When a Stranger Loves Me (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  “You are correct,” she replied. “He does not. There is only one kind of plant that holds any interest for him and my father, and that is—”

  “The poppy,” Blake finished for her. He looked down at the emblem and realized that’s what it was. “Your brother is importing opium.”

  Elizabeth stared up at him with shame. “Do you remember learning this? Did you have proof?”

  “I don’t know. If I did, it’s lost now.”

  Then suddenly he remembered all the opium dens John had taken him to in the early days of their acquaintance, and how John had gambled like a man with bottomless pockets.

  That was why he had befriended John. He’d been seeking the truth...

  A great flood of dark and filthy memories rushed into Blake’s brain, and he remembered the effects of the drug. He remembered taking it in order to keep John from suspecting why he had befriended him.

  Then the doctor in Jersey gave it to him... No wonder he had been so enraged. He had never wanted to become an addict. Thank God he put a stop to it when he had.

  “This symbol I drew...” he said. “It identifies your father’s activities, does it not?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “He stamps it on all his correspondence, and his associates in France do the same. It is how they know a letter is legitimate.” She looked away. “John and my father must have known you discovered what they were doing. Although I believe at first they hoped you would join them. No doubt John realized eventually that you were too decent for that. He must have known you would blow a whistle, which is why he tried to harm you.”

  “It all makes sense now.”

  She stood and walked a short distance away. “I’ve had enough of my family’s corruption, Blake, and their overbearing ways. I can get the evidence to expose my father and brother, and I am going to do it. Finally. I cannot live like this any longer.”

  He stood up also. “It will cause a scandal.”

  “I don’t care. I will have my solicitor to protect me. I know that he will. He is a good man, like you.”

  Blake approached her. “What do you want to do, Elizabeth? About us.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I want to do what is right, and what we both want. You are too much of a gentleman to say it, Blake, so I will be the one. I wish to seek an annulment. I want to be with the man I love.”

  He took hold of her hand. “I am sorry for all this.”

  “It is not your fault.”

  “I wish you every happiness,” he said. “If there is ever anything you need...”

  “Thank you.” She covered his hand with her own and kissed it. “And I hardly need to wish you happiness,” she added with laughter, “for I suspect you have already found yours.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied, not entirely sure that his happiness would be an easy thing to recapture, for he had been cruel and forgiving toward Chelsea after that final night in Jersey, and she seemed determined to leave the palace and go home to her family, to reconcile with her mother, and be there for the birth of her brother’s first child.

  She was a strong and independent woman who did not tolerate mistreatment. That was what he loved most about her, he supposed. It was also the reason why his happiness was not yet assured.

  Chapter 29

  Blake had to resolve matters with John before he could see Chelsea and speak with her about the future. He explained to Devon what he remembered from the night of the accident—how his brother-in-law had stabbed him in his bunk and left him to drown when the boat took on water and turned over in the Channel.

  They sent for the magistrate before John could learn of Blake’s recovered memories, and when the man arrived with three constables in tow, Elizabeth was at hand to offer her testimony—evidence that would expose her father’s shady business dealings and ruin her family’s good name forever. She had the support of the Pembrokes behind her, however, and did not waver in doing the right thing. All she wanted was her freedom, and the young solicitor she loved with all her heart.

  A full two hours had passed since Blake had left Chelsea in the library, and when he returned, the room was empty, just as he expected it would be.

  Trying not to lose hope, he went immediately to her guest chamber, but that, too, was empty—though her clothes and belongings had not been removed, which eased his concerns to some degree. From this it could at least be construed that she had not already dashed off to the train station, determined to put this nightmare behind her, now that she knew she was not carrying his child.

  Blake stood for a moment in her room, looking at her bed and her belongings—the book on the table, the brush and the creams in little jars—and began to wonder if he had left his heart outside in the garden. His insides seemed vacant and terrified. Terrified that he had spoiled everything, and she would not forgive him for the way he had treated her back in Jersey. Even before he knew he had a wife, he had purposefully cut her out of his heart. He had taken her from her home and allowed her to wallow in her shame and uncertainty about the future.

  He wished he could go back and do it differently. But what she said earlier was true. No one could turn back time. One could only go forward and hopefully forgive.

  But he wanted so much more than forgiveness.

  He walked to the bed and picked up her pillow, raised it to his face and inhaled deeply. A maid entered just then with folded sheets in her arms. He set the pillow down.

  “Have you seen Lady Chelsea?” he asked. “I must speak with her about an urgent matter.”

  “She went for a walk, my lord. She took her notebook with her.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “No. Only that she wouldn’t get lost this time.”

  He went to the window and looked out, and had a sneaking suspicion he knew where she had gone.

  A short time later, after fetching Thatcher from the stables, Blake rode along the lakeside where he had met Chelsea the last time, after she fell and scraped her leg. But she would know her way around the lake this time, just as she had told the maid. She would not get lost again.

