ended and June arrived, each day bringing longer hours of sunlight and warmth. The time passed in tranquillity, an illusion all Brussels seemed to share, even though everyone knew war was imminent. The Prussians were marching to join forces with the Allied Army under Wellingtonâs command. The Russians were marching to join the effort as well, but no one expected they could reach France in time for the first clash with Napoleon.
In Brussels, however, leisure seemed the primary activity. The Parc de Brussels teemed with red-coated gentlemen walking with elegant ladies among the statues and fountains and flowers. A never-ending round of social events preoccupied the more well-connected officers and the aristocracy in residence. Gabeâs very middle-class birth kept him off the invitation lists, but he was glad. It meant he could spend his time with Emmaline.
On Sundays when she closed the shop, Gabe walked with Emmaline in the Parc, or, even better, rode with her into the country with its farms thick with planting and hills dotted with sheep.
This day several of the officers were chatting about the Duchess of Richmondâs ball to be held the following night, invitations to which were much coveted. Gabe was glad not to be included. It would have meant a night away from Emmaline.
His duties over for the day, Gabe made his way through Brussels to the food market. He shopped every day for the meals he shared with Emmaline and had become quite knowledgeable about Belgian food. His favourites were the frites that were to be found everywhere, thick slices of potato, fried to a crisp on the outside, soft and flavourful on the inside.
Heâd even become proficient in bargaining in French. He haggled with the woman selling mussels, a food Emmaline especially liked. Mussels for dinner tonight and some of the tiny cabbages that were a Brussels staple. And, of course, the frites. He wandered through the market, filling his basket with other items that would please Emmaline: bread, eggs, cheese, cream, a bouquet of flowers. Before leaving the market, he quenched his thirst with a large mug of beer, another Belgian specialty.
Next stop was the wine shop, because Emmaline, true to her French birth, preferred wine over beer. After leaving there, he paused by a jewellery shop, its door open to the cooling breezes. Inside he glimpsed a red-coated officer holding up a glittering bracelet. âThis is a perfect betrothal gift,â the man said. He recognised the fellow, one of the Royal Scots. Buying a betrothal gift?
Gabe walked on, but the words repeated in his brain.
Betrothal gift.
Who was the man planning to marry? One of the English ladies in Brussels? A sweetheart back home? It made no sense to make such plans on the eve of a battle. No one knew what would happen. Even if the man survived, the regiment might battle Napoleon for ten more years. What kind of life would that be for a wife?
No, if this fellow wanted to marry, he ought to sell his commission and leave the army. If he had any intelligence at all heâd have taken some plunder at Vittoria, like most of the soldiers had done. Then heâd have enough money to live well.
Gabe halted as if striking a stone wall.
He might be talking about himself.
He could sell his commission. He had enough money.
He could marry.
He started walking again with the idea forming in his mind and taking over all other thought. He could marry Emmaline. His time with her need not end. He might share all his evenings with her. All his nights.
If she wished to stay in Brussels, that would be no hardship for him. He liked Brussels. He liked the countryside outside the city even better. Perhaps he could buy a farm, a hill farm like Stapleton Farm where his uncle worked. When Gabe had been a boy all heâd thought of was the excitement of being a soldier. Suddenly life on a hill farm beckoned like a paradise. Hard work. Loving nights. Peace.
With Emmaline.
He turned around and strode back to the jewellery shop.
The shop was now empty of customers. A tiny, white-haired man behind the counter greeted him with expectation, âMonsieur?â
âA betrothal gift,â Gabe told him. âFor a lady.â
The manâs pale blue eyes lit up. âLes fiançailles?â He held up two fingers. âVous êtes le deuxième homme dâaujourdâhui.â Gabe understood. He was the second man that day purchasing a betrothal gift.
The jeweller showed him a bracelet, sparkling with diamonds, similar to the one his fellow officer had held. Such a piece did not suit Emmaline at all. Gabe wanted something she would wear every day.
âNo bracelet,â Gabe told the shopkeeper. He pointed to his finger. âA ring.â
The man nodded vigorously. âOui! Lâanneau.â
Gabe selected a wide gold band engraved with flowers. It had one gem the width of the band, a blue sapphire that matched the colour of her eyes.
He smiled and pictured her wearing it as an acknowledgement of his promise to her. He thought of the day he could place the ring on the third finger of her left hand, speaking the words, âWith this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship â¦.â
Gabe paid for the ring, and the shopkeeper placed it in a black-velvet box. Gabe stashed the box safely in a pocket inside his coat, next to his heart. When he walked out of the jewellery shop he felt even more certain that what he wanted in life was Emmaline.
He laughed as he hurried to her. These plans he was formulating would never have entered his mind a few weeks ago. He felt a sudden kinship with his brothers and sisters, unlike anything heâd ever felt before. With Emmaline, Gabe would have a family, like his brothers and sisters had families. No matter she could not have children. She had Claude and Gabe would more than welcome Claude as a son.
As he turned the corner on to the street where her lace shop was located, he slowed his pace.
He still had a battle to fight, a life-and-death affair for both their countries. For Gabe and for Claude, as well. He could not be so dishonourable as to sell out when the battle was imminent, when Wellington needed every experienced soldier he could get.
If, God forbid, he should die in the battle, his widow would inherit his modest fortune.
No, he would not think of dying. If Emmaline would marry him before the battle, he would have the best reason to survive it.
With his future set in his mind, he opened the lace-shop door. Immediately he felt a tension that had not been present before. Emmaline stood at the far end of the store, conversing with an older lady who glanced over at his entrance and frowned. They continued to speak in rapid French as he crossed the shop.
âEmmaline?â
Her eyes were pained. âGabriel, I must present you to my aunt.â She turned to the woman. âTante Voletta, puis-je vous présenter le Capitaine Deane?â She glanced back at Gabe and gestured towards her aunt. âMadame Laval.â
Gabe bowed. âMadame.â
Her
