It Started at Waterloo

by Lynne Connolly

  Will heard his words with a sense of stunned amazement. They sounded so true to his ears. He had to do something to restore her reputation and to stop her marrying the odious Sir Henry. The man was not worthy of Amelia, who had so much to give, if only someone would allow her to do so.

  How could he stand by and see her wed to a man like that? Sir Henry would keep her barefoot and pregnant for the rest of her life. All her dreams would die. Why should they? She had no idea how talented she was, how skillfully she helped him in his work, with compassion but without fainting or sobbing. He’d had assistants, male ones too, who had done both those things.

  How could he let such talents go to waste? She was quick, intelligent, and she noticed. When some aspect of a man’s treatment, however seemingly insignificant, improved matters, she repeated it, and told the surgeons.

  If it had been anyone but Sir Henry, he told himself, he’d let her be. Because she was right—she deserved a husband and children of her own.

  So why should he not be that man?

  When he wasn’t working, sometimes he’d watch her moving along the lines of soldiers, ensuring each man had what he needed if it was in her power to give it. She did not make a point of lingering, didn’t overwhelm them with sentiment. He admired her greatly, and he didn’t find her unattractive. In fact, the way people overlooked her occasionally startled him. He suspected some of that was of her doing, by her choice.

  The more he thought about the prospect, the more it made sense to him. He would have a partner in her, someone to help him in his ambitions. “I wish to continue my work when we are done here. I have a letter of recommendation to the York Military Hospital in London, which I intend to take up when I arrive back there. We have made so many new discoveries in surgery and the treatment of patients that we should communicate our findings. We could bring the science of medicine and surgery forward by so much, save lives, and make their existence more tolerable.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  He caught her hand, the delicate pulse in her wrist throbbing against his thumb. “It is. Join me.”

  He willed her to answer, and eventually she did. “Yes,” she said.

  “Then let us face our nemesis,” he said, “and wed as soon as we may. That way you can join me in the hospital any time you wish.”

  “Yes.”

  Indulging his senses for a brief moment, he leaned forward and kissed her. She responded, shyly at first, no doubt because her mother was outside, and then with more enthusiasm as he deepened the kiss. He finished their embrace reluctantly. “Then I will write to Wellington and ask a favor. I’m in his good books at the moment, so I might as well make use of that.” He smiled at her. “I will not let you down, I swear it. We’ll marry as soon as we can. The end of the week, if that’s possible.”

  “I know you won’t let me down.”

  He felt as if someone had bathed him in rivers of gold. “I’ll arrange for us to lodge somewhere more suitable.”

  Amelia could hardly believe this was happening. Today was Wednesday. Could he really get this done? If anyone could, it was Will. She’d seen his decision-making, and the way he got business done when he wished.

  “You should go back with your mother now. I will send word.”

  She was reluctant to leave him, but she had little choice.

  He turned his back to allow her to dress. Pulling the worn straps of her stays over her shoulders, she reflected that it was more than time she had a new pair. Nobody saw them, except the sisters she shared her room with, and their undergarments were in the same state. Now someone would. Someone had.

  He must have undressed her last night. No amount of reminding herself he was accustomed to seeing people in undress consoled Amelia to the fact that she’d been so dead to the world she hadn’t even taken her clothes off.

  It took but five minutes for her to scramble into her soft leather stays and her ruined ball gown.

  Will had been engaged in the same occupation, and when she said, “You can turn around now,” he was fully dressed, except for his coat.

  Standing by the bed, Will raised a brow. “I intend to see more than that, my lady. Be warned, I will not allow you to escape so easily later.” He glanced at the bed, a camp bed that opened in an X-shape, much like the beds in the hospital. He’d probably commandeered one. “However, I’m not sure how much this old thing will take. I cannot bring you here as a married woman.”

  When heat washed over her skin, he put a finger under her chin and tilted it up. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said softly. “Nobody but Robinson, your mother and I know you spent the night here.”

  She shook her head vigorously. If she didn’t marry Will, her mother would have her married off to Sir Henry before she could think straight. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  His smile broadened. “That isn’t something I’m usually asked. I’m looking forward to it. I’ll have a wife who understands the importance of my work and what I do. Why should I want another?”

  Why indeed? Once, when he’d caressed her breast, he’d called her pretty, but that was all. Amelia could count the compliments men had paid her on the fingers of one hand. True, she had worked toward that end, but deep down sometimes the lack of interest from gentlemen hurt. And she didn’t know how to make herself attractive. That could be a problem for her, because Will was undoubtedly handsome.

  Even when he let his hair grow unkempt and wore practical garments, as now, he could not hide his attractiveness.

  She smiled back, and when he dropped a light kiss on to her lips, let herself enjoy the experience.

  Then she left the tent, her head held high.

  Her mother didn’t say a word on the way back to their lodging, but her sisters waited, agog, to hear what had happened to her. When she said she had agreed to marry Will Kennaway, she thought she saw relief on the face of her sister Mary. Why would that be? Why would Mary care that she wasn’t marrying her original suitor? “So I can’t marry Sir Henry,” Amelia concluded.

