Page 25 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

As they stepped outside into a small cobbled stable-yard, she could hear music and conversation and laughter.

Another man in livery directed them towards a long building; the tall, wide, arched doorways made it look like a coach house.

A servant held a door open for guests to pass through.

Inside, the building looked nothing like a coach house. The walls were papered with an ivy print, there was a wooden floor for dancing upon, and the room was illuminated by hundreds of candles in the chandeliers hanging from the ceilings.

The music she had heard outside was a jig. When she passed through the crowd talking about the edges of the room with Paul, she saw the soldiers of the Highlanders Regiment in their kilts, dancing about and leaping over their swords.

She looked at Paul as he glanced at her. ‘A worthy entertainment,’ he said. ‘But do not expect to see me dancing about a rifle to amuse you.’

She laughed.

‘Come, let us find a drink and others we know.’

It was an exclusive company they walked through. Paul acknowledged several people and introduced her to a few. Then he whispered, ‘The Duke of Wellington,’ as he leaned towards her.

‘Oh.’ She turned and looked. The Duke of Wellington stood across the room speaking with a number of women.

‘And there is the Duke of Brunswick.’ Paul nodded in another direction. Her gaze turned to the second commander. She knew Paul revered these men.

‘Sir Thomas Picton is here too, look.’

She did. They all meant very little to her, but they were the men who would be responsible for making the right choices to keep Paul alive.

She looked at him. ‘Do you hope for promotion if the Allied army wins?’

He smiled. ‘I would not be averse to it.’

‘Then I will one day be a Colonel’s wife.’ She proudly tilted up her chin. After their conversation in the park, neither of them had spoken of the possibility he might die. They were denying it. Ellen was glad.

‘You may hope.’ His smile filled with warmth.

‘Do you think my father might receive us then?’

‘I would need to be a General and have earned myself a dukedom like Wellington for your father to accept me.’

She faced him as the music changed tempo and the Highlanders cleared the floor, and searched for partners among the women.

‘Dance with me, Captain Harding, before anyone else might spot us and ask me.’

‘Of course, Mrs Harding.’ With that she was swept away into a waltz.

The dance was its most beautiful when she danced it with her husband, holding his gaze and feeling the gentle pressure of his hands as they spun.

She was glad they had come to this ball.

This night felt precious. She would hold on to the memory of it – of dancing in a room amongst Paul’s heroes.

When the dance came to its conclusion, Captain Montgomery appeared beside them and held out his hand. ‘May I claim the next, ma’am?’

She smiled and agreed, though as she moved away she looked back over her shoulder at Paul.

It wrenched her heart to walk away from him.

‘ Have fun ,’ he mouthed. She did not feel as though she could have fun without him.

But then she remembered Captain Montgomery would be fighting soon too, so she focused her attention on him.

He deserved that much when he might never dance again.

He smiled at her over-brightly, not at all his usual jovial self.

When the dance ended, the lieutenant colonel came to ask for her hand.

He could not play cards here, as there were no card tables because the ball was only in this one long coach house.

She even felt more disposed to be kind to him.

After all, everyone was at risk on a battlefield, and he was not so bad, he was polite when he did speak to her.

It was just his constant stares she did not like.

As they danced, she looked across his shoulder, while his gaze seemed to hover on the curve of her jaw and her neck.

She was glad, though, when the dance was over and she could go back to Paul. She clung to Paul’s arm and lifted to her toes to whisper in his ear. ‘If anyone else asks me to dance, say no, say you wish to keep me for yourself.’

He looked down at her with a question in his eyes. ‘But there are a couple of hundred men in here, Ellen, all seeking partners and a moment to escape.’

He made her feel guilty, and as she glanced around the makeshift ballroom, she realised there was a forced feeling to the exuberance of the dancers. All these men were a little afraid but being brave and forcing fear aside.

She faced Paul and knew he was too. That was why they had spent most of the week in bed. ‘I am sorry. I shall dance again if anyone asks me. Shall we seek a cup of orgeat? I am hot and thirsty.’

There was a lot of high-pitched laughter in the room, from both men and women, and many of the young officers were drinking glass after glass of the punch that contained liquor.

