Not Forgotten

by Elizabeth Johns

  Philip looked Waverley in the eye. Both of them knew the cost personally.

  “If Madame was not here to organize the rebels, would they fall apart?” Waverley asked.

  “What are you proposing?” Philip asked.

  “I do not know.” Waverley threw up his hands in frustration. “I am not suggesting we dispose of her. I would offer her the loophole of living in England under my protection, if she would have it.”

  “If it could be so simple.”

  “Think on it. We do not need to make a decision this moment, although I am anxious to escort Meg home.”

  “I could stay with Amelia while you return with Wellington. I do not think she is in any more danger from Josefina, and it is clear that Madame Lisette cares for her.”

  “Meg will not like it, but I will speak with her.”

  Waverley took his leave, and Philip dressed to visit Lady Amelia. He was uneasy about the entire situation. What if Madame had to choose between Napoleon and Amelia? He thought he knew the answer to that. What if he had to choose between England and Amelia? What a question! He put on a shirt and trousers and in this state of half-dress walked down the hall in his stockinged feet. Stepping gingerly to minimize the pain in his toes, he wondered how much pain Amelia was in. The door was ajar when he reached her chambers and he knocked softly. A maid opened the panel fully and bobbed a curtsy.

  “Mademoiselle is in the bedroom, Monsieur,” she informed him.

  “Who is there?” Amelia called hoarsely.

  Philip walked into the room and was almost brought to his knees by the sight of Lady Amelia lying on the bed, looking frail and helpless. He had thought he was prepared for it—he had held her unconscious in his arms, after all, but seeing her head bandaged and swollen caused him almost to lose his composure. He had to gather himself before he could speak.

  “It is I, Philip.” He walked to her bedside. “How do you feel?”

  She opened her eyes a little, as though it were difficult. “Not fit for a London ballroom, I fear. It will be a few weeks, yet.”

  He forced himself to smile at her. Even as an invalid, with a bandage around her head, she was beautiful. Her long, red curls spread over the pillow, and seeing them unbound made him long to run his hands through them. He prayed that she would recover and not lose the spirit that made her so captivating.

  “And you? Do you have injuries?”

  “Nothing of consequence.”

  “I am glad to hear it. I could not bear to know that you had suffered permanently.” She pulled her hand out from under the thick covers and reached for him.

  He stepped forward and sat in the chair he presumed the Duchess must have occupied for several hours before Lady Amelia woke up. He took her hand in his. It was so small and fragile, despite the bandages, and the visible skin looked as though it had been burned by the sun.

  She was watching him now. “The doctor told Meg I might be disfigured.”

  “You are alive.”

  “Yes. Thanks to you. I do not know how to express my gratitude. If you had not found me…” A tear rolled down her face and she turned her head away. “I thought I would die in that dreadful place.”

  Philip leaned forward and, gently turning her head back, wiped the tear away.

  “Amelia.” He spoke her name as a caress. “Not finding you was not an option I could entertain. Your being alive is all I need.”

  She nodded her head slightly and attempted a smile. “What will you do now?”

  That was an excellent question, one he could not answer. “I suppose I will await the direction of Wellington.”

  “Waverley wants to return to England as soon as the doctor thinks it is safe for me to travel,” she said, frowning.

  “I think that would be for the best.”

  “Philip, my aunt was here a few minutes ago.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  “She knew everything—why we were here. She was not fooled.”

  “No. She informed me of that within an hour of our arrival. It was though she was toying with us.”

  “I do not know what to do. I could not convince her to return to England with me and give up this foolish rebellion.”

  He stroked her wrist above her bandages, trying to comfort her, yet not wanting to hurt her sore hands.

  “I feel helpless in my state, but something must be done! Will you help me?”

  Philip was astonished. He had not thought her to be so passionate about stopping her aunt. Why the sudden resolve?

  “Lying in that hole, waiting to die, and then waking up with a second chance, made me want to live for something meaningful. If Napoleon and my aunt are successful, thousands of people will die—and for what?”

  “If we cannot stop them, I believe you are correct.”

  “Now that we have this information, I feel it would be wrong not to do something. I had hoped to convince my aunt that she had another choice.”

  “And she did not choose to cleave to the bosom of her beloved family?” Philip asked sardonically.

  “No,” Amelia whispered, clearly crushed by her aunt’s choice. Philip knew where La Glacier’s loyalties were, but he hated to see Amelia hurt.

  “If it is any consolation, she does care about you.”

  “Not enough to undo this atrocity.”

  “Perhaps not, but all is not lost yet.”

  Amelia was not good at remaining still. She tried to sit up to hear what Captain Elliot had to say.

  “You need to remain still!” He leaned forward to try to assist her back down.

  “No! I refuse to play the invalid. At least help me sit up.”

  He gave her a look that indicated he was less than pleased, but he pulled her up gently and the maid helped to prop pillows behind her head. The room spun before her eyes, but she would never admit it to him.

  “You may leave us now. I am in no danger from Captain Elliot,” she said to the maid who gave a look of disapproval, but obeyed. “Thank you. Now tell me this plan.”

