Amelia was well aware that what she had on under the elegant outfit did not match her new grandeur. Nor did her hair. While braids wound around her head were convenient when she was working, she longed for a fashionable crop. When she mentioned it to her maid, the redoubtable Steinman mentioned that she would undertake the task.
So as soon as they arrived back, Steinman set to work. Amelia did not regret the hair tumbling to the ground. She had spent too many hours washing it and waiting for it to dry to feel sorry.
Once cut and dried, she had a curly crop that surprised even her at its mass. “I had curly hair as a child,” she said, “But I was not sure if I’d retained it.”
“You are extremely fortunate, ma’am,” Steinman observed. “You will not have to spend your nights in curling rags.”
Amelia wondered how Will would have taken that, then recalled that he had not come near her since their wedding night. He would likely never see her in them, should it have proved necessary.
“Does your ladyship have any jewels?”
“Only the few beads you’ve seen. Will—Lord Rothwell—is sending for some family jewels.”
But Will surprised her.
He was waiting when she went down to the parlor, intent on an hour reading. She had not expected to find him there. He was dressed as finely as she, although he wore his clothes with more aplomb that Amelia would ever muster. They seemed natural on him, where the carriage dress was still somewhat foreign to her.
But he smiled and took her hands. “You look very smart.”
“I suspect I have spent too much,” she confessed. “I’m so sorry. I shall send to cancel.”
“Indeed you will not.” He squeezed her hands. “As long as they all suit you as well as this. You will be a credit to the title, which the lawyer this morning informed me was ours to uphold.” He grimaced. “I don’t know if we’ve taken the right course, but we can go back. It’s not too late.”
But it was. Already he was changing, becoming someone else. The Will she had worked beside was fading, being replaced by someone much grander, of far more consequence. If he didn’t see it, she did. Even his appearance bore little resemblance to the man with tousled, overlong hair and mismatched clothes she’d known in the past.
“I don’t know if I’ll be a good countess.” Her social skills had never been more than adequate. She quailed inwardly at the thought of meeting the great on supposedly equal terms. What would she talk about? They would consider her a sad provincial, as most of the officers’ wives did.
“You will be an excellent countess,” he said. “We are invited to dinner at Lady Redmayne’s tomorrow evening. Will you have something suitable to wear?”
Sickness churned her stomach. “I’ll ask Steinman.” She had to become accustomed to this new social round. She forced a smile. “My first society dinner.”
“What about the army?”
She had not attended many, and they were with people she knew. Her father ate at the mess whenever he could, to save money. “A few, but not like this.”
“This is an unusual summer. London is much fuller than usual. It’s almost like the season, except for the young females looking for husbands.” He cast his gaze to the ceiling. “At least they can’t go on the hunt for me. I have you to thank for that, as well.”
At least she was good for something. “I feel so out of my depth,” she confessed, but he was not listening.
He turned away to gaze out of the window. “It seems strange, being here again. My family has owned this house since it was built fifty years ago. I’ve known this garden since I was a boy.”
Why had he not returned at all? He had trained as a surgeon and then immediately sailed abroad to offer his services to the army. As far as she knew, he’d never been back. For the first time she wondered why.
“I don’t even know how many siblings you have,” she said.
“One brother and a sister,” he told her. “Those of us who are left.”
Because his elder brother had died. So the two that remained were younger than Will. Apart from that, she knew nothing about his family. Nor was likely to, because he appeared singularly close-mouthed about the subject. He answered her questions and no more.
She changed the subject, because she didn’t want any more stress today. Another day she’d press him further, and soon. “Did you have a productive morning?”
“You could say that.” He ran his hand over his hair. He’d found time to have it cut, or perhaps Robinson had wielded the scissors. At any rate, it was cut in a fashionable style, something like the ones she’d seen on officers in the cavalry regiments. Longer on top, his curls tamed into sweeping waves. His gesture returned it to something similar to the way she’d known him.
He paused in front of the mirror and shook his hair back into place. He would never have done that before. “If tedious. I read a lot of small print, or had it read to me. Apparently I have to arrange some matters with my brother, who has acted as the land steward since our father’s death.”
He turned back to her with a wry smile. “And the de facto earl. But now I am home, I am supposed to run the estate in the way I see fit. If it were left to me, I would say ‘carry on’. He also informed me how much disposable income we have—a lot. So our next visit is to Rundell and Bridge.”
Amelia couldn’t help it—she gasped. The name of the jewelers to the Crown had that effect on many people. “Today?”
“Yes, why not?”
Casually, he held out his arm, and she had to choice but to take it.
At least one of the hats she’d ordered had arrived, so she was not forced to pin her old straw into place. This one had a large green feather curled around the brim, and the shape, curved around her face, suited her well. The frill of lace beneath, though, she wasn’t sure about.
“I look like a leg of lamb,” she commented.
“You look nothing of the kind.” Will came up behind her and gazed over her shoulder at her reflection. “You look charming.”
He took her outside and helped her into the carriage, once a footman had helped her into her light summer pelisse. The day was breezy, for all that it was June.
Another private room awaited them at the jeweler’s.
