Love Forever After

by Patricia Rice

  “Better a brazen hussy than one of these modern day hen-wits who faint at the sight of their shadow,” he decided with satisfaction.

  When they came within sight of the house, he reluctantly returned her to the seat while Penelope hastily tied the drawstring to hide her torn chemise. As the carriage stopped, Graham ignored the footmen. He jumped down and lifted Penelope as if she were an extension of himself.

  Half frightened by the intensity of her own emotions, Penelope allowed Graham to lift her to the ground. She stared wonderingly into his scarred face as he continued to hold his hands at her waist. As if satisfied with what he found in her eyes, Graham touched a finger to her nose and led her into the house.

  The opportunity to find out what would happen next was lost when they met Lady Reardon and Dolly preparing to leave. Dolly’s cries of delight distracted from their electric tension.

  Graham asked the women to join him for tea, and Penelope excused herself to change her clothing.

  When she returned to the parlor, the Reardons were entertaining Graham with descriptions of the exciting events of these next few weeks of the Season. He did not seem intrigued, and remembering the news Dolly had imparted some nights ago, Penelope added it to the conversation.

  “And your brother, Arthur, have you heard from him again?”

  Both Reardons responded excitedly. Only Penelope noticed Graham’s silence. Obviously no one had repeated this particular piece of gossip to him.

  With a smoothness that belied his interest, he inquired, “Arthur joined the army? I know I have been out of touch, but why didn’t I hear of this before?”

  Forgetting Graham’s frightening appearance and apparently only remembering that he had been a good friend of her younger son, Lady Reardon said eagerly, “We none of us knew it! He ran off and left a letter to his father saying he wished to make his own way in the world, and other than an occasional note telling us he was alive and well, we knew nothing of him. And we hadn’t even had a note in the longest time!”

  Dolly jumped in to explain. “It seems he joined as an enlisted man under an assumed name! Can you imagine that? And then when he was injured no one had a family name to send word to and the announcement in the paper meant nothing to us. Only when he was well enough to write did we hear from him. My brother is on his way over to find him now.”

  Graham set his cup aside. “Henry will be bringing him home then? Do you know when?”

  Penelope wanted to attribute his interest to concern for an injured friend, but she felt uneasy at the flatness of his voice. When Guy had returned from war, she had heard the delight in her husband’s greeting. Graham’s tone did not sound as if he were inquiring out of joy.

  “It depends on the extent of his injuries,” Lady Reardon said worriedly. “We’ll be taking him to Surrey to recuperate as soon as he is able to be moved. I do hope you will come to visit. I am sure it will mean a lot to him.”

  Graham held his cup out for Penelope to refill. “We were thinking of adjourning to the Hall for the summer ourselves. We will certainly avail ourselves of your kind invitation.”

  Penelope’s hand jerked as she poured the tea. Graham had never said anything of going to Surrey. He had mentioned his sister’s place in Hampshire. What was the Hall? The Reardons apparently knew, for they launched into an excited commentary of the jaunts and picnics they had planned that would now include the Trevelyans.

  Not wishing to reveal her ignorance, Penelope smiled in agreement with Dolly’s plans and let Graham control the conversation. Her mind whirled, and she wished that she were back home in the vicarage with only the humdrum happenings of the village to disturb her peace. Every time she felt as if she were coming to some understanding with Graham, something happened to throw her back into the dark again.

  If she could only look at him as one thing or another—husband, employer, friend—it would make life easier. But he shifted rapidly from one role to the other. This morning he had told her she had no right to inquire into his affairs. This afternoon he had treated her as wife and mother of his daughter. And now he was revealing that she knew nothing at all of him. She might as well be a governess.

  As the Reardons prepared to leave, Charles DeVere followed the footman into the parlor. He appeared agitated, but he made a smooth bow with the polish of a practiced politician. Pleasantries exchanged, the Reardons departed, and DeVere faced Trevelyan with ill-concealed disgust.

