The Waltzing Widow (25 page)

It was impossible for Lady Mary and the others to disguise their strong overpowering dread that the news might be true. At one point Lady Mary burst out, “I can scarcely bear it another moment. We are so near and yet unable to learn what is really passing! It is horrid to know that within a few miles such an awful contest is waged, to hear even the distant voice of war, and to think that in the roar of every cannon our brave countrymen are falling, bleeding, dying...” She broke off, smothering a choked sob behind the back of one hand.

She had been to the Place Royale earlier that morning and had only just returned. She thought she would never forget the sight of that sea of suffering, broken humanity. Everywhere she had looked, each face that she had peered into, she had dreaded that she might find her son's dying gaze. But now she wished that she had. It would have been so much easier, knowing for certain where he was. If the news of French victory were true, she would be forced to depart from Brussels without ever learning his fate.

Abigail stared at her mother with wide eyes. She could not recall ever hearing her mother speak with such agitation. She was shaken and dismayed. Her mother was the rock that she and the others had leaned upon for days.

But Abigail's instinctive fright at witnessing her mother's sudden frailty was chased away by the abrupt realization that Lady Mary Spence, like any of them, could not be expected to remain unaffected by the long and protracted suspense of the past three days. The constant agitation, the varying reports and incessant alarms, the wild fluctuating of their hopes and doubts, could not be wholly endured even by one as strong as her mother.

Abigail looked at her mother with suddenly sharpened eyes, taking note at last that her mother had lost weight and that there were darkened circles like bruises under her eyes. It shamed Abigail that she had not noticed before how much toll the ordeal and the ever-present responsibilities for the wounded had taken of her mother.

Abigail slipped an arm about her mother's trim waist. “It will be all right, Mama. It must be all right,'’ she said unsteadily.

Lady Mary turned her misted gaze on her daughter's earnest face. What she saw brought a smile wavering to her lips. She straightened her shoulders and pulled from under her cuff a handkerchief of fine muslin to briskly blow her nose. She felt better immediately. “Of course it shall be all right. We have only to trust God and continue to believe in our troops. Our army has never before been defeated by Bonaparte, after all."

She had intended to speak with conviction, but even to her own ears her voice sounded falsely bright. Abigail gazed at her mother. There was a wealth of such an age-old understanding in her eyes that Lady Mary was nearly overcome. She wondered when her little girl had so grown up that a word of reassurance for her was no longer wholly sufficient. She felt a sudden aching loss for Abigail's discarded naiveté. She made a determined effort to smile. “Why do we not go up to see Lady Cecily? She will be too much alone with her thoughts just now.” They went upstairs to Lady Cecily's sitting room, where they discovered the earl already before them.

Lord Kenmare did his best to show a calm exterior to reassure the ladies, but inside he was eaten with anxiety. He was restless, unable to stay immured at the town house without news, and he had come and gone from the house several times already in search of accurate information.

It was just before noon. The rain had finally stopped and the sun appeared. Lady Cecily, who had insisted upon sitting at the window so that she could glance out of it, called sharply to her brother. “Robert, something is happening!"

Lord Kenmare went quickly to the window, where he was swiftly joined by Lady Mary and Abigail. He instantly perceived what his sister was referring to when he looked down into the street and saw the flurry of activity. The horses, men, carts, and carriages of all descriptions, laden with baggage, which had filled every street all night, had apparently received orders to march.

"What does it mean, my lord?” Abigail asked anxiously.

"We shall know soon enough, depending upon the direction they take,” Lord Kenmare said grimly.

The ladies exchanged quick glances. Abigail's frown was worried and uncomprehending, while Lady Cecily looked sick with apprehension. Lady Mary knew that her expression must mirror the same feelings. “If they take the Antwerp or Ostend Road...” She broke off, appalled at the obvious conclusion that must be drawn.

"Exactly. If they do so, we will not be holding our ground this day,” Lord Kenmare said, never removing his eyes from the frenetic scene below.

Lady Mary found in her anxiety that she was digging her nails into her palms. But she was scarcely aware of the stinging discomfort as she, too, watched the commotion below. She felt her daughter's hand steal into her own and she relaxed her fingers to reassuringly clasp Abigail's hand.

