by Mary Balogh
“You don’t mind, Charlie?” she asked him that night when she lay beside him in bed, her head resting on his arm. “There will be four ladies and four gentlemen. You could have been one of them, but Lord Eden refused for you. And I thought you would be relieved. You don’t mind?”
“Four ladies and four gentlemen, eh?” He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Should I be jealous, lass? Are you going to run off with one of them?”
“Only if I cannot persuade two of them to run off with me,” she said.
He chuckled again. “You go and enjoy yourself, Ellen,” he said. “I am the one who should be asking you if you mind. After all, Jennifer is my daughter, and she needs to be taken about. But you are a good mother to her, even if you are young enough to be her sister. And a good wife to me. Lift your face to me, sweetheart.”
She lifted it. “I would far prefer to stay home with you tomorrow night,” she said. “You know that, Charlie. I am happiest when I am with you. Things will not change between us with Jennifer here? We will not grow apart?”
He looked at her in the darkness of the room and smoothed one large hand over the side of her head. “I have room for the both of you in my heart, lass,” he said. “I don’t love you one whit less because there is Jennifer. Is that what you are afraid of? You know that you are my treasure, my very greatest treasure. You are the one who gives me my reason for living.”
“I wasn’t questioning your love,” she said. “Oh, I wasn’t doing that, Charlie. I have never done that. I am just very selfish. I don’t want things to change. And they are changing. But I don’t resent Jennifer, either. I don’t want you to think that. I love her dearly, and I am very happy for the both of you that you are together at last.” She laughed suddenly and leaned forward to kiss him on his bare chest. “I don’t know what I mean. I am talking a lot of nonsense. I am very happy, Charlie. Happy to be home again. Happy to see you happy.”
He raised himself on one elbow and leaned over her, smiling warmly down into her shadowed eyes. “I love you, lass,” he said. “That is not ever going to change. Not ever, do you hear me? And these arms are always here for you. And I’m always here for you.”
“Charlie.” She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Kiss me. Make love to me.” She opened her arms to him.
“WELL, I LIKE THEM,” Madeline told her brother that same evening. “Mrs. Simpson is very lovely, is she not? I was surprised. And I suppose you are quite in love with Miss Simpson already.”
He grinned. “Why do you suppose that?” he asked.
“Because she is just your type,” she said. “She is small and has those large eyes and blushes easily. Though I believe she has more sense and more spirit than your usual flirts, Dom. I approve.”
“Ah,” he said. “That is something, at least. You actually approve of something in my life.”
“You are in love with her, then?” she asked.
“Let me put it this way,” he said. “I am thinking about it. What surprised you about Mrs. Simpson?”
“I expected a pale, wilting creature,” she said, “or else a manly, insensitive Amazon. She seems sensible. Edmund and Alexandra were much impressed. What on earth is she doing married to Captain Simpson?”
He grinned again. “Loving him and caring for him, apparently,” he said. “He is one of the happiest men of my acquaintance.”
“Well,” she said, “I have to admire women like Mrs. Simpson. I’m afraid I am swayed a great deal by what a man looks like. Do you think that is one reason why I am an old maid, Dom?”
“You?” he said. “An old maid? Hardly, Mad. You have half the officers in Brussels sighing over you. Don’t you fancy any of them?”
She shrugged. “I fancy a large number of them,” she said. “That is the whole trouble. It used to be different, Dom, didn’t it? For both of us. We always used to be deeply and painfully in love with someone. That does not seem to happen any longer.”
“Because we are older and a little wiser,” he said. “Do you ever think of Purnell? Was he the last one you were in love with like that?”
“I scarce remember him,” she said. And then, after twisting and turning her teacup on its saucer, “Sometimes I wish I did not have a twin. There is no lying to you, is there, Dom? Of course I think of him. And I always feel a little sick every time Alexandra has a letter from him. He has been gone three years and is making a life for himself in Canada, by the sound of it. Well, good luck to him. I just wish I had never met him. I wish he were not Alexandra’s brother. I wish he had not spoiled my life.”
