Page 20 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

By the time they reached Ghent, for the first time in his life Paul regretted joining the army.

They had travelled from Ostend by barge to reduce the time it would take to reach Brussels but Ellen had not been allowed to travel with the regiment; she’d journeyed on another craft, and the isolation from her had been unbearable.

He had worried over her, although by all accounts, her journey in the company of the battle tourists was as good as a pleasure cruise with excellent food and entertainment, as if this were no more than a festival parade.

There were so many tourists.

They did not understand war.

He did not wish them to.

He wished them a hundred miles away.

At least, having reached Ghent, he could be with Ellen again.

Paul sighed and his hands settled at his waist as he watched Ellen sorting out items to be laundered and passing them to Jennifer.

They were to spend four days in Ghent. He was to meet with the other officers in an hour and speak with other regiments and find out how the 52nd fitted within the whole, and obtain their orders before progressing.

He knew Ellen was relieved to have a break from travelling, and he felt that he should say something to reassure her.

But he could not apologise for what could not be different, and he did not think she expected him to.

She had been stoic and resilient throughout their journey.

He had no complaints. It was just that damned tense queasy feeling in his stomach that feared for her and wished to protect her – and it was from things he had no capability to prevent.

‘I shall come with you when you buy supplies, Jennifer,’ Ellen said.

She had changed. She had learned how important it was to plan ahead. She had travelled to Ghent with the other women and he could tell they had been educating her about the next weeks they would spend marching.

‘Is there anything I may fetch you?’ he said at last.

She turned and looked at him, smiling, though it was not the carefree stunning smile he had received at the time they had wed.

It was careworn. He smiled back, feeling the same weight she probably felt in her chest. Tonight, he would retire early with her and love her. That would make them both feel better.

‘There is nothing I can think of…’

‘Well, then, if I can be of no assistance here, I shall return and meet with the officers.’

She nodded.

‘Goodbye, Ellen.’ He longed to move forward and kiss her, but Jennifer was still in the room. ‘I will return soon.’

She nodded again.

* * *

Ellen’s hand clasped the edge of the cart to stop herself swaying, so tightly her knuckles were white. She was sitting beside the driver and the lieutenant colonel’s servant. Two of the other wives and Jennifer sat in the back on top of some of the regiment’s supplies.

The cart rocked, jolted and creaked along the muddy track.

They had to stop and climb down from it on three occasions today to lessen the weight so the horses could pull the cart out of the mud.

She had secured the skirt of her dress by tying a knot at her waist so it would not spoil, but her petticoats were stained with mud and there would be nowhere to wash them.

A year ago, she would not have worried, but now every item of clothing was precious; she could not simply buy more.

She had not imagined an army life would be as hard as this, yet it had not even really begun; the regiment were not fighting.

She gritted her teeth as the cart jolted heavily to the left, and she bumped her side.

She had not complained to Paul. That would be unfair.

He was marching towards a battle, wading through the mud, and striving to keep others moving.

She had the luxury of a cart. But she was black and blue with bruises from being thrown about on it, and he knew that, and at night he would kiss all of her bruises in the privacy of their narrow canvas tent.

There were some special moments, though, for instance when they sat about the campfire among his men, the other wives and Jennifer.

She would huddle close to Paul, his muscular thigh against her softer one, and, because it was dark and they were wrapped beneath a blanket so no one would see, he would put an arm about her waist.

The conversations around the campfire were unlike any she had known before.

Her father would have called their language coarse, but camaraderie ran so easily among the men she did not mind it.

Paul would laugh with them; a laugh which seemed to come from low in his stomach.

His laughter had become a precious sound.

‘Lieutenant Colonel.’

Ellen jumped a little as one of the women in the back of the cart spoke.

‘Good day, Mistress Porter,’ the lieutenant colonel acknowledged.

The man beside her, who was his servant, looked back. ‘Sir.’

The lieutenant colonel was the only man on horseback, and he often road alongside the cart.

