Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 4)

by Vanessa Riley

  "The future," the duchess said as she yawned. "Send word as soon as Mrs. Norton is better. She will get better."

  Barrington nodded and as politely as he could, turned and flew up the treads. He pushed inside Amora's chamber.

  She was very pale lying in her bed.

  Mrs. Tomàs looked weepy and broken sitting by her daughter's side. "If I'd known that it was the Earl of Clanville who did this to her, I would've shot him five years ago. He sat at my table. Ate my pies. All the time a villain."

  Plodding close to the woman, he put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, shooting him now will be without charges. I talked to the magistrate. No one blames you for taking the runner's flintlock and shooting. I'm just glad you are a great shot. Go check on the vicar and then get a little sleep. I'll send for you if anything changes."

  "I can't move from her. I won't."

  Barrington wrenched at his neck. "But you sent me from the room?"

  Her brow raised as she cocked her head toward him. "Brooding is helping?"

  "I suppose it's not." He plodded to his side of the bed and sat next to Amora. He fingered her temples. "She's beautiful even when she sleeps."

  He stretched and reached for her pouch of notes. "If you can hear me, Amora, I think I'll read to you. For you are more than a conqueror. You are brilliant, and brave and free."

  Each piece of foolscap, he unfolded and refolded until he'd gone through the pile. Then he just watched her breathing and waited for another miracle. The girl who survived the monster couldn't disappear.

  He wasn't above begging God for another moment to hear Amora's laughter or to see her eyes light with a smile. The love of his life couldn't be gone.

  Amora opened one lid, then the other. Candles, many shapes and sizes, dripped wax from the sconces scattered about the room. Their glow reflected on the crisp white sheets. She wasn't at the Priory or any dark cell. A long sigh left her mouth. She'd awakened in her bedchamber at Mayfair. How?

  Too tired to figure things out, she soaked up the light and smoothed her stiff fingers on the cool bedclothes, the fluffy pillow on her stomach. The soft starchy smell of freshly laundered linens wrapped around her, comforting her bruised body.

  Mrs. Gretling must've cleaned things. Such a good woman.

  Not wanting to dwell on the emptiness in her heart, she moved her thumbs from the pillow. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could pretend this was just another horrid dream. But it felt true.

  Tears leaked out of her eyes, though she was too stiff to swipe at them. The Lord gives and takes away.

  An ache coursed the length of her legs and arms, ending at her heart. She stopped attempting to rise and laid still.

  Her head was light, but a vague memory of drinking fouled tea remained. Like a flash of lightning, another image took its place, the vision of Lord Clanville falling onto the floor. Was her monster dead?

  Not wanting to think of her abductor, of all he'd cost her, she pinched her eyes shut. Yet, the feeling of loss wouldn't go away. How would she and Barrington get on now? She'd failed this baby, too. "I'm sorry."

  A low snore filtered in her ear.

  She turned her hurting neck and spied Barrington sleeping in a Klismos chair, one from his study. His tailcoat hung in disarray, twisted and wrinkled on the chair back as if he'd just cast it aside.

  His head bobbled to a steady rhythm. He looked tired, with deep shadows beneath his eyes. The moonlight from the open window highlighted the silver threads in his dark hair. She counted more there than ever before.

  God knew best, even when bad things happened.

  Mouth dry, she strained and reached for a water goblet seated on the bed table.

  With clumsy movements, her fingertips made a tinkling sound on the glass rim.

  Alerted, Barrington stood to attention. His fists were drawn as if he were ready to pounce on anything or anyone amiss. "Amora! You're awake."

  He took the cup from her hand and moved it to her lips.

  A few sips of the precious liquid wet her tongue. Beads of moisture fell into her parched throat. With a final swallow, she patted the glass for him to raise it.

  Barrington settled it, then gazed at her. With his index finger, he stroked her chin.

  What could she say to him? He must be so grieved.

  "How do you feel, Amora?"

  She stared at him and batted wet eyes. Barrington knew this would happen.

  A frown swallowed his smile. "Are you distressed? In any pain?"

  "Forgive me, Barrington." Cries from her heart wrenched out of her mouth.