She was sorry for the men. All of them.

When they reached the refreshment table, Paul accepted a sculpted glass in the shape of an open tulip and handed it to her, then accepted another for himself.

The cordial made from almonds and orange was sweetened with sugar that she and Paul could not afford, and it was cooled by ice, which was needed in the room that had become overly hot with so many people gathered.

They turned as the orchestra struck up another jig to jubilant calls from the crowd, their glasses in their hands. The Highlanders came forth again to entertain.

Paul sipped the orgeat; he would normally drink wine, or the punch.

She looked about the room – most of the senior officers were drinking orgeat, or not drinking at all.

She knew that ever since Napolean had paraded through Paris, before departing to seek out the Allied forces, Paul had been waiting for the moment he would be called to fight.

As each day had passed, it had become more likely it would be at any moment.

She could see here, many others had been waiting for the grains of sand she had imagined in the hourglass to fall – and time was running out.

Paul’s fingers touched her elbow. ‘Let us watch.’ He drew her forward, among the people who had gathered at the edge of the dance floor.

The Scotsmen stepped and danced over the crossed swords they had laid on the floor.

The crowd clapped to the rhythm of the jig, gasping and then laughing as the Highlanders’ feet moved across the blades.

Again, she felt a false exuberance in the atmosphere.

She leaned into Paul’s side, and his arm unusually came about her, his fingers bracing her waist. She rested her head against his shoulder too, as they continued watching the men.

With no force, or falseness, she felt happier than she had thought it ever possible to be. A wave of love swept through her blood.

When the jig had finished, she would have asked Paul to dance with her again, but one of the Highlanders asked for her hand. She could not refuse, not now she had realised what tonight meant.

After dancing with the Highlander, Paul’s lieutenant colonel asked for her hand for a waltz. Her heart longed to return to Paul through the whole dance, but she tried to smile and speak brightly. These men were willing to give their lives for her and others.

She was breathless when the lieutenant colonel returned her to Paul, his hand holding her elbow. His fingers clung and held her for longer than necessary, as they stood facing Paul. ‘Your wife, returned, Captain.’

Paul saluted, then bowed a little. The lieutenant colonel’s hand released her, then he walked away.

Ellen wished it was time they could go home but the ball was nowhere near ready to break up and it would look odd if an officer left so early.

‘May I dance with you?’ Paul asked.

She smiled. ‘I would love to dance with you.’

‘Come then.’ His embrace was firm as he took her waist and her hand then spun her into another waltz.

Paul had said London society would be shocked to its core by the army’s addiction to the waltz, a dance that meant couples remained close together for the whole melody.

But every society rule was different here, because people had less fear of consequences when death hung on the horizon.

When Ellen danced waltzes with Paul, it felt like flying in heaven.

When the dance finished, heat flushed her cheeks. She smiled at Paul, laughing, as he breathed more heavily, his blue eyes clinging to her. ‘We shall leave soon,’ he said, implying that his thoughts on where he would rather be were the same as hers.

Directly behind him there was a flurry of whispers.

Ellen looked across his shoulder. The group of people about the Duke of Wellington were turning to others and passing some message on.

The Duke of Wellington spoke to the Duke of Richmond with a concerned expression.

Then both dukes walked from the room, at pace.

‘Paul…’ She touched his arm.

He turned to see what she had been looking at.

When he saw other officers gathering in that corner of the room, he did not hesitate but crossed the room with quick strides to join them. She followed, hurrying to keep up. Captain Montgomery was there.

‘What is it, George?’ Paul asked him.

‘Word has come,’ he answered.

As Captain Montgomery answered Paul’s question, Ellen saw a man in a muddy uniform standing among a huddle of women, who were offering him food and a glass of something to drink.

Behind him the orchestra still played, and people were still dancing, as the news passed about the edges of the room from one person to another.

‘Napoleon has struck our left side,’ Captain Montgomery continued. ‘He caught the Duke of Wellington off guard. We are to march. There will be a battle within hours.’

Ellen’s heart dropped to the soles of her dancing slippers. No! The denial screamed inside her. She did not want to face this…

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