Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (31 page)

“We both misjudged him. He’s a fine man.”

“So are you.”

“I’ve done many wrong things. Some of them I can never atone for. I would have killed John without compunction. You’d have forgiven me, then?”

I smiled and reached up to caress his cheek, rough with stubble. It glinted in the dim light, like powdered gold dusted over his beloved features. “It wasn’t a matter of me forgiving you. It was you forgiving yourself. I would have remained with you, supported you, even if you’d killed him in the spring. But you wouldn’t have lived with that very easily. A man shouldn’t have to make that decision. Neither should he have to live with it afterwards. John largely made his own future by seeking revenge at every turn. You did everything you could to make him see reason, but he refused. And now he’s dead.”

“How did he die?” He hadn’t asked that before. We’d only told him John was dead when he demanded to know.

Now I had to tell him. “I shot him when they brought you out. He must have been watching all that time and not attempted to help us. I would have shot him for that alone. He aimed his pistol at you, and I’d had enough. No more, I decided. I’ve always been a good shot, you know that, and I got him in the head.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry, so sorry. But I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

“Even after everything he did, so am I. It’s wrong to kill someone of your blood. But I’m glad he’s dead. He had his chances to make a new life and he refused to take them. He’d have always caused trouble, and his mind was dangerously twisted. He was obsessed with revenge.”

“I think he was part mad, at the end.” I stroked a hand over Richard’s chest, down over his stomach. The muscles tightened under my hand in instinctive response. “But remember, Richard, you killed for me once. I’ve returned the favour.”

“So we’re even.” His smile, at first grim, turned tender. “And we’ve come through our ordeals, we’re alive and in love. What more could we ask for?”

What more indeed?

I reached up and kissed him. He threaded his fingers through my hair and held me close, making the kiss deeper, hotter, and just like that we created another conflagration. It wouldn’t stop until we were both sated. Then we’d rest and return to the flame. It would always be like that between us.

Epilogue

Late spring, 1756

“I want to remodel the garden.”

Richard looked up from the letter he was perusing. “Sorry, my sweet?”

“The garden. It’s dingy. No colour. I want to remake it.”

He reached a hand over the breakfast table, and I put my own in it. “You must do as you see fit. Are you missing the colours of Portugal? Shall we buy a house there?”

I repressed a shudder, recalling the events of the previous winter. “No. I can understand why Lizzie is so happy there, but she has reason to be. She has two children now, and her husband back.”

Paul had recovered his spirits with his strength and as he’d promised, was learning to walk again, with the help of his wife and the collection of clever false feet the carpenter was constantly fashioning for him, refining the design with each new model. He had learned to use a crutch as soon as he could, when his wound had knitted sufficiently for him to try, and joked about having more in common with the sailors in Lisbon port.

Lisbon was busy rebuilding. A remarkable man had taken charge, one of the government, and he was rebuilding as fast as he could, replacing the beautiful city with one just as fine. Our help wasn’t needed. But we received the government’s thanks, for what we weren’t sure.

This was where our life lay. Here, in London and in the country, fulfilling the purpose Richard was born for, and living every day, as Richard had promised, for the moment. We could make plans and still remain with each other. Every time I looked at him, every smile, every time I lay in his arms at night, I thanked God for sparing us both.

We had nearly died in 1755, me in the spring, Richard in the autumn, and we both had the strong feeling that something had turned, the tenor of our lives had changed.

“I like it here,” I told him now.

He laughed delightedly, his eyes sparkling. “I thought you dreaded London. Remember when we first married, how afraid you were of society? I told you that you’d come to lead society in the end, that you didn’t need it, it needed you. And I was right.”

He stood and came around the table to me, tugging my hand so I got up too. I eagerly met his lips and felt him caress me, his hand splayed over my back. “No stays? What a delightful surprise. While I sometimes enjoy the confinement, and the shape they convey to your body, nothing compares with your luscious self.”

I had regained the weight I’d lost during my illness and he delighted in it. He was no longer afraid that he’d break me, he said.

“I have to go out later. I’m attending Mrs. Montagu’s salon, so I thought I’d be lazy and dress properly after I’d eaten.”

“Do you need to go to the salon?”

I looked at him quizzically. “Why?”

“Because I can think of something far more interesting to do.” Just to prove his point, he kissed me, long and slow.

