Lady Alex's Gamble
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there is a battle, how can we be sure that anyone will be able to look after Anthony should anything happen?" Ally was no less fond of her brother than Alex, nor any less concerned, but it would never have occurred to her to go to such lengths, nor was she at all fooled into the belief that it was purely for Anthony's sake that Alex was haring off again. Nevertheless, she replied quietly, "Yes, I suppose you have a point there, but you cannot go alone this time."
"Yes I shall. I don't plan to go as a woman, after all."
"Alex, not again!"
"But just consider. Ally, how much more easily I shall be able to move among the troops, how much less likely I am to attract attention if I am a man rather than a woman. If people here ask, you may say that I have gone to look after Tony as he is now head of the family. It is perfectly unexceptionable, you know—they just won't know I am doing it in breeches."
Althea gave up. It was always useless to remonstrate with Alex anyway, and even more so when her jaw was set as it was now, and there was that gleam in her eye. "Very well. I shall see to it that bandages are made and medicines gathered, for, I suppose you are not going to consult with Doctor Padgett."
Alex had the grace to look sheepish. Doctor Padgett had not been best pleased with her first escapade, but he had recognized that she was at
point non plus
and he could come up with no other way to procure her a hundred thousand pounds. Now he was likely to dissuade her by offering to contact a fellow physician he knew attached to some regiment 282
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or to send some promising assistant he had heard of in her place.
"No," Alex replied airily, "he has quite enough to do around here and it would never do to go putting ideas of glory and adventure into his head."
In fact no one in the household was particularly surprised at Alex's latest plan. She was given to queer starts, but they were all so well meant and usually turned out for the best, so it didn't occur to anyone to object. After all, hadn't she just come back from her last journey with the means to save Hale-wood? Naturally, she was concerned for her brother now that Lord Alexander was gone.
Thus it was that not too many days later Alex found herself standing on the deck of a packet boat bound for Ostend. She and Ned had journeyed to Harwich and found, much as she suspected they might, that any number of craft were ferrying back and forth between Harwich and Ostend. As she stood by the rail gazing out over rolling gray seas, wind whipping her hair, Alex finally stopped to reflect on her latest escapade. After the major had left she had moved as if in a dream, her actions guided by emotions she could not quite fathom and was loath to acknowledge. However, here in the harsh beauty of the open water, with nothing but sea and sky to distract her, she was forced to admit to herself that she was in love with Lord Wrotham. And what was worse was that she, for all her intelligence and independence, was behaving no better than Lady Meacham and her daughters. No, she rationalized, she was not actually pursuing the major. All she wanted was to know that he was alive and well. Once 283
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assured of that, she was quite prepared to return to Norfolk and take up where she left off.
No she wasn't. Alex shook her head angrily, furious at herself for her weakness and self-deception. In truth she wanted the adventure they had shared together to go on and on forever. She wanted to be able to look over her shoulder and find him right there beside her, blue eyes alert and watchful, ready to take on any challenge. She wanted to be able to look up from the newspaper and discuss the latest questions of the day with him. And she wanted, at least once more in her life, to feel the strength of his arms around her, giving her the sense of absolute peace and security that had washed over her when he had held her in the library. More unnerving, but even more intriguing were the sensations he had awakened when he had kissed her. Alex had never known what it was to ache with such longing for ... she didn't know precisely for what it as that she longed, but the most delicious feeling of languor had swept through her when his mouth had come down on hers, and she had wanted nothing more than to stay there forever held close to his chest with his lips gently exploring hers, his hands warming her, caressing her.
Entertaining such thoughts will do you no good, my girl, she admonished herself. He detests women, and the only reason he suffers your company is that he still thinks of you more as a man than a woman. Still, no matter how hopeless and dangerously tantalizing such dreams were, she could at least grant herself the pleasure of knowing he was safe—or not. Alex would not allow herself to consider that possibility. 284
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In truth, she was not her usual coolly rational self, but someone driven by an elemental need to be near a loved one who was in danger, whether that loved one was aware of her presence or not.
So confusing and overwhelming were the thoughts and emotions buffeting her as she stood there at the rail that it seemed only the space of an hour before land came into view and the shouts of the sailors and passengers preparing to disembark interrupted her reverie. Even after they had docked, Alex could not shrug off her dreamlike state, and she docilely followed Ned to the waiting carriage. Ordinarily, she would have been agog at the prospect of her first step onto foreign shores, but now, trancelike, she merely sat bemused by her own conflicting feelings as Ned threaded his way through the crowded streets of Ostend to the square, where he was able to procure rooms at a respectable-looking hotel. The rain that had been threatening all day had finally broken, and chilled to the bone, Alex was more than content to settle into her chamber with a bowl of hearty soup for her supper. Exhausted by the past days of furious packing and planning, and worn out with worry over whatever was to come, she fell immediately into a heavy slumber. Many miles away, wetter and even more chilled and exhausted than Alex, Christopher too was trying to rest. He had spent three full days in the saddle, the first reconnoitering for possible French positions or movements in and around Mons, the second attempting to carry dispatches between the English forces at Quatre Bras and the Prussians retreating from Ligny, and the third establishing 285
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communications among the Anglo Dutch troops as they took up their positions around the village of Waterloo. Now, having found a small space for Brutus and himself in a stable near the inn where Wellington had set up headquarters, and too tired even to eat, he collapsed onto a pile of straw next to his equally spent horse. However, tired as he was and much as he longed for the welcome oblivion of sleep, even a few hours of it, the major lay there listening to the rain dripping from the roof and thinking of Alex. How much he had wanted to say to her the day he had left. How he wished he could make her see what vitality, what zest, what delight she had brought to his life. Ordinary things and everyday routines suddenly seemed to have meaning for him. The old nagging sense of being at odds with the world had disappeared.