  Ducks quacked contentedly on the lake, and squirrels chattered in the treetops. A gentle breeze blew over the surface of the water, keeping the air cool.

  Blake saw no sign of Chelsea. Then suddenly he remembered something. He remembered. Chelsea had fallen down a hill. “A slippery mud slick,” she’d called it. He knew exactly where it was. There had been a tragedy there a few years ago. A woman died on that hill. She was Vincent’s fiancée. MaryAnn.

  Blake pulled Thatcher to a halt, stopped on the trail and thought back to the events of that day. His brother Devon had been responsible for the accident. He was with the young lady in the woods and was taking her back to the palace on horseback when they encountered the river of mud. The horse slipped and fell, and MaryAnn was killed.

  Devon and Vincent became enemies after a lifetime of friendship, and both had withdrawn from the family. Devon went to America and Vincent lost himself in the worst watering holes and whorehouses of London.

  Blake recalled that, for three years, he had run the estate on his own, while his father went slowly mad. Blake had given up his youth and freedom and buried his artistic desires for the sake of his family and the interests of the dukedom and palace.

  All of this explained the eruption of his passions in Jersey. He had once referred to himself as a volcano, and that’s exactly what he’d been. He had needed to break loose and celebrate his newfound freedom. Chelsea helped him let go of his frustrations. She brought him out of himself and revived the artist inside of him.

  All at once, something compelled him to reach into his pocket and withdraw the watch. For a moment he stared at the white face and black numerals, and then remembered something else.

  Yes, he remembered...

  His father, the duke, had given it to him
upon his graduation from Cambridge. It was a gift to celebrate his homecoming and the recommencement of his duties and obligations at the palace. Blake remembered vividly how his father had embraced him with pride, and how in that moment, he’d felt as if he were suffocating.

  In the very next instant, however, love had flowed through him like a great ocean wave. He had come home because his family needed him.

  Blake recalled the man his father had been in his younger days—vigorous, handsome, and dignified—and closed his hand over the watch. Holding it tight, he felt a swell of emotion in his heart. He would take care of this precious timepiece in the future, as he would also take care of his father.

  Urging his horse on again, Blake rounded the bend and saw her at last—Chelsea, standing on the crest of the hill where she had fallen before.

  He inhaled sharply. “Be careful!”

  But there was no need to warn her. She would be fine. She had fallen before but would not fall again. She was merely looking at the hill, perhaps assessing where she had gone wrong.

  She turned and spotted him. Blake stopped on the trail and waved. She waved back, then carefully picked her way down the safe side of the hill.

  “Were you looking for me?” she called out to him. “Did you find out what really happened with John on the boat?”

  Blake dismounted and tethered his horse to a branch, then walked to meet her. The sun was shining on her lovely face, and her hair glimmered like spun gold. She held her notebook at her side.

  “Did you have any luck writing today?” he asked, caring for nothing but her happiness.

  She glanced down at the book. “No. I confess I have tried many times, but I haven’t been able to write a word since we left Jersey.”

  He frowned. “Is it the palace? Have you been that unhappy? Does it crush your creativity?”

  It had certainly crushed his over the years.

  “No, it’s not that,” she replied. “It’s very beautiful here. But I...” She paused. “I cannot pretend that I have been happy here, Blake. You know it as well as I do. I’ve not been happy with myself. And today, after reading the letter from my mother, I feel more displaced than ever. I need to go home, start fresh with my family and put this experience behind me.”

  He bowed his head. “Because of me. Because of the way I made you feel.”

  She sighed. “When I came here with you, all I wanted was for you to forgive me, but it seemed hopeless. And then Elizabeth arrived, and it only made me feel worse about what I had done.”

  He shook his head. “It was wrong of me to blame you for what happened between us. I was as much a part of it as you. I desired you from the beginning, and I seduced you just as much as you seduced me.”

  She kept her eyes on his face.

  “Walk with me for a little while,” he said, offering his arm.

  Together, they strolled along the lakeside, breathing in the clean summer air and the fresh scent of all that was green.

  “Do you think, then,” she asked, “that you have forgiven me? I have not heard you say it, and I would like to go home knowing that you do not despise me. I once said that I wanted you to remember me fondly. I shall certainly remember you that way. I will never forget the time we spent together in Jersey. They were the most wonderful weeks of my life because they changed me as a person. I know now that I must take responsibility for my future and learn how to live, instead of just imagining and writing about a life of adventure for characters that do not really exist.”

  Blake placed his gloved hand over hers, which was resting on his arm. “And I have realized something, too,” he said. “I now know that life has not been easy for you. You have lived in exile on that island for seven years, and I believe that many of your passions have been repressed. I know it because I have experienced something similar myself. The only difference is that you used your art to keep yourself sane. I simply went a little mad.”