  With great care, he gathered her into his arms. Easing onto the mattress, he rocked her. "Sweetheart, I need you to calm."

  How could he be so kind? They'd lost another babe. Surely, his shirtsleeves would drip like a leaking pail from her ragged tears. "Forgive me."

  "For what? For being the bravest girl in the world."

  He fluffed a pillow and slipped it against the headboard. Smoothing her back, he pinned her against his warm chest. "It's done and you are safe."

  The edge in his voice was palatable. She'd try to obey this command. She let her limbs relax, crushed her cheek against his shoulder. "How is Vicar Wilson?"

  "The honorable man is down the hall. His daughter and Mrs. Tomàs are tending to him. He lost a lot of blood but he's going to live."

  "Samuel will be well." A little part of her heart lifted.

  A half-smirk filled Barrington's face. "Yes, he'll be able to flitter about you making me insanely jealous in no time."

  "Mama's fine too? The duchess?"

  He nodded and took her fingers to his lips. "Yes, both are. And, I'm grateful my mother-in-law is a great shot. How many son-in-laws can say that?" He sighed. "She ended this madness. James saw her aiming a flintlock through the window."

  The safety of Barrington's arms couldn't stop Amora's trembles. Her insides churned. He was being so kind, but his heart must be broken with this baby gone. "What do we do now?"

  He massaged her temples. "I'll have to go with Mrs. Tomàs to the magistrate's tomorrow, but under the circumstances... No charges should be made."

  "Don't avoid the obvious. When do we grieve? How do we do this together? We can't lose us too."

  Linking his palm with hers, he swept the union beneath the pillow to lie flat against her stomach. The weight of his heavy hand pressed her tiny one firmly against the soft chemise covering her middle. Fullness and a light flutter greeted her fingers. "You babble when you're tired."

  Then the low, loving tones of his voice encircled her. "We still have a chance at this babe. Maybe it is a girl in your tummy with a stubbornness to live like her mother."

  "Could be a boy with a hard head like his father."

  "Perhaps." He kissed her forehead. "After your laying in, we'll move back to Tomàs Manor. I'm going to open grandfather's lands and do something to the Priory. I want all your nightmares gone."

  With a soft kiss to the nape of her neck above the bandage, he glided his hands down her ribs, settling them on her abdomen. "Hudson and your mother with her herbs got you settled. Some rank mix of bark and laudanum, but your contractions weren't as bad as before. The blood loss was the problem. You've gotten stronger. Our love's been made stronger. God has not forgotten us."

  This time joy flowed from her eyes. She closed them, not wanting a happy droplet to spill. "Thank you, God, for taking my shame."

  "No, Amora. The shame is on the Charletons and Cynthia Miller for allowing this nightmare to continue."

  She covered his hand. "We should tell Sarah. The news will be good for her."

  "I've sent James with notes to Mr. Calloway and the Tantlins. All of England should rejoice that the Dark Walk Abductor is no more, but his victims should know first."

  He swiped at his eyes and tossed his spectacles to the bed table. "Amora, I love you so much."

  "I love you, too." She pulled at his powerful arms wanting him to enfold her within them as snuggly as possibl
e. A smile filled her lungs, bubbling onto her lips. God had restored their marriage.

  He nuzzled the edge of her brow. The soft whiskers from his unshaved chin tickled. "Thank God, for unveiling our love of all the secrets."

  Epilogue

  8 October, 1820, Clanville, England, Four months later

  The sun started its rise into the sky. Leaving before daybreak from Winchester was the right idea for Barrington. He sat back in his seat as the carriage sailed over the last bend. He tapped his knee and tried to stop fidgeting. It seemed like an eternity being away from Tomàs Manor.

  Would he catch Amora painting? Did she miss him as much as he missed her? His heart ached at the thought of not seeing any of her smiles. Even if his friend needed him, it wasn't enough to erase the pain of separating from his family. Everything he ever wanted was minutes away. God's greatest gift to man was a family's love.

  "N-norton, you don't look v-victorious." Gerald Miller reached over and tugged Barrington's sleeve. "You still have a perfect record."

  "Yes, I do." Barrington folded his arms, stilling his hands. "A perfect record of missing my wife, every day, every hour."

