Mary Balogh - Web of Love

“I already am that,” he said, taking the hand she held out for his.

And she really was happy, Ellen thought. She was going out for the evening with the husband she loved and with the stepdaughter she had grown to love. And her mirror had just told her that she was looking her very best. And she was going to dance for most if not all of the evening. Even one of the waltzes on her card had been taken already, and she loved to waltz. Lord Eden had signed his name next to it the day before when Charlie had finally admitted that he would not dance, even with his own wife.

“Which set did you dream of dancing with Charlie, ma’am?” Lord Eden had asked when they were still laughing over his quite untrue comment that Charlie’s two left feet sometimes led him to march off in a different direction from the rest of the company on the parade ground. “A waltz, certainly. And after supper, during the romantic hours of the ball. Now, where are my country dances? Ah, yes, the third set of the evening, I see. I shall sign myself for this waltz as well, then, and we will make Charlie sorry he lost the chance, shall we? I shall twirl you and spin you and make him purple with jealousy.” He had laughed at Charlie and winked at her. He had already written his name twice in Jennifer’s card.

She was going to enjoy the evening, Ellen thought as her husband exclaimed over a radiant and excited Jennifer. It was going to be quite, quite splendid. They had been to dances in Spain, but it was a long time since she had attended a ball quite as grand as this one promised to be.

AFTER DINNER AT THE HOTEL DE BELLE VUE with the more elite of his guests, the Duke of Wellington arrived with the Dutch royal family at the Salle du Grand Concert in the Rue Ducale when all the rest of his guests were present and seated. There was a great stir as everyone rose. Jennifer, standing beside Ellen, followed her lead and swept into a deep curtsy as the King and Queen of the Netherlands were led to their seats.

“The duke looks more like a king than that other man,” she confided in a whisper. “I am glad he is not the King of England, Ellen.”

“Sh,” her stepmother said with a smile as they resumed their seats and settled for the beginning of the concert. But all the performers were merely tolerated, she felt, sensing the buzz of anticipation as the audience waited for the performance of Madame Catalani, the famous soprano, who had just recently arrived in Brussels.

The singer favored her audience with only two songs, and no amount of enthusiastic applause and calls for an encore could persuade her to sing more.

“She is very lovely,” Jennifer said.

“And has the most glorious voice I have ever heard,” Ellen said.

Her husband leaned toward her at that moment and spoke in a whisper. “I have been gazing about me ever since we came, Ellen,” he said, “and I don’t see any lady that looks lovelier than you. Or any girl that looks prettier than Jennifer.”

“Not even Madame Catalani?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Madame who?” he asked.

“Charlie!” Ellen giggled and linked her arm through his.

Lord Eden joined them before the dancing began. “Ma’am?” he said, bowing to Ellen. “Miss Simpson? Charlie, it is positively not fair that you should have two such lovely ladies in your charge. Especially when you have no intention of dancing with either of them. I am going to take them away from you.” He grinned at Ellen and Jennifer, and extended an arm to each, favoring them with an exaggerated bow. “Will you join my sister and me at the other side of the ballroom, ladies? I am afraid she is rather tied up with prospective partners at the moment.”

“Do you mind, Charlie?” Ellen laid a hand lightly on his arm.

“Go and enjoy yourself, lass,” he said, patting her hand. “And Jennifer too. I see Fairway and Hendon over there. I’ll go and have a word with them.”

“Are Lord and Lady Amberley here too?” Ellen asked as Lord Eden led her and Jennifer away.

“They have gone home for a while for Alexandra to, er, put the baby to bed, I believe,” he said. “They will be here later. I’m afraid Alexandra has rather vehement views on the question of wet nurses. Indeed, my brother and his wife are somewhat eccentric in several ways.”

“Oh, but I agree with the countess,” Ellen said.

He smiled at her before turning to Jennifer in order to point out to her the rather unimpressive figure of the Prince of Orange and the more gorgeous one of the Earl of Uxbridge, leader of the allied cavalry.

Lady Madeline greeted them both with a friendly smile. She drew Jennifer’s arm through her own and presented her to a large group of admirers. How she had succeeded in gathering such a court about her when she had been in Brussels for less than a month, Ellen did not know, but she was undoubtedly a very lovely and a very vivacious lady. Several of the gentlemen were signing their names in Jennifer’s card, Ellen was pleased to see. Her stepdaughter was looking exceptionally lovely in her gown of delicate pink silk overlaid with white lace.

Colonel Huxtable bowed and asked Ellen if he might sign her card.

Lord Eden had turned away to talk with a pretty little auburn-haired lady who had tapped him on the sleeve. Lady Madeline turned from her group of followers and smiled at Ellen.

“You are such a surprise,” she said. “Dom has mentioned both you and the captain in several of his letters home. I pictured you as a dumpy, comfortable-looking lady of middle years. You must be no older than I. And that is a glorious shade of green you are wearing.”

“Thank you.” Ellen smiled. “You, on the other hand, look very much as I expected. You are like your brother.”

“Have you been with the army ever since your marriage?” Madeline asked. “You must be very brave.”

“I joined my father in Spain when I was fifteen,” Ellen said. “But there is no courage involved in staying with one’s husband, you know. I think it would take a great deal more to stay in England and wait for news. I could not bear that. Charlie might be hurt or worse, and I not know about it perhaps for weeks.”

