by Bree Wolf
Joy bloomed in Sebastian’s heart as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. Looking up, he met Frederick’s smiling eyes and knew that everything would be all right.
“Be good to each other,” Frederick whispered, pulling the door closed as Oliver returned to take the reins. “Love is the greatest gift any of us can ever hope to find; don’t waste it,” he implored as the carriage drew away from the curb.
Chapter Forty-Seven – Bon Voyage
Charlotte’s fingers trembled as her eyes flew over the few words written on a simple, white sheet of paper. There had been no calling card in the envelope, nor was the sheet signed or addressed to a particular person.
And yet, Charlotte knew exactly who had sent it.
As did her husband.
A wide grin on his face, he stood before her, the pulse in his neck quickening as the implications of those few words slowly sank it.
Bon voyage.
“He’s truly gone, isn’t he?” Charlotte whispered as though speaking too loudly would turn the ship around and bring him back to England’s shores.
Her husband’s head bobbed up and down as he took her hands in his, the small sheet of paper gliding to the ground, its purpose fulfilled. “Gone for good,” he whispered as though he feared the same as her. “Good riddance.”
Seeing excitement sparkle in his eyes, Charlotte found herself step forward without thought and her arms wound around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. “I haven’t felt this free in a long time,” she whispered, feeling his hands slide up and down her back.
Instantly, her senses sharpened and her breath caught in her throat as his nearness overwhelmed her, pouring into every fibre of her body. Although his touch no longer scared her, it still amazed her how quickly it could change how she felt, how unexpectedly it could conjure new feelings and discard old ones. “I love you,” she whispered then, and his answering smile made her forget the world around them.
At least, until …
“Victoria,” Charlotte gasped before she would lose all hold on reality.
Pulling back, Sebastian looked at her, his brows quizzical. “Excuse me?” he asked, a touch of humour to his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, biting her lower lip as a touch of red darkened her cheeks. “All I wanted to say was that,” she took a deep breath as his eyes burnt into hers as though seeing all the way into her soul, “we should go and speak to Victoria. She deserves to know, don’t you think?”
Reluctantly, her husband nodded. “You’re right.” He pulled her toward the foyer, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “The sooner we leave; the sooner we’ll return.”
Heat seized Charlotte at the expression in his eyes, and she was grateful for the short carriage ride to reclaim her composure.
Seated in Victoria’s parlour not fifteen minutes later, Charlotte didn’t know where to begin.
All but two days ago, they had changed all their lives by putting Northfield on a prisoner ship bound for Australia, a ship where he belonged … if not in the eyes of the law.
How much were they to tell Victoria? Would she want to know everything that had happened? Or would it be enough for her to know that her husband would never return?
“I’m so relieved,” Victoria exclaimed, a deep smile on her face, “that you’ve managed to work things out. Quite frankly, the two of you simply belong together, and it pained me greatly to see you both so sad.”
Again, heat rose in Charlotte’s cheeks at her sister-in-law’s observation. However, her own embarrassment subsided as she saw that her husband’s face, too, sported a rather rosy touch.
Clearing his throat, he reached for his teacup. “Who told you we’ve worked things out?”
Victoria grinned. “No one,” she whispered as though in confidence. “However, it is written all over your faces. Happiness suits you, dear Brother. You, too, Charlotte.” A touch of regret came to Victoria’s eyes as she spoke, and a sigh escaped her.
Opening her mouth to give Victoria peace of mind, Charlotte found herself interrupted as the dowager baroness, Northfield’s mother, suddenly swept into the parlour, her brows drawn down in displeasure. “Where is he?” she demanded, glancing around the room.
As the breath caught in Charlotte’s throat and she cast a worried glance at her husband, Victoria merely frowned. “Who do you speak of?”
“My son, of course,” his mother retorted as though it should have been obvious. “He was to accompany me to Lady Chamberlain today.”
“I have not seen him,” Victoria answered, eyeing her mother-in-law wearily. “Maybe he simply forgot.”
The dowager baroness huffed. “My son does not forget something as important as an agreed upon engagement. After all, the family’s reputation is at stake.” Her eyes narrowed as she regarded Victoria. “I assure you I am very cross with him.”
“As you have every right to be,” Victoria assured her, then glanced at Charlotte and Sebastian, seeking help.
“This is utterly strange,” the dowager baroness proclaimed. “After all, my son has infallible manners. This is indeed most strange.”
Gritting her teeth, Charlotte suddenly found herself overcome with laughter. Even more so when her husband met her eyes, and she had to turn away to keep from laughing out loud.
