by Eva Shepherd
‘Oh, is it, really? You like it when I’m rude to you? I’ll hold you to that one.’ Nellie smiled back at him. ‘Well, I also have to confess that I started falling in love with you the first time I saw you as well, when you were dancing at Hardgrave Estate. I think that’s why I made fun of you, because I knew you were a man I could never have. I could never be the one you were gliding across the floor in your arms. I could never be the one you were holding. Deep down, that was what I really wanted, but couldn’t even admit to myself, so I did what I always do. I made jokes. Then when you were in my rooms, in my bed, I wanted you so badly it was almost painful. But I still knew you weren’t for me. But even though I knew that I still stole a kiss from you that first night when you were sleeping because I just couldn’t stop myself.’
‘You did?’ Dominic threw back his head and laughed out loud. ‘Why didn’t you wake me? Then the kiss wouldn’t have had to be stolen, I would have gladly given it to you for free and given you much more into the bargain, as you well know.’
Nellie bit her lip, remembering how the next day he had unintentionally shown how he would indeed have given her so much more. ‘Well, you’re awake now, aren’t you?’
Still laughing, Dominic drew her towards him. ‘I am indeed.’
As his arms encased her and his lips found hers Nellie could hardly believe such happiness really existed. She was being kissed by a man who loved her, who she loved with her heart and soul. Breaking from him, she took his hand. ‘Well, you’ve promised me much more. Was that just an idle promise or are you going to make good on it?’ She raised her eyes towards the ceiling, indicating her rooms upstairs.
‘You’re damn right I am.’ Scooping her up in his arms, Dominic carried a laughing Nellie up the stairs and into her room.
Epilogue
There was laughter, there was dancing, there were toasts. Guests were hugging each other and even occasionally breaking into song. It was just how an engagement party should be. It should be a celebration of love, with the happy couple surrounded by friends and family. And that was exactly what the engagement party of Mr Dominic Lockhart and Miss Eleanor Regan was.
Dominic had originally said he’d be happy to host the engagement party at The Hanged Man, so all Nellie’s neighbours and friends could join in on the celebration. As he had said, they owed a debt of gratitude to The Hanged Man. After all, if it hadn’t been for Dominic nearly getting into a bar room brawl on the premises, they might never have spent time together, might never have had the chance to fall in love. Although both suspected it would have happened anyway. How could they not fall in love with each other? How could two people who were perfect for each other not meet and fall in love? Those were two questions they were pleased they would not have to answer.
While Nellie appreciated Dominic’s gesture, she had convinced him that the ballroom at Lockhart Estate was a better venue for an engagement party. As she had said, it would make a nice change of scenery for Matilda and Harriet and all Nellie’s friends from the neighbourhood. Especially as many of them were staying overnight at the estate. Dominic had rightly pointed out that some might not be able to afford the train fare, but then he had come up with the perfect solution. He included train tickets with the invitation. Nellie had felt so pleased with him for making such a tactful gesture and so proud of herself for agreeing to marry such a man as wonderful as Dominic.
She was prouder still when he relented under her determined insistence that they hire staff for the day so the household servants would be able to join in the festivities, along with the tenants who lived on Lockhart Estate.
One thing they did agree on immediately. Inviting Patrick Kelly and his friends would be going a bit too far, even though they admitted they also owed them a debt of gratitude. If it wasn’t for their fists and boots Dominic would not have had to recover at Nellie’s home. That was time they treasured as it was when their love first began to blossom. But instead of an invitation, they decided a more fitting way to repay that particular debt was not to press assault charges.
The Duke and Duchess of Somerfeld, along with the Duke and Duchess of Knightsbrook, also attended the engagement party and both dukes had offered to walk Nellie up the aisle. Nellie hadn’t mentioned it yet to Dominic, but as she had two friends who were duchesses, Dominic would be marrying a woman who could easily arrange for his sisters to be presented at court.
