Depression licked at her spirit. Why get up? Riel didn’t need her presence at the solicitor’s in order to sign his dastardly papers.
His barbaric threats returned to mind. She had never seen Riel behave with anything but complete control. Part of her didn’t think he would have carried through with his threat to swat her last night. The other half remembered the dangerous glint in his black eyes, and wasn’t so sure.
Perhaps she should go to the solicitor, like he’d requested.
Lucinda pushed the pillow from her face. Ever more depressed, she muttered, “Come in.”
Effie rushed in, wearing a relieved look. She carried fresh water and a towel. “It is seven-fifteen, Lady Lucinda. Lord Iveny has ordered his carriage brought ’round. He asked that you arrive within twenty minutes.”
Barely time to dress, and certainly no time to eat.
“I am sorry, miss. I tried to wake you earlier, but could not.” Worry rounded Effie’s green eyes.
Lucinda managed a smile. “It’s not your fault. I’ll wear my hair in a simple style today.”
Whom had she to impress? She felt like she was about to ride to the guillotine.
With barely a minute to spare, Lucinda reached the main hall. Riel stood waiting, his hands clasped behind him. Today he wore a superfine dark blue jacket, a white linen shirt, sans cravat, as usual, and fawn breeches. Each item met the height of fashion, but somehow those fine clothes could not mask the rawness of the man beneath. A civilized veneer, as she’d accused last night. And beneath, a barbaric pirate. At heart, he must be one. His behavior last night had conclusively proven it. Although he had not snapped, he was clearly a dangerous, ruthless man.
His black hair looked wet, as if freshly washed, and was of course bound in its usual tail. Lucinda couldn’t mask her faint frown. “I am here, my lord.”
His dark eyes found hers and a flash of what—uncertainty? regret?—glimmered. He bowed slightly. “After you.”
Wilson opened the door, and Lucinda descended to the carriage, her head held high and shoulders squared. She would do what she must. Father had wished it. It was the only thought that made palatable this carriage ride to end her freedom.
Riel entered the carriage after her. A small jerk, and they were off. Lucinda looked out the window so she wouldn’t have to look at him.
“You are angry with me.” His deep voice was quiet.
“I would rather not speak, if you don’t mind, my lord.”
More silence elapsed.
“I will leave for London directly after signing the papers. I should be back in a few months.”
Colorlessly, she returned, “As you say,” and continued studying the countryside.
“Lucy…” She stiffened, and he said no more.
The rest of the carriage ride to Mr. Chase’s house transpired in silence. At least Lucinda had achieved that small victory. She would be polite to Riel, but he could not make her speak. If he wished for a conversation, he could speak to himself.
Mr. Chase greeted them with cheerful enthusiasm. “All is well, this fine morning?” he asked brightly.
Lucinda said nothing. Riel spoke instead. “It feels warm already.”
Lucinda took the chair offered, and twisted her fingers in her lap as Mr. Chase pulled a thick folder from a drawer. “After a few signatures, you can be on your way, Lord Iveny,” he said with a jolly smile.
Lucinda directed a hard, unhappy look at Mr. Chase. Could he not see how miserable she was? Did he not see that he was joyfully allowing a pirate to gain control of his old friend’s estate?
Father, she thought silently. Why did you do this to me? Now it will never be undone. Riel would dictate her life, rule her future, and even approve—and therefore actually choose—the man she would marry. Her entire life looked bleak and dark. Starting now, to forevermore. She bit the inside of her lip.
In helpless frustration, she watched Riel sign his name to endless reams of paper. When Mr. Chase asked for her own signature on a few papers, she blindly signed them, not knowing what they were about. Legal gibberish, she was sure. All consigning her to a future of the darkest hell. Perhaps she was being a bit melodramatic here, as Mrs. Beatty had often chastised in the past, but at that moment, to Lucinda, it seemed like the darkest truth.
“That’s it, then.” Beaming, Mr. Chase shook Riel’s hand and bowed over her own. “If you have any questions, I am here, but I’m sure all will run smoothly.”
