by Jane Lark
Ellen turned and saw Jennifer look away. A warm blush touched Ellen’s cheeks. Her intimacy had been inappropriate before a servant, and it had hurt that he’d set her away. But he’d done it because he was a soldier today and he needed to focus on his work, not her. If they were to sail towards a war there would be many more moments like this. She would simply cling harder, to her Paul, when she lay in bed at night with him – the man she’d met first.
The pain of brewing tears hurt Ellen’s throat and pressed at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed them away and breathed. “Would you order dinner for me, Jennifer?”
After dining alone, and eating very little, Ellen retired to their chamber asking Jennifer to help her undress. Once the maid had gone, she slipped between the cold sheets and waited for Paul, and the moment the soldier became just the man to her.
Chapter Nine
Ellen lay asleep in the bed. Paul carefully closed the door to their chamber, trying not to wake her.
She’d left a candle burning for him.
Quietly he slipped off his greatcoat and laid it over the arm of a chair. His heart thumped hard. It had been doing so all day. The news still shocked him. Napoleon had escaped when they had thought that battle won. It should be over. He’d spent enough years starving and exhausted battling his own men, to keep them fighting when at times they’d have rather turned and run, as well as battling the French and their allies. Images and memories of the horrors of war had been spinning through his head all day, the sounds of imaginary cannons deafening him at times.
He did not want to go back, and yet he would not allow that damned tyrant have his way. The whole regiment was angry and ready to fight again to put the man back in his jail. But it was galling that they had to. Napoleon had already been defeated.
Paul’s fingers slipped the brass buttons of his military coat free.
He just wished to be in bed with his wife, and feel her softness. She was his safe harbour, his sanctuary. His sanity. All he lived for now. He’d known she would be from the first moment he’d seen her at her father’s house.
When he set his coat aside, exhaustion hit him. He ran his fingers up over his face and through his hair. It had been a long day, but there would be many more long days in the next months. Napoleon was gathering an army to return to Paris. The message had said hundreds of men.
Paul pulled his shirt over his head and let that fall on top of his military coat. Then he unbuttoned his falls, watching Ellen in the bed they’d shared for weeks.
Her dark hair rested across her shoulder in a braid and her breaths lifted it a little, as her bosom rose, lifting the sheets too. She looked so young.
He slipped off his pantaloons, underwear and stockings all in one.
She was young. Perhaps too young to face the conditions on the continent. They’d been bled dry by the previous years of war. But he’d been her age when he’d first left England – he’d survived and he’d trained recruits still younger than him. They’d had to walk into a battle, kill men, and risk being killed.
She would cope. She was strong. He said the words to reassure himself. But still there was a fear low in his stomach that he’d never known before; a fear for her, not for himself. It accused him of being juvenile and incapable.
When he moved across the room, he was careful not to let the floorboards creak, and then he blew out the candle, casting the room into darkness, before climbing into bed beside her. The sheets were cold at the edge of the bed, but near Ellen they were warm, so he moved closer. She lay on her side. He shaped his body to hers and gently rested his arm about her. She did not wake.
When he woke in the morning, Ellen turned beneath his outstretched arm, and as he opened his eyes, he faced the very pale blue of hers.
Her gaze was warm and welcoming. “Good morning,” she whispered.
“Good morning.”
“What hour did you return?”
“Past ten.”
Her fingers brushed across the stubble on his jaw. “As I have said before, you need not feel guilty for doing your duty.”
He smiled, his hand embracing the curve of her waist, beneath the sheets. “Things will become hard over the next few months.”
“I know.”
“And you will cope?”
“I will cope, because I have you.”
Again, there was that clasp of fear, low in his stomach, the one he’d never known before. It did not trust his judgement, or his ability to keep her safe.
But he was not the only man in the army and she would be in a camp away from the battle. There would be hundreds of men between her and danger.
She would be safe.
For now though he needed to feel her security. The light in the room implied it was a little past dawn; there was time. “Let me love you,” he whispered, moving over her. Perhaps it was selfish to press straight into her when she opened her thighs, and yet it was what he needed.
The weight of her arms rested on his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, her fingers brushing his back. The rock of his hips as he moved slowly rocked her body too, making her breasts stir.
He adored her. There was a blissful intensity when they did this. Because it was love making, it was nothing like any encounters he’d known with whores. This was his wife he honoured, and she was warm and wet for his invasion. Little sighs left her lips, as colour scored her cheekbones. Her eyes had been open, looking up into his, but now they closed, dark lashes settling on her pale skin, and she bit her lip to keep her silence.
This is what she’d learned from the time they’d made love on the ship – to always be silent. He did not admonish her, nor encourage her to be more vocal. There would be many times they must be silent. It was better she had this skill.
Yet he saw her fighting it. The heat between her legs increased and he worked harder, pulling out and pressing in, captured by the primal call of her body. Three. Four more strokes. And then… Oh. He firmed the muscle in his arms to stop himself from falling, as her gentle fingers ran over his hair.
She was so beautiful.