Amanda no longer needed to ask the Duke of Castlemere to arrange this, as Nellie could now make it happen. She knew she shouldn’t be looking forward to telling Dominic, but she was. It meant that she, little Nellie Regan, the ex-lady’s maid, would be the one who elevated the Lockhart sisters to the loftiest of heights on the social calendar when they made their debuts.
Not that either Violet or Emmaline seemed to care one fig whether they were presented at court or not. Like their older sister, Amanda, they seemed like very sensible young women who would marry for love and not for status. Just like their mother did before them and just as their brother was about to do.
Nellie looked around the ballroom, smiled and saw her handsome fiancé making his way towards her. ‘May I have the honour of this dance?’ he said, giving her his most formal bow.
‘Indeed, you may, sir,’ Nellie replied, making an equally formal curtsy. Dominic’s arm wrapped around her waist and he glided her across the parquet floor, while everyone watched. Nellie was sure she must be glowing she felt so radiant with happiness. How could she not be? She was dancing with the man she loved, the man who loved her.
And when Dominic ignored all protocol, all ideas of what constituted proper behaviour, and kissed her on the dance floor to the enthusiastic applause of all the guests, Nellie’s happiness reached a level she would have once thought impossible.
‘Who said the upper classes lacked passion?’ Dominic said, laughing, as he lifted her up in his arms and twirled her around.
‘Some fool who didn’t know what she was talking about.’
‘A beautiful fool who unlocked this fool’s heart and showed him what love and passion really mean.’ With that, Dominic lowered her to the floor and kissed her again.
* * *
If you enjoyed this book, why not check out
these other great reads by Eva Shepherd
Beguiling the Duke
Awakening the Duchess
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Chapter One
The Alhambra Palace
in the Emirate of Granada—1399
Climbing to her bedchamber at the top of the tower, Princess Zorahaida dropped her veil on a ledge next to her elaborately carved bed and wished she did not see her sisters around every corner. Her sisters were long gone but she ached to see them.
She was feeding the songbirds in their gilded cage when light footsteps on the stair caught her attention. Closing the door of the cage, she turned, bracelets chinking.
Sama, her most trusted maidservant, stood on the threshold with her veil flung back. Her eyes were troubled.
Princess Zorahaida’s heart constricted. What now?
The Princess’s irascible father Sultan Tariq was prone to the most bloodcurdling rages. Had he hurt someone? Zorahaida’s greatest fear was that the day might dawn when she wouldn’t be able to calm him. Thus far, she had managed reasonably well, though it was never easy. She felt as though for most of her life she’d been walking a tightrope.
She kept her voice calm. ‘Something troubles you, Sama?’
Sama was the most sensible of her handmai
dens. Rarely ruffled, her cool nature had been the reason she had risen so high in the Princess’s favour. Zorahaida would trust her with her life. She trusted her other handmaid Maura too, of course. Maura had a heart of gold, though she was too nervous to be entirely reliable.
Sama stepped into the chamber and carefully shut the door.
‘Princess, Imad has brought it to my attention that there are no more Spanish pigeons in the loft. Unless a delivery comes from Castile, the messages between you and your sisters will come to an end.’
Thankful it was nothing more serious, Zorahaida allowed herself to relax. A few years ago, her sisters had run away to marry Spanish noblemen in the neighbouring Kingdom of Castile. Their father the Sultan had responded by banishing them from his Emirate on pain of death. She hadn’t seen them since.
The three sisters were triplets, identical triplets. Perhaps that was why the bond between them was stronger than steel. Determined to stay in touch, they used carrier pigeons to communicate with each other.
Pigeons were astonishing birds. Faster than a horse and capable of flying hundreds of miles in a day, a homing pigeon was inconspicuous and reliable, perfect for taking messages between Al-Andalus and Castile. Best of all, there was no need for a human messenger to endanger life and limb by crossing the troubled border between the Kingdom of Spain and the Emirate.
