The Lost Love of a Soldier (17 page)

His movement became more urgent in reply, his hips working swiftly as her hands dropped to grip his waist and the muscle stirred beneath his skin.

Oh, he made her feel so… so…

He broke within her in a flood of warm sensation, and his weight came down on top of her, pinning her into the mattress. She did not mind. She liked the feel of him lying over her, and his presence between her thighs. But then after a moment he rose and rolled on to his back.

She rolled over to hold him, pillowing her head on his shoulder, her arm resting on his chest, as his came about her. She fell asleep thus.

~

It was warm the night of the ball, so they walked rather than tried to obtain the credit to hire a carriage. Paul had purchased a new dress for her though, on good will and I-owe-you payment. It was the fashion, white muslin, and the fabric was virtually translucent, light and fluid. It clung to her petticoats and her bust. She loved it. She felt beautiful in it, walking beside him, holding his arm.

Nearly every hour he’d spent at home, since they’d had that conversation in the park, had been spent in bed. He’d loved her constantly, and they’d laughed and kissed, and acted as though fate could not throw them a fatal hand.

And here they were, attending a ball, as if this was something normal in their lives. Although for both of them it should have been, if he had not become a soldier and she had not chosen to marry and follow the drum with him.

She and Penny had once crept downstairs and watched a ball at her father’s house, peering about the door which opened onto the musicians’ gallery. The images span through Ellen’s head.

Her parents’ world, her childhood, seemed as if it had been a fairytale now.

Her fingers gripped Paul’s arm more tightly as they climbed the steps to the door of the Duke of Richmond’s home, others were arriving too, some in carriages and some on foot.

“This way, sir, madam.” A man in livery bowed to them, and then held his arm towards the back of the entrance hall. “The ball is being held outside.”

“Outside?” Paul whispered, smiling as they followed his direction and walked on.

Ellen smiled up at him, wondering where on earth the ball was to be held. It was warm but the weather had been temperamental for weeks. What if it rained?

Another footman held out a hand directing them towards a narrow door. “This way.”

As they stepped outside into a small cobbled stable-yard another man in red livery directed them on, but now they could hear the sound of the party. Voices and muted music rose on the air. People talked and laughed. It came from a long building, which looked like a coach house. Another man held a door open for them, and others who followed them.

The inside looked nothing like a coach house. It had been papered with an ivy print; there was a wooden floor for dancing upon, and the room was illuminated by hundreds of candles.

The music she’d heard was a jig and when she passed through the crowd with Paul, she saw the Highlanders regiment in their kilts, dancing about their swords.

She looked up at Paul. He glanced down at her. “A worthy entertainment, but do not expect to see me manoeuvring a riffle to amuse you.”

She laughed.

“Come, let us find a drink and others we know.”

It was an exclusive company they walked through. Paul acknowledged several people and introduced her to a few. Then he whispered, “The Duke of Wellington,” leaning towards her.

“Oh.” She turned and looked. The Duke of Wellington stood across the room speaking with a number of women.

“And there is the Duke of Brunswick.” Paul nodded in another direction. Her gaze turned to the second commander. She knew Paul revered these men.

“Sir Thomas Picton is here too, look.”

She did. They all meant very little to her, but they were the men who would be responsible for making the right choices to keep Paul alive.

She looked up at him. “Do you hope for promotion if we win?”

He smiled. “I would not be adverse to it.”

“Then I will one day be a Colonel’s wife.” After their conversation in the park, neither of them had spoken of the possibility he might die. They were denying it. Ellen was glad.

“You may only hope.” His smile filled with warmth.

“Do you think my father might receive us then?”

“I would need to be a General and have earned myself a dukedom like Wellington, for your father to accept me.”

She turned and faced him as the music changed tempo and the Highlanders cleared the floor searching for partners among the women.

“Dance with me, Captain Harding, before anyone else might spot us and ask me.”

