Dreaming of Waterloo

DREAMING OF WATERLOO

By Lynne Connolly

They called him Lucky, but not all injuries are physical ones. Plagued by headaches and living nightmares, Paul, Lord Sherstone returns to London to a wife he doesn’t know and an estate he has to manage. He daren’t let her close, even though he is falling in love with her all over again.

Married and abandoned in a month, Hetty learned to manage a large estate and fend off would-be lovers, but a threat emerges much closer to home and from an unexpected place. In need of help she turns to Paul but since his return he has only shut her out. Refusing to give up on the man she fell in love with five years ago, Hetty has to persuade her husband to let her into his bed—and his heart.

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Text Copyright 2015, Lynne Connolly

All Rights Reserved

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

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June, 1815

Have you heard news of Paul? Lewis asked.

Hetty smiled at her husband’s cousin, but she had to force the expression. A crowded ballroom was not the place to discuss one’s news, or the lack of it. How many other wives of soldiers must be in this case? Nothing yet, she said vaguely. After all, Waterloo was barely a week ago. It hurt that he had not thought to contact her, but they had not been particularly communicative in the last few years. Why should this be any different?

Ten days, Lewis informed her, as if she did not know. She’d forgive him his pedantry, even though it sent a shot of irritation through her. He’d been a good friend to her while her husband was away. He had great knowledge of the estate Paul had abandoned, and she had needed it.

Their gentle stroll to the supper room was taking more time than it should. London was unusually crowded for June, but of course, this was no ordinary June. The escape of Napoleon in March, followed by the hasty regrouping of the army had resulted in a stupendous victory. The Union flag blazed everywhere in the streets. Several decorated the room here tonight, and the flowers on the tables were shades of red, white, and blue.

As the wife of an accredited war hero, Hetty had received more than her share of congratulations, but apart from quiet acceptance, she answered no questions with definite answers. Mainly because she had none. Since the battle she had heard nothing, although she had called on Horse Guards. She didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.

You know I will always be your friend, Lewis pressed her hand where it lay on his arm. His gray eyes warmed, as if he meant more than friend. This was not the first time. He had not made improper advances to her, but made it clear he would welcome her into his arms.

Not that Hetty would even consider taking a lover, even Lewis. While her husband was alive, nothing else was possible. Her heart ached for both of men, but she could do nothing. Married five years and nothing to show for it, people said.

Devil take them all. She didn’t care any longer. Why should the concerns of other people bother her?

They stared at her now, these other people, but she kept walking and smiling, as she had done for the last five years. Candles flickered, heating the cool June evening, and casting a warm glow over the silks and diamonds glittering everywhere she looked.

Hetty, I would like to ask you something when we hear the news.

She was expecting this. Lewis was hoping that Paul was a dead war hero. That would tie everything up so neatly. Paul would be out of place in his role as Earl of Sherstone. Of course nobody wanted Paul dead, but it would provide a solution to a number of problems.

He had inherited the estate when he was already a soldier, and while his relatives had prevailed on him to sell out, he would not do so, saying his duty lay with his country. He’d said the estate could shift for itself, and he trusted his wife implicitly to keep it in good heart. His statement had flattered her, but his eagerness to return to his men had not. She had closed her feelings to him then, but it had done no good. She still cared.

It was a pity that when she thought of him dead, her heart turned to a cold stone in her chest. Despite her efforts to get over him, as he had her, she still cared far too much. Far more than was fashionable, if truth were told.

Would you care to dance after supper? Lewis asked her. You may not have the opportunity for some time. As a widow, she would not dance.

A commotion at the door made her turn. A number of gentlemen were entering, all dressed in military uniform. The reds, blues, and golds created a dazzling display, especially when seen in close proximity. The green of an Irish regiment flashed into view, the gentleman unknown to Hetty. An officer from the Scots Greys turned to speak to someone else, his white cuffs pristine as he gestured to make a point.

