Читать книгу Historical Romance – The Best Of The Year - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 40

Chapter Thirteen

The first flakes of snow were falling from leaden skies when Gideon returned to Rotham. It was Christmas Eve and he had been fretting for days about the delays that had kept him in London. The baby—his baby—was due at any time and he was anxious to be with his wife. Since he had left her at the end of October their letters to each other had become even more frequent. When she wrote to tell him Gwen and Ribblestone were now at Fairlawns and that they visited almost every day, for the first time in his life he found himself envious of his sister.

At last the old house was before him, the windows glowing with candlelight as the short winter’s day drew to a close. Leaving Sam to take the curricle to the stables, he jumped down and ran quickly indoors, only to stop in amazement when he reached the great hall. He placed his hands on his hips and gazed about him, a laugh trembling on his lips. After the harvest supper he should have expected something of this sort. The hall glowed with the golden light of the fire blazing in the huge stone fireplace. Swathes of greenery—holly, mistletoe and ivy—decorated the walls and trailed from the minstrels’ gallery.

A discreet cough brought his attention to the butler, who was descending the stairs towards him.

‘Well, Colne, it has been some years since we last saw the hall like this.’

‘Quite so, sir. Mrs Albury was anxious to keep up the tradition.’

He grinned.

‘Of course. Where is she, in the drawing room?’

‘No, sir. She—’

He was interrupted by a shriek and Gideon saw his sister flying down the stairs towards him.

‘Gideon! We did not expect you until tomorrow at the earliest.’

‘I cancelled my appointments.’ He caught her hands, saying urgently, ‘Where is Nicky...the baby?’

Gwen nodded.

‘She is in her room and Mrs Rainault is with her. Doctor Bolton has been called.’

Gideon felt a cold hand clutching at his insides.

‘Something is wrong?’

‘No, no, only it is her first time and that makes one anxious. Go up and see her, if you like, and then you can wait with Papa, who is so nervous he cannot sit still.’

‘That is not surprising,’ muttered Gideon, ‘when you think of Mama—’

Gwen gave him a little shake.

‘Dominique is not Mama, Gideon. Doctor Bolton has every expectation that all will be well.’

Gideon took the stairs two at a time as he ran up to Nicky’s bedchamber, where he found her pacing the floor. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and she was very pale, almost ethereal in her white nightgown, but she smiled when she saw him.

‘I was praying you would be here.’

‘So the baby is coming?’

She put her hands around her belly and nodded.

‘Mama says it may be some time yet.’

He had not noticed Mrs Rainault, sitting by the fire with her embroidery in her lap, and he belatedly made a bow towards her. His first impressions had been of a rather absent-minded woman, pins falling from her hair and quite careless of her appearance, but since coming to Rotham she seemed to have become much more sensible and was now quietly devoted to her daughter’s well-being. He was somewhat reassured by her calm tone when she addressed him.

‘This first stage might go on for hours.’

‘Then I shall stay and keep you company.’

Nicky took his hands. ‘I would rather you dined with Lord Rotham. He is so anxious I fear he will not eat anything if he is alone.’

He pulled her into his arms and rested his head against her dusky curls. It felt so natural, so right, that he wondered why he had not done so more often.

‘I am more anxious about you.’

‘Thank you, but you need not be.’ She relaxed against him and he could feel the hard swell of her belly pressing against him until she pushed herself free, saying with a little smile, ‘Go now and look after your father. I have Mama here and the doctor is on his way. I shall do very well.’

It took some time to persuade him, but at last Gideon went off, promising to come back as soon as he had dined. He found Gwen and the viscount in the drawing room, sitting on each side of the fire. Lord Rotham looked up as he entered.

‘Well?’

He said, as cheerfully as he could, ‘I am told there may be no news for hours, perhaps nothing until the morning. My wife is anxious that we should eat.’

‘Of course you should,’ said Gwen, rising and drawing on her gloves. ‘You may be keeping this vigil all night and it will do you no good to go hungry.’

