Rhys made love to her twice more, dozing with her in his arms between times. When light began to seep through the windows and the sounds of the street outside grew louder, he forced himself to face his duty. He must dress for battle, retrieve his horse, and make speed to meet his regiment who might even now be gathering in the Parc de Bruxelles.
He gazed down at Helene, thinking she might be asleep, but her eyes were open and she returned his gaze.
‘I must leave.’ He sat up and rubbed his face. ‘I need to change clothes. Gather my things.’
But instead of climbing out of bed, he moved atop her, leaning down for a long, yearning kiss. Reverently he caressed her soft skin and entered her once more, moving slowly, wishing to stop the clock ticking, trying to sear the moment into memory. He stroked her inside until his body overcame him and moved with her for that urgent release they shared together.
After, he held her, reluctant to let go.
‘Rhys,’ she whispered. ‘You cannot stay.’
She pushed him away and he rose from the bed. There were no words he could manage to speak. Sounds from the streets reached them, the sounds of many voices, shouts, and rumblings. They’d been constant through the night and Rhys could no longer ignore them.
He looked out the window at columns of soldiers in the street marching to the Parc. ‘I need to join my regiment.’
Helene, wrapped in bed linen, climbed off the bed and stood beside him to look down on the street packed with men.
‘I must hurry.’ He turned away from the window and began to dress.
While he put on his shirt and drawers, Helene quickly washed herself from the basin on the dresser. She donned her shift and wriggled into her corset. He buttoned his trousers and slipped on his shoes, stuffing his stockings in a pocket.
She presented her back to him. ‘Help me dress. I want to stay with you.’
He helped her tie her stays and the laces of a dress she pulled from a drawer, the same dress she’d worn to dinner with Grant—had that only been the evening before? It felt as if his very world had changed since then.
She put on her stockings and tied her hair back in a ribbon while he shrugged into his coat, not bothering to button it.
‘I’m ready,’ she said, slipping on the dancing shoes she’d worn to the ball.
‘Come.’ He held her hand. They left her room and he led her down the hallway to where he shared the room with Grant.
‘You were this close to my room the whole time?’ she asked with a little laugh.
‘And I did not tell you,’ he admitted.
He unlocked the door and they entered. The rooms were in some disarray. It was evident Grant had made quick work of changing out of his evening clothes and into his battle uniform. Rhys needed to do the same.
Helene absently picked up clothes and straightened up the place while Rhys changed and prepared himself for the battle to come.
He slung his pack over his shoulder and faced her. She stepped into his arms one more time. Rhys held her, relished the scent of her, the softness of her, the memory of lying with her.
Again, it was she who moved away, her eyes shining with tears that she immediately blinked away. ‘I’ll walk downstairs with you.’
After he locked the door behind her, he handed her his key. ‘Will you give this to the hall servant? Tell him to have our belongings packed up and stored. I’ll arrange payment when I can.’
‘I will.’ She put the key in her pocket.
The hotel was not the bustle of frantic activity it had been only a few hours ago, but there were still people about, still couples saying goodbye. Helene walked with him all the way out the door of the hotel. The sky was even brighter than when he’d risen.
‘I will say goodbye here. I need to get my horse and ride to the Parc.’ Rhys must leave Helene again, to return to the army, with no certainty that he would ever see her again. ‘Find David. Leave Brussels today.’
She faced him with such a brave look on her face that he took her in his arms again for one more kiss. He wrenched himself away.
‘Goodbye, Rhys!’ she called after him.
He turned and strode back to her, holding her by her shoulders and looking into her eyes. ‘I never stopped loving you, Helene.’ He released her again and hurried away.
He heard her voice call after him, ‘I never will stop, Rhys!’
Helene watched Rhys hurrying away from her, nearly running through the people on the pavement and the soldiers marching down the street. She watched until she could only see a hint of red and the top of his tall black hat. A moment later he was gone.
She swallowed a sob.
No, she would not cry. It would not help him. She could do nothing to help him.
