by Anne Herries
‘Yes, ma’am—I think you look lovely, just as Miss Rosemarie said.’ She gave a little giggle and ran out of the room as Samantha picked up her bouquet of white roses and freesias, picked that morning from the hothouses.
Rosemarie darted forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Be happy, Sam. You and the major have been so kind to me—and I’m happy and safe with Grandfather. If you hadn’t taken me in, I do not know what would have happened to me.’
Samantha held her hand for a moment. ‘When you have your wedding you will know how happy I am at this moment,’ she said. ‘I never thought this day would come and I cannot wait to begin my new life.’
* * *
Brock waited near the altar with Jack Delsey standing at his shoulder as his best man. Phipps was still in the country with Amanda, who had now recovered her health, but was well advanced with her pregnancy and unable to travel. They had sent a magnificent set of silver as their gift as well as a charming letter and a diamond brooch for Samantha, welcoming her to their circle of friends and inviting the happy couple to stay with them before leaving England for India. Jack and his wife had also given a magnificent silver epergne, and a special gift for Samantha. He had also been one of the colonel’s devoted boys and an admirer of Samantha’s fortitude and courage under fire.
‘You are indeed lucky to have found such a wife,’ Jack had told him the previous day when they’d arrived to stay for the wedding. ‘Samantha is ideal for you, Brock. You could not have chosen better—a vast improvement on Miss Langton, if I may say so without offence.’
‘Yes.’ Brock grinned at him happily. ‘No comparison. I think myself very fortunate.’
‘We’ve all been lucky,’ Jack said. ‘To have come through what we did in Spain and France—and then to find such happiness. I never believed in love, thought it was for fools—but now I know that I was the fool to doubt. It’s just that you have to wait for the right one.’
‘Yes,’ Brock agreed. ‘It is just a matter of waiting for the right woman.’
Watching the graceful lady walk towards him in her simple but exquisite gown, Brock’s heart swelled with love and pride. He’d waited a long time, but it was certainly worth it in the end.
* * *
The wedding was almost over, the guests who lived within reach of their homes already taking their leave, and those who were staying in Lord Brockley’s house drinking a last nightcap before seeking their beds.
Lord Brockley had offered the dower house to his son and his bride for their wedding night. They were leaving for London in the morning, having decided to dispense with a honeymoon as they would so soon be leaving England for India.
‘Samantha has things to do in town and so have I,’ Brock told his mother when she exclaimed that he ought to have taken her to Paris or somewhere romantic. ‘We have been invited to stay at Phipps and Amanda’s country estate and we shall go down when we’ve seen to our affairs in town. Both of us left in a hurry and we want to enquire about letting Samantha’s property. She doesn’t want to sell, but we shan’t need it for years—and when we settle in England she may be ready to dispose of it.’
‘Surely that should be your decision?’ his mother said a little disapprovingly, but Brock only shook his head.
Samantha’s property was hers, secured to her by the wedding contract, as was the settlement he’d made to give her independence whatever happened.
‘No, Mama, it is hers,’ Brock replied. ‘We are sending anything she doesn’t need to take with her to India down to my estate and that all takes time. And we shall visit here again before we leave.’
‘Gracious, you will be busy.’
Again, Brock had only smiled. He saw that his mother was speaking to Samantha and went over to join them.
‘Are you ready to leave?’ he asked, taking her hand firmly in his.
She gave him a look that he could only think was grateful and looked up at him. ‘Lily went an hour ago to prepare. Your mama suggested that I should go down in the carriage.’
‘I thought we might walk,’ Brock said. ‘It is a lovely night and I’m not tired, are you?’
‘Not at all,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I must say goodnight, Lady Brockley—and thank you once again for a perfect wedding.’
‘You are very welcome,’ Lady Brockley said, and hesitated, then leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Be happy—both of you.’
‘We are,’ Brock replied, and drew Samantha away. In the hall he placed a light wrap about her shoulders, looking down into her face. ‘I thought we might walk as far as the lake before we retire, my darling. I want you to see how beautiful it is by moonlight with me. We shall be quite safe.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, looking at him with perfect trust. ‘I should never be afraid when you were with me, Brock.’
* * *
There was a wonderful view of the lake from the bedroom of the dower house. It was morning now and the sun was making the water sparkle and dance. The previous evening it had looked magical as she and Brock stood near the shallow edges and embraced in the moonlight. He’d kissed her and held her close, and she’d felt all the fear and horror of that other visit melt away as their passion rose and she tingled with need and love.
‘Thank you for bringing me here, my dearest Brock,’ she’d whispered. ‘I shall think of it this way now and all the shadows will be gone.’
‘That is what I hoped,’ he’d said, and kissed her brow. ‘I want you to be happy, Samantha, with no shadows to spoil your dreams. You are brave and you would never have made a fuss, but one day we shall have to live here at least some of the time, and I don’t want you to be afraid of the lake.’
