Far Beyond Rubies

by Rosemary Morris

  Gervaise raised an eyebrow. “Until now, I never thought you had a coward’s bone in your body. No, no, do not fire up, Ralph. You faced French battalions, and are capable of facing London fribbles. So, what do you say? Will you help Mistress Kemp?”

  Ralph laughed harshly. “It seems I am hoist by my own petard.” He heaved a sigh. “I have always prided myself on my courage.”

  Gervaise sprang to his feet and then clapped Ralph on the shoulder. “Good.”

  * * * *

  Ralph entered his wife’s bedchamber where she sat before her dressing table while Ann, her tirewoman, brushed her hair.

  Without hesitation, Barbara dismissed the woman.

  He stooped to rest his hands on her shoulders. “You are as beautiful as you were on the day we wed.”

  Barbara stood to kiss him tenderly on his scarred cheek. “And I, sir, love you more than ever.”

  “London should see your beauty again. Gervaise wants you to act as his hostess, and chaperone Aphra and Mistress Kemp.”

  Although she smiled, her dimples disappeared. “I cannot, for how could I bear to be parted from you?”

  “No need, I will accompany you.”

  “You will come to London?” she said, her eyes bright with obvious delight, and the dimples reappearing. “I can scarcely believe you have agreed. How good you are.” Ecstatic, she raised her hands to clasp them at her breast. “Oh! How enjoyable it will be to visit the shops, meet old friends, go to the theatre, and take the air in the park.”

  “How selfish I have been.”

  “Never that, dearest.”

  “Selfish,” he repeated, putting more emphasis on the word. He frowned, noticing the sad expression on his wife’s face. “What is wrong? A moment ago you were delighted.”

  “What of the children? You know I cannot bear to be separated from them.”

  “You are a paragon, a devoted wife, and a loving mother.” Ralph smiled. “The children shall come, too. They can share the nursery in Gervaise’s London house.”

  “Yes,” Barbara mused, “’tis time Juliana knew the truth about my brother.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Juliana endured the aches and pains of the journey to London, along rutted roads, without complaint. However, Barbara grumbled vociferously, and emphatically refused to travel for more than a half-day at a time. This irritated Juliana because it would take four days instead of two for their entourage to reach London.

  She was further annoyed when the gentlemen rode ahead of the coach she and Barbara travelled in with Ann. It was followed by another coach—occupied by the children with their nurse—and two fargons that transported the other servants and all the baggage.

  On the third day, Gervaise seated his nephew before him on his horse, and yet again rode ahead. However, when Ralph suggested his equally fractious small daughter ride with him, Barbara protested vehemently, saying it would be unladylike. When they stopped at a post inn for a change of horses and refreshments, Juliana decided to journey with Margaret and her nurse, in order to entertain the bored child.

  After supper at the inn where they put up for the night, Barbara looked slyly at her. “Juliana, you are so fond of children that you should marry and have some of your own.”

  Juliana peered down at the hem of her quilted petticoat, wishing she could confide all of her anxiety and fear about her sister to Barbara. However, since Gervaise had cautioned her not to do so for fear Barbara might be indiscreet, Juliana kept her own counsel.

  Barbara plied her fan. “I daresay you miss your sister.”

  Startled, Juliana stared at her. “Y-yes, I do miss her.”

  “Do not look so surprised. ‘All the world and his wife’—as the saying goes—know Lord Kemp has treated both of you shamefully.”

  Juliana’s cheeks burned at the thought of being the subject of gossip. She knew not how to reply, but that night prayed fervently for Henrietta’s welfare.

  * * * *

  Before noon on the following day, the coach jolted along London’s cobbled streets, and then drew to a halt outside Gervaise’s large house near St. James.

  Forewarned of their arrival, Gervaise’s butler, Wilson, who waited at the front door for them, bowed low. “My lord, all is prepared for you and your guests.”

  Within moments, Wilson organised the lackeys, one of whom led the children, their nurse, and two maidservants to the nursery. Others either conducted the guests to their bedchambers or struggled to unload the coaches and carry the baggage upstairs.

