Regency Romance Collection: Regency Fire: The Historical Regency Romance Complete Series (Books 1-5)

by Bridget Barton

  “Then perhaps you should like to return with me this minute, Sir, and lay eyes upon the very scene I have just left.”

  “If Verity is upset then there is nothing …” I began, but Wentworth held a hand out in front of my face as if to stop me speaking. In truth, I rather thought that he would strike me.

  “My dear fellow, Verity is not upset,” he said and began to laugh in a most manic and mirthless way that I instantly feared that my old friend, the man I still loved dearly and thought of as my brother, had lost his reason. “She is not sobbing, nor fretting that the man she loved more than life itself is here this day betraying her, no, she is not.”

  “I do not understand,” I said, thinking the whole thing most unsettling and wondering quite what Wentworth would say next.

  After all, if Verity was not upset and cared little that I was marrying Prudence, then why on earth would Wentworth be standing before me more undone than I had ever seen him?

  “Then you really must see for yourself, my old friend.” Wentworth slurred his words a little, almost as if he were drunk. And yet, I knew he was not. I knew that what I was looking at was utter despair, and I began to feel myself a little nauseous on its account. “You must come to Calgath Hall this minute and go into the library where you and I have spent so much of our time over the years. You must look up, my old friend, at the old beams that you and I used to swing from in our play, hoping all the while that my father would not put his head around the door and bellow at us to desist. Yes, you must look upon those beams now, my old friend.” Wentworth had begun to shake, and his face, no longer scarlet, was most dreadfully gray in colour, almost as ashen as his fine hair. “You must see what is there now, for it is such a sight as I have never seen in my life. You see, there is a rope slung over one of those fine oak beams and, what swings from that rope, Cornelius Cunningham, is the cold and lifeless body of my sister.” By the time Wentworth had finished speaking, his voice was a raw bellow.

  His eyes streamed with tears, and I realised that I was witnessing the very deepest of shock. Undoubtedly, Wentworth had discovered the body of his sister and, not waiting another moment, had made his way to tell me all about it. Me who had caused it all, in his eyes. And still, I could not tell him. Still, I could not say the words that would destroy my old friend’s fine memory of a much-loved sister.

  On that day, I knew my life to be over. In truth, I knew I would live and breathe and raise children and run a Duchy, but I would do it as a ghost. I would do it as a man destroyed by grief I could not display to anybody. If only I could have lived that day again. I would have run from the church all the way to Calgarth Hall and, bursting into that library, dropped to my knees and thrown all of my forgiveness upon Verity Farrington, if only she would consent to stay on this earth. For in truth, I do not know how I shall manage to remain here myself in the knowledge that she is gone.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, Philip, I really must go,” Cordelia said, hastily rising to her feet and smoothing down her skirts.

  “No, the time has come for us to finish this, Cordelia.”

  “Oh, Philip …”

  “No, it must be done. There is no sense in rushing back to Horndean Hall. Your mother already suspects you of something and, given what little you have told me of her character, I have no doubt that she shall seek to disrupt you in whatever it is she suspects you of. We have no time, Cordelia. We must go on.”

  “I know, Philip. We must get the truth now, must we not?”

  “We must, for if we do not, we shall be thwarted by time and our own families. It is now or never.”

  “And what if we do not find what we are looking for? What if the truth will not set us free of this dreadful feud?”

  “Then it shall be time for the two of us to go. I shall not live my life without you, Cordelia. I shall not live a life without the woman I love, the way that your father had to. We have to learn from their mistakes, and we have to recognise when we have done all that we can do.”

  “I do love you so, Philip.”

  “And I love you, Cordelia,” he said, gently tugging at her arm until she was once again seated on the rock beside him. “Now read on.”

  “28th July 1799.

  It has been almost two years since last I wrote in this little volume for I could not bear to open the pages for fear that my eyes would fall upon my last entry. Once the thing was written, I had quite assumed that I would never write another word. In truth, I had quite assumed the whole thing to be done and finished, and yet it is not.

