He gasped. It was Mimi’s locket. The golden filigreed heart her parents had given her for her birthday just two weeks ago.
He knew she would have put something inside the piece. Something to formalise and commemorate their words of love, possibly. He was sure, now, that she’d forgiven him. And, just as he’d imagined, inside the tiny vessel he found a lock of jet black hair that smelled faintly of citrus with spicy undertones. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, pressing the soft strands against his cheek.
He must get her back. How, though? How could he prove his love for her? How could he prove to Marie that he would and could take care of her daughter? How could he convince Marie that he could give Mimi a good life?
Blackmore returned with the coffee, some cheese and bread and a little piece of seed cake. “You must eat something, Mr Richard.”
“Right. Blackmore, why do you suppose Miss Hancock sent this?” He held up the locket which glinted in the sun through the window.
“I couldn’t say, Mr Richard.”
“She sent her locket for a reason. But what? Forgiveness for something I did not do? Sorrow for having accused me? Sorrow because her mother thinks I’m not good enough? Not rich enough? Not connected enough? Did she send it because she loves me?”
“It seems she doesn’t want to leave things on a bad note.”
“Yes, Blackmore, I believe you’re right. Thank you.”
“Not at all, Mr Richard.” The valet left the room, and Richard fell back again on the pillows with a sigh.
Had Mimi sent the locket to let him know that she did, indeed, return his feelings? Did she want him to follow her? The message contained in the delivery of the gift was ambiguous. If he followed Mimi to Paris, he could be sent away again. He didn’t think he would survive something like that. He was at a loss. What should he do in response to the memento he’d received?
For the better part of the next hour, he tried to see the situation from every possible angle until he’d worked himself into a mental and emotional tizzy. His distress at losing Mimi, at their misunderstanding, and the very possible loss of a future together felt almost paralysing.
The aching in his head pounded in his ears. He lay with his head on the pillows and his arm thrown over his eyes. He felt bleak and desolate. What could he do? Even if he followed Mimi to France, Marie had made it abundantly clear that she had higher aspirations for her daughter than he could provide. Marie did not want her daughter to marry a barrister or a banker. A good life was not what Madame Hancock wanted for Mimi.
No, Marie Beauvarlet Hancock wanted for her daughter the thing she herself had been denied. A profitable marriage that would bring both mother and daughter up in society. Madame Hancock wanted her daughter’s marriage to a gentleman.
And then suddenly, it came to him. His answer. A sure way to gain Madame Hancock’s admiration. Something that would weave him into the hierarchy of the social fabric surrounding their lives.
He would join the army. English soldiers were currently fighting in the Iberian Peninsula to gain Spain’s freedom from Napoleon. Being a soldier would qualify Richard as a gentleman and hero, and therefore, eligible to court Mimi. If Marie wanted a gentleman for her daughter then a gentleman she would have.
If Richard survived the war.
Chapter 5
Summer 1812
“Mrs Reilly? Camille?” Lavinia Warren bustled into the kitchen. She had taken Camille in as a kitchen maid when Marie and Mimi had left for Paris with their household servants. Shortly afterward, her own cook, Ann, had become engaged to a farmer. Ann planned on moving to the country with her new husband and raising a family. It had all worked out beautifully with Camille moving seamlessly into service as the cook of the Warren household in Ann’s stead.
“Camille, please make my son’s favourite dishes tonight. He’s terribly depressed over the fact that the Hancock ladies have left London. Please don’t make anything, uh, French. If you get my point.”
“Yes, Mrs Warren.”
Lavinia noticed that since she’d been in the Warren’s employ, Camille spoke only English and rarely made the French dishes the Hancocks had so loved. It was something Lavinia appreciated because any reference to France or Paris caused young Richard consternation.
Yes, Lavinia was quite happy with Camille and had written to Marie Hancock about just that. However, Marie hadn’t written back yet. It had been only four months since Mr Hancock’s death. Marie was still deep in mourning. Why the woman could barely be settled as well. At least that’s what Lavinia kept telling herself. She didn’t know if she should write to Marie again. What if the first letter she’d sent had been lost? Marie would have no idea of what was happening with her former cook or anything else going on in London. Marie would want to know.
What should she do? If it hadn’t been a delicate situation, it wouldn’t have mattered. Lavinia would have just repeated the letter, presuming Marie’s lack of response to mean the letter had been lost. But she knew that the absence of a response might prove that Marie didn’t want any contact with the Warrens. At least not until she’d managed to set her daughter up with Duke Hertford or someone of a similar station.
Lavinia had heard the gossip at the middle class soirees. The tradesman class emulated the ton in everything possible, including the poor behaviour. She’d heard how Mrs Joseph Hancock had chased Duke Hertford to Paris in an effort to get him to propose, somehow, to her daughter. It was a disgrace, the middle class had declared. Lavinia paid the slander scant attention. She knew that any woman with the means would have followed the Duke to Paris with her daughter in tow. Even still it was odd behaviour that carried a touch of desperation with it.