  In the bedchamber allotted to her, Juliana hastened to wash away the dust of the journey with water fragranced with lavender, while Sukey commented admiringly on the beautifully moulded ceiling and striped wallpaper patterned with irises. With her talkative little maid’s help, Juliana changed her dusty clothes. Pleased with her appearance, she followed the butler to a small salon where Gervaise, Barbara, and Ralph had gathered to drink wine.

  A lackey handed her a glass of muscadine while Barbara spoke to Gervaise. “Your house is elegant beyond my imagining.” She eyed a tall sandalwood screen, carved with ornate fretwork of peacocks, trailing vines, and flowers. “I see you have brought many treasures from India.”

  “I hope you approve of them,” Gervaise responded with a smile.

  Barbara clapped her tiny hands. “I look forward to a tour of the entire house.”

  Her brother inclined his head. “My housekeeper will be pleased to oblige you.”

  Barbara pouted. “No, no, that will not do. You shall be my guide.”

  “Do not plague me, sister,” he teased. “The housekeeper will answer your questions about my domestic arrangements far better than I could. If you wish, she will show you the linen and storerooms. In the meantime, if there is aught you and Juliana require for your comfort, you have only to ask Wilson.”

  “Thank you,” Barbara replied. “By the way, Nurse complained she needs two more maidservants to help her.”

  Gervaise gestured to his butler. “Wilson?”

  “My lord, your own nursery maids have little enough to do looking after one child. I shall instruct them to assist Lady Barbara’s nurse.”

  At the mention of the child, Juliana dropped her lead crystal glass. She watched ruby-red wine seep into the arm of her chair. Acutely embarrassed, she leapt to her feet and dabbed it with her handkerchief. “I-I apologise. I am not usually so clumsy.”

  Gervaise hurried to her. “I know you are not. Do not look so worried. It is only a chair. Wilson, have it removed.”

  The question Juliana wanted to ask about the child froze in her throat.

  Gervaise turned to his sister. “Have you seen the nursery?”

  “Not yet,” Barbara answered.

  Juliana tried to swallow. She still knew so little about Gervaise. Who occupied his nursery?

  “Would you care to see it now?” Gervaise asked Barbara, although he watched Juliana.

  Barbara shook her head. “No thank you. Nurse needs time to settle the children without distraction.”

  “As you please.” Gervaise beckoned to Juliana. “Please come with me, there is something you must see.”

  She hesitated, myriad questions filling her mind. Did Gervaise have a son or a daughter? If he did, who was the mother? What did he believe in? He seemed much influenced by his Indian teacher. Was he a Christian? Could he be a Hindu? Tears pricked her eyes. One day, no matter how unpalatable the truth might be, she must hear it.

  Gervaise’s hand cupped her elbow. “Please come with me,” he repeated.

  Like a mechanical toy, she moved across the room at his side.

  * * * *

  Gervaise cursed his lack of foresight. Yet, how could he have guessed Wilson would mention the nursery before he spoke of it to Juliana? Regrettably, he, not Wilson, was at fault. He should have been frank with her.

  They approached the stairs leading to the third floor.

  Juliana whispered, “Do you have a child?”

  He ru
mpled his hair. “Yes.”

  Colour flooded her cheeks. “Oh, why did you not tell me?”

  He kept firm hold of her elbow until he had guided her into a small parlour.

  “A gentleman of mystery, do you have many more secrets?” she asked staring wide-eyed at him.

  For the first time since they met, her eyes regarded him distrustfully. He cursed himself. He swallowed hard. Had he lost something as precious as life? Yet they were neither related nor betrothed so why should he have told her about his daughter? What expectations did she have of him? Had they changed since she learned of his title and wealth? After all, many ladies would relish being mistress of both this house and Beaumaris Abbey. But what justification did he have for his sudden suspicions? She still conducted herself precisely as she did before she knew of his altered circumstances.