‘You are not staying?’

‘I must go back to Fairlawns.’ Gideon’s brows rose and she added in an airy tone, ‘Not that Anthony will be anxious for me, of course, but he will want to know how things go on here. Send word as soon as there is news, or if you have need of me.’ She kissed her father’s cheek, adjured Gideon not to worry and sailed out just as Colne appeared to announce dinner.

* * *

They sat down at the table in the oak parlour, Gideon commenting that the chamber was so much more comfortable in the winter than the cavernous dining room.

‘One of your wife’s many suggestions.’ The viscount gave a little smile. ‘She has transformed Rotham, Gideon. She made me see how reclusive I had become.’ He looked at his plate. ‘I do not like to eat while she is...’

Gideon, too, was anxious, but he helped himself from the dishes before him and pushed one of them towards his father.

‘Try a little chicken, sir. It could be a long night.’

With a shrug the viscount took a few slices on to his plate, but he ate sparingly.

‘Childbirth is a dangerous time, my son. I cannot help but worry.’

‘Doctor Bolton is a good man. He delivered Gwen’s children quite safely.’ Gideon tried to calm his own fears but Nicky was so small and delicate that it was not easy.

* * *

After dinner Gideon and his father retired to the drawing room. They were informed that Dr Bolton was even now with his patient, so there was nothing they could do but wait. They indulged in a half-hearted game of backgammon and were just setting up the board for another game when the doctor came in.

‘Everything looks to be as it should,’ he announced cheerfully, accepting a glass of brandy from Gideon. ‘Mrs Albury would not have the month nurse here earlier, but I have brought her now. Mrs Moss is very experienced in these matters and Mrs Albury also has her mother to look after her. There is nothing for me to do at present, so I will call again in the morning.’ He drained his glass and set it down. ‘I suggest that you both get some sleep. The child will come in its own time.’

‘May I see her?’ asked Gideon.

The doctor shrugged.

‘Of course, but do not expect a warm welcome—the birthing chamber is the women’s domain.’

Gideon went immediately to his wife’s room. She had been persuaded to lie down and, despite the nurse’s less-than-friendly look, Nicky held her hand out to him.

‘The pains come and go,’ she told him. ‘It is quite natural, isn’t it, Mrs Moss?’

The nurse had retreated to a chair by the fire and was sucking contentedly on her pipe.

‘Aye, lass, you’ve nothing to fret about, particularly with your mother and me to look after you.’

Gideon sat with Nicky until her eyelids began to droop. When he was sure she was asleep he returned to the drawing room, where he found his father sitting in his chair, his eyes on the dancing flames of the fire.

‘Father, why do you not go to bed? You can do no good here.’

The viscount raised his eyes to meet Gideon’s.

‘Are you going to retire?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Then I shall keep the vigil with you, if I may?’

‘Of course.’ Gideon took the chair opposite. ‘I shall be glad of your company.’

Nodding, the viscount rang for another bottle of brandy to help them through the long night.

‘I did not anticipate I should approve your wife, Gideon, given her birth and the circumstances of your marriage, but I do. In fact, I have grown extremely fond of her. She has made herself indispensable here. Not that she ever puts herself forwards,’ he added quickly. ‘She behaves just as she ought and yet, one cannot ignore her.’

‘No, indeed, sir.’ A smile tugged at Gideon’s mouth.

The viscount said quietly, ‘I could not have chosen better for you.’ He shrugged. ‘So her father was French—are we to hold that against her? Your aunt fell in love with a Frenchman, after all.’

‘And paid the price for it.’ Gideon shifted uncomfortably. ‘And my brother, too—’

Lord Rotham put up a hand.

‘It is time we put that behind us. However, what I cannot forget is my wife’s demise.’ He said earnestly, ‘Dominique may be strong, but too many babies will wear her out, Gideon. If you are prey to carnal lusts, then take a mistress, but for God’s sake leave your wife alone, or risk losing her, as I lost your mother.’

