"And this," she said as she admired the third, "is the inside of her green house, full of herbs and vegetables. She even grew a giant grape vine. I cannot remember having any sweet grapes, but she kept nurturing it. 'Someday' she told us, she'd have grapes good enough for wine!"
Del bit her lips together. "She passed away and Papa let it all go to weed. Bee tried to save it, but she was so young and hadn't the knowledge to do any good."
She put two fingers to her lips, put a kiss there then blessed his mouth with her fingertips. "Thank you for all three."
"You are very welcome."
She tipped her head. "Would you be angry if I asked if you'd mind that I share them?"
His grey eyes sparkled like the stars. "If you gave one to each of your sisters?"
"You knew I would want that?"
"I know who you are, my darling. Generous, enthusiastic, wise. I bought all three because to buy one would not have made the gift complete. Give Bee and Marjorie the ones they want. They are yours to give, my love."
She turned to him and kissed his cheek. But as he drew away, she saw he furled his brow.
"What's wrong? If you really don't think—"
"No. I want you to give one to Bee and one to Marjorie. It's another matter that I must discuss. It is—" He blew out a gust of air and rose from the bed. Putting his glass to a table top, he went to pick up his clothes and draw them on.
She waited, fear clamping round her heart and squeezing tight. Was he ill as well as injured? Was he to remain in the Army indefinitely? Was she to marry him and find herself alone at his home without him or direction how to administer the land?
He faced her, his eyes glassy with concern. "I have a letter from the French President of the Council to the Bourbon King Louis the Eighteenth that I am heir to an estate in the Loire River valley.”
“Neville!” She was blind with shock.
“I am invited by His Majesty and His Government and also by the tenants who work the lands of this domain to come without remuneration for the losses of the past two decades to take over the chateau, the fields, the orchards, the granaries, the vineyards and presses. In all, it amounts to five hundred hectares of land."
She rose to her knees, speechless, and went to stand before him and put her hands in his.
"Before I left Paris, I consulted a magistrate of the courts to investigate. I showed him the letter and it is true, that I have an official document of the Court of the Bourbons. This is no hoax."
He swallowed hard and looked into her eyes. "I've had my own solicitor in London trace my lineage and look into the legalities of this offer in regard to my English title. Indeed I am the descendent of a Frenchman who emigrated from the Loire to England. That man was the third son of the seigneur of this land. I suppose he did not expect to inherit anything from his sire and came to England to make a new life. Over time, he or his descendants earned favor with the English crown and he was granted the Bromley title and lands.
"I've told my commanding officer that I intend to resign my commission. I wanted to do that soon, but this matter makes my resignation more immediate. I have three weeks here, enough to—" He graced her with a tense smile. "Enough to come here and hope to marry you, then perhaps take you to my home in Timsbury. Then off back to Paris to formally resign, and finally south beyond Tours and this land they say is now mine.
"I don't know what to make of this, Del. I'm confused, torn. I've spent the last four years of my life vilifying Frenchmen, rallying my men to slaughter them, put them to a bayonet, drive them toward cannon and death. How can I possibly turn my cheek now? Lead them? Become their lord and master? That seems outrageous! A very bad joke on me and them!"
He found a chair and sat. His hands clasped, he shook his head.
She knelt before him and took his hands once more. This was an enormous challenge for him, a huge undertaking—and she rejoiced for him yet anticipated the dangers and the rewards. He winced and she waited, sensing he had more to tell her.
"My French is serviceable. I don't fear I'd miss too much with that. But what do I know of French crops, grain, grapes? What do I know of the new French administration or customs? With a lack of those, how good could I be? I'd want to be a help not a hindrance. And then there is the most important part of this. The part I fear."
She put her hand to his cheek and said, "My love, you've braved the wars as a foot soldier where fighting was man to man. Most fierce. Most dire. You are not afraid of anything."
He gave her a rueful smile. "You think so well of me. Yet I am a man with foibles and the dire need to see clearly what is asked of me in this matter."
