She caught Philip's eye. "And you, Mr. Marshall. Will you enlist?" Arabella asked quietly.
He shook his head. "I have a different destiny. Many men will die in the fields of Belgium, but my fate lies here."
"Belgium?" she asked in confusion.
He shook his head as if to clear it. "Sorry, I need to ask Blake if I can borrow some evening togs for the ball."
He went up to speak to her ward, and the two men went off together.
Arabella joined Ellen and Georgina Jerome, who were talking excitedly in a corner.
"Isn't it too thrilling! All the men back in uniform. More adventures and larks," Georgina giggled.
Arabella shook her head. "You've met Michael Avenel and Alexander Davenport. You've heard the Duke's tale of how he was nearly killed in battle. Do you really think it's all adventure and larks?" she asked angrily.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Georgina said.
"And what of your own cousin Martin? Was he not injured in battle?"
They looked at each other, and Ellen shook her head soberly. "No. It wasn't the war that did that to him."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Arabella wondered why on earth everyone was acting so strangely. She decided that the news of Napoleon's escape from Elba had put everyone off balance.
"I'm going up to my room to lie down for a while, and then dress for the ball. Please have one of the servants call me if you need any help with the preparations."
"No, you're the guest of honour," Ellen said, shaking her honey-blonde ringlets. "And you've been up all night with Sarah, haven't you. Go and rest. We'll see you later."
But the last thing Arabella could do was rest. She kept trembling at the thought that Blake was going to be taken from her. She knew he was not going to be involved directly in any fighting if he could help it. Yet she had heard tales of the lines being overrun, the injured taken prisoner and killed, their doctors with them also slaughtered, or at the very least taken prisoner. Then there was disease, and accidents, attacks on British troop ships....
"Stop this! Stop this!" she told herself firmly.
Blake might not even have to go. But knowing him, there would have to be a dashed good reason for him to stay. One that the authorities would accept. Having a new ward might not be one of them.
Would he not resent her for making him stay behind, when even the Rakehells, all married men, were willing to go back even though they had been honourably discharged? She could not be selfish. But she loved him so. It was hard for her to even think straight, let alone get dressed.
Dress Arabella did, for she was determined to put a brave face on things. She knew couples got married in haste all the time when there was a war on. She did not want Blake to ever think that she was confessing her feelings to him because she was afraid of losing him. The fact was she had loved him from the moment they had met.
The white and gold gown suited her lithe and curvaceous figure, draping elegantly over her bosom and cascading down in a sheer fall past her hips to the floor. The undergown was cut only to just above the ankle, with the sheer overgown falling to the floor to offer tantalising peeps of her lower legs and feet. The small split sleeves were fashioned together with gold braid, and bared her shoulders alluringly. She gathered her glossy black curls on top of her head with a simple gold ribband, allowing the rest of it to sweep down her back almost to her waist.
She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to pink them up. In a fit of daring, she took out a kohl eye pencil Betsey had suggested she buy in Bath, and lightly outlined her eyes, making them look enormous. She checked the v-neckline of the gown to make sure she was appropriately covered. With a small smile she tightened the fastenings to enhance her bosom even further.
When she descended the stairs at seven for supper, she was aware of every eye in the room upon her.
"Arabella, my dear, you look lovely," Mr. Jerome said fondly.
"Magnificent," Philip Marshall praised, taking her hand as he was closest to her. But with a hasty kiss upon it, he gave her to Blake and stepped back.
"I have never seen any woman more lovely in my life," Blake said sotto voce, naked admiration in his eyes.
"Thank you. You look rather splendid yourself." She stared at him. A gold waistcoat and cravat…. Once again their colours complimented each other, though this time it had to be purely by accident, for she had never told him what she intended to wear.
They began the ball with the first waltz. Though he knew it was bad form, Blake kept hold of her for the quadrille, only relinquishing her when Thomas came to claim his dance.