The Lost Love of a Soldier: A timeless Historical romance for fans of War and Peace

Hers reached out, begging for a sign of his affection. “I cannot, Papa. He is so old, and–”

“You are being wilful and defiant, Eleanor. You will do as I say and that is an end to it.”

The words inside her pressed to escape catching up in a ball in her throat as she longed to plead, to make him accept Paul, but her father did not like emotion. As children they’d always been taken from his presence whenever there were tears, or shouts or laughter. But today, today she could not quite hold herself back. “Papa, please… What would be so wrong with Paul? I love him and he loves me…”

He gave no obvious sign his anger had escalated, yet she knew. It was in the stiffness of his body, in the cut of his silver eyes as they glared at her. He was like her in appearance – or rather she was like him. She had his eyes and his jet black hair and pale skin. But she was nothing like him in nature, and she did not wish to be. What possessed a man to be so cold? He would be handsome if he smiled but he never smiled, merely glowered and growled.

“Do not be ridiculous, Eleanor. Love? What is love?” Something you do not feel, Papa. “You are talking nonsense. There is nothing in it. You are the daughter of a duke. You have a duty and responsibility, and that is what you must think of in a marriage. It seems you are unrepentant then, and you’ve learned no lesson at all. You will spend the next full day on your knees. Study the bible, ask for forgiveness and pray for guidance. You will learn, Eleanor. Your mother has been too lenient, letting you dream of such fanciful things. I’ll return tomorrow.”

I’ll be gone tomorrow. She could continue to argue, she could beg and try to cajole, but her father would never change his mind; he had never done a single thing out of kindness.

Eleanor lowered in another curtsy. “As you say, Papa.”

“As I say indeed, Eleanor. It will be so. You will marry Argyle. I shall write to him today.” You may write, Papa, but I shall never marry him.

“Kneel at your bed, child.” She turned and did so, she’d never disobeyed him and even now her heartbeat thundered at the thought of doing so in a few hours. Where would she find the courage? From Paul. Her father would be so angry.

As Ellen lifted her skirt and knelt, her father turned to the door and called to a footman. “Bring the bible from the chapel, my daughter needs time to search her soul.”

No she did not. She had found what her soul looked for. She’d found Paul.

~

“Ellen?” A quiet knock struck her bedchamber door.

“Penny?” Ellen stood. It was dusk, her family had probably just eaten dinner, and their father would be sitting alone at the table drinking his port.

The handle of her door turned but it would not open. Papa had the key.

“Mama said I must not speak to you, Papa has forbidden it, so of course she will not come, yet I had to know you are well. Are you hungry? Do you wish me to send you something to eat? Has he beaten you?”

Ellen rose from her kneeling position; she should not move, and yet she could not shout across the room in case someone heard and told tales on them. Then Penny would be in trouble too.

Ellen pressed her fingers against the door, leaning to whisper through it. “I know, and I know Mama cannot defend me, she must obey Papa. I do not want him to be angry with her or you. You should go, Penny…”

“Why?”

“Paul made an offer. Papa refused it. He is angry because I encouraged Paul. Do not become caught up in this or Papa will confine you to your room too.”

“Paul? Captain Harding? Oh Ellen. I like him.”

Resting her forehead against the wood, Ellen smiled. “As do I, but Papa does not. He wishes me to accept the Duke of Argyle.”

“Ellen… I shall come through the servants’ way and speak with you. You cannot marry that old man. He is awful.”

“No. Papa would be furious. Do not take the risk. I can manage, I am merely a little cold and hungry,” and I will be gone soon…

“But you will not agree to marry that old man. I saw him in the summer and–”

“Of course not.” An urge to share the truth and speak of her elopement shot through Ellen’s heart, another arrow of love passing through it, but it would be wrong to involve Penny. Penny was fifteen, she would not be able to hide her knowledge if their father questioned her, and Ellen would not have Penny hurt.

“I miss you. Rebecca and Sylvia do nothing but play silly games. Life is so dull without you.”

Penny’s words tugged as if a cord was tethered to the arrow through Ellen’s heart, and Penny pulled it.

But Ellen could not stay. She wanted to be with Paul.

Her hands trembled as her palms pressed against the wood and she leant closer, feeling the presence of her sister on the other side in every fibre of her body …

This life, this house, was all Ellen had known. She’d never travelled beyond the local towns.

