What were they, exactly? She could barely understand them herself. She cared for Joseph deeply and could never have survived the past few months without his constant devotion and unwavering understanding. He had done everything possible to ease her sorrows and help her feel happy again.
She could not bear to hurt him. No, she would never do that. Not in a thousand years would she throw him over again for the sake of a passionate affair that had been cursed from the beginning.
At the same time, her heart was racing with both terror and uncertainty, for against all odds, she was about to see Leopold Hunt again—when she had expected him to live only in her memories for the rest of her life.
She was pulling on a new set of gloves when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and soft words in her ear. “Are you sure you are all right? Perhaps we shouldn’t go. I will stay here with you if you prefer.”
Rose faced her husband. “That will not be necessary. I am over him, truly. It will be awkward, that is all. We came here to represent Austria, and we must be present at the duchess’s ball. Perhaps General Hunt will not even attend.”
She felt Joseph’s concerned gaze follow her as she strode purposefully to the door.
* * *
Rose and Joseph arrived at the ball just as a regiment of Scottish Highlanders took to the floor to dance a reel to the traditional music of the bagpipes.
Afterward, Rose joined her husband in a waltz and tried not to be distracted by all the scarlet uniforms of the British officers and the slightly darker crimson uniforms of the Petersbourg army.
As her husband led her around the room, she resisted every temptation to look left or right when they swirled past the crimson colors, for any one of those brave men could have been Leopold.
When the dance ended, they each enjoyed a glass of champagne while the duchess addressed the rumors that Napoleon had marched his army into Belgium that very night. According to their hostess, they were not rumors, but facts. She was not even certain if Wellington would arrive at the ball, though he had promised to attend.
Tension simmered in the air, as if at any moment cannon fire would erupt in the streets. Each time a dance came to an end, half the guests expected the officers to draw their swords and dash out the door.
Despite all that—or perhaps because of it—Joseph was exceedingly attentive the entire night. For that reason, Rose had to sneak any wayward glances in the direction of the officers from Petersbourg. She did not wish her husband to catch her searching for General Hunt, but how could it be helped? They were on the brink of war and many of these brave soldiers would soon be facing the famous French Imperial Guard and the terror of oncoming mounted lancers.
Leopold … If she encountered him tonight, what would she say to him?
As the evening wore on, however, she began to relax, for there had been no sign of him. Perhaps he knew she and Joseph were invited and did not wish to interfere in her new life.
Or perhaps he was busy with his troops preparing for what lay ahead in the coming days.
It was midnight when the Duke of Wellington finally strode through the doors, appearing relaxed and confident, as if it were any other evening. His calm presence helped to alleviate the tension in the room, but the exhale was short-lived, for not long after the guests filed into the dining room, a messenger arrived to inform the duke that Bonaparte had advanced on the nearby village of Charleroi and the Prussians had been engaged in a skirmish.
A number of officers and dignitaries departed the ball soon afterward. Wellington followed the Duke of Richmond into his study to inspect a map of the region.
By that time a low hum of panic had engulfed the ballroom and the guests began to quickly clear out.
Rose found herself comforting Lady Brent, a woman she had just met that night. She was the mother of a young officer who had dashed out of the ballroom in high spirits, eager to meet Napoleon on the battlefield. In his excitement he had forgotten to say good-bye to her.
“He is no doubt a very brave young man,” Rose said as she dug into her reticule to offer the woman a handkerchief. “You have every reason to be proud.”
The woman accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, but could not stop weeping.
“There, there, now,” Rose gently said, taking her into her arms.
At that moment her eyes lifted and she locked gazes with Leopold. He had just entered the ballroom and was passing by in a hurry, less than ten paces away. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Her heart stood still in her chest as she took in the sight of him in his striking officer’s uniform with brass buttons and shiny, polished Hessians. For a blazing few seconds of recognition, he stared at her, then quickly swept his hat off his head, tucked it under his arm and bowed to her. Then he continued on his way in obvious haste to deliver a message to someone.
The woman stopped weeping and stood back to wipe her eyes again. “Thank you so much,” she said. “You have been very kind to me tonight.”
Rose, who felt as if she had been knocked over by a runaway carriage, fixed all her attention on Lady Brent. “I am sure everything will be fine. We must be brave and remain hopeful.”
“I shall.” Lady Brent glanced around the room. “But where is your husband, the archduke?” she asked. “I hope he wasn’t called away. Will he be fighting with the allied forces?”
Rose looked around for Joseph but he was nowhere to be seen. Where was he?
“No. We are here only as ambassadors, and I am not sure where he is at the moment. Perhaps he has gone off with Wellington and Richmond to discuss a new strategy.”
“But didn’t your husband fight at Leipzig?”
“Yes,” she replied, “but he has retired his commission.”
All at once, Rose sensed a presence behind her. Someone was waiting to speak to her …
Lady Brent nodded to acknowledge the person, and thanked Rose again for her kindness before politely taking her leave.
