That evening Rhys and his friend Grant returned to the same tavern where he’d encountered Helene. Had it merely been the night before? The place was now haunted by the memory of the first vision of her after so many years, like a dream materialising in the dim light. Also like a cannonball to the chest. What sense had he to return here?
But why not? The beer and the food were excellent, and he rather had a craving for the tavern’s cooked mussels and frites.
He’d not returned to Wilson’s room after delivering the medicine, not wanting to encounter Helene again. When Rhys and Grant were leaving the hotel to come here, the hall servant informed Rhys that a competent nurse had been sent to the elderly man’s room. Rhys would check on this nurse later. He’d stop by Wilson’s room before retiring. Surely Helene would not be there then.
He and Grant settled at a table near the one they’d shared the night before. Grant had spent most of his day with officers from other regiments, all comparing rumours of how long they would have to wait for marching orders.
Grant took a swig of his beer. ‘There is considerable gathering of French troops on the border and Wellington believes the French will attack soon. It seems clear that Brussels will be Napoleon’s aim, but there are three possible routes. Tournai seems most likely, but Boney could well come through Mons or even Charleroi.’
It was as Rhys feared. ‘The battle could be days away, no matter his choice of route.’
‘That seems the right of it,’ Grant responded.
This was not new information, but mere confirmation of what intelligence had supposed for some time as Wellington’s spies reported on the troop movement inside France. Rhys’s first thought, though, was of Helene. It was madness she had travelled here at this dangerous time and even more madness that David considered the whole thing one great lark. They needed to leave Brussels right away.
At that moment Rhys looked up to find David approaching their table. Rhys was not happy to see him. David was accompanied by another youth remarkable only because of an eyepatch on one eye.
‘Rhys! How grand to find you here!’ David cried. ‘May we join you?’
Rhys glanced at Grant, who, returning Rhys an inquisitive look, inclined his head in agreement.
David happily pulled up a chair and signalled the tavern maid to bring them some beer. His friend sat next to him. ‘May I present my friend, William Lennox? William, this is Rhys. Captain Landon, I mean. I’ve known him my whole life! He’s the vicar’s son and a great childhood friend of my sister’s.’
Grant seemed to be raptly interested in this information.
Rhys introduced him. ‘This is Captain Grantwell.’
‘Captain.’ The young man nodded politely. ‘I am David Banes.’
Curious. David’s father was dead. David would be Lord Yarford now. Why had he introduced himself with his given name? On the other hand, did Rhys care what the boy called himself?
Rhys turned towards David’s companion as he lifted his tankard of beer to his lips. ‘Do you have a notion to witness the coming battle as well, Lennox?’
The young man frowned. ‘I hope to recover in time. I am—or rather was—attached to General Maitland’s staff. Before this.’ He pointed to his bandaged eye. ‘A riding accident,’ he explained. Rhys doubted he or Grant would have had any inclination to ask.
David puffed up his chest proudly. ‘William is the Duke of Richmond’s son and His Grace is excellent friends with Wellington, so I have no doubt William will be part of the action.’
Wellington, the Field Marshal of the Allied Forces, was also a duke. This pretentious reference to two dukes in one sentence reminded Rhys of Helene and David’s father. Now there was a man who revered titles. No surprise David was cut from the same cloth.
Rhys took a sip of his beer. ‘David, I do not think it at all wise that you returned to this tavern, not after last night.’
The youth looked mystified. ‘Why not? The food is good here.’
‘You nearly provoked a townsman to fisticuffs.’
‘Oh, that.’ David waved a dismissive hand. ‘I do not credit that.’
Rhys glanced around the room. The man from the previous night did not appear to be present. Perhaps he would not have to rescue David again from being beaten to a pulp.
He changed the subject. ‘How is Wilson?’
‘Wilson?’ David looked puzzled, but then his expression cleared. ‘Oh, yes. Wilson. He is ill, Helene said.’
‘I know he is ill.’ Rhys leaned forward. ‘Did you not check on him, to see how he fared?’
‘Me? What could I do?’ David replied. ‘I’ve been out all day.’
Rhys felt his anger rise. ‘Out all day and not once checking on your servant?’
