A Charming Cavalryman for Clementine_A Historical Romance Novel Based on True Events

by Hanna Hamilton

  “Haven’t you already asked me that?” she asked between tears of joy.

  “Yes, I did. But I thought that I should do so again. We have both been through so much.” He shrugged. “I thought that maybe you might have changed your mind.”

  Clementine kissed him briefly. “Never. And besides, I still have this.” She held out her left hand where her engagement ring with the amethyst stone on a golden band sparkled. “This never left my finger when I was not working.”

  Smiling, Stirling got back up and reached out for her hands. She stared at him through glazed eyes, her pulse still pumping in her veins at a ridiculous rate. Her entire frame tingled from his touch – she was desperate for more. Clementine was torn between wanting to weld her lips to his or begging him to tell her what had happened to him all of this time. Why had he not written?

  Before she could think anymore, he pulled her into him, onto him with both arms. Clementine’s chest pressed against his as their bodies fused into one. Heat overcame her. This was what she had prayed for all of this time. Re-enacting their union on the hill overlooking the Thames when he had first asked for her hand in marriage had been capricious at best. Her irate remembering while he was gone was nothing like this – this passion – this love.

  Clementine’s eyes were half closed, and so were his. She looked up. Through the slits of her eyelids, his lips only looked small from afar she realized, because of their doll-like pucker. They were perfectly big, really, now that she had a good look at them. Perfectly, and something better than she remembered.

  Stirling nudged his nose against hers, and their mouths fell sleepily together, already soft and open and demanding for what had been denied them for so long.

  As her eyes started to close, her eyelids stuck. She wanted to keep them open to see him and make sure this was really happening. She wanted to get a better look at Stirling’s dark eyebrows, she wanted to admire his wild, vampire hairline - she had a feeling this was never going to happen again and that it might even ruin what was left of her life. Clementine wanted to keep her eyes open and bear witness to what happened next.

  But his mouth was so soft and seductive – before she knew what was happening, her eyes slipped shut. His kisses and little nips, alternated with the demand of his tongue. She was there for the taking. It was like he was drawing something out of her with soft little jabs of his chin. She brought her fingers up to his hair, and she couldn’t open her eyes again – too magical was the contact.

  With a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world, Clementine found herself mewing. His insistent mouth was parting her shaking lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, she knew that she was forever his – it was what she had always been.

  Stirling had never thought he would be in the arms of the woman he loved again. Before that moment, he had so much he wanted to tell her. He wanted to reveal to her all that had transpired after the fateful sinking of the HMS Renown. Now, his mind was empty. All that remained was the kiss.

  They kissed like crazy – like two people starved of love and human contact - like their lives depended on it. Her tongue slipped around inside of his mouth, gentle but demanding. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced. Kissing her before in the hansom on the way to the reporter had been special as all first kisses invariably were. But what happened now transcended a new dimension – a higher plane.

  Stirling suddenly understood why people described kissing as melting because every square inch of his body dissolved into hers. Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer. His veins throbbed and it felt as if his heart would explode.

  Stirling had never wanted anyone like this before. All he wanted to do was lay her down and press the weight of his body on top of hers.

  Clementine felt him all over - all of him - pressed against her. She inhaled his scent that consisted of his cologne, and that extra fragrance that was just…him. The most delicious perfume she could ever imagine. She wanted to breathe him, lick him, eat him, and drink him. His lips tasted like honey. His face had the slightest bit of stubble and it rubbed her skin persistently. Clementine didn’t care; she didn’t care at all. He felt wonderful – absolutely perfect. His hands were everywhere, and it didn’t matter. She wanted him closer and closer still.

  She couldn’t believe her good fortune, only thirty minutes ago she had prayed that he was still alive, and now she was in his arms. Stirling was back. Clementine wanted to scream with joy at this delightful twist of fate. She wanted to rush out into the garden and tell Florence everything.

  Clementine wanted so much at the same time that she was so overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her that she nearly fainted in his arms. “Stirling, I never thought,” she wheezed into his mouth.

  “I know – me neither, but we are together again.”

  “What happened? Where have you been?”

  “I have been wanting to tell you ever since I walked in here.” He pleated his brow. “I am so sorry for what I have put you through.”

  “No, no, it is not your fault – just tell me – please.”

  Stirling took a step back and cleared his throat. “I just got back yesterday, my love.”

  “So, I am the first person you came to see?”

  Stirling nodded his head. “Yes darling, I couldn’t wait a day longer and thanks to your fame you were very easy to find.”

  Clementine smiled. “Come, we must tell Florence the good news.”

  “Just a moment…” He chuckled. “I thought you wanted to know where I have been.”

