My Lady Gloriana

by Sylvia Halliday

  Lady Sarah snorted. “Indeed you have. And what of her pride? You made a vile wager against her honor, deceived her into trusting you. And then Penelope did her worst. Can you fault Gloriana for thinking that you view her with contempt? When you made your wager, you thought she was a whore. A common creature, beneath your station.”

  That shamed him. “I… I learned differently,” he stammered.

  “And if she had been a whore? It would have been out of necessity, to put food on the table. Was your whoring more virtuous? Yes, you’re a man. Society views your amours with an understanding eye. But you took pleasure in casting aside your women through the years. Did you ever wonder how those ladies you jilted felt about your betrayal?”

  “Now, madam,” he growled. “You go too far.”

  “I only wanted to remind you that you’re scarcely a creature of virtue. And filled with overweening pride. Oh, John,” she said, patting his arm with a tender hand. “’Tis your infernal pride that keeps you from going to her. That woman is the best thing that has ever happened to you. I’ve watched you change and grow these past months. My heart has burst with gratitude for a woman I’ve never even met. She has turned you into a man of strength and compassion. Is she not worth swallowing your pride?”

  “I can never forgive her.”

  Lady Sarah bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment. “Does it never end?” she whispered. “Will your father cast his shadow eternally over you?”

  “You dare to speak of him?” he shouted. “You? Who betrayed him?”

  She sighed. “You are much like him. A good man. But equally blind. Unforgiving. And self-righteous in your pride.”

  “Get out,” he said ominously.

  “No. You will hear me out. Once and for all.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit you down.”

  Something in her steely manner touched a chord within him, reminding him of the mother he had known and revered for years—until the day he had found his father’s body. He sat as she directed.

  “Now,” she said, taking a seat near him, “I don’t ask you for understanding. Only to listen.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “To begin… though our marriage was arranged by our families, I loved your father.”

  His mouth curled in a sneer and he pulled his hand away. “You had a wonderful way of showing that love.”

  Her brow furrowed in anger. “’Twill be time enough for your usual rude comments when I’m done.”

  He turned his head aside, unwilling to look her in the eyes. In all the years that he had treated her cruelly, he suddenly realized that she had seldom spoken an unkind word to him. “Your pardon, madam,” he said quietly. “Please continue your story.”

  “I think your father loved me, in his way. Though not enough to be faithful.”

  He jerked up his head in surprise, but said nothing. He remembered the many times his father had gone to London alone, leaving them in the country. His mother would mope and sigh until her husband returned. He had always supposed that her sadness was due to loneliness. Not grief at his father’s infidelities. “Why did you never complain? Rail against him?” he said at last.

  She shrugged. “I had a good life. I had you. And friends aplenty. And he was good to me. Kind and thoughtful and generous. He did love me, even if that love had to be shared with others. I persuaded myself that it was enough.” She gave a heavy sigh. “But as the years went on, our life together became empty and stale. We were like two automatons, going through the motions of a marriage, acting our parts with no more passion than mechanical creatures.”

  “I never saw any of that,” he murmured.

  “You were not meant to. We played the part for you as well as for the world at large. But love had died in this house. I felt as cold and empty as though I were in my grave.” She stood up and glanced around the room. “Do you have more wine, my dear? This is difficult for me.”

  He jumped from his chair and hurried to a sideboard, pouring two glasses of sherry and handing one to her. “Please go on.”

  “It was then that I encountered a childhood sweetheart. He swept me off my feet. Made me feel loved and needed again.”

  “And so you ran off with him.” Thorne was surprised that he had uttered the words with no anger or condemnation, suddenly aware of the unhappiness that must have driven her to her rash decision.

  “It was a disappointing affair, but it made me realize I could love again. I knew with a certainty that what I’d had with your father was more real and precious to me than the illusion of happiness I’d shared with a man I scarcely knew. I came home and begged your father to forgive me. I fell on my knees and pleaded for his understanding, for the opportunity for us to start afresh.” She took a large swallow of her sherry, placing a hand on her breast as the liquid burned into her.

