Noise surged and died away almost immediately.
“Victory,” George Greenfield said. “And Nick is safe and unharmed.”
He was merciful enough to give with terse brevity the two key pieces of news for which they had all waited seemingly forever. He went on to mention Waterloo, a small village south of Brussels, as the scene of the battle, and the fact that it had been no grand victory but what the Duke of Wellington himself had apparently described as a very near-run thing. But it was a victory nonetheless. Nick had been in the thick of the fighting all day long but had come through it with barely a scratch, though he had had a horse shot out from under him.
Philippa scarcely heard the details her uncle was giving to reassure his listeners. She had turned into Lucas’s arms and was weeping uncontrollably on his shoulder. She had not even realized until that moment how very anxious she had been all week. She, along with her family. Yet here they all were this evening, preparing to dance the night away, as though they had no care in the world. How was it possible for people todothat? To carry on with the business of living even while the world was coming apart and their hearts were ready to shatter?
What if the news her uncle had brought in person had been different? Itwouldbe different for hundreds and thousands of other families, both in Britain and in France.
“How did we manage to retain our sanity during those years when Devlin and Ben as well as Nicholas were in the Peninsula and fighting battle after battle?” she asked, raising her head and gazing at her husband.
“Because it is what people do, Phil,” he said, and kissed her on the lips. “People endure and carry on living.”
And then she was hugging her mother and Stephanie and her brother and sister-in-law and the other Ware relatives, and everyonewas talking at once. And laughing too. But not heartlessly, Philippa believed. They were very well aware that no battle was cause for rejoicing, whether it had been won or lost, forso muchwas lost on both sides when violence became the only answer to a problem.
Devlin managed to make himself heard after a while.
“Our first guests will be arriving soon,” he said. “I believe a number of us need to wash away the marks of our tears before we greet them.”
But, oh, there was something over which to rejoice with unalloyed happiness, Philippa thought as Lucas took her by the hand again. Nicholas was safe. And unharmed—though there were those words of Uncle George’s:with barely a scratch.
Englandwas safe from invasion.
She would dance tonight with her husband. The man she loved. And life would continue.
—
As he stood in the receiving line with his wife and her mother and brother and sister-in-law, Lucas could not suppress an inner tremor of laughter over the fact that he had ended up withthisof all families. He had spent so many years, from the age of fourteen until very recently, hating the very nameStratton, making it sound in his mind very similar toSatan.
The former bearer of the title was dead. So was his own mother. The memory of the suffering they had caused themselves and their families had faded from his mind, never to be forgotten, of course, but never again to blight his own happiness. Or Philippa’s, it was to be hoped. And hewashappy. She was sparkling at his side, beautiful in that incredible gown, her blond hair, dressed in its usual smooth, simple style, gleaming in the light from the chandelieroverhead. The marks of her tears had been sponged away. The damp patch on the shoulder of his new black evening coat had dried.
He could only imagine how she had felt earlier when she learned—from a firsthand account—that her brother had survived withno more than a few scratchesthe great battle that had been fought close to Brussels this past Sunday.
He remembered too, as he shook hands with male guests and bowed to the ladies and occasionally raised a gloved hand to his lips, that he had avoided London and all these people for years. Even this year he had been reluctant to come, knowing as he had that he would probably be married before thetondispersed to their own homes for the summer. And hewasmarried—to the woman his grandparents had picked out for him. He had never really had any choice. But he ought to have trusted them more than he had. He glanced at Philippa, who was laughing at something Lord Edward Denton and another young man were saying to her as they passed along the line. For of course his grandparents’ choice would never have been made with a cold disregard for sentiment. They would only have chosen someone they loved, someone they assumed he must love too.
And dash it all, they were right.
“I believe it is time to begin the dancing, Dev,” the Countess of Stratton said at last. “You will lead off the opening set with Pippa, Lucas. Oh, my firsttonball as hostess is beginning and I am consumed with excitement.”
She was a total contrast to Philippa, dark haired and vivid in royal blue, the skirt of her gown carefully designed, he noticed, to disguise the rounding of her figure.
Stratton mounted the orchestra dais, though he did not immediately announce the opening set. He waited politely while theDuke of Wilby made his entrance, the duchess on his arm, Cousin Gerald hovering on one side of them, Sylvester on the other, but neither one actually touching them. Lucas was amused again by the smattering of applause that rippled through the ballroom as they took their places on what he thought of as their thrones.
Jenny had a cluster of persons about her chair, Lucas saw, both male and female. One of the latter was young Stephanie, wearing a flattering gown—as she had informed him she would—of light muslin with narrow lemon and white vertical stripes. She was beaming happily, her round cheeks shining in the candlelight.
And then the dancing began, and for almost half an hour Lucas forgot everything and everyone except his wife, with whom he danced. The figures separated them and brought them together as they paced out stately measures and executed more vigorous twirls, acknowledging their fellow dancers as they were brought together but somehow never losing their focus upon each other.
They took other partners for the following two sets but came together again for the first waltz—which Lucas had made clear he would dance with no one else but Philippa. And yet again they discovered the magic of moving about a ballroom floor in each other’s arms, dancing in sweeping twirls until the candles overhead and the gowns of the ladies and the sparkle of their jewels swirled into a kaleidoscope of light and color and sheer joy.
He smiled at Philippa and she smiled back, and for the moment all was right with their world.For the moment.Life was made up of moments, following endlessly upon one another throughout a lifetime. One must grasp those that were good and face those that were not as they came. It was the nature of the ebb and flow of life. Like a dance. This was one of the good moments. Ah, but no. This was one of the very best moments.
“I will always remember tonight,” she said, echoing his thoughts,and he realized they were the first words either of them had spoken since the music began.
“For good reasons, I hope,” he said.
“For the very best,” she assured him. And she was not just smiling tonight, he realized. She wasglowingfrom deep within.
“We will reminisce about it when we are old and gray,” he said. “We will recall it as one of the happiest of many happy memories we will have accumulated over the years.”