* * *

They fell silent. It was not the first time the viscount had told Gideon that a surfeit of love had killed Lady Rotham, that he had been unable to control his passion. Well, that would not be a problem in this case: Gideon did not love Nicky.

Even as the thought entered his head Gideon realised it was a lie. There had been plenty of passion on their wedding night, but since then he had tried to deny that he felt anything for his wife save animosity for her French connections. Now, however, as the clock ticked away the minutes and the night slid quietly and coldly into Christmas Day, he realised how much Nicky meant to him. He wondered what he would do if he lost her, if she died before he could tell her how much he loved her.

* * *

The cushions that Dominique had added to the drawing-room chairs made it possible for the two men to slumber fitfully until the grey light of a new winter’s day filtered through the window. The fire had burned down and Gideon was becoming aware of the uncomfortable chill around his legs when the opening of the drawing-room door brought him fully awake with a jerk.

The butler stood in the doorway, clearly having difficulty in maintaining his impassive countenance.

‘Yes, Colne, what is it?’

The elderly butler drew himself up and announced in a voice that shook slightly, ‘Sir—my lord, Mrs Albury’s maid has just come downstairs and told us that her mistress has been delivered of a healthy baby. A boy, my lord.’

‘And Mrs Albury?’ Gideon held his breath.

A smile split the old servant’s face.

‘She is well, sir.’

Without another word Gideon sprang out of his chair and raced up the stairs, reaching the landing just as Mrs Moss appeared, her arms full of bedsheets. The woman grinned at him.

‘You’ll be wantin’ to see yer new son, I’ll be bound.’

‘And my wife.’

‘Aye, well, she’s exhausted, but no doubt she’ll be pleased to see you. We’ve just cleaned her up and the babe, so in you go.’

Quietly Gideon entered the room. Mrs Rainault was standing by the bed, a small snuffling bundle in her arms. She smiled.

‘Come and meet your new son, sir.’

Gideon glanced at the red-faced scrap, but quickly turned his attention to the bed where Nicky lay back against the pillows, her eyes closed. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand. It was limp and cool in his grasp, but she gave his fingers a slight squeeze.

‘We have a son, Gideon. Are you pleased?’

‘Delighted.’ He smiled down at her. ‘But even more pleased that you are well, Dominique.’

Through the fog of exhaustion Dominique noted his use of her name—the first time since their wedding night. With a satisfied smile she slipped away into a deep sleep.

* * *

Dominique’s insistence that old traditions should be revived made Christmas at Rotham more festive than any Gideon could remember since his childhood, but it was the birth of young Master Albury that gave the celebrations an added edge. Mother and baby continued to thrive under the watchful care of Mrs Rainault and the month nurse, and Lord Rotham ordered that Colne should treat the servants to a few bottles of his best claret to toast the health of his new grandson, James Jerome Albury.

With each day the viscount became more cheerful, never more so than on the first evening that Dominique was well enough to come downstairs for dinner. She took her place opposite her mother, while Gideon and his father sat at each end of the small table in the oak parlour. Conversation was desultory, until the covers were removed and Mrs Rainault announced that she should be thinking of returning to Martlesham.

‘I have rather neglected my letter writing since being here with you,’ she told Dominique, when she protested.

‘Surely you can write your letters anywhere,’ remarked the viscount.

‘Why, yes, my lord, but I have taken advantage of your hospitality long enough.’

The viscount sat back and steepled his long fingers together.

‘I wonder, ma’am, if you might consider moving to Rotham? I own a small house in the village that is empty at present.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I would like to help you in your efforts to find out what has happened to your husband—Gideon has told me of your quest, ma’am, and Lord Martlesham’s—er—reluctance to help you.’

Dominique looked up. ‘I believe he discarded Mama’s letters, rather than frank them.’

The viscount frowned. ‘That would not happen at Rotham, I assure you.’

‘But we must not raise false hopes,’ said Gideon quickly. ‘Our lawyer in London has been looking into the case, but we have had no luck at all.’