For so many years on the eve of a battle he had gone to bed not caring much whether he lived or died the next day, his main concern being that he conduct himself with bravery and distinction. Now he could hardly bear the thought that he might never see her again, might never be able to hold her again, might not ever be able to tell her how much he loved her, or that he loved her at all. Why had he not told her that?
Christopher clenched his fists in frustration, but deep inside he knew that he had not because for Alex the idea of love and romance, the feelings between a man and a woman, were too new to be broached hurriedly and then dropped while he went off to war, perhaps never to return. At least this way he would spare her pain. If he were killed or horribly wounded she would continue to think of him as a good friend and 286
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nothing more. It was better this way, but how difficult it was when he wanted to be so much more than a good friend. He wanted to be everything for her, as she had so rapidly and so surprisingly become everything for him.
Christopher sat up and fished around in his pocket for a piece of paper, pulling out a dispatch that had lost its value by the time he had finally tracked down Blucher. "Dearest Alex," he scrawled with the pencil he always carried with him. At least if he were found perhaps the letter would reach her, let her know that he wanted ... what did he want? He knew, of course—had known, but been unable to vocalize it, for ages. He wanted her to be his wife, to share the rest of his life with him. How simple it all seemed now, and how confusing it had been only a little while ago. He stopped. This was no better than speaking before he left her would have been. Better to leave things as they were. He thrust the paper back in his pocket and lay back on the straw picturing her as he had last seen her, her curls glinting copper in the sun, her green eyes dark with concern for him ... and at last he slept.
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The sleep that had overtaken Alex the moment she laid her head on the pillow evaporated quickly enough with the first light of day. Eager to be off now that she was so close to Brussels, she was delighted to discover upon her descent from her chamber that Ned had already ordered the horses to be put to and had paid their shot. "Begging your pardon, my la—er, lord, but I knew you would want to be on the way as there is rumor of a battle having been fought, leastways that is if I understand what them stable lads be saying."
"Thank you, Ned." Alex summoned up a wan smile for the old man, whose grizzled face betrayed such concern for her happiness and well-being. "You are quite correct in thinking that I wish to be in Brussels before nightfall. What with so many people of all nations converging on the place, I should think there is scarce a room to be had and I should like to find the most commodious quarters possible, lest..." Her voice faltered for a moment. She cleared her throat angrily. "Lest we are forced by circumstances to remain there some time."
"Now, now, no call to think that way." The old man shook his head sternly before mounting the box.
The day had dawned beautiful, clear and bright after the rain of the previous afternoon and evening, making the brilliant green countryside appear even more lush and not so very different from the vast expanses of her native Norfolk. But Alex, more concerned with the military state of affairs than the geographical, had eyes only for the steady but 288
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increasing trickle of travelers approaching them. The closer she and Ned got to the capital, the more it appeared that these were refugees who had piled their household belongings onto farm carts and wagons and were fleeing to safety. Alex's heart sank. Knowing how attached the farmers in Norfolk were to their land, she felt certain that only a conflict of monumental proportions could dislodge these peasants from their homes.
When they finally arrived in Brussels as part of a mass of horses and vehicles that were pouring into the city as equal numbers were pouring out, it was a scene of indescribable confusion. Everywhere there were soldiers, exhausted, dirty, and wounded, slumped in doorways, their eyes glazed with fatigue. The citizens, from scullery maids to highborn ladies, were doing their best to bring water and dressings to those in most urgent need, but they were helpless in the face of the sheer numbers.
Over the general hubbub of shouts and cries and the creaking of heavy wagon wheels rose a distant booming thunder. Once she paid attention to it, Alex realized that the booms were far too incessant to be thunder. It was cannon fire. She clung anxiously to the carriage door, peering out through the window, desperately scanning faces and uniforms as they inched along, propelled more by the mass of humanity than by any knowledge of where they were heading.
Finally, desperate to get his mistress settled, Ned caught the attention of an unmistakably English groom who was hurrying along, clutching a roll of bandages. He directed them 289
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to the Hotel d'Angleterre in the rue de la Madeleine, where a harassed hotelier, informing them that General Sir Thomas Picton himself had deigned to accept the hospitality of his hostelry not two nights before, demanded an exorbitant price for their lodging. There was nothing for it but to pay and be grateful they had any place at all.
Alex did her best to discover the state of affairs from the chambermaid, but the poor girl, entirely nonplussed by the world events unfolding in her once-quiet city, and awed by the English milord, could only stammer incoherently. Alex had better luck, however, with her host who, having provided refreshment and repose for the illustrious general and his staff, had taken it upon himself to keep abreast of events. Yes, there had been a battle and no, he could not say precisely who had won, but it appeared that perhaps the French had, for Wellington had fallen back to the little village of Waterloo. That had been the day before yesterday. Nothing decisive that he could see had happened the next day, but the weather had been so miserable that he felt most sorry for the poor men on both sides, out in the cold, the wet, and the mud. Today they had heard the sound of cannon fire a little before noon, and later, the stream of wounded had begun to appear in vastly greater numbers than before. Was Monsieur looking for someone, a brother, perhaps? The town was filled with families—wives, sweethearts, sisters, parents—all eagerly awaiting news, but look, the sun was falling low in the sky and still the booming kept on, still the wounded came. Best for Monsieur to eat something and wait until further news arrived.