  “It’s been awhile, Trevelyan. I’d heard you’d recovered.”

  “So they say.” Graham remained standing, and Penelope hesitated, uncertain whether to call for more tea or excuse herself.

  With a polite nod toward Penelope, DeVere inquired, “Is Chadwell about? I have some business with him.”

  “You’ll more likely find him in some gambling hell on the East End than here,” Graham responded coolly. “He does not reside with us.”

  Penelope bit her tongue. She did not understand what game Graham played by disclaiming his cousin, and it was not her business to interfere. She could only feel the tension between these two and wonder at the tension.

  “It is imperative that I speak with him. You must know how to reach him. I know we have seldom seen alike on many things in our past, Trevelyan, but this is an issue exceedingly crucial to our nation. In a few short days the streets will be filled with immensely important dignitaries come to celebrate the peace treaty. Should anything happen to any one of those people, it will be an embarrassment to the Regent, to the government, to every one of us. That bloody American cousin of yours has no right to keep such secrets to himself.”

  He spoke as if Graham ought to understand his concerns—as Graham seemed to do, Penelope noted. How could a man who seldom ventured beyond his own portals be aware of visiting dignitaries and state secrets? And what on earth did a rakehell like Clifton Chadwell have to do with anything?

  Graham leaned on his cane and delivered a piercing look to his visitor. “It is of no matter to me whether you rise to the upper echelons of government or sink to a hell of your own making, DeVere. Cliff will do as he sees best. I’d suggest if your real concern is for the safety of the czar and his company, and the well-being of the Regency, that you warn the powers-that-be to listen should an American come to them with talk of treason.”

  DeVere appeared to stifle his temper. Penelope rose from her chair and curtsied. “I do not think this discussion has aught to do with me, gentlemen. I bid you adieu.”

  She closed the door with a calmness she did not feel. May the saints have mercy on her, but she did not have the strength or presence of mind to deal with treason after all that had happened this day.

  What had possessed her to think that marriage to Graham would provide a lifetime of peace and security?

  Later that evening Graham found his wife staring at the shelves in his library. Guiltily he remembered they had not stopped for the one thing she had requested for herself— membership in the lending library.

  Remembering the reason they had been distracted from this goal, his heart pounded as he advanced into the room. The flickering firelight illumined the shadows of long legs beneath the gauze of her gown, or so Graham imagined. His thoughts were ready for distraction, and Penelope provided the allure he needed. She was an innocent, he knew, and for that reason he had avoided confronting her with his desires.

  But her responses this afternoon gave him reason to hope she would not completely scorn his advances. His greatest fear was that she would be horrified and repulsed by his physical appearance. Perhaps he had worried for naught.

  Rather than debating the merits of Swift over Voltaire, Penelope was lost in contemplation of the day’s events and did not hear Graham enter. How could the gentle man she knew as husband and father to Alexandra inspire the fury and antagonism of men like Guy and DeVere? What did he hide from her that others saw?

  The touch of a strong hand upon her shoulder shocked her back to the present, and she jumped. Glancing up at Graham’s ravag
ed visage illuminated by the red and gold firelight, she shuddered as if her thoughts had conjured up a ghost.

  Graham saw only the terror in her eyes, read into them the disgust he felt for himself, and with a tearing pain at his insides, stepped away.

  He deserved that look of wide-eyed horror. Stifling the tentative hopes of just a moment ago, Graham uttered polite phrases and retreated, hiding the unexpected anguish filling his soul.

  Chapter 13

  The promised day of celebration for the end of hostilities with France plus the arrival of the Czar of Russia and King of Prussia with their colorful retinues kept the Season in full swing despite the growing warmth of June.

  On any given day the location of the exotic royalty could be discerned by the swarming masses. Parades of people eager to glimpse the foreigners in their splendid robes, furs, and jewels followed the royal carriages. Just the sight of the handsome czar sent many a maiden into a swoon.