Paul had travelled the world. He’d told her what life as an army officer’s wife would be. Hard. She was not to expect luxury. But she would be loved and cared for and adored by him. She longed for it. Her heart ached for it. But voices in her head whispered, be afraid …

“You will manage without me Penny.”

“I know I shall. It will only be for a few days Papa cannot keep you locked away forever.”

“Yes, only for a few days…” Years. A desire to speak the truth to Penny fought to break the words from Ellen’s lips. But if her father discovered Penny had been told he’d hurt her. “You’d better go. I’d never forgive myself if you’re caught.”

“As soon as Papa allows you to come out, find me and tell me everything. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Tears flooded Ellen’s eyes as she heard her sister go.

Leaving Penny behind without explanation, would cause Penny pain, but it tore at Ellen’s heart too.

~

The room had become bitterly cold. Her father had forbidden anyone to tend the fire. It had burned out hours ago. Ellen’s knees ached from kneeling, yet still she’d not risen, even though no one watched her. Her father’s will had been forced upon her for so many years it was her instinct to obey. Yet she’d break that tether at midnight.

She read through the Ten Commandments for the thousandth time. “Thou shalt honour thy father and mother.”

Was she about to sin then, because she was going to run away and betray them? Her mother would be heartbroken – she knew how to love. She was even loyal to Ellen’s father, respecting their marriage vows despite his coldness towards them all.

Ellen could not do the same. She could not stay here. She wanted a life with Paul – even if it was sinful and selfish.

It had been dark for hours, and every time the clock in the hall struck she’d counted the chimes. It was past ten.

Pippa had brought her some bread and cheese at eight, wrapped in a cloth, but Ellen had sent her away with a need to obey her father, at least in that. It was a penance for the moment she would break free and shatter any feelings he had.

Excitement and anxiety warred with guilt and sorrow; sadness weighing down her soul. She did not want to leave her sisters and her mother.

But the sadness was out balanced by the gladness and expectation which hovered in her other half. She was going to Paul. Running towards love. Yet what else? All she knew was his love bore more weight than her mother’s or her sisters’. It owned her heart and made it pulse – not simply made it feel tender.

The clock began to strike again, the sound echoing. One, two…

Ellen knew how many times it would chime.

Leaving the bible open, she rose, even now unable to fully disobey and close it.

Her feet were numb and her knees stiff, the payment for what she was about to do.

Everyone in the house retired early to avoid wasting candles. They rose with the sun and retired with it. They would all be in bed.

The chilly air made her shiver, or perhaps it was the overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. She still could not believe she was doing this. She took a leather sewing bag from a cupboard and began empting it of embroidery threads and ribbons. The clock outside chimed nine… ten… eleven…

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’d 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’d carried a beautiful wooden box containing the set.

When she’d given it to Ellen, she’d 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 couldn’t fit the beautiful box in her bag, so she left that behind 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.

She had no ball gowns, she’d never been to a ball, although she’d watched one through a door that had been left ajar when her father had held one here. She did pack two of her evening gowns though. But 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’d thought to cut a lock of her mother’s and Penny’s hair at some point in her life to keep as a reminder.

She wiped a tear away before closing the bag and securing the buckle. Then she took her riding habit from where it lay in a drawer and began changing. 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 anymore. 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, 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. But 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.

Chapter Two

“Ellen?” Paul whispered her name into the night as he heard the rustle of frost bound leaves on the ground. His breath rose in a mist into the cold winter air. He was on the Duke of Pembroke’s land. He’d not dared encourage her to take a horse, so he’d 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 stayed quiet. Listening. Wondering if she’d been caught as she left the house. He hoped not. If she’d been caught her father would give her no freedom. Short of leading a military assault on Pembroke’s home, he would not be able to get her out then.

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’d dressed in something warm.

He’d 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.

“Ellen?”

“Paul?”

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.

She looked even more beautiful in the dark. Ethereal.

A band of silver light reached through the scudding clouds and caught her face.

He let go of the horse’s bridle and instinctively moved forward. He’d never held her. In the summer there had been no moments alone, she’d been strictly chaperoned and even when she’d come to meet him she’d brought the groom and her sister. When they’d met a fortnight ago, she’d still brought a groom. For the first time they were alone. “Ellen.” He stepped forward and embraced her. 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 delicate in his arms.

