Back home, she helped Sandrine prepare bandages, blankets, and pillows for whomever would be billeted with them. She knew that Juliana would still be searching among the wounded for Harry. If he was alive and needed tending, he would get the best care right here. She was tucking a roll of bandages onto the shelf in Juliana’s chamber when Sandrine called to her in distress.
What? She hurried downstairs. Sandrine had opened the door, and Elizabeth followed the maid outside. In the road stood a farm cart. The driver had jumped down and was walking to the rear. Juliana was in the cart, angling a parasol in her hand to protect the wounded man beside her from the sun’s burning rays. Is it Harry?
Not Harry. ‘It is Jem, Mama,’ Juliana explained. ‘He has news of Harry, but first, we must get him inside where he may be comfortable.’ With the driver, they lifted young Jem into the house and up to the bedchamber. His left leg was broken, and he was covered in filthy mud. They tried their best to be careful, but they inevitably hurt him as they carried him up the stairs. Thankfully, he passed out, and they were able to get him into the bed.
‘Sandrine,’ Juliana said briskly, ‘can you give the driver some food, please?’
Sandrine agreed, and took the driver—a laconic Flemish farmer—to the kitchen. As soon as they were gone, Juliana turned to her mother.
‘Mama!’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Jem has told me that Harry is lying on the battlefield, seriously wounded. I must go to him!’
‘Aah!’ Elizabeth took both Juliana’s hands in hers. ‘No, Juliana! I shall send a message to Charles—to Mr Thornton. He can go in your place!’
Juliana shook her head. ‘That will take the best part of an hour. Harry has been lying there, untended, for at least three hours already. I cannot waste another minute, Mama. It may already be too late.’
Every instinct was crying out against Juliana’s plan. No! She must not put herself in danger! If something were to happen to her… Elizabeth took a breath, summoned her courage, and banished the panic that threatened to overcome her. If it were Charles in danger, what would I do? The answer swept over her in a wave of determination.
‘Julie-Annie! Must you do this?’ Looking carefully into her daughter’s eyes, she flinched from what she found there. ‘I see you must.’ Elizabeth nodded, straightening her spine. I can be brave for you, my Julie-Annie. ‘Be safe, child.’ They embraced briefly, then Juliana pulled away, intent on her mission.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, transfixed, as Juliana climbed into the cart beside the driver. She had the parasol gripped in one hand, a basket of supplies in the other, and with her simple white muslin dress and pretty straw bonnet, she looked for all the world as though she were driving off for a pleasure jaunt or a picnic. Elizabeth watched intently until the cart turned the corner, then sagged in distress in the doorway. My child! Never had Juliana been in so much danger. She was choosing to go unaccompanied directly to a battlefield where it was rumoured forty thousand men had died yesterday. Anything might befall her.
‘Madame!’ Sandrine was calling from the sickroom. Duty beckoned. Elizabeth lifted her chin. ‘J’arrive!’ she replied and went inside.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sun climbed ever higher in the sky, then slowly, slowly declined. With every hour that passed, fear threatened to overcome Elizabeth. She had sent a note to Charles but had not seen him, which meant that he had not yet seen her message. He may not even be in the city. The locus of activity had shifted to the village of Waterloo, where Wellington had established his headquarters.
With Sandrine, she bathed young Jem and re-splinted his leg—the broken bone visible through an open wound. He is little more than a boy. He should not have been in battle at all. Her throat closed as she thought of Jack, wounded in battle all those years ago. Her husband had died of fever in the aftermath of the battle, and Elizabeth had often wondered if she could have saved him with tender care. This boy, Jem, was similar in age to Jack. How young he is! I could not save Jack, but I shall give Jem the best possible care.
She had been an army widow for most of her life and had been an army wife for just a few short weeks. All across Brussels, women at this very moment were tending to their husbands, sons, and brothers, or mourning them. More women were at home in cities and villages right across Europe, not yet aware that their loved ones were gone. No-one in England would even know yet that there had been a battle fought yesterday. Harry was not the only wounded soldier lying in the mud of Waterloo under the blazing sun. At this very instant, another man would breathe his last.
