His lordship’s brows rose. “How perceptive of you, my dear.” His gaze sought out Cara; he found her beside Hugo, her hand on his arm as he and she chatted animatedly with several younger couples. His lordship smiled faintly. “But yes, I should have been more sensitive over inviting Cara into our household—not that I could have done anything else, but I should have foreseen the ensuing difficulty and taken steps to avoid or at least lessen it. Livia, of course, knew of the scandal my sister, Meg, caused in throwing aside all social conventions in pursuit of love—a love she embraced and enjoyed for more than twenty years. From what little we heard, Meg lived life to the hilt and was deliriously happy with her Italian painter. She, therefore, was the living antithesis of Livia. Meg had counted the world well lost for love, while Livia had taken the opposing stance. Meg reaped her just reward, while Livia…reaped hers. To then have Cara—a living, speaking, sparkling reminder of what, I suspect, Livia had come to see as her own lack of courage in failing to own and embrace her love for Freddie—foisted upon her… Well, I can’t be surprised it grated on Livia’s soul and found expression in her temper.
“Even though she and Freddie are now together, they cannot be openly so. Livia knows she made a bargain in which she deliberately turned away from their love—that she didn’t have the inner strength Meg had—and every time Livia sees Cara, she’s reminded of that.”
Penelope studied Lady Carisbrook with new—and much clearer—understanding. “Luckily, Cara will soon leave to live with Hugo.”
“Indeed. And I cannot be other than glad that Cara and Hugo have found each other.” His lordship’s smile bloomed anew, his gaze again resting on his niece and Hugo. “Meg and Giovanni would have been delighted with the match.”
After a moment, Lord Carisbrook turned to regard Penelope. “Before I forget, I must thank you and yours for introducing Cara to Mr. Debbington, the painter. She tells me he’s invited her to show some of her works alongside his, and she’s utterly in alt at the prospect. Hugo gave me to understand that having gained Gerrard Debbington’s imprimatur, Cara is well on the way to becoming a recognized portrait artist in her own right.” His lordship arched his brows in question. “Of course, given Hugo’s bias, I’m uncertain how much value to place on his words.”
Penelope laughed. “I can assure you Hugo was speaking nothing more than the truth. Indeed, after Gerrard saw the sketches Cara had done of his children, he was knocking on our door within the hour. Gerrard is adamant that Cara is extremely talented, and as Hugo’s wife, she’ll have the entrée to the circles within society that will most appreciate and value her skills.” Penelope met Lord Carisbrook’s gaze. “Gerrard gave me to understand that he feels honored to be able to act as Cara’s mentor.”
The quiet joy that infused Lord Carisbrook’s expression warmed Penelope through. “My dear,” his lordship said, “Meg and Giovanni would be beyond thrilled to hear that, and to know of the happy and fulfilling life that now stretches before their daughter. It is everything and more they would have wanted for her.”
Penelope felt her own smile deepen. She looked out at Cara and Hugo—at the joy and happiness that lit both their faces—and deemed her job well done. “They face a life full to bursting with love.”
Lord Carisbrook nodded. “Indeed. I might not have experienced that joy myself, but I recognize its value.” He turned his head, caught Penelope’s eye, and arched a brow. “As I know you do, my dear.”
Penelope allowed her own inner happiness to invest her smile and show in her eyes. She inclined her head. “Indeed, I do, my lord. A life filled with love is indescribably precious.”
And makes life worth living.
For her, at least. Still smiling, with all of her lingering questions answered, she took her leave of Lord Carisbrook and glided into the crowd—looking for her own love, for he who gave her so many reasons for living.
She found Barnaby farther down the ballroom, chatting to Melissa, Hugo’s sister.
The entire Adair clan seemed unable to do anything other than smile.
After eagerly exchanging several wedding-related comments, Melissa moved on.
Her arm linked with Barnaby’s, Penelope turned him toward the long windows that stood open to the terrace. “Come and walk with me.”
He regarded her, concern lurking behind the cerulean blue of his eyes. As they passed out of the ballroom and into the cool of the night, he bent his head and murmured, “Are you all right?”
She glanced up and met his eyes, smiled, and patted his arm reassuringly. “I’m perfectly well.” She’d started exhibiting the first signs of pregnancy—namely being nauseated in the morning—only that morning. “Ton stuffiness, whether atmospheric or behavioral, doesn’t sicken me—it merely drives me crazy.”
He laughed, still a trifle uncertain. “You’d think I’d be an old hand at this, but I find I’m as nervous as the first time.”
She patted his arm again. “We’ll see it through, just as we did with Oliver.” She slanted him a smiling glance. “I have confidence in us.”
He tipped his head. “I suppose I do, too.”
They’d fallen into step pacing along the moonlit terrace. There were other couples taking the air, but the flagstones weren’t crowded; there was plenty of space to walk and talk in private.
