The Sentimental Soldier

by April Kihlstrom

  “But who is she? And how did she come to be with you, in France?”

  Perhaps she should have left it to Alain. He was, after all, remarkably inventive with a story. But Prudence was tired of being spoken of as if she were not there.

  “I fell overboard during a storm from the ship I was on and washed ashore where Colonel Langford found me,” Prudence said curtly. “Since there was no other way to get me home, the colonel was forced to drag me across France with him. This,” she added, gesturing toward her clothes, “seemed the safest disguise.”

  Now the officer seemed more stunned than ever. “You have a lady’s voice,” he said in a tone of wonder.

  “Well of course I do!” Prudence snapped, too tired to be diplomatic. “My father was a gentleman and my mother a lady and I assure you I was raised to be one as well. I am Miss Marland.”

  And what there was in her words to cause such a look of distress to cross Alain’s face she could not imagine. Nor did she understand the silent message that seemed to pass between the two men.

  The officer cleared his throat self-consciously. “Yes, well, er, Colonel Langford we must do something about this. I have no clothing suitable here for a lady.”

  “Why do anything?” Prudence asked with exasperation. “I am perfectly content to continue my masquerade for the moment. Time enough to find me other clothing after we have seen Wellington. And then, frankly, I shan’t care whether it’s silk and satin or the veriest peasant skirt someone can find for me.”

  Again that odd look passed between the two men.

  “I shall, of course, handle things directly after we’ve spoken to Wellington,” Colonel Langford said to the officer. “But she is quite correct that we should brook no delay in reaching him.”

  The officer nodded. “I’ll have you on your way within the hour. It’s an honor to meet you, Colonel Langford. And, er, most interesting to meet you, too, Miss Marland.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Perhaps it would be best if you both waited here, out of sight, until the horses are ready and I’ve a man to take you,” he suggested.

  Colonel Langford agreed. He seemed at ease. But the moment they were alone, his face settled into bleak lines. Prudence gently touched Alain’s arm.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “I wish,” he said at last, “that he had not realized you were a woman.”

  “Does it matter? Surely people would have learned soon enough.”

  Again the hesitation. “I had hoped,” he said, “that we would find a way to spirit you out of Wellington’s camp and back to England with no one the wiser.”

  “But I don’t care. Truly,” Prudence said, trying to reassure him.

  Colonel Langford grimaced. “Unfortunately,” he retorted, “I do. This will not end by affecting you alone.”

  “Why the devil not?”

  But Alain only shook his head and refused to explain. Which was really, Prudence thought, most provoking. Still, she could not force him to talk so she spent the time pacing about the tent. Now that they were here, in Spain, she could not wait to meet the man all of England considered its savior.

  The ride was a long one. Not because they had so incredibly far to travel, but because there were patrols every few miles along the way. Or so it seemed. Maybe, Prudence told herself, the journey just seemed a long one because Alain refused to speak with her. Indeed, it became almost easy to think of him as Colonel Langford. He seemed so lost in his own thoughts, so reserved when he responded to her questions, that she began to feel reluctant to intrude.

  But then they reached Wellington’s headquarters. Instinctively she straightened as they approached the man and she had to suppress the urge to curtsey. That would indeed have drawn all eyes, dressed as she was as a boy.

  Wellington greeted the colonel like an old friend and Prudence was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy.

  “Colonel Langford! Good God but I am glad to see you again! We’d begun to think you lost. Come, you must tell me everything that happened. And everything you learned.”

  Wellington started to turn away but Colonel Langford stopped him. “Sir, there is someone you ought to meet. Someone who was of invaluable assistance to me and whose story you will find just as fascinating as mine.”

  Wellington was curious. He looked at Prudence and frowned. “This boy? Is he French?”

  “That sir, is all part of the tale we have to tell you,” Alain replied, evading the question neatly. “But in private, I think.”

  “Very well. In private,” Wellington agreed.

  In moments they were seated and being served tea. Colonel Langford waited until everyone else had been waved out of the tent by Wellington before he began. And then he told his story, start to finish and omitting, so far as Prudence could tell, absolutely nothing. From time to time one or both men would turn to her and ask questions. She did her best to answer. So amiable was the conversation, that she was lulled into a false sense of security. That was why the words Wellington spoke, at the end of the hour, came as such a shock to her.

  “You’ll marry the girl, of course. As soon as it can be arranged. Then we’ll get her on a boat to England and your family can take care of her.”

  Prudence stared at the man, stunned, and waited for Colonel Langford to contradict Wellington. But he didn’t. Instead he nodded and replied, “I shall write a letter to send on ahead, warning them, and another for her to carry with her, in case the first does not reach home in time.”

  “Good. I’ll speak to the chaplain and there will be no difficulties, I am certain, about the short notice.”

  “And I shall find someone to escort her back to England,” Colonel Langford added.

  It was too much. Prudence began to get over her shock and to feel her temper rising. Indeed she did actually rise to her feet and stare down at both men.

  “You are speaking as if I am not even here!” she protested. “Do I have nothing to say in this?”

  They shook their heads. “You were alone, in Colonel Langford’s company for weeks, at night, and you are a well-born lady. There is no alternative but for the two of you to marry,” Wellington said in a reasonable tone.