  Philip went to close the door. The impropriety of it was less of a concern with an invalid than potentially being overheard.

  Amelia mockingly raised her eyebrows at him, but expected the effect was lost on him due to the position of the bandage.

  He sat back down and moved close enough to whisper. Amelia felt her face flush and she silently cursed her heart’s insistence on betraying her head. She had seen no indication from Captain Elliot that he cared for her in the same manner. He had saved her life, of course, but he would have done the same for anyone.

  “Lady Amelia?” he asked, looking concerned. “You should rest. This can wait until you are feeling better.”

  “Forgive me, Captain. I was not attending because I was thinking of something else. Time is of the essence, despite my infuriating head wound, and I will think of nothing else until this is resolved.”

  Concentrate on what matters, Amelia, she silently chastised herself.

  “As you know, Waverley desires to leave as soon as you are able.”

  Amelia frowned. “That was already the plan.”

  “I am not yet finished. He moved forward, leaned close to her ear and whispered: “He only wants to pretend to leave, and wait for your aunt to depart for Elba. He then wishes to sneak into the caves and destroy the supplies.”

  “I want them destroyed, but is that wise? Does Wellington condone it?”

  Philip leaned back in his chair. “He does not. He said it is no crime to purchase those things.”

  “Helping Napoleon escape is, though, is it not? And, unfortunately, we saw the evidence with our own eyes of what they intend to do.”

  “Waverley and I agree with you. I cannot go against my commander’s orders, however.”

  “But I can,” she said defiantly, waiting for his objection.

  He shook his head.” It is too dangerous and you are in no condition to do any such thing. Waverley, on the other hand, thinks he can manage it.”

&
nbsp; “I do not want Waverley involved. This has become my battle to fight,” she insisted. “They are about to have a child and Meg needs him whole. What if something happened to him?”

  “I understand your reservations, but what if something else happened to you? The plan has not been fully devised; there are many details to be considered.” He paused before adding, “I should let you rest...the sooner you are well, the sooner we may leave.”

  Amelia did not wish to be left alone, and searched for something—anything—else to keep him there. “What will you do now?” she asked, before he could leave.

  “I do not know. Certainly, this situation must be resolved. If and when I can be assured of peace, I might return to Berkshire and become a farmer.” He grinned as though the thought was ridiculous and Amelia felt her knees weaken. Having him smile like that would do more to return circulation to her limbs than any poultice the doctor could concoct.

  “I think you would make an excellent farmer.”

  “You do not think the idea ridiculous?”

  “No more ridiculous than my becoming a nun,” she teased, and they shared a laugh. The pain was severe, but worth it.

  “You should laugh more,” she told him. “That is what I remembered most about you while you were gone.”

  “You thought of me?”

  “More than I should have done,” she confessed. Being hit on the head had apparently loosened her tongue. “I rather took a fancy to you after that, but now I know it was not the real Captain Elliot I had spun fantasies about.”

  “Are you saying you have no fancy for me now?” The look he gave her made her nervous, for she did not know whether or not if he was toying with her.

  “My fancy for you lies now in a different way,” she said evasively.

  “I am not certain I approve of that answer, but it will do for now.” He stood up. “Is there anything I may do for you before I leave?”

  “If you would please ring for some chocolate and biscuits?” She smiled impishly. “I have a rather devilish sweet tooth,” she confessed.

  He stood and rang the bell-pull and quietly spoke to the maid. She bobbed a curtsy and left the room again.

  He returned to sit by Amelia’s bedside and she gave him a questioning look. “I thought you were leaving?”

  He leaned forward to whisper again. “I have a devilish sweet tooth as well, and while I may not be as ill as you, I think some chocolate would have miraculous healing powers for us both.”

  Could he be less endearing? She felt more pain in her heart than her head, knowing their partnership would soon end.

  The maid returned, and set out a service of chocolate and an array of biscuits and rolls for them. Philip went to the trouble of tucking a napkin into the shawl she wore about her shoulders and she hoped he did not notice how the pulse in her throat was speeding wildly. As they ate and drank, he fussed over her like her old nurse would have done, and for a few minutes she was able to forget about the pain in her head and the betrayal in her heart.

  “What is this?” the doctor asked, frowning as he came in behind the maid, not waiting to be announced. “I ordered you both to bed with nothing but barley water until I gave further instructions.” The small man with greying hair scowled at them over his small, round spectacles.

  “Nothing heals like chocolate,” Amelia protested, “and my head feels better when I am upright.”

  “I will give you privacy,” Captain Elliot said, and to Amelia’s disappointment he left the room.

  “You will be next, Monsieur Elliot,” he warned.

  He set his bag on the table, then began unwinding the bandages about her feet and removing the poultices, handing them to the maid. The mixture of mint, ginger and other strange smells were strong and caused Amelia to sneeze. When the air hit her feet, a strange tingling sensation prickled and she remarked on it.

  “Excellent,” he responded as he looked on with obvious satisfaction. “Some of the circulation has returned.”