~
Paul slipped out of the bed as carefully as he could, trying not to wake Ellen. As he moved she rolled to her back and stretched her arms, her sleepy eyes opening and looking up at him, the pale blue slightly misty. Her skin was reddened in places from the heat of his embrace and the brush of his stubble.
When she lay in bed looking like this, with her hair only loosely braided and escaping about her face, he loved her more – the imperfect, approachable, Ellen.
He turned back, leaned down, and pressed a kiss on her forehead, longing to return to the bed but knowing he could not; he had things to do. “Be ready in case we are to sail today, I shall send word as soon as I know.”
She nodded.
As he washed and dressed, she sat more upright in bed, watching him, her pale skinned arms lying over the covers. He kept occasionally smiling at her in the mirror. They would be well. They would be happy. And he would keep her safe. He would accept no other conclusion. But even as he assured himself, his mind threw images of dead and dying men at him.
When he looked at her, and walked back to the bedside, she looked up at him with a wonder that suggested he was something stupendous. The look spoke to his heart as it had done in the summer, stealing away all the memories of war. He bent and kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, Ellen. I doubt I shall return for luncheon, not unless we are to sail. But I shall send word.”
She nodded again then said, “Good day.”
As he turned away, there was the sensation low in his stomach. Fear. He didn’t like it. Perhaps it was the vulnerability he sensed in her. She was quiet and she had a way of hiding even when she was in a crowd of people, withdrawing into her thoughts. Yet despite her shyness, his men loved her, and the other officers were all enamoured too – though they’d expressed shock over her decision to follow the drum.
Perhaps that was why he felt concern – because it had not been her choice
. She’d chosen only to be his wife, the outcome of that had been decided for her.
Casting the thought aside, he left the room.
It was too late to worry over such things. Their course was set.
~
When a soldier arrived, almost bursting into the small parlour, dressed in the scarlet coat and blue-grey pantaloons of Paul’s regiment, Ellen stood, setting aside her sewing without thought. Jennifer stood too.
He smelt of cold and damp, as Paul had done the day before.
“Madam.” He bowed deeply.
“Tell me your news. I presume my husband sent you; Captain Harding?”
“Ma’am.” He bowed again. “The Captain did. He asked me to inform you that the regiment is to sail on the high tide at six this evening.”
It was today then “Very well. Did he say how our things are to be taken to the dock?”
“Some of the men will come with the Captain after four, and bring a cart to take your items, madam.”
Ellen nodded. That was it then. The end of the peace they’d known here.
“And there are these, ma’am.” He held out two letters.
“Letters from my husband?”
“No, ma’am, they came with the regimental mail.”
She took them from his outstretched hand and turned one over. The coat of arms imprinted in the seal was one she’d known all her life… her father’s. She recognised the writing on the other; Penny’s.
Ellen’s heart leapt then pounded as she looked back up at the young soldier. “Thank you.” Her voice came out much quieter than she’d expected and a little shakily with the emotion gripping in her chest. She urged more strength into it. “I’m grateful. Please tell Captain Harding, I shall be ready.”
The soldier bowed again, sharply, with a stiff posture, and then he walked from the room.
Ellen turned to Jennifer. “Would you fetch us tea?”
As soon as the maid had gone Ellen walked across the room to the hearth and broke the seal on her father’s letter. It was short and sharp.
I did not, and do not, welcome your letters. They have all been destroyed and you are not to contact your mother or your sisters. Do you understand? I do not wish to hear from a disobedient child, and I shall not have your ill behaviour reflect on the others.
You have made your choice, now live it, and be done.
The Duke of Pembroke
“The Duke of Pembroke…” The words escaped from her mouth. “You are my father, Papa.”
She held the letter against her bosom for a moment, thinking of her mother, Penny, Rebecca and Sylvia. Tears clouded her vision, then slipped onto her cheeks. Her heart ached. This was the moment a tide, like the sea, tried to pull her back, but soon there would be even more miles between herself and them.
She looked at the second letter. It was also marked with the Duke of Pembroke’s seal. But the address was in Penny’s hand.
Ellen’s heart pumped hard as she broke the seal, a beat of excitement and anxiety drumming through her limbs, even into her fingertips, making the paper tremble.
Tears traced sensation down her cheeks…
Eleanor, my dearest sister,
I am sure you must feel guilty for leaving us, but do not. I am glad you have run off with Paul. Papa is furious; he has not let any of us mention your name, not even Mama. But I know she has cried, and I have tried to comfort her, but she must obey father and so she will not let me say your name to her, though I see it in her eyes all the time.
When I saw him scribbling a letter with a look of steel on his face, then I knew he must be writing to you, and so I wrote my own and hid it in the packet with his. He does not know I have written, and I am sure you will not be able to write back. This is just to tell you that I understand and miss you terribly, but I would not have it different for the world. I hope you are happy.
I saw an article in Papa’s paper; there was a paragraph. ‘Lady P, the daughter of the Duke of P, is known to have run off with the 6th son of the Earl of C, without the consent of either influential home. One does wonder over the abilities of these noble lords if they cannot even control their sons and daughters. The eloped couple are now believed to be abroad.’