  But Prudence did not wish to be reasonable. “It is ridiculous!” she said, feeling close to tears. “Colonel Langford has no desire to marry me! Let me go back to England disguised as a boy. No one need ever know.”

  It was Alain, as she still thought of him, who shook his head. “Too many know. The man who brought us does. And he will tell others. No, there is no other way to salvage your reputation. Or,” he added, holding up a hand to forestall her when she opened her mouth to protest again, “any other way to salvage mine.”

  Prudence closed her mouth and sat down. “I don’t like it,” she muttered.

  Colonel Langford shrugged. “Neither do I,” he said carelessly, “but I, at least, know enough to do my duty.”

  And why that should push her over the edge into despair was more than Prudence could have said.

  Chapter 9

  Almost the first person they encountered outside Wellington’s headquarters was Colonel Langford’s batman. He came running straight toward them. “Colonel ‘arry, is it really you? I couldn’t believe me ears when I ‘eard you was back!”

  Harry grinned. “It most certainly is me. How have you been, Wilkins?”

  “Worritin’ meself sick over you. When you didn’t come back arter a month there was them as said you never would,” the man mournfully replied. Then, noticing Prudence his eyes narrowed. “A gypsy boy? What’s ‘e doing ‘ere? We don’t want no riffraff like that ‘ere abouts.”

  “Er, Wilkins?” Harry said, lowering his voice so that the batman would lower his. “This isn’t, er, riffraff. This is Miss Prudence Marland and she is about to become my wife.”

  Wilkins opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He stared at Miss Marland, then back at Harry. Finally he looked her straight in the eye and said, bluntly, “I don’t like
it. I don’t like it at all.”

  And then he stalked away.

  Beside Harry, Miss Marland shivered and he tried to give her an encouraging smile. “Wilkins has been with me for some time,” he explained. “And therefore thinks himself entitled to say the most outrageous things.”

  She stared at him. “The most outrageous things,” she echoed. Then, “Like calling you ‘Harry?’ Colonel Harry? Not Colonel Alan?”

  Harry felt his color rising. He’d forgotten about that. About the fact that he’d never told her his real name. Now he all but stammered as he said, “Well, er, it’s Colonel Harry Alan Langford. It seemed safer to use Alain while I was in France and I thought it would only confuse you if I told you about my other name.”

  “I see.”

  Harry knew that edge of ice in her voice. He’d heard it often enough when his brother’s wives were mad at his brothers to know what it meant. But truly, what could he do about the matter now?

  To his great relief, one of the few respectable women in camp suddenly appeared and said, “I’ve been asked to show Miss Marland to her quarters and find her something more respectable to wear. If you’ll come with me?”

  Miss Marland shot Harry a worried look but all he could do was smile and indicate she should go with the woman. Then he set off in the direction Wilkins had gone. His own quarters, wherever they might be, however makeshift, sounded very inviting at the moment.

  * * * *

  Two days later Prudence stood in the middle of a small room with a dirt floor and mud walls as the women of the camp helped her dress. How, she asked herself, could she possibly be getting married? And to a man who wanted no such thing? She had not missed the resignation in his face as he agreed with Wellington two days before. Nor his batman’s incredulity. No, this was not something Alain, or rather Harry, wanted either.

  But like so many others before her, Prudence was discovering just how futile it was to resist Wellington’s orders. So now she stood in a poorly fitting dress lent by one of the officer’s wives, ready to be led out to where the chaplain was waiting, where they were all waiting, for her to take her vows with Colonel Langford.

  She did not doubt he would be there. She knew only too well how highly he valued whatever he perceived to be his duty. Duty! Prudence began to think she hated the word.

  It would be different if he cared for her. For she had long since lost her heart to the man she knew as Alain. But to know that he was being forced into a marriage he did not want hurt far too much for her to be complacent.

  When would he come to hate her? In a day? A month? Perhaps a year? When would he come to berate her for the folly that had led to his finding her on the beach and leading to this grotesque wedding day?

  It was no wonder, then, that Prudence found herself fighting back tears even as the few respectable women in the camp crowded around, admiring her. They teased her, but gently, all too aware of the circumstances regarding this marriage. They tried to console her and for their kindness she was very grateful.

  Kindness. It was Alain who had taught her to be able to accept kindness. Alain who had taught her to trust. She refused to think of him as Harry, at least for today. It was the only thing that might make it possible for her to go through with this charade.

  “He’s a handsome man,” one of the women said, trying to coax a smile out of her.

  Prudence shrugged.

  “Kind, too. Helped out my James more than once since we’ve been here.”

  “Yes, he is kind,” Prudence agreed, smiling at her own memories.

  “And a good lover, I’ll be bound,” yet another said, with a saucy grin.

  Prudence colored. “I-I have no way to know,” she said weakly.

  The other women exchanged skeptical glances. They did not challenge her, but their disbelief was almost a palpable thing in the room. Was this, then, what both Colonel Langford and Wellington had meant? That all the world would assume they had been lovers?

  Finally the first woman cleared her throat and said gently, “It’s time to go.”

