Jubilee Bride

by Jane Peart

  To Anne Severance,

  an editor of skill and sensitivity,

  with admiration, appreciation, affection

  ZONDERVAN

  Jubilee Bride

  Copyright © 1992 by Jane Peart

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

  ePub Edition July 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-83194-5

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan Publishing House

  Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Peart, Jane.

  Jubilee bride / Jane Peart.

  p. cm. - (Brides of Montclair series : bk. 9)

  ISBN 0-310-67121-3

  I. Tide. II. Series: Peart, Jane. Brides of Montclair series :

  bk. 9.

  PS3566.E238J8 + 11992

  813'.54—dc20

  92—9694

  CIP

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Edited by Anne Severance

  Cover design by Art Jacobs

  92 93 94 95 96 97 / LP / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright

  A Note to My Readers

  Prologue

  Part I The Adventure Begins

  chapter 1 Birchfields The Devlins' Country Home

  chapter 2

  chapter 3

  chapter 4

  chapter 5

  chapter 6 London, England

  Part II Invitation Extended Invitation Received

  chapter7 Belvedere Square

  chapter 8 Cameron Hall

  chapter 9 Hurricane Haven

  chapter 10 Montclair

  Part III Voyage of Discovery

  chapter 11

  chapter 12

  chapter 13

  chapter 14

  Part IV Jubilee Summer

  chapter 15

  chapter 16

  chapter 17

  chapter 18

  chapter 19

  chapter 20

  chapter 21

  chapter 22

  chapter 23

  Part V The End and the Beginning

  chapter 24

  chapter 25 The Claridge Hotel

  chapter 26

  Family Tree

  The Brides of Montclair Series

  About The Author

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  A Note to My Readers

  FOR NEW READERS of the the Brides of Montclair series, the following is a brief summary of the characters of this book, their background, relationships, and current status.

  Faith Devlin is the daughter of Garnet Cameron (Rebel Bride), widowed from her first marriage to Bryson Montrose, now married to Jeremy Devlin, an American executive of a British publishing company. They live in England, dividing their time between a London town house and a country estate.

  Blythe Dorman Montrose (Gallant Bride and Shadow Bride) married Rod Cameron in 1887. They live now at Cameron Hall outside of Mayfield, Virginia, with their three children—a young son, Scott, and twins, Katherine and Carmella. Blythe's son, Jeff, by her first husband, Malcolm Montrose, is a college student at Oxford in England.

  Jonathan Montrose, son of Malcolm Montrose (deceased) and his first wife, Rose Meredith (Yankee Bride), is now the master of Montclair, the Montrose ancestral Virginia home. He and his wife, Davida Carpenter, have two children, Kendall and Meredith.

  His cousin, Druscilla Montrose (Destinf's Bride), married Randall Bondurant, who was formerly married to their cousin, Alair Chance. As children, all three cousins grew up at Montdair. After the War Between the States, Bondurant won the family estate from Malcolm in a card game. Subsequently, Dru deeded the property back to Jonathan, as the rightful heir. The Bondurants, including Lenora and Lalage, two daughters bom of Randall's union with Alair, and Dru's and Randall's own child, Evalee, now live in South Carolina, on an island plantation called Hurricane Haven.

  —Jane Peart

  Prologue

  Oxford, England

  Summer 1892

  ON A GLORIOUS June morning, Jeff Montrose left his student lodgings and wheeled his bicycle from the shadowed arch into the sunshine. There he stood for a moment, listening to the musical chiming of the bells from Magdalen Chapel.

  Even though he would not be among the worshipers called to the early Sunday service, Jeff felt a sense of almost religious exaltation. To his heightened senses, everything seemed more intensely beautiful this morning—the sky more blue, the sun more dazzling, giving the white hawthorn blossoms a unique iridescence and the stones of the centuries-old buildings, a silvery patina.

  With the peal of the church bells still echoing in the summer air, Jeff hefted his lean, six-foot frame onto his bike and pedaled down a narrow Oxford lane toward the river.

  At the riverbank Jeff leaned the bike against a tree, brushed back his dark tousled hair, and walked down to the water's edge. In a few hours the river would be choked with skiffs, canoes, and punts—flat, shallow boats favored by his romantically inclined fellow students who enjoyed propelling their ladyloves lazily downstream. But now the water was still, with hardly a ripple to mar its crystalline surface. Jeff watched it sweep by, soothing the strange excitement that had gripped his soul for the past few days.

  He had returned to Oxford from London on a late train the night before and had slept deeply, exhausted from his days in the city. Awakening at dawn, he was still too stimulated, too excited to go back to sleep.

  Yesterday he had remained at the exhibit until the gallery guards had been forced to remind him that it was nearly closing time, and Jeff had had to tear himself away.