  Today, I made my way, quite surreptitiously, to the edge of the Farrington estate. It was so cold and grey a day, and the rain fell so steadily that I felt I might be able to complete my mission unseen. For surely, in the end, not another soul would be out on so dreadful a morning.

  I have suffered the most terrible agonies these last two years, never once finding any relief from the pain in my heart which has existed from the very moment that Wentworth delivered the dreadful news that my dear, darling Verity had taken her own life.

  The only thing which has changed over time is that I do not think so painfully of her betrayal, rather it is as if its significance has waned in comparison to all that I have lost. And yet, as I began to let go of that betrayal, my own pain and loss grew ever deeper.

  I had rather got the thing in my mind that I could not let go of Verity because I had never said goodbye to her. Quite naturally, I had not been a welcome guest at her funeral and, as such, had not attended.

  In truth, I have never seen one member of the Farrington family from the day of my wedding and have found myself rather glad of it. And yet, Wentworth would seek to undo me at every turn and has, week upon week, done all that he can to upset my life and my world and make much mischief in it.

  I am sure that he will never forgive me and yet, whilst he has allowed me no time for explanation, I begin to find that my resentment of him grows. I do not miss him as once I did, nor do I care to remember the time when I thought of him as a brother. It is fast becoming plain that he is my enemy and, undoubtedly, we shall fight our way through life until, one day, we shall forget even the cause of our resentments.

  And yet, I have worse to say. Just this morning, I had climbed and clawed my way through foliage and fences such as have made me feel nothing but an old man with an old man’s agility. The truth I had struggled to get to the Farrington graveyard, but I knew that I must. I knew that the time had come for me to say goodbye to Verity, to forgive her finally, and to silently beg her forgiveness for my own lack of understanding in the end.

  However, when I reached her grave and thought myself in solitude, I heard a snap behind me as a footstep approached.

  I spun so fast I almost fell and saw before me none other than the Earl of Payton. In truth, I could hardly believe it, and suddenly all my pain and anguish transformed itself entirely and became a most dreadful anger.

  I felt my fists clench and my face quite scarlet as I stared at the man who, at the very core of my being, I felt truly to blame for all that I had lost.

  “How dare you be here, Sir?” I said in a voice which was low and full of the promise of violence.

  “And you are not a welcome visitor yourself, are you?” he replied, squinting at me in some confusion.

  “You caused her death,” I said, pointing uselessly at Verity’s grave.

  “A dreadful thing to say coming from the man who truly did cause her death. Your betrayal of her was so complete, Cornelius Cunningham, that the poor woman could never have recovered.”

  “My betrayal of her, Sir?” I said, finding myself quite outraged. “It was her own betrayal of me with you that caused the breaking of our engagement.”

  “What?” The Earl of Payton looked at me, his eyes so wide and his countenance so shocked that I felt the coldest sensation creep upon me. “Verity Farrington never betrayed you, you fool.”

  “But I had it on most good authority that she did. And I had seen the tw
o of you together talking, had I not?”

  “There is only one time in which I can think that you saw Verity and I speak together, and that would have been on the afternoon that she told me that she could never return my love. However much I wanted her, Verity loved only one man, and she swore to me that she could never love another but Cornelius Cunningham. What you saw that day, Sir, was the woman you loved letting me down as gently as she could with the kindest words possible. I loved her, Sir, in truth I did. But Verity Farrington never loved me. She never loved anyone but you.”

  In truth, I was reeling, and I have not yet recovered since. I raced home through the grayness and the rain, a mess of a human being on the verge of the greatest nausea. Above all things, I needed to find Prudence and speak with her upon the thing.

  When finally I found her and told her of all I had learned, she turned the coolest eyes upon me. As she sat in comfort in her chamber, her hand rested on her swollen belly as she looked down at the floor where our infant son Richard played, she seemed not one bit undone by what I had told her.

