“I am yours to command, my love.” Nicole pulled his head down to meet her lips, yielding to him.
“God, I want you, Nicole.”
“Yes, Valentin, oh yes,” she replied breathlessly as he began to weave his magic over her again.
Sometime later she stirred from his embrace, and he rose to dress. She sat up and asked, “What did happen to Beauchamp?”
He smiled and replied, “He was more than willing to talk. It seems they hoped to delay the Allies’ preparations by kidnapping the Duke. And Boney is about ready to attack.”
“Must it come to that?”
“I am afraid so, my dear.” Noting the fear in her eyes, he changed the subject. “I will try not to be too late, so that I can escort you to the Richmond ball tonight.”
Attempting to match his light tone, she said, “I have a new gown for the occasion.”
“Good. Then wear these, my dearest.” He dropped the Ardsmore diamonds into her hand.
“The earrings! Where did you find them?”
“Danforth got them from Beauchamp last night.”
“Thank you.” She blushed painfully remembering all her foolishness again.
“My love, that episode is behind us. From now on all’ we will have to remember are the good times.”
“There have not been too many of those.”
“But there will be. Here is one I will always cherish.” He dangled the emerald and sapphire stick pin before her eyes.
“You do remember?”
“How could I forget.”
“Oh, my love, it is so hard to believe all my dreams are coming true.”
“They are as long as they include me.”
She laughed gaily. “Every one!”
“That is all I want to hear.”
It was a great disappointment to Nicole when the Viscount’s note arrived expressing his regret that he would be unable to accompany her to the Richmonds ball after all. In the note he promised to meet her there as soon as possible.
Perry willingly waited upon his brother’s wife that evening. She wore a diaphanous yellow chiffon with delicate threads of gold woven throughout the low-cut bodice and slightly flared skirt. It swayed and clung to her exquisite figure as she came across the room to greet her brother-in-law. She smiled as he kissed her hand and said, “Ravishing! You are absolutely ravishing! If you were not my brother’s wife…” he teased, eyeing her appreciatively from her Grecian curls to her satin slippered feet. “Not a man will be able to take his eyes off you this evening.”
“Oh, dear,” she said with a touch of concern, “your brother will never approve.”
“He would be a fool not to.”
She stood before the fireplace mirror and tried to adjust the bodice to cover more of her bosom.
“Speaking of my brother, I know he was terribly disappointed not to be able to escort you himself.”
She met his eyes in the mirror—a worried frown creasing her lovely brow. “Those dreadful rumors of war…” Perry shifted his weight uneasily as she turned from the mirror to grasp his fingers. “Will it come to that?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know for sure, luv. But don’t look so worried.” Perry added proudly, “We will have old Boney beat before you can bat an eye.”
Nicole’s protest was interrupted as Cecily and John Tilford joined them.
“Oh I say, Nicole, that is a most stunning gown,” Tilford surveyed her admiringly.
“Why thank you, Telly,” Nicole smiled flirtatiously.
Catching the jealous gleam in Cecily’s eyes, Perry quickly slipped a matching shawl over Nicole’s shoulders and led her from the salon.
The élite of Brussels society was already assembled in the salons of the Richmond home by the time Nicole and her party arrived. It was apparent, however, that the Duke’s staff was still absent, for the smiling guests arrayed in their splendid finery were tense beneath their carefree façade. Nicole chatted lightly with Helen Bramwell while each scanned the room anxiously watching for the Duke’s party. Maria Bellington joined them looking calm and serene.
“How can you be so collected at a time like this, Maria?” Helen accused.
“Do cheer up, my dears. I hear the Duke is on his way.”
“Have you heard if it is war or not?” Nicole asked.
“Gossip and rumors. Nothing definite. We must await the Duke.”
“This waiting is unbearable,” Helen cried.
“Hush, my dear child,” Maria scolded. “You do not wish to show such fears to Harry, do you?”
Tears sprang into the young girl’s eyes. “Come with me, Helen, you must compose yourself,” Maria said soothingly leading Helen away.
“Foolish chit!” Lady Barclay commented. “I am glad to see you are not allowing circumstances to crush you down.”
Nicole did not have time to respond. The Duke was announced, and his party entered the ballroom.
Immediately Nicole saw Valentin, his blue eyes searching the ballroom for her. But before he could catch sight of her, the Duke of Wellington was surrounded by a mob of the curious and the anxious who questioned him about the rumors of war. His quick terse reply was in the affirmative. It would be war! Nicole, whose limbs were already shaking in anticipation of those fateful words, remembered Maria Bellington’s stern warning just moments earlier. Fleeing the ballroom, Nicole sought the privacy of a small salon where she could compose herself before facing her husband. Only seconds after reaching the sanctuary, the door opened and closed softly behind the Viscount.
“Nicole?” he questioned, crossing the room to take her outstretched hands in his own. “What is it, darling?”
Her eyes were misted. “Hold me, Valentin,” she whispered unsteadily, staring at the glittering medals and gold-trimmed scarlet uniform.
He crushed her against him, his brass buttons digging into her flesh, and he whispered her name softly several times. Then he was holding her at arms’ length, smiling boyishly. “You are looking very fetching tonight, my sweet.”