Each time he rode beside them, Ellen’s skin prickled, as if a million beetles crawled over her. She wished he would stay away from her.

She felt his gaze as though his eyes had drilled a hole into her back.

He stared all the time and spent hours riding beside the cart as the men marched. She felt as though he only rode beside the cart to watch her.

Why does he watch me? That thought had slipped through her head a thousand times since they began this journey.

Paul had deliberately not told anyone in the regiment which family she came from. He thought she would be safer if no one knew her status. If anyone was captured during a battle, they might be tempted to bargain with the enemy for their freedom, offering her up as a captive for a ransom.

She wondered if the lieutenant colonel suspected; her father’s black hair and pale eyes were distinctive and she and all her sisters had inherited his colouring. That still did not really explain it, though. Even if he knew, why did he stare constantly? He did not need to keep looking at her.

She had thought of saying something to Paul. He had no idea how many hours the lieutenant colonel spent beside the cart watching her. Yet this was his superior officer.

If the lieutenant colonel spoke, it would be easier. It would at least break the unbearable atmosphere. But he did not speak, merely rode in silence, staring.

She had thought about speaking to the lieutenant colonel, to see if that stopped him staring, but she had no idea what to say – other than go away .

So she only spoke with the women, and he did not participate in their conversation.

That conversation was always stilted anyway, though, because of the gaping class divide between her and them.

As they rode on, she wondered if the others in the cart found his presence uncomfortable. If they did though, they would not share their thoughts with an officer’s wife.

Ellen looked into the back of the cart. ‘Nancy, is your wrist better?’ Nancy sat on top of a chest there.

‘It is a little, ma’am.’

‘Well, Jennifer will help you with the meal and washing if you need her to, if it is still too painful for you to work.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Jennifer responded from her position on the opposite side of the cart.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Nancy answered. Nancy was only a couple of years older than Ellen, and she had fallen onto her wrist as they had walked earlier, twisting it, meaning she would have difficulty fulfilling her role in supporting her husband and the regiment.

The soldiers’ wives did not just help their own men, but others too.

Of course, as an officer’s wife, and genteelly bred, it was not for Ellen to do the same, but she loaned them Jennifer and supported where she could.

She had not really formed friendships with these women, they were too mindful of her class, but they did talk with her.

Later, when the men set up camp and put up the tent she shared with Paul, Ellen helped Jennifer sort out their bedding, wondering again whether or not to say something to Paul about the lieutenant colonel.

When they had finished the task, Paul was nowhere in sight, and it was late, the sky was a rich deep blue waiting to turn to black as dusk hovered.

‘The Captain will be among the officers, Jennifer. Shall we walk across to fetch him and stretch our legs a little?’

Jennifer nodded.

Ellen missed Pippa, her nurse since childhood.

Pippa had become a part of her family, Jennifer was simply a maid.

She did not converse with Ellen, although she spoke with the other wives.

She walked with Ellen now because it was her responsibility.

Having been brought up, waited on and cared for by servants, Ellen wondered if the maid’s awkwardness was her fault.

She had never had company or friends beyond her sisters, perhaps it was because she did not know how to speak and act among others.

Mistress Porter looked up as Ellen passed. Ellen lifted a hand. Mistress Porter smiled, stopping in her task of sorting through cooking provisions, straightened and bobbed a shallow curtsy. Smiling too, Ellen acknowledged the gesture with a little nod before walking on.

She could think of nothing to say to break the silence between herself and Jennifer. Sometimes she felt imprisoned by her past – she felt unable to fully fit within this life. Would she ever fit?

Sometimes her heart longed for all the luxuries she had left behind – her soft bed, quiet rooms, tea and easy conversation.

She missed warm baths to bathe in, spare hours to embroider pretty images, her pianoforte to play music – music she could escape into; afternoons spent with her sisters talking of the fashion, and the books in her father’s library.

The pace of her strides quickened as she hurried to see Paul, longing for his company – and the time of day that made up for all other times.

The officers stood gathered about a large table within the marquee that was set up as a living space for the lieutenant colonel.