When they got out of the carriage she cast a longing look up to the dome of St. Paul’s, at the top of Ludgate Hill. “I should like to go there,” she said. She’d heard and read so much about it, and this was her first sight of the great cathedral.
“Then you shall. My next task is to see what vehicles are in the stables. I know you ride, so I’ll find a mount for you. Did you order riding dress?”
“I—I think so.” Truly she could not remember. She had ordered so much, she recalled guiltily, that she had no idea if she had or not.
She had overspent. She didn’t even have any pin money allotted to her.
With her heart weighing heavily in her chest, Amelia let the footman outside the grand shop open the door for her.
A very superior being stood inside. All these attendants—all the ones she’d met so far—made her feel inferior, as if she was not worthy of them, when in fact her status was much higher than theirs.
This man had a cutaway coat of breathtaking spotlessness, mid-blue in color. His grey hair was cut neatly to his head, and he had what older men sometimes called a high forehead, which gleamed when it caught the light. Four large pilasters framed the door. Windows either side held displays of jewelry on one side and silver-gilt plate on the other, all gleaming and spotless. Some poor soul must have to clean and polish them every day.
Inside, a range of waist-length cases with glass tops displayed a variety of goods. “If you would come this way, my lord, my lady,” Mr. Bridge said. He led a path past the cases to a private room at the back of the shop. “Would you like some refreshment?” He glided to a sideboard. “I can have tea served, if you prefer.”
She murmured her acceptance of a small glass of canary wine, although she would much rath
er have had tea. But she didn’t wish to put anyone to any trouble. She consoled herself with the notion that she could have tea when she got home.
John Bridge was one of the two proprietors of the enterprise. The company owned establishments all over the world, and here was the proprietor, seeing to them himself.
“We have the grande toilettes and the parures for great occasions in the family jewels,” Will said when they had settled on the green upholstered chairs. “But her ladyship needs a few items that are more fashionable. Something she can wear every day.”
“Pearls,” Amelia said firmly. She had a string of small seed pearls that had taken her from tea with the officer’s wives to balls. Every woman should have a good set of pearls, her mother had said more than once, in a wistful tone. So if she was to have jewelry, she would have pearls.
“Naturally.” Mr. Bridge took a key from his waist and unfastened the locks on a small chest in the corner of the room. It contained a series of shallow drawers. He pulled the first out completely and laid it on the table between her chair and Will’s.
Amelia blinked. It contained strings of pearls, that was true, but not the kind she’d been imagining.
She picked up the smallest string. “Ah, perfect, are they not?” Mr. Bridge said. “A more discreet string for every day.”
The pearls were cold and smooth to the touch. “Every day?” The clasp was of diamonds.
“These, though, are very fine.” Mr. Bridge reverently lifted a four-string choker. These pearls were perfectly matched, spectacularly large.
“No,” she said hastily. They would choke her for sure.
Will touched a double string, interspersed with diamonds. “I like these.”
“An excellent choice, my lord. They have matching earrings.” With a murmured word of apology, he laid the string around her neck.
A gold-framed mirror hung behind the table. Amelia caught her breath. “They are very grand.”
“Not at all. They are in the latest mode, and they would look magnificent with evening dress.”
“We’ll take them,” Will said firmly. “And the smaller string.”
Amelia didn’t like the large string. They lay heavily on her neck. Despite what Mr. Bridge said, they did not become her. “Do you have any cameos?” she asked timidly. They weren’t as costly. She even had a cameo brooch of her own.
Not like the ones Mr. Bridge produced. They were large, and strung together with heavy gold.
No, she would not have those. But before she could say anything, Mr. Bridge picked out a more delicate set.
She loved these. The cameos were set in filigree gold, with fine chain linking them. Neither man doubted her reaction. She spread the chain in front of her, studying the cameos. “Are they ancient?”
“Yes, my lady. Roman, to be precise. We were fortunate enough to buy a consignment a few weeks ago. You have excellent taste, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Which meant she’d chosen the costlier set. But Amelia was beginning to find her taste was for finer pieces. Consoling herself with the thought that she could always return what she didn’t want, she chose a coral necklace and one of sapphires cut to a brilliant glitter.
Then she saw a chain with diamonds interspersed, the whole having an antique aspect. Mr. Bridge suggested bangles to accompany it.
Even her hair didn’t go without its ornaments. Although she could no longer put it up with combs, there were clasps and decorations that she could add for evening entertainments.
Glancing at Will, she caught the trace of a smile. He was enjoying her enthusiasm, muted though it was.
When Mr. Bridge had put away the magnificent pieces, Will spoke up. “I want a watch for my wife, and a ring.”
“Of course, my lord.” Bridge glanced at her finger, adorned only with a plain gold band.
He produced diamonds, and this time Will chose one, much too large for her finger. She managed to persuade him to select one that suited her much better—smaller diamonds but, Mr. Bridge informed him, of the best quality.
When Will held it to her finger, she held her breath. “No,” she said, snatching her hand away. “Not yet.”
“But it might not fit.”
Pulling off her wedding ring, she gave it to him. “Yes, it will.”
