Then the two newlywed couples headed for the feast outside. Vevina was delighted to see how many friends she and Stewart had, for the hall was packed with soldiers all there to wish them well.
Vevina thought with a pang of all the ones not present, and her eyes filled, especially when she saw Mitchell bouncing baby Jack on his knee, and helping Bob eat.
“Tears on your wedding day, Vevina?” Stewart suddenly drawled. “I’m sorry if it hasn’t turned out the way you wished.” He sounded cold and distant, and she turned her pained violet eyes to him.
“I’m sorry for your sake as well. I was just thinking about all the others who aren’t here. I’m going to miss Martha especially,” she said softly, swallowing hard to clear the lump in her throat.
Stewart looked away from her in embarrassment, and toyed with his wine-glass moodily for several moments, until he suddenly took her hand and stroked it tenderly.
As if Wilfred had read her mind, he stood up to start the toasts to the happy couple, and his third one was, “To all the friends we have lost. We wish they were here. And a fourth toast, to the new friends we will find, on our way to Paris!”
“Here, here!” Stewart called. He kissed Vevina soundly in front of the entire company.
Everyone was on their feet applauding Wilfred's toast, including Wellington himself, who bowed to the young man. Then he bowed to the couples, and said loudly enough for all to hear, "And now, if you will excuse me, I need to get back to seeing about that journey to Paris you've just been promised."
There was another round of applause, and Wellington gave a small wave and headed back up to his office.
"I'm sorry, love," he said quietly a moment later. "I don't mean to be so moody."
"It's all right. I understand. As Will said, we've lost a great deal, and there's still even more to be done. We both have a lot on our minds. And it's hard to think about all we've lost in the past, and yet try to be optimistic about the future."
She was not just talking about their dead comrades, but his lost love. Stewart assumed she was thinking of the man she should have married, but who had somehow let her down.
At that grim thought, he took another gulp of his wine, and set his jaw. Damn it, if Vevina wasn't in love with him, why had she married him? Just because of the child? And if she didn't love him now, what could he do to win her love?
He tried to make a show of having a good time in front of their friends, but Vevina saw him avoiding her gaze every chance he could.
Their wedding day passed by in a whirl of drinking, dancing, dining, and games. Vevina grew exhausted after having to sit up in a hard chair for so many hours listening politely to the many battle stories the men exchanged.
Much later, she finally climbed the stairs with her new husband. Vevina’s fears about the awkwardness of their wedding night never materialized, for Stewart fell into bed and began snoring the moment his head hit the pillow.
Even days later, he seemed very shy and deferential around her. They exchanged naught but hugs and kisses in the darkness, and Vevina longed for him to love her as he had done in the past.
One evening after a particularly passionate interlude, she pleaded, “Stewart, I need you!”
Stewart’s voice, hard with suppressed desire, gasped, “I can’t, the baby!”
“Don’t be silly, here, we can try this.”
Before he could protest further, she sat astride him, and hung on, massaging and caressing his rippling muscles until they both climaxed together in a shattering union which left them panting and spent.
Vevina kissed him, and he gently eased her off him and pulled her closely to his side. The window was open, and he allowed the cool evening air to cool their sweat-soaked bodies.
“Vevina, I would never wish to hurt you in any way. The baby is our first concern.”
“Is that why you've been holding back from me for so many days?" she asked in surprise.
He nodded, not willing to share his other concerns with her.
"Stewart, darling, I went all the way cross Spain and France, and returned in one piece. I’m fine. But perhaps you are disgusted with the prospect of fatherhood,” she whispered softly.
Stewart was on his knees beside her in a minute, holding her rounded belly with both hands.
“How could I be? You're more lovely than even,” he said, as he smothered her with kisses. “But I worry for your health and safety, as any good husband should.”
“Then also worry about my needs and desires, as any good husband and lover should,” she teased.
She reached down as she arched herself against him provocatively, until he pulled her up onto him again, and brought her soaring to new heights of joy.
Laying atop him, joyful and replete, yet still yearning for him, she wondered at the love that sparked between them when he allowed it. She wished he wouldn't hold back so, and wondered again if it was because of the other woman, or because he really did fear for her and the child within her.
She settled more comfortably against him, and decided it didn't matter. She loved him enough to risk opening up to him, heart and soul. Perhaps if she did, he might be willing to do the same, and fall in love with her in earnest.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Vevina settled into married life at Badajoz easily, spending the days tending the children, and Stewart’s things, much as she had done before.
Wilfred was now in their camp permanently, so she also helped him drill the men, and take care of the correspondence of both officers with the help of Francis Baines.
