“Yes.”
He studied her face. “You’re not pleased?”
“Yes, of course I am. No one deserves joy more than Aunt Delia. It’s just that I’m…”
“What?”
Envious of their happiness. Of my aunt’s daring. “I’m just surprised,” she finished lamely. “Aren’t you?”
“Actually, no. I had a conversation with my father that made it clear he cared deeply for your aunt. It’s good to see him so happy. Good to see them both so happy.” His gaze searched hers. “When I opened the door, you looked pensive. What were you thinking?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Yes.”
“I was wondering how I was going to say good-bye to you.”
His gaze turned troubled. “I’ve been wondering that very same thing with regards to you.”
She had to press her lips together to keep from asking if he’d come up with a solution. Reaching down, he picked up the package he’d set on the floor and handed it to her.
“After much thought, I decided this was the best farewell I could give you.”
Placing her rose on the mahogany end table, she laid the package on her lap and carefully unwrapped the layers of tissue paper. When she looked down at the book nestled in the wrappings, her breath caught. Reverently, she brushed her fingertip over the title.
“Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l’Oye,” she whispered. “Tales of Mother Goose?” She turned to the first page and saw the publication year: 1697. “It’s a first edition,” she said, awed. “Wherever did you find one?”
“I didn’t have to look very far, as it was in my traveling trunk. That is my copy.”
Victoria’s head snapped up from admiring the book and she stared at him. “The copy you said you wouldn’t consider selling for any sum? The copy that was the last gift you received from your mother before she died?”
“Yes.”
Her heart began a slow, hard beat. “Why would you give me something so valuable to you?”
“I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”
The tiny flame of impossible, ridiculous hope inside her that had been struggling to stay lit was suddenly extinguished. He indeed intended to say good-bye.
She should be glad. Relieved. It was for the best. And surely as soon as she didn’t feel so enervated, so numb, she would feel all those things.
I wanted you to have something to remember me by. Dear God, as if she would ever, could ever, forget him. “I… don’t know what to say.”
“Do you like it?”
She looked into his eyes, so serious, so beautiful, and a sob rose in her throat. She attempted to cover it up with a laugh, but the effort failed miserably, and to her mortification, hot tears pushed at her eyes. “I love it.” And I love you. And I desperately wish I didn’t because nothing ever has hurt this badly.
Should she tell him? Tell him he owned her heart, and that it was breaking at the thought of leaving him? No! her inner voice screamed, and she realized she’d be a fool to tell a man who was clearly determined to say good-bye that she loved him.
Blinking back her tears, she straightened her spine and offered him a smile. “Thank you, Nathan. I’ll treasure it always.”
“I’m glad. Since I cannot give you the fairy-tale ending you’ve always planned, I at least wanted to give you the fairy tale.”
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked, her voice shaking and barely above a whisper.
Framing her face between his hands, he studied her through serious eyes. Finally he said, “I don’t know. That is up to… Fate. All I do know is that we have this one last night together. And I want to make it unforgettable.” He leaned forward and softly touched his lips to hers. When he started to lean back, a sense of desperation unlike anything she’d ever known flooded her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him back toward her.
“Again,” she whispered against his mouth. “Again.”
And as he had the first time she made that demand of him three years ago, he obliged her.
And when she awoke the next morning, she was alone.
“Are you all right, Victoria?”
Her father’s voice penetrated the fog of despair enveloping her. She pulled her gaze from the window of the coach that with every turn of its wheels sent her farther away from Nathan.
“I’m…” looking into her father’s concern-filled eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to lie and say she was fine. “Tired.” God knew that was the truth.
Father frowned and his jaw moved back and forth, as it always did when he puzzled over something. Offering him the best smile she could muster under the circumstances, she returned her gaze to the window. How long ago had they left Creston Manor? An hour? It felt like a lifetime. And as much as she loved Father, she dearly wished she were alone. To mourn the end of her affair in private. To shed the tears that hovered so close to the surface. To hold the book Nathan had given her against her heart.
Dear God, how was it possible to feel so much pain when she felt so utterly dead inside? Her eyelids slid closed and instantly a dozen images danced in her mind’s eye-of Nathan smiling. Laughing. Making love to her. Saying good-bye at the carriage this morning as if they were nothing more than polite acquaintances-
“Damn it all, you’re crying. That does it.”
Victoria’s eyes flew open at her father’s fierce words, and to her mortification she realized that tears had indeed silently leaked down her cheeks. Before she could reach for her handkerchief, Father pressed his into her hand. Then, with a fierce scowl, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a folded piece of vellum.