Seeing their faces, Victoria frowned. While listening to her mother-in-law praise her son, again and again uttering how exceedingly strange such behaviour was for him, Victoria studied them through narrowed eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte met Victoria’s gaze openly before she glanced at the dowager baroness pacing a hole into the Persian rug and then nodded her head almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, the frown on Victoria’s face grew even deeper before her eyes suddenly snapped open and her jaw dropped. A gasp escaped her lips, and she instantly clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Are you all right, Dear?” the dowager baroness asked, eyeing the rest of them curiously.
Victoria swallowed. “Quite all right,” she whispered, sounding breathless. “I fear the tea is hotter than I expected.” She looked at Charlotte and Sebastian. “I do apologise for this oversight.”
While Charlotte and Sebastian merely nodded their heads, the dowager baroness started into a lamentation about the great difficulty of finding sufficiently skilled staff before finally taking her leave.
When the door closed and they were alone in the parlour, Victoria scooted to the edge of her seat, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Tell me at once what’s happened!” she demanded, the pulse in her neck racing.
Exchanging a knowing look with her husband, Charlotte smiled. “We promised to liberate you from your marriage,” she said, “and today we’re pleased to report … that we have succeeded.”
Staring at them, Victoria swallowed. “Truly?” she whispered, hope and dread waging a war within her heart. “Is he truly gone?”
Charlotte nodded and then looked at her husband.
“He is, Sister,” Sebastian confirmed. “Never to return.”
“But … but … how?” she gasped, her cheeks pale as she gasped for air. “How did you …?”
Sebastian shook his head. “That doesn’t matter,” he said, an affectionate smile on his face as he looked at his beloved sister. “All that matters is that he is gone, and you’re free.”
“Free?” Victoria whispered as though to herself. Her gaze unseeing, she lifted her hand and gently placed it on her belly. Then she closed her eyes, and a deep smile came to her face. “Now, you’re all mine,” she whispered, “and I promise I shall do what I must to love you the way you deserve.”
Epilogue
England, spring 1808 (or a variation thereof)
One day ago
His head pounded as it had never had before, and through the fog that clouded his mind, Philip Stanton, Baron Northfield, tried to remember where he had been the previous night and how he could have allowed himself to become this inebriated, warranting such a heada
che the morning after.
Try as he might, he couldn’t recall.
Opening his eyes, he groaned as the dim light touched his senses and a blinding pain shot through his head. Reflexively, he pressed his hands to his temples and rolled over, rough wood scratching his face. Where the bloody hell was he? And what on earth had happened?
“Look here,” a voice nearby slurred drowsily, “he’s coming to.”
“Shhh,” another warned, a growl rumbling through the air. “I’m trying to sleep here. Best ye can do.”
Gritting his teeth, Philip turned his head away, waiting for the pain to subside. Had he passed out in some tavern? Frowning, he would have shaken his head if he’d dared. Impossible! Not since his youth had he set foot in lower establishments. After all, he had a reputation to maintain!
Again, his cheeks scratched over the rough wood beneath him, and he winced as a splinter dug into his skin. He cursed silently before his stomach suddenly flipped and a new queasiness came to his insides.
The floor was moving.
Was he still drunk?
“What’d you do?” someone asked relatively close by, and a previously unknown stench assaulted his senses.
Cracking open an eye, Philip carefully glanced at his surroundings. However, all he could see as the light attacked his eyes were wooden walls, boards everywhere as well as iron bars, behind which men sat on the rough floor, their faces stained with dirt, their eyes downcast.
“What’d you do?” the man beside him repeated, eyeing him with mild curiosity as he continued to scratch himself every place he could reach.
Lice! Philip thought and instinctively drew back as far as he could. “What do you speak of?” he demanded, unable to believe that what he was seeing was real and not some kind of nightmare.
“Are you daft?” the man laughed. “I’m asking what got you on this ship?”
“Ship?” Philip repeated stupidly.
“Aye, to Australia.” The man shook his head, then glanced over his shoulder and a moment later, more voices joined in his laughter.
“Australia?” Philip repeated as a cold shiver slowly slunk down his spine. “A ship to Australia?” he whispered, and then sudden realisation dawned.
A convict transport!
How had he gotten here?
Frantically, looking about as fear clawed at this heart, he pushed himself to his feet, one hand holding to the iron bars to keep from falling. “I demand to speak to the captain immediately.”
More laughter echoed through the dim hull. “The likes of us do not get to make demands,” the man beside him sneered, then shook his head and eyed him with a hint of disgust. “Get off your high horse and realise how far you’ve fallen.”
Philip swallowed. How far indeed?
As far as he possibly could have was the answer.
But how?
Who had done this to him?
