by Sherry Gloag
Strategically positioned oil lamps ensured the ladies’ diamond necklaces sparkled more brightly than the stars.
“Just look at the decorations. The holly, I’ve never seen holly before, and the Christmas trees, they have decorated them and made them glow. How have they made the trees glow so?”
“I cannot imagine.” Honor smiled at the wonder in her friend’s eyes. “At home, when we had a tree my parents would fix some candles to the branches. It always looked so pretty.”
“I wish they could do that here.”
Honor laughed. “I fear if they did some lady would find her skirt on fire and the place would burn down. And with all that gold leaf edging on the ceiling mural, that would be a shame.”
“That would be terrible,” Consuela declared, then looked up to where Honor pointed and shuddered. “On the other hand I do not like all those naked cherubs glaring down at me. Perhaps they disapprove of so much magnificence.” Consuela took in the sight of all the women dressed in their finery. The matrons with their turbans fascinated her. And the colours of the fine silks and satins of the women’s dresses left her speechless as did the heirlooms strung round their necks like Christmas baubles. “I don’t know how anyone will manage to dance for I cannot see the floor for the numbers of people crushed into this room. It is fortunate there are more rooms open for the guests.”
“Several will be put by for the gentlemen to play cards.”
Knowing no one could hear them above the chatter, the musicians at the far end of the room continued to play.
Together Honor and Consuela watched the women glide round the room like coloured clouds as they gathered in small groups. Occasionally they made room for a young buck who sought the hand of a debutante for the next dance, before they shifted, came together, changed places and passed on. Some, Honor knew, deliberately ignored her while others stared over the top of their fans before whispering to their companions.
At last night’s functions, the whispers had been louder, the innuendos and sly looks in Honor’s direction less veiled, and the men more reluctant to sign her dance card, which they knew meant sitting the dance out with her.
The old accusation of playing one off against the other almost had him punching the tabby in her fat cheeks. Only Honor’s intervention held him back.
“If you give in to temptation, you’ll play right into their hands.”
“How can you remain so cool?” he’d asked.
“Perhaps, because Gervaise Dumas warned me what I might expect. He was so popular I can understand how he found it easy to infiltrate society and take advantage of it. And right now, I can’t help feeling this lot—” she waved her hand in the direction of the dance floor, “—deserved what he took and passed on.”
“Be careful of what you say. You never know who will hear you and add that to the Chinese whispers they are indulging in.”
“Indulgence, my foot!” Honor scoffed. “As long as some poor soldier dies to keep them safe and able to party they don’t give a toss for the truth.”
Anger lent colour to her pale cheeks, and Vidal couldn’t remember when she’d appeared lovelier.
“While I understand your sentiments, this is neither the time nor the place to utter them.”
* * * *
The duchess nudged Vidal in his ribs and from behind her fan demanded he keep his eye on "the wretched woman", who’d just come in with her son.
“I noticed,” he said with no attempt at stealth, and stood when the musicians began to play.
Honor’s eyes, dark smudges against the pallor of her cheeks, proclaimed her trepidation, and when she laid her trembling hand in his, Vidal wanted to scoop her up and carry her away to safety and love her forever. But Dundas had made it clear Honor, Consuela, Juan and himself all had to attend his uncle’s ball tonight. And his father had made it equally plain to the ladies at the breakfast table this morning their presence at the ball tonight was essential.
“My dance,” he said, bowing over Honor and squeezing her fingers when she faltered.
“I’m drawing more than enough attention this evening without shocking everyone even more by dancing while wearing black. Moreover, I swear if I stood up with you the dance floor would empty in a second. No, no, Vidal, I told you yesterday, the old tabbies are already including your name in this scandal. You must stand apart if you wish to remain clear of all the tittle-tattle.”
If his acquiescence hurt almost as much as the increasing crescendo of gossip, she hid it by meticulously studying her hands folded in her lap.
The men, who’d normally sought out her company, sitting with her during a dance, made no attempt this evening to join her. Indeed, they turned cold hard stares in her direction before seeking out a new partner.
“Pay no heed,” the duchess encouraged.
“It is hard to do otherwise, ma’am. They make their feelings obvious.” Mortification added colour to her cheeks and a defiant sparkle to her eyes. Her partners no longer sat out their "dance" and talked with her. It hurt when people who’d formerly claimed friendship turned away from her.
The duchess patted her hand and smiled. “Here is his grace come to dance with you. You cannot deny him, my dear.”
“He cannot! Only think of the scandal!” Honor looked up in time to see the rueful smile on the duke’s face.
“What, refusing to dance with me madam?” he challenged. “Am I not good enough for you?”
Striving for the same light-hearted tone, Honor offered a light-hearted look of her own. “Indeed, sir, you are too good for the likes of me.”
“Do not talk such fustian, girl.” He took her hand, pulled her from her chair, and led her to the floor.
Several dancers immediately walked away.
“Chin up, my girl.”
The duke swirled her round and round, holding her at an acceptable distance for the waltz.
“…disgrace, don’t know how she has the nerve…”
The duke caught her in a swoop and ensured they flowed round the room as though they’d danced together for years.
