by Sandra Heath
He still stood by the desk, and he turned the moment he heard her. He caught her hand, pulling her quickly into his arms, and held her tight. ‘It’s over now, my darling,’ he whispered, his voice muffled against her hair. ‘I love you so much, dear God, how I love you!’
‘And I love you,’ she whispered back, savoring his closeness.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be free, but I promise you that I’ll make you the second Lady Southvale the moment I can.’
‘I know.’
‘When I think how close we came to parting forever—’
‘But we didn’t,’ she interrupted softly, ‘and now we’ll always be together.’ She lifted her lips to meet his.
About six weeks later, on a dark Christmas Eve night, the air was so cold that stray flakes of snow fluttered down over London. Holly, mistletoe, and ivy decorated doors and windows, and the sound of carols could be heard in the streets. Stagecoaches were laden with passengers and luggage as people returned to their families for the festive season, and thoughts of war, either with America or with France, were temporarily set aside. The war with France was still very much in evidence, however, and a war with America was still very much in the cards, for Philip’s errand from Washington had as yet come to nothing.
But at Southvale House the atmosphere couldn’t have been more happy, even though Philip would soon be departing for St Peterburg. Gerald was still behind bars – and would be for quite a while yet, because the judge took a very poor view of a gentleman assaulting a poor maid. Celia had tactfully removed herself to her astonished family in Ireland, who had to contend not only with her apparent return from the dead, but also with the scandal of a divorce, proceedings for which were now well under way.
London society had been equally as astonished to learn what had been happening in Lord Southvale’s household, but few spared a great deal of sympathy for Celia, whose conduct was deemed to be odious in the extreme. Rosalind was made welcome wherever she went, and everyone wanted to hear the story in detail. It was thought to be romantic and almost gothic for Philip, the grieving widower, to have fallen in love with a beautiful American, only to have his vindictive, malicious, and spiteful wife return to resume her claim to him.
Annie was now one of the happiest maids in England, for she was to attend Rosalind permanently. Word had arrived from Falmouth that Hetty was now completely well again, and on the point of marrying Samuel Penruthin, which meant that she could no longer attend to her duties with Rosalind. All was well that ended well for both maids, and Rosalind wasn’t at all displeased, for she’d been dreading the thought of having to discard Annie’s services when Hetty returned.
There was so very much to tell everyone back in Washington that a very lengthy letter indeed had had to be written, explaining absolutely everything and begging them to come to London in the summer, when Philip hoped to have returned from St Petersburg, and the wedding could at long last take place.
Rosalind was very happy that Christmas Eve and had never felt more lighthearted and carefree as she went down the staircase to the drawing-room. She wore a cherry-red velvet gown, with matching ribbons in her golden hair. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and in her ears, and her green eyes shone.
Garlands of greenery were festooned everywhere, looped with crimson and gold ribbons, and the scent of clove oranges drifted from the huge ball that had been suspended from the entrance hall roof.
Philip seemed to sense that she was there, and he came out on to the landing.
She paused, a hand on the balustrade. Her fingertips brushed against leaves of mistletoe and ivy, and she smiled at him. ‘This is the most wonderful Christmas of my life,’ she whispered.
‘And of mine,’ he replied, coming to take her in his arms.
They lingered over the kiss, lost in each other and totally unaware of Richardson hastening to the main doors as a travel-stained carriage came to a standstill in the courtyard.
A rather curt American voice addressed the astonished butler. ‘Is this Lord Southvale’s residence?’
‘Er, yes, sir. Who shall I say has called?’
‘Mr John Carberry.’
Rosalind heard her brother’s voice and turned incredulously to look down.
John came in, tossing his top hat on to the silver-topped table. Then he removed his cloak and dropped that there too. Underneath he wore a blue coat and fawn breeches, and he looked as if he’d been traveling for some time without any halts. His green eyes, so like Rosalind’s own, looked tired, and his golden hair was disheveled, but not intentionally so.
He turned to face the startled butler. ‘Is Miss Carberry here?’
