back.
He turned.
‘Thank you for saving me.’ His voice was small. ‘And thank Grantwell, too. I do not think I ever said thank you.’
Rhys nodded approvingly. Perhaps David did have a chance to grow from a boy into a man. Rhys gave him a wave and turned to leave again.
‘Rhys?’ David called again.
‘What?’
‘Are you going to marry my sister?’
Not that question again. ‘No, David.’
‘Good!’ The boy snuggled in the pillows again. ‘Because I need her.’
Rhys’s muscles tensed. David might be hopeless, after all.
Rhys started to walk away, but he whirled around to David and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Perhaps some day, David, you will be man enough to set aside what you need in order to consider what your sister needs.’
Rhys walked out.
* * *
When Rhys finally climbed the stairs to the bedchamber he shared with Helene, she was in a nightdress and was climbing into bed. She looked up at his entrance but did not speak.
‘David is settled for the night,’ he said.
She did not answer him.
He sat on a chair and pulled off his boots and stockings. He stood again and removed his coat. The other nights they’d shared together, undressing had been something they’d done in unison, like a dance with varied, but shared, steps. This night he undressed alone—at least down to his drawers. It appeared they would not lie naked in each other’s arms this night.
It might be for the best. Each night they made love he risked getting her with child. As extraordinary an idea as that was, Rhys could not offer a son or daughter anything but hardship.
He washed, cleaned his teeth and felt as if they’d already said goodbye to each other, the distance between them seemed so vast. When he turned and finally faced her, though, she sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him.
He approached the bed, but she lay down and turned away.
This was agonising. No matter the risk, Rhys longed to hold her one more time, make love to her one more time before they must part.
He lay there, despairing, unable to even conceive of sleep, when she turned and spooned against him, her soft curves pressing into his back. He inhaled a long breath and savoured her closeness. He remained as still as possible, assuming she had moved to him in her sleep. He had no wish to wake her.
Her lips touched his bare back in a deliberate kiss. He rolled over. Moonlight from the window illuminated her lovely face. Her eyes were open.
She sat up and lifted her nightdress over her head, all the while her gaze continuing to pierce into him. Once naked, she stilled again and he basked in the sight of her. He could no more resist her than resist breathing. How could he ever let this night be their last? How could he allow her to leave him?
She eased him on his back, straddling him and joining their bodies together. They moved together, still silent, eyes still locked. His hands grasped her waist. They created a slow rhythm together, as if they’d both agreed not to hurry on this terrible final night together. Nothing compared to the exquisite pleasure of this dance with Helene. No other woman could come close.
Rhys wanted this joining between them to never stop, this connection, when bodies, minds and souls made them one. His body, though, his damned body—hers as well—betrayed him, intensifying his arousal, forcing them to move faster and faster...until...until...until the explosion of their climax made their joining complete—and very quickly separated them again.
Helene slid off him and, although he held her close, they were no longer one. They were apart again.
When Rhys’s body recovered, he tried to recapture what he’d so recently possessed and lost. He rose above her as her body welcomed him again. This coupling, though, was more carnal, two bodies in need of each other, eager to get their fill while they were still able. When completed Rhys held her again and would not let her go. He fought sleep, wanting to remember each moment of the few hours he had left with Helene, but his body betrayed him again.
He almost instantly fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When dawn broke Helene made love to Rhys again. This time was unlike any before and she knew it was because her emotions were high and raw. He was caught in the same mood and kissed her roughly. She returned his kiss in kind, her body instantly aroused and yearning for him. When he turned her on her back and entered her, it was with one hard thrust. Her fingernails raked his back as he moved, pushing deeper and harder than before. Still, the pain was in her heart; her body was glorying in his drive to their ultimate ecstasy. When her pleasure exploded inside her, she felt a momentary exhilaration, as if she’d proved once and for all that they belonged together. After he cried out in his own release and collapsed on top of her, she realised it was all illusion. Their bodies separated and he lifted himself off her.