  Mary smiled more than Amelia considered necessary. Her sisters would not consider Amelia marrying a mere army surgeon good news. They were all out in society and looking for husbands. She could not help them in that situation.

  She left them to go upstairs to the room she was sharing with two of her sisters, Amelia busied herself packing her trunk. In truth she never properly unpacked, since a life following the drum meant many changes. She kept her counsel and only answered her sisters with laconic replies. She only had to add the few things she’d removed before the battle. Precious little.

  The traveling trunk was battered and covered with labels, some torn away. It had seen a lot of action, and it showed. Its dark brown surface was shiny in places, the edges worn away to show the pale wood underneath. Rivets were hammered along each curved edge of the top, more for preservation than decoration, and metal bands held it together.

  She threw open the lid, careful not to catch the canvas in this confined space.

  Amelia didn’t give herself time to think, but hurriedly found one of her day-dresses, a fresh shift and stockings to replace the clothes she’d had on for the last three days. She’d have to wear her old wool ones, since the silk ones were wrecked. She spared a thought for her new pair of gloves, now trampled into the floor of the farmhouse.

  Her ball gown lay on a nearby chair. It was ruined. The pins she’d used to fasten up the hem and train had torn holes in the fine silk. Despite the white apron she’d worn over the top during her first stint on duty, noxious stains were spattered over it. She might be able to save some of it, maybe fashion something simpler, or perhaps scrubbing would shift the marks. She couldn’t worry about it now. She rolled up the offending garment and stuffed it into a corner of the trunk.

  Her old green would have to do for her wedding day. She had two other gowns she used for hospital work, wrapped in a blanket so they didn’t stain the other garments. Until the night of the ball, Will had only
ever seen her in those. Had that affected his behavior toward her?

  He said he wanted companionship and someone to partner him in his work. Although she told herself that suited her fine, when she picked up her brush and a handful of pins, and went to the mirror, she stared herself in the eyes.

  “The truth now,” she told her reflection as she set to braiding her hair.

  Will had always evoked tender feelings in her. His clean-cut good looks had attracted her first, but more than that. As she’d become better acquainted with him, her feelings had increased, until she could not deny them anymore.

  She loved him.

  A melancholy fate, when her husband-to-be regarded her a convenience, nothing more. She paused, her brush in her hand. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, neither brown nor blonde, but when the light hit it, the occasional glint of gold shone forth. But the length—it didn’t suit her. The weight pulled it tight around her face. She’d had curls as a little girl.

  She should have it cut. But not today, because she had other things to do. The reminder sent butterflies beating their wings in her stomach.

  “A letter for you,” her mother said, entering the room without knocking.

  She slumped on the bed and broke the seal. Had he changed his mind? She read through the note once, and then read it again, this time aloud.

  My dear Amelia,

  I have contacted Wellington, who has arranged for us to be married in the morning. He claims the men will appreciate seeing a happy story to counteract their losses. Until we have Napoleon in our hands, he does not want morale to dip. I will send a carriage for you. Please be ready to leave at half past nine. If the time does not suit, then we may leave it an hour.

  Will Kennaway

  That was hardly a letter from a man deeply in love. But he’d remembered her. He was right. Partnership would suit them both.

  Jolting into Brussels on the back of a gig Will’s man Robinson had scared up from somewhere brought Amelia sharply back to reality. Men lined the route, most in uniform, all trudging rather than marching. They were on the move again, but this time with no battle in prospect. Many of the men here would have fought for the last time. Once they arrived home, they’d be seeking employment. Another battle of a different kind.

  At least she had somewhere to go, and a place she belonged.

  The rain still pattered down, and she pulled her cloak more securely around her. Her bonnet was taking the worst of the drizzle, the brim drooping, but she could remove that when she was indoors. She would only marry once and she didn’t want to go through the ceremony completely bedraggled.

  They drew up outside the pleasant coaching inn where Wellington had headquartered while the battle was fought and when he’d sent the notice of victory to the King. All of Britain would know by now that the Corsican was defeated. It seemed a fitting conclusion for her to marry in the same building.

  Men gathered outside, all dressed finely—or as finely as they could muster. Royal blue, red and everywhere the glint of gold or brass met the eye. Amelia would be the dowdiest person at her own nuptials.

  Will waited for her outside the inn. He wore a fine coat and waistcoat, his breeches without a crease and his shoes polished to a high shine. He gallantly assisted Amelia to alight. He clasped her hand warmly in his, and when she glanced at him he smiled, as if to give her heart.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes,” he assured her.

  Behind him stood the Duke of Wellington. He greeted Amelia kindly, but she had no illusions. They were here to create a show, a passing scene for the men to enjoy. Waiting here was like being in limbo. Although victory was declared, everything appeared as always, and Wellington could not disband the army for a while yet.

  This was more like an ordeal than a marriage. Except her heart had taken wings at the first sight of him.

  Her father, resplendent in his best dress uniform, all scarlet and gold, alighted from the carriage and assisted her mother to climb down. Her sisters were arriving on foot, but the lodgings weren’t far, and they might well have already arrived.

  Perhaps, once he’d taken her, made her his wife, Will would leave her be. Oh, he wanted her physically, but how long would that last? And she could get used to loving a man who considered her a friend at best.

