Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (67 page)

‘Not at all, Miss Brody. When Mr Lucas left London, he made it clear that when he returned he would have full control over his uncle's affairs. We were to refer to Mr Braithwaite should anything untoward arise.'

‘I see. Well, I can tell you that Mr Lucas met with an unfortunate—fatal—accident in Scotland. He will not be coming back. As for Mr Braithwaite—I should tell you that Baron Lucas changed his solicitor twelve months before he died. He drafted a new will, leaving everything to me should his wife not survive him. Should Mr Braithwaite call, he is not to be admitted. Now,' she said, smiling at her uncle, ‘I would like to introduce my uncle, Matthew Brody. He is going to stay with me for a while, so please have a room made ready. In the meantime some refreshment would be nice.'

Henrietta was about to turn towards the drawing room when she was alerted by a look that passed from servant to servant. She paused, frowning. ‘What is it? Is something amiss?' She glanced at Rose hovering close. ‘Rose? Are you going to tell me why everyone suddenly appears jumpy?'

‘It's Mr Lucas's wife, Miss Henrietta. She's been living here ever since he left.'

‘I see. Then I will speak to her.'

‘She's not here just now. I believe she had a theatre engagement.'

‘Then I'll speak to her when she returns. If she's very late, then it can wait until morning.' She turned to her uncle, leading the way to the drawing room.

‘We must see Mr Goodwin first thing in the morning to straighten matters out,' Matthew said as they entered the drawing room. ‘The sooner the better, I think.'

‘Yes, yes, of course. But first I have Claudia to deal with.'

* * *

At the sincerity and warmth of the servants' welcome, Henrietta was pleased to be home. This opinion lasted until Claudia returned later that night. One look at Jeremy's wife, who was wearing too much make-up and jewellery for good taste, made Henrietta's heart sink.

Having been informed of Henrietta's arrival by Coleman as she entered the house, Claudia stood poised in the doorway of the salon, her nose tipped high, her eyes hostile. Her hair was dishevelled, her face flushed. ‘So, you're back.'

‘As you see,' Henrietta replied stiffly. ‘I would have returned sooner, but what with one thing and another I was unable to do so.' She watched Claudia saunter further into the room. She looked as though she had been drinking. ‘Perhaps you should sit down,' Henrietta suggested.

‘I have no wish to sit down with you.' She moved closer, her movements unsteady, and she lurched slightly and grabbed on to the edge of a chair for support.

Henrietta rose. ‘You are unwell.'

‘I am drunk, but quite well—quite well indeed, and will be even better when you leave.'

‘But I'm not leaving.'

Claudia remained unmoved. A sneer twisted her Cupid's-bow mouth as she fingered a curl of her dark hair. ‘You should.' Her voice was rising. ‘You are a scheming Scottish witch. I saw through you at the beginning—how you wormed your way into the household. Jeremy saw it, too, just as others know what you really are.'

Henrietta sighed wearily. ‘Say what you like, Claudia, your words cannot hurt me. The house is mine as well you know. I will not go into explanations since you already know the gist of it.'

‘Jeremy discovered how his uncle double-crossed him when that man Goodwin called at the house. That was the reason he set off after you to Scotland—to get his hands on the copy of the will and destroy it—you, too, afterwards. Did he manage to track you down?'

‘Oh, yes,' Henrietta replied drily. ‘I swear your husband had the nose of a bloodhound.'

Claudia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Had?'

‘Jeremy is dead, Claudia.'

Claudia stared at her in confusion, then shock. ‘Dead? But he can't be dead. You lie. He can't be dead.'

‘I assure you he is—quite dead. He was shot. Scotland is in turmoil. It was not a good time for him to be there. With government troops and Highlanders at war, he really should have had more sense. He threatened me.'

‘So you killed him.' Claudia's eyes were filled with hate as they looked at Henrietta. ‘Damn you! I'll report you...'