She walked towards the Parc and found a place to stand where she could survey the activity without being seen. The Parc was a sea of red-coated soldiers. She could make out the Highlanders, the same regiment of soldiers who’d danced at the ball, and another Scottish regiment dressed in kilts who were starting to fill the space between two other red-coated regiments. Was one of those Rhys’s regiment? She fixed her eyes on them and watched until they started to march away. She quickly ran to the streets to watch them pass. The Highland regiment marched to the sound of bagpipes and the ground shook with the footsteps of so many men. First she spied Grant on horseback, riding next to the red coats. Finally she saw Rhys on a bay mare with a flash of white on its forehead. She watched him until he and his men marched out of sight.
All around her were men, horses and wagons heading to war. Some soldiers were still saying goodbye to tearful wives and children. One soldier embraced his wife again and again and took their baby in his arms, kissing the child one more time before handing the babe back to his wife, tears streaming down his cheeks. Helene’s throat constricted and tears stung her eyes at the sight. She watched a woman riding next to an officer—his wife perhaps? She’d never imagined a wife could accompany her husband like that. How brave of her. Helene felt a pang of envy. If only she could have ridden next to Rhys!
Helene could not bear these heart-wrenching sights any longer. She wiped her tears with her fingers and made her way back to the door of the hotel.
Inside, the hall servant, who looked as if he’d not slept at all, was surrounded by guests, all demanding his assistance. No sense in talking with him now, especially since David was not here yet. It was too early. David had never risen this early and she doubted he would do so even today, after the late hours of the ball. He’d promised to meet her here, though. She must believe he would keep his word.
It was just dawn. She climbed the stairs but instead of going to her room, she went to Rhys’s, letting herself in with his key. She would pack for Rhys and his friend. Who knew when the busy servants could do so?
She gathered everything she supposed to belong to Rhys or Grant. She picked up the coat Rhys had worn to the ball and held it to her nose, inhaling the scent of him, embracing the coat as if she were embracing Rhys himself. Tears pricked her eyes again, but she was still determined not to weep. She folded his coat and his other clothes and packed them in his chest. She picked up a handkerchief that was packed in the chest and rubbed it against her cheek.
She placed it in her pocket. A piece of him she would keep.
What she guessed to be Grant’s belongings she packed in the other chest. After scouring the room to be certain she’d found everything, she closed the chests and left the room, locking it behind her. Downstairs the hall servant was still too busy, so she walked outside again. There were no more marching numbers of soldiers, only a few officers on horseback riding away. She walked to the Place Royale right next to the hotel and saw a few sentinels guarding military wagons. She was puzzled by a line of long tilted carts parked one after the other. Their drivers slept at their seats and the unharnessed horses grazed at some nearby grass.
She asked one of the sentinels, ‘What are those wagons for?’
‘To carry the wounded, ma’am,’ the man replied.
His words were like a knife to her belly. There were so many carts. Would Rhys be among those placed in them? She stopped and said a prayer that he would survive unharmed.
She started back to the hotel door, suddenly feeling achingly alone. She wished David was here. He could never be counted upon to provide solace, but she would not feel so alone if he were with her.
Though it was still early, she decided to check on Wilson. Surely they would have been awakened by the call to arms, the sounds of the army on the march, the rumbling of wagons. She’d arrange for breakfast for Mrs Jacobs, Louise and Wilson. Louise would likely come soon to be at Wilson’s side.
She entered the hotel and walked to the dining room, passing the guests still clustered around the hall servant. To her surprise there were diners in the dining room, including two officers seeming to take a leisurely breakfast with a young man and two young women. She ordered food and drink to be sent to Wilson’s room and hurried there herself.
A distressed Mrs Jacobs opened the door to her knock. ‘Oh, mademoiselle! Such commotion.’
Helene entered the room, surprised to see Wilson fully dressed and seated on the side of the bed, equally surprised to see Louise, seated at his side.
‘Wilson! You are up.’ He made an effort to stand, but Helene signalled him to remain seated. ‘You must be feeling better.’
‘Much better, m’lady,’ he said.
Mrs Jacobs broke in. ‘We decided it best if Mr Wilson dressed today. Goodness! We do not know what will happen. What if the French are at the gates of the city?’
Helene was not certain Brussels had city gates. ‘Things are not so bad, I assure you.’ She turned to Louise. ‘I did not expect you here so early. You must have seen the army on its march.’
‘I stayed the night, Lady Helene,’ Louise said. ‘After you left, there were so many carriages going to the ball that I waited, but then Wilson did not want me walking home so late.’
‘So, you’ve had no news of what is happening?’ Helene asked.
