Page 67 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
‘I picked the colour because it is so like your eyes; though I think no man-made colour could match their quality…’
Again, Ellen did not know what to say.
He looked at the servants. ‘Go ahead then, serve.’
A footman came forward to serve her soup, then filled her glass with wine.
Ellen ate. The oxtail soup was warm, sweetened, and full of flavour. She was not hungry but she ate now for the child’s sake.
When she had finished the soup, the footman took the bowl from in front of her, then the lieutenant colonel reached across the table and his hand lay over hers as it had rested on the table. The sensation made her jump. She had forgotten to wear gloves. How foolish!
He had been speaking of something, and she had not listened. She could not put her thoughts in any order to hold a conversation.
She thought of the white satin gloves Paul had bought her for the Richmond ball. Where were they? Then she remembered the lieutenant colonel saying he had disposed of the items left behind at her former residence… She had not cared in that moment; she had not been able to take in what that had meant – all of Paul’s possessions were gone. The lieutenant colonel had disposed of her clothes, and all the things that would have reminded her of moments with Paul, without her permission.
I should be wearing black…The thought struck her with horror.
She looked at Lieutenant Colonel Hillier. ‘I should be wearing black. I am in mourning.’ How ridiculous not to even remember something so simple. But why had he not remembered? Why had he bought her colourful dresses?
‘Would you purchase me blacks?’ Her words rang about the silent room. His gaze searched and questioned again.
‘Of course.’
The hand that lay on top of hers became heavier. She pulled hers from beneath it.
‘Ellen.’ She had not given him permission to use her given name, and yet she was too tired and hurt too much to care to correct him. ‘I think much of you. You are a charming woman. I have always thought so. I can be patient. You need not worry. I understand you are grieving for your husband, and I shall allow you to do so…’
Ellen nodded. ‘Thank you.’ She wished to return to her rooms, to cry over Paul. There were too many memories of eating with him here crowding into her head.
She did not ask to withdraw though; it would be too rude, when he had been kind enough to give her a place to stay and food and clothing. So she remained at the table, picking at her food, and eating what little she was able while he watched her, smiling and talking, as though the woman beside him did not have a broken heart.
She did not listen; her mind was too absorbed with memories of Paul.
* * *
Ellen sat at a small desk in the sitting room, a quill in her hand.
A week had passed since she had discovered she was with child, and now, the lieutenant colonel had received orders to go to Paris.
Napoleon had given himself up on the 15th of July, in the process of trying to escape to America.
The 52nd were to follow the Prussian army across France as part of the Allied forces, ensuring the peace they had fought so hard for, and so many had died for, lasted.
Ellen stared at the blank sheet of paper.
Paul had said,‘Write to my father,’if he died. But she did not know what to say. The army administrators would have written and told him Paul was dead.
A sharp pain cut into her chest, the pain that could still not believe those words.
What to write?My name is Ellen, you do not really know me, but we did meet last summer, I am your deceased son’s wife.Every word she thought of sounded so much like begging. And she could not bring herself to write the word deceased anyway.
My Lord,
She began. The nib of the quill hovered over the paper.
Paul asked me to write to you, and seek your help, should he…
The words halted as a tear dropped onto the paper, then she wrote.