She stared at him, her body trembling and he met her eye as he held himself away from her, giving them both room to breathe. Neither of them spoke but Helene sensed this was the last time she would see into his eyes, and he, hers.
He slowly moved to her side, and, as a clock struck the hour to mark the time, she could mark this as the first moment of separation.
‘I need to dress,’ she said.
They might as well proceed with the day. Perhaps doing the ordinary things would make the day tolerable.
She climbed off the bed and walked naked to the pitcher and basin on the chest of drawers. She poured water into the basin and began to wash herself. When she washed away evidence of their lovemaking, the cloth came back red. At first she thought it was because they’d been rough, then her heart sank. All it meant was there would be no baby growing inside her, no precious consolation for parting from Rhys.
She glanced over at Rhys, but he was seated on the bed, his back turned to her. Should she tell him?
No. She could not see inflicting such pain if he’d grieve this loss as she did. If he met the news with relief, Helene did not think she could bear it. She took care of herself and put on her shift and positioned her corset.
She turned to him. ‘Would you help me with my corset?’
‘Of course.’ He rose from the bed, gloriously naked.
She could not help but watch him, so muscular, so masculine as he moved towards her. When he came close, she turned her back so he could tie her laces. His warmth, his scent and the gentleness of his fingers made her body come alive again. She closed her eyes to help her remember this feeling; she would never feel it again. After he tied the laces, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his chin resting on her shoulder. How could she endure this? It hurt so much!
Rhys had to help her again when she needed her dress laced. While Rhys washed and shaved, she sat at the dressing table and arranged her hair. On other mornings he might have brushed her hair for her, a pleasure second only to lovemaking.
She was dressed before him. ‘I’ll see if Louise needs help with breakfast.’
She left the room. As she descended the stairs, she pictured her heart as that mended vase so carefully glued back together. One piece broke off again. Helene suspected the day would crack off the other pieces until nothing was left but jagged shards.
* * *
The carriage arrived at quarter past ten. David’s new valet, Marston, came at the same time and Rhys introduced the man to everyone. Marston jumped right in to assist David, doing so with much deference and solicitude, as if David were not half his age and a world less experienced. He freed Helene to bid farewell to the people who had meant so much to her during these dramatic weeks.
Mrs Jacobs had come to see her off. After deluging Marston with detailed instructions for David’s care, Mrs Jacobs burst into tears and embraced Helene.
‘I will never see you again!’ Mrs Jacobs wailed. ‘I will never see my mademoiselle and her Captain!’
Helene feared that was true. She tried to blink away her own tears. She’d become very fond of Mrs Jacobs. ‘Thank you, Mrs Jacobs. Thank you for everything you have done for me and Wilson and David. I will miss you terribly.’ The nurse held her tight and was reluctant to let go.
Next goodbyes were with Louise and Wilson. She embraced Louise but could not speak through her tears which now fell in earnest.
‘Write to us,’ Louise managed to say, wiping her eyes.
Helene nodded. She turned to Wilson. Wilson, who had been a constant presence her whole life, someone she always could depend upon, someone incredibly dear to her.
She hugged him like she used to when she was a small girl and he comforted her for some hurt.
‘I feel I am forsaking my duty to you, m’lady,’ Wilson said, his voice rough.
‘Nonsense,’ she responded. ‘It is your time to be happy. You have waited long enough for it.’
Rhys had supervised the loading of the luggage, Helene’s portmanteau and David’s trunk. That accomplished, he stood apart from the others.
He was her last goodbye.
She walked over to him and they faced each other. His expression was impassive and she wanted to flail at him. Did he not care? How could he let them part without a promise of being together again? She tried to tell herself she’d many times weathered this fear that they would never see each other again, surely she could do so one more time.
Helene mustered all her strength to remain composed. ‘Goodbye, Rhys,’ she whispered.
‘Goodbye, Helene,’ he responded.
Before the pain of this moment totally overwhelmed her, she turned away to walk to the carriage.
She took no more than two steps when Rhys seized her arm, spun her around and captured her in a fierce embrace. She melted into him.