  “Oh dear, then I must have been greatly mistaken.” I knew at the moment that she had delivered the line that was a lie. Never before had I realised the part that Prudence had played in things. Not once had I questioned her honesty nor the veracity of her tale. I had simply believed it, and now, as I stared into her pale, cold eyes, I realised that there was nothing there behind them.

  There was no love, no feeling, nor any guilt whatsoever that her actions had caused the death of the woman who had been her friend since they had been children. I felt myself truly sickened and, in that moment, I knew that I must get away from her.

  Quite how I shall go on now, I do not know. I have a Duchy to run and an infant heir to instruct in the ways of the world and know, deep down, that I must suffer the presence of my child’s mother until the end of my days. In truth, as I think of my own stupidity, my own foolishness and pigheadedness, I know that I deserve nothing better in this life than what I have.”

  “This is it, Cordelia. This is the truth of the thing, and it is time we gave it,” Philip said, somewhat excitedly.

  “Indeed, it is the truth, Philip, but do you truly think it shall end the war?”

  “I feel sure that it shall. In the end, it was a feud between your father and mine; two men who had always been as brothers up until the moment that they had been deceived and torn apart by a great lie. Had the truth been given to them, do you really think our families would have been in animus so very long?”

  “I daresay we have nothing to lose by trying,” Cordelia said, suddenly afraid now that the thing had come and the time for action was upon them.

  And yet, somehow, she could not move. As Cordelia stared into Philips’ eyes, she could not help thinking that she might somehow lose him if they carried their plan to fruition.

  “I am not ready yet to leave this place,” she said in a quiet voice, turning on the great rock in order to face him.

  Cordelia placed her arms around his neck and stared at him, knowing that she loved Philip Farrington more than anybody on earth.

  “I love you, Philip, and I could not bear to lose you.”

  “And you shall not lose me,” he said and drew her to him for a kiss.

  As he pressed his lips hard upon hers, Cordelia’s parted, and she felt his tongue against her own. It caused such excitement within her that she could not help clinging tighter to him and kissing him ever more urgently.

  As she did so, she felt his hands on her body, moving from their resting place about her waist and travelling along her ribs in a way which made her almost hold her breath. When, finally, he cupped her ample breasts in his hands, she gasped with pleasure.

  “Should I stop?” he breathed, seeming every bit as if he might not truly be able to.

  “Do not stop, my darling. Please, do not stop,” she said as she felt his hand slide beneath the

  neckline of her gown to touch the bare skin of her breasts. Cordelia moaned so deeply she hardly recognised her own voice.

  “Philip, my love, you must take me. You must take me here in this place and at this moment for I have never wanted anything this much.”

  Without a word, Philip lifted her from the rock and laid her down at the side of the stream. As he laid himself down on top of her, he tugged at the neckline of her gown and freed her breasts entirely. With a moan, he fell upon them, kissing them over and over again and gently teasing her with his tongue.

  Cordelia arched her back and cried out with longing as Philip pushed up her skirts and began to work at the buttons of his own breeches.

  “Do not stop, Philip. Never stop.”

  Epilogue

  “I must admit, I have never seen a woman look so healthy when with child as you seem to look, my dear Cordelia.” Daphne Farrington smiled as she reached out to pour tea for them both.

  “I must admit, I have never had such a good appetite as I seem to have now, nor ever have I felt so full of vitality.” Cordelia smiled back.

  “Well, let us hope that your good health encourages you to have as many children as you possibly can. In truth, I should see Calgarth Hall filled with grandchildren if I have my way.”

  “With five sons and five daughters-in-law, My Lady, I have little doubt that you shall be tripping over grandchildren for many years to come.”

  Cordelia had found herself most taken with Daphne Farrington and, in a very short space of time, began to think of the woman as almost the mother she had never had. Daphne was so kind and caring and had been so very overjoyed when Cordelia and Philip had presented the Farrington family with some very good reasons for letting the dreadful feud come to an end.

  When first the two of them had raced into Calgarth Hall, fresh from confirming their own love in the morning sunshine down by the stream, Philip and Cordelia had raced through the corridors in search of Gabriel.

