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.
“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