  He glimpsed at his best friend. The man was a little thinner, but he had all his faculties. And now he was free, cleared of all charges.

  "Miller, what will you do now? The tally of crimes has been wiped from your name. Will you join your sister in London?" The woman needed a chaperone of good character helping her.

  "I don't know. It's a w-wide w-world out there. I've missed enough of it. Maybe I'll go with Cynthia on a tour of Europe. The world hasn't heard her voice."

  Barrington nodded. Only Gerald's goodness could lead the witch back to a path of righteousness. Well, miracles did happen. "Well, if you run into trouble in London, my cousin Hudson will help you. I think he will settle there for a little while."

  Miller nodded, but Barrington knew the man had to stretch his wings. "The offer to be my steward still stands. I'm going to need someone I trust to help me oversee Tomàs Orchards."

  "I still can't picture you as a g-gentleman f-farmer."

  With a tug on his tailcoat and a dip of his hat, Barrington smirked. "You'd be surprised at what the love of a good woman can do."

  The rumble of the horse hooves finally quieted as the carriage stopped at the bottom of the path. Barrington didn't wait for James and leapt out the door.

  He pivoted to Gerald. "You may have to stay the night. I've got something to attend to with James."

  His friend nodded and held out a hand. "Thanks again, Norton. For everything."

  "The offer still stands. When you have the wanderlust out of your system, be my steward. I need good friends. Go on and walk my grandfather's land and the vastness of the Tomàs orchards. You'll see that there is room for you here."

  "We'll see. Got to make sure Cynthia's settled. She's given up her child long ago and now, her misguided love for you. She has nothing left but her voice and me." The rail thin man started humming and walked toward the apple trees.

  James pulled Barrington's bag out of the back basket of the landau. "Here you go, sir. It will only take me a minute to change the horses. Where's Mr. Miller going? I thought he was heading back to London."

  "Your work is done today." Barrington reached into his pocket and offered his man a folded letter. "This is for you."

  The wind picked up, fluttering the parchment with his fingers. The thing almost caught flight, but Barrington clamped it down underneath his thumb.

  With widened brown eyes, James reached for it. But, he wouldn't take the paper. "The wax crest. It's the Navy's. What is this?"

  Barrington pointed his boot into a patch of thick grass and pressed down the blades. How to tell his loyal friend the worst?

  James stood up straight, tugged on his deep blue livery. "Out with it, sir. The best medicine is a swift kick."

  "The Admiralty responded to my inquiry about your son. The young man fought bravely in the battle of New Orleans, but his ship sunk for damages. He died saving a fellow landsman, another man impressed in to service with him."

  Slowly, James took the paper and rolled it within his palms. "I thought as much..." His deep voice softened to whispers. "He didn't come back when the wars ended."

  Barrington bowed his head. "Know he was a hero. Maybe there is comfort in that."

  A deep swallow shook the set of James's strong jaw. "It's good to know. Thank you, sir. You solved one no for me."

  His man turned back and started to climb atop the carriage. "James, don't return to work. Go, end your day."

  James swiped at his eye. "No. The rushing air will do me good." His head lowered.

  Barrington clasped his shoulder. "Not this time. Go head over to your quarters. Work will be here tomorrow. That's an order, my good man."

  "Yes, sir." His man trudged up the hill and disappeared into Tomàs Manor.

  A long sigh left Barrington. The news should have been better for such an excellent man. Family was a miracle. Head shaking, he climbed up and took the reins from the footman. The sooner the landau was stowed in the carriage house, the sooner Barrington could enjoy his blessings.

  Stretching, Barrington bounced up the portico of Tomàs Manor. The vicar's dark boots balanced on the snowy rail.

  "Morning, Mr. Norton." Wilson waved. "Good to have you back."

  Leaning against a whitewashed post, Barrington shook his head. "I know I owe you, but don't you think it's about time you found a wife of your own so we can stop sharing?"

  "I'm quite satisfied with God's groupings." With a handkerchief, Wilson brushed at the crumbs filling his face. "How did things go with Miller?"

  "He's been freed. The prosecution merely read the charges as a formality. Charleton testified to his brother's guilt."

