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Authors: Mary Balogh

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BOOK: Web of Love
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E
LLEN SANK DOWN
onto the sofa beside her husband and snuggled her head against his shoulder as his arm came around her. She had just seen Jennifer to her room for the night.

“She is very tired,” she said. “The journey was exhausting for her, Charlie, and she was dreadfully sick on the boat. An early night will do her good.”

“I still find it hard to believe that such a pretty little thing can be my own daughter,” he said. “Imagine, Ellen.”

“I am happy for you,” she said. “She is truly delightful.”

He looked down at her and kissed her forehead. “I'm sorry, lass,” he said. “Boasting about my daughter and all that. Have I caught you on the raw?”

“No,” she said hastily. “No, you must not be forever thinking that, Charlie. It does not matter. It really does not. I have you, and you are all I need. And I have Jennifer too. She is fond of me, I believe. You must not always think I mind.”

“It must have been that injury I had the year before I married you,” he said. “That is what the old sawbones said anyway, Ellen. I can't think why else. I'm sorry about it, though. For your sake. I would have liked…”

She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “Charlie,” she said, “if I had a child, I would not be able to travel about with you so easily. I could not bear to be separated from you. You know that. I am not unhappy. I am not. And maybe the fault is in me, anyway. We do not know for sure.”

“I missed you,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head.

“And I you,” she said. “And I missed everyone else too. I am looking forward to seeing everyone. Is Mrs. Byng feeling better? I must call on her tomorrow. It was good to see Lord Eden. He is quite like one of our family, is he not?”

“Do you think he fancies Jennifer?” he asked. “I think she fancies him.”

“That would be hardly surprising,” she said. “And I think it is very likely that he will be taken with her too. He will come to tea tomorrow? He will not feel that he is unwelcome now that we are no longer alone?”

“He'll come,” he said.

Ellen put one arm about his waist. “I don't ever want to go away from you again,” she said. “I don't mind too much this time because it was for Jennifer. But there cannot be another reason good enough to separate us, can there, Charlie?”

“No, lass,” he said. “We won't be apart again.”

“There is going to be fighting, isn't there?” she said.

“I don't know,” he said. “We will have to wait and see.”

“That means there is going to be fighting,” she said. “Oh, I hoped so very hard that it was finally over.”

“It is, almost,” he said. “One more defeat, and no one will be hearing any more from old Boney.”

“One more,” she said with a sigh. “One too many.”

“Just one more,” he said, putting one hand beneath her chin and lifting her face to his. “And it won't be just yet, lass. We have time. Shall we go to bed early too?”

She smiled at him. “Yes,” she said. “I am tired. And I shall be able to sleep well for the first time in three weeks. The bed has felt dreadfully empty without you.”

“Mine too,” he said. “Come on, then, lass, we'll put each other to sleep, shall we?”

“Yes,” she said. “Charlie, I love you so very much.”

“Double that for me, my treasure,” he said, kissing her on the lips.

C
APTAIN AND MRS. SIMPSON HAD BEEN INVITED to the concert, ball, and supper to be given at the Salle du Grand Concert by the Duke of Wellington the following week. And they had procured an invitation for Jennifer, too. They accepted the invitations, though the captain usually avoided as many formal social engagements as he possibly could. As he told Ellen, when one had a grown-up daughter's happiness to see to, one occasionally had to make a few sacrifices.

The ball would be Jennifer's introduction to society, Ellen thought. She was somewhat surprised, then, to find that the week leading up to the ball soon became crammed with activity. And only some of it was of her own making. She took Jennifer with her the day after their arrival in Brussels to visit her friend Mrs. Byng and a few other wives of officers in her husband's regiment. And she was pleased to see Jennifer making friends with Mrs. Cleary, a young ensign's wife fresh from England, and with the two young daughters of Mrs. Slattery.

Lord Eden came to tea, as promised, and brought with him an invitation from his sister-in-law to take tea with her and Lady Madeline Raine the following afternoon.

“I shall be off-duty early tomorrow,” Lord Eden said. “I shall escort you and Miss Simpson there myself if I may, ma'am. I don't suppose you would care to come along too, would you, Charlie?” His eyes twinkled as he asked the question. He knew his friend as well as Ellen did.

“I think I can entrust my ladies to your care, Eden,” Captain Simpson said with a drowning look that had both his wife and his friend laughing.

“You don't mind, lass?” he asked Ellen later when they were alone.

“I don't mind, Charlie,” she said, laughing and wrapping her arms about his neck. “Actually, it gives me a warm feeling to know that you trust me to take your daughter about. Almost as if I really am her mother.”

Jennifer, who was not at all shy by nature, was definitely shy with Lord Eden, Ellen discovered. She blushed and talked very little. It was doubtless because he was so very handsome and splendid and self-assured. But he did fancy the girl. He looked at her with open appreciation and made every effort to converse with her and set her at her ease.