  He still found it hard to believe that the paintings of the pre-Raphaelite artists—Millais, Burne-Jones, and Holman Hunt—embodied so nearly his own dream pictures, images he had carried in his own imagination for years. They had been painted in such exquisite detail that he felt he could reach out and actually finger the velvet robes, touch the long, glorious wavy hair of the epic heroines, pick up the lush fruit, stroke the finely reproduced animals—the little sleeping dog, the doe with its slender legs and startled eyes—

  It had been almost a spiritual experience, he thought, if the heady rush he had felt could be described as spiritual—that urgent feeling that he must paint, that he would never know true completion, true happiness until he set on canvas the dreams of his heart.

  Painting was the answer to all that restlessness within him, that unsettledness that his mother and especially his stepfather, Rod Cameron, found so disturbing in him. All their suggestions for a choice of career, a plan for his future had fallen on deaf ears. He knew that subconsciously he had been listening for something else, another voice telling him: "This is the way, walk ye in it."

  Jeff was almost embarrassed to employ words from Scripture for the inner conviction he had felt while gazing rapturously at the paintings. He had not been very faithful about attending church since coming to Oxford. Even when visiting
his mother and Rod in Virginia on holiday, he had become lax about accompanying them to Sunday services. And only rarely did he attend the village church with the Devlins when he spent weekends at Birchfields with Aunt Garnet.

  But this feeling, conviction, vision—whatever one could call it—didn't seem to have anything to do with church services. Rather, it was a sensation of deep reverence. It was an inner knowing-as if Someone had told him—that he could paint. No, it was more than that. If ever he were to become the person he was supposed to be, all that his Creator meant for him to be, he must paint!

  The problem, Jeff realized, would be breaking the news to his mother and Rod that he was dropping out of the university, that instead of pursuing his architectural studies, he would be studying art. They would object, of course. Especially Rod. He would consider it—what—an unmanly profession? Well, it wouldn't be the first time Rod Cameron had disapproved of him. When staying at Cameron Hall, Jeff had always felt his stepfather's silent disapproval.

  It wasn't that he disliked Rod. It was just that the two men had practically nothing in common. Rod's interest was largely confined to horses. He raised thoroughbreds and hunters. In fact, Cameron Hall was known throughout Virginia and even beyond for its fine stable. To Rod, besides his wife and three small children, nothing else in the world seemed to matter. Perhaps Rod's own son, little Scott, wouldn't disappoint him as Jeff felt that he himself had.

  His mother, too, always seemed tense when he came to visit, anxious that her son would say or do something to upset Rod. Jeff shrugged. Sometimes Jeff felt that his mere existence was enough to upset his stepfather. And what could he do about it? He was a living reminder to Rod that his mother had loved another man, had borne his child.

  At least Rod obviously adored her. Jeff was happy about that and loved his little half brother and sisters. But Virginia wasn't home. He had come to accept that since returning to England after graduating from Brookdale Preparatory. England was home for him—not Cameron Hall in Virginia.

  Besides, his godparents, Edward and Lydia Ainsley, with whom he stayed when in London, were as close as any family could be. He knew they considered him almost a son, the child they had never had. Aunt Lydia especially would be interested and supportive of his new plan. He would have to tell her soon.

  Yes, he'd see his tutor tomorrow, tell him what he intended to do. He'd pack his things, find some place to live in London near the Royal Academy, see about enrolling for classes. There was a sense of relief now that he had made up his mind. He no longer felt troubled by a dozen imagined reasons why he shouldn't move on to satisfy the desire that had flamed into being after seeing the exhibit in London. He had the answer now. He knew what he had to do and how he would go about doing it.

  The sun was up. He felt it warm on his back. Knowing that his solitude would soon be intruded upon, Jeff turned reluctantly from the river, got back on his bike, and rode back to his his lodgings.

  Parking the bicycle in front, he took the stone steps to his upper apartment, two at a time. Unlocking his door, he went inside. On the table in the entryway, unnoticed the night before in his fatigue, he found a pile of envelopes. The top one bore a Virginia postmark and his mother's familiar handwriting. Before opening any of the other mail, Jeff tore open this one.

  A bank check fell out from the folds of the stationery. Searching for some explanation, his eyes raced down the sheets of paper with its neat lines of script. The check was for passage to Virginia when the present term ended. "We are all so anxious to see you and have you here for the summer," she had written.

  Jeff let out a low moan. For a moment he stood staring into space, then with a determined squaring of his shoulders he pocketed the check. He'd explain later, and they'd understand. At least, he sincerely hoped they would. But even if they didn't, it would be too late.

  He sifted through the rest of his mail, saw the one from Aunt Garnet Devlin, and ripped it open. It was an invitation to Birchfields for the following weekend.

  Good idea! he thought. He always enjoyed his visits in the country, and, of course, to see Faith. She was always great fun. He couldn't wait to share his plan with her. Faith always listened to him, sympathized, supported him—no matter what.

  And after the weekend . . . then his adventure would really begin.

  Part I

  The Adventure Begins

  England

  Summer 1892

  Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,

  Tis woman's whole existence.