  “I remember his anger when you were gone. But why did he take you back?”

  “Because of his pride. His fear of society’s scorn, should the truth be known. But that same pride couldn’t unbend. Couldn’t accept my contrition. He nursed his bitterness like a wound, a wound a child displays with mixed sorrow and joy.”

  “Joy?” Thorne was incredulous at the word.

  “Indeed. He reveled in his misery. Willingly embraced his dark moods. I was devastated by his refusal to reconcile. And then when he…” She fought back her tears. “I’ve lived with regret since the moment you found him in his bedchamber.”

  Thorne took a moment to digest her story, seeing his long-held notions vanish like the morning mist. Then he clasped his mother’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. “And I’ve lived with anger, casting you always as the villainess. Forgive me.”

  “My dear boy, I thank you for that. More than words can express. But as for you, don’t make your father’s mistake. False pride is cold comfort. The woman may hurt you. But you’re a gambler. Isn’t love worth the risk?”

  He hesitated, dreading to see scorn in Gloriana’s eyes.

  His mother puffed in annoyance. “In the name of all that’s holy, have I raised a fool for a son? Swallow your pride and go to her!”

  He ran his hands through his hair, torn with indecision. In the silence, his mother strode to the mantel and rang for a servant.

  In a moment, Rowland appeared at the door. “Your Grace?” He glanced at Thorne and then at Lady Sarah. She raised a questioning eyebrow to her son.

  Thorne squared his shoulders. “Pack my bags,” he ordered. “And alert the coachman. We travel to Shropshire on the morrow.”

  Rowland bowed politely and left the room.

  Thorne turned to Lady Sarah, his heart filled with the sharp pang of regret. “I have wronged you for years, Mother. I beg you to forgive me.”

  She sighed. “I should have told you long since, I suppose. We might have been better friends all this time. But perhaps my years of loneliness were my penance for the pain I gave your father. And you.”

  He looked at her with fresh eyes, seeing—as though for the first time—that she was still a handsome woman, trim and elegant. She could have found another man to love. To marry. Instead, she had lived a solitary life, with only a carping son for company. “Why did you never re-marry?” he asked impulsively.

  “My conscience never gave me a moment’s peace.”

  “And why did you never tell me the whole story?”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “Shame, I suppose. I too have a bit of the Havilland pride.”

  He pulled her up from her chair and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed and nestled into his embrace, then drew back and took his face in her hands. Her eyes were filled with tears. “My dearest boy,” she whispered, then kissed him softly on both cheeks.

  “Gads,” he muttered. “I think I’ve been a fool for half my life. To have kept you at a distance for so many years.”

  She gave a tremulous laugh. “I scarce have my son back, and now I’m losing him to another woman.”

  “If God wills it,” he said fervently.

  �
��Go, my foolish, lovesick boy. And Godspeed.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Milady, you look beautiful.” Verity pinned the amethyst brooch to the bosom of Gloriana’s lavender gown, patted it into place and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “And such a lovely gift from Their Lordships for your birthday.”

  Gloriana glanced down at the pin in pleasure, then smoothed the folds of her figured silk mantua. “Thank you,” she murmured. “They have been so kind to me.” She gave her maid a smile, filled with sincerity. “As have you all.”

  “Oh, milady, we are so glad to have you home again. I’m sure that little Sir Wil… Billy missed you terribly.” She handed Gloriana her fan. “Will you go down now?”

  Gloriana turned at the sound of a sharp rap from outside her bedchamber. Verity crossed the room and opened the door. Barbara stood on the threshold, a sour grimace on her face. She gave Gloriana a half-hearted curtsy, then turned to Verity with a frown. “Are you quite finished with your fussing and primping? The guests are growing impatient.”

  Honey, not vinegar, thought Gloriana. Despite the girl’s insolence, she smiled graciously at her. “If you please, Barbara, can you not contrive to be more cheerful as you go about your duties? You mar your lovely face with your constant scowls. And it brings no honor to this household when you show your displeasure to all.”