He compared the two and returned the ring to her with a curious smile. “Yes, it will.” He didn’t push the point, but allowed Mr. Bridge to take it away with their other selections.
“You should have something.” When Mr. Bridge returned, she asked him about gentleman’s jewelry. When he produced cases of fobs, watches, chains and other items, she selected a watch for him. It was a full hunter, and when the cover popped open the enamel dial was white and the numbers elegantly and clearly depicted. “I like this one,” she said, giving it to him.
“So do I.”
“A fine choice,” Mr. Bridge said. It occurred to her that he’d praised every one of her choices, even though she’d selected some relatively modest pieces along with the diamonds and pearls. He was so smooth he was close to unctuous.
They took the watch and a chain for it.
When they’d done, Amelia suppressed her sigh of relief, but she should have known better than to suppose her husband had missed it. Once in the carriage, he asked her, “Is this too much for you?”
She refused to let him down. She would become an adequate countess if the effort killed her. “No, today has been most exciting. It’s just that—” She didn’t know how to say it properly, so she just blurted it. “It’s all so strange. Not something I am used to.”
“Yes,” he agreed, smiling. “Don’t forget the last time I was treated like this was when I was eighteen. I trained as a surgeon as Mr. Kennaway, and I continued so. My brother dealt with the estate. I thought I had set my course in life.” He stared ahead at the small window at the front of the carriage. “We must both make the best of living in the lap of luxury.”
“Indeed.” She tried to sound lively, but the notion appalled her, especially the enforced leisure part.
They had plans. Perhaps, once they’d settled in, they could continue with them. Countesses could help surgeons, surely? They could do whatever they wished, it seemed to her. Otherwise, what had they fought for?
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Will set out bright and early for Chelsea. The York Military Hospital was set in the pretty village a short ride from town. He took one of the horses from the stable behind the house.
He found the ride pleasant, despite the dogged presence of a groom, who would not remain behind. The servants were as much concerned with their new master’s dignity as he was. More, truthfully, because he wouldn’t have cared if he’d ridden alone. He had known much worse and more perilous circumstances. He could use the pair of pistols stowed away in the pouch before him, and the sword sheathed by his side too.
Chelsea proved a pleasant village, dominated by the College, of which the hospital was part. The red-brick building boasted a pillared portico that stretched to the roof, and above, a domed lantern. It was established, or so he’d read, by Nell Gwyn, whose tender heart was touched by a wounded soldier.
Will swung off his horse and handed the reins to the groom, then climbed the stairs and strode inside. The attendant in the spacious hall bowed and went in search of his superior. Will didn’t know the man who came to greet him, but he recognized another medical man.
Dr. Raven was effusive in his welcome. “Indeed, we are honored, my lord.”
“I was not ‘my lord’ when I attended to some of your patients here, although I cannot profess to know them all. When I saw them they were broken, filthy and bloody. Waterloo was not a clean battle in any sense of the word.”
Dr. Raven nodded. “So I understand, sir. The physician-General, Sir James McGrigor, has visited us also.”
Will knew and respected the man. He well deserved the accolades being heaped on him in certain quarters. “Is he returning here?”
&nbs
p; “I believe so, my lord.” Dr. Raven gave him a curious glance. “You served as a common surgeon?”
“Not so common,” he said, smiling. “What good would my title have done me? It would only have got in the way.” A pang struck him, but as usual he ignored it. He would never have reclaimed his title if Wellington hadn’t persuaded him.
Except he might have, for Amelia’s sake. He wanted her to have everything she deserved, except she didn’t seem to be enjoying her new status. Yesterday he’d detected a reticence that did not please him in the least. He was showering wealth on her, giving her the reward for her hard work, but she didn’t seem happy.
Perhaps she needed more rest. He would ensure she got it.
The doctor took Will on a tour of the hospital. It was most impressive, but the good doctor had little idea of the welfare of the residents who had lost a limb. Seeing the men, some of them still abed, others trying to move around on one leg, regret and shame hit him.
Yes, he had saved their lives, but what had they to look forward to now? He had saved them for what? And these were the lucky ones, the fraction of men who had found a place here. Others were brought home and dumped on the streets, left to fend for themselves. After they had saved the country from invasion. What thanks did they have?
As a civilian surgeon, Will had expected little except some adventure and much experience. He smiled when he recalled his introduction to military medicine, although his smile was necessarily tinged with pain. The soldiers escorting him had taken him to a stiflingly hot military encampment at the foot of a great Spanish fortress and pushed him into the midst of hell.
He’d set to work, wondering that they stationed the field hospitals so close to the front line. The boom of mortars and mines sounded close, and the rumbling explosions vibrated under his feet. Once a shell had landed so near to the building they had commandeered as a military hospital that its vibrations had caused him to pause with his saw halfway through a man’s arm.
That was a painful memory. The man had perished. He hadn’t been fast enough.
When he told Dr. Raven, the man had failed to see the joke of the naïve, barely qualified, idealistic young surgeon thrust into the middle of total chaos. True, army humor was a touch macabre, but he had borne it, survived and determined to improve his methods.
It Started at Waterloo Page 8