  A sigh left the vicar's mouth. "Wonderful." The fellow smiled even as he leaned back into his chair. "I can breathe easier with the abductor's threats no longer dangling over our family."

  "Our?" Barrington pulled off his gloves.

  "I think my cousin knew. To know or suspect evil and do nothing is the worst. Playfair should've done better."

  Barrington shrugged. "It's over, no time to condemn or convict the dead. Too much living to do."

  Wilson brushed at a final crumb, one caught in the crease of his mouth. "Your workmen have broken open the Priory. Light now spills in every chamber."

  Whipping off his top hat, Barrington stood up straight. "Good. Maybe it's time for Amora to visit it."

  A frown leapt to the vicar's face as he stretched in the caned chair. "Are you sure?"

  His heart didn't fear the feisty woman losing strength, not any more. "If she thinks she's ready, I will support her."

  Mrs. Tomàs opened the door and brought a service of hot coffee out to the portico. "Oh, Samuel! My daughter, Regina, responded. We might be able to make amends too. I hope she allows a visit with her and her son in the spring." She swiped her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Norton. You've returned early."

  "Can't bear to be away, ma'am." Barrington whipped off his hat and stuffed his gloves inside. "Where are they?"

  "Neither, the baby nor Amora has awakened. I'll go--"

  "No, Mrs. Tomàs." He stepped close and kissed her cheek. "Allow me."

  The quiet of the house disappeared as a tiny cry met his ears. Hastening, he climbed the stairs and marched into the nursery. "There, there, Tomàs." He swaddled the boy and snuggled him in his arms. "Your proud Papa is here."

  With dark blue eyes peering at Barrington, the babe suckled a bone button on his waistcoat. Sweet lilac wafted from the tuft of raven hair glued to the boy's head.

  Barrington tickled the babe's face. "Have you missed me?"

  The child suckled his thumb, but his soft cries started again.

  "Let's go to your mother. She won't let a wet-nurse near you, so she has to make your tummy full."

  On tiptoes, he plodded down the hall and eased into Amora's room. Her mural now stretched everywhere. The final s
ection showed a woman smiling, holding a baby in her arms and a little one toddling by her hem. A man in spectacles gave chase. So life-like, so loving.

  Wait. Another baby. He released a full sigh from his nostrils. It was just paint. Happy, wondrous paint. Oh, to imagine the colors. He was thankful for what he had, but if the Lord blessed…

  Tomàs wiggled his arms and yanked on Barrington's cravat.

  "Let's wake your mother with kisses." He cooed at Tomàs. "Come on, son."

  He moved to the bed, pulled back the sheer curtains.

  The mattress lay empty.

  His heart crashed into his chest. Amora wasn't there. Was she out walking? He hadn't seen her when he talked with James.

  Puzzled, he edged to the window. "Let's see if Mama has slipped away to the orchards." Upon reaching the other side of the poster bed, he found his wife. She lay curled on the floor. A lone candle by her head.

  His heart went to his throat. Would she be ever haunted?

  He stroked his son's chin. Thank goodness the Lord gave Amora the daily strength to manage.

  And He gave Barrington patience. For he needed it to keep Amora focused on their future.

  Balancing the child in one hand, he leaned down and doused the flame. "Amora."

  Kneeling beside his wife, he offered a light stroke to her cheek. That brought life to her violet eyes.

  She sat up and craned her neck back and forth. "You're home. I'm so glad."

  Tomàs wiggled as if to drop into her arms. Reaching, his little hand fisted around one of her curls.

  "Yes, you know I can't bear even a minute apart from you two." He kissed her cold brow.

  Her cheeks darkened as she pulled at her snowy chemise. Her breath quickened. "I shouldn't be on the floor. I don't know why--"

  "Be at ease." He leaned in close and stole a short, sweet kiss. "I love your new paintings. Was I gone just two weeks?"

  Prying open her son's chubby digits, she freed her tendril. "You've freed Mr. Miller?"

  "Yes." Barrington scooped her up to the mattress and lowered Tomàs to her bosom. The sight of their son's brown face and dark hair against her tan skin made his chest feel full.