There had been teething difficulties, but the system worked remarkably well. Zorahaida and her sisters, Leonor and Alba, regularly exchanged news. Mercifully, Sultan Tariq didn’t have the slightest notion that his youngest daughter was in secret contact with her sisters.
‘Don’t worry, Sama,’ Zorahaida said. ‘All is in hand. More homing pigeons are on their way, they should arrive soon.’
Sama’s expression cleared. ‘That is a relief. I know it’s crucial that the three of you remain in touch.’
Sama left the chamber and Zorahaida gave a pensive sigh.
The links between her father’s Emirate and the Kingdom of Castile, though tenuous, went back a long way. The Princesses’ mother had been Spanish. Lady Juana of Baeza. Lady Juana had been captured by the Sultan’s troops and when she’d been brought before Sultan Tariq, he had fallen in love with her on sight. He’d forced her to stay and had made her his Queen. She’d never been permitted to return to Baeza.
Sadly, the Queen had died so early in the Princesses’ childhood that Zorahaida had virtually no memories of her. Her sisters Leonor and Alba had been her world. That was why losing them had been so devastating.
Zorahaida often wondered what life would have been like if she’d gone with her sisters. The Princesses’ Spanish duenna Inés had painted Castile in the rosiest colours, she’d tempted them all with the thought of the freedom that might be found outside the enclosed world of the palace. Like Leonor and Alba, Zorahaida had dreamed about seeing her mother’s homeland. Language wouldn’t have been a problem. Thanks to Inés, the three Princesses grew up speaking Spanish fluently. None the less, they’d known adapting to life in Castile would be tricky after the confined world of their father’s palace. They had known there would be obstacles.
As her sisters had been drawn to the men who were now their husbands, Zorahaida had initially been drawn to a third Spanish knight—Sir Enrique de Murcia. She shrugged. In the end, putting Sir Enrique out of her mind had been easy, he wasn’t the hero she’d believed him to be. Parting with her sisters, on the other hand—to this day, Zorahaida felt as though she’d lost part of herself.
On the night of her sisters’ escape with their Castilian noblemen, Zorahaida had been ignorant about Sir Enrique’s true character. The idea of marrying a Spanish knight had been enticing, for surely no man would be as domineering and unforgiving as their father. Notwithstanding, Zorahaida had been torn.
What about their father? That rigid, complicated man who ruled his daughters with an iron hand, whilst at the same time showering them with gifts. She had actually felt sorry for him. Sultan Tariq had lost his beloved Queen and Zorahaida sensed he was terrified of losing his daughters too. The Sultan had no other children. How would he go on alone? He would have felt abandoned, and abandonment, she was sure, was what her father dreaded most.
Zorahaida’s stomach clenched, as it usually did when she thought about the Sultan and she began to pace about the chamber. The various windows gave snatches of differing viewpoints. On one side lay the palace gardens with their fishponds, orderly orange groves and thyme-scented courtyards. On the other, she could see the wilderness beyond the palace walls and the deep crevasse, clear now of rocks. The scrubby trees on the other side of the dip climbed ever higher, drawing her gaze to the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
She stared at the snow-tipped mountain. She felt trapped in the palace. Suffocated. What would her life have been if she had run away with her sisters? These thoughts weren’t new and, as she had done many times, she thrust them aside.
Regret was pointless. She had chosen to stay, and she had spent three years working to ensure that loyal servants and guards escaped the worst of her father’s wrath. It felt good to be useful even if the sense of being shut in was insufferable.
Sama reappeared. ‘Excuse me, Princess, I forgot to ask. Will the homing pigeons be delivered to the market as usual?’
‘I believe so.’
Sama bowed her head. ‘With your permission then, I shall inform Imad.’
‘Thank you. Sama?’
‘Princess?’
‘Would you also inform Imad that I am of a mind to accompany him when he goes to collect my sisters’ birds.’