He hoped it would, Lucinda thought darkly.
Riel walked beside her to the carriage. “Thank you for signing without a fuss.”
She flashed him a hot, feral glare. He actually flinched in surprise. “You have won, Mr. Montclair. Must you rub my nose in it?”
He followed her into the carriage. She averted her gaze to the window once more.
“Lucy.”
She gritted her teeth.
“Please look at me, Lucy.”
She turned, the movement stiff, eyes glacial. “What do you want of me now, my lord?”
He held her gaze for a long moment, as if searching for the right words. At last, “It is good I am leaving. When I come back, perhaps we can make a fresh start.”
Lucinda looked away. Hopelessness slid through her, and she involuntarily swallowed. “I do not know why you wish for that.”
“I want an amicable relationship between us.”
“You may wish for the moon and the stars, Mr. Montclair, but they will be denied you.”
He said no more. The journey to Ravensbrook had never lasted longer.
Once home, Riel lifted his bag into the carriage and he gave Sophie a warm hug and kiss goodbye. “I will be back soon,” he promised. “Do not exert yourself.”
“Don’t worry, my boy.” Sophie affectionately touched his cheek. “I will be here when you return.”
Riel’s dark eyes found Lucinda’s. To her surprise, he took her hand and bowed over it. “Lady Lucinda. Until we meet again.” For one short, alarming moment, the warm, rough texture of his fingers scorched into her flesh and imprinted upon her mind. The next moment, he climbed aboard his carriage.
A flick of the reins and the carriage rolled down the drive. Heart beating unnaturally fast, Lucinda clasped her tingling hand close. Why did everything about that man burrow under her skin like a splinter? Why was she watching him go?
Goodbye and good riddance. Isn’t that what she should be thinking?
Sophie’s hand touched her arm. “Come inside, child.” She gave Lucinda a warm smile. “Shall we have some tea?”
* * * * *
Fall, 1812
Three weeks stretched into three months, and then more. Riel’s duties with the Royal Navy prevented him from returning home, and Lucinda was glad, except for one thing—Sophie longed to see her great-nephew. Daily, she expressed hope that he was all right. Sophie tried to hide it, but her worry increased with each day that passed with no word from Riel. Lucinda wished Riel would write his aunt a letter.
July and August passed quickly, and Lucinda and Sophie grew to be close friends. Lucinda loved spending each morning on the terrace with Sophie, talking about every topic under the sun. The older woman seemed like the grandmother she had always longed for. Lucinda’s had passed away long ago.
Sophie often reminisced about her gardens at home. Ravensbrook’s plot was small and ill-attended. Lucinda’s mother had lavished love upon it when she was alive, but it had been minimally tended over the last thirteen years. When Sophie rhapsodized about the different flowers in her extensive garden at Iveny, Lucinda suggested renovating the garden at Ravensbrook. Of course, by then it was late July, but with the help of the gardener, they selected and planted a few flowers that would grow well into the fall. They planted beautiful beds of flowers in Lucinda’s mother’s old garden, as well as about Ravensbrook’s front steps. The beautiful blooms cheerfully welcomed all who came to visit.
They planted the purple-belled foxglove, too, for one day Sophie let it sli
p that the leaves she stirred into her tea were from that plant. It was a remedy discovered and championed by the late Doctor William Withering of Birmingham General Hospital. It was believed to help those with heart problems. Sophie said her own doctor had pooh poohed it, but Sophie felt certain it was one of the reasons why she had cheated death for the last eight years.
Lucinda and Sophie were enjoying the lingering fruits of their labor when Riel’s first and only letter came. It was a cool, mid-September day, but Lucinda and Sophie sat on the terrace drinking pink lemonade and exclaiming over the hardy little flowers that still bloomed now, early into the chilly fall.
“Madame, a letter.” Wilson bowed over the parchment for Sophie.
“Why…” Sophie glanced up in surprise and her blue eyes twinkled with delight. “Whoever could it be from?” Wilson bowed again, and retreated.