The boy puffed up his chest. ‘Helene is the one who brought him here. Let her check on him.’
Rhys turned away in disgust. David should be offering both Wilson and his sister his assistance. If David stepped up to his responsibility, Rhys could walk away with a clear conscience.
The maid came and took their food orders and soon the food arrived. Grant and young Lennox struck up a conversation about possible battle strategies, with David inserting his unschooled opinion. Rhys tried to follow the conversation, but his traitorous thoughts kept returning to Helene, alone and worried about Wilson.
When they finished, Lennox rose. ‘I must return home. This has been capital, Captains!’ He picked up his hat. ‘No need to come with me, David. I will see you tomorrow morning for our ride.’
‘We are riding into the countryside tomorrow,’ David explained happily.
Lennox started to walk away but turned back. ‘Oh, my mother is planning to give a ball on Thursday. I will see that you all receive invitations.’ He bowed.
A ball only three days away? A ball was the last thing that could interest Rhys with a French attack so imminent.
‘Shall we order another round?’ David asked after his friend left.
Rhys stood this time. ‘I think not. Time for you to return to the hotel, David. Report to your sister.’
David laughed. ‘Oh, I forgot. I was supposed to meet her for dinner. Oh, well, she won’t mind. Let’s have another round. The night is just beginning!’
Rhys leaned into the young man’s face. ‘Last night you were so cup-shot you were nearly beaten to a pulp and I needed to carry you to the hotel. Your night is over.’
David’s lower lip jutted out, but he did as Rhys commanded.
Grant lifted his still full tankard. ‘I’ll stay.’
Rhys spoke few words to David as they walked back to the hotel, although the boy kept up a steady stream of cheerful, inane conversation. The boy needed a proper dressing down in Rhys’s opinion, but David was not his concern.
When they walked through the hotel doors into the hall, though, Rhys could keep quiet no longer. ‘Go straight to your sister’s room and let her know you are still alive. After what you’ve put her through, she probably fears the worst.’
David scowled. ‘What room is she in? I did not attend when she told me.’
Rhys gave him the room number. His room was, of course, on the same floor, but he’d had enough of David’s company for one night. He took a different stairway to Wilson’s room instead.
He knocked on the door, expecting the nurse to answer.
The door opened and Helene appeared instead.
Rhys took an involuntary step back. ‘I thought the nurse would be here.’
Helene stepped aside. ‘She is here.’
Rhys entered the room and saw a simply dressed plump woman at least two decades older than Helene.
Helene extended her hand towards the woman and said in French, ‘This is Mrs Jacobs.’ She turned back to Rhys. ‘Captain Landon. He is an old friend...’ she paused ‘...of Wilson’s.’
‘Captain.’ The woman nodded to him. She had one of those faces that seemed to smile even when at rest.
‘How is he?’ Rhys kept his attention on the nurse.
‘Feverish.’ Mrs Jacobs’s brow furrowed in worry. She turned back to Wilson and placed a cloth on his forehead.
‘He is no better,’ Helene said in a worried voice.
Rhys turned to her. ‘What are you still doing here?’
Mrs Jacobs answered for her. ‘Mademoiselle insists upon staying. Although if you ask me, she looks in great need of a rest. I told her I am quite capable—’
Helene broke in. ‘It is not that. I know you are capable. It’s that I left my brother a note that I was here. I am waiting for him. We are to eat dinner together.’
‘Did you eat dinner?’ Rhys asked the nurse.
The woman nodded. ‘Mademoiselle sent for food for me and for our patient.’
Rhys extended his hand to Helene. ‘Come,’ he ordered. ‘David is in the hotel. I’ll take you to him.’
He fixed her with a determined glare. After a pause, she obeyed.
Helene disliked this change in Rhys—ordering her about as if she were one of his soldiers. The only time she caught glimpses of her once kind and attentive friend was when he spoke to Wilson. Why did he insist upon taking her to David? Why not simply tell her where to find her brother? She was so worn out from worry and too little rest, though, that she went along with him without protest.
‘I will take you to David’s room,’ he intoned in that dictatorial voice. ‘He likely is there by now.’
He led her to David’s room. David did not answer their knock.
‘Perhaps he is waiting for you in the dining room,’ Rhys said.