"I cannot bear to watch anymore,'’ Lady Cecily said, shading her eyes with one hand. But the next instant she had dropped her hand and leaned forward again to the window.

The baggage wagons and various carts and carriages sorted themselves out and started moving up the Rue de Namur.

"They are moving toward the army,” Lady Mary exclaimed. When Lord Kenmare glanced at her and smiled, she felt her heart turn over in her breast. A giddy feeling came over her and she clutched Abigail's hand harder for the support that the warm contact gave her.

Unaware of the devastating effect of his own charm on a certain lady's vulnerable heart, Lord Kenmare said, “Yes. Our fellows must still be in the fight, no matter what we have heard this morning to the contrary.” He turned then to his sister and lifted her cold hand to clasp it warmly between his own palms. “We shall not be haring home just yet, Cecily."

Lady Cecily's lips trembled. A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank God. All is not quite lost, then."

"Quite. We shall have luncheon as usual, and then I shall saunter out again to discover what intelligence I can,” Lord Kenmare said.

Luncheon was a subdued meal. Each of those about the table was preoccupied with his or her own thoughts, and none seemed to have much appetite, especially Lady Cecily, who only picked at her plate before pushing it aside. Before the meal was finished, she quietly excused herself from the table.

As she rose, Lord Kenmare looked at her with a worried frown. “Cecily, are you quite all right? You look unusually pale to me."

Lady Cecily managed a small wan smile. “Of course I am, Robert. It is just this beastly, awful suspense we are all in. I shall be so glad when it is all over,” she said. She asked the attending footman to ring for her maid. “I shall go upstairs for a bit and rest, I think."

"Perhaps that would be best,” Lord Kenmare said. He watched his sister walk slowly and awkwardly from the room, and when the door was closed behind her, he said, “I do not like how strained Cecily appears."

"I shall myself look in on her presently, my lord. But I am certain it is only the natural tiredness that comes with the approach of one's confinement that affects Lady Cecily,” Lady Mary said reassuringly.

"Thank you, my lady. You greatly ease my mind where Cecily is concerned. I feel compelled to go often in hopes of hearing what is happening with our army. I would have been fearful of being absent when my sister most needed support, except that I know that she will not lack for care while you are with us."

The expression in his eyes was incredibly warm. Lady Mary felt herself glowing with his confidence in her. “You may rest assured that I shall look after her, my lord,” she said quietly.

The rest of luncheon was accomplished in passing conversation between the earl and Lady Mary. Usually so voluble in company, Abigail seemed unnaturally content merely to listen. When the covers were removed, Abigail said, “Mama, should you mind it if I call on Michele? I have been thinking about her all morning."

"Of course you may, Abigail. I only ask that you take a footman with you, for I confess to some anxiousness about the safety of walking about the streets alone today,” Lady Mary said. Abigail kissed her mother's cheek, assuring her that she would take a manservant for an escort, and dashed upstairs to change into her walking dress. She left soon afterward in the protective custody of a sturdy footman.

Lord Kenmare escorted Lady Mary to the drawing room and then stayed to talk with her for some time. She was surprised that he should wish to spend the time in her company when he had expressed the intention of going out after luncheon. They did not speak of anything of moment that she could see, but yet when he at last rose to say that he meant to reassure himself about a couple of household matters before he left, she felt that in some way they had helped each other to momentarily forget their mutual apprehension over the battle raging at that moment.

Abigail came into the drawing room just as the earl was leaving it, and they exchanged greetings in passing. Lady Mary was surprised that Abigail had returned so quickly. “How was your visit with Michele?” she asked casually.

Abigail answered her mother with a subdued air. “It was not as entertaining as I had anticipated.” She was playing absently with the curtains at the window, turned away from her mother.

"Do you wish to tell me about it?” Lady Mary asked softly. She did not falter in her steady employment of rolling bandages, even though the undercurrent in her daughter's voice struck a protective chord within her.

Abigail abandoned the window and placed her hands on the back of a chair. She said quickly, “Sir Lionel brought a rumor to Michele about Viscount Callander. He told her that Lord Randol was dead. And then in the next breath he proposed marriage to Michele! Wasn't that rather horridly unfeeling of him, Mama?"