Lucinda smiled, for Sophie often received letters from Iveny. Most were from old friends, wondering when she would come home. She was sorely missed at tea parties and all social events. Lucinda wasn’t surprised, for in three short months she had grown to dearly love the older lady. Sophie was fun, ever positive, and imparted occasional pearls of wisdom that Lucinda pondered while going about her other duties.
Sophie turned over the letter and saw the wax seal. She went very still, and then pink suffused her wrinkled old cheeks. “Riel!” Hastily, she slit it open and began to read. The packet consisted of several sheets of paper.
Lucinda watched, feeling emotions she couldn’t name. Was Riel returning to Ravensbrook? With Mr. Chase’s help, she had just begun to manage the petty cash, and she wanted to learn more. She wanted to prove to both herself and Riel that she could run Ravensbrook just fine on her own. When he returned, would he strip that job from her?
Sophie rapidly scanned the parchment, and then the hope in her eyes dimmed and her shoulders slumped. “He can’t return home yet. The Navy has ordered him on another mission. Dangerous, no doubt, for he says nothing about it.” Sophie turned the page over, but it was blank. She sighed. “That boy.”
“So, no word when he will return?” Lucinda asked with cautious hope.
“You may read it.” Sophie offered it to her.
Lucinda eyed the dark, bold handwriting and quickly shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Sophie carefully folded the letter, and fixed Lucinda with a sharp look. “We’ve never spoken of it, for I felt it was none of my business. But will you tell me what happened between you and my nephew before he left?”
Lucinda looked away for a moment. How could she tell her friend—and Riel’s great-aunt—that she and Riel didn’t get along? “Riel and I don’t see eye to eye.”
Sophie waited patiently.
“He swept in from nowhere, with letters from Father that he was to take over my life, be my guardian, take care of Ravensbrook’s finances. Everything. It was a shock, and I was grieving, and I’ll admit I didn’t respond well at first. And then…”
“And then the shock wore off, and you still didn’t want him to rule your life?”
“Yes. If you knew…if you knew the things I believed about him, and how I behaved. Not to mention the things I did to try to drive him away…” Lucinda sighed. “I’m embarrassed to tell you.”
“Then don’t. Can you put it behind you?”
“I’ve accepted that Riel will be my guardian.” After he’d threatened her into submission. That old irritation simmered, but she tried to dismiss it. She hadn’t been entirely blameless in the incident, after all. “I want to control my own destiny, Sophie. I want to choose my husband, but Riel has ultimate veto over that. Honestly, I don’t like it. I can make my own choices. Good choices. Unfortunately, I know he won’t agree with me. We’re just different people, Aunt Sophie.”
Sophie sat silently for a moment. “Riel is a reasonable man, Lucinda. If you fall in love with a young man you’ve met at a Season, I’m sure Riel will agree to the match. Just tell him how you feel.”
“Every time we talk, we end up fighting.”
“It’s good he’s been gone, then, so you two could cool off. Perhaps you can start afresh when he returns.”
Lucinda looked away. “That’s what he said before he left. The problem is, I don’t think we’ll ever get along. He’s like a splinter under my skin. I want to work him out, but he won’t budge.”
Sophie smiled. “He is strong-minded.”
“That’s an understatement,” she muttered.
“So are you, if I may be so bold to say so,” the older lady said. “Butting heads is not a bad thing. My beloved Charles and I did it all the time. What is important is treating each other with respect. It sounds to me like you might have behaved imprudently when Riel was here last.”
Lucinda looked down. “Yes. You could say that.”
“Then behave like the sweet young lady you are when he returns. Riel is a good man. He’ll listen to your wishes and treat you with respect. Do the same for him. He’ll take good care of you. You need only trust him.”
And that was the crux of the matter. Lucinda wasn’t sure how far she should trust Riel Montclair. Although she knew for sure—and was relieved—he wasn’t a thief, the rest of his life remained a closed, shadowy book.
How much did Sophie know of her great-nephew’s past? Was she aware of the secret he still hid from the Royal Navy? What about the dark something she sensed from his past? Perhaps they were the one and the same secret.
