“Physicians are at the top. They study in universities and are gentlemen. Surgeons are lower. They work with their hands and are really just tradesmen whose tools are blades and saws. Midwives are necessary but ignored as much as possible. Bonesetters are peasants,” he explained with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Given that you’re a peer of the realm, you might change that. Your nickname will be Lord Foxton, the Bonesetter Baron!”
“I sincerely hope not!”
She laughed. “We’ll see. Let me show you to your room. You must want some rest. Or perhaps a hot bath?”
“Bliss unbounded.” He smiled and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Suzanne.”
“You are always welcome with Simon and me,” she said sincerely. “I’m off to find a midwife, but I shall see you later.”
She guided him up to his room, then left the house on her midwife hunt. As she walked through the busy streets, she wondered what Lucas would do with his future. In some ways he was like a newly hatched chick. But he was intelligent and he’d find his way. And with luck, he’d move back to England and live close enough to Simon for them to be great friends again.
* * *
Suzanne had had no success in locating an available midwife, so after she returned home that evening, she visited Marie’s room and urged her not to have her baby for at least a week. Marie laughed, but said she could make no promises.
Tired by the long day, Suzanne retired to her room and settled at her desk to begin writing her nightly message to Simon. It was her favorite time of the day because the house was silent and she could focus on Simon.
Mad, Mad Brussels, 15 June 1815
I am addressing you early tonight because I want to feel you close, my Simon. The days are dragging like years and rumors are sweeping through Brussels like wildfire. “The French are coming, the French are coming, flee for your lives!!!” I’m told the roads and canal to Antwerp are as full as they can hold. Your advice to sit tight here in our safe, comfortable house is very wise.
The French might be coming—indeed, I’m sure they will, eventually—but I’ve not heard any reliable information that says they’ve entered Belgium. The Duke of Wellington is very visible and very social, making quips and attending balls and throwing dinner parties to calm people’s fears.
He intended to go this evening to what should be a dazzling ball given by the Duchess of Richmond. He is probably there now, being calm and charming. If you were here to take me, I’d like to attend, but you aren’t, alas. I’m sorry I never saw you in your uniform. I have no doubt that you were a magnificent sight.
Sometimes at midnight I feel that our minds do briefly touch and I can sense your warmth and wit and kindness. No doubt that is merely fancy on my part, but I enjoy the illusion.
Marie has given up our daily walks because she is too tired. Not surprising considering all the extra weight she’s carrying. She’s also rather restless and Madame Maurice confided to me that the baby could come at any time. I find this a terrifying thought! Particularly since I’ve just learned that the midwife who has attended her has left the city. I must find another one. Soon!
Should she tell him about Lucas’s arrival? No, she was tired and that was too important a story to rush.
That is enough for this evening’s musings, mon coeur. Take care, and now I will sleep and imagine you beside me. Leo tries to comfort me but he is so very small!
Your Suzanne
Though Suzanne was tired, she felt too restless to go to bed. Something was about to happen but she didn’t know what.
Her intuition was confirmed when the metallic blare of bugles shattered the night. The call to war.
She jumped to her feet, heart pounding, then opened the window and listened as menacing sounds filled the night sky. Drums, harsh and insistent. The piercing wail of bagpipes with their wild, primitive summons to battle. The sounds of marching feet, then the rattle of wagons and gun carriages. A cacophony of war. The front door opened and she heard the voices of Maurice and Jenny and Jackson as they left to learn what was happening, and observe the mustering of the troops.
She couldn’t bear to join them, but she listened for a long time until she heard the front door open again. She frowned, wondering who had returned. A little warily, she went down the stairs—and there was Simon, turning from locking the door. He was crumpled and filthy and weaving with exhaustion, and the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
“Simon,” she whispered.“Simon!”And she raced down the last of the steps and straight into his arms.
* * *
Simon wasn’t expecting to be tackled by an armful of warm, wonderful, clean woman, but he didn’t mind even though the momentum of her embrace slammed him back against the front door. “Suzanne,” he breathed as he buried his face in her hair. “Suzanne,mon ange. I’m filthy, you know.”
“I know, but I do not care.” She pulled her head back enough so that their mouths could meet in a long, heartfelt, all-consuming kiss.
Stress fell away, dissolved in her wonderful, warm Suzanne-ness. Finally he broke the kiss. “Much as I’m inclined to stay like this for the rest of the night, I think I should wash off the travel grime and eat a meal before I ravish you. Or is it your turn to ravish me? I forget.”
She laughed and stepped back. “My turn, I think.”
“That’s good. I’m not sure I have the strength to be the ravisher.”
