Sweet Bravado (31 page)

The mad frenzy among many of the guests bent on forgetting the impending crisis contrasted sharply with others who had grown
pale and quiet, clinging desperately to their loved ones as the evening drew closer to its climax.

“So, Lord Ardsmore.” Valentin turned to meet the sardonic eyes of the Duke of Wellington. “I found it expedient to come and
introduce myself since you seem to have forgotten my express wish to meet your lady.”

“My lord Duke, I… I… forgive my oversight.”

Nicole was amused at her husband’s discomfort.

Catching the humor in her eyes, Valentin quickly made the introductions. The Duke took her hand in his and kissed it while
she curtsied.

“My dear Viscountess, how can I ever express my gratitude for your efforts on behalf of our cause.”

Nicole was flattered at the Duke’s pointed recognition of her efforts. They chatted amiably for a few minutes until the Duke
took leave of her announcing, “You must excuse me, dear lady, but I think it is time we prepared for our departure.”

The time had come for final goodbyes!

“Dearest,” Valentin smiled, “I must rush. Stay a while, and let Danforth see you home.”

“No, Val! Do you think I could stay at a time like
this? You must let me come with you to the house.” She clasped his arm.

“It will only be more difficult.”

“Every second with you is precious to me. Please, darling, do not deny me this.”

“As you wish, my love.”

Upon arriving home, they were met by Valentin’s valet who had the Colonel’s military gear packed. “All ready, Colonel.”

“Fine, Jenkins. Have the horses saddled. I will be along directly.”

“Very good, my lord.” He dashed off.

Drawing Nicole into the unlighted library, Valentin buried his face in her hair breathing in her fragrance. Then allowing
his lips to wander over her face, he whispered, “Did I tell you how especially beautiful you looked tonight?”

“Yes.” She choked back a sob.

“And how very much I love you.”

“Oh Val, Val.” She clung to him as his hands dropped to her hips pulling her next to him.

“I will be back, Nicole. This is only the beginning. Just remember that, darling.”

“Yes, my dearest. I shall pray…” She did not finish her words as his lips found hers—bruising in their intensity. Then gently
disengaging himself from her embrace, he gave her one of his more tender looks, touched her cheek with his hand and was gone.

Colonel Harcourt, astride his great black stallion, was on a ridge overlooking the countryside of Waterloo as he watched the
Allies and the opposing French form themselves for battle. On the opposite side of the valley a sea of blue uniforms hovered
in the morning light growing in size and number until the horizon seemed aquiver with the motion of human bodies.

The first and second rounds of fire came from the French artillery, and small puffs of smoke began to appear along the line
of battle. Gradually the sound of heavy cannon filled the air with a deafening roar. A thick smoke hung heavily over the battlefield
making it impossible to see clearly. The sharp crackle of musketry punctuated the general din with increasing regularity,
while shells screamed overhead and crashed into the sodden earth sending up great showers of mud and stones.

The call to charge sounded, and a great horde of French cavalry was racing through a storm of whistling bullets, sabers held
high, straight toward a counter-force of British cavalry no less eager for the pitch of battle.

They met, a great thudding of horses and clashing of arms. To the awful screams of the instruments of war were added the screams
of men in the throes of hate and lust, fear and pain. And the grand designs of the generals lost their shape and became formless.
There were no longer set patterns of infantry columns and cavalry flanks moving in majestic order. Instead there evolved an
inferno of men and animals and weapons snarled together.

It was into the midst of that heaving horror of death that Colonel Valentin Harcourt, Viscount of Ardsmore, plunged his stallion.
He was carrying a message to General Comstock requesting reinforcements to support the right flank, which was in serious danger
of being overcome by French troups.

The Colonel wheeled his stallion violently through the wild fracas of shouting men and thundering horses, whipping his sword
skillfully before him, seeing first one then another blue uniform crumple before the vicious thrust of his powerful arm. They
were not the bodies of men that received the piercing of his weapon, but merely obstacles to be cleared from the path of destruction
he was hacking between himself and the enemy. Nevertheless, his luck faltered. A hot, searing pain struck him in the chest,
and Valentin swayed, almost losing his seat astride his heaving horse. With a sharp curse damning all French hides, he clamped
his jaws together and held on. He was through the worst and made his way into the woods surrounding Hougoumont to General
Comstock’s entrenchment. It was only after delivering Wellington’s message that he slipped from his horse and lost consciousness.

