Because of You

by Cathy Maxwell

  Because that was how Yale felt.

  “Doesn’t Samantha look lovely?” Marion said, calling Yale back to attention.

  “Yes,” he agreed readily. “Most lovely—”

  He was struck by a new realization, a disturbing one. Samantha looked like a stranger. He had the unusual sensation that she was drifting away from him.

  “She is going to be the Toast of London,” Marion predicted.

  “I’ll be labeled a bumpkin from the north, once they hear my accent,” Samantha said.

  “Your accent is lovely,” Marion disclaimed. “Such a lilting sound, and not so harsh as a Scots accent. She shouldn’t worry, should she, Yale?”

  “No,” he murmured, now picturing Samantha as the rage of the London Season. It wasn’t an image he liked. Men would flock to her, drawn by her accent. They would know immediately that she was fresh from the country and think her slightly naïve.

  And she was. She had no idea of the evils that lurked in Society under the guise of polished manners. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of her.

  Or did she know? Was that why she was so willing to cut him free?

  But he couldn’t stay. He had to go. He had no choice. Nor could he let his jealousy show. He didn’t want to appear a complete fool.

  “Don’t forget, the dinner bell will ring in one hour, Samantha,” Marion said. “And Yale, I told Wayland that you have been honored with an invitation to dine with Lord Grenville. He doesn’t like the man’s politics, but he hopes you put in a good word for the family.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “I know that,” she said indulgently. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You are a good brother and I am happy that you returned to us, even for this short a time.”

  “Thank you, Marion.” He meant the words.

  “Now come, Samantha. We must make one last check of everything downstairs to ensure all is ready.”

  “I am certain something needs to be done,” Samantha said. “I can’t imagine entertaining this many guests on such short notice.”

  “Oh, but I have help! And I know many’s is the time you entertained the whole village of Sproule and didn’t have one extra pair of hands to help you,” Marion said, and the two women left with Charlie bouncing on his mother’s shoulder.

  Yale found himself alone. The only one of the trio who had given him a backward glance had been bubble blowing Charlie.

  He walked to his room, disconcerted by these contradictory feelings. He’d always known his own mind. He was a man. Men knew what they wanted.

  But the only thing he knew right now was that he wished Samantha had not been so anxious to hurry off with Marion.

  His valet waited impatiently for him. He’d already been informed by the butler that Yale dined with the Prime Minister and wished his master to make the best impression possible. He heartily approved of the new wardrobe that Yale had sent over earlier from the ship.

  Yale had to suffer the valet’s ministrations while the little man prattled on about shoe polish and finished seams, a conversation that didn’t interest Yale at all. Instead, he listened to the sound of coaches arriving outside his bedroom window, facing the street.

  The Carderock family, when second and third cousins were included, was actually quite large. From the greetings he could hear, it sounded as if everyone had turned out to be introduced to Samantha.

  Yale waved the valet away and undertook to tie his own neckcloth. He was tired of the man’s fussiness.

  He was just getting the knot right when he heard a sound in the sitting room. He opened the door and caught Samantha reaching for the green glass paperweight.

  She looked up in surprise. “Oh, I’d thought you’d gone.” She wore a shawl of cream shot through with gold threads. Kid leather gloves covered her arms to the elbow.

  “I’ll be leaving shortly.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t be with us tonight. I’m just a little nervous, but I’ll be fine,” she hurried to add. “I just thought it might be a good thing to rub my palm over the pixie paperweight. I felt I needed some magic.”

  “You don’t need magic, Sam. You’re beautiful.”

  Her eyes sparkled from his compliment. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  They stood staring at each other.

  She moved first. “Well, I must go downstairs.” She turned and started for her bedroom.

  Yale was tempted to call her back, and yet something stopped him. Probably his own good common sense. He didn’t need a woman in his life.

  He didn’t need anyone.

  So why did he feel left out?

  He watched her until she shut her bedroom door and then returned to his fuming valet. It didn’t take long for him to finish dressing after that.

  He wore formal evening dress, white knee breeches, a dark wine velvet coat, and a white swansdown waistcoat. He took his silk hat from his valet, told him not to wait up, and started down the stairs. As he entered the foyer, the sound of laughter carried from the receiving room and echoed off the marble. Most of the guests had arrived and there was only him, Fenley, and a few footmen waiting for stragglers.

  “Beast is waiting for you, my lord,” Fenley said. One of the footmen held out Yale’s greatcoat.

  “Yes, thank you,” Yale said absently. He didn’t move to put his arms in his coat. Instead, he was drawn to the murmur of conversation. He wandered closer to the receiving room.

  The doors were open; the room was full. He spied Wayland and Marion and was surprised that they had included the older boys in this family gathering. After six in the evening, he and his siblings had never been allowed out of the nursery. For their part, both Matthew and John acted well behaved.

  Twyla was there. She was still blond and blue-eyed, with a miniature version of the Carderock nose…but she’d aged. She had wrinkles, and her waist was thicker. She appeared happy and healthy, not completely like the sharp-tongued sister he’d left eleven years before.