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‘d pulled her close. He let her go, a tenderness he’d never known before 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 grip my waist?”

“Would it be easier if I ride behind you?” Her voice ran with uncertainty. She was giving up everything to come with him.

“Do what feels comfortable for you, Ellen.”

She nodded, not looking into his eyes. “I would prefer to ride pillion.”

“Then you shall.” He warmed his voice, hoping to ease her discomfort.

Turning to the horse he slipped one foot in the stirrup, then pulled himself up. “Did you have any difficulty leaving the house?”

“No, the servants’ hall was quiet, and the grooms had all retired.”

He rested her bag across his thighs, then held a hand out to her. “Set your foot on mine and take my hand. I’ll pull you up.” He watched her lift the skirt of her dark habit and then the weight of her small foot pressed on his, as her gloved fingers gripped his. She was light, but the grip of her hand and the pressure of her foot made that something clasp tight in his chest, and the emotion stayed clenched as her fingers embraced his waist over his greatcoat.

He shifted in the saddle, his groin tightening too. A few more days. Just days. He had been waiting months. As he turned the horse, Ellen’s cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Did you tell anyone you were leaving? Your sister? Or your maid?”

“No, I did not want them to have to face Papa knowing the truth. He would be able to see they’d lied, and then who knows what he might do.” Paul urged the mare into a trot as Ellen continued. “He made me spend the day on my knees reading the Commandments because I refused to marry the Duke of Argyle.”

“Today?” He wished to look back at her but he could not.

Her father had been diabolical to Paul, sneering as though he was nothing when he’d done the decent thing and offered for her. He could not imagine the way Pembroke treated the girls.

He had to get Ellen to Gretna before her father caught them, so she never had to come back and face his retribution.

He stirred the mare into a canter. Ellen gripped his waist more firmly.

“Yes today,” she said, leaning to his ear. “He came to my room this morning, to ask if I was repentant.”

If she was repentant? She’d done nothing wrong, as far as her father was aware. He’d not told her father they’d been communicating since the summer. He’d expected to be refused, and he’d not wished their pathway of communication closed. All she had been guilty of, as far as her father knew, was that her presence and her company in the summer had attracted a man her father deemed unworthy. She bore no guilt for being beautiful and charming.

God, how had Pembroke brought up this untouched, unscarred girl? “Did you tell him you repented?”

She laughed; a low soft sound he hadn’t heard before. “No.”

He smiled. It had taken him so long to make his offer because he’d wanted to feel sure she could cope as his wife, that she had the strength to follow the drum. She had it. She had a core of iron. She would survive. He would make sure she did; though he didn’t doubt his way of life was going to come as a shock to her. He’d tried to warn her in letters, preparing her, but he could tell from her responses it was all whimsical rather than real. It would become real.

He stopped the horse suddenly, and strained to look over his shoulder, as it restlessly side stepped. “You’re sure of this, Ellen? I mean, if you are not, I can take you back.”

In answer, her fingers slid further about his midriff and gripped him harder. There was a pain in his chest and his groin again. “I am sure.”

I am sure too.

“Then let us hurry.” He kicked his heels and set the horse off at a canter, his mind on the treacherous tracks they were likely to encounter on their journey north. This was a race now.

The ground was hardened by frost, and slippery. The horse’s breath and theirs rose as steam in the air.

They had a few hours lead, but–

“Papa, said I was to have nothing to eat either, at least he played into our hands. I told Pippa not to bring me any food.”

Then perhaps their head start would be twelve hours to a day, but even so it was the wrong time of year for haste. He hoped the cold weather and frost would hold, better that than rain and mud bound routes when carts, horses and men became bogged down. His head had already begun ordering the flight like a bloody military campaign.

“The coach is waiting for us at the inn. It will be ready. I’ve hired a yellow bounder.”

“A coach and four?”

He smiled at the tone of excitement in her voice. “Yes. You sound as if you fancy driving them?”

She laughed again, that low heart-wrenching beautiful sound. “No, I wouldn’t have a clue, but I have never ridden in a fast carriage. It sounds exhilarating.”

