“Stirling, we have arrived.”
He turned around to see Elizabeth and Royce waving to them from the banks of the river. Their idling had given them ample time to set up the plaid on the grass and the other trappings needed for a picnic. The spot they had chosen lay gloriously under a large sycamore tree. The shrub introduced to the British Isles by the Tudors had branches that formed a broad, rounded crown. The bark was grey, smooth and occasionally flaking in irregular patches. The abundant leaves grew on long leafstalks and were large and palmate with five radiating lobes.
“It is about time, you got here,” said Royce, helping them bring the rowing boat ashore.
“Stirling was regaling me with the details of monarchical decadence all the way from Windsor,” said Clementine, stepping off the boat.
“I did not know you were so interested in that, Stirling?” asked Royce, looking at his friend quizzically. “Don’t you have more important matters on your mind?” he whispered so that the others could not hear him.
Stirling nodded. “Nothing that can’t wait until after lunch.” He fumbled with something in his coat pocket as he walked up to Elizabeth who set the plates on the large rug.
Soon, the quartet sat sipping chilled champagne and picking at the assortment of cold meats, fruit, cheeses and sandwiches they had brought with them in a wicker picnic basket.
“Isn’t it glorious and a wonderful send off for our two brave men who leave on the morrow for the Crimea.”
Clementine ignored her sister’s angry stare because of her comment. Her scrutiny was reserved for Stirling alone. He had acted quite strange the entire time since their departure that morning on the train from Waterloo Bridge station on the newly erected London and South Western railway line to Windsor and Eaton Riverside station. If she did not know any better, she would think that he was nervous – but why? Could it be because of the war? She discounted that fact. He was the bravest and most honourable man she knew.
She loved the way his jaw moved when he chewed. The action made the muscles on his jawbone move and flex, giving him a deliciously masculine air. He looked so much the Victorian gentleman in his deep brown frock coat with the fashionably full skirt and looser fit through the arms and chest. It was double-breasted and regal. It was something he had mimicked from Prince Albert, the man who had popularized the garment early on in the royal marriage. Underneath it, Stirling wore a bright-hued waistcoat of damask and silk and a white linen shirt. Dark, striped trousers with a high waistline bedecked his legs and on his feet he wore half boots that were all the rage.
“Why don’t you take off your coat, Stirling?” she asked. It was a pertinent question because it was rather warm even in the shade.
“I think I shall wear it a short while longer.” Stirling flashed her a smile that did not exude its habitual confidence. “Clementine, if you have finished, would you like to join me for a short stroll by the river.”
“I’d love to, Stirling.”
She did not miss the knowing exchange of grins between her sister and her husband. What was going on? Usually, she was always aware of everything that went on in the circle of her friends and family. Clementine let Stirling help her to her feet. Walking away, she interlinked her arm with his. The thoughts in her head played funny games with her. Being so close to Stirling had this delightfully frisky effect on her. The silence that reigned between them had a pleasant air that spoke volumes of the regard they had for each other. Here were two people who felt completely at ease in the presence of the other.
Stirling seemed to know exactly where he was going. It was as if he had been to the same spot on previous reconnaissance missions just to make sure it had everything he needed. Clementine looked back. With both of them lost to their brains’ devises, they had left Elizabeth and Royce more than a mile behind them. She could still see them, but merely as specks sitting by the river.
By the time they had mounted a small knoll, overlooking the course of the river and the countryside around them, Stirling came to a stop. Clementine had to concede that it was a splendiferous spot. It was a place one could fall in love all over again. The grassy hill was bare of any trees or bushes. Yet, the sound of birds trilling in the trees below it added enchanting melodious strokes to the ambiance. Far and beyond was Windsor to the east and Maidenhead to the northwest. In-between, quiet riverside villages, orchards and market gardens dotted the vista.
Up and down the river a series of great palaces reached as far as London. They became as one with the grand houses, magnificent gardens and hunting parks that stood amid the water meadows and woodland, linked to one another by grand avenues of trees. It was a veritable Arcadia – a rural paradise right on the doorstep of London.
She failed to hear Stirling turning in her direction; too all encompassing was the vista. “Will you be my wife, dearest Clementine?” As the words past his lips, he lowered himself on one knee. He fumbled in his coat pocket nervously.
Clementine’s eyes flew wide open. It was what she had wanted to hear since the day she met him. Although she knew him to be brave, she had never expected him to pucker up the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. It had all been so meticulously planned: the train trip, the carriage ride to the boat stand, the rowing and their chat, the picnic, the stroll and now this.
“With all of my heart, Stirling. There is nothing…”
Before she could finish her sentence, his lips were upon hers, smouldering and emitting his desire for her – she felt her physique instinctively returning it. Stirling drew her closer with his strong arms until she melted into them like butter, forming and moulding until their bodies were as one.
