‘Scarlet, you’re not made for this type of work. I’m surprised to see you here, and that your family allowed it. It would be improper for you to be unmarried and continue being in such close contact with all these soldiers.’
Unshed tears hugged her lashes as she tried to smile through them, pretending he wasn’t hurting her, that his words made her feel so lowly when all this time she’d felt so empowered, in charge of her own destiny. So he wanted to marry her to make it clear she was his? It might have even seemed romantic to her once, but now it only made her sad. She was so much more than a girl waiting for a man now. She was a nurse, a capable, confident nurse who’d put status aside to work shoulder to shoulder with any nurse or doctor, to tend to any soldier regardless of his injuries.
‘We’re . . .’ she stuttered, clearing her throat, pushing her thoughts aside, knowing he’d never understand. ‘We’re to be married immediately?’ She must have heard him wrong. Surely she had heard him wrong. Convincing herself about her fiancé was one thing, but marrying him now? Before they even dealt with his injuries or returned home?
She didn’t even let herself whisper the words inside her own mind, even though they were fighting to be let free, her thoughts drowning in her head.
Deep inside, in her heart, she was still torn. It broke her heart to think of James. But Thomas was her fiancé. Thomas was her intended. Which meant, if Thomas had indeed requested the army chaplain already, James would officially become her brother-in-law and nothing more. She’d known the time would come, but Thomas’s words had still managed to hit her hard. Once she went home, who would care about what she’d done here? Her family would expect her to perform her function as a dutiful wife. No more, no less. She doubted they’d even believe how capable she’d been.
‘Scarlet?’
She drew her shaking hands together, trying to stop the quiver before it took over her entire body. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all been such a shock, finding you and then hearing of my friend’s terrible injuries and return to England.’ It wasn’t an excuse, her words were true, her explanation entirely accurate. But this man, this man lying on the bed, he seemed more a stranger than her fiancé right now.
‘Then a wedding will cheer you up,’ he said bluntly.
No kind words, no soft touch. The Thomas she remembered would have been more gracious, would have comforted her. Or maybe that was just the Thomas she’d created in her imagination, just like she’d never realised how cold her upbringing had been or how truly wonderful a man could make her feel. They had only spent a handful of days together – hazy, happy days with a smattering of stolen moments between them. In all truth, it was James she knew better, whose actions and emotions she had seen in the most trying of circumstances. He would have comforted her.
She patted Thomas’s arm before turning to walk away, forcing her movements to be slow even though she wanted so desperately to run.
She was about to be married. With no family or friends present, just a man whom she’d been so desperate to find and who, right now, felt more of a stranger than half the soldiers whose wounds she’d tended to all these months.
Scarlet had already talked with her matron, and had had a strong feeling that Thomas would insist on a marriage, but not so soon as this. Now, she would be travelling home by sea with him, accompanying him back to England as his wife. He would never return to the front, which in itself was a godsend, and she’d already set the wheels in motion to transfer him to a London hospital. The news of the shortage of nurses was already making its way to them, and it seemed the country was grateful to have some highly trained nurses from the front return home. But instead of accompanying him in a military convoy to a hospital when they returned, then taking a few days’ leave with her family before being given a new posting, she’d be married. Thomas’s wife. Which meant she had no idea how things might change or what that would mean.
Or maybe she did and she just didn’t want to accept it.
PART THREE
London
April, 1945
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ellie
Ellie stood at the window, the curtain clutched between her fingers as she stared out into the dim light. Every time her baby moved it made her restless, not because she didn’t enjoy feeling the little kicks and turns, but because it made her wish for Spencer all the more. Where was he now? In the hospital in Brussels still? Or somewhere more dangerous? The not knowing was what kept her awake long into the night, kept her tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable with her ever-growing bump. Now she realised how hard it must have been for her own parents when she left and was sent to another country.
‘Come away from the window, my dear.’
She turned and let her hand drop from the fabric. Thank goodness for Lily. She’d been terrified of meeting her mother-in-law, and the prospect of staying with her had been beyond daunting. But from the moment she’d arrived Ellie had been drawn into her arms and treated like the daughter Lily had never had, and it had made her fall in love with Spencer even more. Because in that first moment, that first warm embrace, she’d seen him; in the attentive way Lily listened, the kindness, the understanding. Far from being the upper-class woman looking down her nose that Ellie had been expecting, Lily had been anything but. Spencer had a strong sense of social justice, and now she knew where it came from.
Lily gestured to the tea she’d placed on the low table. ‘Did your mother ever laugh and tell you a watched pot never boils?’
Ellie rolled her eyes. ‘Very funny. One of these days I’ll be watching and he’ll walk straight up that path.’
The both laughed. Theirs was an easy relationship, and given Spencer was her only son, Lily seemed comforted by the fact that his wife was with her, with all the happiness that a new baby brings.
‘Are you missing your family terribly?’ Lily asked, raising her cup and taking a small sip.
Ellie watched her, always watching, wanting to be as refined as the delicate Lily one day. She raised her teacup just as gently, taking a tiny sip. Every time she sipped real tea and not the ghastly brew they’d subsisted on in France, the flavour made her smile. In fact, it reminded her of drinking real coffee with Spencer that day in the village.
‘I’m looking forward to going back to see them again soon,’ she said, setting her cup down. ‘But if you’re asking whether I’m comfortable here, then the answer is yes.’