‘Rogers is a good man,’ said the viscount. ‘I am sure he has gone through all the official channels.’

‘I believe so, my lord.’ Dominique sighed.

‘I, on the other hand,’ he murmured, ‘will go through rather more—unofficial channels.’

Dominique stared at the viscount. He was sipping his wine, that disturbing twinkle in his eyes.

‘Would you do that for me, my lord? For Jerome?’ Mrs Rainault gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘I beg your pardon, but I know—that is, I am aware—that you have no cause to think kindly of any Girondin.’

‘Dominique has told me your husband advocated moderation. I understand he gave up the chance to come to England with you because he wanted to save his king.’

‘That is true, my lord, but we have heard nothing for so many years.’

He smiled. ‘Let me see what I can do for you, Mrs Rainault.’

* * *

By the end of the evening it had all been arranged. Mrs Rainault would remain as the viscount’s guest until her maid had returned from Martlesham with her belongings.

‘I am amazed and so grateful for your father’s kindness,’ exclaimed Dominique, when Gideon escorted her upstairs later that evening. ‘Especially when he has as little cause to like the French as—’ She broke off, flushing.

‘As I have,’ he finished for her. ‘I beg your pardon, Dominique. I treated you very badly when we first met.’

His use of her name again brought a flush of pleasure to her cheek.

‘But the provocation was very great,’ she admitted.

‘True, but I should not have reacted as I did.’ He stopped on the stairs and turned to her. ‘Can you forgive me, my dear?’

Forgive him for marrying her? For making her fall in love with him?

‘There is nothing to forgive.’

He kissed her hand.

‘You are too good,’ he told her, moving on. ‘It is no wonder that my father wants to do all he can to help you and your mother.’

‘Just to have someone supporting her has made Maman so very happy.’

‘And what of you?’ he asked her.

‘I would just like to know the truth. It has been so long and we have heard nothing.’

He put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm.

‘If anyone can find the truth it is my father. Although he has lived retired for the past decade, he is not without influence.’ They had reached the door of her bedchamber and he stopped, leaning down to kiss her cheek. ‘Sleep well, my dear.’

* * *

It was the end of March when Gideon took his wife and child to Chalcots. Thomas ran out to open the carriage door, puffing out his chest to show off his new butler’s livery.

‘Welcome, Mr Albury, ma’am.’

Silently Gideon jumped out and helped Dominique to alight, leaving Thomas to assist the maid who was following with the baby. Just when he thought he could wait no longer for her opinion of their new home, Dominique squeezed his arm.

‘Oh, Gideon, it is lovely.’

He grinned and realised how anxious he had been for her to like the house.

‘I hope I have followed all the suggestions you sent me in your letters.’ He took her hand. ‘Come in out of the cold.’

‘Everything is ready for you, sir,’ said Thomas when they reached the hall. ‘There is a good fire in the drawing room and Mrs Thomas has set out wine and cakes, too.’

‘Perhaps you would prefer to rest first,’ suggested Gideon as he lifted her travelling cloak from her shoulders and handed it to the waiting footman.

Dominique did not answer immediately, for she was issuing instructions to the maid to take Baby James upstairs. Then, tentatively, she took his hand.

‘May we look around first? I am not in the least tired, I assure you. Now that I have a wet nurse to feed little James I no longer have to coddle myself so.’

‘It is not only for our son that I wish you to look after yourself.’

Dominique’s heart swelled with happiness at his words. She hoped, now they had a home of their own, that he might share her bed again and that his professed affection might blossom into love.

* * *

The house was everything Dominique had imagined. The reception rooms were light and elegant, the nursery perfect for a growing family. For her family. Word soon spread that the Alburys were at Chalcots and the invitations began to arrive, a trickle at first, but after Mrs Albury’s Court presentation they became a flood. She was delighted that Gideon insisted upon accompanying her to all the balls, parties and receptions, especially when they met Max at so many of the assemblies.