Clementine felt a warm flutter coursing over her as the kiss intensified. The hair on her arms rose along with the goosebumps that populated her skin. It was better than in the hansom – no matter how unbelievable that may seem. She had imagined what it might feel like to take it further, but none of her wildest dreams could have conjured up anything quite as magical as what happened to her there and then on the hillock overlooking the Thames.
She had no inclination for how long they remained glued to one another. It was impossible to tell. All of her instincts had chimed into one big gong, ringing out what she had wanted from the onset. Forgotten were her responsibilities, Florence Nightingale’s words of wisdom concerning the falling in love with a soldier and gone was her adherence with regard to etiquette and social comportment. The kiss was just too perfect. It transcended onto a higher plane, a place where only one thing mattered; the love between man and woman, the age-old phenomenon that carried the meaning of life.
With a final deep breath into her mouth, Stirling pulled away. He gazed at her for a moment with blinking eyelids. Clementine could see that he was as taken in by what they had just done. She could see him struggling, thinking, in an attempt to find something to say that might explain what had happened. He opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out. All he could do was look back at her as the saccharine implications enveloped him in a sugary mantle.
“Was that a yes?” he asked finally.
Clementine started giggling as all of the sexual and emotional tension swept from her body. After a few tentative heartbeats, Stirling joined her. They laughed freely and uninhibitedly until they could laugh no more. They held hands as they caught their breaths. An impish look started to populate Clementine’s face.
“Aren’t you forgetting something? I seem to remember you fumbling with something in your pocket before you attacked me so shamelessly.” She tittered when she saw him flinch.
“Clementine, I did not mean…”
“Stop being silly, Stirling. Had you not done it, I would have been deeply disappointed.” She tapped her foot in the grass as she waited for him to jut back into motion.
Stirling smiled. “Oh…” He let go of one of her hands and rummaged in his coat pocket. He went back down on one knee once he found what he was looking for. “Clementine, will you do me the honour of being my
wife.” As he said the words, he held out a magnificent ring with an amethyst stone on a golden band.
Clementine’s hands flew to her mouth. “My birthstone. Oh, Stirling how thoughtful; I can do nothing but say yes now.”
Feeling his courage return to him, Stirling said, “You better.”
She giggled, as she let him slide the ring onto the fourth finger on her left hand. It fit perfectly. Clementine inspected it for a while. “It is so beautiful, Stirling. I do love you, you know.”
He chuckled. “And I love you.”
They kissed again. While their previous contact had been passionate with hints of animalistic ferocity, this time, they came at each other softly, discovering, probing and setting the cornerstone for becoming one body, mind and soul.
“You do know that you have lumbered us with quite a lot of work before you leave on the morrow,” said Clementine, walking beside him down the hill.
“Oh, yes?”
“Quite. You really have no idea, do you Stirling?” As they walked back to Elizabeth and Royce, Clementine proceeded to tell her betrothed all that he needed to know concerning the engagement process until the day they were wed.
Chapter 22
“Here’s to the best decision you ever made, darling daughter,” said Lord Leighton, holding up his glass of champagne.
Sitting in the large dining room in the Leighton residence on Belgrave Square were Elizabeth, Royce, Clementine, Stirling and Lady Leighton. The latter could not have been happier. At last her daughter had come to see sense. Ever since Elizabeth’s wedding and Clementine’s announcement that she would join the nursing corps, she had worried that the hand of marriage would forever pass her eldest daughter by. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have foretold that she would marry the son of a duke.
After everyone had taken a sip of champagne, the earl gave his butler the order to commence with the serving of the food. Promptly, the first footman stepped forward with a silver tureen on a tray containing a savoury soup. He proceeded to do his round of the table, allowing for everyone to help himself or herself to the broth.
Stirling smiled at Clementine while this was done. It had been a whirlwind of activity after their kiss on the knoll. Despite the urgency of getting back to London to tell Clementine’s father and mother of the good news, Royce had insisted they share another bottle of champagne to celebrate. They barely had the time to row back, return the boat and get to the station before the train departed.
The moment the earl had heard the blessed news, he had prompted a frenzy of activity in his household. The servants were told to prepare the dining room with the finest china, cutlery, crystal and tablecloth. Orders for a feast and more champagne soon followed. To Clementine’s surprise even her mother was in the best of spirits. There had been a brief dampener in her mood when she had asked her daughter whether that was the end of her ridiculous career as a nurse; Clementine had refused with the words: Stirling admires me for what I do. Were I to give it up, he would have no reason to love me; let alone marry me.
It was untrue of course. Stirling would love her no matter what she decided. The conversation in the drawing room had soon drifted to matters of business when the lady of the house had inquired after Stirling’s state of finances and his prospects in the army. This was normal and not considered rude. The man carrying the amorous intention of engagement had to divulge his financial position so that the lady’s family could ascertain whether he was a viable suitor. It was something Stirling had forgotten about. His position was not a good one. All he had to his name was his major’s income. And the only people who were aware of this were Clementine and Royce.