If Sophie did know his secrets, she undoubtedly loved him enough to overlook them all.
Crowning all of these uncertainties, however, was the fact that Riel Montclair disturbed Lucinda deeply, every time she saw him. And she wasn’t sure why, dark secrets aside.
“I will try,” she told Sophie now. “But I cannot promise roses in winter.”
“An interesting analogy.” The older lady eyed her. “But you will try?”
After a moment, Lucinda said, “Yes.” A difficult admission, but wasn’t she almost eighteen now? Time to put the past to rest. And time to fully accept that Riel would be her guardian, and the trustee of Ravensbrook. That wasn’t to say she wanted him to be her guardian. But it was high time to move forward. To grow up and accept what she could not change. She just didn’t know what her future, with Riel in her life, might look like.
“Good.” Sophie pulled another sheet from the packet. “He included a note for you, too.”
He did? Fingers suddenly trembling, Lucinda accepted the folded parchment. Her full name, Lady Lucinda was penned across the front in a bold script. Riel had written to her. For what purpose?
She flipped the edges open.
August 16, 1812
Lucy,
I know you hate it when I call you Lucy, but I cannot think of you by any other name, for it is how your father always spoke of you.
I do not like the circumstances under which we parted. I do not want enmity between us. When I come back, I would like to start again, if you will allow it.
I remain, ever yours,
Riel
Odd flutters beat in her breast. She took a steadying breath and refolded the parchment. Riel had asked again for a new start. Would she allow it? What might that relationship look like?
A flush warmed her skin and she placed the note on the table. What was wrong with her? Why did peace with Riel feel far more dangerous than war?
“Well?” Sophie spoke up. The bright blue eyes looked shrewd.
“He wants a fresh start, as we were talking about.”
“And will you give it to him?”
Lucinda willed her pulse to settle back to a normal rate. Perhaps she’d been out in the sun too long. She gave a small nod. “I will do what I can.” It was all she could promise.
September and October passed, and on October 29th, before nudging into cold, drizzly November, Lucinda turned eighteen. Mrs. Beatty fussed mightily over this special birthday, and she turned it into a delightful celebration by preparing Lucinda’s favorite meal of c
hicken, mashed potatoes and lemon cake. A few close friends, including Lucinda’s oldest friend Amelia, who had been visiting northern England during Commodore Hastings’ funeral, came to share in the celebration. Sophie gave Lucinda a book on gardening, which Lucinda received with delight. She missed the absence of her father keenly on that day, but the presence of both Amelia and Sophie helped to diminish the pain.
November slipped into December, but no further letters arrived from Riel. Lucinda sensed that Sophie was beginning to fret about her great-nephew’s safety again. Rumors circulated every day of ships down, and men lost. Could Riel and his ship become one of those casualties? Or had it already happened, and they hadn’t yet heard?
* * * * *
December, 1812
With the advent of cold weather, Sophie suffered more breathing attacks, which left her gasping for air. Coughing spells always brought on these frightening episodes. Sophie told Lucinda that the cold weather exacerbated her bronchorrhoea every year. The attacks scared Lucinda to death. Sophie’s blue face and her short, panting breaths sped Lucinda’s heart up to a panicked crescendo. The spells often happened when Sophie walked about the house.
A particularly bad spasm happened in mid-December. Lucinda had steered the gasping Sophie to a comfortable chair, but as much as Sophie leaned back with her eyes closed, the fast trot of her breathing didn’t slow. Her face slowly turned purple, and Lucinda began to weep.
“Mrs. Beatty!” she cried out. “Mrs. Beatty, come quickly!”
The housekeeper ran out of the kitchen, swiping floured hands on her apron. “What is it, miss?” And then she saw Sophie. “La, Lady Sophia!” She pressed the thin, birdlike hands between her own worn, capable ones. “We’re right here with you, my lady. Don’t fret. All will be well.”
Gradually, Sophie’s breathing slowed to normal, and her face lost its bilious hue. Instead, it looked gray and wan.
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