‘I am not afraid,’ she’d said. ‘It was a horrid memory, but it has gone now and I shall think of this moment always.’
‘Good, because I shall think of it, too.’ He bent and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. ‘Shall we go to bed now, darling?’
‘Yes, please, Brock.’
They had walked hand in hand back to the dower house, parting for a while until Lily had helped her out of her lovely gown and into an equally pretty nightdress. Brock disrobed in his dressing room and came through to her wearing only a silk robe and nothing on his feet.
‘You are so beautiful, Sam,’ he murmured as he drew her close and kissed her, tenderly at first and then with increasing passion. ‘I adore you so very much, my darling.’
Samantha had responded to his passion with equal fire. Their meetings in the summerhouse had continued most nights throughout the period of waiting for the wedding to go ahead, and she had learned to know his body and to learn the ways to please him as much as he pleased her. Each time seemed new and fresh, as exciting and wonderful as the time before and Samantha knew that she had found the man she would always love. There would never be anyone else for either of them whatever happened in the future, but she hoped and believed they had many years of happiness ahead.
Brock came up behind her, his arms going about her waist, his lips on her neck, caressing her.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I was thinking how lucky I am,’ she whispered, and turned in his arms, offering her mouth for his kiss once more. ‘I never thought this would happen, Brock—and now it has I can hardly believe it is real.’
‘Oh, it’s real,’ he murmured, and growled softly against her throat. ‘And I’m going to show you just how real.’
Samantha gave a gurgling cry of delight as he swept her off her feet and carried her back to their bed. She had been wondering how long she ought to wait before telling him what she suspected, but now was not the time.
Even if she were quite sure that she was carrying their first child, she would not have told him just yet. There were nearly three months to go until they set sail for India, and if Brock knew for certain she was with child,
he might make her stay in England rather than risk the sea voyage. Besides, she wasn’t quite sure yet but she thought that she was already carrying what might be the future heir.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from LORD GAWAIN’S FORBIDDEN MISTRESS by Carol Townend.
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Chapter One
August 1174—an encampment outside Troyes in the County of Champagne
Troyes was bursting at the seams—the summer market was at its height and every inn and boarding house was packed to the rafters with merchants and housewives. Tumblers and singers jostled for the best spots in the market squares. Mercenaries and cutpurses roamed the narrow streets, searching for the shortest route to an easy profit. Indeed, so many people had descended on the town that a temporary campsite had been set up in a field outside the city walls. The encampment was known as Strangers’ City, and line after line of dusty tents filled every inch of the field.
One tent stood out from the rest. Slightly larger than the others, more of a pavilion than a tent, the canvas was dyed purple and painted with silver stars.
Inside the purple pavilion, Elise was sitting on a stool next to Pearl’s cradle, gently waving a cloth back and forth in front of her daughter’s face. It was noon and even for August it was unusually hot. Elise wriggled her shoulders. Her gown was sticking to her and it seemed she had sat there for hours. Thankfully, Pearl’s eyelids were finally drooping.
Voices outside had Elise narrowing her gaze at the entrance to the pavilion. André was back, she could hear him talking to Vivienne, who was nursing baby Bruno in the shade of the awning.
Elise waited, gently fanning Pearl. If André had news, he would soon tell her. Sure enough, a moment later André pushed through the tent flap.
‘Elise, I’ve done it!’ he said, eyes shining. He put his lute on his bedroll. ‘Blanchefleur le Fay has been booked to sing at the palace. At the Harvest Banquet.’
‘The palace? You got a booking at the palace already? Heavens, that was quick.’ Elise bit her lip. ‘I only hope I’m ready.’
‘Of course you’re ready. I’ve never heard you in better voice. Count Henry’s steward was thrilled to learn Blanchefleur is in town. The Champagne court will love you.’
‘It’s been a while since I performed—I was afraid that I might already have been forgotten.’
‘Forgotten? Blanchefleur le Fay? That’s hardly likely. Elise, it’s the booking of a lifetime. I can’t think of a better setting for Blanchefleur to step back on stage.’
Elise glanced at Pearl. Asleep. Carefully, she folded the cloth she’d been using as a fan and smiled to hide her disquiet. ‘You did well, André. Thank you.’
‘You might look a little happier,’ André said, watching her. ‘You’re nervous about singing in Champagne.’
‘Nonsense!’ Elise said, although there was a grain of truth in André’s remark. ‘But I mustn’t disappoint them.’
‘You’re afraid you’ll see him.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Him?’
‘Pearl’s father, of course. Elise, you don’t need to worry, Lord Gawain’s not in Troyes. He left to claim his inheritance.’
‘You’ve been listening to the gossip.’
‘Haven’t you?’
Elise grimaced, but it would be futile to deny it. Maybe she shouldn’t have listened, but where Gawain Steward was concerned that seemed impossible. His image never left her; even now it was bright and clear, a powerful knight with a shock of fair hair and a pair of smouldering dark eyes. ‘It’s odd to think of him as the Count of Meaux,’ she murmured. ‘He had no expectations of inheriting.’
