Master of His Fate

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  * * *

  James lay on top of her for a short while, enjoying the sense of satisfaction and fulfillment as he remained inside her. It was she who spoke first, and said against his chest, “I’ve never been made love to like this … my husband was not as sensual and erotic as you.”

  “Neither have I,” he answered, and this was true.

  He finally slid out of her and walked across the room, retrieved their brandy balloons. They cuddled together, sitting up on the sofa in front of the blazing fire, sipping the cognac, neither of them speaking.

  Georgiana put her glass down first, drew closer, and began to stroke him. Instantly his drink sat next to hers, and he was embracing her, kissing her hair, her face, her neck. Suddenly he stood, lifted her up in his arms, and carried her into the adjoining bedroom.

  As he laid her down on the bed and got in beside her, he drew her to him. Against her cheek, he said, “Now the really serious lovemaking starts, and I won’t stop until you tell me to.”

  “I don’t ever want you to stop,” was her answer as she gazed up into his incredibly blue eyes. “You can make love to me as much as you want.”

  And he did.

  Forty-seven

  When James descended from the railway carriage onto the platform in Hull, the first person he saw was William Venables hurrying toward him, waving, a huge smile on his face.

  James waved back and went to meet him, carrying his suitcase. As they came together, James dropped the case and the two men embraced.

  “I am so glad you could make it,” William said as they drew apart. “It’s been a long while since we’ve seen each other.”

  “I know, too long,” James replied, grimaced, and added, “My fault, I’m afraid, but the last six months have been well, sort of crazy, as far as work is concerned.”

  “Your grandmother told my mother that Mr. Malvern is keeping you very busy.”

  “That’s true, but I’m learning a lot and he’s actually a nice man, very fair.”

  “Good to know. I’ve got the carriage waiting. Papa is at the warehouse in town, and I said I would pick him up at five. He doesn’t know you’re coming to stay for Easter, so you’ll be a big surprise. Mama and I decided to keep your visit a secret.”

  A faint smile crossed James’s face as he fell into step with William. They hurried down the platform to the exit. It was Thursday, the April 18, 1889, and the next day would be Good Friday. Having been in Harrogate and Leeds checking the Malvern arcades, James had taken the opportunity to visit his relatives in Humberside, who were forever inviting him to come and stay.

  Griff, his great-uncle’s head driver, was standing outside the carriage, smoking a cigarette as they left the railway station. Immediately, he dropped the Woodbine and stamped it out when they arrived.

  After giving James a warm and cheerful greeting, Griff put the suitcase in the carriage, and the two men climbed inside. Within minutes, the horses were off at a good trot, heading toward the center of Hull.

  Once they had settled into their seats, William said, “It’s your birthday next month, James, do you have any special plans?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. Nobody does. I told my parents I didn’t want a fuss, just to have a family supper. I said the same to my grandparents as well. They spent a lot of money on my birthday last year, and it’s not right.” A grin spread across his face, and he exclaimed, “I can’t believe I’ll be nineteen. This past year seems to have flown.” He glanced at William. “Why did you ask about my birthday?”

  “I thought I would come up to town and spend a few days there, but if you’re busy with your family, I do understand.”

  “But you’re family, too. You can join us. Uncle Harry will be cooking in my mother’s kitchen, and you’ll enjoy his food. Uncle George will give you all the latest gossip running rampant on Fleet Street. You’ll have a bit of fun.”

  William was smiling and nodding. “I’d love to come. Maybe I could take you to see a play in the West End, as a birthday treat. I think Lillie Langtry might be in a new one.”

  “I’d like that, William. I’ll ask Uncle George what’s new, and if she’s in anything at the moment.”

  “So it’s settled then?”

  “Of course it is. It’s something to look forward to. When I tell my grandmother, she’ll be really chuffed.”

  It was not too far to the Venables warehouse. Soon the carriage was pulling up to the steps which led down into the yard where it stood on a lower level. It was brand new, built to replace the one which had collapsed after the storm.

  “Come on, James, come with me to pick up Papa. The men will be around and they’d like to see you; that I do know. You’ll always be their hero.”

  There was indeed a flurry of excitement when James walked into the warehouse with William. Within seconds they were flocking around the two of them. Joe, who had always revered James, was right in the front line, grinning from ear to ear.

  The noise, excitement, and cheering brought Clarence Venables out of his office, and when he spotted James he too was instantly filled with pleasure.

  Hurrying over, he cut his way through the workmen and went up to James, shook his hand, beaming. “What a surprise this is, and such a nice one.” He turned to his son. “I bet it was you and your mother who cooked this up,” he said, laughter bubbling.

  “Sort of, Papa. When James let me know he would be in Leeds, I suggested he pop over to spend Easter with us.”

  After some friendly bantering, a bit of chitchat with the men, Clarence said he would go and collect his things. He headed for the corridor leading to his office.

  A few minutes later they followed him. As they passed another office, the door opened suddenly. Standing there staring at them was Albert, a look of fury crossing his face when he realized James was with William.

  He rushed at him, glaring, and punched him hard in the stomach, hissing, “I’ll get you one day, you bastard! I swear to God I’ll get you, Falconer. You’ll be done for.”