“Of course Mrs Harding.” With that she was swept away into a waltz. It was most beautiful when she danced it with her husband, holding his gaze and feeling the gentle pressure of his hands gripping her as they span. This night was precious. She would hold on to the memory of it.

When the dance came to its conclusion, Captain Montgomery appeared beside them and held out his hand. “I claim the next, ma’am.”

She smiled and agreed, though as she moved away she looked back over her shoulder at Paul. He smiled. It wrenched her heart to walk away from him
. Have fun
he mouthed silently. She did not feel as though she could without him. But then she remembered Captain Montgomery would be fighting soon too. He smiled at her over-brightly. She focused her attention on him. He deserved that much when he was to go to war.

When the dance ended, the Lieutenant Colonel came to ask for her hand, she even felt more disposed to be kind to him. After all, everyone was at risk on a battlefield, and he was not so bad, he was polite when he did speak to her. It was just his stare she did not like. As they danced she looked across his shoulder, while his gaze seemed to hover on the curve of her jaw and her neck.

She was glad, though, when the dance was over, and then she clung to Paul’s arm and lifted to her toes to whisper in his ear. “If anyone else asks me to dance, say, no, say you wish to keep me for yourself.”

He looked down at her with a question in his eyes. “But there are a couple of hundred men in here, Ellen, all seeking pretty partners and a moment to escape.”

He made her feel guilty, and for the first time as she glanced around the makeshift ballroom, she realised there was a forced, overly exuberant feeling within it. All these men were a little afraid but being brave and forcing fear aside.

She looked up at Paul and realised he was too. That was why they’d spent most of the week in bed. “I’m sorry, I shall dance again if anyone wishes me to. But first will you take me to get some lemonade?”

There was a lot of high-pitched laughter in the room, from both men and women, and many of the young officers drank heavily.

She was sorry for them. All of them.

When they reached the refreshment table, Paul accepted a small sculpted glass in the shape of an open tulip and handed it to her. The lemonade’s tartness tingled on her tongue. It was cool and refreshing as the room was hot with so many people gathered.

They turned as the orchestra struck up another jig to jubilant calls from the crowd, and the Highlanders came forth again to entertain.

Paul drank the lemonade too. It was only sweetened flavoured water. He was avoiding the wine. She looked about the room – most of the senior officers present were avoiding it too.
They
awaited the moment they were called to fight.

Paul’s fingers gripped her elbow. “Let’s watch.” He drew her forward. The men stepped and danced over crossed swords which they’d laid out on the floor. The crowd kept gasping and then laughing as the Highlanders’ feet moved between the blades, while clapping along. But again, there was that otherworldly abandonment in the atmosphere.

She leaned into Paul’s side more closely, and his arm unusually came about her, his fingers clasping at her waist as they continued to watch. She pressed her temple to his shoulder, still watching the men but feeling love sweep through her blood. She was so much happier than she had thought it ever possible to be.

When the jig had finished, she would have asked Paul to dance with her again but one of the Highlanders came over to her and asked for her hand. She could not refuse, not now she’d realised what tonight meant.

After she’d danced with the Highlander, Paul’s Lieutenant Colonel came to ask for her hand in the next waltz, and so again she had to leave Paul. Her heart longed for him all the time she danced, but she tried to smile, and speak brightly. These men were willing to give their lives for her and others.

She was breathless when the Lieutenant Colonel returned her to Paul, his fingers gripping her elbow. The grip seemed to hold a little too long as they stood facing Paul. “Your wife, returned, Captain.”

Paul saluted, then bowed a little, and the Lieutenant Colonel’s grip fell away.

As he walked away, Ellen longed to hug her husband. She wished it was time they could go home but the ball was nowhere near ready to break up; it would look odd if they left so early.

“May I dance with you once more, or are you too tired?”

She smiled at his hesitant but urging look. “Not too tired. I would love to dance with you.”

“Come then.” His embrace was firm as he took her waist and her hand then span her into another waltz. Paul had said London society would be shocked to its core by the army’s addiction to the waltz. But everything was different here and when Ellen danced it with Paul, it was heaven.