‘None at all, m’lady,’ Wilson said.
‘Let me tell you what I know, then,’ Helene said. ‘The French are marching towards Brussels, but they are still some distance away. The Allied army is readying to meet them. Wellington sent troops to a place called Quatre Bras today, but Rhys believes the major battle will take place later at another location.’
Mrs Jacobs’s eyes brightened. ‘Rhys? You were with your Captain?’
Helene’s throat tightened and tears again pricked her eyes. She could not speak, but simply nodded.
Louise rose and came over to her, folding her into a hug.
Helene had resolved not to cry, but her carefully constructed dam broke and tears spilled down her cheeks.
‘There. There.’ Louise patted her back.
Helene sobbed.
Mrs Jacobs joined them, engulfing them both. The two women held her until she gained control of herself again.
Helene reached in her pocket and took out Rhys’s handkerchief, but she did not want to dampen it with her tears. She put it back again and wiped her face with her fingers.
Wilson, his expression full of concern, shuffled over and handed her his handkerchief. ‘Come sit next to me, m’lady.’ He walked her to the bed.
She had a fleeting memory of Wilson drying her tears when she was a little girl, sitting her next to him and listening to whatever tale of woe had upset her.
Louise sat on the other side of her.
‘You are all so—’ She broke into a sob again. ‘You are all so kind.’
‘Tell us what makes you cry,’ Wilson used the same soothing voice she remembered as a child.
‘Rhys might be killed,’ she blurted out and the tears spilled again.
There was a knock at the door, which Mrs Jacobs answered. A servant handed Mrs Jacobs the tray of food and a pot of tea, then hurried away. Mrs Jacobs placed the tray on the table and fixed a cup of tea, handing it to Helene.
It helped.
There was another knock at the door. Another servant appeared. ‘Is Lady Helene Banes here?’ he asked.
Mrs Jacobs gestured to Helene. ‘She is sitting right there. What is this?’
‘A message for her.’ He handed Mrs Jacobs a folded piece of paper, turned and left.
Mrs Jacobs closed the door and handed the paper to Helene.
She read it.
Dear Sister,
Am invited to stay with William. Cannot meet with you today. Promise to be at the hotel tomorrow.
Yours, D—
Helene gave an angry cry.
‘What is it, m’lady?’ Wilson asked, worry furrowing his brow.
‘David! He lied to me!’ She crumpled the paper. ‘He was to meet me here today. Rhys told us to leave for England today.’ Rhys made her promise. ‘David says he won’t be here. Tomorrow, he says.’
Wilson’s brows knitted. ‘You wish to leave for England today?’
She clasped his hand. ‘I know you are not well enough to travel, Wilson. I will leave you plenty of money to stay as long as you need and to pay for the trip home. Rhys will help you, if he can. You can come when you are ready.’
He looked her in the eye. ‘I am staying, m’lady. I am not returning to Yarford. I am staying with Louise.’ He exchanged a very loving look with her.
It moved Helene deeply. She squeezed Wilson’s hand. ‘Dear Wilson. I am so very happy for you both.’ A part of her, though, grieved losing him.
Mrs Jacobs served the meal and they all ate without much conversation. Footsteps hurrying through the hallway made them all glance up at the door on occasion, as if someone might burst in on them with more alarming news.
Mrs Jacobs collected the dishes. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet.
‘Is something amiss, Mrs Jacobs? Besides what we are all worrying about?’
The nurse wrung her hands. ‘I—I need to go home to my husband. I need to stay with him. We do not know what will happen. What if the French return to Brussels? He cannot be alone.’
Would any of them be safe if the French came?
No. The Allies would stop them. They must.
Helene walked over to Mrs Jacobs and gave her a hug. ‘Of course you must go home.’
‘I will take care of Samuel,’ Louise said. She glanced at him. ‘He need not stay here any longer. I will take him to my house.’
These three dear people were leaving her, as well. Helene felt desolately lonely. She swallowed. ‘We must arrange for a carriage, then. It is too far for him to walk.’ She turned to Mrs Jacobs. ‘You should leave for home as soon as you are able. Now if you like.’
Mrs Jacobs picked up the basket that she’d carried to and from her house. ‘I have packed everything already.’
‘Very good.’ Helene bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She might never see Mrs Jacobs again. What would she have done without her? ‘But walk with me to my room first. I have the money there to pay you.’
