by Jane Lark
He smiled at her. “Then I shall hope for your sake.”
No one was looking at them, so she stopped, turned and hugged him briefly, slipping her arms about the sinuous muscle of his waist. He’d become leaner and firmer since he’d been marching daily.
She let him go, turning and walking on again.
“Your petticoats are filthy.”
“We had to stop the cart, and get out so the horses could pull it from the mud.”
He caught her arm, stopped her and turned her back. Then he cradled her chin with one palm, lifting her gaze so she looked directly into the turquoise blue of his eyes. “Such a decline from the pretty parlour I found you in. Do you miss those comforts and your pianoforte?”
How did he know she had just been doing so? But she would not admit it to him; that would be disloyal, and she wished more than anything to make him happy and be a dutiful wife so he need not worry over her. She merely rode in a cart all day and had to bear the lack of the friendship of others; he had to march and prepare his men for war.
I have his friendship.
She shook her head, lifting her chin from his touch. “Not when I would have to trade them for your presence. “
He smiled. “I would trade nothing to have it different. I wish you here.” Then he said more gently. “I need you here…”
She wished to lift up on to her toes and kiss his lips but it would be wrong to do so here, and so instead she longed for privacy – for the time they would retire to their tent – their cocoon – the place where they could be private and express their love. The place where he always made her feel beautiful and happy. “And I need you…”
~
As Paul made love to his wife, thoughts of war plagued him. The messenger who’d come yesterday had said, since Napoleon had reclaimed Paris on the 20th March, he’d recruited and begun training men for a new army.
The other European states still fought their verbal battle in Vienna over who would own what land when this was done, leaving their armies to fight for it.
The Lieutenant Colonel received new information daily from the spies the Allied army sent out. But the Duke of Wellington’s decision was not to race towards Napoleon, but to hold back and wait. That way, they could prepare and be ready, and they could pick their ground.
Damn it, focus.
He had begun this with Ellen to forget these things, to escape thoughts of war, if only for a short while, but it was becoming harder to – even though he had Ellen’s beauty to bathe in. Bird song seeped through the canvas about them, increasing from odd chirps to a constant vibrant swelling sound. It was the first true sign of spring. It was a time of rebirth. But for a soldier, time always held a measure of death.
Quiet. He did not wish to think of war, only Ellen. Only the body he moved within, a body which was soft and giving, and hot and damp for him.
Her fingers brushed through his hair, as if she knew his thoughts were splintered and she sought to bring him back.
He focused on her eyes, losing his thoughts in the pale blue and his thrusts sharpened, as the sound of yawns invaded their haven and fires being stirred up for kettles to be heated, and slopping water against metal.
Ellen became breathless, but she bit her lip to stop any sound as his strokes grew more urgent, hard and firm, and, and… Release came in a rush, flooding into him and onto him all at once. Relief. Escape. Freedom. He shut his eyes and let it fill him for a moment, resting his forehead on hers. She kissed his cheek. He rolled on to his back, and she turned to her side holding him. They had not undressed. It was too cold and so their clothing mostly covered them as well as the blankets.
She kissed his jaw with such tenderness it made his heart ache. He was tired now. He hoped exerting this energy would not affect his stamina today. He did not normally make love to her in the morning, but today the thought of what was to come and the haunting memories of battles had brought on an intense desire to seek the safe harbour of Ellen’s body, and he had let himself indulge.
He held her close for a moment more, willing time to cease for just a little while, but the sounds outside their tent grew stronger, men speaking and washing, and the edge of kettles striking tin cups.
“We had better rise,” he whispered to Ellen.
She held him tighter, clearly wishing time to be held back too.
He ran his fingers through her hair, and sighed, then kissed the crown of her head. “We have no choice, darling.” As he spoke he was already moving, sitting up to right his clothes. Ellen rolled to her back. He looked down at her. “I shall send Jennifer to you.”
She nodded.
Chapter Twelve
Captain George Montgomery bowed over Ellen’s hand. “Will you dance with me, Mrs Harding?”
Ellen glanced at Paul, who smiled to give his consent. “Go along, have fun.”
Looking back at Paul’s best friend, she agreed, “Of course.”
His grip firming on her fingers, he stepped back a few paces, pulling her away from Paul. His hand lifted hers and his other arm came about her to provide the secure frame for a waltz. Her heart thundered. She had danced the waltz more than a dozen times. Paul had taught her in their rooms. It was the thing here, the rage. Everyone danced it, and at the Lieutenant Colonel’s parties he insisted it was the only dance.
Her heartbeat thundered as they began to move. She was not comfortable being on show in a room full of people, nor with the intimacy the waltz created with a partner as it made her feel awkward. Yet the steps were swift and there was something enchanting about being spun through the dance, so she did have fun once she forgot who she was with and where she was.
She glanced at the other couples dancing and those looking on.
Brussels was as busy as Ostend, Bruges and Ghent, or perhaps even more so. There were people everywhere. When she’d imagined her role as a camp follower, she’d thought, that she would be one of a small number, but there were thousands of people here to support the army.
