One of the first things I do when planning a story is find out what was happening in the world at the time of the story. In 1815, few events could have been more significant to a retired soldier than the Battle of Waterloo. It was obvious to me that my epilogue for Chaos Come Again had to touch on the arrival of the news from Belgium.

By the next day, rumours that battle had been joined were swirling around London. Lion went out in the morning to see what he could find out, but no one knew anything concrete.

“I don’t know how many people I spoke to who are convinced the Corsican monster is even now on his way to England having massacred the largest army the allied forces have ever put into a single field,” he told Dorothea, disgusted. “You will be pleased to know that I punched none of their stupid faces.”

By that evening, the rumour was that there had been a great battle, a retreat, and a defeat. It was now the twentieth of June. The more credible reports suggested the French had crossed the northern border of France some five days ago, and engaged the Prussians, who had fallen back.

“Not a defeat,” Lion scoffed, and the veterans among their friends agreed. “A fighting retreat until they can gather their numbers. If the Prussians were the only troops involved, it wasn’t the main battle.”

As Lion and Dorothea drove back to their townhouse, the streets were thronged with people waiting for official news.

The following morning, several of the London newspapers claimed that a bloody battle had been fought and won. But they provided no detail and ascribed the news to a gentleman who had arrived in London from Brussels. And a couple of them even said there may have been not a victory, but a defeat.

The couple kept themselves busy, but dread and hope mingled as they waited. “Even if the battle is over,” Lion pointed out, “that doesn’t mean the war is won.”

Lady Sutton and her mother-in-law, the Duchess of Winshire, were holding a ball that night. Lion and Dorothea decided to go, rather than sit around their townhouse and fret about the outcome of the battle. “We will dance and talk with our friends, even as we pray for our comrades,” Dorothea said.

It was close to midnight when the Duke of Winshire suddenly halted the orchestra, and called out in a battlefield roar, “Listen! Outside! Do you hear?”

In the silence, the shouts of a crowd carried clearly through the French doors that were open all along one side of the ballroom. As one, the ball-goers surged for those doors, the closest reaching the terrace first and joining the shouting. “Victory! Hurrah!”

The orchestra struck up again, this time to the tune, God Save the King. Lion could feel tears prick his eyes. It was over, then.