Shrinking back into a corner of his cell, Philip rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes. Shaken to his core, he tried not to give in to fear, but instead vowed to discover who had dealt him this blow and return it a thousand-fold.
Today, he had been defeated.
But tomorrow, he would return …
… and he would not show mercy.
***
About nine months later
Sitting in the drawing room of Hartridge Hall, Victoria looked down at her little son, barely three months old, but already holding up his little head as he lay on his stomach at a safe distance from the smouldering fire in the hearth. His little arms and legs moved as though he was trying to swim, and a proud smile drew up the corners of her mouth.
Her son!
Shaking her head, Victoria sighed. Oh, how much she loved him! Some days, she felt certain her heart would burst with the sheer joy of having him in her life, of holding him in her arms and having him look up at her, his little fists waving as though he couldn’t wait to see what life had in store for him.
“Philip is a true delight,” her mother exclaimed, her own face aglow with the same enchantment that rang in Victoria’s chest.
“He is my pride and joy,” she mumbled, realising that the sound of her son’s name no longer stung.
After her husband had disappeared and his carriage had then been found in the Thames, Victoria had finally believed that he was gone from her life for good. Although to this day, she did not know−nor did she wish to−what had happened to him; she finally felt safe.
Only her mother-in-law’s lamentations as well as society’s expectations had finally worn her down, and she had agreed to name her son after his father. At first, she had cringed every time someone had spoken his name, unable to utter it herself. However, over time, the name had reminded her less and less of her husband and more and more of her son. It no longer spoke of cruelty and shame, but of joy and unadulterated happiness.
Glancing up, Victoria smiled as she saw her brother and sister-in-law step toward the drawing room, both deep in conversation with one another, their eyes sparkling as they spoke. Sebastian stopped then in the door frame, his gaze almost imperceptibly glancing upward at the mistletoe placed there as he held out his hands to his wife.
Smiling, Charlotte took them, not yet aware of his intention, her eyes gazing up into his, love making her face glow.
As always, the closeness and affection between them drew a sigh from Victoria’s slips, and she wondered if she would ever find someone who would look upon her the way her brother looked at his wife.
After her marriage, she doubted it very much, doubted that she could ever allow herself to be intimate with a man ever again−emotionally as well as physically. However, whenever she looked at her sister-in-law, she was reminded of the fact that Charlotte, too, had suffered greatly in her past and had overcome her fears, finding love when she’d least expected it.
Maybe there was still hope.
Wasn’t there always? If one only looked hard enough?
Since her brother’s marriage had not been binding because the marriage certificate did not show the bride’s true name, Sebastian–unbeknownst to society–had whisked his wife to Gretna Green once again to claim her as his own for all eternity. Then, with Lord Elmridge’s assistance, they had called upon Charlotte’s parents, who had been shocked–to say the least–to see their daughter alive.
Although Victoria could see that their betrayal would never be forgotten, Charlotte had allowed them back into her life, and they’d readily assured their assistance to resurrect her from the dead.
Finally, Charlotte could breathe again … and love without fear.
“A kiss is in order,” Victoria’s mother chuckled, looking from her son to her daughter-in-law. “I hope you weren’t fool enough to lose yet another bet to your lovely wife, my son.”
Grinning, Sebastian turned to Charlotte, and a wordless exchange passed between the two of them that made Victoria’s heart ache with envy. Oh, how she wished she had someone who knew what she thought merely by looking at her!
Watching her brother pull his wife into his arms, seeing the eagerness with which Charlotte stepped into his embrace, Victoria sighed yet again.
If life had taught her anything at all, it was that anything was possible.
Smiling down at her precious son, she knew that no matter what the future held, her family would be by her side, and their support would give her the strength she needed to claim love … whenever it chose to find her.
About Bree
Bestselling author, Bree Wolf has always been a language enthusiast (though not a grammarian!) and is rarely found without a book in her hand or her fingers glued to a keyboard. Trying to find her way, she has taught English as a second language, travelled abroad and worked at a translation agency as well as a law firm in Ireland. She also spent loooong years obtaining a BA in English and Education and an MA in Specialized Translation while wishing she could simply be a writer. Although there is nothing simple about being a writer, her dreams have finally come tr
ue.
“A big thanks to my fairy godmother!”
Currently, Bree has found her new home in the historical romance genre, writing Regency novels and novellas. Enjoying the mix of fact and fiction, she occasionally feels like a puppet master (or mistress? Although that sounds weird!), forcing her characters into ever-new situations that will put their strength, their beliefs, their love to the test, hoping that in the end they will triumph and get the happily-ever-after we are all looking for.
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