  “Oh, yes. I almost forgot – this is all too much. Where have you been?”

  “Too much of a good thing, I hope.”

  “Stirling, of course. You here – I never dreamed it possible.”

  He nodded. “I know. The ship taking me home floundered in a storm of the likes I have never seen. It was horrible. Walls of water were all around us – everyone perished.”

  Clementine reached out and stroked his cheek. “That was what they told me. How did you survive that ordeal?”

  “I don’t know. One moment I was suffused in water, then blackness and then I found myself on a beach, washed ashore.”

  Clementine waited for him to resume his talking. It was not the time to ask any more questions. She could see him struggling with the memory.

  “I was so thirsty. Wreckage was everywhere – sails, ropes, bits of wood from the ship. There was not a soul in sight. I was alone. Finally, a man appeared. A Berber who took me in.”

  “What happened?” Clementine was intrigued. It was already a miracle that he had survived the storm but to have the added good fortune of being discovered by someone friendly on a sparsely populated coastline over a thousand miles long was astounding.

  “Before I knew it, I was travelling with him towards the mountains and into the desert beyond. I still remember riding a camel and looking back to the snow-capped Atlas Mountains that stood behind us like a row of jagged teeth. I was taken so far away from civilization until we reached his home. I can’t remember all that much about the voyage because I was too far out of it. All I do recollect is that there was no way out. The Sahara Desert was an impenetrable natural barrier all around me.”

  “Oh my God, that sounds frightening.”

  “It was nothing compared to the storm that sunk the ship.” He sighed.

  “How did you survive? What was it like?” So many questions filled her head.

  “Ahmed and his family were very kind to me. For many months I lived amongst them, tending to livestock, anything really to do my bit. In time, I learned snippets of their language and I managed to explain to Ahmed that I had a fiancé.” Stirling chuckled.

  “Why do you laugh?”

  “Well, he had no idea of the concept so I had to promote you to wife – so that he unders
tood.”

  She giggled. “I like the sound of that,” she said, stroking his hand.

  “So, when he could leave his family and his tribe, Ahmed escorted me back to Algiers where I found a berth on board a ship bound for Toulouse. I had very little money – everything my friend Ahmed could spare. So, it was only by working that I managed to get a letter out to an old acquaintance of my father’s. Bless the man – he arranged for me to see him at his château near Paris.”

  “Why didn’t you write, Stirling? Some word would have sufficed.”

  “I am sorry. I was just in such haste to get back to England. My father’s friend must have thought me so rude.”

  Clementine giggled. “Only you could worry about such a thing.”

  “Well, I did leave the very next day I arrived at his home with a purse full of his money. I left on the first ship bound for England.”

  “And here you are.”

  “Yes, and here I am.”

  Moments later they were in the garden with Florence. It did not take long for Florence to warm to Stirling, whom she found a most interesting and exceptional man. They spoke a while about their times during the war and how it impacted England.

  As it turned out, Lord Cardigan was still in charge of the 11th Hussars, which he continued to lead with his customary braggadocio and arrogance. Neither he nor Lord Lucan were ever charged for their alleged incompetence, but Cardigan had fared better than his former commanding officer.

  Against the government’s suggestion for him to be inaugurated into the Order of the Garter, due to the exploits in his private life, Queen Victoria recommended he instead be invested as knight in the Order of the Bath. And today, Cardigan was more obnoxious than ever.

  They also spoke of Elizabeth and Royce. Clementine assured Stirling that Royce was well and they made plans to go and see them very soon. Her friend from the nursing corps, Sally, was married to a cavalry officer.

  Florence invited Stirling to stay for a few days. To Clementine’s chagrin, he declined. He had one more important thing to take care of before he could see his friend and marry the woman he loved.

  Before Stirling left, Nightingale said, “I do hope, young man, that you don’t succumb to the ague that befalls most Victorian husbands, and deny your lovely betrothed her right to be an independent woman.”

  Stirling frowned.

  “Take away woman’s pride and devotion in her life, and she dies like a flower without water. Promise me this, Stirling, let Clementine do what inspires her, and I assure you that she will be the most wonderful and dutiful wife to you,” said Nightingale shaking Stirling’s hand.

  “I will, Florence,” said Stirling meaning it.

  He then turned to Clementine and kissed her. He whispered in her ear that he loved her, and promised that when he had completed his business, he would return to her.

  Chapter 33

  Two days later, Stirling marched into the Duke of Kenbridge’s study. His father sat behind a large mahogany desk in his London residence. Behind him and in front of a wall lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books stood Cavendish, his gentleman’s gentleman. Slightly to the side of the desk stood Stirling’s two older brothers who looked as arrogant as Stirling remembered them to be.

  “Good day to you Father,” said Stirling.