‘Princess, are you certain? If Sultan Tariq, long may he reign, discovers you have gone into the city...’ Sama’s voice trailed off.
Zorahaida needed no reminder of the dangers. Every time she broke her father’s rules, she risked disturbing the harmony she worked so hard to create. She also knew that most of the palace servants, yes, and the guards too, were grateful for her help. They wouldn’t dream of questioning her, but that brought its own responsibilities. It meant that Zorahaida didn’t often venture out and when she did, she was careful to be discreet. She didn’t want anyone risking her father’s wrath for her sake, yet seeing the citizens of Granada, ordinary folk, getting on with their lives was what kept her sane.
She drew herself up. ‘I shall be careful, Sama, but if I don’t get out for a short while, I swear I shall run mad.’
‘As you will, of course.’
Sama opened the door and anxious voices floated up the stairs.
There was a swift pattering of feet, a light chattering sound and a small monkey hurtled across the patterned floor tiles. It was Hunter. Hunter had once belonged the middle Princess, Alba. Since Alba had gone, Zorahaida had adopted him.
Hunter skittered towards her and leaped on to her shoulder, quivering with tension. Zorahaida’s heart sank, something awful had happened, she just knew it.
‘Princess!’ Maura, her other maidservant, was calling.
Pulled by the panic in Maura’s tone, Zorahaida went to the head of the stairs. Maura stood a few steps below, panting for breath. Her veil was dark with sweat.
‘Princess, come quickly! The lily pond. It’s Yamina...’ Maura’s voice broke on a sob.
‘She’s fallen in?’ Zorahaida went cold. Yamina was her cousin, the sweetest of children, she was not yet three. Mind filling with horror, Zorahaida snatched up her veil, tucked it into her belt and flew down the stairs. She passed Maura and raced along the flagged pathway that led to the pond.
This wasn’t happening, Zorahaida told herself. Not Yamina...no, no, no.
* * *
At first glance, the pond looked undisturbed. Then Zorahaida saw a faint ripple. A small, starfish-shaped hand was flailing about near a water lily. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark shadow next to a pillared trellis. The shadow seemed out of place, but Zorahaida dismiss
ed it. That tiny hand was all that mattered.
It was a small pond and it wasn’t deep. She dropped to her knees. Yamina’s hand was tangling in the lilies, sinking out of sight. Heart racing, Zorahaida caught the hand and pulled.
Yamina emerged. Her lips were blue, and her small body felt horribly heavy. Limp. She wasn’t breathing. Zorahaida heard herself moan. She sat back, hauled the child over her knees and gave her a gentle shake.
‘Yamina, sweetheart, wake up.’
Nothing. She gave a more vigorous shake. Were the child’s lungs full of water? Was she too late?
‘Yamina, please.’
‘God be merciful,’ Maura muttered.
Yamina jerked and coughed and water left her lungs in a choking, sputtering rush. When she gulped in air and coughed again, Zorahaida turned her on to her side and watched the colour creep back into her lips.
Yamina opened her eyes. ‘Princess?’
Zorahaida’s throat closed. ‘God is good.’
Pushing to her feet with Yamina cradled in her arms, Zorahaida turned to Maura. ‘We must take my cousin to the harem. She needs her mother.’
Yamina started to cry.
Sama held out her arms. ‘Allow me, Princess. She’ll need dry things.’
Handing her cousin over, Zorahaida suppressed a shudder at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn’t reached the pond in time. Her uncle, Prince Ghalib, doted on his little daughter. If she had drowned, he would have been out of his mind with grief.
A chill came over her. It hadn’t been hard getting Yamina out of the pond. Maura could surely have dragged Yamina out herself, instead she had wasted time coming to fetch her...
‘Maura, why didn’t you get Yamina out yourself? Couldn’t you reach?’
Maura’s face was concealed beneath her veil, but she gulped and pointed towards the pillared trellis. ‘I dare not, Princess. Didn’t you see him?’