Bound by Duty

by Diane Gaston

  Tess might have been the only one to hear him. ‘Is it cannon fire?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Very distant, though. Likely some testing of guns or something.’ But he looked worried.

  * * *

  After dinner, Tess dragged Nancy away from her last-minute sewing to take a walk in the park. Tess did not want the exercise or the air, she wanted to see what was going on in the city.

  Or was she looking for Marc?

  The atmosphere had entirely altered from the night before when the park had been full of lovers, like her and Marc. Now people whispered together with worried expressions. Uniformed soldiers hurried to and fro.

  But she did not find Marc and the cannon fire continued.

  She spied Captain Upton, Marc’s friend, and stopped him. ‘Do you know what is happening, sir?’

  He smiled with a reassurance that was not quite genuine. ‘There is certainly fighting somewhere. The Prussians, likely, but it is too soon to tell. I am off to see what I can discover.’

  She wanted to ask him to come round and tell her what he learned. She wanted to ask him to watch out for her brother, if they must fight a battle. She wanted to ask him if he knew of Marc’s whereabouts. Could he have been caught in the fighting like he’d once become caught in that rainstorm in Lincolnshire?

  ‘Captain?’ She would ask the only question she could. ‘Watch over my brother, if there is a battle.’

  He made a crooked smile. ‘Your brother is a good soldier. He must watch over me.’ He tipped his hat. ‘I beg your leave, ma’am.’ Upton started off, but stopped a short distance away and turned back to her. ‘Never fear, ma’am,’ he called. ‘The ball will still be held, they say.’

  As if a ball mattered when men must fight wars.

  Nancy paled. ‘Ma’am, is the battle coming here?’

  ‘It is too far away,’ Tess told her.

  But it was also too close for Tess to be easy.

  * * *

  Nancy finally begged Tess to leave the park and return to the hotel to prepare for the ball. It was to begin at ten o’clock.

  Marc had until ten o’clock to show up.

  After Nancy helped Tess dress, the lace overdress billowed around her rose ball gown like a cloud over the sky of a setting sun. Nancy had arranged her hair with ribbons of lace that draped over her head like cascading curls. She looked her very best, but what did it matter if Marc did not see her in it?

  When it was time, she rode in the carriage with Lord and Lady Northdon to Rue de la Blanchisserie. Amelie and Captain Fowler followed behind in another carriage. The streets were crammed with carriages and cabriolets carrying guests to the ball and it took them longer to reach the house than it had for Marc and Tess to walk the distance the day before.

  Once they arrived, there were footmen in livery to escort the guests through the house to the ballroom. Once they entered the ballroom, they followed other guests to be greeted by the duke and duchess. The duke and duchess welcomed them cordially, which, Tess knew, greatly relieved Lady Northdon’s nerves.

  The room was even more transformed than the previous day. The candlelight gave it a warm glow and made it appear as if it had always been a ballroom instead of a room to display carriages for sale. Great jardinières of flowers were everywhere, producing lovely colour and luscious scent.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ exclaimed Lady Northdon, making some heads turn to see who was speaking French. ‘It is magnifique!’

  The guests further decorated the space. Red-and blue-coated officers. Young ladies in white and pink and pale blues and greens. Matrons in richer colours. The dancing had not yet begun, but the musicians played quietly while conversation buzzed.

  The atmosphere was one of forced gaiety.

  Captain Fowler whisked Amelie away to meet his superior officers. Lord Northdon was summoned by the Duke of Brunswick.

  Tess turned to Lady Northdon. ‘Shall we find a place to sit?’ She struggled to sound cheerful.

  Lady Northdon was scanning the crowd. ‘Ça alors! I thought Marc would come. I did not think he would disappear again.’ She waved her hand. ‘Bien. We may sit.’

  Mr Scott approached them. ‘Mrs Glenville, so good to see you here.’

  She presented him to Lady Northdon.

  ‘I know you are largely unknown here,’ Mr Scott said to Lady Northdon. ‘Let me present you to some of the other guests.’

  He escorted them around to several of the guests, choosing mostly the French and Belgian ones for introductions. Countess D’Oultremont and her daughters took a fancy to Lady Northdon’s and Tess’s gowns and there was much discussion—in French—about their modiste and the latest styles.