“...stabbed him in the heart, so I was told…”
Another swirl, another voice, this one not bothering to whisper. “Traitor, that’s what she is.”
Honor’s feet faltered and she’d have fallen if the duke hadn’t held her up.
“Don’t let them win.” The anger in his voice spurred her determination not to let the gossips win and with a nod she continued to follow his lead.
“If they complained about the disgrace of a widow dancing, I could understand it, but this—“
Before she finished speaking the doors at the end of the room were flung open, and Honor her eyes widening with appreciation, followed the progress of several soldiers as they entered, their bright uniforms attracting the attention of every woman in the room. One separated from the rest and headed in her direction. The right sleeve of his jacket hung empty and it took her several moments to recognise sergeant Massingham.
“A sight for sore eyes.” He held out his hand, nodding to the duke, who stepped back and let the soldier take his place. “My angel of mercy. It’s good to see you. I was so sorry to hear about Dev.” His eyes turned stormy, but he never missed a beat, and with one hand led Honor through the rest of the waltz.
When the dance ended he walked Honor back to her chair where they were joined by many more soldiers, many of whom were former colleagues. All greeted her with delight; most lined up to dance with her and those that couldn’t inveigled her to sit out with them to talk about old times.
Few paid attention to the hopeful ladies waiting for an invitation from the men in uniform.
“Well!” Lady Randall’s scandalised tone echoed round the room just as the music ended and before the general chatter resumed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The scandal of it.”
She turned to her escort. “Everyone knows the woman’s a traitor to her country and turns the heads of all the poor soldiers she’s betrayed.” Seve
ral people shuffled their feet when her voice carried through the room.
More officers entered the ballroom, some as a group and some escorting partners. A hush fell when one soldier stopped in the doorway, spoke to the woman beside him and let her guide him across the room, coming to a halt in front of Honor.
“You probably don’t remember my son,” the woman began, “but I want to thank you for saving his life.”
“I do,” Honor contradicted. “It’s good to see you, Robbie.”
A gasp went round the room, for all had understood the man was blind.
“And you. I thought I’d never see you again and have the chance to thank you in person.” Robbie’s clear tone carried across the now silent assembly as musicians and dancers alike strove to make sense of the conflicting evidence before their eyes.
Another woman stepped out of the crowd and joined Robbie and his mother. “My son wrote about you in his letters,” she said. “You tried to save his life, and when he died you sent his things home to us with such a lovely letter.” She dug in her reticule and held up a creased paper folded in two.
“Shame on those of you who stand there and accuse Lady Beaumont of treason. Those of you too cowardly to come right out and say it to her face. I can, and will, name three of you whose sons have come home thanks to the single handed work and effort of Lady Beaumont.”
By now every soldier in the room positioned themselves beside Honor and silently challenged those who dared to accuse her of betrayal or deceit.
Robbie might not have been able to see, but everyone in the room felt his eyes on them as he spoke.
“We called her ‘The Angel’ when she first began treating us. Her voice alone could heal an army, but we soon discovered my lady could work as well and efficiently as any surgeon in the ranks. And I can’t tell you how many of us will always remember the nights she spent talking with us, challenging us to recover while we recuperated. Captain Dewar, are you here?”
An officer stepped forward, his walk slow, deliberate, and his stick held off the floor. “I’m here.”
“Tell these people what happened to you?”
“This is a ball, a celebration of Christmas —they don’t want to hear my story.”
“Yes we do.” Several men stepped forward, and were joined by many more women.
“Go on, Captain,” a female voice requested.
And coming from the woman standing next to Lady Randall, no less, Honor saw.
“I won’t waste your time telling you about places or battle tactics. Enough to say I was shot in the foot and injured my other leg when my horse, killed by the same bullet, fell on me. Normally when you sustain such an injury the surgeon will amputate the limb. They don’t have the time to do anything else. Lady Beaumont argued against amputation of my foot, because she understood that with one leg gone and the other damaged beyond reclaiming, I’d have no future in the army or out of it. I pleaded with her to save my leg.
“You have to understand the doctors and surgeons are busy, morning, noon and night, treating the wounded and in the end they told Ho... Lady Beaumont it was on her shoulders. Then they walked away.”
He paused to let his words sink in, knowing he had the full attention of everyone in the room.
“They walked away. Told her it didn’t matter what she did to my leg because they’d have to amputate it in the end.” He looked down at his foot and back up at the people moving closer to get a better look. “She refused to amputate and treated my leg for several weeks, and then taught me how to walk again. Can you imagine how many hours that took? And all the time she worked healing other men. Sitting with them at night, writing to their families for those who couldn’t do it for themselves, treating others the doctors had too much work to do to have time to tend them.
“Do you really imagine someone who spends her time saving lives would betray those same men to the enemy?”
Temper flashed in his eyes, and his voice rose in anger. “Shame on you! Shame on those of you, who for reasons of your own, have deliberately set out to belittle, humiliate and…yes… betray her.”
A hum of agreement issued from the soldiers surrounding Robbie.
Lady Randall’s usual clutch of friends stepped away, leaving Augustus Reeve and Hepworth at her side.
