Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Lovers Forever (46 page)
Chapter Twenty-eight
S
eptember had been lovely so far in this year of our Lord 1812. In fact, Tess thought dreamily as she stared down at the babe sleeping peacefully in her arms, the entire year had been most lovely. The news from the continent was even good; in June Sir Arthur Wellesley and his troops had stormed Salamanca in Spain, giving the allies a tremendous victory. The news was not all goodâthat same June the Americans had declared war on the British, but those events were far away from Tess this particular golden afternoon as she sat beneath the spreading branches of a great oak tree watching her son, Benedict, just six weeks old today, slumber soundly.
eptember had been lovely so far in this year of our Lord 1812. In fact, Tess thought dreamily as she stared down at the babe sleeping peacefully in her arms, the entire year had been most lovely. The news from the continent was even good; in June Sir Arthur Wellesley and his troops had stormed Salamanca in Spain, giving the allies a tremendous victory. The news was not all goodâthat same June the Americans had declared war on the British, but those events were far away from Tess this particular golden afternoon as she sat beneath the spreading branches of a great oak tree watching her son, Benedict, just six weeks old today, slumber soundly.
Her contentment faded a little as she recalled those awful moments in the dungeons, and a faint shudder rippled over her slender frame. The passage of time had erased most of the terror of that afternoon, but occasionally Tess remembered how close to death she and Nick had come.
They had lingered in that place of tragedy and death only long enough to discover Avery's body in one of the other cells; Frampton had at least killed him quicklyâhis neck had been broken. With three prominent people dead, they had realized that they were in a most troubling predicament: did they tell the truth or did they wrap it in clean linen? After a painfully brief discussion, they had decided that telling the bare truth would serve nothing. The others were beyond justice, and revealing all that had happened would only cause a huge scandalâand bring more pain to Pallas. Nick felt strongly that a bit of judicious editing was definitely called for. The story they concocted before leaving the dungeons was weak, but it answered their needs, and all it took to make it hang together was the distasteful task of dropping Avery's body down the well to join Frampton'sâand the removal of Athena's pistol.
Some hours after they had climbed out of the dungeons, Nick told his tale to the local magistrate, Sir Charles Wetherby, smoothly explaining about finding the diary and why he had suspected that his grandfather had never left Mandeville Manor. His face as bland and unreadable as porridge, Nick had told Wetherby that he and Athena had met with Avery a few days ago to enlist his help; he skipped lightly over Avery's excitement at the possibility of solving the mystery of the long-ago disappearance of Lord Sherbourne and Lady Mandeville. Never hesitating, he went directly to how earlier in the day they allâAvery, Athena, Frampton, Tess, and himselfâhad found the bricked passage and smashed a hole in it. After that the story became a bit trickier, but Nick carried on gamely.
As they'd entered the chamber, disaster had struck almost at once: one of the torches they had carried, Nick couldn't tell the rapt-faced Wetherby
precisely
how, had inexplicably set Frampton's clothes on fire. In his terror Frampton had thrown himself on the floor and rolled around in great agitation. Avery and Nick had gone immediately to his aid, Avery bravely throwing himself on the screaming Frampton, and somehow, again Nick couldn't
exactly
explain it, in the wild thrashing about, Avery and Frampton had tragically fallen down the well. It had been a ghastly accident, just ghastly. But there was worse to come.
precisely
how, had inexplicably set Frampton's clothes on fire. In his terror Frampton had thrown himself on the floor and rolled around in great agitation. Avery and Nick had gone immediately to his aid, Avery bravely throwing himself on the screaming Frampton, and somehow, again Nick couldn't
exactly
explain it, in the wild thrashing about, Avery and Frampton had tragically fallen down the well. It had been a ghastly accident, just ghastly. But there was worse to come.
His poor sister, Athena, had been in a state of stunned shock, and with her delicate sensibilities completely overwrought, she had inadvertently stumbled into the very cell containing the bodies of Benedict and Theresa. Coming instantly after the unspeakable horror of seeing the man she loved, Frampton, and his friend, Lord Mandeville, die in such an appalling manner, the sight of those pale, ghostly bones had been the final blow in a series of tragic events. She had given a terrified shriek, and Nick had rushed in to find her lying dead on the floor. Her poor heart must have simply stopped.