Lavinia told Richard not to respond to the packet containing the locket that Mimi had given him. It was unseemly and quite forward of the girl to have sent it. Responding to it could easily cause trouble for her son. People, if they found out about the gift, might say Mimi was a fast piece. It wouldn’t do for Richard to be tangled up with someone who was spoken of that way. Lavinia understood why Mimi had sent the packet, but her understanding it did not excuse the audacity of the gesture.
Lavinia, herself, had a somewhat rebellious heart, so she took Mimi’s gesture to her son in stride. Lavinia took love to be the most valuable possession of any that one could acquire. She also reckoned that Mimi was confused by what her mother had told her about primogeniture, class structure, and money. Mimi had no notion of what the haut ton was really about. And her mother didn’t either.
As a well known actress, Lavinia had gone to dinners and balls. She’d stayed at the country homes and generally spent time with members of the peerage. She knew the rules and how they were enforced, and it was very easy for a woman to find herself in a position where she was shunned by that exclusive community.
Lavinia forgave the girl for causing Richard distress, although she was still angry about it. Lavinia would not allow her son to act the fool. And she certainly would not allow him to be hurt again.
*******
“Absolutely not. I will not hear of it. This conversation is over.” Lavinia stood and walked away from the dining table leaving her husband and son smarting from the heat of her words.
The elder Mr Warren had told his wife that he’d been successful in his efforts to have the Regimental Agent take Richard’s documentation in for approval to join the army as an Ensign. Of course, the commission had cost 500 pounds, but the elder Warren had put the money away long ago in the event that his son might want to join the army someday. It was a good career choice for a second or third son.
As fate would have it, that day had arrived, and Richard’s documentation and commission had been approved. Mr Warren’s old school chum, Colonel Bradley had vouched for the boy, and in two days Richard would report for duty.
Lavinia, to say the least, was not at all happy about it and had taken the news very badly. Richard was her baby. She’d always had a soft spot for both of her children, but Richard
was the one who was most like her. He’d inherited her sense of adventure and rebellion. And now, she wondered if her own mother had felt this way when Lavinia had left her home on a farm in Cornwall to go to London and become an actress.
Things had turned out well for Lavinia. She’d been quite well known in her youth, often filling in for the stars of the theatre company she worked with. She knew every part. She could perform any one of them at ten minutes’ notice. And she’d loved every minute of it.
That was until a young man came back to the backstage area after a show one night. He’d been shy at first but had asked to take her to supper. For some reason, she’d said yes. Maybe because he was unlike the other men who’d approached her, each hoping and expecting her to become his mistress. She was an actress after all.
But the man who’d taken her to dinner had treated her like a grand lady. And six months later she married him. Her mother had been devastated, had never accepted her son-in-law, and had only met her grandsons a handful of times. Lavinia now understood why her mother had worried so when Lavinia had been a girl and left home for the city of London.
“Darling.” Warren walked upstairs to his wife’s bedchamber. She had a tiny sitting room just next to it. It was her favourite place in the house. Her sanctuary. She always went there when she needed to think or to be alone.
Mr Warren knocked on the door. “Lavinia. May I come in, darling.”
“Go away. I don’t wish to talk to you.”
“Please, my dear. Let me explain.”
“I said no. Go away.”
Warren pushed the door open a crack. “You must allow me to explain.”
“Explain why you and my son have made plans for him to go away to war? How, pray tell, do you mean to explain that, Mr Warren?”
Mr Warren went into the room and over to the chair his wife rested on. “I’m sorry, dear. I knew you would be upset. But it’s what the boy wants. And if I may say, I think it’s what he needs. His heart is broken. He needs direction. He needs to feel worthwhile. By serving his country he will gain a sense of himself. His confidence will grow. Please, dear. Try to understand.”
“And if he’s injured, or … or killed? How am I to understand if that should happen?”
“Darling. This is Richard’s life we are discussing. Not yours. The boy wants this. I had more than one discussion with him about it. He is entirely sure of his motivations. He was also interviewed by Colonel Bradley. Bradley thinks he’ll make a fine soldier.”
She rolled her eyes and sniffed.
“He is eighteen, Lavinia. He is a man. You cannot hold him back. It is his life.”
Lavinia nodded and wiped her eyes. She held her forehead in her hand, then inhaled sharply and looked straight at her husband. “You are right. I understand, and I know everything you’re saying is correct. I just can’t bear the idea of something happening to him. He is so sensitive.”
“He is also strong, Lavinia. Do not underestimate him. But please, give him your blessing. He’s going either way. Don’t you wish him to have his mother’s love and best wishes accompanying him?”
“Yes. I do, darling.”