* * *

The sounds of cannonade shook the city since dawn, shattering windows and frightening much of the populace into a state of
panic.

“Oh my God,” Cecily wailed. “I should have left the city with the Wexfords when I had the chance.”

“It’s too late for that now, Cecily. We must try to be brave,” Nicole urged.

“No, no, Nicole, I cannot. We can still gather a few of our belongings and escape to Antwerp.”

“Are you mad, Cecily? Have you looked out of the window in the last hour? The streets are mobbed with people attempting just
that.”

“I don’t care! If they can make it, so can we.”

“Don’t you remember that our carriage has been stolen? Besides, you might consider John.”

“Oh Lord, Nicole, John is a soldier—it is his duty, but I am not obliged to remain here.” The girl was close to frenzy.

“Cecily, you are overwrought. I’m sure you don’t mean what you are saying.”

“But I’m so scared, Nicole, I beg you to come to Antwerp with me.”

“Never! Do you think for one minute I would leave while Valentin is in danger? They can destroy the whole city, but I will
not leave without him! Don’t you care what happens to John?”

Cecily hesitated, making an effort to stem her hysteria, but she could not. “I see no need to sacrifice my life as well as
his.”

“Don’t say that!” Nicole shook with fear and anger. “How can you be so callous!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Gordon Danforth.

“Gordon!” Cecily sprang at him. “Surely you can get us out of here—you’re a member of the British Legation.”

“It is too late, Mrs. Tilford. The people are running wild in the streets, and every sort of conveyance has been commandeered.
It is best to remain inside. I had a terrible time getting here.”

“But there must be some way. What about the river barges?”

“Impossible. Wellington has secured every one of them for the wounded.”

“What are we to do?” she cried.

“My dear lady, remain calm. There is nothing for you to do but wait.”

“For what? For Bonaparte to enter the city?”

“That’s not very likely to happen…”

“Is it not? I heard he has beaten the Duke and is already marching on the city.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, my dear. The city is rife with rumors. We can’t be sure at this point whom to trust. I’m
afraid our Belgian hosts are just too frightened right now and waiting to see which side of the fence to jump on.”

“It’s as bad as that?” Nicole questioned.

“Don’t give up hope, Nicole. Louis is still in Ghent. He hasn’t seen fit to take flight yet. Besides, Wellington has saved
the day more than once. Did he not do it at Torres Vedras in Portugal? We must have faith he can do it again.”

“I have, oh I have,” Nicole claimed fervently as Cecily fled the room.

When the bodies of the wounded and dying began to arrive from the battlefields, Nicole could not sit idly by hoping for news
of Valentin and the others to reach her. Waiting passively for the daily lists of battle casualties was beyond her nature
to endure. The awful dread which
greeted those postings was made bearable only by her secret belief that her husband’s name would not appear on those fearful
lists and that her love would protect him from harm. She tried to close her ears to the shocking tales of the sufferings of
the wounded on the battlefield. One report told of the agony of dying men plundered by looting soldiers who sometimes killed
them as they stripped away their valuables.

Nicole’s need to take action found release in joining the scores of women who went to nurse the injured and dying soldiers
beginning to crowd the city. At first the awesome sight overwhelmed her, and the horrors of gaping wounds and bloodied limbs
and screams of pain almost drove her away, but the thought that these could be Valentin or Perry gave her the courage to remain
and face the task before her. Gritting her teeth, she went among the wounded offering whatever assistance was demanded whether
it was trying to find space for torn bodies in the overcrowded houses turned into makeshift hospitals, or offering the comfort
of prayers, or most appalling of all, the dressing of the hideous wounds crying out for attention. Gradually Nicole became
inured to the ghastly sights of shattered limbs as she feverishly worked to staunch the flow of blood from the pitiful human
flesh mauled by the brutal weapons of war.