Nick had told his tale to Sir Charles in the library at Mandeville ManorâTess, according to her husband, had been too distraught to talk about the horrific events just then, and she had been sent home to Sherbourne Court. When Nick had finished speaking, Wetherby, rather more shrewd and astute than many would believe, looking at his bluff features and mild blue eyes, had stared at him for a long time.
Just when Nick had been certain all was lost, Wetherby had slowly nodded his balding head and said, “Tragic story. So very sad.” Wetherby's lids had lowered, and looking at nothing in particular, he'd murmured, “Known Frampton for years. Rum sort of fellow . . . sailed rather close to the wind. Heard quite a bit about youâgood things. People think you'll do well, and well by them. Think it's not a bad thing that the reins of Sherbourne are in your hands these days.” He'd finished the glass of port Nick had poured earlier and, after setting it down, cleared his throat and added gravely, “I have always held dear Lady Sherbourne in the highest regard. Fine woman. She's suffered enough scandal and grief. Wouldn't want to add to it.”
Nick's heart had begun to beat again, and with suspect haste he had escorted Wetherby to the door. But Sir Charles had stopped at the threshold and, fixing Nick with those mild blue eyes, said dryly, “Come to my home, Rosewood Manor, one day next week. I'd like to hear what
really
happened down there today. . . .”
really
happened down there today. . . .”
Lying to Sir Charles had been the easiest hurdle for them to cross; lying to Pallas had not been so simple. But lied they had, and remembering the way Pallas's fragile features had crumpled upon learning of Athena's death when they had finally arrived at Rockwell Hall three days later and had broken the terrible news, Tess felt tears crowd behind her lids. She bent and kissed her son's downy cheek, her heart aching for Pallas's anguish.
Nick knew that his grandmother did not completely believe his story: something in the way she had looked at him made his heart heavy, but he stuck to the tale. Did she really need to know about Mr. Brown? Was it important that she learn that Athena had planned to murder him and Tess in cold blood? He didn't think so.
The news of finding Benedict's body in the dungeons had brought Pallas great joy and deep, abiding sorrow. Her beautiful eyes full of tears, she had said to Nick, “I always believed. I always knew that he had not left me. That he loved me. . . .”
It had been a grim Christmas. In late December Nick had written to Roxbury, telling him only that “Mr. Brown” would not be selling any more secrets to the French. . . . Tragedy behind them, they had viewed the new year with hopeful hearts. The news that Tess would give birth to a child in the summer provided just the distraction that Pallas had needed from her grieving. There was a spring to her step these days, a sparkle in her gaze, and a soft glow about her.
Hetty's laugh, followed by Alexander's deeper tones, floated on the warm air toward Tess; Meg's voice and Rockwell's hearty chuckle were also heard. A smile curved Tess's lips. She watched as the four of them slowly walked her way, Alexander hovering solicitously over an obviously pregnant Hettyâtheir child would be born in December. It
had
been an eventful year.
had
been an eventful year.
With Avery's death, Hetty and Meg had inherited the estate. The title had died with Avery, but the estate had been divided between the two women. Able at last to come to him with a small dowry, Hetty had not hesitated to accept Alexander's offer, and they had married in February. After a brief honeymoon they had taken up permanent residence at Mandeville Manor with Meg. Alexander's fortune was more than adequate to keep the manor and his lovely wife in grand style, and they had settled down to wedded bliss. To their immense joy, Hetty had gotten pregnant almost immediately. Lord Rockwell had been most pleased.
“Oh, here you are, my dear!” exclaimed Hetty as she spied Tess and the baby beneath the tree. “Bellingham said that you and the others were out here enjoying the fine day.” She glanced around. “Where is your husband and his grandmother? Have they abandoned you?”