  By her side stood a man whom Yale hadn’t met. His manner was so supercilious toward her, Yale knew instantly this must be Twyla’s husband, the one Wayland had labeled the “twit.”

  Then he saw Samantha. The crowd shifted and there she was. She stood not far from the twit. Graceful and composed, she talked to two young women of around her same age. The women must be cousins that Yale had long ago forgotten. Certainly he didn’t recognize either one now.

  But there was no doubt in his mind that Samantha outshone everyone in the room. He knew how nervous she was, and his chest swelled with pride at her courage.

  She listened intently to something one of the women said and then shook her head ruefully. He wondered if they had asked about him…and if she wished he were there.

  If she wanted him to be there.

  And then Sam laughed.

  He could hear the sound not just with his ears, but with every fiber of his being.

  At that moment, in that very instant, he was hit by the fabled bolt of lightning. The one prudent men avoided. The one he had never believed existed.

  He was stuck by Love.

  Yale staggered back a step, humbled by the magnitude of his love for Samantha. Why, it had always been there, he realized with a sense of wonder, maybe even from the first moment they’d met—except that today what he felt for her was larger and grander and more encompassing than anything he’d ever imagined.

  And tomorrow his love for her would be greater still. He knew it in the depths of his soul.

  Walking the streets of London, he’d thought that he might be falling in love with her—in fact, he’d feared it. But now, watching her laughing eyes reflect the candlelight…his fears seemed silly. Groundless. Vain, even.

  “My lord, your coat.” The footman’s voice sounded as if it came from a great distance.

  Almost in a daze, Yale turned and looked at him.

  While his whole being had been profoundly changed, everything else had stayed the same. No one was different save hi
m.

  And maybe that was one of the beauties of Love. That no one else could feel what he felt. It was special and unique…and all his.

  He looked back at Samantha. A man had appeared at her side to offer her a glass of wine. Yale didn’t recognize him. A ripple of irritation went through him. “Fenley, who is that man talking to my wife?”

  Fenley peered at the man a moment. “That is your cousin Richard. He is twice removed on your father’s first wife’s side of the family.”

  Yale didn’t remember Richard. But he knew he didn’t like him. The man was a fop. The points of his collar were too high, and the green and yellow stripped waistcoat was vulgar.

  Then Samantha laughed at something Richard said. Yale almost growled.

  “Is there a problem, my lord?” Fenley asked blandly.

  “No problem,” Yale said, his eye still on Richard. “However, send Beast back to the stable and please see that a message is sent to Lord Grenville. Convey to him my sincere regrets, but I will not be able to dine with him this evening.”

  “Shall I include a reason?” Fenley asked.

  “Tell him I must dine with my wife,” Yale said, already walking toward the receiving room.

  Chapter 16

  Samantha listened politely as the man introduced to her as Cousin Richard droned on about his wine collection. Her head hurt from trying to keep all the names straight with the proper faces. The person who had made the strongest impression had been Uncle Norris because he used a tin ear horn and shouted as if everyone else was deaf.

  She was just taking a sip of the wine Richard had brought to her when a prickling sensation raced along her neck.

  He was here.

  Her heart seemed to stop beating. She turned. Even the air in the room took on a new and vital energy.

  The crowd shifted. Conversation died out. Everyone moved toward the door—and she knew without looking that her husband was there.

  The wall of guests parted forming a corridor between her and the man she loved. He was a handsome sight in his wine velvet evening jacket and white satin breeches. But what riveted her attention was the expression on his face.

  He was looking at her with such love, she knew that her dearest dream had been answered.

  Love! Bright, shining, wonderful love. It was there for everyone to see.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from the joy in the moment. Tension, fear, hope—all had lain coiled tight and deep within her, and now they sprang free, leaving her to bask in the glory of love.

  She held out her glass in Richard’s direction—fortunately, he took it, because she would have let it drop if he hadn’t—and began walking toward her husband. The noise and quiet murmurs of the guests faded to be replaced by the beating of her own heart.

  He held out his hand to her.

  Samantha stopped, almost afraid to go forward.

  He took the last steps to bring them together, his stride sure. His warm fingers closed over hers.

  “Yale.” She released his name on a sigh and only then realized she’d been holding her breath.

  He raised her hand to his lips and pressed his kiss against it. “Forgive me, Samantha. I have been so blind.”

  His deep, husky voice was no louder than a whisper, and yet if he had shouted the words, she could not have been more glad.

  “Yale, I love you.”

  His gaze met hers. “I love you. With all my heart.”

  Samantha laughed and threw her arms around his neck, completely forgetting they had an audience. Her feet left the floor as Yale picked her up and held her close. Here, in his arms, was where she belonged. Here was her home.

  Wayland’s voice brought them back to reality. “Yale, aren’t you late for your engagement with the Prime Minister?” he asked slyly.

  Yale set her down on the ground, his arm resting possessively around her waist. “Actually, I’ve changed my plans,” he said easily. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint my family.”

  A huge smile split Wayland’s face. “Then let me be the first to raise a glass and welcome you back, brother.” He nodded to the others. “To my brother.”

  “To Yale,” several voices echoed, and they all drank his health. Marion signaled for the servants to refill glasses.