“I was instructed not to give this to you until after we’d reached London, but since I never actually gave my word that I would wait, I’m not going to.” He held out the vellum, which was sealed with a blob of red wax.
“Instructed by whom?”
“Nathan. He gave it to me last night and asked that I hold it until we were resettled in London. To give you some time to think. To reflect. About what you want. But a blind man could see that you’re heartbroken and miserable, and I can’t bear to watch it a moment longer. If there’s even the slightest chance that whatever he’s written might make you feel better, I’ll risk his displeasure.”
Victoria reached out an unsteady hand and took the vellum. After breaking the seal, she slowly unfolded the thick ivory paper and, with her heart pounding, read the neatly scrawled words:
My dearest Victoria,
Here is a story to include in the Tales of Mother Goose, entitled “The Ordinary Man Who Loved a Princess”:
Once upon a time, there was a very ordinary man who lived in the country in a small cottage. The man went through each day thinking his life was very fine and good until one day he met a beautiful princess from the city from whom he stole a kiss. As soon as he did so, he regretted it because from that moment on, no other kiss but hers would do, which was very bad because very ordinary men have nothing to offer princesses.
The memory of that single kiss lived in the man’s heart, burning like a candle he couldn’t extinguish. Then, three years after that kiss, he saw the princess again. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. But by then the princess was destined to marry a wealthy prince. Yet even though he knew a princess wouldn’t marry an ordinary man, even though he knew his heart would be broken, he couldn’t help but fall in love with her, for she was not only beautiful, she was kind and loving. And brave. Loyal. Intelligent. And she made him laugh. So even though he was far too ordinary for a princess, he had to try to win her love, for he couldn’t give her up without a fight. He therefore offered her the only things he could-his heart. His devotion. His honor and respect. And all his love. And then he prayed that the moral of the story would be that even an ordinary man could win a princess with the riches of love.
My heart is yours, now and always,
Victoria’s vision blurred and she blinked back the tears hovering on her lashes. Then she raised her gaze to her father, who regarded her with a questioning expression.
“Well?” he asked.
A half laugh, half sob burst from her. “Let’s get this carriage turned around.”
Nathan stood at the shore, staring at the white-capped waves that pounded relentlessly at the rocks and sand. The wind was picking up, warning of an approaching storm, and the somber gray sky perfectly matched his mood. Had she only left two hours ago? Had it only been one hundred and twenty short minutes since it felt as if his soul had been ripped out? Bloody hell. His heart felt… gone. As if the only thing holding up his head were his lungs-and they hurt.
He dragged his hands down his face. Damn it, he’d done the right thing for her by letting her go. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Nathan.”
He whipped around at the sound of her voice and stared, dumbfounded. She stood not ten feet away, clutching a piece of folded ivory vellum marked with his seal in red wax to her chest. But it was the look in her eyes that simultaneously stilled him and roared hope through him. A look filled with so much longing and love that he was afraid to blink lest he discover this was some sort of wishful dream.
Rooted to the spot, he watched her approach. When less than a foot separated them, she reached out and laid her hand against his cheek.
“There is absolutely nothing ordinary about you, Nathan,” she said in a shaky whisper. “You are extraordinary in every way. And I’ve known that since the first moment I set eyes on you three years ago.”
He turned his face and kissed her palm, then took her hand and clasped it between his. “Your father gave you my note.”
Still clutching the vellum, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You can thank him later.”
“I wanted you to have time to think-”
“I’ve had plenty of time. I’ve done nothing but think. I know what I want.”
“And what is that?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Very sure.”
“You,” she whispered, her gaze steady on his. “You.”
All the spaces inside him that less than a minute ago had seemed so desolate and empty, now filled to overflowing. Taking her hands from around his neck, he held them between his. “I once told you that I would only marry for love.”
“I remember.”
He dropped to one knee before her. “Marry me.”
Her chin quivered and her eyes flooded. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks and plopped onto their joined hands.
Nathan stood and frantically patted his waistcoat in search of his handkerchief. Finding the square of white linen, he dabbed at her wet cheeks. “Don’t cry. God, please don’t cry. I simply can’t stand it.” He swore softly and continued to dab as her tears fell unabated. Finally he gave up and simply brushed his thumbs over her wet cheeks.
