“I will,” she said, drawing it out. “I don’t care what it is. What is it?”
He laughed. “Open it and see, lass,” he said.
It was a pair of earbobs, tiny, delicately made, each set with an emerald.
“To wear with your new evening gown,” he said. “The one you wore last night.”
“Oh, Charlie,” she said, “they are lovely. And must have cost you the earth. You shouldn’t have. You don’t need to buy me expensive gifts.”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “Oh, yes I do, sweetheart. And they were the very smallest jewels in the shop.”
They both laughed as she wrapped her arms about his neck again. “Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t have a present for you.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, closing his arms about her. “You are a whole treasure, remember? My treasure.”
She rested her cheek against the bald top of his head as he hugged her. Then she sat back on her heels and looked at him, the earbobs in her hand.
“Tears?” he said softly, reaching out and wiping away one tear from her cheek with his thumb. “What is it, sweetheart?”
She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Oh, Charlie, nothing. And everything.” The muscles of her face worked against her will, and more tears followed the first as his arms came firmly about her. She slid her legs from under her and hid her face against his shoulder.
“What is it, sweetheart?” He was kissing the side of her face.
“Everything is changing,” she said when she could. “It is all different this time. I’m frightened, Charlie. Time is running out for us, isn’t it?”
He forced her chin up and dried her eyes with a large handkerchief. “Nothing has changed,” he said firmly. “We are still here together, lass, and we still love each other. And it is unlike you to talk this way. You never did before. I have always come back to you, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll come back this time too. And this will be the last time. I promise. We’ll go back to England and buy that cottage at last, and you shall have your own garden and dogs and cats and chickens and anything else you like. We’ll be there by this time next year.”
“I don’t care about the dogs and the cats,” she said, “or about the cottage or the garden. I only want you, Charlie. Tell me you will be there. Promise me you will. I can’t live without you. I wouldn’t want to live without you.”
“Sweetheart!” His voice held surprise as he caught her to him again. “Sweetheart, what has brought on this mood? It is most unlike you. Have I been neglecting you? Is that it? I have been, haven’t I? I’m so selfish. I thought you were enjoying yourself with Jennifer and with Lady Madeline and Eden and Mrs. Byng and Mrs. Slattery and all the rest. I’m sorry, lass. I’ve been neglecting you. But I love you, Ellen. You know I love you.”
She pushed away from him suddenly, grabbed the handkerchief from his hand, and dried her eyes with it. She smiled a red-faced and watery-eyed smile. “How foolish I am!” she said. “What a goose! And all over a pair of earrings. They are more precious to me than the costliest of diamonds, Charlie. Shall I put them on? Though they will look quite dreadful with this pink dress. But you must kiss me anyway and tell me how beautiful I look. And then I want you to tell me all those old stories about your childhood. The fishing stories, and the Christmas stories. Will you?”
“What a silly lass you are,” he said, taking her free hand as she rose to her feet to find a mirror, and lifting it to his lips. “You have heard those stories a hundred times. Go and put the earrings on, then, sweetheart, and come for your kiss.”
She sat curled in to his body for the rest of the evening, his arm about her shoulders. And she played absently with the buttons on his waistcoat, and laughed at his stories, and kissed his chin while determinedly shutting from her mind unwilling memories of a strongly muscled arm and a broad shoulder well above the level of her own, and of laughing green eyes and fair wavy hair. And of that cologne that he had worn also the night before.
Chapter 5
THROUGH MAY AND THE EARLY PART OF JUNE in that fateful year of 1815, it might have seemed that the predictions made by sons to anxious mothers, and husbands to wives, and brothers to sisters, that nothing would come of Napoleon’s escape from Elba and the King of France’s flight to Ghent, were quite right. All would pass over peacefully, they said. Old Boney would never be able to gather together a large enough army to threaten the one the Duke of Wellington was amassing in Belgium and the Prussian one that Marshal Blucher was bringing to his assistance. And even if he could, he would think twice about attacking the forces led by two such formidable generals.
And yet rumors persisted that the French army led by their emperor himself was larger than ever and that it was marching on Belgium. Some rumors even developed into scares and panics. The French were over the border already and marching on Brussels, Napoleon at their head. No one ever believed the rumors, of course, and scoffed at those who did. But still, one never knew. One never knew quite where the Corsican monster might rear his head. If he could escape from confinement on Elba-and had not British soldiers been his guards?-he could also march an army on Brussels and arrive before anyone was ready for him.
But despite everything, and despite the persistent gaiety of Brussels and of the Duke of Wellington himself, the preparations went on. Those battalions and brigades already in Belgium drilled and readied themselves for what they knew might well be the battle of their lives. Other battalions poured into the country almost every day, some of them made up almost entirely of raw troops, and took up their billets at Liedekerke or Schendelbeke or Enghien or Grammont or wherever else in the vicinity of Brussels they could be squeezed in. And the Peninsular veterans who had gone to America and whom the duke needed so badly were on their way back.
And always, it seemed, artillery poured across the English Channel and rumbled ominously over the countryside to remind those who denied the fact that war was indeed imminent. Wellington complained constantly to London that the amount of artillery he was receiving was woefully inadequate, but there was quite enough to dampen the spirits of all those who witnessed its arrival.
And still the entertainments went on: balls, theater parties, court parties, reviews of the troops, excursions to places of interest, afternoon picnics, moonlight picnics. Young men who knew that their days might be numbered danced and flirted with determined gaiety. Young ladies who refused to believe that war was coming but who secretly could not believe their own self-deception gave themselves up to the pleasure of being feted by so many attentive and splendidly uniformed gentlemen.
Everyone knew what was coming. Most refused to believe it or to admit that they believed it.
The Earl of Amberley waited for his wife to finish nursing their daughter and set her down, sleeping, in her crib one afternoon after they had been out walking in the park. He laid down their son, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder after protesting that he was not tired and did not want to go to bed. He took his wife’s hand and led her from the nursery to her sitting room.
“Poor Christopher,” she said, laughing. “He would be so cross to know that he had fallen asleep even without his tea. He worked too hard this afternoon feeding the swans and running back and forth on the bank when they swam away. Are we going to have ours here, Edmund, instead of in the drawing room? How cozy!”
“I want to talk to you,” he said, tugging on the tasseled bell-pull to summon the tea tray.
“That sounds ominous.” She smiled at him and reached out a hand for his so that he would sit beside her on the love seat.
“I think we may have to go home soon,” he said, taking her hand in both of his and seating himself.
“To Amberley?” Her face paled. “Is it coming soon, then?”
“It is coming closer,” he said, attempting to smile.
“But we cannot leave Dominic,” she said. “He is why we came, Edmund. And we cannot force Madeline to leave. She would have the hysterics. Besides, we will be quite safe here, will we not?”