She was too tired to tell Rhys she knew the way to the dining room.
After they descended the steps and reached the hall, Rhys asked the hall servant. ‘That young fellow I walked in with, have you seen him again?’
‘Non, Capitaine,’ the man said.
Rhys had walked in with David? From where?
Rhys faced her. ‘He could still be in the dining room.’
She finally found her voice. ‘Thank you, Rhys. I will look for him in the dining room. Whether he is there or not, I am going to eat. I’m too tired and hungry to chase him all around the hotel.’
To her surprise, he followed her.
‘You do not have to accompany me,’ she said.
‘I will see if David is there,’ he responded.
It was nearly nine o’clock and the dining room was full. Several tables were filled with officers enjoying their food and drink, their voices loud, their laughter louder. Helene looked over the room but did not see David anywhere.
‘He is not here,’ she said.
The dining room servant approached them. ‘Shall I show you to a table?’
‘Yes, please,’ Helene responded, her empty stomach responding to the smell of the food.
To her surprise Rhys also followed the servant, who led them across the room.
‘Really, Rhys,’ she said to him. ‘Do not feel obligated to stay. I can dine alone.’
His gaze swept the crowd. ‘I fancy a glass of wine.’
The servant showed them to a small table in a discreet corner. It was the sort of table she once would have relished sharing with Rhys, private enough to pretend they were utterly alone. What cruel jokes fate was playing on her, giving her what she’d once most yearned for, reminding her again of what she’d given up.
They sat across from each other.
Another servant approached their table.
‘You should try the cooked mussels,’ Rhys said to her. ‘If they have them. It is a Brussels specialty.’
‘We have mussels,’ the servant said.
‘And frites,’ Rhys added.
This time she was grateful he was telling her what to do. She had no energy to make a decision. ‘Very well.’
He ordered wine for them both, but nothing else for him.
‘Are you not eating, Rhys?’ she asked.
‘I ate earlier.’ He nodded for the servant to leave.
Suddenly she pictured him separate from her company, doing things. Soldier things? Dining, where? With whom? Who peopled his life? Friends...? Women?
But his life was none of her affair.
‘Is the nurse satisfactory?’ His gaze just missed meeting hers.
She fiddled with the silver fork set before her. ‘She seems so.’
He lowered his gaze to the table, giving her a view of his thick dark lashes. His chin was shaded with a dusting of beard at this late hour. So much of her memory of him was as a smooth-faced youth. This very masculine image made him appear almost like a different person. Someone she no longer knew at all.
After the food arrived he watched her eat while he sipped his wine, his full lips moistened by the burgundy-coloured liquid. Hungry though she was, it made it difficult to swallow.
As she was forcing another bite of mussel, he suddenly said, ‘You and David must leave Brussels as soon as possible.’
This latest command took her aback. ‘As soon as Wilson is well enough to travel.’
His gaze bore into her. ‘That could be days. Weeks, even. Leave tomorrow.’
Tomorrow? Impossible. ‘I cannot leave Wilson!’
He lowered his voice. ‘Heed me. Napoleon plans a march on Brussels. Any day now.’
She understood then. He was warning her. ‘This is certain?’
He looked away. ‘Almost certain.’
Helene certainly did not want to be in Brussels when Napoleon tried to breach its walls, but Wilson’s illness changed things. ‘I really must stay in Brussels until Wilson is well.’
‘I will see he is looked after,’ Rhys said.
She raised her eyes and her gaze locked with his. ‘How? You will be fighting in the battle.’
Rhys would be in the thick of it, with cannonballs and musket balls and swords and lances all flying towards him, trying to kill him. And, even though he’d changed, even though he might wish to never see her again, that thought was like a knife piercing her heart.
As it had been every time news reached England of another battle, until she read through the casualty list and his name did not appear.
Her gaze did not waver. ‘I promise you, David, Wilson and I will leave as soon as Wilson can travel.’
Rhys took another sip of wine. Her blue eyes had a powerful effect on him, pulling him back to those old halcyon days they’d shared together. He ought to have known better than to accompany her to dinner, but if he had not, she’d have been a woman dining alone, one small lamb amid a room full of hungry wolves in army uniforms.