When they finished, heat flushed into her cheeks. The air in the room had become overly warm, and not only from dancing.

She smiled at Paul, laughing as he breathed more heavily also and his blue gaze clung to hers. “We shall leave soon.”

Directly behind him there was a flurry of whispers. Ellen looked over his shoulder. The group of people about the Duke of Wellington were all turning to others and passing some message on while the Duke spoke with the Duke of Richmond, looking concerned.

Then both men turned to leave the room.

“Paul…” she said, gripping his arm a moment before he turned to look.

He did not hesitate when he saw what was happening but broke free and began crossing the room in quick strides. She followed, hurrying to keep up. Captain Montgomery was already there.

“What is it, George?”

“Word has come.”

As she heard the answer to Paul’s question, Ellen saw a man in a muddy uniform standing among a huddle of women who had been gossiping. Now they were offering him food and a drink, while behind him the orchestra still played and people danced, even as the news passed about the edges of the room.

“Napoleon has already struck our left side. He’s caught the Duke of Wellington off guard. We are to march. There will be a battle within hours.”

Ellen’s heart dropped into the soles of her dancing slippers.
No!

~

Ellen had known the battle would come. But knowing, and accepting it was a reality, were very different things. At the ball Paul had left her sitting in a chair for nearly an hour, as he’d found the other officers of the 52nd and then disappeared with the Lieutenant Colonel in search of the Duke of Wellington. When he’d returned, he’d carried an air of determination. His jaw had been taut and the grip on her arm firm, as he’d told her they must go home.

She’d known then they were not only leaving the ball, he was about to leave her.

Yet what could she do? Nothing. It would be wrong to plead with him to stay; it was his duty to go, and it was honourable and right. But the thought made her heart hurt so much.

What if he never comes back?

Ellen pushed the thought away – she did not want to even think it.

As they walked back through shadows the moonlight cast across the streets, she didn’t speak, afraid that if she did she would sob.

He was silent too. She could tell from the tenseness in his muscles and the intent look in his eyes as he stared ahead, his mind was on the future. On war.

When they reached their rooms, he changed immediately, stripping off his best uniform coat. Then he put on another. When he strapped his sword on, something tumbled over in her stomach. Horror. Fear. Her voice came out at last. She could not let him leave without speaking. “May I do anything to help you?”

He looked up at her as if only now he remembered she was there. He’d been leaning forward, throwing a few things into a canvas bag. “No, Ellen.” He straightened, then his eyes glowed a beautiful heated blue, and he opened his arms. “Come here.”

She went to him, her arms slipping about his lean waist. She could not hold the tears back.

“You will manage, Ellen, whatever happens, because you must. Do you understand?”

She nodded against his chest. She knew she would; he’d told her what to do if he did not come back. But… She did not wish to lose him. Physically she knew what to do… But, her heart… how could she breathe if anything happened to him?

His fingers stroked through her hair, knocking out pins as she wept against his uniform which smelt of soap and starch from washing.

He’d had it washed to wear into battle. To perhaps die…

She could not think of it.

But even as she pushed the thought away, her mind saw the image of the highwayman lying dead on the road, so many months ago.

Paul held her away a little, looking into her eyes. His own burned with concern – with the word he never spoke.
Sorry
. Only thrice in their marriage had they argued and on each occasion it had been Paul who began it, and mostly because he was tired and she had not been ready to dine, or had been speaking of something he considered mundane when he’d merely wanted to eat and rest. His mood afterward was always apologetic, but he never said sorry. Now though his touch said the words
I am sorry I brought you here
.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She must cease crying. It was making this worse for him. She met his gaze. “I do not regret marrying you, not at all. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought it possible to be.” He leaned and pressed a kiss on her lips, a chaste kiss. When he pulled away, she said. “And you will fight for our country, and I shall be proud of you, and you will come back and make me even happier.”