The earl had then claimed that his ancestral lineage was more than ample grounds to accede to his proposal. The suggestion had saved Stirling in the nick of time. After that, conversation drifted to more pleasant things, like the wedding and where it would take place. However, the looming prospect of war hung in their midst, supplying a slight melancholy air to the events that followed.
“So, Stirling, when do you think we can be introduced to your father and brothers?” asked Lady Leighton, sipping her soup.
“Oh, I think the moment I get back from the Crimea would be a good time,” said Stirling, dreading the prospect of his future in-laws meeting his family.
“Mm, maybe, we can drop by while you are away. There is much to be discussed – you know, the size of the dowry and such.”
“Now, come on, dear. Let these two love birds enjoy one another before Stirling’s departure on the morrow.” The earl lifted his hand to indicate that the soup course was at an end. “Speaking of which, I will send a message to Miss Nightingale requesting she allow you to join Royce, Elizabeth and Stirling to Portsmouth. I am certain she can let you go for a day, eh?”
Clementine smiled at her father. It warmed her heart how he took the time and thought to consider everything. This quality was one of the reasons he was such a successful businessman and an even better father.
“So, Royce, Stirling, what are your views…do you think that Raglan has it in him to conduct an effective war against the Russian?” asked the earl.
Royce cleared his throat into his napkin. “Well, he did serve under the Duke of Wellington during the Peninsular Campaign and later during the Hundred Days. I’d say some of that experience is sure to have rubbed off on him.”
“I agree. I met his lordship when he got me off the hook for the black bottle fiasco and he seemed to have his head screwed on in the right place,” said Stirling.
Royce chuckled. “Do tell papa about what happened when that fool Cardigan bumped into his brother-in-law, Lucan.”
Stirling smiled. “It was a ridiculous spectacle. I barely got to witness the entire thing, but the last I saw of them on the way out was the two of them haranguing each other like a pair of charging bulls in a china shop. After it had been announced that Lucan would get overall command of the cavalry, Cardigan blew a top, claiming that he should be offered an independent command not under that fool, Lucan. He raged on that he knew when he saw Lucan’s biscuit face, sopping up wet around Horse Guards Parade that he’d be at Raglan’s office starting his wheedling. Raglan only managed to calm him with the prospect of the flash, dash and fire of the Light Brigade. Despite a bristling Lucan, he had relented in the end.”
The earl shook his head. “It is worrying to say the least. I do hope that those two don’t jeopardize the entire thing.” He turned his head to his youngest daughter. “How about you, dear. Why are you not joining your husband on this merry expedition? I hear many wives of the rank and file have decided to join their men.”
“We weren’t that fortunate. Only four women to one company of a hundred soldiers are allowed to join. It is a privilege decided by ballot,” said Royce. He knew that he would miss Elizabeth a lot, but in his heart of hearts, he was happy that she would not be joining him. He had no experience of war, yet he instinctively knew that it was no expedition to be taken lightly. It was far better that his wife remained safely at home.
“I see,” said the earl. “It is a shame. I am sure that you would have liked the company of your wife.”
Lady Leighton cringed at the prospect. “And I hope that the topic of conversation during my daughter’s engagement dinner might not involve the petty squabbling of those two dunderheads and the idea of womenfolk attending the machinations of men. Dear husband, I beseech you…let us talk of things more becoming of such an event and not this.” Lady Leighton wagged her hand loftily.
Clementine grinned. For once she could agree with her mother. She squeezed Stirling’s hand under the table. “Do tell mater and papa about the enchanting afternoon we spent together.”
Stirling nodded at her fondly. “Of course, my dear.”
The earl burst out laughing. “Spoken like a true husband, Stirling. Mustn’t let the womenfolk go unhappy, eh, young man?”
Chapter 23
The next morning all of London was in uproar. The streets
were lined with the populace waving the Union Jack flag. The feeling in the city was one of exuberance. A sea of people lined the Mall as the troops marched past them proudly. They consisted of the most prominent regiments in the British army. The Scots Fusilier Guards, the Royal Scots Greys, the Rifle Brigade, as the Royal Consort’s Own, blended in with the other regiments from Lancashire, Cambridgeshire and more. The sound of their beating footfalls on the street reverberated over the heads of the people, making them shout their acclaim even more.
After the infantry came the cavalry under the overall command of Lord Lucan. The clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves declared in concert, as if every horse took a step in perfect rhythm with the other animals. Eleven brigades in total made up this impressive force, making them the most striking and respected horsemen in the whole of Europe and a power to be feared on any battlefield.
Finally, the artillery batteries followed. Pulled by horses, the over sixty guns would also make their way east. There were also many others in the parade – soldier’s wives, nuns, selfless volunteers – who hoped to play roles in relieving the distress of the battle-weary, the wounded, the diseased and the dying. Their numbers were limited – army regulations allowed only four wives for every company of one hundred men – a privilege decided by ballot.
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