“Those are strong words,” he said. “Did he really do that?”
“I have never been able to fall in love since,” she said. “Although I constantly try, Dom.”
“You don’t still love Purnell, do you?” he asked curiously.
“I don’t believe I ever did,” she said. “I disliked him intensely. I was a little afraid of him. And I was obsessed by him. I really never knew him at all. That is not love. There was nothing about him that was lovable. Only the mystery of what it was that made him so morose, so untouchable. No, I don’t love him or pine for him, Dom. Of course I don’t. So you are to escort Miss Simpson to the opera tomorrow. And are to dance with her at the duke’s ball next week, I would wager. Do you feel any of that old magic, Dom?”
She leaned her chin on her hand and gazed at her brother. She looked remarkably like him except that all the attributes that made him a handsome male made her a lovely female. She was tall and slender with short fair curls and a face that was made beautiful by the glow of life that animated it.
Was he feeling any of that old magic? It was a question that Lord Eden had asked himself from the moment of his first meeting with Jennifer Simpson, and a question that he was to ask several times in the coming days. He saw a great deal of her. He went home with Charlie almost as often as he had always used to do. And apart from the visit to Alexandra and Madeline, and the evening at the opera, he took her walking twice, once in the park and once in the botanic gardens. Always with Mrs. Simpson as chaperone.
He enjoyed the outings. Very much. The girl was pretty, becomingly modest, and shy. And yet, as Madeline had observed, she had sense and character. If he could be alone with her for a short while—even alone in a crowd—perhaps he would find her an intriguing companion.
Perhaps he would fall in love with her. He did not know.
As it was, he seemed to spend more time talking with Mrs. Simpson than with her stepdaughter. He would have thought that after five years of meeting her so frequently at Charlie’s, he knew her well. He had always thought of her as a quiet, serene, dutiful woman. He had always liked her, admired her, respected her.
But he did not know her, he was discovering. She was an interesting conversationalist. She had a lively sense of humor. They laughed a great deal over memories of Spain. And she did not dwell on the horrors of life there, he found. She had a gift for recalling the small, absurd incidents that he had forgotten all about. The incidents that helped him to remember his years there with some pleasure, horrifying as they had been in the main.
The evening at the opera was amusing. A little annoying too, perhaps, but basically amusing. Lieutenant Penworth, it seemed, had a passion for Madeline, and monopolized her company, completely cutting out Colonel Huxtable, who did not look at all pleased at being bettered by an inferior officer. He turned in some pique to Miss Simpson.
And so Lord Eden was left to amuse himself with Mrs. Simpson. Very good thing that he liked her, he thought, and found her an easy companion. And it was a pleasant surprise to see her dressed in an elegant silk gown with her hair dressed more softly than usual about her face. She really was a strikingly lovely woman.
“Do you think the tenor has to stand so close to her,” he whispered in her ear at a most serious point in the opera, nodding in the direction of the leading soprano, “in order to stick a pin in her so that she can reach the high notes?”
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sp; “Oh.” She slapped a hand to her mouth and looked at him with eyes that held a horrified sort of amusement, and her shoulders shook. “Oh, don’t,” she said with something of a squeal when she had herself a little under control. “I shall disgrace myself by laughing aloud. And just at a time when everyone is dying so tragically all over the stage.”
“It will be her turn soon,” Lord Eden whispered. “I have seen this opera before. Then the tenor will be able to put his pin away and concentrate on his singing until his turn to expire comes. It is all most tragic, is it not? Would you like to borrow my handkerchief, ma’am? It is large, I do assure you.”
“To wipe away the tears of laughter?” she said. “You have quite ruined an affecting drama, my lord. I would have expected such unappreciative comments of Charlie. I did not expect them from you.” But her eyes brimmed with suppressed laughter as she scolded.
Lord Eden grinned and winked at her.