“Oh, Val…” her voice quavered.
“Shh.” He placed his fingers to her lips. “The night is still young, and I want to hold you in my arms. Will you dance with me?”
He was being deliberately casual, and she must make every effort to do the same. She could not let him down now. Striving for an inner composure to carry on the charade, she answered, “I am yours all evening if you want me, my lord.”
“Want you—you know I do.” He held her gaze then added lightly, “Turn around, and let me see all of this delightful creation you are wearing.”
“Do you like it?” She pirouetted around him.
“Enchanting. What there is to it.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“I decided against dampening the underskirt…”
“You better had!”
“Oh?” She eyed him provocatively. “And what might you have done if I had?”
“Need you ask, you minx?” He raised his hand playfully letting it come to rest on her cheek.
Nicole snatched it to her lips, kissing it. “I love you,” she murmured.
Overwhelmed, Valentin quickly took her by the hand and commanded, “Come on, my dear, let us get out of here before I forget where we are, or you shall be quite embarrassed.”
She flushed in spite of the delight she felt. Decorously accepting his arm, they returned to the ballroom.
Melting into his arms, Nicole was oblivious to everyone else, her violet eyes shining up at the man she loved. They danced time and again with one another until some of the Viscount’s friends and fellow officers began to protest. It was impossible to refuse their requests to dance with his wife. Reluctantly he relinquished his claim on her. As Nicole danced by him in another’s arms, she would meet his loving gaze, and immediately the music ended, she would hurry to his side. Valentin would draw her close to him, the pressure of his hand on her arm reassuring as he joked with one or two others dressed in scarlet.
Th
e mad frenzy among many of the guests bent on forgetting the impending crisis contrasted sharply with others who had grown pale and quiet, clinging desperately to their loved ones as the evening drew closer to its climax.
“So, Lord Ardsmore.” Valentin turned to meet the sardonic eyes of the Duke of Wellington. “I found it expedient to come and introduce myself since you seem to have forgotten my express wish to meet your lady.”
“My lord Duke, I… I… forgive my oversight.”
Nicole was amused at her husband’s discomfort.
Catching the humor in her eyes, Valentin quickly made the introductions. The Duke took her hand in his and kissed it while she curtsied.
“My dear Viscountess, how can I ever express my gratitude for your efforts on behalf of our cause.”
Nicole was flattered at the Duke’s pointed recognition of her efforts. They chatted amiably for a few minutes until the Duke took leave of her announcing, “You must excuse me, dear lady, but I think it is time we prepared for our departure.”
The time had come for final goodbyes!
“Dearest,” Valentin smiled, “I must rush. Stay a while, and let Danforth see you home.”
“No, Val! Do you think I could stay at a time like this? You must let me come with you to the house.” She clasped his arm.
“It will only be more difficult.”
“Every second with you is precious to me. Please, darling, do not deny me this.”
“As you wish, my love.”
Upon arriving home, they were met by Valentin’s valet who had the Colonel’s military gear packed. “All ready, Colonel.”
“Fine, Jenkins. Have the horses saddled. I will be along directly.”
“Very good, my lord.” He dashed off.
Drawing Nicole into the unlighted library, Valentin buried his face in her hair breathing in her fragrance. Then allowing his lips to wander over her face, he whispered, “Did I tell you how especially beautiful you looked tonight?”
“Yes.” She choked back a sob.
“And how very much I love you.”
“Oh Val, Val.” She clung to him as his hands dropped to her hips pulling her next to him.
“I will be back, Nicole. This is only the beginning. Just remember that, darling.”
“Yes, my dearest. I shall pray…” She did not finish her words as his lips found hers—bruising in their intensity. Then gently disengaging himself from her embrace, he gave her one of his more tender looks, touched her cheek with his hand and was gone.
Chapter XVIII
Colonel Harcourt, astride his great black stallion, was on a ridge overlooking the countryside of Waterloo as he watched the Allies and the opposing French form themselves for battle. On the opposite side of the valley a sea of blue uniforms hovered in the morning light growing in size and number until the horizon seemed aquiver with the motion of human bodies.
The first and second rounds of fire came from the French artillery, and small puffs of smoke began to appear along the line of battle. Gradually the sound of heavy cannon filled the air with a deafening roar. A thick smoke hung heavily over the battlefield making it impossible to see clearly. The sharp crackle of musketry punctuated the general din with increasing regularity, while shells screamed overhead and crashed into the sodden earth sending up great showers of mud and stones.
The call to charge sounded, and a great horde of French cavalry was racing through a storm of whistling bullets, sabers held high, straight toward a counter-force of British cavalry no less eager for the pitch of battle.
They met, a great thudding of horses and clashing of arms. To the awful screams of the instruments of war were added the screams of men in the throes of hate and lust, fear and pain. And the grand designs of the generals lost their shape and became formless. There were no longer set patterns of infantry columns and cavalry flanks moving in majestic order. Instead there evolved an inferno of men and animals and weapons snarled together.
