by Mary Balogh
“I missed you at the picnic last evening,” he said. “I thought you were to be there.”
“Yes,” she said. “I looked forward to it because I have never been to a moonlight picnic before. But Ellen would have had to come, and Papa would have come to keep her company. And they are such strange people. If you would believe it, they would far prefer to stay at home together. And they have been so very good to me. I have been allowed to go everywhere. So I had the headache last night and retired early to my room.”
“Did you?” he said, looking at her with some amusement. “And did you sleep?”
“No, I did not,” she said. “I wrote a long letter to Helen West, my particular friend at school, but I had to shade the candle so that Ellen and Papa would not see it shining under the door, and then I could scarce see the paper to write. I was feeling thoroughly cross and sorry for myself by the time I went to bed.” She looked up at him and giggled merrily.
“Well,” he said, speaking more incautiously to her than he had ever done before, “I was feeling cross and sorry for myself too by the end of the evening. You were not there.”
She blushed and looked away.
But it was true. Not, perhaps, that he had been out of sorts just because of her absence. But he had definitely been out of sorts. He had found himself almost literally bumping into Susan Jennings wherever he turned, and somehow turning aside her veiled suggestions that they stroll and enjoy the moonlight together. Lieutenant Jennings was apparently about official business and had been unable to accompany his wife to the picnic.
Moonlight picnics could get one into more trouble than just about any other entertainment.
He looked down at Jennifer Simpson again, some light remark on his lips. But it froze there when he found her tight-lipped, tears glistening on her lashes.
“What is it?” he asked in some concern.
“Those horrid women,” she said. “I hate them.”
He looked his amazement.
“Did you not see?” she asked. “They walked quite pointedly past Ellen and Papa and made a great to-do about acknowledging you.”
“Those two ladies we just passed?” he asked in some astonishment. “Because I have a title, perhaps, and they think me vastly superior to the ordinary run of mortal.” He grinned down at her.
“Because Ellen is the Countess of Harrowby’s daughter,” she said, “and they think her a little worse than the dirt beneath their feet. The two of them together do not possess as much worth as Ellen in her little finger.” Her tone was quite vehement.
He frowned in incomprehension and glanced ahead to Mrs. Simpson, who was saying something to Charlie and smiling.
“And Ellen persists in not noticing,” Jennifer continued. “And Papa says that those people are not worthy even of our contempt. I would like to spit in their eye, and I would do so too if it would not create a huge scandal and hurt Ellen worse than their snubs.”
“I am sure your father is quite right,” Lord Eden said, “though your anger on your stepmother’s behalf does you credit. But the Countess of Harrowby is still alive.”
“Do you know her?” she said. “Papa told me when I asked—though he said he should not be telling me such things—that Ellen grew up thinking herself the daughter of the earl. But then the countess had a terrible quarrel with him and told him before she ran away with someone else that Ellen was not his daughter. And when Ellen found out, she insisted on going to her real father, who had always been a friend of the family, although the earl wanted her to stay and still be his daughter. She went to Spain, and she met Papa there. And I am glad she did, because they are happy together. And I love her.”
Her voice was shaking. Lord Eden held her arm more firmly to his side. “Mrs. Simpson is a lady, no matter what the story of her past,” he said. “You must disregard those who would snub her. They are beneath notice.”
“Yes, I know,” she said. “But I hurt for Ellen’s sake.”
Lord Eden looked ahead to Mrs. Simpson, who was now laughing at something Charlie was saying. Yes, the girl was right. They were happy together, those two. And it was right that they be so. Charlie was the kindest of men, even to the soldiers of his company. He deserved happiness in his personal life. And Mrs. Simpson, from what she had said about herself, and from what he had just heard, had not had an easy life. Yet she had not let herself become embittered. She was a kind and dignified lady. She deserved happiness too. She deserved Charlie.
He felt a twinge of the old envy. Perhaps he had never done anything himself to deserve such love from a woman.
He was glad that she had recovered from that embarrassment that had made them awkward in each other’s presence for a few days. He did not like to feel uncomfortable with Mrs. Simpson. He did not like to be aware of her as a woman, lovely as she undoubtedly was. Such awareness seemed disrespectful to her and disloyal to Charlie.
She was Charlie’s wife, and it was perfectly right that she be so.
“There is going to be fighting soon, isn’t there?” Jennifer said.
“It is possible,” he said. “But not just yet. You need not worry.”
“That is what everyone tells me,” she said. “But I do worry. And it all seems so senseless. I wish people did not have to fight.”
“Most of us agree,” he said. “But I am afraid we live in an imperfect world.”
“I think Papa is going to send me home,” she said. “I don’t think it fair. Ellen will be staying, and she has been with the army since she was younger than I am now.”
“Your papa will doubtless worry less if you are safe in England,” he said. “And women who stay close to the fighting do not have an enviable lot, you know.”
She looked annoyed, and he realized he had said the wrong thing. “Do you think it is easy for women to be in England,” she said, “where we do not hear of a battle until days after it is all over? Do you have any idea what it is like waiting to find out if one’s father is alive or dead? And this time it will be worse because I know more men than just Papa. It is not fair to treat us as children who will be safe as long as our bodies are not harmed.”