Stewart was still rather diffident by day, but their passionate nights continued, and he soon began to thaw towards Vevina.
He couldn’t believe the luck that had brought them together, the twist of fate which had given him a woman of such warmth, generosity, and beauty beyond his wildest dreams. His heart turned over every time he saw her, but fear froze his ability to be truly intimate.
His endless concerns about his worthiness haunted him day and night. He was sure they would never have been married had circumstances not thrown them together.
Worse still, he feared that the more he loved her, the more he risked losing. He had been tormented by fear the whole time she had been away. Now that he had her here, he could do nothing but think of being separated from her again. And not being able to bear the torment if he were.
One day after she had brought Stewart and Wilfred their midday meal, she had kissed him on the brow, and he had hugged her to him, and put his hand on her belly to feel the baby kick.
Their eyes had met warmly and Vevina would have told him how much she loved him had they been alone.
Instead she pulled away shyly, and went out to do the dishes.
“I must say, old man,” Wilfred commented, “I am so glad the two of you finally got married. You had a long wait, but I'm delighted that the misunderstanding between the two of you and my father was patched up.”
“Your father? He’s been dead for ages,” Stewart said, puzzled.
Wilfred reached into his tunic, and handed Stewart the miniature of the woman in the Gainsborough dress.
“Here, I want you to keep this. After all, she’s your wife now, and I can’t think of anything more romantic than a portrait of her from the first day you ever asked her to marry you.” He pressed the jewel into his hand.
Stewart gasped as he was able to study it more closely at last, and exclaimed, “The costume ball in Ireland! My God, that was Vevina?”
“Is Vevina, yes. Of course, old man, didn’t you realize?”
“And you were the masked young man in the billiard room....” Stewart murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Yes, indeed."
“But she turned me down! I was carried out by the servants like a whipped dog!” he exploded.
Wilfred frowned. “I don’t think that’s true. But you must admit, you did seem a bit drunk, and you had terribly poor timing, with her about to get engaged to Willoughby.
&
nbsp; "I'm not sure what happened. All I know is you were there one minute and gone the next. But I do know my father would have approved of whatever decision Vevina made, and been proud to have you as a son-in-law.”
Stewart was stunned. He ought to have been delighted to know he had married the woman of his dreams, but he was resentful of all the time he had wasted pining for someone who had had all the substance of air.
Vevina had turned him down, hadn’t even had the courage to face him at the time. She had led him on, then cast him aside….
Stewart tried to return the miniature, insisting it belonged to Wilfred, but the young man shook his head.
“No, you’ll need it for when you are separated. I tell you what, I’ll get Parks to make a sketch of you so she can have it for her locket. Vevina will have to go to Lisbon soon, if the army is marching on, and who knows when you'll see each other again.”
At that moment Stewart didn’t care, so bitter was his sense of betrayal. He thanked his brother-in-law curtly, and head for the stables. Maneuvers outside the city would be just the thing to take his mind off his teeming fury.
Chapter Forty
Stewart's sense of betrayal reached ever more vast proportions several days later, when a handsome lieutenant in a glittering new uniform called Willoughby arrived at the camp, and proceeded to fawn all over Vevina as if she were still available.
The young man had sobered up quite a bit, and still seemed quite sophisticated and glamorous, and certainly well bred, even if not very bright.
He sought out Vevina at every opportunity, and Stewart was conscious all the time of feeling extremely rough and ready in their refined company.
After a week of glowering silences, with Stewart rising early and falling into bed late, Vevina worked up the courage to comment, “You must be very busy these days.”
“Yes, Madame, and I would speak to you about that. We are moving on to besiege Salamanca, so you and Jeanne will have to go to Lisbon.”
Her eyes flew wide. “But Stewart, I’m not due for months yet! Please don’t send me away!” Vevina begged, hurt.
She was conscious of something having caused him to become distant, and wondered if it was Willoughby. She decided to brave his anger by mentioning his possible jealousy.
“If you're upset to learn that my former fiancee is in the camp, you have no reason to be suspicious or jealous, Stewart. The night of my engagement party, I knew I had made a mistake. I told him long before the er, upset in my family that I could never marry him.”
“But you said you were in love with someone else, long ago,” Stewart accused coldly.
“That’s true, but it wasn't Willoughby, I assure you. That was merely a merging of estates. And me being foolish enough to think that any man would do for marriage, if I was able to help run their estate and be a helpmeet.
"But as I've learned ever since we met, there is a great deal more to what happens between a man and a woman than balls and accounting. There's respect, regard, passion. Willoughby certainly never felt any of those things for me.