  Barbara stared in surprise, clearly not sure if she was being complimented or scolded. She gulped in confusion, then sank into a deep, respectful curtsy. “I shall try, milady,” she murmured.

  “Thank you. Please inform Lady Ridley that I shall be there directly.”

  Allegra greeted Gloriana as she swept down the broad staircase that led to the formal drawing room. She held out her arms. “You look beautiful, Sister.” They embraced warmly, then Allegra giggled and pointed to the drawing room door, beyond which came the sounds of a happy, laughing crowd. “Are you prepared to meet your adoring public? And the eager suitors who will, no doubt, swoon at the sight of you?”

  Gloriana gave her a stiff smile. “Of course.” After her success at the Whitby assembly ball, she no longer feared the disapproval of a large company, even one with titles and manners far beyond the experiences of her humble upbringing. But the thought of meeting men who wished to marry her, to smile at them, encourage them… It still brought a lingering pain to her heart, a wound that never seemed to want to heal.

  Allegra lifted her chin with soft fingers. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you,” she said in the knowing tone that always surprised Gloriana. “Will you ever tell me who he was?”

  She sighed. “It scarce matters now. He taught me to be a lady. And then he broke my heart.” She squared her shoulders and moved toward the door. “I’m ready now.”

  A footman nodded as she entered the room, and pounded the floor with the large staff in his hand. “The Lady Gloriana Baniard,” he announced solemnly. His words were greeted with applause and scattered calls of congratulations on her birthday. Grey moved forward to take her by the arm, and he and Allegra escorted her around the room, introducing her to the guests as they encountered them. Gloriana noted the scores of young gentlemen as they passed, each one eager to bow to her, to compliment her beauty, to kiss her hand. Lady Sewell had clearly been up to her task of matchmaker.

  Since Baniard Hall was too small for a large assembly room, one side of the drawing room had been given over to dancing and another portion set aside for a clump of small tables and chairs. Gloriana was besieged with invitations to dance from the gentlemen, and she accepted with grace, even managing to flirt with the ones she found promising. Grey and Allegra smiled from their seats, clearly pleased with the success of their carefully planned event.

  The evening was going well. Gloriana thanked the young baron who had just danced a lively reel with her, declined an invitation to the next dance that had begun, and moved toward Allegra and Grey, fanning herself vigorously. She took the empty chair next to them and smiled. “’Tis a lovely party. I thank you,” she breathed, still winded from the dance.

  Grey acknowledged her thanks with a contented nod. “’Twas our pleasure. To see you so happy, enjoying—”

  He was interrupted by the thump of the footman’s staff at the door. “John Edward Michael, His Grace the Right Honorable Duke of Thorneleigh,” he intoned. At his words, the music died, all conversation stopped, and every eye turned to the door.

  Gloriana gasped, feeling the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be! Yet there was Thorne at the entrance to the drawing room, standing proud and elegant.

  “I’m damned,” Grey muttered. “What the devil is that man doing here?”

  Allegra put a gentle hand on his arm. “Hush, Grey. The gentleman is a guest in our house. And a personage of rank and stature. We must greet him properly.”

  Grey rose from his chair and impatiently signaled the musicians to play again. Then he and Allegra moved toward Thorne, almost dragging a reluctant Gloriana with them. Thorne bowed in greeting and received an icy nod from Grey and a more gracious curtsy from Allegra. Gloriana refused to bend her knee and merely glared at Thorne, her jaw clenched in fury.

  “Your Grace,” said Grey in a frosty tone.

  “Lord Ridley. Lady Ridley. Forgive my intrusion. An uninvited guest.”

  “You are most welcome, milord,” said Grey, though his eyes were cold. “What brings you to Baniard Hall?”

  Thorne gave Gloriana a hopeful smile, as though nothing unpleasant had ever passed between them. “I had heard of the happy return of your sister-in-law. And many stories of her charm and beauty. I wished to see for myself.”