  Yale turned to Samantha and started to say something, but he was interrupted by Twyla’s crisp voice, “Well, the prodigal has returned home at last.”

  “It is good to see you, too, dear sister.”

  “I suppose you believe we all welcome you with open arms?”

  “I know that would be too much to expect from you,” Yale answered smoothly. “May I say, you haven’t changed over the years?”

  Twyla snorted. “Neither have you. I hope you don’t believe we will all sing your praises. Wayland is far more forgiving than he should be.”

  Wayland, whose expression had turned wary the moment Twyla had come up to their younger brother, stepped between them. “We are all glad to have Yale back, just as we value the contributions of your husband, my dear sister.”

  His conciliatory words did not set her mind at ease. “I pray you don’t forget that,” she said. “While Yale has been off wandering the world, Harold has worked very hard. It hasn’t always been easy for him. You’ve often asked him to do things that were beneath his dignity. I would not want to see him lose what is rightfully his because of Yale’s return.”

  “There’s enough work for every member of this family,” Wayland said firmly.

  “Besides,” Yale said, “there is a difference between my life and that of the prodigal son.”

  “Really?” Twyla said with polite disinterest.

  “Yes, the prodigal son was poor in spirit and in pocket. Whereas right now, I am the richest man on earth. I have my wife and my shipping company. I can ask for no more.”

  Marion placed her arm around her brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I am so happy for you both,” she said. “And, Twyla, put aside your doubts. We are a family again. Let us celebrate.”

  Wayland took his wife’s hand. “Yes, Twyla, listen to reason and put your fears to rest. I love both my siblings equally and I will never give you cause to worry.”

  “Oh please, I’m glad he’s not dead,” Twyla admitted. “I just don’t want to see Harold left out.”

  “Twyla, don’t be ridiculous,” Yale said with impatience. “If you wish for me to sign a paper relinquishing all claims to the House of Ayleborough, I will do it. I don’t need the money. I have everything I want. I have Samantha.”

  Suddenly, everyone in the room clapped. Yale and his brother and sister turned to see that they were the center of interest. Even Uncle Norris had heard Yale’s declaration.

  Samantha’s cheeks burned with pleasure and embarrassment. “I can’t believe you said that in front of everyone.”

  “I’ll say it again,” Yale offered stoutly. “I love my wife.” And he kissed her!

  This time, his relatives did more than clap; several shouted with good-natured ribbing.

  Marion motioned for the butler to announce dinner. As cousins and aunts and uncles passed Yale and Samantha on their way into the dining room, they offered congratulations to their couple.

  Uncle Norris stopped in front of them and said in his gruff, overloud voice, “Always did like you, nephew. Said you had spirit! Good to show some spirit now and then!”

  After he’d passed, Yale whispered, “I always felt he hated me when I was a child. He was forever advising my father not to spare the rod. Fortunately, Father didn’t listen to him.”

  “People have a tendency to be overbearing with the very young,” Samantha observed.

  “We must endeavor not to do that ourselves,” he said sternly.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said with mock humility, and Yale laughed.

  As the last person went in to dinner and they were alone in the receiving room, Yale turned to Samantha. “Now I know why I had to return to England.” He rubbed the back of her hand he held. “It wa
sn’t just my father I needed to see. I needed to stand in the middle of all of them and feel the way I do now.”

  “Which is?”

  “Completely accepted. I used to hear them whisper about my mother. She didn’t ingratiate herself with any of them. But now I realize they aren’t bad people. For the first time in my life, I feel whole and completely accepted.” He looked down at her. “Not for the reasons that I had anticipated, but because of you.”

  Samantha blinked back tears of happiness. “I don’t think you will ever say anything that will mean as much to me as those words.”

  “Then I will say them every day.”

  She would have thrown her arms around him, but Fenley’s voice interrupted them. “His Grace bids you come join the family at the table.”

  “I don’t want to have dinner with them,” Yale said, for her ears alone. “I want to be alone with you. We have several nights of our honeymoon to make up for.”

  His words sparked an answering need inside Samantha—and a blush that must have gone all the way to the tips of her ears.

  “Master Yale,” Fenley reminded him.

  “Yes, Fenley, I’m coming,” Yale said, taking Samantha’s arm. “I know better than to ignore him when he calls me ‘Master Yale.’”

  Samantha laughed. As she walked by Fenley, he winked, the movement so quick, she could have imagined it.

  Of course, Yale saw it. “Why did Fenley wink at you?”

  “Perhaps he’s part pixie,” Samantha said, then laughed with joy.

  Dinner was almost interminable. The conversation was lively enough, but Samantha heard very little and could eat even less. Her complete concentration was on the man across the table from her, her husband.

  She understood what Yale meant about feeling whole. That’s how she felt, knowing he loved her. No more doubts; no more fears.

  At last, after the tenth and final course had been served, Marion signaled for the ladies to leave the men to their port. Samantha couldn’t help a lingering gaze at Yale. He didn’t appear too happy, either.

  Earlier that afternoon, Marion had said that sometimes the gentlemen of the family could take as long as an hour over their port, depending on how interesting the gossip was. She’d also engaged an Italian singer to entertain the family after dinner.