Grief at losing Jack had dulled to a quiet ache many years ago, and now Elizabeth could barely picture the dashing young man with flashing eyes who had blazed into her heart, then disappeared as swiftly as a shooting star. Jack would always be part of her, and the essence of him would live on in her heart forever.
Her feelings for Charles were just as intense and, she realised, sat in a separate place in her heart from her first love. She had been more than respectful to Jack’s memory and felt at ease about her new feelings for Charles. Besides, she was done with allowing guilt and fear to rule her. Now was the time to forge her own path.
She ate the simple dinner that Sandrine had prepared, forcing herself to swallow past her anxiety for Juliana. At what point could she send Charles to look for her daughter? Jem had said he could recall only that Harry had been somewhere near a farmhouse at La Haye-Sainte. Oh, why does Charles not come?
It was full dark when her ears, alert to any sound in the street, heard the rumble of wheels. Not waiting for Sandrine, she ran to the front door and opened it. A cart was pulling up outside the house, the driver’s lantern the only source of light.
‘Juliana?’ Her voice contained the plaintive hope of every mother. My child, is it you? Are you alive?
‘Mama!’ Juliana’s voice came from the back of the cart. ‘I have found him!’
Elizabeth flew towards her, her heart pounding with relief. She blinked, her eyes becoming accustomed to the gentle lantern-light, after the bright candles of her drawing room. There was Harry, his head resting on Juliana’s lap and his hand in hers. ‘Oh, my goodness, Harry! Captain Fanton!’ How bad are his injuries, I wonder?‘ It is good to see you returned to us. And Juliana, are you well?’
‘I am more than well, Mama. Truly, I have suffered nothing more than tiredness from the sun.’
There was no time for more, as they helped Harry out of the cart and into the house. His main injury seemed to be a nasty-looking head wound. He staggered a little and grudgingly accepted the assistance of the driver to climb the stairs.
Ten minutes later, he was resting on his pallet, regaling his comrade, Jem, with the tale of his injury and rescue. ‘I don’t mind telling you, Jem, I was done for. If not for J—for Miss Milford, I do believe I’d have been on the dead list.’
They sobered, and Juliana and Elizabeth gently tiptoed out of the room. Sandrine enjoyed herself fussing around Juliana, whose muslin was covered in mud from hem to knee, and whose arms and face were badly sunburnt. She was thirsty and had a headache—again, from the effects of the sun—yet Elizabeth could see nothing but pride and joy in her expression.
‘Mama!’ she exclaimed, hugging Elizabeth, ‘I found him, and all will be well now!’
Exhausted, Juliana washed quickly, then fell into bed. Elizabeth climbed in beside her yet could not bring herself to blow out the last candle straight away. Instead, she lay listening to Juliana’s gentle breathing, gazing at her beloved face and feeling an enormous sense of pride in her daughter. What a woman she has become! Strong, fearless, passionately protective of those she loved. As well as the relief of knowing she was safe, Elizabeth felt a wave of love and pride that made her heart sing.
Just as her eyes were growing heavy and she was contemplating blowing out her candle, Elizabeth heard a sudden knocking on the door. Who on earth could be visiting at this time? Swiftly, she rose, wrapped her shawl around her, and padded down the stairs, ba
refoot. There was no sign of Sandrine. Like everyone, she had had very little sleep these past few nights—the poor woman was probably oblivious.
Elizabeth stood behind the front door and called, ‘Who is it?’
‘Charles Thornton.’ Charles! Sliding back the bolt, she quickly opened the door. There he was, his tired features illuminated by the soft candlelight.
‘Has Juliana returned? Is she safe?’ His face was twisted with anguish.
Instinctively, Elizabeth reached out to touch his arm. ‘Yes! She is asleep upstairs.’
‘And is she well? I apologise that I did not see your message sooner. If anything has occurred because I was unable to help…’
She could read the anxiety in his expression, hear it in his voice. What happened? he was really asking. Was she assaulted by any of the scavengers, deserters, or criminals who were there today?