It was into the midst of that heaving horror of death that Colonel Valentin Harcourt, Viscount of Ardsmore, plunged his stallion. He was carrying a message to General Comstock requesting reinforcements to support the right flank, which was in serious danger of being overcome by French troups.
The Colonel wheeled his stallion violently through the wild fracas of shouting men and thundering horses, whipping his sword skillfully before him, seeing first one then another blue uniform crumple before the vicious thrust of his powerful arm. They were not the bodies of men that received the piercing of his weapon, but merely obstacles to be cleared from the path of destruction he was hacking between himself and the enemy. Nevertheless, his luck faltered. A hot, searing pain struck him in the chest, and Valentin swayed, almost losing his seat astride his heaving horse. With a sharp curse damning all French hides, he clamped his jaws together and held on. He was through the worst and made his way into the woods surrounding Hougoumont to General Comstock’s entrenchment. It was only after delivering Wellington’s message that he slipped from his horse and lost consciousness.
* * *
The sounds of cannonade shook the city since dawn, shattering windows and frightening much of the populace into a state of panic.
“Oh my God,” Cecily wailed. “I should have left the city with the Wexfords when I had the chance.”
“It’s too late for that now, Cecily. We must try to be brave,” Nicole urged.
“No, no, Nicole, I cannot. We can still gather a few of our belongings and escape to Antwerp.”
“Are you mad, Cecily? Have you looked out of the window in the last hour? The streets are mobbed with people attempting just that.”
“I don’t care! If they can make it, so can we.”
“Don’t you remember that our carriage has been stolen? Besides, you might consider John.”
“Oh Lord, Nicole, John is a soldier—it is his duty, but I am not obliged to remain here.” The girl was close to frenzy.
“Cecily, you are overwrought. I’m sure you don’t mean what you are saying.”
“But I’m so scared, Nicole, I beg you to come to Antwerp with me.”
“Never! Do you think for one minute I would leave while Valentin is in danger? They can destroy the whole city, but I will not leave without him! Don’t you care what happens to John?”
Cecily hesitated, making an effort to stem her hysteria, but she could not. “I see no need to sacrifice my life as well as his.”
“Don’t say that!” Nicole shook with fear and anger. “How can you be so callous!”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Gordon Danforth.
“Gordon!” Cecily sprang at him. “Surely you can get us out of here—you’re a member of the British Legation.”
“It is too late, Mrs. Tilford. The people are running wild in the streets, and every sort of conveyance has been commandeered. It is best to remain inside. I had a terrible time getting here.”
“But there must be some way. What about the river barges?”
“Impossible. Wellington has secured every one of them for the wounded.”
“What are we to do?” she cried.
“My dear lady, remain calm. There is nothing for you to do but wait.”
“For what? For Bonaparte to enter the city?”
“That’s not very likely to happen…”
“Is it not? I heard he has beaten the Duke and is already marching on the city.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, my dear. The city is rife with rumors. We can’t be sure at this point whom to trust. I’m afraid our Belgian hosts are just too frightened right now and waiting to see which side of the fence to jump on.”
“It’s as bad as that?” Nicole questioned.
“Don’t give up hope, Nicole. Louis is still in Ghent. He hasn’t seen fit to take flight yet. Besides, Wellington has saved the day more than once. Did he not do it at Torres Vedras in Portugal? We must have faith he can do it again.”
“I have, oh I have,” Nicole
claimed fervently as Cecily fled the room.
When the bodies of the wounded and dying began to arrive from the battlefields, Nicole could not sit idly by hoping for news of Valentin and the others to reach her. Waiting passively for the daily lists of battle casualties was beyond her nature to endure. The awful dread which greeted those postings was made bearable only by her secret belief that her husband’s name would not appear on those fearful lists and that her love would protect him from harm. She tried to close her ears to the shocking tales of the sufferings of the wounded on the battlefield. One report told of the agony of dying men plundered by looting soldiers who sometimes killed them as they stripped away their valuables.
Nicole’s need to take action found release in joining the scores of women who went to nurse the injured and dying soldiers beginning to crowd the city. At first the awesome sight overwhelmed her, and the horrors of gaping wounds and bloodied limbs and screams of pain almost drove her away, but the thought that these could be Valentin or Perry gave her the courage to remain and face the task before her. Gritting her teeth, she went among the wounded offering whatever assistance was demanded whether it was trying to find space for torn bodies in the overcrowded houses turned into makeshift hospitals, or offering the comfort of prayers, or most appalling of all, the dressing of the hideous wounds crying out for attention. Gradually Nicole became inured to the ghastly sights of shattered limbs as she feverishly worked to staunch the flow of blood from the pitiful human flesh mauled by the brutal weapons of war.
As time passed even the streets of Brussels were turned into hospitals with row upon row of wounded lying on the sidewalks in an endless sea of suffering. The most heart-breaking cries were those of the men for water, and many were actually maddened by pain and thirst. When Nicole could no longer force her weary limbs to further effort she dragged herself home to snatch a few hours of tormented sleep.
The sounds of bombardment awoke Nicole abruptly the next morning. She shuddered at the prospect of another frightful day like yesterday facing her; nevertheless, bracing herself, she prepared to leave for the hospital.
Sweet Bravado Page 24