  Mr Scott, apparently satisfied that he had done enough for them, bowed and walked away. Tess realised she had not asked him if he knew whether Marc would come to the ball. Perhaps Mr Scott would know where Marc had gone and why.

  She rose to follow him.

  At that moment, though, pipers sounded and men of the Gordon Highlanders, dressed in their kilts, appeared in the doorway. They marched into the room and danced a set of reels to the delight of the guests, especially those who had never seen such a sight. The tapping of their boots and the bellowing of the bagpipes filled the ballroom.

  * * *

  After the Highlanders marched out again, Tess could no longer find Mr Scott in the crowd. Lady Northdon happily resumed talking about dresses with the countess, but Tess continued to scan the room.

  She felt tension in the room. With each new set of officers who entered the ballroom, the tension seemed to heighten and the buzzing of the crowd increased. Something besides a gay ball was filling this room and Tess was determined to learn what it was.

  ‘Lady Northdon,’ she said in French, ‘I am going to take a turn around the ballroom, but remain here where you are comfortable.’

  She strolled through the ballroom, not acquainted with anyone, but trying to listen to their conversations. She saw Amelie still looking deliriously happy, holding on to Captain Fowler’s arm.

  Did the cannon fire she’d heard today have something to do with this sense of trepidation? Was the army finally going to march into France? If so, Edmund— Captain Fowler, too—would be a part of it. And all these men in uniform. The idea made her sick inside.

  ‘Tess.’ She heard a voice behind her.

  She turned.

  Marc!

  He was dressed in formal clothes, but looked ashen and fatigued.

  ‘Forgive me for being late,’ he said.

  The music swelled and the first dance was announced.

  Marc extended his hand. ‘Come to where I can talk to you.’

  He led her back to the anteroom through which the guests entered the ballroom.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, worried about his appearance.

  ‘On the road,’ he said dismissively, but added quickly, ‘I need to tell you. Napoleon has marched into Belgium and his army fought the Prussians today. He is marching towards Brussels.’

  ‘I heard the cannons.’ She grasped his arm. ‘How do you know this? Who told you?’

  ‘No one told me.’ He looked down at her.

  ‘You saw them,’ she guessed. He’d left town, but returned to warn them.

  ‘I’ve just come back from speaking with Colonel De Lancey, Wellington’s aide-de-camp. Wellington has ordered the army to march. There will be a battle, Tess, and it will be close to Brussels.’

  Three gentlemen passed them and entered the ballroom.

  ‘His Grace, the Duke of Wellington,’ they heard announced.

  They both walked to the doorway. One of the men who’d passed them had been the Duke of Wellington. He was tall and slender, a vigorous-looking man, much more handsome than the caricatures she’d seen of him.

  She turned to Marc. ‘You must be mistaken. The Duke would not be here if Napoleon was on the march.’

  ‘He is appearing here to reassure people,’ Marc answered.

  One of
the Duke of Richmond’s daughters left her dance partner and hurried over to speak to Wellington.

  Marc took Tess’s hand. ‘Come with me. I must find my father. My sister and mother, too.’

  They found a serious-faced Lord Northdon talking to a group of men. Lord Northdon left them abruptly when he saw his son approach.

  ‘You have heard the news?’ his father asked him.

  Heard the news? Tess thought. Marc saw it with his own eyes.

  ‘I have,’ Marc answered. ‘This is the time to leave Brussels, Papa. Go to Antwerp, if you can.’

  His father nodded. ‘I will arrange it.’

  Marc went on. ‘You should return to the hotel now. Soon the streets will be filled with marching soldiers.’

  The music stopped briefly and the distant sound of reveille could be heard.

  ‘I’ll get your mother,’ Lord Northdon said.

  When they found Amelie, she ran up to Marc. ‘Is it true?’ she cried. ‘They are saying that Napoleon is at the gates of Brussels. All the soldiers must go fight!’

  ‘Brussels is safe for now,’ Marc assured her. ‘But our soldiers are marching tonight.’

  She ran back to Captain Fowler. ‘Marc says you must leave,’ she wailed. ‘But I do not want you to go.’