Exhilarating? This girl was so wonderfully innocent. But that was another thing that had drawn him to her, her naivety, it was such a contrast to his own knowledge of the world; she knew nothing of the horrors he’d lived through, though he was only a little older than her. She was here to wash his soul clean of war and brutality.

They had to pass through a gate, but he did not dismount, he merely leaned down to open it, and then they were in the woods, where the frost had not yet settled.

Here the darkness reigned. It left him reliant on the eyes of the horse as they kept low to avoid tree branches, and he had to slow and keep the horse at a trot.

When they reached the clearing at the bottom of the ridge on which her father’s tall folly stood, he took a moment to regain his bearings and then set off through the trees again.

Due to the darkness it took half an hour to reach the inn. When she dismounted, his mind counted the minutes passing, aware of her empty bedchamber and the people asleep back at Pembroke’s palatial mansion. At some hour tomorrow they would discover her gone. His heart beat in a steady firm rhythm as he gripped her hand and she slid from the horse.

While she waited on the ground, her arms nervously clasping across her chest, he dropped her bag on to the cobbled yard then slipped his feet from the stirrups, swung his leg over the saddle, and dismounted.

The ice had not yet settled in the enclosed courtyard, but the street beyond was white with cold. He patted the mare’s cheek as it snorted, and whispered a thank you, then looked at the small, yellow painted carriage, and the animals which waited impatiently shaking out their manes and snorting misty breath into the night air.

A groom took the bridle of the hired mare he’d ridden to fetch Ellen and another collected Ellen’s bag to place it in the boot of their carriage.

“Come.” He held out his hand to Ellen and she took it, in complete trust. He was a lucky man.

The inn’s grooms hurried ahead to open the door.

It was strange, holding a woman’s hand. When he’d walked with a woman before, she’d only ever lain her hand on his arm. This was more intimate. She belonged to him. He was responsible for her now; even if it was not yet official.

Paul handed her into the carriage. She climbed the single step then slipped inside. Once her hand left his, he reached into his pocket for a small bag of coins. He looked at the groom beside him and then to the other two who stood in the yard. “For your silence.” He passed it to one to share out among the rest. He could ill afford it and it would be no guarantee, yet he did not want Pembroke warned. He hadn’t said who she was, but she had the distinctive Pembroke colouring and beauty, with her dark hair and very pale blue eyes. She would not be forgotten.

“Thank you, Captain.” The man pulled his forelock and the others bowed their heads as Paul glanced at the postilion rider and the man on the box.

They had two men to keep them going through the night, so one could sleep while the other rode a lead horse.

With a nod Paul climbed into the carriage. The moment he closed the carriage door, they were away. It lurched forward and even before they left the silent village, shrouded in its blanket of darkness, the postilion rider had upped the pace into a gallop, not at all heedful of the frosty track as the carriage bounced over the hardened muddy ruts. “We must make haste,” he’d told the drivers three dozen times before he’d gone to fetch Ellen. It seemed they’d heard his words.

“We are going to be mightily bruised by the time we reach Gretna,” Paul said.

There was that wonderful laugh again which stirred something incredibly masculine in his soul – an instinct to gather her up and protect her. He lifted his arm. She slotted beneath it, pressing close to his side. And there was that ache in his chest and his groin again. Ellen. He could see her face clearly in the lamplight which glowed within the carriage. Beautiful. Perfect. Flawless.

His arm around her, and her warmth clutched against him, he began explaining. “It should take us about three days, I think; maybe less if we are lucky with the roads and the weather. Then after Gretna we shall travel to Portsmouth. From there we will sail with my regiment. I’ll purchase the things you’ll need as a soldier’s wife in Portsmouth. You shan’t be able to carry much, there is a need to travel light, but we can spare you more than a single bag of clothing.”

He couldn’t see her smile, but it was in the press of her hand against his greatcoat over his chest and the stir of her cheek against his shoulder.

He would love this woman for the rest of his life. He knew it. “Come now. Let us take off our outdoor things and use the blankets, then you may sleep a little, if the road is not too rutted.” He moved, letting her rise, and she set her feet on the hot bricks the inn had put on the floor and took off her bonnet, cloak and gloves. He took off his gloves too and gripped her hand as she moved back beside him spreading the blanket over them.