“You are quite right,” she said when the performance had finished and the singers were taking their bows. “The singing was inferior.”
It was pleasant at times, Lord Eden consoled himself after an evening in which he had hoped to sit beside Miss Simpson, to have a companion with whom he could relax, someone with whom he could share a joke, someone who knew how to laugh. If he really had sat beside Miss Simpson, he would probably have had to pretend raptures for very inferior vocalists. And perhaps he really would have had to lend that handkerchief.
Charlie was a fortunate man. To have such a wife. And—of course—to have such a daughter.
“I DO LIKe Mrs. Simpson a great deal,” the Countess of Amberley said to her husband later that night. “She is very sensible and very charming, is she not, Edmund?”
“Mm,” he said. He was lying in bed, his hands clasped behind his head, watching her brush her long dark hair, though her maid had already done it for her in her dressing room.
“I wonder why she is married to Captain Simpson,” she said.
“I suppose because he asked her and she said yes,” he said.
The brush paused in her hair and she smiled at him. “You know what I mean,” she said. “It is rather a case of Beauty and the Beast, is it not?”
“Ooh,” he said. “Cruel, love. He is older than she is, yes.”
“Dominic has always been very fond of both of them,” she said. “I suppose they must be contented together if he enjoys their company.”
“I would be a great deal more contented with you if you did not feel obliged to stand there brushing your hair,” he said. “A great deal more contented, Alex.”
“Silly,” she said, putting down the brush and slipping beneath the blankets, which he held back for her. “Do you think Dominic is in love with Miss Simpson? She is a delight, is she not?”
“Mm,” he said. “But I have given up waiting for Dominic and Madeline to fall in love to stay. They don’t have my good sense.”
“But you were nine-and-twenty when you married me,” she said. “Only three years ago, love.”
“Was I?” he said. “It must have been because you did not have the sense to meet me sooner, Alex.”
“Captain Simpson must be shy,” she said. “It was a pity he did not come tonight. Do you think Mrs. Simpson minded not having his company, Edmund?”
“No idea,” he said. “I would mind not having your company, but I can’t speak for anyone else.”
“Lieutenant Penworth is taken with Madeline,” she said. “But I think he is too young to interest her. What do you think?”
“I think that I might wait all night for you to be finished with your mouth if I don’t take drastic measures,” he said. “Hush, love. I have better use for it.”
“Do you?” she said. She smiled at him as he raised himself above her. “What?”
He leaned right across her in order to blow out the candle on the table beside the bed. “This,” he said.
“OH, CHARLIE, YOU DO look splendid!” Ellen set her hands on the captain’s shoulders and stood back to look at him in his dress uniform, her eyes dancing with merriment. “And you do look as if you are about to face a firing squad.”
He grinned sheepishly. “But you won’t expect me to dance, will you, Ellen?” he asked. “I will if you want me to, you know, and I’ll be there so that you can take my arm whenever you don’t have a partner. But I can’t dance, lass. My legs seem to turn into two stiff poles when I try.”
“Of course you don’t have to dance,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “We decided that yesterday when Lord Eden was here and teased you so mercilessly. And he has already reserved two sets with me, and Lord Amberley one, as well as Captain Norton and Lieutenant Byng and Mr. Chambers. Goodness, Charlie, my card is half-full and we haven’t even arrived at the ball yet.”
“And so it should be, lass,” he said. “You will be easily the loveliest lady there.”
“Oh,” she said, “you had better not let Jennifer hear you say that.”
“She will be the loveliest girl there,” he said. “But you are a lady, lass, and the handsomest one I have ever laid eyes on. Especially tonight. So this is the gown you bought in London and have been keeping a secret, is it? It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Green is your color.”
“I remember your saying that in Spain when I had that riding habit I was wearing when I fell off my horse into the mud one day. Do you remember?”
“I remember thinking you must be dead,” he said. “I didn’t think it was possible to gallop through mud until that day. But both Eden and I did it, only to find you lying there cursing in most unladylike fashion.”