He tried to thrust his thoughts away from what might have been between them. The truth was, he ought to thank her for spurning him. If she had not, he would never have had the opportunity to join the army. He valued being an officer in the East Essex regiment. Valued leading his men. He even relished the excitement of battle—almost as much as he hated its carnage. If he’d not become an officer in the army, what would he be?
He’d never been given the chance to find out.
She broke the silence between them. ‘Tell me. How will this battle happen?’
He could talk about this. ‘No one knows for certain what route Napoleon will take, but he will come. He will want to take Brussels. He will want to face Wellington.’
Rhys would feel more secure about this impending battle if the Allied army under Wellington consisted of more seasoned British troops and if enough time passed for the Prussians to provide support. If the Russian troops had time to arrive, Napoleon would be vastly outnumbered, but, of course, Napoleon realised this. That was why he would strike quickly. Napoleon was known for splitting forces and emerging victorious.
Napoleon was also capable of spectacular defeats, though. Like in Egypt. And Russia.
None of this would be helpful for her to know, however. Better she and her brother—and Wilson—be safely away.
A line of worry formed between her dark perfectly arched brows. ‘So is there a danger we won’t win?’
Could she still read his mind? When they were young, they often knew what the other was thinking. ‘I would rather march under Wellington’s command than any other. And I have done so many times.’
She expelled a breath and her forehead relaxed a bit. Rhys continued to sip his wine, trying not to watch her eat.
When she’d finished not even half of what was on her plate, she placed her fork down. ‘That was delicious, Rhys,’ she said. ‘Thank you for suggesting it.’
Then why had she eaten so little of it?
She stood, as did he. ‘I will just check on Wilson one more time, I believe.’
He escorted her out of the dining room, stopping to arrange the meal to be charged to him.
‘No, Rhys,’ she protested. ‘I will pay.’
He bristled at this reminder of her wealth. He was no longer penniless. ‘No,’ he commanded the servant. ‘Charge it to me.’
She started walking to the staircase. He caught up with her.
‘You should allow me to pay,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I will come with you to Wilson’s room. I, too, wish to check on him.’
They walked together in silence, up the stairs and down the dimly lit hallways to the servants’ rooms. The oil lamps illuminating their way were smaller and much further between than in the hallways of the more expensive rooms. When they reached Wilson’s door, Rhys knocked lightly.
The nurse opened it.
‘I just wanted to see how he is, Mrs Jacobs.’ Helene stepped inside. ‘Is he any better?’
The nurse smiled benevolently. ‘There has been no change in the last hour, mademoiselle. It is too soon for improvement in my experience. Let us see how he does by morning.’
Helene walked over to Wilson’s bed and felt his forehead. She adjusted his covers and swept his damp hair off his face. Her gentle gesture made Rhys’s throat tighten with an emotion he did not wish to feel.
Mrs Jacobs stepped closer to her and put her hand on Helene’s shoulder. ‘Mademoiselle, I will take good care of him. You get your rest. Go with your handsome captain here and do not fret over our patient.’
Helene shot a glance at Rhys when the nurse said ‘your handsome captain’.
‘Check on him in the morning, Helene,’ Rhys said.
She reluctantly backed away from the bed but turned to Mrs Jacobs. ‘You will send for me if he takes a turn for the worse?’
The nurse patted her hand. ‘I will. Certainement.’
‘Do you need anything?’ Rhys asked the woman.
She shook her head. ‘There is a nice footman in the room next to this who has agreed to summon help for me, if needed. He does not mind if I have to wake him, but I do not expect that to be necessary. You may both rest easy.’
Rhys nodded to her and opened the door. Helene reluctantly followed him into the dark hallway. Walking in the dark reminded him of once when he and Helene both sneaked out of their houses and met in the garden at Yarford House. They’d walked hand in hand down the paths and shared a secret kiss behind the hedges. She must have been sixteen and he, eighteen.
When they reached the main staircase, she said, ‘Goodnight, Rhys. I believe I will try one more time to see if David is in his room, before I retire.’
What would she do if David was not there? Go out searching for him like the night before? Only this time there would be no Wilson to accompany her and offer her his meagre protection.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Rhys said.