  Like everyone else, Penelope was eager for a glimpse of foreign dignitaries. Never having traveled any farther than London, she felt her education sadly lacking if she did not take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity. When Lord Higdon offered to conduct her to a soiree in honor of the celebrities, Penelope eagerly accepted.

  Judging the callow young lord to be less of a danger than the sophisticated Guy Hamilton, Graham offered no objection. He had kept a careful distance since that day he had let his wishes overrule his senses. As always, Penelope accepted the role he assigned her, although he felt her puzzled glances. Comforting himself with the thought that she would despise him should she ever discover his secret, he managed to control his tongue and actions.

  He could not control his thoughts, however. Watching his wife laughing and playing with Alexandra, flirting with the gentlemen who cast her interested glances, and garbed in the revealing silks and satins he bought for her, Graham cursed the cruelty of fate. Just as he had almost accomplished his goals, temptation danced in his way. It had never occurred to him that the quiet vicar’s daughter had the ability to dispel the ghosts of his past, but for the first time in years, he contemplated the future.

  He had a choice, such as it was. He could give up his goals, the work of these past few years, the reason he had found for living, and reveal himself to Penelope in hopes that she might forgive his deceit and accept him as husband. He had never quit at anything in his life, but the temptation was great if he had a chance of winning happiness. But the possibility of his proud, inconceivably honest, and morally upright wife accepting his explanations and learning to love him threatened the bounds of logic.

  So he watched Penelope smile at him as she spun around in the extravagantly pleated blue faille with the lace ruffles covering the bodice, and let the young lord proudly bear her off without a word to indicate the devastation she wreaked in his heart.

  As he climbed the stairs to find the lonely company of his books, a racket in the kitchens caught his attention. He recognized the raised voices of the kitchen staff, the formidable curses of his French cook, and waited patiently for John to settle the matter. It was amazing how much of this discord had disappeared with the advent of Penelope.

  When John finally stalked into the hallway, hauling a filthy, tattered street urchin by the collar, Graham was grateful Penelope was not here to witness this.

  The boy cringed at Graham’s visage, but within minutes, he had pried the message from the terrified youth. Cursing, Graham strode up the stairs, flinging orders to his manservant.

  Caught in the crush of elegant gowns and tailored coats, Penelope grew bored with the evening’s entertainment. The Czar Alexander appeared to be every bit as handsome as promised, but equally arrogant and pretentious. The grand duchess looked positively ferocious. While many of their retinue seemed approachable, Penelope’s deplorable French prevented conversation. Left to her own devices by the easily distracted Lord Higdon, it became evident that there was no place more lonely than in the midst of a crowd.

  Not accustomed to feeling so out of sorts, Penelope allowed the crush to push her to the edges of the room. Crystal-cut chandeliers illuminated the elegant array of silks and satins. Penelope studied the heavy velvet draperies, wondering if escape hid behind them.

  Escape came in a surprising form. A tall footman in powdered wig and red livery bore down upon her with a silver platter in his upturned hand. “Lady Trevelyan?” The young man bowed stiffly.

  “How did you know?” The question revealed her country curiosity. A London-bred viscountess would have expected the servants to know her identity.

  “The gentleman described you.” The footman presented the folded note.

  “That must have been a fascinating description. What words did he use?” she asked, more interested in the note than the reply. She glanced to the scrawled signature and bemused, listened more carefully.

  “My lady, I could not. . .”At her haughty glare, the footman re-thought his protest. “He said I was to look for the goddess garbed in sky and clouds with eyes to match my lover’s violets and honeyed tresses that brushed alabaster shoulders dusted with gold.” The words emerged breathlessly and ended with an air of satisfaction. “I reckoned you had to be young, wearing blue, and probably had freckles. Not too many in here fit the description.”

  Penelope choked back her laughter at the plunge Chadwell’s airy phrases took with this translation. This was a most unlikely place to discover Graham’s rakehell cousin, but she was eager for any friendly face.

