Anne O'Brien (33 page)

‘As long as the reformation is in your hands.’ He kissed her fingers one by one, then pressed his mouth against the ring she wore, his ring, the potent symbol of their unity. ‘Yours and no other. For I said that I was now my own man, with the freedom to live as I chose. I think that I was wrong.’

Her eyes flashed to his, a moment of concern. But saw nothing there but love.

‘No, my dear love.’ He answered her silent question. ‘I am not free at all. And I like the idea very much.’

Spring 1820— New York

A
gentleman sat at his desk in an office in his newly built house, in shirtsleeves against the warmth of the morning. He frowned over a list of figures. Mr Henry Faringdon, joint partner in the firm of Faringdon and Bridges. Anyone acquainted with Nicholas and Joshua would immediately recognise the Faringdon cast of feature in the dark hair, straight nose and exquisite cheekbones, the predatory eyes. And in the aura of power and competence that he wore with such casual and elegant ease. The edge of ruthlessness. Henry Faringdon, Nicholas’s elder brother, had no need to frown. Life was good. The business was expanding, the trade booming with new contacts both in the New World and in Europe. Faringdon and Bridges was a name now recognised and treated with respect in commercial circles. The scandal that had almost shattered the possibility of a future together for Henry and Eleanor no longer had the power to wound or destroy.

The door opened to admit the other, the most important, reason for his intense satisfaction. A gorgeous brunette with deep amethyst eyes and a sleepy baby held high against her shoulder. His pulse beat hard, just at the sight of her.

‘Nell.’

‘Hal.’ Her smile lit her face, her eyes spoke of love. Her only love. ‘Do you have a minute?’

Henry had any number of minutes for his beautiful wife. As many as she would ever demand. All his life if she would have it.

‘Are you too busy?’ Eleanor Faringdon wrinkled her nose at the array of account books.

‘For you, never.’ He stood, moved round the desk. ‘What is it, my heart?’

‘Here. Hold your son.’ She pushed the child, Richard, into his father’s arms, freeing her two hands to straighten out the sheets of a letter.

‘Ah. Your mother, perhaps?’ Henry’s lips curled cynically at the prospect, but when his attention was drawn by the baby’s tugging on his collar his smile was tender.

‘No.’ She chuckled. ‘We are spared that. Judith!’

‘Well, then.’ Realising that this would not be a brief session, Henry moved across the room to tuck the baby into the corner of a sofa with a cushion, sat and pulled Eleanor down to sit beside him. ‘I suppose you have to tell me. In the next hour or so.’

‘Why, yes.’ She scanned the contents of the closely written sheets. ‘It is all very complicated. I think we must have lost a packet of letters because Judith writes of things we do not know—and she clearly presumes that we do. And you know what her letters are like at best—all dashes, exclamations and comment. So it is quite muddled—but most intriguing.’

‘Then tell me all.’ With an eye to the infant, he tucked his wife against his side with an arm around her shoulders and set himself to listen.

‘To start with, Sarah, would you believe it, is married. And for some months, I think.’

‘Ah! Now that does surprise me.’

‘And to your cousin Joshua.’

‘Sher?’ The dark brows rose as Henry’s interest was now caught. ‘Sounds highly unlikely, but Ju must be right.’ His lips
twitched at the thought. ‘The virtuous Sarah and the wicked Sher. An amazing combination.’

‘I only met him the once.’ Eleanor frowned at her husband. ‘He was very charming, I remember.’

‘All the Faringdons are charming. Had you not noticed?’ He turned his head to kiss her hair. ‘But Sher is highly reprehensible.’

‘Judith says that they are now fixed permanently in England rather than Paris and that Lady Beatrice has forgiven him his past sins.’

‘That must be a relief to him!’ Eleanor could not mistake the dry note, but chose to ignore it.