But the army itself was not based in Brussels; it had been dispersed over miles. There were over a hundred thousand in the Duke of Wellington’s army, Paul had told her, and even more than that in Blücher’s Prussian army. All of these men sought food and lived on depleting local resources, while their audience lived lavishly in the decadent city and danced the waltz.
Paul had said the way people lived here out-did even the rash extremes of the London life he’d experienced during the season last summer. She’d never known anything like it. But of course she’d only lived in her father’s house, sheltered from all this.
There were balls and parties daily, picnics, and the theatre continued as if there were not two hundred and fifty thousand men camped in an arc about the city preparing for war.
During the day, these fashionable people walked about in the parks, laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Women flirted with the soldiers in the city, and men thought themselves something important because they were here, absorbing the atmosphere. But they would not be the ones who fought.
They had been here weeks, though, and there was no news of when Napoleon might come or when the army would invade France. The 52nd was camped five miles outside the city, in the direction of Nemur, and each day, while the hordes of novelty seekers sought entertainment, Paul rode out to his men, and Ellen waited in Brussels for his return.
He’d told her they’d been exploring the local terrain, learning every hill and hollow so they would have the advantage if Napoleon brought the battle to them.
She felt surplus. There was nothing she could do to help him except love him, and be a companion for him when he returned, to take his mind from the preparation for war.
In the evenings, they generally avoided entertainment like this. But they did walk through the parks, along paths edged with early flowers, and a few times Paul had taken her to the theatre. They’d seen the Duke of Wellington once, in a box there. Paul had pointed him out. She’d been in awe of the nation’s hero.<
br />
She’d said a prayer that night – that the Duke of Wellington would be wise. Because Paul’s life lay in his hands and the skill of his decisions.
“It is a rare treat to have you in my arms, Mrs Harding…”
Ellen merely smiled at Captain Montgomery’s flirtation.
Paul had urged her to participate more in the social life. At the first party, the Lieutenant Colonel had walked her about himself introducing her to everyone, as though she was something special to him, and then some people had invited her to afternoon teas and picnics. She’d never gone. She did not think all this merriment right, and she knew Paul did not. It would be disloyal to him, and his men.
“It would just be you entertaining yourself while I work, I would not mind, Ellen.” Paul had said, but still the thought of spending time among people she did not really know, and certainly did not care for, did not appeal. She was not unhappy to sit and wait for him. She had Jennifer for company, and she read and sewed, and walked outside, perhaps along the river. It was not an unbearable life. She had a roof over her head, a comfortable bed to sleep in, food in her stomach, even though they were now living upon credit as the army had not paid Paul’s wages… and every evening Paul came home to her.
But then there were nights like this, when the Lieutenant Colonel hosted a lavish dinner party in the house he’d rented, a very pretty and rather large townhouse, and the officers and his guests would be expected to dance almost until dawn.
“I never realised until I came to Brussels that ostriches came in every colour of the rainbow. Have you ever seen a blue or pink one in a zoological garden?”
Ellen focused on Captain Montgomery and bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, though she knew he must see the humour in her eyes. She understood why Paul liked him, because he was always light-hearted, and always making jokes. “You are naughty…” But even as she spoke, her gaze passed over his shoulder glancing at a dozen ostrich feathers waving like the regimental flag on its staff, from the highly coifed hair of so many over-dressed women. They did look a little silly.
She smiled at him, and then for the rest of the dance they talked, mostly about others in the room – the pleasure-seeking people she thought fools.
But then perhaps her view was coloured by Paul’s who said that continually.
When the dance was at an end, Captain Montgomery bowed swiftly, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it. “Paul is a very lucky man.” He said the same at the end of every dance they’d shared before giving her a swift smile. Paul knew he said it, because he said the same to Paul. She smiled, the heat of a blush warming her cheeks.
“Come, seeing as you have a husband, and he is my friend, I am duty bound to return you to him. I had better do so.”
“Paul,” she acknowledged as they walked nearer and he stepped forward to take the hand which was on Captain Montgomery’s arm. She moved away from Captain Montgomery. Paul’s smile passed from her to his friend.
“I have just said to her again, you are a lucky devil. I cannot believe you have the pleasure of looking into those fine eyes for hours at a time. I am envious of you.”
“Well you may remain envious, for the lady is mine.” The two of them laughed.
“Are you warm now, Ellen?” Paul asked her, “Shall we fetch you a glass of punch?” The two men turned as she nodded, both walking with her as Paul let her hand go. Instead she gripped his forearm. Then her gaze struck the Lieutenant Colonel’s. He was seated at a card table in a room beside the one in which they danced.
She smiled, and he smiled in return.
She had become more accustomed to his measured stares, but perhaps that was because she did not have to endure them overmuch. Since they’d reached Brussels she rarely saw him. It was only when the officers were invited to his parties, or to dine here that she encountered him. She looked at Paul, listening to him speak with his friend. He’d not noticed her exchange with the Lieutenant Colonel.
