The Waltzing Widow (26 page)
Lady Mary turned away. “I see. She never confided in me."
The earl heard the peculiar forlorn note in her voice and he came up behind her. He laid his hands on her shoulders. “When Abigail came to me, she was thinking only of the fact that I was often out searching for news. The impropriety of her request never crossed her mind, and assuredly I do not hold it against her in such times. I am certain that she never meant to slight you, my lady,” he said quietly.
Lady Mary held herself still under the comforting warmth of his hands. She had the oddest wish to turn, to bury her face in his shoulder and burst into tears. But that could not be. She must remain strong. Everyone depended on her. She could not lean even for a moment on someone else, no matter how compassionate his voice or how solid and comforting his nearness, for fear of completely crumbling away. So instead she pinned a smile to her lips. She turned and his hands fell away from her. She felt curiously bereft without their strength. Again, for the third time that day, she felt the hot prick of tears in her eyes. “Silly of me to mind so much, is it not?"
"Not at all.” Lord Kenmare was breathing with deliberate slow control, fighting the urge to catch her up in his arms and kiss away the rare, bruised look of vulnerability in her eyes. He imagined what her reaction would be if he gave in to his shocking impulse to gather her up in his arms and give full rein to his ardor.
Once, he had allowed her to glimpse the extent of his passion for her, and she had turned from him in revulsion. The memory was not a pleasant one and therefore his voice was cooler than he perhaps intended. “I came to inform you that I am going out now to discover what news I can. If you will be so kind to let Cecily know when she wakens, I will be grateful."
"Of course, my lord,” Lady Mary said, forcing the words past the seeming obstruction in her tight throat. She offered her hand to him, and when he took it, she said earnestly, “Take care."
Lord Kenmare permitted himself the liberty of kissing her fingers with a banked passion. “Be assured that I will, my lady,” he said, the timbre of his voice curiously deepened. He turned then and left her, before he could say anything that he might regret.
Lady Mary stood staring after him, shaken by his graceful intimate salute. For an instant there had been something unmistakably naked in his eyes that she thought she understood. But surely it could not be.
Her fingers still tingled from the touch of his lips and her hand crept up to her cheek, there to be cradled against her face. “Robert,” she whispered.
Lord Kenmare left the house just before three o'clock and walked about two miles out of town in the direction of the army. He observed with some surprise the most curious scene he had yet witnessed. Every kind of carriage was on the road, carrying the Sunday population of Brussels out to the suburbs out of the Porte Namur. They were sitting about tables drinking beer and smoking and making merry, as if races or other sports were going on instead of a great pitched battle. But there was a feverishness in the darting eyes, an edge of tension in the laughter, that could not be completely disguised.
Lord Kenmare neither heard nor saw anything of moment among the crowd, and he turned to retrace his steps. Suddenly a considerable shouting and the pounding of hooves rose behind him, coming rapidly closer. The earl swung around. A regiment of cavalry galloped full speed down the Rue de Namur, heedless of carriages and pedestrians alike.
As others were doing, the earl leapt to one side, narrowly escaping being trampled. In the brief second of their passing, he recognized the cavalry to be the Cumberland Hussars. The cavalry thundered on down the road into the Place Royale, crying out at the top of their lungs that the French were on their heels. The havoc and panic raised by their passage were incredible, and as carriages were untangled and pedestrians dusted themselves off, shouted queries and curses flew through the air. But after several minutes, when no French could be espied in the distance, the Sunday loiterers again settled to their beer and their nervous gossip.
Lord Kenmare strode quickly in the wake of the fleeing cavalry. He entered the great square of the Place Royale, only to pause, gazing upon some hundreds of wounded men who were stretched out on piles of straw. Men and women of upper and working classes alike moved among the wounded, offering soup, coffee and tea, fresh blankets and shirts. “Good God,” he said blankly. He had listened to Lady Mary speak of the wounded, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
"Aye, it is a rare sight indeed. And there will soon enough be more of the same."
