The Waltzing Widow Read online

  The pulse beat dully in her throat at the thought that Lord Kenmare might care something for her, but she shook her head. She thought that she knew better than Lady Cecily the truth of the matter. She had seen warmth and friendliness in Lord Kenmare's eyes and he had always shown her the greatest consideration. He had made quite plain that he wanted her physically. But not once had he ever given any sign that his emotions ran deeper. Oh, perhaps, when he had kissed her fingers earlier that day, she had been positive of seeing more. But her certainty had faded, until now she questioned that she had really seen anything at all in the earl's eyes.

  Tears threatened to close her throat, and she swallowed, dismayed by her own lack of stoicism. She was more worn down than even she had suspected.

  Lady Cecily bit off a sharp exclamation and doubled with the pain of birth. Lady Mary forgot herself then, because events were suddenly escalating. After a swift assessment, she called to the hovering maid and issued a series of rapid orders even as she began rolling up her sleeves.

  * * * *

  When Lord Kenmare entered the house he was immediately accosted by Lady Mary. She greeted him with outstretched hands, and when he took hold of them, she pressed his fingers. “Thank God! We heard that the French were in the town. I ... we feared that you might have come into some jeopardy,” she stammered.

  Lord Kenmare smiled warmly at her. “I am grateful for your concern, my lady. As it turns out, some of the French are indeed in town, but as prisoners under the escort of our fine dragoons.''

  "But this is marvelous news!” Lady Mary exclaimed, color flying to her cheeks with her excitement. “Surely that must mean that it is almost over and we have carried the day."

  "I wish that were so, but I fear that the end of the tale is still to be worked out,” Lord Kenmare said. He realized that he was still holding her hands in his and he felt all sorts of fool.

  She must think him the most graceless idiot alive, he thought, and awkwardly stepped back from her.

  Lady Mary felt the stiltedness of his movement and she flushed. Obviously she had discomfited him by clinging to him in such an ungenteel fashion. With trembling fingers she smoothed her skirt to cover her discomposure. “I ... I have news for you, my lord. You have become the uncle of a fine lusty boy,” she said.

  "What?'’ The earl stared hard at her in mingled disbelief and gladness. He took a hasty step and caught her elbows. “My lady, is it true? My God! And Cecily—is she...?"

  Lady Mary laughed at his agitation. “Yes, it is indeed true. Lady Cecily is quite well and she is asleep now. If you like, you may look in on them both."

  The earl let her go and he loosened his cravat slightly. He had a somewhat dazed expression on his face. “No, no, I shall not disturb them. But when? I was gone only a few hours."

  Lady Mary went to the decanter to pour a glass of wine, which she offered to him. “Lady Cecily was apparently feeling some discomfort for a little time before your departure, but she did not wish to spread what could possibly be another false alarm. She said that there had been too many of those in recent days.''

  Lord Kenmare accepted the glass of wine and laughed. “That is just like her. What an idiot Cecily is,” he said in a tone of deep affection.

  "Precisely so,” Lady Mary said, smiling at him. “I sent immediately for a midwife, of course, and the rest of it I shall leave to your imagination."

  Lord Kenmare eyed her appreciatively. “I am deeply grateful to be spared the details, ma'am. My stomach is not of the stoutest order, as you have so shrewdly guessed."

  Lady Mary's eyes laughed at him. “I was certain of it, my lord."

  After a few more words the earl went upstairs to visit his sister. He found her reclining tiredly in bed on her side, protectively curled about a small bundle. He quietly congratulated her, half-fearing that his presence would waken his tiny nephew.

  Lady Cecily was glad of his company and asked that he stay for a few moments. As they talked, Lord Kenmare learned that Lady Mary had delivered the baby herself just as the midwife had arrived."My God, but she is an amazing woman,'’ he said, awed.

  "Yes, she is. You would be a fool to allow her to get away, Robert,” Lady Cecily said. She smiled at her brother's sudden glowering frown. “I have hinted to her that you are not precisely indifferent toward her."