  —Lord Byron

  chapter

  1

  Birchfields

  The Devlins' Country Home

  Outside London, England

  THE DINING ROOM at Birchfields was perhaps Garnet's favorite in all the large Tudor mansion. On this mild summer evening the French windows stood open, admitting a soft breeze fragrant with flowers from the garden. The long table set with the new china service gleamed in the glow of tall, lighted tapers in twisted silver candelabra, and the centerpiece of white tulips and blue delphinium pleased her especially.

  The menu, too, was superb—the jellied soup, the fresh sole in cream sauce, the petit pois, and parsleyed potatoes. Tomorrow she must be sure to compliment the cook.

  Her seating plan had been inspired, Garnet observed. Placing the young people on both sides of the table opposite each other and interspersing them with the rather staid older couples—the Edgertons, Jeremy's publisher and his wife, and the Vicar and Mrs. Bendey-Todd—had kept things lively. Even the vicar was laughing heartily at some amusing comment of Tom's.

  Yes, the entire weekend is going very well, she thought with satisfaction.

  Garnet's gaze roamed the length of the table, then lingered a moment longer on her daughter. Faith seemed to be enjoying herself tonight. She often didn't. Why the girl did not seem to derive much pleasure from social occasions, Garnet could not for the life of her understand. Her own life as a belle had been such fun, that is, until that dreadful War had come along and the love of her life, Malcolm Montrose, had brought home his Yankee bride!

  A burst of laughter brought Garnet back to the present, annoyed that she had not caught the remark that had prompted it.

  Although she tried to keep her mind on the flow of conversation during the dessert of fruit sorbet, Garnet subconsciously kept track of Neil Blanding. In her opinion, with his blond Viking good looks and courtly manners, his pleasant personality and keen intelligence, Neil would be an ideal husband for Faith. Not only that, his background and breeding were impeccable. Bearing one of the oldest names in the county, his family was among the wealthiest landowners. Furthermore, Neil was in line for a tide through his father's bachelor brother, Lord Blanding. Yes, in every way, Neil was Faith's best possibility for a prestigious marriage . . . if the foolish girl would only realize it!

  At the moment, however, Neil was involved in an animated conversation with pretty Lady Allison Ashford, who would be presented at Court with Faith later this summer. Garnet felt a pinch of irritation and frowned. Why wasn't Faith paying attention? Then, remembering that ladies over forty must take care not to cause any more lines than possible, Garnet quickly smoothed her brow.

  It was Allison's aunt, Lydia Ainsley, who was sponsoring Faith's presentation at Court. In fact, it was through Lydia's friendship with Blythe Montrose, now Garnet's sister-in-law, that this honor was being bestowed on Faith. Bother! Why did she have to think about Blythe now!

  Garnet knew that her old resentment of Blythe Montrose Cameron should have long since disappeared, especially since her marriage to Garnet's brother had given Rod at last this long-awaited happiness. But deep down she had to admit that it still rankled. After all, if Malcolm Montrose, Garnet's first love, had not met and married Blythe in California, he might have come home to her!

  Determinedly she directed her gaze to her husband, Jeremy Devlin—kind, patient, considerate. Hadn't he rescued her from a life of poverty and deprivation after the War and given her, i
nstead, everything she had lost and more? When she realized he was looking at her with a kind of questioning in his gray eyes, she favored him with one of her most dazzling smiles.

  Jeremy felt a familiar sensation in his heart as he returned his wife's smile. He had never ceased to be amazed at his own good fortune in persuading this woman to marry him. He often saw that confirmed in the admiring looks of other men as they followed her slim figure with their eyes, listened to her laugh, were captivated by her charm—

  Garnet might not be considered beautiful, he knew, but she had something far more valuable than mere beauty. She has a look that is distinctly her own, he mused. Her graceful carriage in the clothes she could now afford gave her a stunning appearance. And if there were a single gray hair in her reddish-blond hair, it had been dispensed with or skillfully disguised. The final effect was one in which Jeremy had always taken great pride. Yes, he was a lucky man indeed.

  Still, he knew, his wife could be manipulative, trying to maneuver people and events her way. Right now, noticing the tiny pucker on Garnet's forehead, he wondered just what she might be up to, and following her glance, saw that their daughter was listening with rapt attention to whatever Jeff Montrose was saying, while Neil Blanding and the young Ashford girl were chatting. So, that was it. Garnet was concerned about Faith's prospects, and Lady Allison posed a threat. He hoped Garnet wouldn't interfere. More than anything in the world, Jeremy wanted his daughter's happiness, and whichever young man would make her happy—

  Neil Blanding, having completed the inconsequential exchange with Allison, found his gaze traveling automatically to Faith Devlin. How lovely she looked in the candlelight. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved in an enchanting smile. Her whole face was alive and radiant. Maybe it had something to do with Jeff Montrose, who had monopolized her the whole evening, he thought with a flicker of irritation.

  Neil felt a pang that was part jealousy, part discouragement. He had known since it had been drummed into him as a teenager that it was his duty as the only son of his family to marry and continue the distinguished line, to ensure the title. He had assumed that his bride would come from the dozen or so young women in the small circle of tided families in his class.