‘She says that something must have happened between them in Paris—she mentions a scandal of which we know nothing—but they returned to London completely besotted with each other. Sarah is in a state of permanent bliss and Joshua is very protective of her. He looks at her with passion in his eyes, as if she was his whole world. Judith says that when he looks at her it is as if he is kissing her in public and it is all positively embarrassing to the whole family. But they have gone down to Richmond where Joshua is teaching Sarah to ride.’

‘Well—I suppose it is necessary…although I do not see…’ But decided to say no more. Eleanor was in full flow.

‘What else? Giles—Judith’s son, you remember—is now beginning to walk. Marianne, Joshua’s first wife, is not really dead after all—’

‘What?’

‘Never mind that. Just listen… Sarah was suspected of being a spy—I don’t understand that either. Joshua was accused of murder, but did not do it. Well, now! Simon’s horse won a race at Newmarket. I told you it was all a muddle. But listen to this. This is the best we could have hoped to hear. Nicholas and Thea are awaiting the birth of an heir for Aymestry. Isn’t that splendid news?’

Henry grinned at the unlikely thought of his younger brother
being settled, a prosperous landowner, with an heir. Time, it seemed, passed very quickly. ‘It is. Another addition to the new generation of Faringdons. Is that all?’

‘Yes. Or so I think.’ She riffled through the pages again. ‘I am so pleased for Sarah.’

Henry thought about the young woman with the troubled soul. ‘I think that she will enjoy having the love and security of a family around her. She was never quite happy and settled here, was she? So, Judith should be congratulated—the whole family history in two sheets. Remarkable!’

Eleanor nudged him in the ribs with her elbow and tutted, taking the opportunity to remove the tasselled edge of the cushion where it was suffering from a relentless attack by her son’s toothless gums. ‘I am delighted for her. Sarah deserves her happiness. Judith says she is intent on restoring Joshua’s reputation to a shining brilliance. So you, my love, will be the only one Beatrice can sneer at—abandoning the title and the consequence and going into
trade
of all things!’

‘Beatrice and her diatribes, thank God, are too far away for me to be overly concerned. But poor Sher. Once in a woman’s clutches…’ Henry smiled down at Eleanor, but then narrowed his gaze at his wife’s face. ‘What is it, Nell?’ She was looking at him, he decided, with a hint of stern censure in her lovely eyes. Or perhaps there was a sparkle there which she would hide from him.

‘I was thinking—I remember the days when
you
used to look at
me
with passion in your eyes, as if I were your whole world. And probably embarrassed the family.’ Definitely a sparkle!

‘Do I not do that now? Every day of my life?’ The possessive gleam in his eyes brought a delicate flush to her face. ‘Do we not have living proof of my total adoration?’ He passed a gentle hand over the now-sleeping baby’s head, and they laughed when the sound of Tom’s excited voice shrieked most opportunely from some distant region of the house. At eight years old, he had energy to spare and lungs to match. Henry
turned his wife’s hand, which he held within his and kissed her palm, his lips a burning brand on her soft skin. ‘Without you my life is nothing, you know that, Nell.’

As indeed she did. She knew exactly her place in her husband’s heart. ‘And you are my life too.’ She touched Henry’s bent head with fingers that were not quite steady as she gave thanks for twists of fate which had brought them together against all the odds

‘Do you miss it all, Nell? London and family? Would you wish to return?’ Henry’s eyes were searching. Her happiness was very precious to him.

‘No.’ He could not doubt the sincerity in her reply or in the love that he could read so clearly in her face. ‘Your life is here. Mine is with you. I pray that Sarah has found the same security and certainty with Joshua. Just as Thea has with Nicholas.’ Her fingers linked with his, an indestructible bond. ‘And the same depth of love. For it seems to me that is all that matters.’

‘It is very simple, is it not?’ His clasp tightened on hers. She was his for ever.

‘Yes.’

Of course, he did not need to ask the question. Eleanor’s soft lips against Henry’s told it all.