Paul had told her the Lieutenant Colonel had submerged himself in the hedonistic life here. He socialised and was constantly playing cards, gambling, as he was now, until the early hours, and he’d encouraged his officers to participate. Paul had excused himself, giving Ellen as his reason.
If this was a window into the life of his senior officer, she preferred her own. She and Paul were happy. If only there was not a war looming like a dark, swirling storm cloud.
Chapter Thirteen
On the 10th of June, word reached Brussels that the Congress of Vienna had signed a final agreement over the state of Europe. It gave Napoleon no rights to France. But prior to this Napoleon had signed a new constitution for the Empire he’d claimed, and paraded through Paris to celebrate, cheered by thousands of supporters who’d come out on to the streets to see him.
In response, the parks and streets of Brussels were full of people eager to discuss the news with excitement and expectation, all gossiping in high-pitched hurried voices, wondering what would happen next.
Ellen hated their speculation.
She walked with Paul in a park at six, enjoying the evening light and the last of the sun’s warmth.
It had rained a lot recently so the clear night was a novelty. Paul said the fields and tracks they were scouting were muddy, and terrain would not be at its best if war began now. But it was likely it would. The French were renowned for moving quickly.
Ellen held his arm, but as they passed another huddle of obnoxious observers, she slid her fingers down to grip his hand.
She’d heard at least half a dozen voices in the group all agreeing that the battle would be soon.
Her heart had been pounding for hours as she tried not think of it.
Paul gripped her fingers firmly then glanced down at her as they walked on.
“You know, Ellen, if I could assure you of my safety I would say it…” She wished to stop and cover her ears. She’d known this conversation would come but she did not want to hear it. Yet she could not tear her gaze away from his vivid turquoise blue eyes – lost in the emotion burning out of them. It would be cowardice not to listen.
“There can be no guarantees in war, Ellen.”
She knew.
“I have written to my father, and asked him to help you, financially. If anything happens to me you must write to him. You understand?”
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump of tears gathering in her throat. She bit her lip to hold them back, biting down hard to distract them as her fingers gripped his more tightly.
“I’ve asked George to see you safe if things do not go well. He will organise a route to get you home, and if anything were to happen to George then any of the officers would help you, you may appeal to any of them.”
Again she nodded. A hole opened in her stomach, an emptiness. She could not and would not imagine him gone. She could not live without him. He was her whole life. She sometimes thought of her old home, but it was beyond reality, it was with dreamlike affection.
“And you must write to your father, and tell him, and encourage him to forgive you and show compassion…”
She did not think her father capable of compassion, but again she nodded.
“I’ve written a will, George has it, and it was properly witnessed. I do not have much. We have too many debts. But the few things I have you can sell to help pay your way home.”
He spoke as though it would happen, as though this was a plan, not a contingency. She gripped his hand in both of hers and held his gaze, fighting against the lump in her throat. “But you will not die. I shall not let you. I cannot… I am too much in love with you. I cannot lose you. You will survive.”
His hand slipped free of hers and his eyes suddenly glowed aquamarine, then he held her, gripping her tightly against his chest, ignoring anyone in the park who might see. For a moment that was all he did, then he whispered to her ear. “And I love you, more than mere words can ever express, but I cannot control fate, Ellen. Believe me, I shall fight as hard as I can, both
to beat back the enemy so they can never reach you, and to stay alive. But we must be sensible and plan if…” He did not say the words.
She was betraying him by letting emotion get the best of her. She needed to be brave for him. Not send him into battle with tears that might distract his thoughts, but with love. She pulled away and her hands cupped his soft shaven cheeks. “You must not fear for me. You must focus on yourself. I will manage here.”
~
Ellen’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, they sparkled in the evening sun which flooded down on the busy park. This woman had so much beauty inside her, and so much love for him. It glimmered there.
After she’d spoken, she bit her lower lip, and he could see how hard by the white line beneath the press of her teeth.
She was being brave for him. He could ask no more.
His hands braced her pretty pale skinned face. She was such a delicate looking woman, and yet she was not delicate at all. Inside, she was strong, and he knew she would survive. “If the whole army fails, Ellen, you must leave as soon as you hear the news. Do you understand? I’ll leave you what money I have and you are to buy a passage on any coach or cart you can find. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” Her soft lips trembled as they parted to answer him, and a single tear slipped from her eye.
“I will have to leave you in Brussels soon, in the next few days I think, and you may stay here. But if you hear that ill fate has befallen us, then you must go. Yes?”
She nodded, her hands falling to grip his biceps through his coat, as if she might collapse. He held her to his chest again, fiercely, as the pain he’d become used to gripped in his stomach. He hated that he could not protect her, that he could not offer her any certainty of his return. He hated having to leave her every day. But in a few days it might be to never return, and he was not afraid for himself, but for her. What would happen then?
He held her for a long time, ignoring the stares of others in the park. Perhaps they should have had this conversation in private, but when he’d heard the voices, he’d known what was passing through Ellen’s mind and he’d not been able to hold his words back any longer. They’d been passing through his head for hours too, for weeks, during all the time of their preparation.