  Albert was about to hit James again, but did not succeed. William, in a rage, stepped in between them. He grabbed hold of Albert and said, “You little twerp, get out of my way. And if you ever go so much as a yard near James, you’ll answer to me. And to Papa. You know what that means!” William swiped a finger across his own throat, and added, “Curtain time for you, you nasty bugger.”

  He pulled Albert into the office, let go of him, and left at once. Closing the door behind him, William noticed that James was holding his stomach. He hurried to him. “Are you all right? Did that idiot hurt you?”

  James swallowed and endeavored to straighten up. After a few minutes, he said in a strangled voice, “I’ll be fine. It was a hard punch, though. I hope he hasn’t broken my rib.”

  “So do I.” William took hold of James’s arm and they walked down to Clarence’s office. At one moment, William stopped, and said in a low voice, “Let’s keep this to ourselves. Papa will go mad if he finds out, and it’ll dominate the next few days.”

  “Silent as a mouse,” James murmured.

  * * *

  Much later that evening, long after they had enjoyed a relaxed evening together and then retired, James got out of bed and went to stand at the window. He stared out at the North Sea and realized how much he had missed this particular view. Earlier, when he had first arrived, his great-aunt had given him the picture she had painted for him.

  In the moonlight streaming in through the window, he could see it now, propped up in a chair. It was a marvelous painting, and he had told her he would treasure it always. And he would.

  He sighed to himself and went and sat in the other chair, thinking about Albert. The altercation had disturbed him more than he had let on. The man’s hatred did not frighten him, because he was not easily frightened by anyone or anything. On the other hand, a crazy, somewhat deranged man spelled danger to him because that kind of person was unpredictable. He must now be on guard when Albert was in the vicinity.
He was an enemy.

  His thoughts turned to Georgianna Ward. He had not seen her for months, since December, in fact. They had met for one more supper together, and then she had gone to the country to be with her sister Deanna in January.

  When a letter had arrived from her two weeks ago, he had been excited as he opened it, having recognized her handwriting. But her letter had been to tell him that she had put her house in London up for sale.

  She had moved permanently to the country, not only to be close to her sister, but for her own safety. The fogs had damaged her health, she had said. She could no longer live in the city. She had written how much their relationship had meant to her, how she would never forget him. She finished by wishing him well, forecasting that he would have a splendid life.

  And that was that.

  He had understood, but, nonetheless, he had realized he had now lost his only friend in London, and certainly a woman for whom he had enormous affection and respect.

  It was over. He had always known that it would be one day. The age difference and class difference were too disparate. Nevertheless, for all that, he would still miss her, his lovely Mrs. Ward.

  Forty-eight

  Alexis was seated in the arbor at Goldenhurst, relaxing, reading a fashion magazine. But she put it down after a few moments and sat back. Gazing around the garden she realized, yet again, how lovely it was on this balmy June afternoon. And peaceful.

  She smiled inwardly, remembering Sebastian’s words … listening to the silence. How happy she was she had started to come here, sometimes only for Saturday and Sunday. Sometimes for a whole week … And all of her visits were restorative, gave her comfort.

  She sighed to herself, thinking how resistant she had been at first. She had come back to London in March. Because she knew she could, in the sense that she was in better health and was functioning in her usual way, quite normally.

  She was not the same person, though. There was sadness deep inside, and she had become more reflective, but she had gone back to work, on a part-time basis. A few weeks after her return, she had started to see her dearest friends: Claudia and Cornelius, and Lord Reggie and Lady Jane, who mourned the loss of Sebastian as she did.

  In May, once she felt more settled, she had resumed her visits to Haven House in Whitechapel with Claudia, although not always on Wednesdays, but whenever she was in London and available. She also spent time with her father and had invited him to stay with her in Kent, which he had enjoyed. Mostly she came alone.

  Goldenhurst belonged to her! Lock, stock, and barrel, as Lord Reggie had termed it. There were moments now and then when she still couldn’t quite believe it, or how it had been done, with the utmost attention to the legal details. Sebastian had made sure there could be no misunderstandings about what he wanted on anybody’s part.

  Claudia had told her about Sebastian’s will and that he had left Goldenhurst to her. It was Lord Reggie who had given her the inside story, as he called it.

  According to Lord Reginald, on the day they had become engaged and Sebastian had given her the emerald engagement ring, he had written three letters. One to Reggie, another to his sister Thea, and a third to his solicitor.

  Each letter was more or less the same, if couched in certain language appropriate for the recipient. Basically, he had written that he had become engaged to her, given her an emerald engagement ring, and was the happiest man in the world. They would be married at the end of the summer.

  But then there had been an interesting statement. He had told the three of them that he was leaving Goldenhurst Farm, the other buildings on the 139 acres, plus the contents of the farmhouse, to his fiancée, Miss Alexis Malvern.

  In the letters he had told them that he would be visiting his solicitor as soon as he returned to London, that the bequest would be made there and then, included in his current will, and signed that very day.

  “But why did he leave it to me before we were married?” she had asked Lord Reggie.