  She grinned up at him. “I thought it was your father who went mad.”

  “Oh, he’s definitely mad. Nuttier than a fruitcake, for all the world to see. At least I think he is. As for me...” He paused. “I went mad on the inside, but no one knew it. Not even me.”

  “Do you still feel that way?” she asked. “It can’t help matters when you are without your memories.”

  “But I have recovered some,” he told her. He went on to explain what he remembered about the woman who died not far from where they were walking, and he described the years of strife between his brothers, and the precious memory of receiving the watch from his father.

  “If you remember those things,” Chelsea said, “perhaps it is only a matter of time before you remember everything else. Are you pleased?”

  “Very.” Then he stopped on the path and took both her hands in his. “But there is so much more to celebrate, Chelsea. I must tell you what happened when I spoke to Elizabeth. It was true, what happened between John and me. He did try to kill me on the boat, and she knew why. Both her brother and father have been involved in an illegal opium trade and were using the Horticultural Society to disguise and hide their crimes. I sent for the magistrate, Elizabeth has exposed them, and John has been taken into custody.”

  Chelsea stopped on the path. “How incredible. But there will be a scandal.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “A gargantuan one. A scandal without equal, not to be surpassed.”

  She shook her head and chuckled, bewildered. “You seem to be taking this very lightly. What will happen? Elizabeth is your wife. John is your brother-in-law.”

  “Not for long,” he replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We are going to have the marriage annulled. Elizabeth never wanted it. She was in love with another man from the beginning, and I was only doing what had become my habit. I smothered my own needs and desires for the sake of duty and honor and responsibility to my family. And while I still value honor and the well-being of my family, and I wish to continue being a devoted son and brother, I must also be true to myself and seek my own happiness. I did that when I was in Jersey. I began to sketch again, and I let my heart run where it wanted to run.”

  “Into the world of your art?” she asked.

  “Yes, and into you.”

  She looked up at him with some caution. “What are you saying, Blake?”

  “I am saying that I love you.” He felt rather dizzy with excitement and dropped to one knee on the path. “Please forgive me if I am doing this clumsily. I am still married to another woman, and I have no ring to offer you, but I must make my feelings known. I love you. I cannot go on if I must give you up. You are everything to me. If it were not for you, I would still be that other man I was before I died and was reborn in that cave where you found me. I owe you my life. I owe you my happiness.” He looked up at her with pleading. “Please marry me, Chelsea. Marry me as soon as I am free to walk down the aisle with you. Bear my children. Be my wife. Forever, until death do us part.”

  Chelsea gave him a dazzling smile, and he found he could not breathe. He was so desperately in love, it hurt.

  “Do not speak of death,” she said. “Speak only of life. I, too, came alive when I found you. You rescued me from a world that was not real. I had forgotten what it is to connect with another person, to love another person. Yes, I will be your wife if you can weather the gossip about being married not only to a young woman with a reputation, but to a writer!”

  He laughed and stood up. “I wouldn’t want you any other way. So…is it yes, then? You will be my wife? You will forgive me, for if anyone should be asking for forgiveness today, Chelsea, it is I. I am so sorry for all that I have done wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” She reached up and took his face in her hands. “But it is the future that matters now, not the past. Although it is a blessing beyond words that you are remembering your past—finally. Everything is com
ing around right, and all I see in the days and years ahead of us is joy.”

  He pulled her close into his arms, pressed his lips to hers, and pondered the extraordinary truth that this beautiful, imperfect woman belonged to him and loved him. They were similar creatures with similar pasts, and therefore shared the same dreams. He would never lose her again. Not while he had breath in his body.

  Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her into the bushes and laid her down on the soft green grass to kiss her lovely eyelids, cheeks, and lips, and to listen to the birds and the ducks and the bees buzzing in the air—all the sweet sounds of nature, pure and true, surrounding him as he kissed her.

  Epilogue

  Jersey

  Summer 1875

  The sun was setting in great splashes of pink over the sea, while a glorious splendor of light outlined the thick, downy clouds that floated over the horizon. Blake, who was perched on a stool at the edge of the lawn—paintbrush in one hand, his palette in the other—reveled in the persistent call of the waves upon the rocks below, while he touched up the painting he had begun a few days before. Overhead, seagulls soared and dove down to the silvery surface of the water, and he watched them with the observant eye of an artist, noting the reflection of color and light upon their feathered wings.

  Not far away, Chelsea reclined on a teak lawn chair on the stone terrace. She, too, was listening to the call of the sea. Eyes closed, she ran her fingertips lightly back and forth over her swollen belly.

  “You must come and feel this!” she called out to him, opening her eyes suddenly and lifting her head off the chair.

  Blake set down his brush and palette, rose from the stool and walked across the lawn. He placed the flat of his hand on her belly.

  “Do you feel him?” she asked.

  “You say ‘him’ as if you are certain it’s a boy.”