  ‘I must, my love,’ Fowler said tenderly. ‘It is as I’ve been trying to tell you. I must leave very soon.’

  Amelie flung her arms around his neck and wept into his chest.

  ‘We must get them back to the hotel,’ Marc told him.

  Fowler nodded and dragged a clinging Amelie along to where her parents waited.

  ‘Should we not say something to the duchess?’ Lady Northdon asked.

  The Duchess of Richmond looked distraught. She was begging guests to stay, but the room was quickly emptying itself of all the military men. Everywhere there were couples embracing like Amelie and Fowler and saying farewell.

  Her brother. Tess had hardly seen him. Now he would be going to war. She must say goodbye to him. She wanted to see him, just in case...

  When Marc got his parents and Amelie out the door, Amelie was crying to Captain Fowler, ‘I will not let you leave me!’

  ‘My darling.’ Captain Fowler embraced her.

  Lord Northdon went in search of their carriage.

  Fowler kissed Amelie before approaching Lady Northdon. ‘May I walk Amelie to the hotel? These may be our last moments together.’

  Lady Northdon waved her hand. ‘Oui. Allez-vous.’

  Amelie and Fowler disappeared through the crowd.

  Lord Northdon returned. ‘Where is Amelie?’

  ‘Captain Fowler is taking her back to the hotel,’ his wife told him.

  Lord Northdon looked worried, but he gestured for them all to follow him to the carriage.

  When they reached it, Tess pulled Marc aside. ‘I want to find my brother. I must say goodbye to him.’

  ‘Tess, he may already be gone,’ Marc told her.

  ‘Or he may not.’ She stood her ground. ‘Direct me to Rue Sainte Anne. He might be there.’

  ‘Your mother’s house?’

  ‘Tell me how to find the street. Please, Marc!’

  His father snapped, ‘We must hurry!’

  Marc walked over to speak to him. His father shook his head, but climbed in the carriage after his wife and it went on its way.

  Marc walked back to Tess. ‘I will take you to Rue Sainte Anne.’

  * * *

  It was near two in the morning but the streets of Brussels could not have been more filled with activity. Everywhere was the sound of reveille, the pounding of marching boots, the wailing of women and children saying goodbye to loved ones. Tess did not know how she would have made it without Marc holding her hand tightly and pulling her through.

  Her mother’s house was not a great distance from the Duke of Richmond’s. It was, however, more grand. Lamps shone in the windows and the door was opened by a footman almost immediately after they knocked.

  ‘Lady Summerfield’s daughter to see Lieutenant Summerfield,’ Marc told the man.

  The footman ushered them in and quickly closed the door. ‘Wait here.’

  ‘He did not ask why we called in the middle of the night,’ Tess remarked.

  Marc still held her hand. ‘This night follows no rules.’

  Tess expected her brother to appear. Instead a beautiful woman descended the stairway in her nightdress and robe, her blonde hair down upon her shoulders.

  ‘My dear girl!’ the woman cried.

  Tess had a memory of her mother coming in the nursery in the mornings dressed just this way. She’d hug and kiss Tess and her sisters and ask them their plans for the day.

  ‘My dear girl! You are here!’ She walked directly up to Tess and took her hands, clasping them to her chest. ‘Oh! My little girl. You have grown into such a beauty!’

  ‘Mother,’ Tess managed, pulling away. ‘Where is Edmund?’

  ‘Edmund will be down shortly,’ her mother said. She turned to Marc. ‘Is this your husband? Edmund told me you were married. Trust my daughter to pick a handsome one.’

  Marc bowed. ‘I am Marc Glenville, ma’am.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’ Her smile still charmed. She turned back to Tess. ‘And Lorene is married, too, is she not? She is Lady Tinmore now. How unexpected. Such an old man.’

  Tess leapt to Lorene’s defence. ‘It was what she wanted.’

  Her mother waved a finger. ‘No young woman wants to marry an old man, even if he is a rich one.’

  ‘You are an expert on marriages?’ Tess asked, her voice sarcastic.

  Her mother’s eyes flashed. ‘I am an expert on men and on falling in love, my dear, sweet girl.’

  Marc stepped forward. ‘Lady Summerfield, my wife is very eager to see her brother.’