Before anyone moved or spoke, the double doors swung open and the Prince Regent, with a huge beam on his round face, stood beside the Earl of Wellington, who displayed a look of satisfaction when his gaze settled on his troops. Behind them the First Lord of the Admiralty caught Vidal’s attention and offered the slightest of nods.
The new Duke of Kringle stepped forward, bowing in welcome to the latecomers.
“Your Highness, may I introduce you to the Duchess?”
“Later, later.” Prinny nodded, and made straight for the Duke and Duchess of Sitwell.
“So this is the gal Arthur’s been telling me about. Come, I like to waltz with a pretty gal.”
Stunned into silence by the accolade given by her friends and former colleagues, in a trance-like state, Honor automatically took the hand offered by the future king and stepped onto the dance floor once more.
The musicians began to play and when the Earl of Wellesley drew the new Duchess onto the floor, others joined them.
“From all accounts you are a remarkable woman, Lady Beaumont,” Prinny said in an undertone. “The earl speaks highly of you and your late husband. I knew him, you know.”
“You did?” Dazed with the sudden turnaround of events Honor stared at the prince. For such a large man he was amazingly light on his feet.
“A good man,” he said with simplicity.
She nodded.
“A generous, and wise one.”
“He was,” she agreed, swallowing down the lump in her throat.
“Then do what he would wish for you and follow your heart.” Prinny patted her hand when the music stopped and led her back to where Vidal stood beside his father and another man with a huge grin on his face.
“Ah, Dundas. A capital job. Well done. And Hepworth?”
“We have arrested all three of them, Hepworth, Lady Randall and her son, Reeve. And laid charges the moment we took them away from the ball room. No point creating a scandal at a time like this. People will discover the true culprits soon enough”
“Excellent, excellent.” The prince turned to Vidal and placed Honor’s hand in his.
“Invite me to your wedding.”
“I haven’t asked her yet.”
“Well what are you waiting for?”
“The right time?”
“None better than tonight when she’s surround by friends and people who love her.” The prince waved an arm in the direction of soldiers on the dance floor. “I hear you’re not one to falter when faced with a challenge.”
Not sure whether to cringe with embarrassment or hug the corpulent heir to the throne, Vidal, ignoring the increasing numbers of interested onlookers, dropped down on one knee in front of Honor.
“Lady Beaumont, I have told you before how much I love you, and now ask you to be my wife, my life’s companion, my friend and the other half of my heart. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man on earth?”
Honor, oblivious to the sighs from the women, or the grunts from many of the men, no longer saw the sparkle of the decorations, only the sparkle in Vidal’s eyes.
The love shining there.
His love for her.
A hazy movement over his shoulder caught her attention. An apparition of a man, smiling encouragement before he vanished.
“Yes, Vidal, I’ll marry you, and love you for all our days together.” She no longer cared about convention, and the biggest audience in town. “I’ll be your life’s companion, if you’ll be mine. And to be your wife will make me the happiest woman alive.”
When Vidal rose to his feet, he dug into his pocket and drew out a ring box. The room exploded with cheers and a burst of clapping.
“Have you any idea how mu
ch I long to hear my name on your lips.” He slid a square cut diamond ring surrounded with tiny diamonds onto her finger.
“It’s beautiful, Charles, thank you.”
When he drew close and kissed her, Honor forgot her surroundings, forgot etiquette and wrapped her arms round Vidal’s neck and let the kiss linger and lengthen. She’d been blessed, she thought.
Blessed with the love of two wonderful men.
“Time enough for that later.” Lord Kringle tapped them both on the shoulder. “Lead out onto the dance floor, my boy.” He clapped his hands and raised his voice.
“For those of you who may not know, though how you could not, I don’t understand,” he added as an aside, “I am delighted to announce the betrothal of my nephew Viscount Charles Vidal to Honor, Lady Beaumont.”
From somewhere beyond the ballroom a clock chimed midnight.
“Happy Christmas, my beloved,” Charles whispered in her ear.
Unless they kept the ceremony private, and Honor knew they couldn’t marry for several months. Even so, it didn’t stop her heartfelt response. “Happy Christmas, Charles, and may we have many of them.”
When the musicians chose to play yet another waltz Honor ignored the regulation distance between partners and snuggled up to her fiancé.
About the Author
Multi-published author, Sherry Gloag is a transplanted Scot living in the beautiful coastal county of Norfolk, England. She considers the surrounding countryside an extension of her garden, to which she escapes when she needs "thinking time" and solitude to work out the plots for her next novel. While out walking she enjoys talking to her characters, as long as there’s no one else around.
Apart from writing, Sherry enjoys gardening, walking, reading, and cheerfully admits her books tend to take over most of the shelf and floor space in her workroom-cum-office. She also finds crystal craft work therapeutic.
Also by Sherry Gloag:
Chapter One
Liam Fitzwilliam Gasquet stared in amazement at the blooming patch of red milliseconds before the pain exploded in his arm. Some trigger-happy idiot had fired in his direction. Indignation didn’t have time to take root before another bullet kicked the dust at his feet.