  She tried to peer over the blankets in an attempt to see her feet. “ Only some?”

  “Blisters have formed in other places, and we will not know the extent of tissue damage until the blister heals—or the tissue dies.”

  He took out a long, sharp instrument and poked at her feet and toes, and then her hands and fingers, to see where she had sensation. She could not feel everywhere he touched.

  “Will I lose my feet?”

  He shrugged in the careless French manner. “It is too soon to say, but I do not think so. Perhaps some toes, but your sensation appears to be returning.”

  He began to prepare more of the foul-smelling poultice and reapplied it with bandages; then he asked the maid to call for hot bricks.

  “How certain are you?” she dared to question. He looked up and raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I have seen thousands of cases with soldiers, and yours is not as severe as it could have been. It is fortunate you were rescued when you were. A few more hours in that cistern...” He did not finish the thought. “Now, allow me to look at the sutures on your head.”

  “Sutures?”

  “You sustained a rather nasty gash to the back of your head. Be not alarmed, your hair will cover it in good time. Now that you have awakened, I suspect you will live—as long as we can keep infection at bay. We will know better in a day or two.”

  Comforting words. Amelia knew a childish urge to stick out her tongue.

  “And then may I return to England?”

  “If you are alive, bien entendu. Your Duke says he can ensure you will be comfortable on his yacht.” The doctor gave another Gallic shrug. “It must be nice to be a duke and be sure of the wind and waves.”

  He bandaged her head again and having packed up his bag, turned back to her.

  “You must stay in the bed and remain still. If not, your head may bleed again.”

  “And I may die.” She could not refrain from saying what he was doubtless thinking.

  “Oui.” He clicked his heels together and left, leaving her feeling stunned and also wishing she had not asked questions.

  Chapter 18

  Lady Amelia was not a good patient. Philip, the Duchess and the Duke did their best to keep her in bed by taking turns to sit with her. To this end, Philip had encouraged an afternoon ritual of chocolate and biscuits, and was now having a harder and harder time convincing himself that they could part without leaving a permanent scar on his heart. It appeared as though Lady Amelia would make a full recovery, for which he was truly glad. Nevertheless, some part of him had wished, perhaps, she would no longer be suited to fashionable London and might wish to be a squire’s wife in the country.

  On this sixth day of convalescence, as had become his habit, he walked from his chambers to hers for his afternoon delight, as he had come to think of it. He knocked on the door and was shocked when Lady Amelia opened it herself.

  “Good afternoon,” she said with a wide smile.

  He reached out for her, afraid she might fall. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I have declared myself well,” she said defiantly, backing away from him as though to prove she could.

  “I am, of course, pleased to see you on your feet, but is it wise to go from invalid to your normal pace in one day?”

  “Philip Elliot, you are hardly one to speak. You would not have stayed abed for two days!”

  “Perhaps not,” he conceded. Stepping forward, he took her arm and led her towards the chairs by the fireplace. Madame had ordered a large fire to be maintained day and night, and orange-red flames danced in the draught from the chimney, giving out a comforting warmth. She sighed, but allowed him to help her sit down. He threw another log on the flames and nodded to a maid, who had entered the room bearing a silver salver.

  “We are to leave on the morrow,” Amelia announced after the maid had set the tray of chocolate and biscuits down before them and departed again.

  “Everything is in place, then?” he asked quietly.r />
  “Waverley just left to make the arrangements. I intend to inform my aunt when she visits me next.”

  “How long have you been out of bed?”

  “Do not dare to nag me.”

  “Forgive me. I am merely concerned.” Philip smiled. It was ironic; now that he acknowledged his feelings for her, she was treating him more like his sister did. He would miss this Amelia terribly; Lady Amelia, regrettably, not as much. This Amelia was the one he could see himself growing old with.

  “I have not heard from Wellington,” he said, as if it mattered. The plan was to proceed whether or not he gave his consent. “Tomorrow, then?” She was saying very little, suddenly. He did not normally need to force a conversation with her.

  “Yes,” was her simple reply. She had not touched the biscuits and was not drinking her chocolate.

  “What is wrong, Amelia? Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, feeling his brow furrow.

  “Of course not!” She looked at him with fiery determination in her eyes.

  “Very well, then. What is the matter?”

  “I would rather not say. Everything will change tomorrow.”

  Was she thinking beyond their final act, he wondered.

  “Have you heard from Tobin?” she asked.

  “He is ready, though I cannot like his participation. If Wellington finds out…”

  “He will not,” she assured him. “This is personal for Tobin as well.”

  “I was left for dead by her, myself,” he added dryly. “However, it becomes an act of war when one of the King’s soldiers is a participant.”

  “I am not a soldier, and I must see this to the end, Philip.”

  She stood slowly and rang the bell. “I must pack.”

  He opened his mouth to protest. Surely she was not yet strong enough.

  As though she could read his thoughts, she held out her hand to stop his words. “I need this to be over. I cannot wait any longer.”

  The maid came in and began packing Lady Amelia’s belongings.