Nevertheless, as they walked through the streets of Brussels on their way to the Earl of Amberley's house, Ellen on Lord Eden's left arm, Jennifer on his right, it was with Ellen that he conversed most of the time. They talked about Spain, and told Jennifer some of the funnier anecdotes they remembered. And they talked about Brussels, and pointed out to Jennifer some of the uniforms and the regiments to which their wearers belonged.

Ellen had never talked with Lord Eden a great deal. She had almost always been a quiet audience to the conversations he held with Charlie. But he was a pleasant and a charming companion, she found. So very suitable for Jennifer. And it was no wonder that Jennifer blushed and was tongue-tied. He was very splendidly tall, and his arm beneath her hand was firm and well-muscled. Ellen felt an impish sort of amusement at witnessing more than one female head turn in their direction and gaze wistfully at Lord Eden and enviously at her and Jennifer.

Lady Amberley and Lady Madeline Raine were not to entertain them alone, Ellen was surprised to find when they arrived. The Earl of Amberley was in the drawing room too, as were his two children.

“I hope you do not mind the children being present, Mrs. Simpson,” the countess said after Lord Eden had made the introductions. “My husband has one eccentricity that I fully endorse. It is that when we are at home to tea, our children join us in the drawing room, even if the Queen of England is our guest.”

“Of course I do not mind,” Ellen said. “Oh, what a beautiful little girl you have. She is like you.” She glanced at the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty of the countess. “May I hold her?”

Lady Amberley sat down beside her, smiling, while Ellen held the baby. Jennifer was chattering eagerly with Lady Madeline and the Earl of Amberley, who must have seemed far less threatening to her than his more splendid brother, though he was almost equally handsome. He also had a very kindly face and a quiet manner.

There was a special feeling about a baby—a softness, a living warmth—and a special smell, of powder and milk. Lady Caroline Raine regarded Ellen from wide, unblinking dark eyes. Ellen felt a little like crying.

“You are so very fortunate,” she said quietly, looking up at the countess.

“Yes.” Lady Amberley regarded her curiously before smiling and talking of other matters.

The half-hour of their visit seemed to fly by. Ellen liked Lord Eden's family, all of whom had made an effort to be friendly, though Lady Madeline had spoken more with Jennifer than with herself. When Lord Eden rose to escort them back home again—though Ellen protested that he had no need to do so, as she was there to chaperone Jennifer—the Earl of Amberley also got to his feet and extended a hand to her.

“We would be honored if you and the captain and Miss Simpson would join us at the opera tomorrow evening, ma'am,” he said.

Ellen's eyes met Lord Eden's, and he grinned.

“Poor Charlie!” he said. “It would almost serve him right for not coming this afternoon if you accepted for him, ma'am. I am afraid that Charlie Simpson marches into battle with far greater eagerness than he attends any social function, Edmund. But I hope Mrs. and Miss Simpson will accept.”

“We would be delighted, my lord,” Ellen said, glancing at the flushed and eager face of Jennifer.

“Colonel Huxtable is also to be our guest,” the earl said. “I shall invite young Lieutenant Penworth as well, perhaps, to make up numbers.”

Ellen smiled her agreement.

And so, she found, the arrival of Jennifer was having an immediate effect upon her own life. For the previous five years she had lived as quiet and domesticated a life as her husband's. And she had never had a complaint. She was never happier, she had always felt, than when she was at home alone with Charlie, his arm about her shoulders, talking about the day's events, or sometimes reading a book.

But there was something exhilarating about being included in an evening party. The opera with the Earl and Countess of Amberley! And with Lord Eden and Lady Madeline. And the colonel and the lieutenant, who were unknown to her. It all sounded very grand.

“You don't mind, Charlie?” she asked him that night when she lay beside him in bed, her head resting on his arm. “There will be four ladies and four gentlemen. You could have been one of them, but Lord Eden refused for you. And I thought you would be relieved. You don't mind?”

“Four ladies and four gentlemen, eh?” He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Should I be jealous, lass? Are you going to run off with one of them?”

“Only if I cannot persuade two of them to run off with me,” she said.

He chuckled again. “You go and enjoy yourself, Ellen,” he said. “I am the one who should be asking you if you mind. After all, Jennifer is my daughter, and she needs to be taken about. But you are a good mother to her, even if you are young enough to be her sister. And a good wife to me. Lift your face to me, sweetheart.”

She lifted it. “I would far prefer to stay home with you tomorrow night,” she said. “You know that, Charlie. I am happiest when I am with you. Things will not change between us with Jennifer here? We will not grow apart?”