"He never tried to—"
She shook her head quickly. "No, he never really, and I certainly didn't let him the one or two times he attempted to be more, er, lover-like than just friends."
"I see." He felt only slightly mollified, however. If not Willoughby, then who…
"And he showed his true colors soon enough. He made no demur when I cancelled our engagement, and ran the other way as soon as we were attainted for treason."
"So then who…"
She shook her head. "Perhaps it was just a schoolgirl fantasy, a romantic ideal. We hardly knew each other, any more than Willoughby and I knew each other. In the society we were both raised in, we would have endless tea parties, balls, and make idle conversation. How could we really know what we felt, when all was superficial, and most men’s approaches to women nothing but empty flattery, or worse still, outright fortune-hunting?” she argued.
“But what if the person’s feeling had been sincere?” Stewart pressed.
“I long ago became disillusioned with the notion of the 'right' society, and I am a wealthy enough woman in my own right to marry where I choose. I would never marry someone I couldn’t admire and respect, if you're wondering about the two of us, Stewart,” Vevina said with a proud lift of her chin.
“Nor would I have agreed to marry you if I thought it would make you unhappy, baby on the way or not. You and I haven’t got a conventional marriage, it is true, but I’m proud of that. I would like to think we are friends, can share everything together, not just the marriage bed. So I am telling you now, darling, I don't wish to go to Lisbon just yet. I want to stay with you, help you, for as long as I can.”
“Do you not crave romance, Vevina?” Stewart challenged. “You are young, so much younger than myself. How can I ever be sure you won’t get your head turned by some young swain?”
Vevina countered, “How can I be sure of you, when you told Wellington and the entire camp you were in love with someone else?”
Stewart’s eyes went hard, and he sighed. “You can trust me. I could never leave you for her even if I tried.”
“Then you will have to trust me as well. You and I are married now, and that means two people united as one. You can't always get two yoked horses to pull in tandem, but I'm willing to do my best in our marriage if you are. Please don’t leave me behind, darling. Take me to Salamanca.”
In the end Stewart finally agreed to allow her to remain, though his pride would not let him admit that in truth, he simply couldn’t bear to be parted from Vevina.
The battle of Salamanca was a bloody one, lasting months as the glorious ancient city was divided into smaller and smaller fortresses. The French held on with grim determination even as more and more British troops flooded into the city. The bombardment went on for days, and many skirmishes were fought in and around the fortresses which dotted area.
Finally, Wellington, impatient to keep moving towards France, ordered the last of the city forts to be taken on the twenty-second of July, and a huge pitched battle took place.
The battle cost almost as many lives on the English side as at Badajoz, almost 5,000, but Wellington was convinced the tide was turning. In the clean up after the battle, his men counted 14,000 French dead. Everyone was certain that they were now well on their way to France.
Vevina had helped in the hospital tent throughout the long campaign, and now in the hot July sun, had stitched up the wounded until she could barely stand.
Stewart and Wilfred had received minor wounds, but poor Mitchell was badly hit, and lost his left arm at the elbow.
As usual, Vevina looked after him, nursing Mitchell back to health, and keeping him on at Headquarters to help with Stewart and the children.
Mitchell refused to go home, for in truth he had no real home to go to. Vevina and Stewart, and his small circle of friends, had become his whole life.
Wellington saw to it that he was generously pensioned out of the Army, and stayed on as their personal servant. Vevina knew that her time was drawing near, and she would need all the help she could get once the infant arrived.
She was also loath to part with the last of their mess mates who had been through so much. Not when she had lost so many already. Each death was like a scar upon her heart, and while she was grateful for all that her army service had brought her and Will, she couldn't wait until the war was finally over. It couldn't happen soon enough for either country, she thought with a sigh, as she tended to some French prisoners who would most likely never see France again even if the war ended that minute.
By August Vevina was so large, she was convinced she would pop, and once again Stewart insisted she should return to Lisbon.
“The French are all over this area, trying to launch another offensive. I won't lie, love. Their numbers are growing every moment. We may have to retreat anyway. Go now, while you can, rather than risk delays along the way. The last thing I want is to lose you because
you give birth in some squalid village all alone, or in a jostling coach.”
Vevina eventually agreed to go, but nature took things into her own hands. The day after their conversation, on the eighth of August, in the midst of preparing to leave, she was sure she had gone into labour.
She had just lifted a large pot off the cooking fire, when water gushed all over the floor of the tent, but not from the iron cauldron.
“Bob, get Jeanne, tell her to come to me, find Mitchell, and send him for Doc Gallagher,” Vevina called.
Then she fainted.
Wilfred and the doctor discovered her some time later, and brought her into the Colonel’s tent.
Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series) Page 33