“I am sorry.” He touched her hand. “But we men are brought up to feel protective of women, you see. And sometimes the best we can do is to protect them from physical harm. It is not easy for us, either. I have a mother and a sister who will be scarred for the rest of their lives if I die. That is no easy knowledge to have on my mind as I face battle.”
She nodded. “No one has it easy at such times, I suppose,” she said. “So the best way I can help Papa is to go meekly home when he tells me it is time?”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“I’m afraid so too,” she said ruefully.
They smiled at each other.
She was not such a child after all, Lord Eden thought. Not as fragile and helpless and as much in need of a man’s protection as he had thought.
ELLEN HAD NOT FLINCHED FROM THE HEIGHTENED preparations for war that she had seen happening around her. She had given in to her fear during that one evening at home with her husband, but she would not do so again. Besides, she had found from past experience that the closer a pitched battle drew, the calmer she became. It was as if the inevitability of it all finally convinced her that anxiety was a pointless luxury.
They were walking in the park beside the lake. She had met the captain there after he had finished duty for the day. Jennifer and Lady Anne Drummond, Lord Eden and Lieutenant Penworth were watching the swans on the water.
“Jennifer has taken it well, hasn’t she?” Captain Simpson said. “I expected that there would be many more tears than there actually have been.”
“I think she was consoled when she knew that Lady Anne and several of her other friends are also going home,” Ellen said. “And I think she is a little frightened, Charlie. She is very young, after all.”
“I don’t know how to thank Lord Amberley enough,” he said. “We scarce know him apart from our c
onnection with Eden. It was exceedingly kind of him to agree to take Jennifer home to England with his own family.”
“I think that has helped Jennifer too,” Ellen said. “The prospect of being able to help the countess and her nurse with those children is very appealing. She adores the baby.”
“I don’t suppose I can persuade you to change your mind and go too?” he asked tentatively.
“Absolutely not!” Ellen smiled at him. “Save your breath, Charlie.”
“Well,” he said, “I would not be doing my duty as your husband if I didn’t try, lass, but you know I would be quite lost if you went. You see how selfish I am?”
“Then thank heaven for selfishness,” she said fervently, and they both laughed.
“Ellen,” he said, glancing ahead to make sure that the other four were out of earshot, “we must talk. Perhaps I should wait until we are quite alone together, but I have more courage in public like this.”
“The usual talk?” she asked, keeping her tone light.
“Yes, and a little more,” he said.
“You have provided for me and for Jennifer,” she said. “If anything happens to you, I am to go to your sister in London and visit your solicitor or wait for him to call on me there. I understand, Charlie. But I do not need to, for you will be here afterward and we will travel to England together.”
“Yes,” he said, patting her hand. “But I have been thinking, Ellen. It never seemed important before, with Jennifer at school. But she is a young lady now and needs to be provided for as well as possible. It’s time I forgot my pride. If you are alone—afterward—I want you to communicate with my father. Will you? Dorothy will help you.”
“Oh, Charlie, I could not!” Ellen looked at her husband in dismay. “He has had nothing to do with you all these years. He has not cared about you or about Jennifer.”
“He is her grandfather,” he said gently. “And your father-in-law. He will not turn his back on you if you appeal to him. We have both been too stubborn. Neither of us willing to make the first move to the other.”
“Well,” she said with determined cheerfulness, “you can go and see him yourself when we return to London, Charlie.”
“Please, sweetheart?”
She looked ahead along the path. “For Jennifer?” she said. “Very well, then. You have my promise.”
“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “He is not an ogre, you know. We had a good relationship when I was a boy. I had a happy childhood. But he expected a great deal of me since I was the elder son. Things were strained when I joined the army instead of going to university as he wished—can you imagine me in university, lass? But the break didn’t come until I married Jennifer’s mother.”
He had never mentioned her before. Ellen continued to stare along the path ahead of her.
“She was a pretty little thing,” he said. “A foolish unhappy girl when I met her. I wouldn’t mention this, Ellen, except that I must. For when you talk to my father and my brother—if you ever talk to them—they may try to tell you that Jennifer is not mine. Her mother was a dancer, you see, but she could not make a living from her dancing alone. She was not a bad girl, just a girl who needed to eat to live. She was not with anyone but me after I married her, and Jennifer was born a little more than nine months after that. She is mine, Ellen. Even if she were not, I would love her all the same, because she cannot help her birth, can she? But she is mine. She should be acknowledged by my father.”
“I will see that she is.” Ellen did not know how she forced the words beyond the lump in her throat. “Is that why you loved me, Charlie? Because I could not help my birth?”
He laughed and patted her hand again. “My heart was touched by a pretty, rather grubby little girl crying over a dusty hairbrush,” he said. “But she grew up to be the treasure of my life. The love of my life. That is what you are to me, my lass. It doesn’t matter who you are. You are not letting those tabbies bother you, are you?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I lived through all the pain of that situation years ago. A little spite now has no power whatsoever to wound me. Oh, heavens, no. You are not to think it. I have you and Jennifer and all our friends. I am a very happy person. I have heaven on earth, Charlie.”
“You will do that for me, then?” he asked. “For Jennifer? I wish I could do more for you, Ellen. I wish I had a million pounds to leave you. I wish I could have—”
“To have known you and been your wife has been more to me than a million pounds and everything else in the world,” she said quickly. “And to be your wife for the rest of my life is all I could possibly wish for—a fortune beyond price, Charlie. Hush now or you will see me cry again. And you hate to see me cry, and I have promised myself not to. Tell me something. Tell me something funny that has happened in the last week. You are always so full of stories.”
“Hastings blew a hole in Walker’s cap when he was cleaning his gun a few mornings ago,” he said. “Did I tell you about it? Fortunately, Walker’s head was not inside the cap at the time. But I think Hastings might have wished it had been after Walker had finished with him. And then Eden started in on him—a few choice words from him can reduce even the most hardened soldier to jelly. Poor Hastings was almost in tears.”
“But how fortunate that no one was hurt,” Ellen said. “The poor man would never have lived with himself afterward, would he?”
“Let’s go back to the lake,” he said, “and find out what is amusing those four so much.”
ALTHOUGH THE RUMORS and false alarms and panics became more and more numerous as June went on, and although the army and the artillery continued to pour into Belgium, and although even the most hardened cynics admitted that there must be some truth to at least some of the rumors, surprisingly few civilians left Brussels for the safer shores of England. It was as if they refused to believe that danger could ever seriously threaten them, the British, who had always been protected by their own shores. Or as if the Duke of Wellington had acquired in their eyes the stature of an invincible god.
Although the Earl of Amberley did not leave for Antwerp with his family, his servants, and Miss Jennifer Simpson until Monday, June 12, there were no delays or impediments to their journey, as there surely would have been had they waited just a few days longer.
Madeline, who had remained adamant in her decision to stay in Brussels as long as her twin was there, had arranged to move in with her friend, Lady Andrea Potts, who was quite as intrepid as she was herself and would tell those French a thing or two, she declared in her loud, rather masculine voice, if they dared set foot in Brussels and tried to do any looting in Colonel Lord Potts’s home. Lord Eden himself was to move into an officers’ billet with Captain Norton.
Christopher Raine, Viscount Cleeves, seemed blissfully unaware of the preparations for departure going on around him the day before they left, or of the heightened emotional tensions in his father’s drawing room as Lord Eden prepared to remove himself to his new billet. The boy was crawling about among chair legs and table legs, quietly intent on a private game. He was clucking his tongue to represent the sound of horses’ hooves.
“Well, old pal,” Lord Eden said, “are you going to shake hands with your uncle?”
“Old pal,” the child said, coming to his feet, his game and his horses abandoned for the moment. He put his hand in his uncle’s large one. “Big ship.”
Lord Eden stooped down on his haunches. “You are going in a big ship,” he said. “Tomorrow, you lucky lad. Do you have a hug and kiss for Uncle Dom?”
The child put two chubby arms around his neck and squeezed tightly, puckered his mouth, and kissed Lord Eden wetly on the lips. “Old pal,” he said, and spread his arms to begin a new game. He was perhaps a ship in full sail.
Lady Caroline Raine was lying in her father’s arms, staring unblinkingly into his face, although occasionally her eyelids drooped. Having been fed a half-hour before, she was patiently awaiting sleep.
�
��A smile for Uncle Dom?” Lord Eden asked, taking her tiny fingers on one of his. But though she clutched it and shifted her eyes to his face, she remained solemn. “No? Well, no matter. The young bucks are going to be lined up at Papa’s door sixteen years or so from now just for a glance from those eyes, little beauty.” He bent and kissed her forehead.
A moment after he had turned away to speak to the countess, the baby looked back to her father and favored him with one of her rare, brief, and total smiles.
“Wicked little princess,” he murmured.
Lord Eden had both of his sister-in-law’s hands in his. “Thank you for coming, Alexandra,” he said. “I cannot tell you what it has meant to have my family close to me. Have a safe journey home and give my love to Mama and Aunt Viola and Uncle William. And to Anna, of course. She is having a successful Season, I would wager. I will see you all again almost before we know it.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Your mother will be so very happy to see you again, Dominic. But she just could not come, you know. She would rather worry in private. Take care of yourself.”
They were in each other’s arms suddenly, their eyes tightly closed.
“Dominic,” she said, “we love you so very, very much.”
“I’ll remind you of that when I come home,” he said, “and demand all sorts of favors as proof.” He lifted his head and grinned down at her. “And why did you choose Edmund rather than me if you love me so very, very much? I offered for you too, if you remember.”
“Oh,” she said, flushing, “because I love him so very, very, very much, I suppose.” She turned to take the almost-sleeping baby from her husband.
Lord Amberley got straight to his feet and took his brother unashamedly into his arms. They hugged each other wordlessly for some time. There was so much and so little to say.