Richard appeared in the doorway before his mother and went to her. “Thank you, Mother. Thank you. I will make you proud. I will make you both proud. And I will come back in one piece. I promise.”
Lavinia stood and put her arms around her son in a loving embrace. Her eyes met her husband’s over her son’s shoulder. “I know you will, love, I know you will come home to us safe and sound,” she cooed to her son.
*******
Vitoria, Spain
Summer 1813
Ensign Richard Warren was exhausted. Since the deep summer of the year before, after the Anglo-Spanish regiment he belonged to had conquered the French at Salamanca, he’d seen much action. He’d also seen agonising death, maiming, starvation, pillage, and worse.
He was most appalled by what he’d witnessed happening to the men around him. He’d watched as combat enabled the soldiers’ untapped base natures and mind bending fear to take full rein. The stress and pain they were experiencing caused them to respond to the world around them with a soul crushing violence that knew no remorse.
Richard was alternately angered, horrified, and saddened by what he saw. He prayed it wouldn’t happen to him. He knew he would rather die than indulge in some of the behaviour he’d been privy to.
At night he laid awake listening to the sounds of the camp, the men playing cards and talking softly, the far off wail of a voice singing, and even the cries of the babes that along with their mothers travelled from battle to battle with their men. And he’d wondered how the soldiers became human beings again after the feral and vicious manoeuvres they’d employed during the daylight hours.
Salamanca, a year earlier, had been the first battle he’d seen and taken part in. He’d prayed the whole time and cried for half of it, and when it was over, he’d felt his arms and legs and even his head to be sure they were still attached and in one piece.
He’d marvelled that his fingers were still able to wriggle, and his legs still strode one in front of the other to move him to where he needed to be. He was still alive. And after he’d looked out over the expanse of the dead, maimed bodies littering the countryside under a bright and sunny blue sky, he’d fallen to his knees and vomited.
Two weeks later, Wellington had marched the regiment into Madrid to an exuberant community. The men were welcomed with cheering and applause and the gratitude of the people.
King Joseph, Napoleon’s brother, had escaped from the city. Wellington’s men, in an effort to apprehend him, found it impossible due to the French soldiers who hindered any attempt at progress. So the General Marquess Wellington had pulled back to Salamanca for a winter of rest and regrouping.
The time away from battle enabled Ensign Warren to deeply consider what he’d been doing with the army and why. The young man, now battle hardened, bone weary, and more than a little bitter, wanted it all to be over. He’d had enough of the atrocities the battles provoked. He was ready to go home.
He had joined the army mainly to forget about Mimi, but also to gain the respect of her mother. He would be raised up in society having spent time in the service of England. And, he would be considered a gentleman once the battles were over and Wellington marched the regiment back to London.
That was if he survived. He hadn’t actually thought about the reality of death when he’d had his commission purchased by his father. Endurance had become the object of each day. Survival. Warren couldn’t die without seeing his love one more time at least. He would not allow it. He vowed he would find her. If it was the last thing he did, he would see his Mimi again.
*******
Paris
Summer 1813
“Mimi?” Marie called to her daughter from the stairs. Mimi was in her chamber preening over a new chignon that Giselle had put her hair into.
“Yes, Maman. Entrez.”
“You look beautiful, my dear daughter. Giselle, will you leave us please?”
“Oui, Madame.” Giselle left the chamber, silently closing the door behind her.
Mimi looked at her mother sharply. “Maman? What is it? What has happened?”
“Nothing bad, mon chou. It’s just that it seems to have worked out in our favour that the house on Jermyn Street would not sell.”
“Why is that? I thought you wanted the money so you can build your dream house at the vineyards.”
“Yes. I did want that. You are right. But since we haven’t been able to sell the house, we can go back to London whenever we want. And, actually, it is time to do so.”
“London! Maman, are we really to go to London? You’re not teasing me are you?”
“I am not teasing you, my daughter. It is time. We must leave Paris. My sister is going to our uncle’s farm in Belgium.”
“Why so? What has happened, Mother? Please. Tell me.”
“I believe, from what I’ve seen in the p
apers, that the war is nearing to a close, darling. Word has it that the French army in Spain is retreating. If they come into France, and they are followed as they have been across the Iberian Peninsula, we may be in danger.”
“Oh dear. When are we to leave, Maman?”
“Tonight. There will be less traffic on the roads. We’ll make better time, and changing the horses takes less than half the time. No waiting in line. Remember last year when we came here and we left London in the morning? We had quite a time of it, didn’t we? Marguerite told me about travelling at night. It’s somewhat more dangerous due to the fact that the roads are near to empty, but the opportunity to outrun a possible highwayman is present. With the Anglo-Spanish army possibly coming into France, I think to take our chances. Do you agree, Mimi?”
The Lost Love of a Stunning Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 7