After several more steps, Barnaby murmured, “So why are we out here?” Through the shadows, his gaze touched her face. “Or should I ask what subject your busy brain is dwelling on?”
Her smile deepened; he knew her so well. “Lord Carisbrook deigned to explain several things. But what caught my attention was how central to his revelations was one undeniable, inviolable truth.”
“Which is?”
“That, ultimately, love is what you make of it.” After a second of gathering her thoughts, she elaborated, “For some—like us, like Cara’s parents—love finds us, and we recognize it, seize it, and hold on come what may. But for others, like Lady Carisbrook and Lord Frederick, love wasn’t—indeed, still isn’t—within their ability to seize. First, they let it slip through their fingers, and even now, they can only allow it life in secret. Regardless, love that strikes of its own accord never dies. It’s a living force that, no matter the hurdles people place in its path, will do its damnedest to find a way to connect the two people it wants to link. For however long those two people might live, love will strive to find a way. However”—she tipped her head, frowning as she searched for how best to communicate her meaning—“that is only half the tale. That type of love—what we call true love—is only one part of love’s story.”
She paused, then went on, “We all accept that true love begets another sort of love—familial love. And if you don’t have true love, then familial love might be all that much harder to secure, but”—she emphasized the point with an upraised finger—“as Lord Carisbrook has just reminded me, it’s not impossible. Familial love can be founded, as he put it, on understanding and affection, fondness and caring—in other words, a relationship underpinned by a conglomerate of emotions other than true love.”
After replaying her words, she looked at Barnaby and met his eyes. “I think, being as we are, with our friends in a similar boat, we—I, at least—have tended to forget that. Have, perhaps, tended to look down on that and not accorded due credit to the effort of building familial love on such a base.”
Barnaby held her gaze, considered her words, then nodded in understanding. “It’s…if not easy, then certainly easier for us to fall into the ways of familial love, being already conditioned to the demands made by the love that binds us.”
“Exactly.” Penelope pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. “Nevertheless, while familial love might not be exclusively dependent on true love giving it birth, considering all the couples and the families we know, the chances of forming a strong and supportive family seem that much greater if true love stands at the core.”
“If true love is the family’s foundation.” Barnaby halted, drew
her to face him, trapped one of her hands, and raised her fingers to his lips. Holding her gaze, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips, then, at the questioning look she threw him, smiled. “As ever, I bow to your insights and have no argument whatever with them. And in light of that, and of the fact that we are one of those families with true love at its core, might I suggest that we leave all others to their own endeavors and direct ours toward caring for our expanding family—with all the love in our souls?”
Even wreathed in shadows, her smile was radiant. “Yes. Let’s.”
She gripped his fingers and laughed, and together they turned, slipped back into the ballroom, found and farewelled their hostess, then made their way to where their carriage waited. Minutes later, they were on their way home.
To their son.
To their marriage bed.
To their future founded on, defined, and underwritten by a love they knew to their souls would never die.
Later, Penelope lay staring at the progression of the moon’s light across the ceiling of their bedroom. Her hand lay over her still-flat belly, and her lips were gently curved.
In life, fulfillment came in many forms, with many and varied flavors—the shared triumphs of their investigations, the comfortable bustle of their household, the pleasure found in the company of their friends and the wider family they both embraced, the unalloyed wonder of Oliver, and the joyful promise of the child to come—yet at the center of all stood one thing.
One combined force.
Her love for Barnaby and his for her lay at the heart of it all.
Dear Reader,
The Confounding Case of the Carisbrook Emeralds featured several different types of romances—an innocent budding romance, one innocent but secret, an illicit but accepted relationship of longstanding, plus a conventional marriage of convenience and one much less conventional—all contrasting with Barnaby and Penelope’s, Stokes and Griselda’s, and Montague and Violet’s happy, contented, and rock-solid marriages. I hope you enjoyed reading about how the various characters coped with the emotional challenges they faced. If you feel inclined to leave a review here, I would greatly appreciate it.
THE CASEBOOK OF BARNABY ADAIR series is one I continue to add to. This volume is the sixth, and the next installment, The Murder at Mandeville Hall, will be with you soon (August 16, 2018). More information about earlier volumes—Where the Heart Leads, The Peculiar Case of Lord Finsbury’s Diamonds, The Masterful Mr. Montague, The Curious Case of Lady Latimer’s Shoes, and Loving Rose: The Redemption of Malcolm Sinclair—can be found following, along with details of my other upcoming releases.
Barnaby, Penelope, Stokes, Griselda, and their friends continue to thrive. I hope they and their adventures solving mysteries and exposing villains entertain you as much as they do me.
Enjoy!
Stephanie.
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COMING SOON IN THE CASEBOOK OF BARNABY ADAIR NOVELS:
The seventh volume in
The Casebook of Barnaby Adair mystery-romances
THE MURDER AT MANDEVILLE HALL
To be released on August 16, 2018
#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens brings you a tale of unexpected romance that blossoms against the backdrop of dastardly murder.