"Neville, tell me all of it."
"I fear that this restoration, the old revolution, this nightmare that was France is not over. A few peasants have rioted in the south of France. None near this estate. And the magistrate I consulted informed me that the Valerie tenants have never rioted or plundered. The Valerie Chateau stands tall and as pristine as when it was built centuries ago. Still I fear the men and women could turn on us. That they'd come to tear you from me, I could not bear. That we could work to build a prosperous endeavor and they could come to destroy what we had built.
"So, you see, I have to be frank with you, Del. If you marry me, I would want you with me. I've lived too long without you to gain you and then leave you behind. But if you do not wish to come with me to France, I will not go."
She drew back to marvel at him. "You'd give this up for me?"
"Yes. In a moment. I have land, money, enough to keep us and our children in good style. I do not need this grant, Del, to make a fine life for us. I have the mansion in the country and Bromley House in London. You would want for nothing. Not a book, a hat, a painting, parties. Nothing."
"And you? What would you want for?" She knew, but she had to make him say it.
He blinked, appearing bewildered.
"What draws you to it?" she asked and rose to stand before him. "What made you inquire of the French magistrate? What drove you to ask your solicitor here to verify its legality?"
"At first? Curiosity."
"I see. And?"
He stared at her and after a time, nodded. "My need to know if I might meet the challenge."
She smiled at him. "And?"
He rose, supported by a hand to the arm of the chair. His grey eyes danced. "I do love a challenge."
She spread wide her hands. "And there you have it."
"I need your answer. I will not go, will not set foot upon the land if you won’t go with me."
"I think we must investigate this kind offer from our new allies the French King and his people, don't you?"
"You would leave England and your sisters with me?"
She went to embrace him. "To become your wife has been my fondest ambition. And after you marry me, I’ll stay by your side, sir, only to be parted by age and God."
He kissed her then, a joyful claim that had him clutching her close.
"Now," she said and drew back, "tell me, sir, what title comes with all this land and responsibility?"
"You will be the Comtesse de Valerie."
"Oh, I do approve of that." She shook back her hair and threw him a wicked look. "I will use my excellent French and lure my husband to my bed each night with naughty new suggestions."
"Ah," he bemoaned, "the things a man must do to please his wife."
Chapter 10
Del ushered him out the door with a kiss and a promise to see him in the breakfast room before all the party went to church.
Humming a happy tune, she parted the heavy damask drapes and sheer ivory curtains to consider the gardens and the path to the stables. Her first task this morning must be to go to her sisters' chambers to tell them of her decision to marry Neville.
Neither Bee nor Marjorie would be surprised—and both would be happy for her. Yet she worried that each might feel deserted by her. Especially now that she would be going to France, she hated to think they'd fear she’d aband
oned them. The three of them had always been close, but they'd banded tightly together these past few years. She would propose visits—and if Neville found he did not care for France, then she and he would return home to England and offer more than visits to support her older siblings. Of course, Bee and Marjorie would object to that as charity, too. But she’d find a way to help them. She must.
She pressed her forehead to the cool window glass and sighed.
A figure moved upon the path below. A thin layer of snow from the recent storm lay like a veil upon the land. The morning sun spread slowly over the lawns and the rays offered enough light for her to recognize a female figure in a navy riding habit scurrying toward the stable block. Behind her strode a man. A man?
She jumped back. That woman was Bee!
And the man?
She rushed from the room to the hall and Bee's chambers. She knocked but Bee didn’t answer. Del didn’t wait.
She pushed open the door and ran through.
She's not here. Not here!
Hoisting her nightdress higher, she flew to Marjorie's room.
"Marjorie, open the door!" Del rapped on the wood, calling to her sister through the frame, trying to be discreet. "Let me in! Quickly!"
Marjorie pulled open the door, traces of tears on her cheeks. "Dear me! What's the matter?"
"Come!" Del ignored her tears for the moment and rushed past her to tap a fingernail on the window. "Look! That's Bee. What's she doing?"