  ‘Glenville.’ Her mother pointed her finger at Marc. ‘Now I remember! Your father married a Frenchwoman.’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ Tess said. ‘You have likely heard the stories. Where is Edmund? Does he know I am here?’

  ‘He is almost done packing.’ She took them both by the arms. ‘Come. Let us wait for him in the drawing room. Is it not terrible? Napoleon at our doorstep! Edmund leaving to fight battles! I cannot bear it. We were awakened from our sleep with the news.’

  She led Tess to a sofa upholstered in pale green brocade and sat next to her.

  The door opened and an elegant gentleman walked in. His hair was now peppered with grey, but Tess recognised him. He was Count von Osten, the man who took her mother away from her.

  ‘Ossie, my love.’ Her mother reached out to him. ‘Come greet my beautiful daughter Tess and her husband.’

  ‘This is Tess?’ The count smiled warmly. ‘My gracious, you have grown up to be almost as beautiful as your mother.’

  He offered his hand and Tess felt she had no choice but to accept it. Instead of a handshake, he blew a kiss over it.

  ‘I remember you, Count,’ Tess said tightly.

  Marc stepped in and introduced himself and drew the count aside.

  ‘Where is Edmund?’ Tess asked her mother. ‘I came to see him.’

  Her mother patted her hand and spoke soothingly. ‘Do not worry, pet. He will not leave without saying goodbye. He knows you are here.’

  ‘Some brandy?’ Count von Osten offered Marc. ‘Sherry, ladies?’

  ‘So thoughtful, Ossie,’ her mother cooed. ‘Yes, we will have sherry.’

  Her mother chattered on as the drinks were poured and handed out. Tess drank hers gratefully. Seeing her mother shook her badly. She felt as if she were nine years old again, so excited to have her mother notice her, so despondent when her mother left.

  All Tess wanted to do was see Edmund before he went to battle. Where was he?

  Finally the door opened again and Edmund walked in. Tess left her seat and ran over to him. ‘I could not let you go to battle without saying goodbye.’

  He hugged her. ‘Tess. My dear sister.’
>
  She held him tight. ‘Stay safe, Edmund. Do not do anything foolish. You must come back to us.’

  ‘Do not worry over me.’ He released her. ‘I must go.’

  He turned to Marc and shook his hand. ‘Take care of my sister.’

  Marc nodded.

  The count clapped him on the back. ‘Fight well, Edmund.’

  He turned to Tess’s mother. She enfolded him in an embrace that made Tess ache with remembered loss. ‘My dear boy. I will be so angry with you if you do damage to yourself.’

  Edmund laughed. ‘Then I have no choice but to return in one piece.’

  He came back to Tess, holding her one more time.

  When he finally released her, Marc came to her side and put an arm around her. Edmund gave them all a smile of bravado. ‘I am off, then.’

  He turned and walked out of the room.

  Tess tried to stifle a sob. It helped that Mark’s arm was around her.

  * * *

  Mark felt Tess’s worry and grief as if it were his own. She might suffer yet another loss, her brother this time. Her brother might be killed in battle the very next day.

  ‘My dear girl,’ Lady Summerfield murmured, coming close and patting her cheek. ‘You must stay here with us. We will have a room ready for you in an instant. I’ll find you a nightdress and anything you need.’

  Marc felt Tess bristle. ‘Understand, Mother. I came to see Edmund, not to reconcile with you. I do not see how I can reconcile with you. You left us. You forced Lorene to become older than her years. Genna was only six years old. You left us to our father, who resented us.’

  Her mother looked wounded. ‘My only regret was leaving my children.’

  ‘But you left anyway,’ Tess accused.

  Her mother seemed to grow older in mere moments. ‘Stay here, Tess. Give me time to explain it to you.’

  ‘No. I will go back to the hotel.’

  Marc spoke up, ‘I must take her back, ma’am. My father will be arranging carriages to take them to Antwerp in the morning.’

  ‘Antwerp!’ Lady Summerfield exclaimed.

  Marc turned to the count. ‘You might plan to leave, too, sir.’

  ‘Leave Brussels?’ Count von Osten’s eyebrows rose. ‘I think not.’

  ‘We will stay,’ agreed Lady Summerfield. ‘Nothing will come of this, you will see.’