As time passed even the streets of Brussels were turned into hospitals with row upon row of wounded lying on the sidewalks
in an endless sea of suffering. The most heart-breaking cries were those of the men for water, and many were actually maddened
by pain and thirst. When Nicole could no longer force her weary limbs to further effort she dragged herself home to snatch
a few hours of tormented sleep.

The sounds of bombardment awoke Nicole abruptly
the next morning. She shuddered at the prospect of another frightful day like yesterday facing her; nevertheless, bracing
herself, she prepared to leave for the hospital.

Cecily was further alarmed as Madame Lafitte declared her intention of accompanying Nicole. Crying that she would be left
alone and unprotected, Cecily demanded that the women remain with her. Nicole refused to be moved by Cecily’s fears and was
about to leave with Madame Lafitte when Danforth arrived escorting Perry who was limping.

“Perry,” she cried.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, Nicole, but I took a shot in my leg. Damn Frogs! Sorry to put you to all this trouble.”

“Hush, dear,” Nicole soothed him placing her hand in his. “You know I could not bear to have you in anyone’s care but my own.
You are my family.”

“You’re a trump, Nicole. Should have known you have the heart of a lion.”

“Do not overrate my courage, dear Perry,” she claimed smiling with effort. “But enough about me, you are the one requiring
attention. Let’s get you upstairs where you can rest.”

After seeing to Perry’s comfort, Nicole returned to Gordon Danforth. “How did you find him, Gordon?”

“Perry came to my lodgings this morning. He didn’t want to come here and worry you unnecessarily, but, of course, I knew you
would want him here. His wound is not serious, but he will get more attention here.”

“Thank you, Gordon. You have been such a good friend to all of us.”

“It has always been that way between the Harcourts and me,” he replied with embarrassment.

“I only wish I could have helped you and Geneviève
more when you needed it.” She touched his hand impulsively.

“No, Nicole, it was not meant to be for Geneviève and me—just as it
was
meant for you and Valentin to come together.” There was a significant pause as she accepted his statement. “I must return
to headquarters, but I will stop by later.”

“Gordon,” she still held his hand, “has there been any word of Valentin?”

“None.” He patted her hand. “At the first word, I will let you know.”

“Please,” she whispered as he departed.

Cecily joined Nicole in the drawing room shortly after Danforth left. A worried frown marked her brow as she paced nervously
about the room. “Nicole… I… I’m sorry about the other day. John… John is out there somewhere. I did not realize how much that
silly man meant to me until I saw Perry. What if I should lose him?”

“I understand, Cecily, but you must not think like that,” Nicole replied calmly enough, but her own fears made it impossible
to console Cecily further. How much longer before she would know Valentin’s fate?

When the news of Napoleon’s defeat spread through Brussels, by the nightfall of June 18, 1815, forty thousand men lay wounded
or dying in the Belgian fields surrounding Waterloo. On the very next morning an overwhelming effort to rescue the wounded
was launched. Once the Belgians no longer feared backing the wrong side, the houses of the rich were thrown open to the victims
of that terrible battle, and little distinction was made whether a soldier had been enemy or ally.

Nicole still had no word of Valentin and her alarm grew uncontrollable. For days she had been harboring a secret
plan, and it took only the news of Napoleon’s defeat to precipitate her into action. She would go find Valentin herself, and
there was no stopping her.

“But
chérie,
this is madness!” protested Madame La-fitte. “Where shall you begin to look for the Viscount in the swarming confusion in
the streets. You will not reach the city gates.”

“You cannot stop me, Fifi. So cease your prattle. I am determined.”

“My dear Nicole, how can you hope to endure the rigors such a search must entail?” This was from John Tilford who had arrived
minutes ago in the wake of Gordon Danforth, both bearing the news of Bonaparte’s rout to the household. They were gathered
in Perry’s bedroom. Cecily clung happily to her husband’s arm.

“You talk to me of rigors when I do not know if my husband is alive or dead!” she choked. “He may be wounded! Suffering! Oh,
do not stare so, but help me instead, please.”