‘He is furious to see us so content,’ remarked Gideon as they drove back to Chalcots after one particularly pleasant evening. He patted her hand. ‘I cannot thank him enough for providing me with the perfect wife.’

‘Am I?’ murmured Dominique. ‘Do you really think me so perfect?’

‘Why, yes.’ Gideon lifted her hand to his lips. ‘I could not wish for a better.’

She said daringly, ‘You do not d-demonstrate it.’

There was an infinitesimal pause before he said lightly, ‘Faith, madam, I spend every day with you, is that not enough?’

No, I want you with me every night, too!

The words were loud enough in her head, but she could not bring herself to say them, afraid to see his warm looks turn to revulsion when she disclosed her wanton desire for him. She tried to convince herself Gideon was afraid for her, that he was trying to protect her, but when she looked in the mirror each morning a tiny demon in her head whispered that she was not the fair English rose he desired.

* * *

Dominique kept herself busy, dividing her time between the baby and the round of social calls that fell to her lot. There was no lack of visitors, but she was especially pleased to see her sister-in-law, who called often.

‘I can never see enough of my little nephew,’ Gwen explained as they enjoyed a glass of ratafia in the morning room after visiting the nursery. ‘I sometimes wish that we had more than just the two boys.’ She looked a little wistful, but the next moment the shadow was gone and she said brightly, ‘And how do you like Chalcots? Is it not too far from all the amusements?’

‘Oh, no, it is but a half-hour carriage ride to town and it is far better for the baby to be away from the dirt and smoke of London.’

Gwen’s eyes lifted to the mantelpiece.

‘I see you have an invitation to Grayson House tonight. Do say you will be there, Lady Grayson’s soirées are always delightful.’

‘Is Ribblestone going with you?’

Gwen avoided her eyes. ‘Oh, he will be at the House,’ she said airily. ‘Cecil Hatfield is escorting me.’

‘Really? I thought Sir Desmond Arndale—’

She was interrupted by Gwen’s brittle laugh.

‘Heavens, I have no particular gentleman friend. Goodness me, Dominique, that would set tongues wagging.’

Dominique was tempted to say that tongues already wagged, but she stayed silent.

‘And talking of gentlemen,’ Gwen continued, ‘where is Gideon today?’

‘He has gone to see Mr Rogers, to discuss business.’

‘I must say I was pleased to see Gideon and Papa getting on so well at Christmas. I am glad they have put their differences behind them.’

‘Yes, we shall be spending more time at Rotham in future, I think. Gideon is taking much more interest in the estate.’

‘And so he should,’ declared Gwen. ‘It is his inheritance—oh, I know he has always felt a little awkward, stepping into his brother’s shoes, but nothing can bring James back.’

‘Your father has given him several commissions in town to carry out,’ said Dominique. She added, unable to keep the slight quaver from her voice, ‘Lord Rotham has also written to many of his old friends—in France and in England. Friends who may be able to help us find news of Papa.’

‘My dear, that is wonderful,’ cried Gwen, reaching out to take her hand.

‘It is not just that we might at last find out the truth,’ replied Dominique, wiping her eyes. ‘It is that Lord Rotham and Gideon should be p-prepared to help.’

‘Yes, that is quite extraordinary,’ Gwen admitted. ‘We were all devastated when James was killed, but Gideon took it very hard indeed. It was as much as we could do to prevent him posting off to France immediately to seek justice—not that there was any justice to be had, as we discovered when Tante and the duc were executed. Papa was even more determined that Gideon should remain at Rotham after that, and I think he would be there still, if his godmama’s legacy had not given him a measure of independence. But poor Papa, I thought he would never recover from the blow of losing his son and his sister to the Terror. He has been a recluse ever since—until you came to Rotham, my dear. Such changes you have wrought there! I truly believe you have helped Gideon and my father to come to terms with the past. Anthony declares you have worked a miracle!’

Dominique accepted the tribute with a smile, but when she thought of lying alone in her bed every night, she knew there was one miracle it was beyond her power to work.