‘May I come with you?’ Louise asked. ‘I can gather the ball gown and other things to take back to the theatre.’
Helene nodded. ‘Of course. We can accompany Mrs Jacobs to the lobby and then arrange for the carriage at that time.’
Louise picked up her bag.
Both Wilson and Mrs Jacobs became emotional when the nurse said goodbye to him.
‘I—I cannot thank you enough,’ he said earnestly.
‘Oh, now!’ Mrs Jacobs put on a smile. ‘You were no trouble at all. I’ve had many worse patients in my time.’ She took his hand in hers and patted it. ‘Now you take good care of my friend Louise, Mr Wilson. If you do not, you will have to answer to me and I will make certain you need quite a bit more nursing care.’
He laughed. ‘I will do so, ma’am. With pleasure.’
Helene smiled. Some of Mrs Jacobs’s good spirits had returned, at least.
As soon as they left Wilson’s room, Mrs Jacobs showed just how much she was restored to her old self. She leaned close to Helene. ‘Now, mademoiselle. You must tell us all about the ball and about your Captain. He showed up, did he?’
Helene nodded. ‘He did show up at the ball. And we danced the waltz together.’
‘The waltz?’ Mrs Jacobs clapped her hands.
‘The waltz is a very romantic dance,’ Louise added approvingly.
‘And then what happened?’ Mrs Jacobs pressed.
‘We were together at the ball the whole time.’ Helene talked about the decorations and the ladies’ dresses and the food at the supper rather than speak about all that passed between her and Rhys. ‘Then word came that the officers had to go to their regiments. The ball was over. Rhys walked me back to the hotel.’
Louise gave Mrs Jacobs a knowing look, but Helene did not comprehend its meaning.
They reached her room and, while Helene unlocked the door, Louise and Mrs Jacobs stood a little apart from her and talked together in hushed tones. She opened the door and they went inside.
Helene found her portmanteau and searched in its hidden compartment for her money. She handed some coins to Mrs Jacobs.
The nurse stared down at the number of coins in her hand. ‘But this is too much, mademoiselle.’
Helene gave her another hug. ‘It is not half as much as your help has been worth to me.’
The woman grinned and stuffed them into a pocket.
Helene glanced around the room. She’d left it in a telling piece of disorder. Her shawl was on the floor, the earrings and necklace where she’d dropped them on a table near the door. The chain and ribbon that had decorated her hair had been tossed on her dressing table. Most telling, though, was the bed and its very tangled bed linens. ‘Let me collect the things for the theatre,’ she said to Louise.
Helene picked up the jewellery.
Louise put a stilling hand on her arm. ‘In a moment. Sit first, s’il vous plaît.’ She led Helene to a chair.
Mrs Jacobs and Louise pulled up two other chairs to face her.
‘Tell us,’ Louise said in a soft, kind voice. ‘Did Captain Landon spend the night with you?’
Helene felt her cheeks burn. She did not answer.
Mrs Jacobs leaned forward. ‘Mademoiselle, we understand being in love. We know of these things. Now if you need anything—you know—for the day after. We can help you.’
Helene looked from one to the other. ‘I do not understand.’
‘To prevent a baby,’ Mrs Jacobs said.
Helene felt her face turn red again. ‘Oh.’ She took a breath. ‘Thank you both, but—but if there is a baby—I will be happy.’ She blinked away tears again. ‘I will have a piece of him in case—in case I never see him again.’
The two other women teared up, as well, and the three of them wiped their tears together. Finally, Louise stood. ‘Then we must not tarry. Mrs Jacobs needs to get home.’
Helene took off the dancing slippers and handed them to Louise. While Helene put on her half-boots, Louise folded the dress and put it in her bag. When all the items were collected, they left the room.
Outside the hotel’s entrance they said goodbye to Mrs Jacobs.
‘I will visit you, I promise,’ Louise told the nurse. ‘I know your direction. And you must visit me.’
Helene could make no such promise. When she left Brussels, she would not likely ever return. She hugged Mrs Jacobs one more time. ‘I will never forget you,’ Helene whispered.
The streets were eerily quiet still and, before Helene and Louise re-entered the hotel, Helene glimpsed the empty wagons again.
The ones that would carry the wounded from Quatre Bras.