“I know.” Madeline’s eyes looked tormented for a moment. “I do not have a husband, Mrs. Simpson, but I do have Dom. And I have lived through three years of being separated from him. But not again. I am going to stay here until this is all over.”

“We have this evening,” Ellen said. “This evening, at least, there is no danger. Only lights and music and laughter. When you have become a part of army life, you learn to accept each day and each evening as a precious gift.”

Madeline looked as gay as she had appeared a few minutes before. “Of course,” she said. “Perhaps after all, we are more fortunate than other generations, Mrs. Simpson. We have learned to live and to love for the moment instead of wasting time planning for an elusive future. Here is a gentleman wanting to dance with you, I believe.”

Ellen turned to find Captain Norton, an officer of the Ninety-fifth Rifles, smiling at her and bowing. “My set, I believe, Mrs. Simpson,” he said. “I suppose Charlie won’t dance tonight, as usual?”

“Oh, he would make the supreme sacrifice if there were any danger of my being a wallflower,” Ellen said, placing a hand on his sleeve. “But you and several other gentlemen have kindly reprieved him, you see.”

LADY MAISIE HARDCASTLE joined Madeline at the end of the first set. They were old acquaintances from London, though Madeline would not have attached the label “friend” to their relationship. She disliked Maisie’s constantly barbed tongue.

“My dear Madeline,” she said now, tittering and tapping Madeline on the arm. Ever since the former Maisie Baines had married Sir Humphrey Hardcastle two years before, she had affected a condescending air with her old acquaintance. “I saw you talking with Mrs. Simpson earlier. Do you know who she is? I did not know myself, actually, but I was just talking with Lady Lawrence, who arrived from London only last week.”

“Mrs. Simpson is the wife of Captain Simpson of the Ninety-fifth,” Madeline said, fanning herself and hoping that the orchestra would not delay much longer before striking up for the second set so that Lieutenant Penworth might come to her rescue.

Maisie tittered again. “I thought you could not know,” she said. She looked dramatically about her as if she expected to see all the hundreds of guests leaning her way, ears extended for her news. She lowered her voice. “She is the Countess of Harrowby’s daughter.”

“Indeed?” Madeline said, her foot tapping with some impatience. “Then it is surprising that she does not attach the title ‘Lady’ to her name.”

“Oh.” Maisie smirked. “I did not say that she was the Earl of Harrowby’s daughter, my dear.”

Madeline turned her head to stare at her, her eyes hostile. “Indeed?” was all she said.

“You do not know the story?” Maisie asked. “I did not know myself until Lady Lawrence told me.”

“No,” Madeline said, “and I am not excessively interested in gossip, Maisie.”

“Oh, this is not gossip,” the other said, two spots of color appearing high on her cheekbones. “I would not indulge in gossip. You should know me better than that, Madeline dear. This is quite true, and such an old story that everyone knows it anyway. So one cannot be accused of being malicious. But I thought you would want to be warned, my dear. In a place like this, one does not always know quite with whom one is cultivating an acquaintance, does one? It is an act of simple friendship to warn someone when one is privy to some unsavory story.”

Madeline looked at her coldly. “I see Lieutenant Penworth approaching,” she said. “I have promised him the next set. I thought the music would never resume, didn’t you?”

“How inopportune!” Maisie said. “I will call one afternoon if I may, my dear, and give you the full details. Lady Amberley would doubtless be grateful to know too.”

“We both plan to be out that afternoon,” Madeline said with a smile before turning with a far more sparkling one for the lieutenant.

That dazzled officer would not have known from her manner during the following twenty minutes that she was seething with indignation. Maisie had always specialized in character assassination, and yet no amount of pointed insult seemed to penetrate her armor of self-righteousness. One could probably tell Maisie with one’s mouth six inches from her ear that she was an ass and she would still simper and call one her “dear.”

LORD EDEN DANCED the opening set with Jennifer. She was looking extremely lovely, he thought, and sparkled with an excitement that many very young ladies tried to hide behind a pretense of sophisticated boredom. Although she still blushed every time she looked into his eyes, she seemed to have recovered the use of her tongue in his presence.

When the pattern of the dance allowed conversation, he questioned her about her years at school, and delighted in the humor with which she recalled several incidents there. She had spent her holidays in London with Charlie’s sister, Lady Habersham, the only member of his family, it seemed, from whom he was not estranged. But of course she had always been too young to participate in any adult entertainments.

The world was new to her, Lord Eden realized, and thought how long ago it seemed since he had looked on life with such fresh eyes. And yet he was only five-and-twenty even now. He had done a lot of growing up during the past several years, especially during the three since he had bought his commission.

He felt a tenderness for the girl. It would feel good to be in love with her. To be in love again with youth and innocence. It would be good to marry such a girl, and to spend his life protecting her from the rougher side of life. It would be good to marry Charlie’s daughter.

Charlie would be his father-in-law. Now, there was a thought!

He smiled in some amusement at Jennifer as the pattern of the dance brought them together again, and drew another blush from her.

Perhaps he would let himself fall in love with her. After this battle. Not before. He did not want any emotional entanglements before the battle. He might not survive it.

He returned Jennifer to Ellen’s side at the end of the set and went in search of Susan Jennings, who had stopped to talk with him earlier, and whose card he had signed for the next set. Susan. The same Susan he had loved and almost married three years before. She had married Lieutenant Jennings soon after and had been with him and the army ever since. But three years of rough living had done nothing to destroy her look of fragile innocence and youth. He had seen her occasionally during those years.