  The earl gaped at her. “Are you mad, Cecily? Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"

  "Blame it upon the extremity of the moment,” Lady Cecily said flippantly. She sobered immediately when she saw how much she had distressed him. “Pray do not look so anxious, Robert. Mary is very much in love with you, you know. There, I have given away her secret, which is very bad of me, but I am out of all patience with both of you for not knowing what is for the best."

  Lord Kenmare laughed grimly. “Another of your harebrained attempts to decide the fates, Cecy? I pity myself far less than that gallant unsuspecting lady. She is not so used to your little exaggerations as I."

  "No such thing. It is as I have told you, Robert. She could not lie to me at such a moment,” Lady Cecily said, complacently, glancing down at her small son. “I refuse to skirmish with you, Robert, so you might as well go sulk somewhere else."

  Lord Kenmare gave a reluctant laugh. “Very well, you shall have it your way. But I warn you, I shall be extremely ill-tempered if I learn that your thoughtlessness has led to hurt for Lady Mary.” Lady Cecily only smiled at him. He grunted and left her then to proud contemplation of her new son.

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  Chapter 26

  Sunday night was bitterly cold. Too exhausted to care, the Earl of Kenmare lay down on top of his bed without undressing and slept soundly until four o'clock a.m. Upon waking, he went immediately to the front windows to see what was passing in the park. He had the satisfaction of seeing baggage and soldiers still moving toward the field of battle, which he considered very favorable.

  With renewed energy he called his valet to him and set about the task of peeling off his rumpled clothing, bathing, and getting dressed again in riding coat and breeches. Afterward he went downstairs and breakfasted in solitary, none of the rest of the household being yet up. He loitered about the house until nearly six o'clock before he decided to ride toward the field of battle and gather what news he could. He left a message for the butler to relay to the ladies so that they would not be made unduly anxious by his absence, and he asked that preparations for leaving Brussels wait against his return.

  Astride his gelding, Lord Kenmare had not proceeded far when he chanced to see Mr. Creevey, and he stopped to speak to the gentleman. He reached down to catch the other gentleman's hand. “Good morning, sir. Have you any news?"

  Mr. Creevey's expression was somewhat strange and there was an odd light in his eyes. He wrung the earl's hand. “Aye, my lord! I have just come from the Marquis Juarenais's. He has told me that the French are defeated and have fled in great confusion.” He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “Pray excuse me, my lord. My feelings so overwhelm me that I hardly know if I am standing on my head or my heels."

  "It is certain?” Lord Kenmare asked sharply, his heart pounding.

  "Indeed, that is just what I asked of the marquis. He was asleep when Madame Juarenais took me to him to hear the news from his own lips. When he awoke and saw me by his bedside in doubt of the truth of the good news, he almost began to doubt himself. But then he recollected and it was all quite right,'’ Mr. Creevey said. “General Sir Charles Alten, who had commanded the Hanoverians, was brought in late at night, very badly wounded. One of his officers, who was on the field about eight o'clock last night when the French gave way and who had gone on with the Duke of Wellington in the pursuit as far as Nivelles, brought in this intelligence to Alten about three o'clock this morning, knowing that his general would wish to hear it."

  "It is wonderful news,” Lord Kenmare said hoarsely, hardly aware that he spoke aloud. He felt suffused with the most astonishing emotions and
he literally shook with the force of it all. “My God, what incredible glorious news!” Moistness gathered in his eyes and he blinked it back. Such was his euphoria that he never thought to be ashamed of his public display of emotion.

  Mr. Creevey beamed and tears glinted in his own eyes. “Indeed it is, my lord! I am sorry, my lord. But I was just on my way to convey the glad tidings to Mrs. Creevey and the Misses Ord, and—"

  The earl waved the gentleman on his way. “I shall not keep you then, Mr. Creevey.” He sat in deep thought, unaware when Mr. Creevey actually left him. He turned abruptly in the saddle, calling, “Creevey, if you would be good enough...” But he saw that the portly gentleman was already lost to sight.