Marjorie peered down at the path. "Where are her riding boots?"
Exactly. "Why does she have on her evening slippers?"
"And why would she go riding so early on Christmas morning with—with— Del? Oh, Del. That's not Alastair."
"No. It's Hallerton!"
"Why?"
Del spun toward her sister. "I'll get Neville."
Marjorie grasped Del's wrist. "Neville?"
"He's up. I know it's—yes—odd that I do. But don't ask me now. I—" Del winced. "Oh, you'll learn soon enough. He was with me last night. Only just now returned to his room."
Marjorie's mouth fell open. "Yes. Well, it's...fine."
"It's...fine?" Del searched Marjorie's face, then touched her sister’s wet cheek. "You've been crying."
"That's unimportant right now."
"On the contrary," Del insisted. "Are you well?"
"Yes. Go. Get a dressing gown. I'll get mine. We must tell them all. Did you ring for Mary?"
"Not yet. I thought I was dreaming."
"You weren't." Marjorie yanked at the pull and grabbed her velvet morning robe.
Del raced to her room and within a minute, the two ran down the staircase toward the first floor.
"All the men," said a parlor maid who stood wide-eyed and frozen, "went that way."
They followed the girl's directions to the servants' back stairs.
"The men must know what's wrong," Del said as they dashed down the creaky narrow staircase. "Why is she with Hallerton?"
"We'll soon learn." Marjorie pushed past the swinging door into the hot kitchen. Cook stood, her hands white with flour, tears rolling down her plump red cheeks. "What did you see?"
"That gentleman has a pistol on Miss Belinda."
"No!" Del cried.
"Wait!" Marjorie picked up a broom and yanked the butter paddle from the churner. "Have this."
Off they went, scampering out the kitchen door, across the stone path to the stable block. Ahead ran a group of five or more men.
A shot pierced the air.
"Oh, no!" Del froze.
Marjorie groaned. "Bee. Oh, Bee."
Del grabbed her hand. "She can't be hurt."
Ahead of them the men, pistols drawn, broke into a run toward the entrance to the stables. Inside, a horse kicked walls and whinnied.
The men motioned to each other and divided into two groups. Among them were Griff and Alastair.
"Neville's there, too." Del pointed to him as he brought up the rear, hobbling along. "Fetched his cane."
"He did. Noble to help."
Neville turned around, alarm in his eyes as he spied them and urged them to stay back. Then he slid from his walking stick a thin shiny dagger—and stumbled toward the entrance to the stables.
But Hallerton emerged, hands up in surrender. Behind him strode Belinda pointing an old gun at his back. But Alastair soon relieved her of her pistol and took her in his arms. Neville came behind, his stiletto trained on the man.
Del and Marjorie broke into a run toward Bee, their heavy robes, nightgowns and hair flying.
"Are you all right?" Marjorie asked Bee who stood in the shelter of Alastair's embrace.
"Yes!" Bee looked from one to the other. She seemed shaken but somehow triumphant. Courageous Bee. "And you?"
"We will be," said Marjorie with a hug.
"And happy with whatever you deem best for yourself," Del assured her with a kiss to her cheek and a glance at Alastair who looked like he would not move nor ever let her go. "Look what you've risked for us. Life, limb. You must take your happiness. Seize it."
Del detected a resolution to Bee's and Alastair's romance. She had no idea how it had occurred but perhaps Bee might share that later. What mattered now was that her oldest sister must feel free of any need to provide for either Marjorie or her. Bee must be happy. Marjorie too.
Griff removed his frock coat, draped it over Marjorie's shoulders and put an arm around her waist. "Let's go into the house. Bee must talk with Alastair."
Neville approached Del and fished out a handkerchief to wipe at her fresh tears. Grinning, he pried the butter paddle from her stiff fingers. “I will relieve you of your weapon, darling. Come. You three can talk inside"
Trevelyan trained a pistol to Hallerton's back and hurried him toward the manor.
Griff indicated they'd all meet in a few minutes in the drawing room with his step-mother.
