Orders came in the morning for the regiments to withdraw to the area Rhys had heard Wellington mention the night of the ball. Waterloo. Rhys was glad to be away from Quatre Bras. It had been impossible to defend, but his men and the other men of the British regiments achieved the impossible once again.
Although at great cost. They left behind too many of their friends, dead or wounded. This was the worst of war.
As soon as his men cooked and ate their rations, Rhys informed them of the plan and praised them for a job well done the day before. They broke camp and marched. Wellington left enough men at Quatre Bras to fool the French into thinking the Allies meant to defend the crossroads again instead of moving to this more strategic location.
The men were still on the road past noon when the skies threatened.
Grant rode up to Rhys. ‘Looks as though we are in for some wet weather.’
It looked as though Grant was making a very great understatement.
The length of the front that Wellington chose was about two and a half miles long, stretching from a farm called Hougoumont to another named La Haye Sainte. Rhys’s regiment was positioned behind one of the rises between the farms, closer to La Haye Sainte. Not long after their men were settled, the rains came. In the downpour, Rhys and Grant rode the entire length of the area, familiarising themselves with the terrain. Wellington had picked well. Wellington liked to protect his men on the downward slope of a hill where their numbers were hidden and they were safer from artillery fire. This terrain, though not very steep, would serve that purpose.
Evening came and the rain had been falling for some time when Rhys checked on his company again.
‘Keep as dry and comfortable as you can, men,’ he told them. His words were met with groans and laughter. ‘I know. I know. Some reward for yesterday, is it not?’ Rhys wore a cloak, but it was already soaked through.
Grant’s and his batmen had found them reasonably dry accommodations in a small farm building not too far away. He left his men and wound his way through the other companies of the 44th to where some supply wagons and camp followers had settled. The wagons were covered with tarps, and the mix of hangers-on—wives and children, laundresses, prostitutes and sutlers selling their wares—were huddled under tents or other makeshift shelters. Some feet away, walking towards him, he saw a lone youth doggedly making his way past the encampment. The boy’s boots stuck in the mud making progress difficult. He’d pause every so often to peruse the camp followers, then trudge onwards, head down. The boy was dressed in riding boots and a caped coat with a beaver hat on his head, too fine an outfit to be one of the hangers-on.
When the boy came close to Rhys, he raised his head and stopped abruptly.
As did Rhys.
Boy’s clothes, but not a boy at all. ‘Helene,’ he rasped. ‘What the devil—?’
Her shocked expression turned to one of relief. ‘Rhys.’
He seized her arm. ‘Come with me.’
He walked her away from the encampment to a place of relative privacy in the field behind them.
He turned to face her. ‘What the devil are you doing here, Helene?’
Helene was too full of joy to see Rhys alive and unhurt to even form words. But she pulled herself together and shrugged out of his grip. ‘I came to find David.’
‘David?’ His eyes flashed. ‘You should be on a boat to Ramsgate by now.’
She supposed she deserved this angry tone of his, but, after the night they’d shared, could he not have been a little glad to see her?
She tried to keep her voice even. ‘David did not keep his word. He did not show up at the hotel, so I came here. I thought I could find him and we could head back to Brussels and be back to the hotel before dark.’
‘You thought you could find him? There are almost seventy thousand people here.’
‘I thought he would be conspicuous without a uniform.’ She glanced back at the encampment. ‘I did not know there would be so many other people here. And he was with William Lennox. I thought that might make him easier to find.’
‘With William Lennox?’ Rhys scoffed. ‘I credited that fellow with more sense.’
‘I doubt David would listen to sense.’ She wiped the raindrops from her face.
‘You make no sense either, Helene.’ He gestured to the sky. ‘Did you really think David and Lennox would be camping out in this? If they are here, they are warm and dry in some inn nearby.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Well, I did not know it would rain. Besides, I can ask for him at any inn I pass on my way back to Brussels. I am on my way back to my horse—if I can find her.’
Rhys took his hat off and rubbed a hand through his wet hair. ‘You cannot get back to Brussels tonight. The roads will be clogged with supply wagons, no doubt most of which will be stuck in mud.’
What was she to do, then?
‘Curse David,’ Rhys grumbled.
They stared at each other while sheets of rain poured down on them. Rhys closed his eyes and when he opened them again, his expression softened.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘To some place dry.’ He took her arm again and practically pulled her along with him.
They walked and slid their way through a grassy field until they finally came to a small farm building, the sort that was meant to shelter field workers in bad weather or to store their equipment. Rhys opened the door for her and she went in.
It took a moment to get used to being in a dry place and for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She saw three men. One seated, his back against the stone wall, two tending a fire in a small fireplace.
The two men at the fireplace stood at Rhys’s entrance. ‘Captain,’ they said in unison.
The man who was seated did not greet him, but merely said, ‘Who is this with you?’
Helene recognised him then. ‘Hello, Grant.’
He sprang to his feet. ‘Lady Helene?’