  Grey’s voice was colder still. “Ah, yes,” he said. “I recall a rumor. Something to do with your reputation as a gambling man. And a wager involving Lady Baniard. I give you my word, milord, if I had been able to confirm the rumor, I would have sought you out and left my glove in your face.”

  “Grey, please!” whispered Allegra.

  Thorne shook his head. “No, Lady Ridley. His Lordship has a perfect right to be angry. ’Twas a foolish and cruel wager. I regretted it the moment it passed my lips. I was happy to concede the contest and pay off my opponents. An insult to such a lovely creature. If I can be forgiven, I should like a formal introduction to the lady. For she surely does not disappoint my expectations.”

  Grey nodded. “I accept your apologies, Your Grace, in the generous spirit in which they’ve been extended. Now, may I present to you the Lady Gloriana Baniard? Sister, this is John Havilland, Duke of Thorneleigh.”

  Thorne bowed deeply to Gloriana, his grey eyes searching her face, his mouth curved in a tentative smile. “Your Ladyship. I can scarce express my pleasure in seeing you here.” He held out his hand, which Gloriana ignored. Only when Allegra prodded her with an elbow did she manage to curtsy to him.

  How did the rogue have the effrontery to appear here? “Your Grace,” she muttered sourly.

  “I’ve longed for this moment,” he said, his voice deep with sincerity. “To see you face-to-face. You’re a pearl among women, to be treasured.” His eyes held a silent plea.

  “But milord, from what I’ve heard, you collect women on a string,” she said in a scornful tone. “You have pearls aplenty. What need you for more?”

  “Perhaps I’ve found fidelity to be more satisfactory. I only need one woman in my life now.”

  Curse the villain, she thought. One woman to marry. And one for a mistress. She gave a mocking laugh. “Of course. And how is your lady wife?”

  He snorted. “If you refer to the Lady Penelope Crawford, she is not my wife, nor ever shall be. She has proven herself to be a creature of deception. And lies,” he added firmly.

  “But you yourself are scarcely a stranger to lies and deceptions. Or so I’ve heard.”

  Grey cleared his throat, clearly disconcerted at the ugly tone of their conversation. “Come, come. This is not the time nor place for such serious discourse. We celebrate the Lady Gloriana’s birth
tonight. Will you take a turn around the room with me, milord? It would be my honor to introduce you to our guests.”

  Thorne shook his head, his earnest gaze turned to Gloriana. “No. I should prefer to dance with the lady. They’ve begun a minuet.” He held out his hand. “Will you favor me, milady?”

  Not bloody likely, she thought. “Alas, milord,” she snapped. “I should prefer not.”

  Allegra clasped Gloriana’s wrist tightly and pulled her away from the two men. She had been oddly silent throughout their hostile exchange, her searching eyes darting from Thorne’s face to Gloriana’s. She stared pointedly at Gloriana, her voice soft yet firm with resolve. “Don’t be a fool,” she whispered. “You must dance with him. Or regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Gloriana sucked in a sharp breath. She knows, she thought. In that magical way that still astounded her, Allegra could read into people’s hearts, see the secrets buried there. “Do you really think so?” she asked softly.

  “I do. The evening may end joyously for you. Or bring you grief. But I think there’s a door waiting for you that must either be opened or closed once and for all, if you’re ever to find peace.” She led Gloriana back to Thorne and placed her hand in his. “Your Grace, I give you my dear sister. I charge you with her happiness this evening.”

  Thorne’s smile was filled with relief as he guided Gloriana to the other dancers. They bowed and began the minuet. They danced in silence for a few awkward minutes, avoiding each other’s eyes as they pointed and turned. Then Thorne looked her full in the face. “You have to know that Penelope lied,” he burst out. “I never intended to marry her.”

  “A pox on you. She had your ring.”

  He puffed in exasperation. “A keepsake. Merely given in friendship and thanks. She nursed me back to health after my encounter with Royster.”

  “I’m sure you welcomed her at your bedside for all those weeks,” she sniffed, turning her back on him in the pattern of the dance.