‘I wouldn't do that—and I wasn't the one who shot him,' Henrietta said coldly. ‘He killed four people in cold blood. He got what he deserved.'

Claudia's eyes narrowed venomously. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘I know Jeremy killed his aunt and uncle—and later Mr Goodwin, his uncle's lawyer—not forgetting the coach driver. Before he died he confessed his crime to me—and my uncle, and one other. Both can be called upon to give evidence.' Henrietta's stomach churned. Please God there was truth in what she said and that Simon would survive to provide evidence should he be asked to do so.

Claudia paled beneath the rouge on her cheeks. ‘Jeremy wouldn't do that.'

‘He did. So if you do not wish to be implicated, to save your neck I suggest you leave this house. I intend speaking to the authorities in the morning.' Claudia looked at her with sudden fear in her eyes. Henrietta knew she had her.

Claudia fought down panic. If she delayed leaving the house, she might die at the end of a rope. At that moment any tender feelings she might harbour for her husband died. She cursed him for getting himself killed, for getting it all wrong, just when she was beginning to enjoy living in the lap of luxury. ‘I'll go and pack my things and have Coleman bring the carriage round. I have friends I can go to.'

Henrietta watched her wend her way out of the room with no attempt at dignity. Only when the door was closed did she sink down into the chair she had vacated a moment earlier and closed her eyes.

* * *

Henrietta waited impatiently for the weeks to pass as her uncle wrote one letter after another to his extensive circle of friends in France, asking if they had news of any Jacobites who had taken part in the rebellion arriving back in France. In the beginning his friends answered each one the same. They had heard nothing.

And so Henrietta continued to wait, unable to think or care about anything else. Once more the old passionate and painful longing, which ebbed when she knew she could not even hope to see Simon, had revived. Now she remembered with aching clarity all the small separate things about him—the deep blue of his eyes, the gentle wave in his dark hair, the attractive cleft in his chin, the smooth texture of his skin, the feel of his hands touching her, and the warm timbre of his voice, which gave her a real sense of physical pleasure.

She was restless, tormented, for those piecemeal memories could not make a whole. Simon eluded her to the point where she was beginning to wonder if he had ever existed. She desperately wanted to hear he had made it to France.

Finally that wish was granted. In early October one of her uncle's friends wrote to say that Lord Simon Tremain was one of the gentlemen who had arrived in France with Charles Stuart.

* * *

Matthew watched her, worried about her. Now she knew Simon was safe she never spoke of him. Her smile was always bright, her conversation animated. But she smiled too much and talked too much. At any other time he would have said it was a good sign, but it didn't mean a thing, except she was trying to hide from her memories.

‘You look tired, my dear,' he said one night over dinner. She'd had a particularly tiring day with Christopher Goodwin, answering questions about what she knew about Baron Lucas and his wife's death, and what Jeremy Lucas had confessed to them both before he died. ‘It's been a long day. I think you should rest.'

She glanced at him. She loved him dearly. He was so good to her. ‘Later, perhaps.'

‘Your heart is not here, Henrietta,' he said, wiping his mouth on the napkin and placing it on the table. ‘It is in France with Lord Tremain, I think.'

She sighed dejectedly. ‘Yes, it is. I can't seem to help it. What can I do?'

‘Sell Whitegates, for a start.'

‘Sell Whitegates?' Henrietta was horrified that he should suggest such a thing. ‘But—I can't do that—at least...'

‘Think about it, my dear. There is nothing for you here any more.'

‘But there is no reason to sell the house.'

‘Yes, there is. Make a clean break of it. You love Simon,' Matthew said gently. ‘Does that not seem to you a sufficient reason?' Henrietta did not answer, but her expression told Matthew more than any words. He put out a hand to his beloved niece and when he spoke his voice was torn with sorrow, yet what he said he felt was right and true. ‘Lord Tremain is a good man, Henrietta. I really believe that.'

‘Do you, Uncle Matthew? Even though he is a Jacobite?'