‘Oh?’
‘I gather there was bad blood between him and his uncle. I know no more than that.’
André shrugged. ‘Well, he’s count now, so they must have resolved their differences.’
‘It would seem so.’
Elise was pleased for Gawain’s good fortune. In truth, she was pleased for herself. Gawain’s inheritance was her good fortune too. Blanchefleur le Fay had wanted to sing at the famous court in Champagne for years. Even the difficulties of her last visit here hadn’t killed that ambition.
After Pearl’s birth, when Elise had realised that Blanchefleur must make a truly spectacular return or risk fading into obscurity, she’d been inspired with the thought that she might stage her comeback at the palace in Troyes. It would be something of a coup to sing before Countess Marie herself. The daughter of the King of France, no less!
There had been a few ghosts to fight before Elise had been able to return to Champagne. She would never forget that her sister, Morwenna, had died near Troyes. However, nothing Elise could do would bring Morwenna back. In any case, if Morwenna had been alive she would be the first to agree that the Troyes court was the ideal place for Blanchefleur le Fay’s triumphant return.
And then there was Gawain, and the fear that she might run into him. What would she say to him? He is the father of my child and he doesn’t know...
But then Elise had heard that Gawain had become Count of Meaux and that obstacle at least had been removed. Gawain was miles away, claiming his inheritance in the Ile-de-France. The coast was clear.
‘What’s he like?’ André asked.
‘Hmm?’
‘Lord Gawain.’
Lord Gawain. ‘He was a plain knight when I knew him. Striking. A warrior. But he was also kind. Protective.’
Last year, Elise had been both surprised and flattered to have been the object of Gawain’s interest. It was even more astonishing when one stopped to consider that not once had she used Blanchefleur le Fay’s wiles on him. No, she’d simply been the shy and retiring maidservant, Elise.
‘Yet you fear him. You were anxious not to meet him.’
Elise glanced at Pearl, biting her lip. ‘I’m not afraid of Lord Gawain. I just wanted to avoid any...complications.’
‘Complications?’
‘André, Pearl’s father is a count. I have no idea how he might react when he learns he has a daughter.’
‘You’d prefer that he didn’t find out.’
‘Frankly, yes. The fact that Gawain is a count will not change his character. He is a dutiful man, a man of honour. I befriended him as a means of entering Ravenshold.’
André frowned. ‘What about Lady Isobel? I thought you’d become her maid to get into Ravenshold.’
‘So I did, but my friendship with Lady Isobel was untried. There was a strong possibility it might come to nothing.’
‘So you kept Lord Gawain in reserve.’ Eyes shocked, André looked at Pearl. ‘I thought—knowing you—he’d be more than that.’
‘I like the man, of course,’ Elise said hastily. In truth, she had more than liked him. She might have befriended Gawain out of desperation, but she hadn’t had to feign the attraction. Passion had flared up between them without any effort on her part. Sparks had been flying from the first. ‘I’m not certain he will forgive me. You see, I did deceive him.’
Elise bit her lip. Deceiving Gawain had been both the hardest and the easiest thing she had ev
er done. She had flirted with a man—she’d never felt comfortable flirting, but it had been astonishingly easy with Gawain. It had been fun, of all things. Initially, she’d done it hoping to discover how her sister had died. Before she had come to know Gawain, she had told herself that uncovering the truth about Morwenna’s death was all that mattered. But she had quickly realised that she’d been deceiving herself as much as Gawain. The liking between them had been strong. Too strong. They had ended up as passionate lovers even though she’d come to mistrust everything she felt for him. Was it really possible to feel so much for a man, and so quickly?
‘It’s a relief to know I won’t see him,’ she said. ‘Particularly since he is the grand Count of Meaux. André, he lives in a different world.’
‘The world of the court.’
‘Just so. We might entertain there, but it is not our world. But for you to have secured a booking so soon! It’s wonderful.’ She grimaced. ‘Except for one thing.’
‘Oh?’
‘Blanchefleur’s gowns.’ Elise gestured at her stomach and tried to push Pearl’s father to the back of her mind. ‘Last time I tried them, they were still a little tight.’
‘Rot! You’re as slim as you were before Pearl came along.’
‘You, sir, are a flatterer. Those gowns aren’t decent and Blanchefleur wouldn’t dream of appearing in a loosely laced gown. Remember, the world at large likes to think of her as innocent. They believe she’s been on retreat in a convent. The gowns—’
‘Try them on again, Elise, I am sure they’ll fit. What about buying new ribbons?’
Butterflies were dancing in Elise’s stomach. Nervous, excited butterflies. She drew in a breath. She had dreamed about performing at the Champagne court for years, and she’d be mad to let a few nerves spoil her chance of singing at the palace. Reaching for André’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Very well,’ she said, brightly. ‘New ribbons it shall be. Will you keep an eye on Pearl for me while I go to the market?’