‘She is well, I promise.’ I need to tell him all of it. ‘Come in.’
Leading the way to the parlour, she lit a branch of candles on a side table. There! Now she could see him better. Swiftly, she told him the tale of the day’s dramatic events, concluding, ‘And now they are all asleep upstairs, Juliana in my bed, and Jem and Harry in what was her bedchamber.’
The tension in his shoulders had visibly decreased as he listened. ‘Thank goodness! When I think of what might have occurred—and all because your message was forgot, and only given to me when we were all departing. No-one can even tell me who received it, but they knew that it was this morning. Hours ago!’ He took her hands in his. ‘I am truly sorry, El—Mrs Milton.’
His hands were warm, and he was caressing her palms in a most distracting manner. She could not resist watching, mesmerised, the movement of his thumbs, forward and back, forward and back, sending thrills through her. Lifting her eyes to his, she felt a wave of need so intense, it almost overpowered her.
‘Elizabeth!’ With a muffled groan, he pulled her close, and she lost herself in the glorious beauty of his kiss. When they parted, both were breathing rather noisily, and somehow, her shawl was on the floor. His eyes swept over her body, imperfectly concealed by the thin white nightgown, and he groaned again, this time stepping back and picking up her shawl. ‘Take it!’ he muttered tersely, turning his back.
She wrapped it around herself, glorying in the effect she was having on him. ‘You may turn back around,’ she said primly.
He did so, and announced with studied formality, ‘The duchess is to host a soirée tomorrow evening to celebrate the Allies’ victory. Might I accompany you and your daughter?’
‘You may, although I think that my daughter will not wish to socialise for a little while.’ She will not leave this house while her beloved Harry is in it. I know my Juliana! And besides, she is sunburnt.
He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘Until the morrow.’ The look he gave her was full of intent, but he had himself under tight control. He stalked down the hallway and out into the street without another word.
Locking the door behind him, Elizabeth rested her head against it for a moment. Her heart was singing, her body was on fire, and her mind was all confusion.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Not since she was nineteen had Elizabeth been so excited for an evening engagement. War was won, Juliana was safe, and Charles was taking her to a soirée. Elizabeth told Sandrine about the invitation, and her maid had nodded sagely. ‘He is a good man, Mr Thornton.’
Elizabeth had blushed furiously and muttered something vague. Why is it that servants always know exactly what’s what?
‘You could wear the purple dress from your chest,’ Sandrine had suggested, making Elizabeth gasp.
And now, here she was, holding it up against herself. It would need to be re-made, of course, because the silhouettes of twenty years ago were no longer fashionable. But it had been perfectly preserved in Elizabeth’s marriage chest since she had had it made in those few weeks of happiness she had enjoyed with Jack. Inside the chest there was also a length of fine silver lace, which would make a perfect overdress. Elizabeth could almost see the final version. After all these years of sewing for Juliana, she was a skilled needlewoman. This time, though, she was sewing for herself.
She worked all day, stopping only briefly to eat and visit the invalids. There was something apt, she thought, in the fact that she was taking an old dress from her time with Jack and reworking it for an evening with Charles. Her marriage to Jack had formed her, and he would always be part of her, but now it was time for a new beginning.
By the time her bath was ready, the dress was, too. The underdress was of rich amethyst satin, and she had made it up with little puffed sleeves and a flattering neckline—not too low, and yet low enough. She had covered the bodice and sleeves with the silver lace and then caused it to fall away from the high waist in a glittering overskirt. She had finished the gown with a delicate ribbon of lace around her trim waist. It was perfect.
After Elizabeth had completed her bath, Sandrine dressed her hair, lifting it up from her neck into an elegant chignon and using the irons to shape her side curls into artless perfection. Elizabeth decided not to wear any jewellery, as the intricate pattern on the silvery lace was enough detail by itself. To add jewels would simply make her look overdone.