  “One day I shall tell you the story of my life, but I fear you will find it dull.”

  “I am sure I would not. You must have had many interesting experiences in India.”

  So strong was his desire to embrace her that Gervaise thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets. If he restored Henrietta to Juliana and succeeded in establishing Juliana as the owner of Riverside House, he would be free from his vow to protect her. Afterward, if he so wished, he could court her with a clear conscience.

  “I cannot understand why did you not tell me you have a child?”

  “What reason has there been for me to do so?” he countered. “When I spoke of India at The Grange, there was no time to tell you everything significant about myself. Besides, I wanted you to come here before I spoke of my situation and other matters.”

  Juliana sank onto a sopha. “Have those other matters aught to do with William’s accusation of your being a heathen?”

  “Yes.” He sat down beside her and could not resist the temptation to hold her hands.

  She slipped them out of his clasp. “I wish you did not habitually ignore convention.” She waved a finger at him “I should not be alone with you.”

  Did she speak from the heart? Gervaise wondered. Was she offended by his reticence? “To the devil with propriety, Juliana, what I have to say is not for a chaperone’s ears, not even my sister’s. What I am about to reveal is only for your eyes. No, do not speak. My words alone will not suffice, I must show you. Come,” he concluded, deliberately keeping the expression on his face inscrutable.

  She withdrew her hands from him.

  “Come,” he urged again.

  * * * *

  “My lord, we should not be alone together,” Juliana protested for the second time. Nevertheless, she did not refuse to accompany Gervaise because, even without logical explanation, she trusted him unconditionally. Yet she wished he was not so secretive. Why had he not told her about his brother’s death and his sister-in-law’s pregnancy when he asked her to choose the rattle? And why had he not told her he had a child?

  Gervaise stood before her, his hand held out for her to place her own on it. Perhaps she was unreasonable. After all, why should he confide in her?

  “Mistress Kemp, are you daydreaming?”

  His expression revealed naught but concern for her. Juliana stood. She placed the tips of her fingers on his hand. His reticence concerning his private life should not blacken her opinion of him. Curious, she accompanied him to the third floor where he ushered her through a portal into a dark chamber.

  At first, her heightened state of nervous anticipation made the room seem eerie.

  Gervaise drew apart the crimson curtains and unfolded the latticed shutters. Light flooded in, revealing a treasure house of beauty and vibrant colours. Opposite the window, on walls the hue of pearls, two portraits—hung side by side—presided over the huge room. Juliana looked first at one of a gentleman wearing an olive green tunic and loose cream pantaloons; next, she studied the other of a bejewelled beauty clad in shimmering peacock blue and green silk.

  Juliana scrutinised the portrait of the lady. The artist had portrayed his subject with such cunning that both her skin, the colour of a pale gold harvest moon, and her glossy midnight black hair assumed vibrant life.

  She faced Gervaise. “Who is she?”

  “Pushpa, my late wife. God rest her soul.”

  “Pu-sh-pa,” Juliana repeated, stumbling over the unfamiliar name.

  A mist of tears shimmered in Gervaise’s eyes. “Yes, Pushpa means flower. Her name not only suited her, it is appropriate. From the day I met her, love flowered in my heart.”

  Gervaise did not need to speak of either his grief or how proud he was of his late wife. His eyes revealed both.

  “When you spoke of her at Grange House, you said you rescued your wife. From what did you save her?” she asked, simultaneously astonished by the picture’s revelation of the earl’s Hindu bride, and fear that his heart had withered forever when she died.

  “Both from marrying a sick man, forty years her senior, to whom she was engaged for economic and political reasons when she was a child, and from becoming a sati.”

  “What does sati mean?”

  “A widow burned alive alongside her husband’s body.”

  Shocked to the core of her being, nausea rose in her throat. “How barbarous. I can scarcely believe you!”

  “Upon my honour, it is true,” Gervaise said in a low tone.