Lady Mary's fingers had frozen at Abigail's revelation. She resumed rolling the bandage. “Indeed it was, Abigail. I am surprised that Sir Lionel showed so little consideration for one whom I was always persuaded he had a strong partiality for."

Abigail moved her hands restlessly across the back of the chair. “Yes, everyone knew it. He made no secret of his admiration for Michele. In any event, Michele says that she spurned him furiously and he went away all cold and proud and hurt. She allowed me to read the letter that she is sending to him in apology for wounding his feelings.” Abigail reflected a moment, finally saying, “In the same circumstances, I do not think I would have pitied Sir Lionel, for he never gave a thought for the hurt that he inflicted. You will say that Michele is more mature than I am. Isn't that so, Mama?"

"Not at all, Abigail. I think that each of us acts according to her own nature. You might not have been so cruel in your rejection to Sir Lionel's suit and therefore would not have felt the need of apologizing to him,” Lady Mary said. She hardly knew what it was she was saying. Her head was spinning with the distressing rumor of yet another young gentleman gone.

Abigail shook her head swiftly. “Oh, Mama! You don't understand at all. I am so ashamed of myself, don't you see?” A sob seemed to tear its way out of her chest, and she collapsed across the chair's back, crying wildly.

Lady Mary was startled by her daughter's unprecedented upset. “Abby!” She threw aside the lint and went quickly to gather her daughter into her arms. “My dear sweet child, whatever is the matter?"

Abigail clutched at her, still weeping. Her reply came in a series of hiccupping breaths. “Michele is so noble and you are so strong and Lady Cecily is so brave to have a baby. I am the only one who goes about shaking inside, and I am luckier than anybody! I have Bruce safe. I know he is alive and will be well. If what Sir Lionel said is true, Michele has already lost her beloved. We don't even know whether William is coming back! Oh, how I detest this horrid war!"

Lady Mary's throat burned with the effort not to burst into long-denied tears of her own. She said unsteadily, “We are all of us sick of the fighting, darling, and we are all afraid. You are not alone in those sentiments, believe me. I am not the tower of strength you think me. Sometimes I am so terribly afraid—for William, for you, for all of us. As for Lady Cecily, she hasn't any choice in having the baby. Its arrival will not be denied."

Abigail gave a watery giggle. She mopped her eyes. “No, I suppose one cannot simply send it back,” she agreed.

Lady Mary hugged her. “That's my girl. Why do you not go upstairs now to read to Captain McInnes? He must be growing mad at being alone with his own thoughts."

Abigail regarded her mother in utmost surprise. “Go up to a gentleman's bedroom. Mama? But surely ... Whatever would Grandmama say?"

"I suspect that the viscountess would swoon at the least hint of such scandal.” Lady Mary smiled slightly. “I have every confidence in you, my dear. And I promise upon my honor that I shall not breathe a word about it to your grandmama."

Abigail kissed her mother quickly. “Thank you. Mama.” She exited the drawing room on her happy errand.

Lady Mary remained standing where she was for some minutes, staring into space. Then, as though her thoughts were too unpleasant to bear, she went over to the pianoforte and ran her fingers over the keys, picking out a playful air that had always served to brighten her spirits. But it was not quite the antidote that she had hoped it would be, and for some unaccountable reason she felt tears in her eyes.

That was how Lord Kenmare found her when he entered. At his quick step, Lady Mary whirled with a gasp. He was startled by the expression of fright on her face, but it was gone so quickly he was uncertain that he had actually seen it. “I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to startle you."

She came forward with a light laugh, hoping that he was not observant enough to note how she blinked against the betraying dampness in her eyes. “It was of no consequence. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I did not hear you immediately, my lord.'’ She studied him a moment, as though debating within herself, then appeared to come to a decision. “My lord, how long was it that you knew of Abigail's attachment to Captain McInnes?"

Lord Kenmare regarded her, surprised by her question. But he could see that it was important to her. “Your daughter confided in me two days ago, my lady. She requested that I ask word of him whenever I had occasion to go out for news.''