Rising, Tess shook her head. She picked up her son and said, “They are just over there . . . Pallas wanted to lay flowers on Benedict's grave.”
The disposal of Benedict's earthly remains had posed no problem; it was his right to be buried with his ancestors at Sherbourne. But Theresa . . . it was out of the question that she be buried near her hateful, murdering husband, and Tess had been adamant in not even wanting Theresa to lie in the Mandeville family plot. Theresa had never been a Mandeville, not in her heart.
For a moment Tess's eyes blurred with tears. Had she not already fallen under Pallas's gentle spell she would have come to adore Nick's grandmother when Pallas had overheard them discussing the situation and had unexpectedly provided a solution. Her once lovely features worn and tired, lines of grief scoring her pale cheeks, she had said one night after they had returned to Sherbourne from Rockwell Hall, “I hated your great-grandmother for a long timeâI felt that she had taken my husband from me . . . and in a way she did. But knowing the truth about them, I can find it in my heart to pity her. Having read the diary, I know how she suffered at Gregory's hands and I know that she and Benedict tried so very hard to do what was right. . . .” Her voice had quavered slightly, making it obvious that though she had forgiven the past, it still had the power to hurtâunbearably. Pallas had looked away from Tess's strained features and then, drawing upon resources deep within herself, she had glanced back at her and smiled, albeit shakily. “Your great-grandmother was his first love, but in the end, I was the one who had his heart. . . . Benedict loved us both, and he could no more have deserted Theresa than he could have stopped breathingâI would not have loved him so greatly if he had been any different. One day I will be with him again, and my grave shall lie by his....” Tears had suspended her voice, and she'd gallantly brought her emotions under control before saying huskily, “The events that tore my life apart and took my husband from me happened a very long time ago. Now my husband is returned to me, and for that I shall always be grateful. As for Theresa . . .” She'd swallowed painfully and then said in a rush, as if she'd had to get the words out before she changed her mind, “When I die, I shall lie on one side of him . . . it is only fitting that she should lie on the other. . . .”
Tess had been utterly stunned by Pallas's magnanimous gesture. Few women would have reacted so generously to a rivalâeven a dead rival. Consequently, lying next to the magnificent stone edifice that marked Benedict's grave, and that one day Pallas would share with him, was a smaller one, a little off to the side, with Theresa's name and birth and date of death engraved on it. It seemed appropriate.
Carrying her sleeping baby in her arms, Tess led the others the short distance through the dappled woods to the Talmage graveyard, where they found Pallas rearranging a huge bouquet of roses, Nick standing ready with another armful. As Tess caught sight of his tall form, a slight breeze riffling that thick black hair, as always, her heart gave a leap. Her face luminous with all the love she felt for him, she quickly crossed to his side.
After greetings were exchanged and Pallas finished her task, she turned and imperiously reached out her arms for baby Benedict. “Here, let me hold him awhile.”
Tess gently shifted her precious burden into Pallas's arms and watched the soft glow that spread over the older woman's face as she stared down into her great-grandson's sleeping features. Pallas openly adored the baby, certain that he was the grandest little fellow ever born and that he looked even more like his great-grandsire than did Nick.
Amid laughter, the small group gradually began to walk toward the house. They had not gone very far before Nick caught Tess's hand and pulled her off the path, letting the others continue on their way.
Hidden from view by the concealing foliage, Nick pressed Tess against the trunk of a towering oak and kissed her thoroughly. His black eyes were glittering with hungry passion when he finally lifted his mouth from hers and murmured, “I think that we should go away for that honeymoon we never took. What do you think?”
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her breathing erratic, she asked softly, “But what about Benedict? I am still nursing him part of the time.” She made a little face. “You were the one who wanted a nursemaid for him, and while she is wonderful and has plenty of milk for him, I miss having him nuzzling at my breast.”
Nick smiled at her tenderly, one hand brushing back a fiery tendril of hair that caressed her cheek. “I know, sweetheart, and I am a selfish bastard, wanting you all to myself. If you don't want the nursemaid, then let the damned wench goâyou know that I can deny you nothing.”
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