She laughed. “But I remembered that you liked me in green when I was having this gown made,” she said. “You know, Charlie, tonight will not be so very bad. We are not nearly important enough to have been invited to dinner at the Hôtel de Belle Vue. That would be an ordeal, I grant you, with the King and Queen of the Netherlands as guests of honor. Lady Amberley says that the earl dreads the thought of going. I think he is something of a hermit too. And the evening is to start with a concert. Madame Catalani, no less. All you will have to do is sit and listen. And when the dancing begins, there will be no lack of men who will feel as you do and be quite content to stand in a corner talking politics or horses or women or whatever it is you men like to talk about when there are no women present.”
He smiled and kissed her. “Thank you, lass,” he said. “Thank you for understanding me and accepting me as I am. But I am going, you see. I want to watch you and Jennifer dancing and enjoying yourselves. You have been enjoying yourself since she has been here, haven’t you? I’m glad for that. I know I am sometimes dull company.”
She shook her head. “Do I look like a woman who is dissatisfied with her lot?” she asked. “Do I, Charlie?”
He looked into her eyes. “You are smiling,” he said.
“All the way inside me,” she said. “Right down to my toes. Because I am the happiest woman alive. I love you and I am married to you. And Jennifer will be tearing her room apart with impatience if we don’t go and fetch her soon. Oh, wait until you see her gown, Charlie. She looks quite like an angel in it. You will be proud enough to burst.”
“I already am that,” he said, taking the hand she held out for his.
And she really was happy, Ellen thought. She was going out for the evening with the husband she loved and with the stepdaughter she had grown to love. And her mirror had just told her that she was looking her very best. And she was going to dance for most if not all of the evening. Even one of the waltzes on her card had been taken already, and she loved to waltz. Lord Eden had signed his name next to it the day before when Charlie had finally admitted that he would not dance, even with his own wife.
“Which set did you dream of dancing with Charlie, ma’am?” Lord Eden had asked when they were still laughing over his quite untrue comment that Charlie’s two left feet sometimes led him to march off in a different direction from the rest of the company on the parade ground. �
��A waltz, certainly. And after supper, during the romantic hours of the ball. Now, where are my country dances? Ah, yes, the third set of the evening, I see. I shall sign myself for this waltz as well, then, and we will make Charlie sorry he lost the chance, shall we? I shall twirl you and spin you and make him purple with jealousy.” He had laughed at Charlie and winked at her. He had already written his name twice in Jennifer’s card.
She was going to enjoy the evening, Ellen thought as her husband exclaimed over a radiant and excited Jennifer. It was going to be quite, quite splendid. They had been to dances in Spain, but it was a long time since she had attended a ball quite as grand as this one promised to be.
AFTER DINNER AT THE HÔTEL DE BELLE VUE with the more elite of his guests, the Duke of Wellington arrived with the Dutch royal family at the Salle du Grand Concert in the Rue Ducale when all the rest of his guests were present and seated. There was a great stir as everyone rose. Jennifer, standing beside Ellen, followed her lead and swept into a deep curtsy as the King and Queen of the Netherlands were led to their seats.
“The duke looks more like a king than that other man,” she confided in a whisper. “I am glad he is not the King of England, Ellen.”
“Sh,” her stepmother said with a smile as they resumed their seats and settled for the beginning of the concert. But all the performers were merely tolerated, she felt, sensing the buzz of anticipation as the audience waited for the performance of Madame Catalani, the famous soprano, who had just recently arrived in Brussels.
The singer favored her audience with only two songs, and no amount of enthusiastic applause and calls for an encore could persuade her to sing more.
“She is very lovely,” Jennifer said.
“And has the most glorious voice I have ever heard,” Ellen said.
Her husband leaned toward her at that moment and spoke in a whisper. “I have been gazing about me ever since we came, Ellen,” he said, “and I don’t see any lady that looks lovelier than you. Or any girl that looks prettier than Jennifer.”