  It had taken much explaining and a good deal of reading aloud before Gabriel had finally been convinced to at least hold off on any idea of sinking the copper mine that would surely see the two families at war forevermore.

  Daphne had very quickly involved herself in the thing and had encouraged all of her sons to think very deeply about the opportunity that old Cornelius Cunningham had presented them with in his last days on earth.

  In the end, the whole thing had simply been settled between the two men who mattered most in the whole business. Gabriel Farrington and Richard Cunningham; the Duke of Calgarth and the Duke of Horndean.

  Fearing her mother, and not trusting any other of her siblings, Cordelia had taken the diaries to Richard. She had sat with him for hour upon hour whilst they went through all that she and Philip had been through in their stolen mornings down by the stream.

  As saddened as he seemed to be, Richard did not seem at all surprised at the idea that it was his mother and not his father, who was at the very root of the feud which had blighted all their lives.

  In the end, Cordelia had implored him to speak with the other Duke and come to some agreement that they share the rights to the copper mine and find some way to exist side-by-side in the world without conflict.

  On the day that Richard attended Calgarth Hall, he had done so quite unannounced. It was to be the first time that a Cunningham had set foot on the Calgarth Estate for more than thirty years, and it rather seemed that the moment was not lost on either one of the men.

  Gabriel had received the Duke of Horndean with a tentative interest and, although his attitude had been rather cool at first, it had quickly become one of curiosity.

  “I have no doubt that my sister and your brother have read to you everything that they have read to me, Sir,” Richard had said, the first of the two men to raise the subject.

  “Indeed, I have heard all of it and hardly know what to think of it all.”

  “In truth, I can never excuse my own mother’s behaviour, and I cannot help thinking that she has been content all these years to watch so much pain and suffer
ing without ever a word as to her part in it. In truth, I cannot help thinking my obligation to my father has ended. It had always seemed that the continuance of hostilities between us was very much something I owed him and yet, as I read his very own words, I realise that it was all wasted. It was all done in the absence of the truth and I, for one, am not keen to waste any more years.”

  “In truth, Sir, there is much in what you say that resonates within me also. Perhaps, had the truth been known at the time, had all of it been told, then our fathers might not have been the enemies they became. They might have, instead, been able to console one another in their grief. And yet, I daresay we shall never know,” Gabriel Farrington said, his pale blue eyes holding fast to those of the man he had once thought of as his bitterest enemy.

  “If you will allow me, Sir, I shall read you a further passage that our young siblings did not alight upon at the time. It is something I have found since and, indeed, the very last diary entry that my father ever made. It was made but weeks before he finally died. Not long, indeed, before he took to his sick bed for the last time. With your permission, I shall read it to you.”

  “By all means,” Gabriel said, his voice low and respectful. In truth, he rather felt as if he were about to hear the last words of Cornelius Cunningham.

  “As I watch my dear family, year upon year, fall ever deeper into this bitter argument that was not theirs, I feel the strength of my guilt fall upon me at last. I know I am coming towards the end of my days, and as I look upon my family, I rather think the time has come for the truth. Over the years, I have felt myself much hard done to for one thing or another. One moment I am angry that Wentworth could not understand that I would never have purposely hurt the woman I loved more than life itself. In another moment, I hate myself for ever having been so foolish and not trusting my darling Verity all along. It has been this way up and down the years; one moment I am filled with anger and hatred at all that I have lost, and I seek to assuage those feelings by retaliating against my old friend at every step. And then, there are those other moments. Those silent, private moments where the tears fall and I think of the young men that Wentworth and I once were. How we were as close as brothers and how dearly we had loved one another. If only I could have my time again; if only things could have been so very different. In the end, I lost the two people I cared about most in the world and, not only that; I allowed my family to fall into the ways of vengeance, never once looking back at the truth of the thing, only ever forward at what victories could be gained next. And yet, what hollow victories are they, for they are built on a lie, and the time has come for those very foundations to be uprooted and smashed to pieces. If only I can find the strength to seek a way with which to achieve this before my time is quite done.