"How did you know to run outside to rescue Bee?" she asked him as he steered them past the others up the stairs.
"I'd just gotten to my room when Simms knocked on the door and told me to hurry. Your sister had been abducted by Lord Hallerton."
"Do you know why he'd do such thing?"
"Simms had a quick explanation that Hallerton and Carlson head the ring of smugglers that Bee identified. Hallerton, fool that he is, thought abducting her might end her investigation."
"Dear heavens. Desperate measures indeed. But—but wonderful that all of you men were quick to the rescue."
"I think Bee saved herself."
"She claims she's a good shot, but now I'm not so certain. Still—" She lifted one brow. "Fortuitous that when Simms called, you were"—she cleared her throat—"already dressed."
"Ahem. My state of half dress, I do believe, was no surprise to your butler."
She nodded. "The man does know everything."
Neville wrinkled a brow. "Not certain if that's a blessing or a curse."
"A blessing, I should think. I hope we find one as knowledgeable for our home."
"Ha!" he barked as he opened the door to the dark library. "Or as crafty."
"Adept at poems and Shakespeare?"
"Perhaps Molière, as well?" she offered.
"Plus a fine appreciation for discretion." He swept her inside. The cozy room was solemn, lined with shelves sagging with the weight of hundreds of old leather-bound volumes.
She laughed, then caught a whiff of a delicate fragrance. Jasmine? She lifted her nose in the air to inhale…perfume?
"Shall I speak with the vicar this morning about marrying us soon?"
"Say…tomorrow?" She offered, but at a sound, scanned the little library. In one shadowy corner, behind the wooden ladder, stood a tall man, his back to them, dressed in a Chinese red silk banyan.
Neville followed her line of sight, then cleared his throat. "I say there. Is that you, Tain?"
The broad-shouldered blond marquess did not turn, but stiffened. "You do indeed have me to rights, Bromley."
; Del swallowed a laugh. But that perfume was one she knew. She'd inhaled it quite recently. So who was that with Tain?
"You may come out, sir," Bromley entreated. “It appears we've all broken convention here.”
"No!" squeaked a female. "Not dressed like this!"
Neville grinned at Del. "Tain, you'll never hear a word from Del or me about discovering you here."
"Nonetheless, I think we will remain, thank you. Will you both be long?"
"No, sir. We've only to set a date to wed."
"Superb," said Tain as he attempted to nestle his companion into the secluded hollow of his arms. "And congratulations. I hope you won't think us rude."
"Never," sputtered Neville. "I hope you won't think us impertinent to invite you out."
"Absolutely not," came a woman's hot whisper from behind that broad back.
Lady Goddard?
"We are off, Tain. We've the vicar to consult." Neville led them to the hall. "Come, my love. Let’s leave them to their…um…reading?"
As they walked down the hall, Del pondered, "How many weddings do you think will come from this house party?"
He took her hand as they went in search of Del's Aunt Gertrude. "Shall we hope for a good dozen?"
Why not? "Aunt Gertrude will be delirious with her fame."
Epilogue
Chateau de Valerie
Val de Loire, France
March 25 1816
Del grinned at the news from Aunt Gertrude, refolded that lady’s latest letter and tucked it into her skirt pocket. When Neville returned from his meeting with the tenants in the barns, he’d laugh at what she’d tell him.
Happy, beyond what she’d imagined possible years ago when first she met Neville, she marveled at the peace she felt. Then she rose to the windows to gaze out upon the snow-covered gardens that rolled down to the rushing river.
Lifting a palm to the ten-foot-tall pane, she compared her hand to the delicate white snowflakes that fell upon the vast Valerie domain. The heavy lead glass and iron casements in the main hall of the thirty-two room Chateau de Valerie, dated from the reign of Francis the First. Del and Neville had known little of that monarch. To them he was simply the one who centuries ago had attempted to befriend their English King Henry the Eighth upon the Field of Gold near Calais.
The Viscount's Only Love: Christmas Belles, Book 2 Page 11