  And pigs might fly.

  She placed her hand on his arm and tried not to sigh at the shabby state of her gloves. She had the same pin money as her sisters, which was adequate, but never enough time to shop. Her own fault, and she had cause to regret it now.

  Will handed her to her father and went upstairs with the duke.

  “We’re to go up directly.” Despite the ceremony, her mother did not appear pleased, her mouth set in a hard line. “I would have expected more propriety from you, Amelia.”

  “Mama?” Emboldened by events, Amelia turned a perfectly smiling face to her mother.

  Her mother lowered her voice, the sibilants hissing in Amelia’s ear. “I provided an acceptable husband for you. I have worked for months to bring Sir Henry around, and now you want to throw yourself away on a worthless nobody?”

  “He’s related to the duke,” she pointed out, reflecting that it was just as well that they were alone. Everyone else who could fit in had gone upstairs or were waiting outside. They were not waiting for her. They were waiting for Wellington to reemerge.

  “So are any number of people,” her mother muttered. She straightened the pearls at her neck. “Will Kennaway will never amount to anything.”

  “He might well surprise you,” she said. Someone appeared at the top of the flight and beckoned to them.

  The room was comfortably full, but what shocked her was that the duke had decided to stand up with Will. Of course it would be an exercise in heartening the troops, but still, it was something she could tell her grandchildren.

  She might actually have grandchildren! That was worth considering. She’d given up the possibility.

  They stood together now, Will and Amelia, facing the cleric, obviously one of the people attached to the duke’s personal staff from his uniform and the plethora of braids decorating his jacket. A hussar stood by, resplendent in his uniform, wearing enough gold to set her up for life. Will knew some grand people. So did she, but she generally saw them in much less comfortable circumstances.

  The pastor had a peg leg and the hussar an empty sleeve pinned neatly to his jacket. She’d probably treated them sometime, and Will would have saved their lives by severing their limbs.

  A melancholy thought. Perhaps she could work with her husband to save lives without causing so much damage. The thought heartened her and made her lift her chin proudly as the cleric began the ceremony.

  Ten minutes later, he declared them man and wife. Wellington wrung Will’s hand, then kissed Amelia’s cheek and excused himself. A few moments later the sound of cheering met their ears. The hero of the day had gone to meet the people waiting to see him.

  Amelia gazed at Will, meeting the eyes of her husband for the first time. He smiled at her, showing nothing but pleasure. He’d placed a gold band on her finger. It felt uncomfortable, different. It was plain enough for her to keep on when she worked and clean properly after. But she’d be sure to try to find a chain, so she could take it off and put it around her neck if she needed to.

  “This is right, Amelia,” he murmured, and they turned to receive the felicitations of their friends.

  The wedding breakfast had few guests, barely twenty. Their role done in aiding the duke in his exercise, they sat with only the people who had been in the room at the time of their wedding. Seven of them were members of her family, and she and Will made nine. The others were people Amelia and Will had seen in less propitious circumstances.

  Under the table, Will gripped her hand, until he had to loosen it to attend to his food. He gave her heart, and the courage to raise her head and meet the congratulations with calm equanimity. But her appetite had fled. She picked at the morsels on her plate, even thoug
h Will must have offered her every dish available. Usually she set to with enthusiasm, but this whole situation struck her as artificial. Her mother even laughed at something a hussar said. She never laughed, unless it was the high titter she’d cultivated to use in appropriate situations.

  By the time the meal was consumed, the clock had crept its way to two in the afternoon. “I wonder how the patients are?” she said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. What would they think of her? This was her wedding day, surely not a time to refer to her work.

  “We are not to set foot in the hospital today,” Will said, regret touching his voice, “On the duke’s orders. He has bespoken us a room here for our use.”

  She knew as well as he did why Will had chosen to pitch his tent by the hospital. He was on hand when patients came in. No tedious riding from one place to another. But now he would have to take the journey every day. With her, if she had any say in the matter.

  The innkeeper’s servants cleared the meal, and they were left with the brandy. At least Amelia knew this part. Getting to her feet, she led the ladies away. She followed the servant’s instructions to a room that was after all only next to the dining room. The inn had a number of pleasant rooms of gracious size. Wellington preferred to have a certain amount of comfort, although he could camp out with the rest of his men if forced to it.

  “The duke is treating you very kindly,” her mother said, a touch of acid in her tone. Amelia had a glass of wine in her hand and nearly spilled it when her mama plumped down by her side. Mary sat on the other side, appearing none too pleased with her sister. But she tended to look that way when she was not thinking of anything in particular, so that was no true guide.

  “My dear, I am quite heartened.” Lady Hartwell sounded positively content after her attitude before the wedding. “Sir Henry is not deterred. He has sent word that he is looking forward to seeing dear Mary at Lady Smith’s tomorrow night.”

  No doubt another grisly attempt at a social life. Musicales were the worst, when people with little talent forced others to listen to their limited abilities. Amelia would have volunteered for the worst cleaning jobs at the hospital rather than sit through another one of those. And the amateur dramatics were nearly as bad. Compared to that, a ball was downright beatific.