“I’m not a rich man, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re always comfortable,” he vowed, hoping his words would comfort her. “We’ll spend part of our time in London-I’ll proudly escort you to the opera, even though I’m quite sure ‘opera’ is Latin for ‘death by unintelligible music’ I’ll attend whatever soirees you wish, then make love to you during the carriage ride home. And again once we arrive home. I don’t have much to give, but everything I have I offer to you. And I’ll love you every day for as long as I live.”
Victoria looked into his eyes and saw everything she’d never known she always wanted. Probably next week she’d come up with a brilliant reply to his lovely words, but for now all she could do was speak her heart. “I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I’m with you. And I’ve even grown fond of your menagerie. I already adore B.C. and Boots, and I’m certain Petunia and I can come to an understanding about what she can and cannot eat.” She blinked back a fresh wash of tears. “I love you, too. So very much. It would be my honor to be your wife.”
“Thank God,” he muttered, pulling her close. His lips captured hers in a long, deep, lush kiss that left her spinning.
When he finally lifted his head, she said in a breathless voice, “You know, I do come with a dowry.”
“Do you? I’d quite forgotten.”
And that, Victoria decided, was the loveliest gift a woman who’d always known she’d be married for her money could have received.
Epilogue
While Today’s Modern Woman should refrain from making any life-altering decisions “in the heat of the moment,” she should also recognize that some decisions require no thought at all because there is clearly only one answer.
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Six weeks later
Nathan stood at the altar in the small parish church his family had attended for generations and watched his beautiful bride walk slowly toward him. Dressed in a simple pale blue gown with a modest square neckline and puffed sleeves, carrying a bouquet of pastel roses, she took his breath away. When she reached him, he smiled.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered.
“So do you,” she whispered back with an answering smile.
The vicar cleared his throat and shot them a frown.
The ceremony proceeded without incident until the vicar intoned, “If there is anyone present who knows of any reason why these two people cannot be joined in holy wedlock, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Nathan cleared his throat. “I have something I need to say.”
The vicar’s brows shot up to his hairline. “You do?”
“Yes.” He turned to Victoria. “I need to tell you something.”
She paled. “Dear God,” she whispered. “This can’t be good.”
“It seems quite obvious to me that you have every intention of seeing this ceremony through to its conclusion,” he said.
“That was my plan, yes.”
“Excellent. Then in the spirit of making a full disclosure before we’re officially man and wife, I want you to know I’m, um, no longer of modest means.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean His Majesty has given me a very handsome reward for the return of the jewels.”
“How handsome?”
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “One hundred thousand pounds.” He leaned back, enjoying her look of utter shock. “And then there’s the house.”
“House?” she repeated weakly.
“In Kent. About three hours outside London. Just a modest estate, according to His Majesty. Probably no more than thirty or so rooms. Lots of space for your soirees, lots of acreage for my animals.”
She gaped at him. “How long have you known about this?”
“Your father told me only moments ago-just before he escorted you down the aisle.”
Her mouth opened and closed twice without any sound coming out. Finally she said, “You’ve known about this windfall for six minutes?”
“Approximately.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
He shrugged, then grinned. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t marrying me for my money.”
For several seconds she said nothing, then she gave a quick laugh. “I must say, this is unsurpassedly good news.”
“There’s no such word as unsurpassedly.”
“There is now.” And then she started talking so fast he could barely understand her. He risked a glance at the vicar, who looked as if he were about to suffer from apoplexy.
“Victoria,” Nathan whispered. When she continued to chatter, he shut her up the only way he knew how. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.
“Good heavens,” the vicar said in an outraged voice. “Not yet! I haven’t yet pronounced you man and wife!”
Breaking off the kiss, Nathan turned to the scarlet-faced man. “If I
hadn’t kissed her, believe me, you never would have had the chance to do so.”
He returned his attention to Victoria, who looked flushed and well-kissed.
“Heavens,” she said, “you kissing me to shut me up-that is just how we started.”
“It is indeed.”
“And now I suppose it marks that this is the end of our courtship.”
Nathan brought her gloved hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her fingers. “No, my love, this is, in every way, just the beginning.”
JACQUIE D’ALESSANDRO
Growing up on Long Island, New York, I fell in love with romance at an early age. I dreamed of being swept away by a dashing rogue riding a spirited stallion. When my hero finally showed up, he was dressed in jeans and drove a Volkswagen, but I recognized him anyway. We married after both graduating from Hofstra University and are now living our happily-ever-afters in Atlanta, Georgia, along with our very bright and active son, who is a dashing rogue in the making.
I love to hear from readers! You can contact me through my website at www.JacquieD.com.
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Not Quite A Gentleman Page 31