He looked at her in the darkness of the room and smoothed one large hand over the side of her head. “I have room for the both of you in my heart, lass,” he said. “I don't love you one whit less because there is Jennifer. Is that what you are afraid of? You know that you are my treasure, my very greatest treasure. You are the one who gives me my reason for living.”

“I wasn't questioning your love,” she said. “Oh, I wasn't doing that, Charlie. I have never done that. I am just very selfish. I don't want things to change. And they are changing. But I don't resent Jennifer, either. I don't want you to think that. I love her dearly, and I am very happy for the both of you that you are together at last.” She laughed suddenly and leaned forward to kiss him on his bare chest. “I don't know what I mean. I am talking a lot of nonsense. I am very happy, Charlie. Happy to be home again. Happy to see you happy.”

He raised himself on one elbow and leaned over her, smiling warmly down into her shadowed eyes. “I love you, lass,” he said. “That is not ever going to change. Not ever, do you hear me? And these arms are always here for you. And I'm always here for you.”

“Charlie.” She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Kiss me. Make love to me.” She opened her arms to him.

 

“W
ELL
, I
LIKE THEM
,” Madeline told her brother that same evening. “Mrs. Simpson is very lovely, is she not? I was surprised. And I suppose you are quite in love with Miss Simpson already.”

He grinned. “Why do you suppose that?” he asked.

“Because she is just your type,” she said. “She is small and has those large eyes and blushes easily. Though I believe she has more sense and more spirit than your usual flirts, Dom. I approve.”

“Ah,” he said. “That is something, at least. You actually approve of something in my life.”

“You are in love with her, then?” she asked.

“Let me put it this way,” he said. “I am thinking about it. What surprised you about Mrs. Simpson?”

“I expected a pale, wilting creature,” she said, “or else a manly, insensitive Amazon. She seems sensible. Edmund and Alexandra were much impressed. What on earth is she doing married to Captain Simpson?”

He grinned again. “Loving him and caring for him, apparently,” he said. “He is one of the happiest men of my acquaintance.”

“Well,” she said, “I have to admire women like Mrs. Simpson. I'm afraid I am swayed a great deal by what a man looks like. Do you think that is one reason why I am an old maid, Dom?”

“You?” he said. “An old maid? Hardly, Mad. You have half the officers in Brussels sighing over you. Don't you fancy any of them?”

She shrugged. “I fancy a large number of them,” she said. “That is the whole trouble. It used to be different, Dom, didn't it? For both of us. We always used to be deeply and painfully in love with someone. That does not seem to happen any longer.”

“Because we are older and a little wiser,” he said. “Do you ever think of Purnell? Was he the last one you were in love with like that?”

“I scarce remember him,” she said. And then, after twisting and turning her teacup on its saucer, “Sometimes I wish I did not have a twin. There is no lying to you, is there, Dom? Of course I think of him. And I always feel a little sick every time Alexandra has a letter from him. He has been gone three years and is making a life for himself in Canada, by the sound of it. Well, good luck to him. I just wish I had never met him. I wish he were not Alexandra's brother. I wish he had not spoiled my life.”

“Those are strong words,” he said. “Did he really do that?”

“I have never been able to fall in love since,” she said. “Although I constantly try, Dom.”

“You don't still love Purnell, do you?” he asked curiously.

“I don't believe I ever did,” she said. “I disliked him intensely. I was a little afraid of him. And I was obsessed by him. I really never knew him at all. That is not love. There was nothing about him that was lovable. Only the mystery of what it was that made him so morose, so untouchable. No, I don't love him or pine for him, Dom. Of course I don't. So you are to escort Miss Simpson to the opera tomorrow. And are to dance with her at the duke's ball next week, I would wager. Do you feel any of that old magic, Dom?”

She leaned her chin on her hand and gazed at her brother. She looked remarkably like him except that all the attributes that made him a handsome male made her a lovely female. She was tall and slender with short fair curls and a face that was made beautiful by the glow of life that animated it.

Was he feeling any of that old magic? It was a question that Lord Eden had asked himself from the moment of his first meeting with Jennifer Simpson, and a question that he was to ask several times in the coming days. He saw a great deal of her. He went home with Charlie almost as often as he had always used to do. And apart from the visit to Alexandra and Madeline, and the evening at the opera, he took her walking twice, once in the park and once in the botanic gardens. Always with Mrs. Simpson as chaperone.

He enjoyed the outings. Very much. The girl was pretty, becomingly modest, and shy. And yet, as Madeline had observed, she had sense and character. If he could be alone with her for a short while—even alone in a crowd—perhaps he would find her an intriguing companion.

Perhaps he would fall in love with her. He did not know.

As it was, he seemed to spend more time talking with Mrs. Simpson than with her stepdaughter. He would have thought that after five years of meeting her so frequently at Charlie's, he knew her well. He had always thought of her as a quiet, serene, dutiful woman. He had always liked her, admired her, respected her.

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