Lord Kenmare turned to see who addressed him. A Life Guardsman stood next to him. The soldier was obviously worn out and he sported a bloodied rag about his head. “Here, you need that looked to,” Lord Kenmare said, instinctively looking about for help for the man.
The Life Guardsman shrugged off the earl's concern. He touched the bandage lightly with a dirty finger and grinned crookedly. “This trifle? Believe me, I am damned fortunate compared to some of the other fellows. I'm off to my bivouac for a long and deserved sleep."
Lord Kenmare detained the man for a moment longer. “You've just returned from the field, then. When you left, how was the battle going?"
The Life Guardsman turned around, glancing about to see if anyone was within hearing, and lowered his voice. “Why, my lord, I don't like the appearance of things at all. The French are getting on in such a manner that I don't see what's to stop them.” He saw that his grave words had proved disquieting, and he apologized. “I am sorry, my lord. But that is my honest impression."
Lord Kenmare smiled fleetingly, dispelling his heavy frown. “Quite all right. Look here, you still need to have that wound taken care of. Why do you not return with me to my residence, and I shall have a physician to—"
Suddenly an alarm was raised, drying the words in his mouth. Shouts that the French were entering the city swiftly led to panic. In a moment all was in an uproar. Those who had been attending the wounded ran in all directions. Beside Lord Kenmare, the Life Guardsman bit out a curse and ran toward a party of the Eighty-first Regiment that had remained on duty in the city during the action. Without being totally aware of his actions, the earl followed after him. Lord Kenmare found himself amidst the soldiers, a sword steady in his hand and his heart pumping.
The panic was as quickly over as the one previous, when about seventeen hundred French prisoners appeared under the escort of some British dragoons. Held high above the Horse Guards could be seen two eagles, the distinctive standards of Bonaparte's forces, which had obviously been taken as prizes of the battle. A ragged cheer broke from the throats of those in the square, citizens and wounded alike.
Lord Kenmare looked blankly at the sword in his hand. He had no notion from where he had snatched it up or what he thought to accomplish with it. If the alarm had been authentic, he would have been in the middle of a desperate battle in the Place Royale, while those with a claim on his protection were left to their own devices. His beloved sister and her unborn child. Lady Mary and Abigail, and all the others of his household would have been left to the mercies of the enemy while he indulged in vainglorious heroics.
All at once Lord Kenmare realized that he had been chafing for days at his passive spectator's role, when so many he knew were in the thick of the fight. But his duty had bound him, as it still did, first and foremost to the welfare of his household.
Lord Kenmare gently laid aside the sword beside a wounded officer lying on a pallet of straw. It was time to finish the errand that he had come on so that he could return to the town house. He recalled that he had offered hospitality to the Life Guardsman to whom he had been speaking; but when he looked about for the soldier to give him directions, he did not find him.
The afternoon crept by with almost palpable slowness until Lady Mary received an urgent summons by Lady Cecily's maid. She rushed upstairs to Lady Cecily's bedroom and saw instantly that the maidservant had not been mistaken. Lady Cecily lay in bed, her face white and beaded with perspiration. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing abnormally quickly, obviously fighting off pain. Lady Mary felt a sinking sensation. In a lowered voice she told the maid, “Quickly, order someone to go for the physician. And tell them in the kitchen to put water on to boil."
"Yes, my lady,” the maid gasped. With a last rolling glance toward her mistress, she rushed from the bedroom.
Lady Mary went up to the bed. She touched her friend's shoulder and said gently, “Cecily, why ever did you not tell me?"
Lady Cecily's eyes flew open. Reflected in the brown depths was relief, shaded by rueful amusement. “I did not want to set about another wild rumor,” she said.
Lady Mary spluttered on a genuine laugh. She was amazed by the uplift of her spirits from an exercise that had become a rarity for them all in the last thirty-six hours. “You silly peagoose,” she said affectionately. She turned to the washstand and wet a towel in the cool water. Gently she touched it to the prostrate woman's hot face, and Lady Cecily sighed with the relief it brought.