  He then looked at Cavendish who had an amused glint in his eyes. “Cavendish.” Smiling, the other man just nodded. Turning, Stirling then greeted his brothers curtly.

  “This will not take long. I am here to return these,” said Stirling tossing a small package onto his father’s desk.

  The Duke of Kenbridge signalled to Cavendish with a curt nod of his massive head that was like that of a bull elephant. Promptly, his valet picked up the package and opened it.

  “It appears that they are feathers, Your Grace,” said Cavendish casually.

  “Feathers, what would I want with feathers,” said Stirling’s father.

  “I’m returning them to you and my brothers,” said Stirling with authority.

  “Well I won’t take them,” shouted his father, inducing Stirling’s brothers to grin evilly.

  “I am afraid honour dictates that you do, Your Grace,” said Cavendish coming to Stirling’s aid.

  “Honour, etiquette! Our family did not become the foremost in the realm through honour and etiquette,” shouted the duke with a growl.

  “Father, you will take them. I have a letter from my commanding officer, Lord Cardigan, that explains everything,” said Stirling, chucking the thick paper onto his father’s desk.

  This time Stirling’s father took his son’s offering personally and with a letter knife he opened it and started to read.

  Looking up again, he said, “It appears you have distinguished yourself, Stirling.”

  Stirling nodded. Cavendish beamed happily as if Stirling was his son. His father’s valet respected the youngest son the most because he was the most human of the brood. The other two being insipid toadies that always did their father’s bidding.

  “I will take them back,” said Stirling’s father suddenly.

  “I will not,” said one of Stirling’s brothers inviting an angry glare from Stirling that made him flinch meekly.

  “By god boy, you will do as I say!” shouted Stirling’s father hammering his fist onto his desk.

  His son recoiled in fear of his father’s wrath. The duke turned to Stirling, his face softening. “Son, the affair is now almost concluded. You have done our family great honour. You will dine with me tonight, of course.”

  “No Father, I must go to Kent to see my betrothed’s mother and father,” said Stirling.

  “Yes, I heard as much through the grapevine. We must speak of her.”

  “Another time perhaps.”

  “Then you must tell me…” The duke waved the letter in front of his person. “You have been recommended for a Victoria Cross and you are currently a newly minted colonel. You have brought great honour to this family, son.”

  He slapped his hand on his desk, startling Stirling’s brothers. “By God, son, you are among the first to ever receive this honour for valour displayed in the heat of battle - a Victoria Cross, boy. They barely conceived the idea for such a commendation and a Whitt Whittaker will be the first man to get one. Well done, Stirling.”

  “Thank you, father. All I ever wanted was to bring honour to our family. I am best pleased not to have let you down.”

  The Duke of Kenbridge snorted his approval. He then turned to his eldest son. “Do the honours, William.” He held out the box with the feathers.”

  William hesitated, scuffing his boots on the parquetry flooring.

  “By God, boy, stop dithering and get over here.”

  In a flurry of quick steps, he approached his father.

  “Take these and deposit them in the fire. All memory of them will be wiped from our ancestral history. We will never speak of it again in this family. Is that abundantly clear?”

  Stirling watched William as he handed one of the feathers to his brother, Edward. As if they approached a towering inferno, they slowly approached the fireplace. After a few moments of hesitation, the two men tossed their white feathers into the flames. With fascination, Stirling watched them curl and blacken when the heat caressed them until they finally disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  The duke was the last to reach the large hearth bearing the family’s coat of arms on the heavy stone mantle above it. He leaned forward and placed his hand on it. He too disposed of the symbol of cowardice and like the others it vanished.

  “Thank you, Father, William and Edward – The slate is wiped clean.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left his father’s study. He could hear his father shouting after him to come back. Stirling smiled – maybe there was some way of reconciliation.

  Finally, he had made his father proud, and he was sure that when he’d meet Clementine that he’d be prouder still. But Stirling would let him stew it out for
a few weeks before giving him that pleasure. Mustn’t be too lenient on the man, thought Stirling. But that was not for now; first and foremost, Stirling was in love with Clementine.

  Chapter 34

  The birds tooted, peeped and carolled in the trees and beyond. Breathy tweets belonging to the black-headed Brambling competed with “chichichichit” of the Greenfinch crossing the sky. The latter flew about above the chapel on the grounds belonging to Kenbridge Manor, sometimes circling, and occasionally diving in little pirouettes.

  A pinkish-brown blur descended from the heavens, landing on a branch belonging to one of the large oaks lining the grounds. The Jay started warbling from its perch in squeaky clunking notes. The Winchat joined in, fusing, creating a song, that combined with the other species, sounded like the rush of water over a cliff.