He nodded. ‘Even so. He will not harm you, Henrietta, for you will not let him. You have spirit. You are strong and you are so like your father. Your father hurt you and your mother, I know, but he followed the dictates of his conscience, knowing it would end in his downfall. We did not share the same convictions, your father and I, but we were as close as brothers could be and I admired him for staying true to what he believed in. You do not belong here. Go to France. Make this decision and be proud.'

‘I told Simon we could never be together.'

‘The cause is lost. Now it is a matter of survival for those who followed Charles Stuart. I believe you are putting yourself and Simon through hell for no reason. Can you really turn your back on him and forget him, a man who loves you and needs you as much as you need him? If you do that, then you will spend the rest of your life hating yourself and blaming yourself because you were afraid to take a chance. You were meant to be together. I believe that.'

* * *

Henrietta lay in bed in the semi-darkness. The night was still and humid. Hearing the clock strike two o'clock, she climbed out of bed and went to the window and opened it wide. The moon and stars illuminated the ground and the trees. She peered down into the garden, her heart aching.

Ever since Simon had left her she had been unable to still the confusion of thoughts in her head, to still the tempest of her emotions Simon had stirred in her. He had aroused her, angered her, made her think and feel, and when he had gone he had left a vacuum in her life that nothing and no one could fill.

On a sigh she turned and looked at the room, noting the lovely things, items she had grown accustomed to and cherished through the years. But they were possessions, objects, and no matter how much she had loved her guardians, she could not shake off the feeling that this house and every precious object did not belong to her.

They were not Simon, not the man she loved, the man who was irreplaceable, the man she adored, the man who meant more to her than anything in this house.

I want him,
she thought miserably to herself. Why had she not realised the depth of her love? Why had she not gone with him over the moor that night, riding side by side? She had been so blinded by her own foolish notions, determined not to have anything to do with the rebellion, that she had lost the man who loved her.

* * *

After a sleepless night, no longer able to ignore what her heart was telling her, at breakfast Henrietta informed her uncle that she had decided to do as he suggested and put the house up for sale—but on one condition.

‘Come with me, Uncle Matthew. I am fluent in French, but I don't think I could face France completely alone.'

Matthew looked at her with great fondness. She would never know how glad he had been to see her that day when she had appeared at his cottage out of the blue, and although she was of his blood, he was struck afresh each time he looked at her, by the glory she had brought with her. She was like the sun coming out after dark days. She had come at a low point in his life, when all he could see coming towards him was the spectre of death through loneliness, and he felt the sadness of it and its slow chill. Despite the unsociable face he showed to the world, this dear girl had brought him to life again and taken him out of his loneliness.

‘As if I would let you go alone. I have missed France for some time, but with all the disturbances over the years I did not think I would be able to return. I never envisioned that I would.' He frowned on seeing her pensive look. ‘What is it, Henrietta? It is a big step you are about to take and it's perfectly natural for you to be apprehensive.'

‘What if I sell the house only to find Simon doesn't want me? What then?'

‘Should that happen, my dear Henrietta, then you and I shall go on an extended tour of Europe. You are now a wealthy young woman, don't forget. I shall enjoy showing you everything I saw in my youth—Venice, Rome and Verona to name but a few of the wonderful cities of note and culture. And when we are tired of travelling we shall take respite wherever we happen to be.'

‘But—about a house. Where shall we live when we are in Paris?'

‘Forgive me, Henrietta, but I shall take care of that. I shall contact a dear friend of mine, Armand de Valeze, to make all the arrangements. He has been long hankering for me to visit Paris again. You are not to worry about the cost of the house, for all the funds will be provided by me. But fear not. Simon will not turn you away. He loves you. Of that you can be sure. Will you write to him and tell him what you intend?'

A mischievous smile curved her lips and her eyes glowed. ‘Oh, no. I will surprise him. He mustn't know I'm in Paris until I'm ready to show myself to him.'