Every member of the ballroom took a collective breath. It was a wonder the candles in the chandeliers and wall sconces weren’t blown out. These men were all from regiments that took the field less than two weeks ago. According to the reports, Waterloo was the bloodiest, most vicious encounter for years, and that was saying something. Yet the men entering the room were smiling and laughing as if they had no cares.

One man looked up and across the room. His gaze met Hetty’s and the smile left his face.

The crowd parted.

They were not dancing, having left off in favor of supper, so Paul walked straight across the room to face her. His gait was loose and easy, but he ate up the ground with no regard to the careful, mincing steps of the fashionable gentleman. His Hussar uniform, one of the most flamboyant in the army, looked as good as any ever did on his broad shoulders, and tall, muscular form. Gold was so heavily laced across the front that the red cloth beneath could hardly be seen. The pelisse that hung from one shoulder, red lined with blue, was equally fine.

Despite the magnificence, the man outshone the uniform, his carefully brushed dark hair and square jaw more than adequate to the task. The grim purpose delineated in every spare line of his form embellished the uniform rather than the other way about.

Hetty drew her hand away from Lewis’s arm, and stood clear of him. Paul bowed to her. My lady.

My lord.

Thus, a year of silence was broken.

She held out her gloved hand, proud that it did not waver, even though her pulses throbbed and her throat had tightened so she could scarcely breathe.

He took it and bowed over it in the approved manner. Then he glanced at his cousin. Lewis.

Welcome home, Sherstone, Lewis said, his voice slightly higher than usual.

Thank you. Straightening, his eyes met hers again, and once more he transfixed her.

Her mind flashed back to the first time they had met. Like this, in a ballroom, before she knew he was to be her husband.

But of course, this was nothing like that time. He was a soldier, but not a major, as he was now. He didn’t have that hard expression in his eyes then, either.

Five years had passed between that day and this, and a wealth of experience. Not to mention heartbreak, on her side at least.

Because of the woman she was now, not the one she had been once, Hetty put on her practiced society face of mild interest, allowing her lips to tilt upwards very slightly. I had not known you were coming.

My arrival was somewhat confused, my lady. I was prepared to accompany Wellington to Vienna, but he had other plans. So I climbed on to one of the many ships transporting the wounded to England instead. His lip curled in a self-deprecating sneer. I was assured I was not taking the place of someone who needed it more than I did.

For this was the hero, the talisman of the army. I see you are not hurt, sir. Or is some part of you damaged beyond repair?

The sneer turned to a smile and his dark eyes lit with amusement. Eyes that dark caught every spark of light that passed by, reflecting it with an adamantine glitter. Hetty had never been sure if she imagined the volatile moods that shaded them, or whether it was the light affecting them. But this was unmistakable. I am never wounded. I thought you knew that.

Yes. She wet her lips and watched his gaze settle there before lifting once more to encompass her face. You have that reputation.

I do seem to, do I not? His nickname of ‘Lucky’ had never been bestowed on a worthier candidate. He had been at the heart of every battle Wellington had sent him into. Men fell around him, but Major Lord Paul Sherstone remained upright and unscathed. Men strove to join his company, which had fewer casualties than others. Prints were made of him standing in bloody battlefields, staring at the carnage going on around him. Handsome and tall, the picture of a perfect officer, Paul had captivated the popular imagination.

He was doing the same now. Around them, a hush was barely broken. People watched him, most of them with awe or smiling. He ignored them all in favor of his wife and cousin, but Hetty was painfully aware of all of them. Usually she moved around society as one of many, as part of it, but not standing out. Just the way she liked it. Suddenly she was the center of attention. I—I went to Horse Guards. They wouldn’t tell me where you were.

He shrugged. They probably had no idea. I told them I was selling out. My superior officer should have told the authorities. He frowned. You mean you did not know if I was alive or dead?

Exactly. Good of him to put it so succinctly.

Fire sparked in the depths of his eyes. That is not acceptable. It’s been ten days since the battle. I wrote to you. Did you not receive my letter?

She shook her head. But you are here now, my lord. His words eased her somewhat. Before, she had imagined that she was of little importance in his scheme of things, but it appeared he had made efforts to contact her.

"And you are not one to