Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (2 page)

"Now, now, Miss Royal, why don't you just rest a bit while I go fetch you some nice thick stew to warm you up. A steaming cup of apple cider with cinnamon ought to restore some of the color to your cheeks."

"I don't want anything to eat just now," Royal answered wearily. "All I want is to sleep."

Alba's eyes fastened on Royal's bent head, where riotous golden curls framed her small face. She thought how frail the girl appeared and how her slight body was dwarfed by the massive mahogany bed where she lay.

Alba lowered her gaze to the fingers that desperately clutched the quilted coverlet, noting the tiny blue veins that were visible in the well-shaped hands. Even though Royal was too thin, there was a promise of future beauty in her delicate features. It tugged at Alba's heart when Royal raised her blue eyes, and the housekeeper saw that tears clung to the girl's thick lashes.

"Be at peace, Miss Royal," she said gently. "Take comfort in the fact that God always seems to take care of the fools and the young of this world. He will surely take an interest in your plight. I believe that."

A slight smile tugged at Royal's lips. "Which do you consider me, Alba—the fool or the young?"

"Even if you are young in years, you're certainly no fool," Alba answered with assurance. "Most folks don't have half the gumption you've been blessed with."

Royal seemed totally unaware of the compliment. "I wish... I wish Aunt Arabella would arrive. What can be keeping her?"

Alba turned her back and moved toward the door. "I'm sure I don't know," she said stiffly. "It's time for you to get some sleep, Miss Royal. I'll be downstairs. Just ring if you need me for anything."

Wearily Royal's head sank into the soft pillow, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Tomorrow yawned before her with its dark uncertainties, and the present was just too painful to think about. She was too weary to protest and too heartsick to think. Perhaps rest was what she needed.

As the smoky blue sky of evening gave way to the ebony night, Royal snuggled beneath the warmth of the down quilt and fell into a fretful sleep.

2

Dearest Papa,

Aunt Arabella has not yet arrived. Each day I watch for her with great anticipation. Events have occurred so swiftly that I have had no time to record my thoughts. Nothing could have prepared me for Cousin Victor and his family, who arrived with trunks and valises in excess, thus leading me to believe it is their intention to remain in Savannah indefinitely. Since you would expect me to be a gracious hostess, I have extended every courtesy to make them feel welcome. Cousin Victor says he feels obligated to shape my future, and he is certain that is what you would have wanted. I hope you will not think me undutiful, but I despair at the notion that my future might be under his control. Already he deems himself your beneficiary. I do not know your feelings on this, Papa, but whatever your wish, I will abide by it.

The mood in the dining room was solemn. Royal observed Alba as she bustled about, serving the meal with her lips pursed in a line of disapproval. It was clear the housekeeper did not like Cousin Victor. She removed the pewter serving dishes from a tray and placed them upon the snowy white linen tablecloth, then withdrew to the kitchen without a word.

Silently Royal watched the people seated about the table. Cousin Victor was a portly gentleman of medium height. With thinning hair and a long beaklike nose, he had the appearance of a man who was not at peace with himself, and he had the annoying habit of never looking at the person to whom he was speaking. Royal found it vexing that he had ensconced himself at the head of the table in her father's chair.

Cousin Victor's wife, Mary, was seated at the opposite end of the table. The woman was tall and thin, with black hair and equally black eyes. If she ever spoke, it was in a voice so low one had to lean close to hear her. There was a pinched look about her lips, and when she smiled it looked forced. There was a greedy light in her eyes as they darted about the room, assessing the worth of the furnishings.

Since Royal was seated beside their son Simon, she was forced to peep up at him from under her lashes. He was the oldest of Cousin Victor's children—she judged him to be in his early twenties. His hair was dark, and he had his mother's black eyes, while he was portly like his father. Royal found him watching her, and for some reason his close scrutiny repulsed her. He smiled smugly when she jerked away from the pressure of his leg when it brushed against hers.

Royal deliberately moved her chair away from Simon and turned her attention to her meal. She absently picked up her fork and pushed the meat around on her plate, wishing dinner was over so she could retreat to her room.

So completely had Victor Bradford taken over that Royal was beginning to feel like an outsider in her own home. Yesterday she had discovered him in the library going through her father's private papers. When she had objected, he had accused her of being a meddlesome child who needed discipline and had sent her to her room.