On discovering the lifeless body of an innocent ingénue, a peer attending a country house party joins forces with the lady-amazon sent to fetch the victim safely home in a race to expose the murderer before Stokes, assisted by Barnaby and Penelope, is forced to allow the guests, murderer included, to decamp.
Well-born rakehell and head of an ancient family, Alaric, Lord Carradale, has finally acknowledged reality and is preparing to find a bride. But loyalty to his childhood friend, Percy Mandeville, necessitates attending Percy’s annual house party, held at neighboring Mandeville Hall. Yet despite deploying his legendary languid charm, by the second evening of the week-long event, Alaric is bored and restless.
Escaping from the soirée and the Hall, Alaric decides that as soon as he’s free, he’ll hie to London and find the mild-mannered, biddable lady he believes will ensure a peaceful life. But the following morning, on walking through the Mandeville Hall shrubbery on his way to join the other guests, he comes upon the corpse of a young lady-guest.
Constance Whittaker accepts that no gentleman will ever offer for her—she’s too old, too tall, too buxom, too headstrong…too much in myriad ways. Now acting as her grandfather’s agent, she arrives at Mandeville Hall to extricate her young cousin, Glynis, who unwisely accepted an invitation to the reputedly licentious house party.
But Glynis cannot be found.
A search is instituted. Venturing into the shrubbery, Constance discovers an outrageously handsome aristocrat crouched beside Glynis’s lifeless form. Unsurprisingly, Constance leaps to the obvious conclusion.
Luckily, once the gentleman explains that he’d only just arrived, commonsense reasserts itself. More, as matters unfold and she and Carradale have to battle to get Glynis’s death properly investigated, Constance discovers Alaric to be a worthy ally.
Yet even after Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard arrives and takes charge of the case, along with his consultants, the Honorable Barnaby Adair and his wife, Penelope, the murderer’s identity remains shrouded in mystery, and learning why Glynis was killed—all in the few days before the house party’s guests will insist on leaving—tests the resolve of all concerned. Flung into each other’s company, fiercely independent though Constance is, unsusceptible though Alaric is, neither can deny the connection that grows between them.
Then Constance vanishes.
Can Alaric unearth the one fact that will point to the murderer before the villain rips from the world the lady Alaric now craves for his own?
A historical novel of 75,000 words interweaving romance, mystery, and murder.
Click here to read an excerpt
Available for e-book pre-order after May 16, 2018
For links as they become available, click here.
RECENTLY RELEASED:
The first volume in THE CAVANAUGHS
THE DESIGNS OF LORD RANDOLPH CAVANAUGH
#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens returns with a new series that captures the simmering desires and intrigues of early Victorians as only she can. Ryder Cavanaugh’s step-siblings are determined to make their own marks in London society. Seeking fortune and passion, THE CAVANAUGHS will delight readers with their bold exploits.
An independent nobleman
Lord Randolph Cavanaugh is loyal and devoted—but only to family. To the rest of the world he’s aloof and untouchable, a respected and driven entrepreneur. But Rand yearns for more in life, and when he travels to Buckinghamshire to review a recent investment, he discovers a passionate woman who will challenge his rigid self-control…
A determined lady
Felicia Throgmorton intends to keep her family afloat. For decades, her father was consumed by his inventions and now, months after his death, with their finances in ruins, her brother insists on continuing their father’s tinkering. Felicia is desperate to hold together what’s left of the estate. Then she discovers she must help persuade their latest investor that her father’s follies are a risk worth taking…
Together—the perfect team
Rand arrives at Throgmorton Hall to discover the inv
ention on which he’s staked his reputation has exploded, the inventor is not who he expected, and a fiercely intelligent woman now holds the key to his future success. But unflinching courage in the face of dismaying hurdles is a trait they share, and Rand and Felicia are forced to act together against ruthless foes to protect everything they hold dear.
Click here to read an excerpt.
Buy & Read THE DESIGNS OF LORD RANDOLPH CAVANAUGH
ALSO RECENTLY RELEASED:
The first volume in Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Chronicles
LADY OSBALDESTONE’S CHRISTMAS GOOSE
#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens brings you a lighthearted tale of Christmas long ago with a grandmother and three of her grandchildren, one lost soul, a lady driven to distraction, a recalcitrant donkey, and a flock of determined geese.
Three years after being widowed, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone finally settles into her dower property of Hartington Manor in the village of Little Moseley in Hampshire. She is in two minds as to whether life in the small village will generate sufficient interest to keep her amused over the months when she is not in London or visiting friends around the country. But she will see.
It’s December, 1810, and Therese is looking forward to her usual Christmas with her family at Winslow Abbey, her youngest daughter, Celia’s home. But then a carriage rolls up and disgorges Celia’s three oldest children. Their father has contracted mumps, and their mother has sent the three—Jamie, George, and Lottie—to spend this Christmas with their grandmama in Little Moseley.
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