Rosalind began to hurry gladly down to him, the cherry ribbons in her hair fluttering. ‘Yes, John, I’m here. Oh, I’m so happy to see you!’ She flung herself into her brother’s arm, almost in tears of joy at having him arrive so unexpectedly.
He held her for a moment and then drew back, his eyes serious. ‘Are you all right?’
‘All right? Oh, yes!’ She smiled at him.
His gaze moved beyond her, to Philip, who was just coming down to join them. ‘What’s been going on here, Southvale?’ he demanded coldly.
Southvale? Rosalind was dismayed, her smile fading. ‘John? What is it?’
John’s green eyes were level and uncompromising as they rested on Philip. ‘You sent a very brief and very insulting note to my sister, sir, and I’m here to see what’s damned well going on!’
Rosalind stared at her brother. ‘John?’
He took her hand. ‘A note arrived from London for you after you’d left, and under the circumstances we felt it best to read it. It rather abruptly instructed you not to come to London. Father and I decided that I should come here to see that you were all right.’
‘Well, I am all right, as you can see, so …’
John looked at Philip again. ‘Why did you write it, Southvale?’
Philip held his gaze. ‘I admit that it was woefully inadequate, and I deeply regret it now, but something had happened that made it vital that I prevented Rosalind from leaving.’ ‘Indeed? Well, it so happens that it might never have arrived at all, for the packet it came on, the Queen of Falmouth, was feared lost in storms.’
Rosalind lowered her eyes gladly. So the Queen of Falmouth hadn’t been lost after all.
Philip looked at her brother. ‘John …’
‘I would prefer you not to address me by that name for the time being, sir, not until you’ve explained everything, and I’m satisfied that you’ve treated my sister honorably.’
‘Then I suggest you join us all in the drawing-room, Mr Carberry,’ Philip replied levelly. ‘It’s a very long and complicated story, but I think you will be John to me again once you’ve heard it all.’
Rosalind linked her brother’s arm. ‘He’s right, John, you will. He hasn’t behaved poorly toward me – in fact, quite the opposite. You must believe me.’
John hesitated, knowing that she meant every word. ‘I want to believe you, Rosalind, for I want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you? All I’m concerned with is your welfare, because you’re my sister and I love you.’
At that moment Katherine appeared by the balustrade above, looking very sweet and pretty in a lemon organdy muslin gown. She looked curiously down. ‘What’s going on? Great-aunt Eleanor and I are growing tired of waiting for you two to join us …’ Her voice died away as she saw John. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. I didn’t realize someone had called.’
John stared up at her, and she smiled at him.
Rosalind glanced speculatively at her brother. ‘John, there’s someone I want you to meet, someone I’m sure you will like very much indeed. May I introduce Miss de Grey, Philip’s sister?’
John still stared at Katherine. ‘Miss de Grey,’ he murmured.
Rosalind turned to Katherine. ‘This is my brother, John, Katherine.’
Katherine came down the staircase toward them, smiling at him again. ‘I’m so very please
d to meet you, Mr Carberry. Rosalind has told me so much about you.’
A little color had entered John’s cheeks as he bowed over her hand, and there was a new softness in his eyes as he smiled at her. ‘I trust that I shall soon learn all about you too, Miss de Grey,’ he said.
‘Do come up and meet Great-aunt Eleanor. Will you be staying for Christmas? Oh, please say you will …’ Katherine took the arm he offered, and together they proceeded up the staircase.
In the entrance hall, Philip went to put his hand to Rosalind’s chin, raising it so that he could look sternly into her eyes. ‘Are you hoping to make a match for my sister, madam?’
‘I most certainly am, sir.’
‘Fie on you.’
‘And on you, sir,’ she replied coquettishly.
He laughed, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
By the Same Author
A Scandalous Publication
A Perfect Likeness
An Impossible Confession
A Matter of Duty
Copyright
© Sandra Heath 2007
First published in Great Britain 2007
This edition 2011
ISBN 978 0 7090 9438 8 (ebook)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9439 5 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9440 1 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7090 8090 9 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Sandra Heath to be identified as
author of this work has been asserted by her
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988