  “Who would not understand why you rescued her?” Fierce jealousy of his love for his late wife warred with her interest in the lovers’ romantic history. “When did you fall in love with her?”

  “Even as your voice attracted me from the moment I first heard you speak, I was drawn to her at first sight.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “When she walked in a garden with her attendants, two months before the date the astrologers set for her wedding. I bribed a servant to arrange a meeting with one of her ladies. The woman told me how miserable she was. That she dreaded the marriage.” Gervaise took a deep breath before he continued. “Afterward, most likely her elderly husband would have predeceased her, and then she would have been required to be burned alive on his funeral pyre. So, as I have said, I saved her from not only the cruel fate of an unhappy marriage, but also from a cruel death.

  “Out of youthful chivalry, I abducted her while she walked in a pleasure garden. Oh, do not look shocked, she regarded me as her saviour and came with me willingly.”

  “How impulsive you were.” Unbecoming jealousy, as bitter as bile, swelled in her. She wanted Gervaise to love her as he had once loved his late wife. She turned her face aside to study the room. Plump mattresses, upholstered in shades of amber, emerald, ruby red, and turquoise, and embroidered in silver and gold, lay on the floor. Silver boxes of different sizes, set with precious and semi-precious stones bright as a garden of flowers, stood on low, ivory inlaid tables.

  On a dais to the right of the window, a pair of gold-crowned, lifelike, white marble figures dressed in rainbow colours stood beneath an ornate golden dome. Gold necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and rings adorned the statues.

  “This chamber is for my daughter,” Gervaise explained.

  A daughter! The occupant of the nursery was his daughter.

  “Why is it furnished thus?”

  “She is deprived of her mother’s care and guidance, so although she is to be educated in England in a manner which befits her position in life, it is too brutal to remove her from everything she knew and loved.”

  “Those statues?” Juliana whispered.

  “Belonged to Pushpa. They represent King Rama, a perfect husband and king, and his consort, the chaste Queen Sita. On another occasion, I will relate their history of love, kidnap, and happy reunion against all odds.”

  This alien room, a shrine to Pushpa’s memory for the benefit of her child, overpowered Juliana with its riches. However, the as yet untold story of Rama and Sita did not seem threatening. Indeed, the statues did not appear more ominous than those of the popular statues of mythical Greek and Roman gods and goddesses.


  With her handkerchief, Juliana dabbed a film of perspiration from her forehead. She turned aside from Gervaise and scrutinised the gentleman’s portrait.

  On the painted head was an intricately wound turban of cloth of gold, set with a jewelled peacock feather aigrette. A sash of the same fabric as the turban emphasised his slender waist. A garland of marigolds hung from his neck to his upper thighs.

  An unearthly thrill shuddered up and down Juliana’s spine. For a moment she imagined a swish of draperies and sweet, feminine perfume lingering in the still air. She shivered. Were Pushpa’s ghostly eyes watching her?

  Juliana shook her head to rid herself of the fantasy. Fascinated, she gazed at the portrait. With a shock she noted the brilliant eyes as blue as turquoise. “That portrait is of you, Gervaise!”

  “Yes, as I told you, in order to please the rajah, I often wore such clothes, but it was not my habit to adorn myself with garlands. However, Pushpa made one for me and insisted it should be featured in my portrait.”

  Her legs seemed too weak to support her. There was no chair to sit on in this room, which she compared to an exotic fruit from a foreign land. Yet the man standing on her right was not the stranger in the portrait, he was Gervaise, who, in spite of his extraordinary past and her misgivings, she loved more and more with every breath.

  “You are pale, please be seated.”

  “No thank you, I cannot imagine being seated so low. I prefer to stand.”

  “The divans are very comfortable.”

  The unfamiliar word added to her confusion. “Divans.”

  Gervaise indicated the mattresses with his hand.

  “My gown is not suitable for me to sit on one.”

  “In the gold salon at The Grange, you sat on the floor by my chair without difficulty.”

  After she yielded to his persuasion, she was surprised to find the unusual seating comfortable.