  Her laughter fled as she digested the contents of the note. She glanced up as if expecting to see Chadwell hiding behind the tall footman, but of course, he was not. “Can you lead me to him?”

  “Of course, my lady.” He adroitly led her to a nearby drapery.

  She hesitated, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Can you take a message to Lord Higdon? I cannot describe him so poetically. . .”

  The footman nodded in understanding. “I will make inquiries, my lady.”

  “Good. Then tell him I was called home and give him my apologies, if you please.” Relieved of that concern, she followed the footman down a passageway to an anteroom. The footman opened the door, bowed, and withdrew.

  The small room was lit only by a brace of candles, but she recognized Chadwell’s tall, broad-shouldered figure easily. Wearing black frock coat and pantaloons, he paced the floor and swung around at the sound of the door. Instead of smiling, he frowned.

  “I must be mad. I should never have come here.” He strode across the room and caught her hand, bringing it to his lips for a lingering tribute. “But you are the only one I know to come to.”

  “The note said it is urgent. What is wrong? Is it Graham? Is he all right?” The heat of his palm burned against her skin. Those golden eyes so like Graham’s made her tremble.

  “He is fine, but useless. I need someone familiar with the servants, someone who can recommend a good, stout-hearted girl to help someone in distress. The details are not for a lady’s ears, but I will admit there is an element of danger. Perhaps a maid with a questionable reputation?”

  Penelope withdrew her hand from his. “I do not employ servants with questionable reputations, and even if I should, I would not lend them to your assignations. Really, Clifton, you are quite about in your head to consider it.”

  Her cold tones increased his intensity. “Penelope, you have it wrong! You see before you a desperate man. Do not think I would have come to you elsewise. A friend of mine is in serious trouble. I need a decoy, one I can trust, but the task is of such a questionable nature that I dare not risk the reputation of an innocent. Please, Penny, give it some thought. Perhaps one of the maids has a friend. Let us go back to the house and ask. They will listen to you.”

  She frowned as she realized Chadwell was serious. She shook her head. “No, Cliff, I really cannot send one of the maids with you. They would feel obligated to obey, and it would be on my hands should anything happen to them. The same with their friends.
Put yourself in their position. How could they refuse? It will not do at all. If it is so very desperate, why can’t I help you? There is little that I have not seen. I’m really not so very innocent as you would think.”

  Chadwell gave a start at that declaration, but seeing her seriousness, he managed a faint smile. “You would have me believe you are fast, Lady Trevelyan? If so, you have certainly concealed it from me until now. No, it would not do. London’s East End is not the place for a lady.”

  “If you can go there, so can I,” she replied tartly. “You think I am not acquainted with poverty and all that entails? If you are serious about helping your friend, I am your only hope.”

  “Penelope, we are not talking of hovels in the back alleys of Northampton. We are talking of brothels and bordellos and gambling hells! It will not suit.” Visibly agitated, Chadwell started to run his hand through his disheveled black hair, thought better of it, and looked about as if in hopes of discovering a decanter of something strong.

  His unusual vehemence caused her to study Graham’s cousin. She knew very little of this man beyond his surface sophistication. His friend apparently meant a great deal to him.

  “If that is the way you feel, I am sorry I can be of no further use to you. I will not send my servants where I dare not go.” She started for the door. Graham most certainly would not approve if she became involved in Cliff’s escapades. And the talk of those murdered women in the streets of the East End—the papers had been full of dreadful details.

  Chadwell’s low cry halted her. “Penny, she is nearly the only friend I have. It is because of me that she is in danger. I could take pistols and sword and storm the place, but there is no promise I will come through alive, and I have discovered lately that I very much want to live. Could you not reconsider?”

  His words struck a dart through her heart. He asked her to help rescue his mistress. A man like that always kept a mistress, maybe two. Another human being was in trouble. She could not let pride stand in the way.