Papa threw the paper at a footman. I have never seen him so obviously angry. You know what he is like for cold disdain, but this was definitely heated.
Oh, Ellen, I miss having you to talk to, so much, but you must not come back. You must stay away and enjoy your life. I wish you happiness. I can hardly imagine what it must be like to be an officer’s wife. You shall have a life of adventure, while I pine away for you. But do not let that put you off, you must enjoy every moment.
All my love,
Your sister
Penelope
Ellen collapsed into a chair, tears tracking pathways down her cheeks, as her heart bled for her home, her sisters and her mother.
~
“Are you ready, Ellen?”
Ellen turned to look at Paul as he entered the chamber. She’d heard his arrival with his men through the window and his boot heels striking the wooden floorboards in the hall.
“I am, yes.” Externally – but not internally.
“Come in!” He looked back and called to the open door. Immediately she heard men moving and her heart began pounding.
She was dressed to leave. She wore a pelisse, which he’d bought for her to wear when travelling, it had a military theme with frogging like a hussars’ uniform, gold braid and brass buttons, and beneath it, her travelling dress was made from calico. It was thicker than muslin, so the chilly sea breezes would not penetrate the cloth. When he turned back to look at her, moving out of the way of his men he smiled. A torch lit in her heart, light and warmth, and she smiled too.
The smile was Paul’s, the man she’d met at her parents’ home. It was the same smile that had captured her heart the first time she’d seen him.
The soldiers lifted the trunks and carried them out. Once they’d passed, Paul lifted his arm. “Come then.”
Her fingers gently embraced the firm muscle beneath his layers of clothing as she walked out of the inn room beside him, then downstairs and out into the cobbled street, leaving Jennifer to oversee the loading of their items.
They walked on towards the dock. It was only a couple of streets away.
“My father wrote to me. That was one of the letters your man brought.”
Paul looked down at her. “And…”
“He told me I may not write, not to him, nor Mama, nor any of my sisters.”
His arm dropped away from beneath her fingers and he turned sharply and held her briefly. It was so uncommon for him to show her affection in public when he was in the guise of a soldier; it made her wish to cry. But her father would have frowned upon crying in public, and Paul would not wish a weeping wife when they boarded the ship. She wiped away her tears as he let her go, not looking at him.
“But the other letter was from Penny, she wished me to know that she is happy for me, and wishes me well…” Fresh tears flooded Ellen’s eyes and tumbled over.
Paul gripped her hands. “I know you miss your sisters. If he had accepted my offer–”
Ellen met his gaze. “It is not your fault he refused you, and to acknowledge us. You are more than worthy.”
His blue eyes shone with passionate, heart-felt, anger.
“The fault is my father’s rigid judgement.” Ellen concluded.
Paul touched beneath her chin. “Even so, I regret that this is the outcome of marrying me.”
“I do not regret. I am happy to be your wife.”
“And I am a very lucky man.”
“Well that makes us equal, because I know I am lucky.”
She could tell from his eyes he wished to kiss her, but that would be a step too far for a conversation in the street when he was in the persona of a soldier.
“Come.” He smiled, before turning away to continue.
She gripped his forearm, wiping the tears fr
om her cheeks once more.
When they reached the dock, the other officers were present and casting various orders. Instantly she noticed his Lieutenant Colonel on the deck of the ship. She sensed his gaze on her but did not look up as Paul acknowledged him. She was under no obligation to do so, and there was just something about the man which made her skin feel uncomfortable, as though it did not fit her body suddenly. He always watched her and it felt invasive.
Paul’s arm fell from beneath her fingers then he walked a little ahead. Isolation swamped her as she stood, waiting, under the scrutiny of his Lieutenant Colonel.
Paul called a couple of the soldiers over to tell them his belongings would arrive soon and where to put them.
When he returned to her he bent to whisper. “I have managed to secure us a cabin as you were so uncomfortable with our conditions previously, Ellen.”
Her gaze met his, and beyond him, that of his senior officer, who did not look away even then. She focused on, Paul. “Thank you.”
“Shall I take you to it? Or would you rather wait on deck until we sail.”
“Take me there.”
“Very well then.” Instead of offering his arm, he took her hand, and she was well aware of her fingers shaking despite her brave words.
He led her up the gangplank and stopped before the Lieutenant Colonel for her to curtsy. She did so, briefly, without looking up to meet his gaze, she looked instead at his cravat.
“Good day, Madam Harding, I hope our weather is fair and the journey shall not be difficult for you.”
He said nothing wrong – nothing offensive – there was nothing factual to cause her discomfort, except that he stared. But that tremor of disgust which kept running up her spine whenever he was near, tingled through her nerves.
“I will show Ellen to our cabin and then return and instruct the men.”
“Indeed.” With that she was dismissed.
Paul’s hand tightened around hers gently leading her across the deck. The cabin was tiny, probably only a yard wide, with one narrow cot and another above it, but at least it would be private.