8

As the day wore on, passion became the last thing on Judith's mind. She was soon moving in a trance of fatigue, blindly putting one foot in front of the other, driven by the overpowering need and suffering around her. Wellington had lost five thousand men the previous day and they were still bringing in casualties from the battlefield, men who had lain outside all night. It began to seem as if the stream of wounded bodies would never cease.

The sky darkened toward the middle of the morning and within minutes was shot with jagged forks of lightning. The thunder was almost as violent as the gunfire of the preceding day, Judith thought, standing for a moment in the entrance of the hospital tent looking out at the sheeting rain.

All day the downpour was relentless. Judith was soon soaked to the skin, but was barely aware of it. Wagonloads of patched wounded continued throughout the day to bump along the road to the safety of Brussels, and toward evening Judith was trying to make some of the casualties more comfortable under a tarpaulin in one of the wagons when a hesitant voice called her.

"Charlie!" She looked up in glad surprise, water dripping from her hair. "Thank God, you're safe."

"Yes," he said, blushing crimson over his tunic as he stammered, "Um… Miss Daven… um… Jud… um… my cousin… my cousin sent me to fetch you. He's with the army at Waterloo. We're to go at once."

Judith climbed wearily down from the wagon. What had Marcus told Charlie? "Is it far?"

"No, a couple of miles. The army's in position across the Brussels road," Charlie said. "There's been no fighting today, because of the storm."

"I have to find my horse and cart."

"I have it," Charlie said. "Over by that farmhouse. Marcus told me where it would be." He stared into the middle distance, unable to meet her eye. "He said you… well, I gather congratulations are in order."

"Oh, Charlie, it's too difficult to explain at the moment," she said, taking his arm. "In fact, I don't know whether I can explain it. It happened very quickly."

"In Brussels, you weren't thinking of-"

"No," she interrupted, recognizing his mortifying suspicion that he'd been played for a fool by his elders, who'd had their own secret liaison all along. "No. It just happened very suddenly. I don't know how to ask you to understand it when I don't myself."

"Oh." Charlie still seemed unconvinced as he handed her up into the cart. "I'll tether my horse to the back and sit beside you. There's a tarpaulin we can put over us."

Judith took the reins. They both huddled beneath the tarpaulin, although they were already so wet it seemed rather pointless. After a minute Charlie said hotly, "My cousin never does surprising things. Why would he suddenly get married in the middle of a battle? I thought people only fell in love like that in Mrs. Raddiffe's romances."

Judith smiled and patted his hand. "You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction." If that was the explanation he'd hit upon, then she'd leave him with it. He obviously wouldn't be able to handle the truth: violent passion, mutual seduction, inconvenient encounters, and a most scrupulous sense of honor… along with a quite unscrupulous seizing of an opportunity.

Wellington's army was drawn up outside the village of Waterloo, straddling the Brussels road behind the shelter of a small hill that would protect them from enemy observation and gunfire. It was a relatively strong position, and the duke was in cheerful mood when Judith, escorted by Charlie, walked into one of the string of farm buildings that protected both the army's flanks. A fire burned in the grate and the smell of gently steaming wet wool filled the air as the soaked inhabitants of the farmhouse jostled for position near the heat.

"We'll stand where we are, if Blucher promises us one corp in support," the duke was declaring, over a table laden with supper dishes. "Ah, Lady Carrington, you've been in the field hospital at Quatre Bras, your husband says." He waved a chop bone at her in greeting. "Come to the fire and dry off. Carrington's taking a look at the field. Boney's ensconced on the other hilltop."

Judith dropped onto a bench at the table, exhaustion flooding her so she couldn't even summon up the energy to reach the fire. Charlie murmured his excuses and went off into the rain again to rejoin his regiment. Someone pushed a pewter mug of wine toward her, and she buried her nose in it with a grateful groan. As with last night, her presence was completely accepted. This didn't seem as surprising to her now that she'd met several women that day, laboring beside her in the hospital, all wives of soldiers, all accustomed to following the drum and enduring the same privations as the army while they waited behind the lines for their men. That Lord Carrington's wife chose to do the same was a little more remarkable, but then so was the marquis's position with Wellington's army as a civilian tactician.

Marcus came in a few minutes later, shaking water off his coat, tossing his soaked beaver hat onto a settle. "It's raining cats and dogs," he said. "The roads are en-mired and the field's a mudbath." He saw his wife and came quickly to the table. "How are you?"

"Dripping," she said, smiling wearily. "But well enough. I'll be even better for another cup of wine."

"Take it easy," he cautioned, reaching for the bottle and refilling her cup. "Exhaustion and wine make the devil's own combination. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," she said. "I think I'm too tired." "You must eat. Then I'll show you to the chamber I've managed to lay claim to, and you can get out of those clothes."

Judith toyed with a cold mutton chop and listened to the conversation. Marcus sat beside her on the bench and, when her head drifted onto his shoulder, put an arm around her.in support. Her clothes dried a little in the steamy warmth of the crowded room and she sipped wine sleepily, trying to make some sense of the discussion. Everything seemed to hang on the Prussians. Could they send a corps in support? If not, Wellington's army was alarmingly outnumbered by the French across the hill.

The tension in the room was too powerful for her to wish to go to bed, and she shook her head when Marcus suggested he show her to the bedchamber he'd found in a cottage across the yard. At three in the morning, a drenched runner tumbled through the door bearing the message they'd all been waiting for. At dawn, two corps of the Prussian army would move from Wavre against Napoleon's right flank.

"Twice as good as we'd hoped for!" Peter Welby exclaimed.

Marcus examined a map with a pair of compasses. "It's ten miles from Wavre to Waterloo and it'll be slow going during this terrible storm on muddy roads. I expect they'll be here midday."

"If the French attack before then, we'll have to hold the field until they get here," the duke said.

But there was renewed confidence in the low-ceil-inged room and men rose from the table, intending to snatch what hours of rest they could before the attack opened.

"Come, Judith." Marcus shifted her head from his shoulder and stood up, pulling her with him. She obeyed readily, stumbling slightly as he led her out into die storm, across the swamped stableyard, and under the low lintel of a small cottage.

Men were asleep on the earth-packed floor and Judith trod delicately over them as Marcus hushed her with a finger on his lips. They climbed a rickety staircase and entered a tiny loft, smelling of apples and hay. A blanket-covered straw mattress lay on a roped bedframe. To Judith at that moment, nothing could have seemed more luxurious.

"Are the French expecting the Prussians?" she asked, sinking onto the mattress. There was another violent crash of thunder from outside.

"We're calculating that they won't be." Marcus bent to pull off her boots. "Napoleon's had Grouchy chasing a phantom Prussian retreat toward Liege, when in fact Bliicher's been moving toward us. I think we've caught him unawares." He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his own boots. "I hope we've caught him unawares… You can't sleep in wet clothes."