‘Wha—?’ one of the other men said.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ Grant exclaimed.
‘My exact words,’ mumbled Rhys. He gestured to the other men. ‘Helene, these fellows are Privates Rossiter and Smith, our batmen.’ He turned to the men. ‘Lady Helene and I grew up together.’
She supposed that was enough of an explanation. She nodded politely. ‘How do you do.’
‘Very well, miss.’ Rossiter spoke as if she were in a drawing room dressed in a morning dress and not trousers and a caped coat. ‘Water’s boiling for tea, if you’ll have some.’
‘I would be very grateful,’ she responded truthfully. She’d had nothing to drink in hours. ‘But, please, everyone. I do not wish to be any trouble.’
‘There are no chairs, Helene.’ Rhys sounded apologetic.
At least he no longer sounded angry.
She tried to make light of matters. ‘I’m perfectly dressed to sit on the ground.’ She removed the caped coat, which was soaked through with rain and lowered herself to the dirt floor. She sat cross-legged.
Rhys sat next to her.
Grant returned to his place against the wall. ‘You did not answer my question, Lady Helene. What the devil are you doing here?’
‘I came to find David,’ she explained. ‘He promised to meet me at the hotel, but he lied. I meant to find him and make him return to Brussels with me.’
‘You should have left for home without him,’ Rhys said.
She turned to him. ‘I could not do that.’
If she’d asked, anyone in their right mind would have told her not to come after David, but she was done with listening to what other people thought she should do—even if one of them was Rhys. She’d listened to her father, hadn’t she? And that had ruined her life. Dressing as a boy, riding a horse, and finding her way to where the army was camped were all well within her capabilities, as her presence here showed. She’d misjudged the enormity of the task, though, and she had not anticipated a downpour of rain. Still, she was not sorry she’d tried.
She was only sorry she’d become a worry for Rhys. As happy and relieved as she was to see him, she knew her presence was not good for him.
Grant pointed to her and twirled his finger. ‘Your clothes. Quite different than last I saw you.’ Last he’d seen her was in her gold gown.
‘What gave you the notion to dress in boy’s clothes?’ Rhys asked. ‘Where did you find them anyway?’
‘They’re David’s,’ she replied. ‘I took them from his room.’
Rhys eyed her suspiciously. ‘I thought you said David did not come back to his room.’
‘He didn’t,’ she agreed. ‘That is how I knew his riding clothes would be there, because he would not have known to take them to the ball with him. No one knew what would happen that night. He borrowed clothes from William Lennox.’
Rhys frowned. ‘How did you get in his hotel room?’
She lifted her chin. ‘I picked the lock.’
Grant laughed. And sounds of smothered laughter came from the batmen who were at the other side of the room.
She gave Rhys a sly smile. ‘You remember us learning how to pick locks with my hairpins, do you not?’
Rhys remembered.
They’d never done anything noteworthy with the lock-picking skill. It had been enough to know they could achieve access to wherever they were not supposed to go.
‘Your tea, miss,’ Smith handed her one of their tin cups. Unlike some of the officers, Grant and Rhys did not travel with complete sets of porcelain china. They’d learned in Spain to travel as lightly as possible.
Helene favoured the batman with a very grateful look. She immediately took a sip. She was very thirsty, he realised.
Rhys wanted to be furious at her. This was a very foolhardy escapade of hers. On the other hand, it all took pluck. Here was a side of Helene he’d almost forgotten when thoughts of anything else were driven from his mind the moment she’d turned into an alluring young woman. Here was the girl, his friend, who was up to any dare, any adventure. He had not realised how much he’d missed her.
But how the devil was he to keep her safe?
He shook his head at her. ‘What made you think coming to where the army is preparing for battle was a good idea?’
‘I never meant to cause you trouble, Rhys.’ She sipped more tea. ‘I meant only to find David and return to Brussels.’
‘How could it be safer for you, a woman, to come here than it could be for your brother?’ he pressed.
She countered, ‘You’d said that the battle was dangerous. I meant us to leave before the battle.’
‘Foolish of you, Helene.’ Rhys’s anger flared. ‘Do you not know men before or after a battle can be very dangerous?’ He had seen it too many times.
‘That is why I am in disguise,’ she explained.
‘How did you get here?’ Grant broke in. Trying to keep the peace, no doubt.
‘I hired a horse,’ she responded. ‘And I followed some supply wagons.’
‘Resourceful.’ Grant nodded approvingly.
She had been resourceful. And daring. But the truth was he wanted her as far away as possible. British soldiers could be danger enough, but a French soldier coming upon an Englishwoman? Rhys knew what could happen. He wanted Helene safe and there was little he could do about it now. He could not even take her to an inn. Any inn, any building, would be packed with men trying to stay out of the rain. Men drinking. Men thinking this might be their last night alive.
As if to taunt him, a gush of water fell from the roof, splattering on the floor right next to her. She moved over as if it were nothing.