Charles’s reaction was all she could have wished. Sandrine showed him into the parlour, where Elizabeth awaited, seated perfectly still. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he murmured, ‘You are so beautiful!’ as he bent over her hand. Her heart warmed at the words, and at the fire blazing in his eyes.
So are you! His boots shone with a dark gloss where they hugged his muscular calves. If there was dancing, their hostess would no doubt provide dancing slippers later. His legs were encased by fine silk breeches, buttoned at the knee. His shirt was snowy white, and under his black dress coat, she saw a dashing waistcoat of green silk.
There! I was right to work on the dress all day.
They could not leave, of course, until he had visited the invalids. Elizabeth and Juliana accompanied him into the suddenly crowded bedchamber. Charles removed his jacket to help the wounded men with their needs, moving Jem gently into a sitting position without jarring his leg and accompanying Harry to see to his needs. With no manservant in the house, this had been an unanticipated difficulty. ‘I see I shall have to return tomorrow,’ Charles jibed, ‘for I am to be nursemaid to this pair!’
‘Oh, I think you will be here tomorrow whether we need you or not,’ Harry shot back instantly. He is no fool, Harry. Charles simply grinned and picked up his coat.
‘My fan is in the parlour,’ Elizabeth told him as they walked down the stairs.
‘I shall need your help with this coat,’ he replied. ‘This fashion for coats worn tight across the shoulders means it’s a devil of a thing to get into unaided.’
Especially with shoulders as broad as yours.
They were in the parlour, and the door swung gently shut behind them. This is where we kissed last night. She caught her breath. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, for he stepped towards her, and instinctively their hands reached for each other. He bent his head and kissed her, first gently, lightly, then with the same passion they had shared before. His arms were around her, while her hands swept up the line of his shirt sleeves to explore the shape and texture of those arms and shoulders.
A long time later, they paused, forehead to forehead, body to body, arms clasped around each other to guarantee continued alignment of their hips, one with the other. She could not help but smile and saw that he did the same. They leaned back, separating slightly to gaze at each other.
‘What have you done to me?’ he murmured, still smiling.
‘I am sure I do not understand you!’ she lied.
His smile dimmed. ‘Understand this. Since I saw you again in my mother’s house, you have turned over everything I had believed, all my plans for a contented life as a bachelor.’
She could not move, could not breathe. Is this the moment?
‘I did remember you from years ago—the beautiful Miss Hunter, a diamond of the first water. Alas, you never favoured me!’ He tempered his words with a rueful smile. ‘Now I cannot say that you wounded me deeply, but I did know back then that dashing, engaging boys like Jack Milford were more skilled at the art of flirtation than I ever could be.’ He took a breath. ‘Nevertheless, my feelings for you now are true, and lasting, and deep.’
He took a step back, and his expression changed, became shuttered. ‘I know that you loved your husband, and I would never seek to replace him in your affections, but I hope that, after all these years of mourning, you might allow yourself to think of your own happiness again.’ He lifted her hand. ‘I can promise to make your happiness my life’s work, in the hope that someday you might share the true feelings I hold for you.’
She made haste to correct him. ‘I loved Jack, it is true, but he has been gone for more than half my life. And recently, I have discovered that my heart is whole again.’ She smiled shyly at him, hoping he would understand.
His eyes blazed with emotion. ‘Then, you will have me?’ He tutted at himself. ‘I am saying everything in the wrong order.’ He squared his shoulders and adopted a formal tone. ‘Mrs Milford, I love you. I love your beautiful face and your generous heart.’ The formality was slowly dissipating, leaving in its wake only sincerity and shaken emotion. ‘I love your loyalty to your daughter and the sacrifices you have made for her sake. I love your courage, and your kind heart, and your keen mind.’
She was trembling. It was simply too wonderful.
He lifted her hand. Was that a slight tremor in his? ‘Will you marry me?’
She nodded mistily. ‘I will,’ she managed. She had barely finished the words before she was in his arms again. They kissed ferociously, mouths, arms, and bodies fusing in sublime synchronicity. There is something I must say! Through a haze of sensual delight, she managed to hold herself back for a moment.
Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set Page 54