  Lord Kenmare sat atop his gelding in unusual indecision, torn by his conflicting duties. He should return at once to the town house to impart the glad news to the ladies and the rest of the household. But that would mean the loss of precious time in answering their astonished queries, when the very fiber of his being demanded the action of riding to the battlefield to see for himself and to attempt to locate those closest to them whose fates were still unknown.

  A gentleman was hurrying by and the earl suddenly made up his mind. “You, sir!” The gentleman stopped, looking around in surprise at the commanding voice. Lord Kenmare stepped his gelding closer to the man. He held up a gold piece. “I have a message that I need taken to my household, sir. Will you take it for me?"

  The gentleman bowed. “Certainly, my lord. But tell me what you wish them to know."

  The earl gave him the address of the town house. “Say that the battle is won and that I have gone to find Spence and Wilson-Jones. Have you got it?"

  The gentleman assured him that he had, and accepted the gold piece. He stood watching as the earl cantered away in the direction of the field of battle. The gentleman glanced down at the gold piece in his palm. His fingers folded tightly over it. He gave a short, harsh laugh. “The battle is won? Not likely, my lord, not likely at all. I'll not waste time carrying another false rumor when I am leaving this cursed place as quickly as I can.” He started away out of the park, in quite a different direction from the Earl of Kenmare's town house.

  * * * *

  There was shouting and running in the streets. In the bedroom, Lady Mary and Abigail started up, the color driven from their faces, and they ran to the window. A multitude of persons milled aimlessly about, clutching whoever was around and shouting with excitement, some with tears streaming down their faces as they laughed and cried together.

  "I distinctly heard someone shout ‘Boney's beat!'” Abigail exclaimed wonderingly.

  "Oh, can it be?” Lady Cecily breathed. She cast a glance down at the tiny body nestled close to her breast. She would have gotten up from her bed and gone to the window herself but for her sleeping infant.

  Below the window, a party of wounded Highlanders who had obviously made their way on foot from the field of battle were shouting with the most vociferous demonstrations of joy. Those who had use of their arms threw their Highland bonnets into the air, calling out in broad Scotch accents, “Boney's beat! Boney's beat! Huzza! Huzza! Boney's beat!"

  Lady Mary felt her pulse fluttering in her throat. She turned away from the window and practically ran toward the door of the sitting room. “I am going down."

  "And I!” Abigail said. Not waiting for her mother's permission, she ran ahead.

  Lady Mary paused only fractionally, her eyes on Lady Cecily's anxious expression. “I shall return at once,” she promised.

  "Thank you, Mary,” Lady Cecily said fervently.

  Lady Mary left the bedroom. Swiftly, without pausing for shawl or bonnet, she went downstairs. Every door stood open, every room was deserted of servants, and she experienced a curious sense of déjà vu. But now the roar outside the open street door was not edged with fear, but instead sounded with hysterical joy.

  Lady Mary's heart pounded as she stepped out onto the steps. The rejoicings and acclamations deafened her. To her dazed eyes it seemed that the voluble Belgians had gone mad, pumping one another's hands and hugging all the while as they cried out joyfully. They literally danced in the street. The British, though not as loud in expressing their extreme feelings of triumph and heartfelt gratitude, had nevertheless put aside their native reserve so that each greeted his or her neighbor with fervent exclamations.

  The Highlanders continued to throw up their bonnets and shout. Their tumultuous joy attracted round them a number of old Flemish women who were extremely curious to know the cause of this uproar and kept gabbling to the soldiers in their own tongue. One of them seized a Highlander by the coat, pulling at it and making the most ludicrous gestures imaginable to induce him to attend to her. The Highlander, forgetting in his transport that the old woman did not understand English, kept shouting that “Boney was beat and running away ta his ain country as fast he could go."

  At any other time, Lady Mary would have laughed to see the old Flemish woman holding fast to the soldier, shrugging up her shoulders, and making absurd grimaces while the Highlander roared at her, “Dinna ye ken that Boney's beat—what, are ye deef? I say Boney's beat, woman!"

  Abigail appeared beside Lady Mary, seized her hands. Tears streamed down her radiant face. “Mama! It is true! It is true! We have beaten Bonaparte!"