  The sight of Colonel Langford all dressed up in his regimental uniform almost undid what little composure Prudence had left. He looked such a stranger! So distant and unapproachable. Where was his smile? The teasing twinkle in his eyes she always found so comforting? Who was this man and what would he think of her as his bride?

  Had there not been a hand on the small of her back, pushing her forward just then, Prudence might have turned and fled and to the devil with gossip and what the world would say. But as it was, there was nowhere to go, save forward. Prudence felt as thoroughly hemmed in as ever she had when surrounded by French soldiers.

  And then he smiled. A tremulous smile, to be sure, one that betrayed his nervousness was as great as hers. But it was still a smile, a welcoming smile, and Prudence answered it with one of her own. Perhaps, she thought, this would not be so bad after all.

  But there was no time to wonder. Already the words were being said that would bind them. Words she scarcely heard, though she answered when she should, her own words ringing absurdly loudly in her ears. She took comfort in the steadiness of Colonel Langford’s voice and the way he did not hesitate when he slid the ring on her finger.

  And when he kissed her at the end, he also whispered in her ear, “It will be all right, I promise.”

  It was that promise, along with his strong arm around her waist, that got Prudence through the next few hours. Through all the crude but kindly jests. Through all the moments of wondering what would be her wedding night.

  And then they were alone, in quarters that had been vacated just for their benefit. And that was more terrifying than anything yet. She could not meet his eyes and she blushed beneath the feel of his steady gaze. But he seemed to understand.

  He reached out a hand and tilted up her chin so that she was forced to look at him. “It will be all right, I promise,” he said, repeating his words from before.

  Prudence swallowed hard and nodded. He tilted his head and smiled at her. In a teasing tone that unaccountably warmed her down to her very toes he said, “Am I so very different than I was, just a few short days ago? You did not find it hard to look at me then.”

  She swallowed again. Her voice, when it came, seemed a hopeless croak to her. “We were not married then. And you were Alain, not Colonel Harry.”

  He looked around but there was no place to sit save on the bed. He drew her over to it and she stiffened. But he only pulled her down to sit on his lap and he cradled her close against his chest.

  To the top of her head he said, “I know this is hard for you. It is not what I had planned, either. But I will make this as easy as I can for you. You need do as little or as much as you wish with me. And as soon as I can I shall send you home to England, to stay with my family. My family will take care of you until the war is over and I can come and make a home for both of us.”

  Without even knowing she did so, she slipped a hand into his. In a small voice she scarcely recognized she asked, “Can I not stay with you?”

  “It would not be safe.”

  She considered. Then, drawing in a deep breath she said, “If I cannot stay with you, then I think I should prefer to go to Prussia where at least I might be of assistance to my uncle.”

  Colonel Langford hesitated but, in the end, his voice was gentle and implacable. “You will go to England.”

  The tears began to slip down her cheeks and she swiped at them angrily. “I do not cry like this often!” she said fiercely. “I cannot think why I have done so more than once with you.”

  He turned up her chin and kissed each cheek, then stared into her eyes as he said, “Perhaps it is because with me at last you feel safe to cry?”

  She started to shake her head in denial but before she could speak he lowered his face toward hers.

  “Come, let us see if I can give your thoughts a different direction,” he said. And then he kissed her.

  What a kiss it was! Not a gentle kiss
but one that held longing and passion and touched her very soul. His tongue plundered her mouth but gave as much as it took, teasing, dancing, inviting her to respond in kind. And God help her, she did!

  She even wound her arms around his neck and turned to press herself closer to him. Somehow she went from sitting on his lap to lying under him on the bed. Somehow her fingers found their way to unfasten the buttons of his uniform and his undid her dress. Somehow her skirts were first up around her waist and then lifted over her head, until she was as bare before him as he was with her.

  And somehow her fear was gone. She would not have made Harry marry her, but now that he had she meant to be a good wife to him. It was a vow she made silently, fiercely. Loving him would be no hardship and perhaps, one day, he would come to love her too.

  * * * *

  Harry held the woman beside him with a sense of wonder in his heart. He had told the truth when he said he had not planned this. But neither did he regret what necessity had driven him to do. He only hoped that it was not too great a hardship for her. But he would, he vowed, find a way so that she did not regret being married to him. There was more than one way to protect a woman and this was his.

  She was sleeping and, in her sleep, moved closer so that she lay against his chest, her leg over his. Harry dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He could not help himself. He felt as though fate had given him a most precious gift and he treasured it.

  And then their peace was shattered. A fist pounded on the door and a voice called out, “Colonel Langford? Wellington sends his apologies and says to tell you that he requires your presence at once.”

  Silently Harry cursed. Out loud he called, “I shall be ready in ten minutes.”

  Then he slipped from the bed even as Prudence stared up at him, her eyes wide. He paused to kiss her and said, “I shall be back as quickly as I can.”

  She nodded, pulling the blanket up to cover herself as he finished dressing and opened the door. He paused, just before slipping outside, to take one more look at her. Then he pulled it shut tight behind him. Whatever was afoot, it bode ill that Wellington should have disturbed him on his wedding night. It was not the sort of thing the man would do lightly.