Rose had no choice but to turn around and face the man she had once loved with all her heart and soul. The very man who had taken her innocence, then betrayed her in the worst possible way and gone to prison for life.
Chapter Twenty-six
Rose gazed at Leopold for a blazing hot moment while the room seemed to spin circles all around her. He was unthinkably handsome in his crimson dress uniform, his hat still tucked under his arm. Then all at once she was being dragged by the wrist toward a back room, her heels clicking fast across the floor, following because she had no choice. He was swift and strong and fiercely determined to escape curious eyes, or perhaps to kidnap her, as he had once expressed a wish to do.
Was she afraid? No. And this did not surprise her, for he was the most passionate man she had ever known.
He slung her through the door and up against the wall—as if twirling her through a dance—and kicked the door shut behind him. There was a single candle flickering in a wall sconce, otherwise they would be standing in complete darkness. Not that the darkness would have stopped him. She doubted anything would have.
He threw his hat on the floor, braced both palms flat against the wall on either side of her head and looked down at her with wild, panting fury.
“How could you do it, Rose?” he asked. “How could you marry him? You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”
“I am not yours!” she replied, fighting to push his arms out of the way, but they were strong, unyielding, and held her captive. “I was never your possession, and if I had known about your intention to marry Alexandra, I would not have given myself to you as I did in the orchard. I regret it now. You lied to me!”
Suddenly, she was slamming her fists into his chest and slapping at his face with a wild rage that infested her heart and mind like an incurable disease. She swiped at him violently and lashed out with all the pent-up frustration and hurt that had plagued her since that horrendous moment when she watched her brother knock him to the ground beside the reflecting pool at the palace.
Only then did she realize that he had not tried to defend himself or restrain her. He had weathered her strikes without flinching, as if he knew she needed to get it all out. When she couldn’t fight any longer—for she was miserable and too exhausted to continue—he relaxed his shoulders and backed up against the opposite wall. He faced her squarely.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I could undo it, I would. I would turn back time and confess everything to you.”
“But you can’t go back,” she replied. “None of us can, so we must go forward. I have married Joseph and that is the end of it. The end of us.”
He shook his head slowly back and forth. “No, I will not accept that.”
“You have no choice!” she shouted. “But what am I saying? Of course you wouldn’t understand that. You’ve never lost a battle in your life. You don’t know how to accept defeat.”
“Not when it comes to you, Rose. I told you before that I would never give up, and I won’t.”
“But you have to. We both have to, because I am a married woman now. I am wed to a decent man who forgave me for everything I did to him. He came to my rescue, while you were the cause of my downfall. He has been kind and patient and devoted, and he, too, said he would never give me up, and he hasn’t. He has fought for me, Leopold, and he has won.”
Leopold squeezed his eyes shut, clenched a leather-gloved hand in a fist and pressed it hard up against his forehead. “I cannot hear those words from you, Rose.” He opened his eyes, stepped forward and crowded her up against the wall. “Come away with me. We can leave here together. Tonight.”
“You don’t mean that,” she argued in a great rush of sensual awareness. She could not forget the pleasures he aroused in her, and the urge to touch him was deep and penetrating, but she labored hard to cling to her integrity. “You are here to lead the Petersbourg cavalry. You gave your word to my brother.”
He bowed his head and nodded. “Afterward, then. When it’s over. I’ll come back for you.”
She shook her head. “No, you cannot. You would be a fugitive. You need to let me go, Leopold, and leave here. If you truly care for me, you will not tempt me like this. You will not try to turn me into an adulteress.”
A bugle horn sounded somewhere outside on the street, and his gaze darted to the door.
“You have to go,” she pleaded, laying a hand on his cheek. “It’s your duty. Please.”
For a long moment he stood with his forehead touching hers, his chest heaving with despair. “My duty…” he repeated. Then he stepped back and picked up his hat, pressed it onto his head. “Tomorrow I will do my duty for king and country. I will lead the Petersbourg army into battle, and I will fight with all that I am as a man … but I will never let you go, Rose. Never.”
With that he walked out, leaving her alone to wrestle with her passions and try to recover her composure before she faced her husband.
A moment later she reentered the ballroom just as Joseph bumped shoulders with Leopold on the way out.
“Was that General Hunt?” Joseph asked as he approached.
She swallowed uneasily. “Yes, it was. He stopped to say hello. He is riding out with the troops tomorrow. I wished him luck.”
“That is all that was said?”
She was thankful there was no accusation in Joseph’s tone, but rather a note of curiosity and a genuine concern for her feelings.
She nodded and hoped her cheeks would not betray her. They felt very flushed. She was still shaken by her encounter with Leopold, but was determined not to reveal it.
“I think I would like to go back to the hotel now,” she said.
“I have already sent for the carriage.”