  “Obviously he wanted you to have Goldenhurst whether you were married to him or not,” Reginald had answered. “He once told me that the girls weren’t really interested in it, that only you loved it the way he did.” Lord Reginald then confided, “You must understand that Sebastian could do whatever he wanted with Goldenhurst. He had bought it with his own money. It was not part of the Trevalian estate.”

  Lord Reginald had nodded his head vehemently, his voice firm. “He meant you to have it, married to him or not. And you must accept this bequest to honor him, to honor his wishes.”

  That day she had been hardly able to respond to Sebastian’s best friend, who had lately appointed himself her unofficial protector. Her heart had been full, and incipient tears had gleamed in her eyes. Reginald had then explained that Sebastian had also created a trust to pay for the maintenance of the farmhouse and the land throughout her lifetime.

  He had ended this conversation by saying he would go to Kent with her to pay her first visit to Goldenhurst if she so wished. If she needed the support.

  In the end, she had gone alone, not sure what her reactions would be. After the first few moments of warm greetings from Broadbent and Mrs. Bellamy, and a few tears shared, they had led her inside. Once in the house, she had experienced a sudden and unexpected lightness of spirit, a lift, even a little joy. She knew that his spirit was there. And later, when she went walking around the old farmhouse, looking in rooms and closets, he remained with her. Memories surrounded her. And they comforted her.

  It was in March that Lady Jane had given birth to identical twin boys, and everyone, including Jane herself, wondered how they would know which one was which. Their names were Sebastian and Keir, and Alexis had agreed to be godmother to Sebastian. She had attended the christenings of the twins and had been relaxed about it.

  Now, looking back to those early months, she admitted they had been made possible by Dr. Sigmund Freud. Her long stay of six months had been worth it.

  Slowly he had made her well, by urging her to face her grief, and every aspect of it, from sorrow and loss, anger and guilt, to acceptance that Sebastian was dead.

  There had been a lot of talking and mediation and even hypnosis, but eventually his treatments had brought her back to the real world. Aunt Thea had been her rock and had stayed with her in Vienna for the entire time.

  Her father had visited Vienna, and Claudia and Cornelius, too, and even Lavinia and Marietta had come. They had given her love and encouragement. And they had grieved together at times. She knew it was perfectly all right for her to grieve for Sebastian, because Dr. Freud had told her it was normal to miss him, long for him.

  It was because of the doctor that she had found the courage to do something else at the end of April. One sunny but cool morning she had asked Broadbent to make a bonfire in the place he normally used to burn leaves and dead branches in the autumn. He did so without asking why.

  As soon as the bonfire was aflame, Alexis had gone outside, carrying a large white box. Broadbent had hurried to meet her, taking it from her, and had asked what was in it.

  “My wedding gown,” she had told him. “It was made for him, for Mr. Sebastian … to see me in it … when I became his wife.” Her voice had wavered. “I have no use for it now. Throw it on the fire, Broadbent. Please.”

  He did so. There was sorrow in his eyes.

  Once the box and the gown had turned to ashes, Alexis had nodded, thanked Broadbent, and walked back up the hill to the farm. Relief flowed through her. It was gone as if it had never existed. A burden had been shed.

  Rising, leaving the arbor, and walking back to the blue garden, Alexis thought of Reginald and his reaction when she had told him about burning her wedding gown. For a moment or two she had seen the flash of shock on his face. Then he had nodded, understanding entering his eyes. “He didn’t see you in it … so it had to vanish. Like it never existed.”

  They had been walking up this very lawn. She had smiled and tucked her arm through his. “Thank you
, Reggie, for being who you are.”

  Jane and Reggie were coming to stay with her next weekend, and they would be bringing the babies, two nannies, Lady Jane’s maid, and Lord Reginald’s valet. Just the thought of all these people made Alexis walk much quicker. She must talk to Broadbent and Mrs. Bellamy again about that special occasion. They would need two additional chambermaids and an additional cook. There was planning to do.

  As she hurried on, these thoughts whirling in her head, she heard the sound of horses’ hooves and wheels rolling over gravel. Much to her surprise, it was her father’s carriage that was coming to a standstill at the front door.

  Forty-nine

  As Henry Malvern stepped out of his carriage, helped by his new driver, Armstrong, Alexis ran forward.

  “Papa, what a surprise to see you!”

  After smiling, embracing her, he said, “Don’t look so worried. I’m not here about Uncle Joshua. There’s no change in his condition. He’s still out of it. It was a major stroke, it seems … we have a business problem.”

  Staring at him, she asked swiftly, “What is it?”

  “Let us speak about it inside, my dear.”

  At this moment, Broadbent was hurrying toward them, and behind him, Mrs. Bellamy hovered on the front steps.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Broadbent said, inclining his head in his usual polite manner. “I’ll take your suitcase, Mr. Malvern, if I may?”

  “Yes, thank you, Broadbent.” Glancing at his driver, Mr. Malvern added, “Get off to the stable block, Armstrong, that’s a good chap. We’re staying the night. Attend to the horses, and Broadbent here will arrange your accommodations as usual.”