Now the tension deepened as Victor cleared his throat to speak. "What do you think of my son Simon?" he asked in a slow drawl, while watching Royal carefully. "I know he is older than you, but I believe, on observing your character, that you will need an older man to curb your headstrong ways."

Not understanding where the conversation was leading, Royal glanced at the three who were watching her intently, awaiting her answer. "I hardly know your son, sir." She glanced at Simon with repugnance. "But I do not believe we shall ever become good friends," she declared with an honesty that came from the fact that her father had always encouraged her to speak her mind. "And, yes, he is much older than myself."

Victor shrugged, feeling undaunted by her renunciation of his son. "Given time, you and Simon will come to know each other." He smiled slowly. "It is not unusual for cousins to marry. Especially since you and Simon are cousins three times removed."

Horror spread across Royal's features when she realized it was Victor's intention that she marry his odious son. She heard Alba drop a pewter serving dish, which clattered noisily across the floor.

Jumping to her feet, Royal declared hotly: "I am too young to consider marriage to anyone, sir! And I can assure you that if I were to marry, it would not be to your son!"

Victor had expected her objection and was unconcerned by her outburst. "Don't be too certain, my dear," he said calmly, wiping his mouth on a napkin, then folding it and placing it beside his plate.

Royal started to object, but he silenced her with the wave of his hand.

"You may as well know, young lady," he continued, oblivious of Royal's stricken expression, "that I will not tolerate your disrespect. It is obvious that your father has allowed you too many liberties, a situation which I shall soon rectify. I consider that I am already your guardian, and as such, I shall decide what is best for your future. And if I find it is in your best interests to marry my son—which I'm sure I shall—you will marry him. Make no mistake about that."

"The mistake is yours, Cousin Victor, if you think I would ever marry someone like your son." Her gaze brushed Simon's face, and she shuddered.

A leering smile twisted Simon's thick lips as he insultingly assessed her yet undeveloped young body. "You're not much of a prize yourself, Royal," he said, undaunted by her obvious dislike. "You're impudent, bad-tempered, and too skinny for my taste, but I'll take pleasure in taming you."

Royal gripped the back of her chair so tightly that her knuckles whitened. "That you will never do, Simon Bradford!" Sickened by the confrontation, her eyes locked with Victor's. "You are not yet my guardian," she said haughtily. "My father's wishes shall be made known this afternoon, when Mr. Greenburg reads the will. Until that time, I hope you will all remember you are guests in this house, and behave accordingly."

Angry red streaks ran up Victor's thick neck. "Don't take that tone with me, missy. Who else would be your guardian, if not the oldest living male Bradford?"

Suddenly the dining room door was thrown open, and like a whiff of fresh air, Arabella Bradford swept forward. Even dressed in black satin out of respect for her brother's death, she appeared beautiful and elegant.

"I came as quickly as I could, my dearest!" she cried, holding out her arms to her niece. When Royal flew across the room, Arabella gathered the young girl to her, while her cold glance went to Victor. "Do not worry, Royal, you will not have to marry anyone. It seems I arrived just in time. I have come to take you back to France with me."

Royal closed her eyes and rested her head against her aunt's shoulder. Now, everything would be all right—her aunt would see to that.

Victor came to his feet, his face red with rage. "I may have something to say about your taking Royal out of the country, Arabella."

There was an air of superiority about Arabella, as if she were dealing with an underling. "I do not believe for one moment that my brother meant for you to take possession of this dear child. I can imagine you were hoping I would not come at all, Victor," she said, nodding in Simon's direction. "I can assure you that neither my brother nor myself would approve of a match between your son and Royal."

"You always thought you were better than me," Victor stated, unable to hide his anger. "But you have looked down your nose at me and mine for the last time."

Arabella slipped her arm around Royal's waist and guided her toward the door. "Where else would one look to find a snake, Victor?" she threw over her shoulder.

Arabella did not stop until she had drawn Royal into the formal sitting room. Once there, she seated her niece on the sofa and sat down beside her. Raising Royal's head, she brushed away the girl's tears with a gloved finger. "There, there," she crooned. "You are trembling, dear. I am grievously sorry that odious man frightened you." A bright smile curved her mouth. "Don't pay any attention to Victor. I can assure you no one else does."

Royal felt all her hurt and anger melt away when she looked into her aunt's compassionate eyes. "I am so glad you have come at last."

"You knew I would, dear child."

"Yes, I knew, Aunt Arabella."

Arabella hugged her niece. "I am sorry I was not here for you when your father died, Royal. But we shall never be parted again. How would you like to go to France with me?"