‘Are you hungry, miss?’ Rossiter called over. ‘We have some bread and cheese.’
She swivelled around to face him. ‘I would be very grateful for anything, Rossiter. I have not eaten since breakfast.’
‘You might as well cook our beef, too,’ Rhys said. ‘While we still have dry wood.’
The roof was now leaking from many places. Smith found a bucket to place under the worst leak, but the building did not have enough containers to catch every drip.
The batmen prepared a simple meal and none of them mentioned to Helene that they were sharing their limited rations with her. After dinner, Rossiter and Smith pulled out a square piece of leather with concentric squares drawn on it and used it and some black and white game pieces made of wood to play Three Men’s Morris.
Grant took out a bottle of brandy he’d somehow preserved and poured some for Rhys and himself. He lifted the bottle. ‘Would you like some, Lady Helene?’
She offered her tin cup and the three sat together, sipping their brandy.
‘Will you tell me of the battle yesterday?’ she asked.
Rhys exchanged a glance with Grant. They both knew there were parts not to be spoken of.
Finally, Rhys spoke. ‘It was hard fighting. The 44th lost four men and another fifty or so wounded. The French did not take the crossroads, though, so the objective was achieved.’
‘I passed carts of wounded men when I rode here,’ she said. ‘Lots of them.’
Rhys took a sip of his brandy. ‘It will be worse tomorrow.’ He instantly regretted saying that to her. Why worry her more than he had already? ‘But you will leave before it starts, Helene.’
She nodded sadly. ‘I know I won’t find David now.’
Grant gestured to their leaking roof. ‘We won’t have a battle unless this rain stops.’
‘Those poor men outside,’ Helene murmured.
Rhys liked that she thought of the men. Like always, the common soldier endured the worst.
‘We’ll try to stay as dry as possible tonight,’ Rhys said.
‘You should take off your coats and put them close to the fire to dry,’ she said. ‘Do not keep them on because of me.’
Rhys suspected they had been doing that very thing.
He must have looked sceptical, because she added, ‘Come now, Rhys. When we were children, we stripped down to our underclothes to swim in the lake. You know I am not missish.’
Grant was first to stand and remove his coat. ‘I do not need a second invitation.’ He took off his boots and stockings, as well.
Helene removed her coat and boots, and Rhys followed. He and Grant carried the clothes to the fireplace, interrupting Rossiter and Smith’s game and their mugs of gin. ‘You, too, men,’ he said. ‘Maybe you can devise some way to take best advantage of the fire.’
‘I have just the thing.’ Smith rose to his feet.
The privates drove spikes into the stone walls and strung a rope they’d packed from one side of the room to the other. When the clothes were hung on it, it also created a sort of barrier.
Grant picked up his blanket. ‘I’m getting closer to the fire.’ He walked through the clothes to the other side with Rossiter and Smith.
Helene remained seated on the ground. Rhys felt her eyes follow him as he gathered his blankets. He found a dry spot in the dark corner that afforded as much privacy as possible. He laid out one blanket on the dirt floor.
‘Come here, Helene,’ he said softly.
She rose and walked over to him.
‘Best to get as much sleep as you can,’ he murmured.
She stood close and suddenly he did not care if he was angry at her, did not care if she’d been foolhardy, all he cared about was that she was standing near. Without speaking, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She melted against him.
He lowered his head to be close to her ear. ‘I thought I would never hold you again.’
She clasped him even tighter. ‘I never expected to see you—’ Her voice broke off.
He turned her face to his and he lowered his lips to hers. The memory of lying with her the night before came rushing back and he was consumed with a desire he could not slake.
No matter. No matter. He would be content that she was in his arms, that he would lie next to her for another night.
He eased her to the blanket that offered little warmth against the dirt floor. With any luck the ground beneath them would stay dry. That must be enough for this night. She nestled next to him and he covered them both with his second blanket.
She moved so that her lips were next to his ear. ‘I wish this were last night.’
He did, as well, with every fibre of his being, but he feared his desire had dishonoured her. ‘I am not sure—’ he said.
She put her fingers on his lips. ‘Do not tell me you regret last night. I will be furious with you if you do. I do not regret it. No—no matter what happens, I will never regret making love with you.’
He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. ‘I do not regret it.’
She nestled against him again. ‘Good.’
He held her, laying his cheek against her soft hair. ‘I meant what I said to you, Helene. I never stopped loving you.’
‘Oh, Rhys.’ She sighed. ‘After I...rejected you, it took me very little time to realise that I’d made the wrong decision. I yearned to be with you.’ She separated the slit in his shirt to place a kiss on his bare chest.
It was too late. The army was too much a part of him now. He’d thrived on the hardship that had tested his strength and resolve, but, no matter how scrappy Helene might be at the moment, she belonged in the world of gold gowns and glittering balls.
‘I—I cannot promise—’ he said.
She cut him off. ‘I am asking nothing of you, Rhys.’ She released a long breath. ‘Except to live. You must live.’
Even that he could not promise.