Chapter Ten

H
enrietta watched as the shore of France grew larger and closer. White-capped waves slapped against the hull of the ship, rocking it vigorously as it ploughed on. She gripped the rail as the deck swayed. Soon she would set foot on soil again. But it would not be the soil of her native country. She had left that land in search of her heart's desire.

Before they had left England Christopher Goodwin had come to the house to inform them that Mr Braithwaite had been arrested for colluding in Jeremy Lucas's crimes. Even though he professed his innocence most vocally to anyone who would listen, he was in prison awaiting his fate. He had not been charged with murder, but he faced a long term in prison.

Most of the servants at Whitegates who had been loyal to Baron Lucas and his wife had found it impossible to serve under Jeremy and had found positions elsewhere. When Henrietta told them she was selling the house, she was relieved they had somewhere to go. Thankfully Rose, who had no familial ties, had come with her, excited at the prospect of beginning a new life in France. Uncle Matthew had written to his friend Armand asking him to arrange lodgings in the city. And so arrangements had been made. Armand would hire a coach to take them to Paris. It would be waiting when the ship docked.

During the crossing Henrietta had thought much of what she was doing and was nearly overwhelmed by the enormity of her mission. To be sure she wanted to see Simon again, to feel his arms around her once more. Please God he still wanted her.

Eventually the ship shuddered as it neared the dock at Calais, and the sails drooped as the wind died. Ropes were thrown and tied, securing the ship, and the gangplank was lowered. Henrietta turned to her uncle and he smiled, taking her arm.

‘Come, Henrietta. The coach will be waiting for us—unless, of course, you are tired and would prefer to delay for a day while you rest.'

His words were solicitous, as was his tone, but Henrietta was impatient to be on her way. They faced a long journey and the sooner she reached Paris, the sooner she would be with Simon. ‘Thank you, Uncle, but, no. There will be time to rest when we are settled in Paris.'

The coach was waiting and they were soon under way. They faced a long journey, staying each night at country inns.

* * *

The journey had proved tiring and Henrietta was exceedingly glad when they finally arrived at the house, a lovely stone mansion, known in Paris as a
hôtel
. The coach entered a circular driveway and Henrietta saw smartly clad servants standing in line to greet them.

‘Armand informed me that the house's situation is ideal to go into the city,' Matthew explained, ‘but its location will prove restful. Apparently it belongs to a minor nobleman, who is travelling extensively abroad and is not expected to return to Paris for at least a year. Inside it is furnished with comfortable elegance and, as you see, is well staffed. I'm sure you will like living here.'

‘I don't doubt it,' Henrietta replied, squeezing his arm fondly. ‘Since you are the one who insisted on paying for it, I would not expect anything less. It will do perfectly until you leave to embark upon your exotic journey to other foreign parts.'

* * *

‘Welcome,' Bertrand, the
maître d'hôtel,
said when he brought them wine in the blue-and-gold salon. ‘No doubt you wish to rest,
mademoiselle,
after such a long journey.' He turned back to the door. ‘I hope that I may put to rest any fears you may have about the isolation of the house. I do not think you will have to wait very long for the invitations.'

Henrietta raised an eyebrow. ‘No?'

He nodded. ‘There is a tray in the hall. Already numerous cards are arrayed there.'

Later when Henrietta studied the names, she saw they were addressed to her uncle from friends and acquaintances, inviting him and his niece to several society events. She smiled, thinking that becoming reunited with Simon would not be as difficult as she had thought.

* * *

Between acclimatising himself to Paris—which was a world away from his little house in the Highlands of Scotland—and the daily meetings with Armand and other friends and acquaintances he had not seen for many years, and chaperoning Henrietta about Paris to show her the places of interest, her favourite being the great Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris, Matthew suddenly found life full and satisfying. After a week he arrived home in an animated mood.

‘Henrietta, I have been invited to a ball and I would like you to accompany me.'

She glanced up from the letter she was writing to Christopher Goodwin. ‘Whose ball are we attending?'

‘The king will be there—also Prince Charles Stuart and one of his close friends—no other than Lord Simon Tremain.'

Henrietta felt a sudden thump of excitement in the pit of her stomach and exchanged a quick glance with her uncle. He merely shrugged, as though this were nothing startling, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation as he looked at her.

‘It is to be a grand affair and will be the perfect occasion for you to show yourself, do you not agree? It will also mark your official entry into Parisian society.'

Henrietta sighed happily and sat back in her chair. ‘Yes, Uncle Matthew. Perfect.'

Immediately she began fretting over what to wear for such a grand occasion. Simon had only ever seen her dressed as an unkempt youth and in clothes borrowed from members of his family, and later in the plain and practical woollens of a Highland girl. For his first glimpse of her in Paris society, she wanted to dazzle, to be as mysterious and alluring as possible.

* * *

Rose helped her prepare for the ball. After she had bathed in lilac-scented water, she sat in front of the vanity. Humming softly to herself, Rose smoothly drew back her mistress's red-gold hair and deftly pinned it. Henrietta studied herself in the mirror, turning her head this way and that. The simple hairstyle accentuated her high cheekbones and made her green eyes seem even larger and wider. She also noticed with approval how it showed to good advantage her long white neck.

She had chosen her gown with great care, for she wanted Simon never to forget how she looked tonight.

* * *

Nearly an hour later she had finished dressing. Having decided upon a new gown of brocaded gold, she turned slowly in front of the large bevelled mirror. The neckline was square and low-cut, and the fitted bodice and hem of the full skirt were embroidered in an intricate pattern of tiny pearls. A silk shawl in matching gold was draped over her arm and she wore a set of antique pearl earrings that matched the strand at her throat.

‘Oh, my dear.' Matthew, awed by his niece's appearance, beamed down at her. ‘I swear you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know you will outshine all the other women tonight. The gentlemen will have eyes only for you.'

‘Nonsense, Uncle Matthew,' she said, though not unkindly, for she was pleased with her uncle's praise. ‘But thank you anyway.'

* * *

At last the
château
south of Paris loomed in the distance, white, ornate and mysterious on the edge of a lake. To Henrietta, who had known the modest homes in London, the sumptuous abodes and palaces of Paris were indeed something to behold. One after another, at slow pace, the carriages turned into the long avenue of poplars leading to the entrance.

Matthew smiled as he glanced at his niece's awestruck face. ‘The
château
is very beautiful, is it not, Henrietta? It is good you see it before the light fades from the sky. But perhaps later you will slip away with Simon and stroll through the gardens.'

‘I would like that,' she said as a thrill of excitement went through her. She envisioned a moonlit walk through the exquisite gardens on Simon's arm, stopping in some private place to share a kiss.

On stepping out of the carriage, she set foot on the acres of red carpet that covered the steps. There was a great bustle all around the
château,
for the multi-coloured liveries of the footmen mingled with the guests. King Louis himself was to be present and, what was more to the point, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, in whose honour the party was being held, so that the thousand or so guests felt themselves highly privileged persons.

They climbed a vast white marble staircase that rose from the centre of the hall. Busts and statues everywhere were to be seen in a state of magnificent whiteness. The rooms were choked with people, men and women wearing the latest Paris fashions and filling the air with their strong perfumes and their wig powder. Entering a large white-and-gold salon, they found it awash with candlelight and resounding with laughter and conversation. The elite of Paris and some of the court were present. Henrietta walked among them, a smile on her lips. An orchestra was playing in the adjoining ballroom and numerous, glittering couples were already dancing. She glanced around, feeling a small knot of expectation and apprehension in her stomach.

A group of gentlemen appeared at the other end of the salon. Suddenly her eyes became riveted on one of them standing on the edge of the group, leaning against an outsized urn filled with flowers. Even at that distance, she had no trouble in distinguishing the imposing figure of Simon Tremain. Her eyes devoured the keen features, that fine-boned face with the deep-set twinkling blue eyes and firm lips crooked into a half-smile, and the thick unruly black hair that always looked slightly windblown. Surely there could not be another man like that in all the world.