Royal's eyes brightened. "Oh, yes, Aunt Arabella, I would like that above all else!"

***

The atmosphere in the library was strained. Everyone waited while Mr. Greenburg shuffled through several official-looking documents. Finally, glancing over the rim of his glasses, the attorney spoke. "I'm sorry for the delay, but we are waiting for one other party."

Royal was seated next to her aunt, while Victor and his family were huddled on the leather sofa. At the attorney's request, Alba and Tobias were present. The two servants stood near the door, feeling out of place among the family members.

"Who else could possibly be concerned with this afternoon's proceedings?" Victor demanded in an agitated voice. "We have no other family."

Mr. Greenburg merely turned his professional smile on the man. "I'm merely abiding by Douglas Bradford's wishes." The attorney suddenly glanced out the library window, which gave a broad view of the front of the house. "I believe the person I have been expecting has arrived."

Mr. Greenburg left the room to greet the newcomer. Those present focused their attention on the door as he and Damon Routhland entered the library.

Damon had not yet acknowledged anyone in the room, since he and the attorney were conversing in low tones. Victor, who was annoyed because of the delay, strained his ears, hoping he could hear their conversation.

Royal was mystified as to why this man should attend the reading of her father's will. She leaned toward her aunt and whispered, "Whatever can Damon Routhland be doing here?"

At first Arabella did not recognize the once starry-eyed young swain who had amused her for a whole summer when she had last been in Savannah. She realized with interest that he was no longer an untried youth, but a most attractive man. "Damon Routhland," she said reflectively. "It has been many years since I last saw him. Tell me, are you acquainted with him, dear?"

"No, not well at all," Royal answered. "Of course, I know who he is, but I doubt he knows me."

At last Mr. Greenburg turned to the others. "For those of you who do not know Damon Routhland, may I present him to you at this time?"

For just a moment Damon looked at Arabella, and in that instant she read many things on that arresting face: confidence, arrogance, insolence, haughtiness, but not one bit of warmth. There was about him an air of assurance, as if he knew he was attractive to women and accepted it with an air of indifference.

Lud, he was handsome, Arabella thought, staring at him in fascination. His blue jacket was cut of the finest velvet and fit smoothly across his broad shoulders. His blue trousers hugged his legs and disappeared into a pair of black riding boots. He was not the young man she had once known, she thought almost regretfully, wondering if he remembered her.

Damon's gaze swept Arabella's face. No, he thought grimly, she was neither old nor ugly. If anything, she was more stunning than she had been eight years earlier. The black gown she wore made her skin whiter and her red hair more pronounced than he remembered. When she smiled at him provocatively, he knew she was remembering the night they had last seen each other—the night she had refused his proposal of marriage.

Lazily and deliberately, Damon glanced at the young girl who was seated beside Arabella. There were dark circles under the child's eyes, and she looked so delicate he surmised she must be recovering from an illness, or perhaps her father's death had devastated her. He felt pity for her—an emotion he did not welcome under the circumstances.

Royal watched Damon lower himself onto the green leather chair directly across from the attorney. When he caught her eye, he nodded slightly, then appeared to dismiss her from his thoughts as his gaze unwillingly returned to Arabella.

"Now that we are all here," Mr. Greenburg stated, "I will proceed with the business at hand." He indicated that Alba and Tobias should come forward, then motioned for them to be seated. Picking up a thick document, he scanned it quickly. "It is not necessary to read the entire will, so with your permission, Mistress Bradford," he addressed Royal, "I will only read specific bequests."

When Royal nodded, Mr. Greenburg continued. "First of all, it was Douglas Bradford's wish that you, Alba and Tobias Beemish, should always have a home in this house, if you so desire. However, since you came over with the family from England, if it is your wish to return, Mr. Bradford has directed me to pay for your passage. In any event, he set aside for each of you the amount of five hundred pounds, for faithful service."

Alba dabbed at her eyes with her apron, while Tobias patted her shoulder. They had not expected such generosity and were momentarily overwhelmed.

"But that's a thousand pounds," Victor stated grudgingly.

Mr. Greenburg, who had taken an instant dislike to the belligerent cousin, nodded impatiently. "Thank you, Mr. Bradford. I believe your calculations are correct. Now, may I proceed?"

Victor cleared his throat and nodded indignantly but did not reply.

The attorney's voice rose as he began to read directly from the will: