“With all of my heart, Stirling. There is nothing…”
Before she could finish her sentence, his lips were upon hers, smouldering and emitting his desire for her – she felt her physique instinctively returning it. Stirling drew her closer with his strong arms until she melted into them like butter, forming and moulding until their bodies were as one.
Clementine felt a warm flutter coursing over her as the kiss intensified. The hair on her arms rose along with the goosebumps that populated her skin. It was better than in the hansom – no matter how unbelievable that may seem. She had imagined what it might feel like to take it further, but none of her wildest dreams could have conjured up anything quite as magical as what happened to her there and then on the hillock overlooking the Thames.
She had no inclination for how long they remained glued to one another. It was impossible to tell. All of her instincts had chimed into one big gong, ringing out what she had wanted from the onset. Forgotten were her responsibilities, Florence Nightingale’s words of wisdom concerning the falling in love with a soldier and gone was her adherence with regard to etiquette and social comportment. The kiss was just too perfect. It transcended onto a higher plane, a place where only one thing mattered; the love between man and woman, the age-old phenomenon that carried the meaning of life.
With a final deep breath into her mouth, Stirling pulled away. He gazed at her for a moment with blinking eyelids. Clementine could see that he was as taken in by what they had just done. She could see him struggling, thinking, in an attempt to find something to say that might explain what had happened. He opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out. All he could do was look back at her as the saccharine implications enveloped him in a sugary mantle.
“Was that a yes?” he asked finally.
Clementine started giggling as all of the sexual and emotional tension swept from her body. After a few tentative heartbeats, Stirling joined her. They laughed freely and uninhibitedly until they could laugh no more. They held hands as they caught their breaths. An impish look started to populate Clementine’s face.
“Aren’t you forgetting something? I seem to remember you fumbling with something in your pocket before you attacked me so shamelessly.” She tittered when she saw him flinch.
“Clementine, I did not mean…”
“Stop being silly, Stirling. Had you not done it, I would have been deeply disappointed.” She tapped her foot in the grass as she waited for him to jut back into motion.
Stirling smiled. “Oh…” He let go of one of her hands and rummaged in his coat pocket. He went back down on one knee once he found what he was looking for. “Clementine, will you do me the honour of being my wife.” As he said the words, he held out a magnificent ring with an amethyst stone on a golden band.
Clementine’s hands flew to her mouth. “My birthstone. Oh, Stirling how thoughtful; I can do nothing but say yes now.”
Feeling his courage return to him, Stirling said, “You better.”
She giggled, as she let him slide the ring onto the fourth finger on her left hand. It fit perfectly. Clementine inspected it for a while. “It is so beautiful, Stirling. I do love you, you know.”
He chuckled. “And I love you.”
They kissed again. While their previous contact had been passionate with hints of animalistic ferocity, this time, they came at each other softly, discovering, probing and setting the cornerstone for becoming one body, mind and soul.
“You do know that you have lumbered us with quite a lot of work before you leave on the morrow,” said Clementine, walking beside him down the hill.
“Oh, yes?”
“Quite. You really have no idea, do you Stirling?” As they walked back to Elizabeth and Royce, Clementine proceeded to tell her betrothed all that he needed to know concerning the engagement process until the day they were wed.
Chapter 22
“Here’s to the best decision you ever made, darling daughter,” said Lord Leighton, holding up his glass of champagne.
Sitting in the large dining room in the Leighton residence on Belgrave Square were Elizabeth, Royce, Clementine, Stirling and Lady Leighton. The latter could not have been happier. At last her daughter had come to see sense. Ever since Elizabeth’s wedding and Clementine’s announcement that she would join the nursing corps, she had worried that the hand of marriage would forever pass her eldest daughter by. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have foretold that she would marry the son of a duke.
After everyone had taken a sip of champagne, the earl gave his butler the order to commence with the serving of the food. Promptly, the first footman stepped forward with a silver tureen on a tray containing a savoury soup. He proceeded to do his round of the table, allowing for everyone to help himself or herself to the broth.
Stirling smiled at Clementine while this was done. It had been a whirlwind of activity after their kiss on the knoll. Despite the urgency of getting back to London to tell Clementine’s father and mother of the good news, Royce had insisted they share another bottle of champagne to celebrate. They barely had the time to row back, return the boat and get to the station before the train departed.
The moment the earl had heard the blessed news, he had prompted a frenzy of activity in his household. The servants were told to prepare the dining room with the finest china, cutlery, crystal and tablecloth. Orders for a feast and more champagne soon followed. To Clementine’s surprise even her mother was in the best of spirits. There had been a brief dampener in her mood when she had asked her daughter whether that was the end of her ridiculous career as a nurse; Clementine had refused with the words: Stirling admires me for what I do. Were I to give it up, he would have no reason to love me; let alone marry me.
It was untrue of course. Stirling would love her no matter what she decided. The conversation in the drawing room had soon drifted to matters of business when the lady of the house had inquired after Stirling’s state of finances and his prospects in the army. This was normal and not considered rude. The man carrying the amorous intention of engagement had to divulge his financial position so that the lady’s family could ascertain whether he was a viable suitor. It was something Stirling had forgotten about. His position was not a good one. All he had to his name was his major’s income. And the only people who were aware of this were Clementine and Royce.
The earl had then claimed that his ancestral lineage was more than ample grounds to accede to his proposal. The suggestion had saved Stirling in the nick of time. After that, conversation drifted to more pleasant things, like the wedding and where it would take place. However, the looming prospect of war hung in their midst, supplying a slight melancholy air to the events that followed.
“So, Stirling, when do you think we can be introduced to your father and brothers?” asked Lady Leighton, sipping her soup.
“Oh, I think the moment I get back from the Crimea would be a good time,” said Stirling, dreading the prospect of his future in-laws meeting his family.
“Mm, maybe, we can drop by while you are away. There is much to be discussed – you know, the size of the dowry and such.”
“Now, come on, dear. Let these two love birds enjoy one another before Stirling’s departure on the morrow.” The earl lifted his hand to indicate that the soup course was at an end. “Speaking of which, I will send a message to Miss Nightingale requesting she allow you to join Royce, Elizabeth and Stirling to Portsmouth. I am certain she can let you go for a day, eh?”
Clementine smiled at her father. It warmed her heart how he took the time and thought to consider everything. This quality was one of the reasons he was such a successful businessman and an even better father.
“So, Royce, Stirling, what are your views…do you think that Raglan has it in him to conduct an effective war against the Russian?” asked the earl.
Royce cleared his throat into his napkin. “Well, he did serve under the Duke of Wellington during the Peninsular Campaign and later during the Hundred D
ays. I’d say some of that experience is sure to have rubbed off on him.”
“I agree. I met his lordship when he got me off the hook for the black bottle fiasco and he seemed to have his head screwed on in the right place,” said Stirling.
Royce chuckled. “Do tell papa about what happened when that fool Cardigan bumped into his brother-in-law, Lucan.”
Stirling smiled. “It was a ridiculous spectacle. I barely got to witness the entire thing, but the last I saw of them on the way out was the two of them haranguing each other like a pair of charging bulls in a china shop. After it had been announced that Lucan would get overall command of the cavalry, Cardigan blew a top, claiming that he should be offered an independent command not under that fool, Lucan. He raged on that he knew when he saw Lucan’s biscuit face, sopping up wet around Horse Guards Parade that he’d be at Raglan’s office starting his wheedling. Raglan only managed to calm him with the prospect of the flash, dash and fire of the Light Brigade. Despite a bristling Lucan, he had relented in the end.”
The earl shook his head. “It is worrying to say the least. I do hope that those two don’t jeopardize the entire thing.” He turned his head to his youngest daughter. “How about you, dear. Why are you not joining your husband on this merry expedition? I hear many wives of the rank and file have decided to join their men.”
“We weren’t that fortunate. Only four women to one company of a hundred soldiers are allowed to join. It is a privilege decided by ballot,” said Royce. He knew that he would miss Elizabeth a lot, but in his heart of hearts, he was happy that she would not be joining him. He had no experience of war, yet he instinctively knew that it was no expedition to be taken lightly. It was far better that his wife remained safely at home.
“I see,” said the earl. “It is a shame. I am sure that you would have liked the company of your wife.”
Lady Leighton cringed at the prospect. “And I hope that the topic of conversation during my daughter’s engagement dinner might not involve the petty squabbling of those two dunderheads and the idea of womenfolk attending the machinations of men. Dear husband, I beseech you…let us talk of things more becoming of such an event and not this.” Lady Leighton wagged her hand loftily.
Clementine grinned. For once she could agree with her mother. She squeezed Stirling’s hand under the table. “Do tell mater and papa about the enchanting afternoon we spent together.”
Stirling nodded at her fondly. “Of course, my dear.”
The earl burst out laughing. “Spoken like a true husband, Stirling. Mustn’t let the womenfolk go unhappy, eh, young man?”
Chapter 23
The next morning all of London was in uproar. The streets were lined with the populace waving the Union Jack flag. The feeling in the city was one of exuberance. A sea of people lined the Mall as the troops marched past them proudly. They consisted of the most prominent regiments in the British army. The Scots Fusilier Guards, the Royal Scots Greys, the Rifle Brigade, as the Royal Consort’s Own, blended in with the other regiments from Lancashire, Cambridgeshire and more. The sound of their beating footfalls on the street reverberated over the heads of the people, making them shout their acclaim even more.
