Page 7 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
Ellen’s eyes adjusted to the shadows cast by the moonlight pouring through the open curtains. She looked about the room.
One hour.
She picked out undergarments and three of her muslin dresses. Then she fetched her hairbrush and the mirror her mother had bought her when she’d reached six and ten. That had been over a year ago, but she could remember the day as if it were yesterday. She had been here in her room, and Pippa had been brushing her hair out before bed with her usual one hundred strokes. Her mother had come in to say goodnight and she had carried a beautiful wooden box containing the set.
When she had given it to Ellen, she had said it was to mark Ellen becoming a woman. She’d kissed Ellen’s cheek and wished her happiness.
That is what she was running to – happiness. But she could not fit the beautiful box in her bag, so she left it and just packed the brush and mirror.
She sifted through her gloves and picked four pairs, and she picked a dozen ribbons to change the look of her dresses, and some lace to drape at the necks of her evening gowns.
She had no ball gowns. She had never been to a ball, although she had watched one through a door that had been left ajar when her father had held one here.
There were many things she had to leave behind, bonnets, shoes, dresses, her lovely room with its pretty paper painted with birds – her sisters – her mother.
Pain caught in her bosom, sharp and tight, like the press of a little knife slipping into her flesh. How would she live without them, and yet how would she live without Paul? And if she chose to stay, what if Papa would not bend and he forced her to take the Duke of Argyle? No, she was doing the right thing.
She stopped and looked about the room. She could take nothing else. But she wished she had thought to cut a lock of her mother’s and Penny’s hair at some point, to remind her of them. It was too late now.
She wiped away a tear before closing the bag and securing the buckle. Then she took her riding habit from where it lay in a drawer and began to change. The thick velvet made it too hard to fit in the bag and it would keep her warm as they travelled.
It was a fabric her mother had urged her to buy, a burgundy red, as deep a colour as port. She was lucky that it fastened at the front so she could dress in it without Pippa’s help.
When it was on, she looked in her long mirror which stood against the wall in the corner of her room, and saw a woman. Not a child any more. A woman about to desert her family. Sighing rather than face the guilt which crept in, overlaying her excitement, she turned away to collect her bonnet, cloak and a pair of kid leather gloves. She would have taken her muff, but she feared carrying too much. Lastly she put on her half boots, and laced them neatly.
Then she looked into the mirror again, at the Duke’s daughter. She would not be that now. She would be an officer’s wife. She would no longer live in luxury but in simplicity. It was what she chose. It was what she wanted.
Her gaze spun about the room, looking at everything one last time. ‘Goodbye, Mama,’ she whispered into the darkness. ‘Goodbye, Penny.’ Her voice caught as tears burned her eyes. ‘Goodbye, Sylvia and Rebecca. I will pray for you all, I will pray for your happiness and good fortune.’ She paused for a moment as though she half expected them, or the house, to reply. No sound came. She picked up her bag and went to the servants’ door, then out into the narrow hall. It was little more than a person wide and pitch-black. She hurried down the spiralling steps which would take her to the service area and the stables; the fingertips of her free hand skimming across the cold plaster on the wall to guide her way, while her heart pounded out a rhythm that made her light-headed.
2
As he heard the rustle of frozen leaves on the ground, Paul whispered, ‘Ellen…’ into the night. His breath rose in a mist into the cold winter air. He was on the Duke of Pembroke’s land. He had not dared encourage her to take a horse, so he had come close enough that she might walk from the house and find him.
He waited at the end of an avenue of yews, out of sight of the house, in a place she could easily see him. His horse whickered, sensing something, or someone. ‘Ellen?’ he whispered again.
Still no answer.
He listened, wondering if she had been caught as she left the house. He hoped not. If she had been caught her father would allow her no freedom and short of leading a military assault on Pembroke’s home, he would not be able to get her out.
The horse shook its head, rattling its bit, and snorted steamy breath into the cold air. The chill of the winter night seeped through his clothes. There would be a hard frost. He hoped she had dressed in something warm.
He would have to buy more clothes for her before they sailed. She would need garments to keep her warm in the sea breezes she’d face on their journey to America.
There was another sound.
‘Paul…’
‘Ellen.’
How did this woman manage to make his heart beat so erratically whenever he saw her? He could run into battle and not be so affected.
A band of silver light reached through the scudding clouds and caught her face. She looked even more beautiful in the dark. Ethereal.
He let go of the horse’s bridle and instinctively moved forward. He had never held her. In the summer there had been no moments alone, she had been strictly chaperoned and when she had come to meet him she had brought the groom and her sister. Even when they met a fortnight ago, she had still brought the groom. This was their first time alone. ‘Ellen.’ He embraced her, his arms wrapping about her shoulders. In answer her arm came about his waist. It was the most precious feeling of his life. He would always remember this day. She was slender and there was a feeling that she was delicate.
She slipped free, but he caught her nape and pulled her mouth to his, gently pressing his lips against hers. It was her first kiss, he knew; he could tell by the way her body stiffened when he had pulled her close. He let her go, an unfamiliar tenderness catching in his chest.
‘Come.’ He took the leather bag she carried. ‘Will you ride before me, or would you rather sit behind my saddle and hold my waist?’