  Lady Mary was too dazed to absorb it. “Is it quite, quite true?"

  A complete stranger overheard her and laughed uproariously even as tears streamed down his heavily jowled cheeks. “Indeed, madam! It is a glorious day. The allies have gained a complete victory. The French are defeated, routed, dispersed!” He waved his arms for emphasis. “They have fled from the battle, pursued by our conquering troops."

  Lady Mary could not speak for the closing of her throat. She felt bombarded by the welter of emotions—triumph, sorrow, anxiety, and gratitude. The war was over at last, at a great horrible cost that must still be reckoned.

  She still did not know the fate of her son.

  "But the war is over,” she repeated.

  "Yes, Mama, yes!” Abigail exclaimed, laughing.

  "I must go up at once to Lady Cecily,” Lady Mary exclaimed. Her pale cheeks were rose with excitement and her gray eyes blazed with the full light of joy.

  "We shall go up together,” Abigail said, catching her mother's hand in hers."I cannot wait to see her face, or Bruce's, or the rest, at such great wonderful news!"

  "Nor I!” Lady Mary said. But curiously enough, it was not Lady Cecily, whom had grown to be so dear a friend, that she desired most in the world to share this moment with, but rather Robert, the Earl of Kenmare.

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  Chapter 27

  The road between Brussels and Waterloo ran through the Forest of Soignies and was completely confined on either side by trees. The earl quickly found his gelding's progress slowed to a crawl as he maneuvered the road's choked condition.

  The road was covered with broken and overturned wagons, heaps of abandoned baggage, dead horses, and terrified people. In some places horses, wagons, and all were driven over high banks by the roadside in order to clear a passage. Those behind attempted to get past those before. Officers’ servants struggled to secure their master's baggage; panic-stricken people forced their way over every obstacle with the desperation of fear.

  The confusion combined with the quantity of rain during the past three days had made the road nearly impassable. Lord Kenmare realized that it was impossible for the newly wounded to be brought in from the field. Grim-faced, he set himself to the monumental task of getting himself and his horse threaded through the melee in one piece. He had to get to the battlefield, for he knew as certainly as he breathed that that must be where he would find the two men for whom he was searching.

  It was hours later when at last he emerged from beyond the forest onto the plain. He yanked up his reins, thunderstruck and shaken to the bone by the horror of what he saw. Only days before there had been tall cornfields waving in the warm w
ind as far as the eye could see. Now the corn was broken and trampled into the mud. The dead lying there among the ruins of nature could not be numbered. The mangled and lifeless bodies were stripped of everything of the smallest value.

  Near a hedge that had been completely trodden down, where the fighting had been particularly severe and the carnage dreadful, huge pits were filled with hundreds of dead, British and French alike. Lord Kenmare averted his eyes and kicked his horse forward once more, but the images of the massive grave remained with him and he knew with sickened certainty that he would never forget.

  Besides the tremendous pits, the dead were being burnt in different places, and their ashes, mingled with the dust, were being scattered over the field. A wayward breeze brought the tainted smoke to Lord Kenmare, and he gagged. Clenching his jaw, he rode on slowly, looking for the particular regimental uniforms that he had come to find.

  Slowly, slowly, Lord Kenmare became aware that here and there life still breathed among the dead. He had been so stricken with horror that he had seen the entire field of battle as one vast charnel pile of death, not realizing that the wounded lay there as well. But the occasional groans or the harsh breathing that he heard as he traveled past at last penetrated to his consciousness.

  That was perhaps the most affecting thing of all, to see those wounded lying wherever they had fallen or had been able to crawl. Half-crazed with pain, they had endured the driving rain and now a day of blazing heat was upon them. They lay without succor, without food or drink, and with little hope of regaining such common necessities.

  It was when Lord Kenmare had almost despaired of finding what he sought that he came across a wounded man in a torn and filthy uniform barely recognizable as that of the Fifth Division. The soldier did not look up when the gelding's shadow fell across him, but instead continued to sit on the ground and hold his comrade's lifeless hand in his own.

  "He just now sighed and went away,” he said.