The minutes ticked by on the bedroom clock. The maid returned to whisper that a physician could not be got. Lady Mary's eyes flashed. Thinking swiftly, she ordered a message that a physician or a midwife was needed immediately to be carried to the house she had leased for the Season. If anyone could find the medical help that Lady Cecily required, it would be the housekeeper Berthe, she thought hopefully. Thereafter she set herself to the task of making Lady Cecily as comfortable as it was in her power to do.
The clock ticked on inexorably, marking the shortening intervals. Still there was no word, even as Lady Cecily was rapidly approaching the point where the midwife would be required.
Lady Mary thought that she had never spent a worse vigil than this one. The passing hours were made even less bearable by the continued absence of the earl. For some reason she felt certain that if he had been at the town house and had known of his sister's sudden confinement, there would now be a physician in attendance.
With another quick glance at the clock, Lady Mary hoped that the earl had not fallen afoul of difficulty.
Lady Cecily's thoughts were an echo of her own, for she said with a hint of fretfulness, “I do hope that Robert is safe. He has been gone now for hours."
"I trust that he is,” Lady Mary said, outwardly calm. But her eyes did not see the towel that she was once again wringing out, rather she was looking inwardly at all that her imagination was conjuring up to account for the earl's extended absence.
"Mary."
She looked around, startled by the imperative demand inherent in Lady Cecily's normally soft voice.
"Mary, I wish you to tell me the truth,” Lady Cecily said. “I have seen—at least, I have thought I have seen—a certain light in your eyes whenever you gaze on my brother. Are you in love with him?"
Lady Mary felt herself flush. Denial was on the point of her tongue. But there was such poignant appeal in Lady Cecily's steady gaze that she could not withstand it. It seemed that this ragged time had torn aside all protective layers and would leave them with only naked honesty. She said in a low voice, “Yes, I am."
Lady Cecily let go a long sigh. “How perfectly wonderful. I am so glad."
"Is it wonderful?” Lady Mary asked, with a sad little smile. She would not say so to Lady Cecily, for her heart could not bear for her to do so, but she still harbored doubts that Lord Kenmare thought of or saw her as anything more than Abigail's mother. He had desired her, true, but she had made herself so very available, and there was no doubt of his virility. Even now she inwardly shivered, feeling the echo of all that he had called up in her.
"Of course it is. Robert has needed someone sincere and sweet and marvelous for a very long time,” Lady Cecily said. She saw that her words had not made the impression that she had intended and she realized the reason. “Mary, he cares deeply for you. I know that he does."
"Perhaps.” Lady Mary bent her attention once more to her task of wiping the perspiration from Lady Cecily's brow, making it obvious that she preferred to leave the topic behind. But she could not so easily turn aside her own thoughts.
The pulse beat dully in her throat at the thought that Lord Kenmare might care something for her, but she shook her head. She thought that she knew better than Lady Cecily the truth of the matter. She had seen warmth and friendliness in Lord Kenmare's eyes and he had always shown her the greatest consideration. He had made quite plain that he wanted her physically. But not once had he ever given any sign that his emotions ran deeper. Oh, perhaps, when he had kissed her fingers earlier that day, she had been positive of seeing more. But her certainty had faded, until now she questioned that she had really seen anything at all in the earl's eyes.
Tears threatened to close her throat, and she swallowed, dismayed by her own lack of stoicism. She was more worn down than even she had suspected.
Lady Cecily bit off a sharp exclamation and doubled with the pain of birth. Lady Mary forgot herself then, because events were suddenly escalating. After a swift assessment, she called to the hovering maid and issued a series of rapid orders even as she began rolling up her sleeves.
When Lord Kenmare entered the house he was immediately accosted by Lady Mary. She greeted him with outstretched hands, and when he took hold of them, she pressed his fingers. “Thank God! We heard that the French were in the town. I ... we feared that you might have come into some jeopardy,” she stammered.
Lord Kenmare smiled warmly at her. “I am grateful for your concern, my lady. As it turns out, some of the French are indeed in town, but as prisoners under the escort of our fine dragoons.''
"But this is marvelous news!” Lady Mary exclaimed, color flying to her cheeks with her excitement. “Surely that must mean that it is almost over and we have carried the day."