After the infantry came the cavalry under the overall command of Lord Lucan. The clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves declared in concert, as if every horse took a step in perfect rhythm with the other animals. Eleven brigades in total made up this impressive force, making them the most striking and respected horsemen in the whole of Europe and a power to be feared on any battlefield.
Finally, the artillery batteries followed. Pulled by horses, the over sixty guns would also make their way east. There were also many others in the parade – soldier’s wives, nuns, selfless volunteers – who hoped to play roles in relieving the distress of the battle-weary, the wounded, the diseased and the dying. Their numbers were limited – army regulations allowed only four wives for every company of one hundred men – a privilege decided by ballot.
All in all, the spectacle resembled a gay pageant rather than a military enterprise. The women, some of them in the company of their children, sang happy songs of valour. Amongst them, men dressed in civilian clothing wanted to go along just for the experience.
Three hundred and sixty ships waited for this vast army with hangers-on at the ports of London and Portsmouth. They would sail in seven columns with steamers towing two sailing ships. They would rendezvous with the French fleet at the Bay of Biscay and later at the port of Toulouse. From there, the combined allied navies would sail east to Constantinople. Once there and after having replenished supplies, the voyage would continue into the Black Sea and on to the Crimea.
From the balcony of Buckingham Palace, Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and four of their children also got up early to watch the parade march past, on their way to fight the Russians in the Crimea. The queen had used her personal influence in pressing the government to halt Russia’s expansionist plans against the crumbling Ottoman Empire in the east – plans that might eventually pose a threat to British dominions in India. Victoria was fanatical in her support for the war. She was filled with ‘atavistic longings to don shining armour’ and fight alongside her brave guardsmen, and had ensured all the women in court did their bit.
Apart from sending personal food parcels of beef, tea, raspberry jam and tins of tobacco to the ships, she had every woman at Windsor turning out mitts and mufflers. But the queen was not alone in wishing she could be with the troops. Thousands of wives also wanted to accompany their husbands.
Rory and Jake rode side-by-side in the midst of the 11th Hussars. Both of them were stunned and for the first time in their lives, they felt pride at being a part of something that was larger than they were. Women blew them kisses from the side-lines. Children waved flags. Some of them sat on their fathers’ shoulders yelling and fidgeting. When Buckingham Palace finally came into view, both men gulped simultaneously when they saw the queen and her family displaying the same enthusiasm as her subjects.
“We sure are heroes now, eh, Rory?” said Jake. After he had spoken, his mouth dropped into the position it had been in for most of the ride over from the barracks.
“Aye, that we are. I have never seen the likes. All of London believes we are the bee’s knees.”
Rory felt a subtle current of exhilaration course through him, but he ached for his wife and children. The sight of Mary when he had left stuck in his mind like sap from a tree. She had begged him to reconsider. Once more, she had told him about the job her ladyship offered and how much safer the tending of horses would be. Rory had resisted all of her efforts. His sense of duty was too great – he would never leave Jake and the comrades he had come to respect and, to a certain extent love, without at least adding his muscle. His visit to the country had been far too brief. He would be gone soon. Not knowing whether he would ever come back ate at his heart like a malignant cancer.
“Who would have thought that the likes of us would be riding a fine horse in front of the Queen of England and Great Britain?” Jake shook his head in amazement.
“Me, never. Back at the docks, I didn’t know the front of one to the back of one.”
Jake hooted laughter. “All they were, was pack animals to us and now we are the load they carry.”
“Easy does it, gentlemen. You are in the 11th Hussars now and not members of a troop of drunken louts like I found ye,” said the Sergeant who had recruited them. “Eyes to the right,” he yelled when the brigade past the queen’s position.
All heads snapped to the right in concert. In the vanguard, Lord Cardigan seemed to inflate into greater proportions, stretching his whalebone corset to the limit. With him rode Stirling and Royce amongst a coterie of their fellow officers. It was the proudest day of their lives. However, for both of them the hardest moment was yet to come.
* * *
“Come back to me safely, Stirling. I will never forgive you if you end up dead,” said Clementine, holding onto her fiancé as if de
ar life depended on it.
He chuckled. “I promise that I will, my love.” He planted a kiss onto her forehead.
Clementine grinned up at him. “Is that all I get? God only knows for how long we will be apart and all you have got for me is a chaste peck?”
“You are ravenous, my love,” chided Stirling, looking about him furtively.
Before he could do anything, Clementine crushed her lips against his in a complete break from Victorian virtue. Stirling was completely taken aback when her tongue invaded his mouth with vigorous strokes. He could do nothing about it as his body took over with primal force. They kissed hungrily like two people who might never see each other again.
The built-up tension of the parade earlier that day, the train voyage that had taken place for the larger part in silence, and now, the wharf at Portsmouth that was lined with fellow well wishers struck a chord of deep longing. It was something that not even a kiss could assuage. What was needed was more – love – the connection that could only be conveyed with the heart and body in hot pursuit.
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