Joseph offered his arm, and as they left the ball and climbed into the vehicle, the distant sound of trumpets and drums calling the troops to march did nothing to help Rose relax, for a new war with Bonaparte was now imminent, and she could think of only one thing …
Leopold.
* * *
Very little news from the front reached Brussels the following day, and there was a strange, almost eerie silence in the town. The previous night, dozens of gun carriages had rumbled through the cobblestone streets, trumpets blared, and thousands of soldiers prepared to march. At the same time, anxious civilians attempted to leave Brussels in fear of a French occupation should the allied forces meet with defeat.
That morning Rose accompanied her husband to the home of a British viscount and diplomat, Lord Rothwell, who was posted to Brussels with his wife and four children. They would wait for news there, but soon found themselves helping to arrange for tents to be set up in the park to house the wounded, who were sure to arrive soon if a battle began, which everyone expected it would.
It was not easy for Rose to keep her emotions concealed as she worked with her husband, loading food and bedding onto carts to be delivered to the hospital. Not an hour went by when she did not think of Leopold and wonder where he was and what he was doing.
Nothing dangerous, perhaps. It had been deathly quiet all day.
If only Bonaparte would lose his courage and retreat. She knew it was an impossible dream, however, for the French emperor was nothing if not fearless to the point of recklessness. His overconfidence defied reason.
But he had never faced Wellington in battle before, she reminded herself—and with her own countrymen, as well as the Dutch-Belgians and Prussians to support Wellington, it would be a fierce battle, no doubt about it.
“You look lost in thought,” Joseph said to her shortly after luncheon at the viscount’s home when she stood at the open front window looking out at the park.
Startled by her husband’s appearance beside her, Rose shook away her worries and pasted on a smile. “I wish we would hear something. It’s difficult not knowing what is happening.”
Just then the sound of cannon fire rumbled like thunder in the distance. Once … twice … then another.
“God in heaven,” Joseph said. “There it is. A battle has begun.”
“Where do you think they are?” she quickly replied. “How far away?”
“A few miles at least.”
Lady Rothwell and all her children came running into the front parlor. “We heard something,” she said. “Is it what we think it is?”
“Yes, it is.” Joseph moved closer to the window and watched the horizon with concern.
* * *
The thunder of the guns continued relentlessly all afternoon, yet still no news arrived.
Rose could barely sit still. She wandered from room to room, restless beneath the terrible weight of her anxieties. Leopold figured prominently in most of them as she remembered how he once described his experiences in the war. Once, his horse had been shot out from under him, and on another occasion, he had been slashed by a bayonet.
Another burst of cannon fire—growing dangerously closer—caused the walls to tremble. The chandelier above her head swung lightly back and forth before a few bits of plaster dropped from the ceiling into her hair. Was the battle encroaching on the city?
Her stomach was in knots.
* * *
When, by early evening, there was still no news about the fight, Joseph lost his patience.
“I am a trained cavalry officer,” he said, buttoning his coat in a hurry and reaching for his hat. “I cannot sit here knowing nothing. I will follow the sound of the guns and perhaps be of some assistance.”
Rose quickly stood. “No! You mustn’t go. Please stay here. I am sure we will hear something soon.”
It was one thing to imagine Leopold risking his life a few short miles away. It was quite another to allow her husband to walk out the door to join the madness. For surely that’s what it must be on that distant ba
ttlefield …
Just then, a carriage pulled up in front of the viscount’s house. They all rushed to the window.
“It is our neighbor, Mr. Brasseur,” Lord Rothwell said. “His son marched off with one of the Belgian regiments early this morning. Perhaps he has news.”
Rose looked sharply at her husband who returned her uneasy gaze.
She was greatly relieved when he began to remove his coat and hat.
* * *
Mr. Brasseur did indeed carry important news. He explained that the Prussians had fought Napoleon’s army at the village of Ligny that day, while Wellington and the Petersbourg army fought a separate battle at Quatre Bras.
The Prussians had been soundly defeated and were retreating, possibly back to Germany, while the British allied forces had fared somewhat better, but there were many losses, and they were now marching north to the village of Waterloo to regroup and prepare to meet the French again. This time under the command of Napoleon himself.
“Are the Prussians done for?” Joseph asked as he sat with the viscount and Mr. Brasseur at the table in the dining room. “Is there any chance they will swing around and join with Wellington in time to present a united front?”
“It doesn’t look good,” Mr. Brasseur said. “I heard that Boney sent one of his field marshals after them to chase them down and finish them off.”
Joseph slammed his fist down on the table and caused the wine decanter and all the glasses to jump.
Rose, who was standing at the sideboard listening to the conversation, wished she could ask about the Petersbourg cavalry. Had they taken part in the battle? Did they charge? Exactly how many losses occurred?
She glanced down at her husband, who was seething with rage. “Damn him! Damn Napoleon’s brilliance and speed! We should have been better prepared. We shouldn’t have divided our forces.”
Princess in Love Page 19