Henrietta was not even conscious of the radiant spectacle she presented in the middle of this light-filled salon in her magnificent gown and full-blown beauty. The brilliant chandeliers spread a halo around her. Matthew stood back and watched her walk towards Simon Tremain. She was unaware of the subdued murmur that followed her passage or how all these strangers devoured her with their eager curiosity. Her heart had started beating a wild tattoo as she slowly advanced, with that strange sensation of helplessness and fatality which one sometimes has in a dream. In the surrounding haze she no longer saw anyone but Simon. She looked at him fixedly, as if drawn by a magnet. Had she wanted to lower her eyes she could not have done so, for to see him again brought to her heart an almost unbearable overload of feeling.

Quite suddenly her heart gave a joyful leap and cried out his name long before her lips could bring themselves to frame the word—‘Simon!' She was now almost as close to him as she had been when they had parted in Scotland and everything went blank for her except that terrible memory.

When at last he looked her way, he did not seem to recognise her.

She gave him a puckish smile. ‘Why, have you forgotten me already, Lord Tremain?'

Simon jerked erect and stared at her. A world of feelings flashed for an instant across his set face—surprise, disbelief, admiration, happiness—but only for an instant. Then he was moving forward very coolly to bow before her.

‘Henrietta!'

The sound of her name on his lips stirred her, forcing roiling emotions out of the depths of her soul.

‘This is indeed a surprise,' he went on. ‘I did not expect to find you here in Paris—and looking so different. I hardly recognised you. Allow me to compliment you—you are exquisite tonight.'

Thrown completely off balance, Henrietta stared at him uncomprehendingly. When she had come to meet him with a heart overflowing with gladness and love, within an ace of throwing herself into his arms, his tone was coolly formal. What could have happened to turn him into this polite stranger?

‘I thank you. I am surprised to see you also. I am relieved you succeeded in getting out of Scotland. It—cannot have been easy.'

‘There were moments when I thought I might not.'

The words were nothing, the merest commonplace such as might have been exchanged by virtual strangers. Henrietta found herself wanting to weep. Could this handsome stranger be the same man who had loved her with such passion, who had told her he wanted her to be his wife? Even as she sought to say something that would not be either stupid or inept, she was aware of his eyes scrutinising every detail of her face. She lowered her gaze as the silence between them grew uncomfortable despite the music and the conversations going on around them. She dared not raise them to his now, for fear he should see the tears in them.

Sick with disappointment and unable to stand the tension a moment longer, she was about to excuse herself and move away, when she was aware of someone coming to stand beside him.

‘Simon, here you are,' a feminine voice trilled. ‘You promised to dance with me, remember?'

Henrietta raised her eyes and stared with all the horror of one seeing a ghost at the slender young woman with hazel eyes.

‘If you will allow me,' Simon said, drawing the young woman closer. ‘Miss Brody, I should like to present an acquaintance of mine. Miss Vanessa Wallace. Miss Brody is an old friend, Vanessa.'

Stiffened by pride, Henrietta managed to stifle her disappointment and accept the slap that fate had dealt her. Miss Wallace was an acquaintance, he had said. She was also beautiful and delicately exquisite with masses of dark silk hair arranged in a froth of glittering curls. Schooling her features into a smile, Henrietta managed to inject the necessary social politeness into her voice.

‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Wallace.'

Miss Wallace gave Henrietta a more-than-suspicious look. With a faint inclination of her elegantly coiffed head she said with a frosty smile, ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Brody. Are you from Scotland?'

‘Yes, although I have spent most of my life in London. Do you live in Paris, Miss Wallace?'

‘For the present. My father was a supporter of Prince Charles in the recent rebellion. We are unable to return to Scotland, you understand.'

‘Yes—yes, I understand perfectly.'

‘What are you doing in Paris?' Simon asked.