I drew away slightly, smiled, then laughed. “Richard, do you never think of anything else?”

“Not while you’re in this world, my love. And that, I know, will be for a very long time to come.”

Author’s Note

It’s the first time I’ve done one of these. While I always take care that I don’t distort history for my own ends, this is the first time I’ve used such a cataclysmic event as the background to a story.

The Lisbon earthquake of 1755 was a natural disaster such as hadn’t been experienced for centuries in Europe. While Lisbon had suffered earthquakes, this was a monster. Modern experts rate this at around 9 on the Richter scale, as powerful as the Japanese earthquake of 2011. I was writing this story at the same time as the Japanese earthquake, and the experience was a strange one. It really brought home how devastating these disasters are, and my sympathies go out to everyone affected by the terrible disaster.

The earthquake, tsunami and subsequent fires and lootings destroyed most of old Lisbon. It’s not known exactly how many people died, but many were at church for the services of All Saint’s Day. After the earthquake, several determined and gifted people drew services together to rebuild the city, which is now the beautiful city you can see today.

It says much for the resilience of the Portuguese people that they survived such a disaster. I read extensively about the subject, trying to do the people justice by describing it as closely as I could. For instance, the royal palace, close to the harbour, survived the earthquake but was destroyed in looting and fires afterwards. There are accounts of people surviving in cellars, although many of them couldn’t be reached because of the rubble piled on top and the anarchy that immediately followed the disaster.

I always meant to end the story of Richard and Rose here. Right from the beginning I knew where they’d end up, and I worked all the dates to suit. Apart from that, the individual stories in the books were done as I got to them. I had no idea at the beginning of the story that Richard’s chequered past would catch up with him, but it seemed right that he should be made to think about what he’d done in the past, and to pay for it.

I wanted to tell the story of two men in this series. One who had a sensitive nature hidden under a hard, uncaring exterior, and his mirror image, who was also, by a twist of fate, his son. But Rose needed her own conflict. She couldn’t be the woman she grew into without that, so the Drurys were born too.

Where I’ve included historical figures, I’ve kept them as true to life as I could, relying on contemporary accounts for the most part, and many of the great houses in the books are also based on real-life examples. I based Eyton, Richard’s family seat, on Chatsworth, a house I know quite well. The ruinous Hareton Abbey was based on Calke Abbey, an astonishing place with a nursery just as I described it in
Yorkshire
, and the rebuilt Hareton Hall, James’s family seat, is based on the superbly elegant Saltram House. Admittedly Saltram was built a little later than Hareton, but I didn’t use the Adam brothers, merely the layout and the idea of classical elegance. And it’s in the right part of the country.

The
palacio
where Lizzie and Paul lived is based on a real-life example too. A very beautiful landmark that is today open to the public, it survived the earthquake virtually intact.

I can’t imagine doing the series without the help of all the editors, cover artists and most of all, the readers. Your encouragement has pushed me to make the best I could for Richard and Rose, who I’ve come to know very well over the course of the ten years it’s taken me to write their story. For which I thank you.

However, Richard and Rose won’t completely disappear from my books. Richard makes a guest appearance in
A Betting Chance
, for instance, and I’m planning for him, and perhaps Rose as well, to make an appearance in other stories.

One final word. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. Writing Richard and Rose’s story has given me more insight into the era I love and the chance to do lots more research. For all your emails, tweets and requests for signings, as well as the interest you’ve taken, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Richard and Rose might not be done, but they deserve a rest from their exertions.

However, watch for more adventures set in the wonderful Georgian era. There are so many more stories to tell.

About the Author

Lynne Connolly has been in love with the Georgian age since the age of nine, when she did a project about coffee and tea at school. One look at the engraving of the Georgian coffee house, and she was a goner. It’s the longest love affair of her life.

She stopped looking around old houses and visiting museums long enough to go to work, fall in love for a second time, marry and have a family, but they have to share her with her obsession, which they do with good grace and much humor.

To learn more about Lynne Connolly, please visit
www.lynneconnolly.com
. Send an email to
[email protected]
or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers!
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lynneconnolly
. She can also be found at MySpace, Facebook and the Samhain Café.

Look for these titles by Lynne Connolly

Now Available:

Triple Countess

Last Chance, My Love

A Chance to Dream

Met by Chance

A Betting Chance

Secrets Trilogy

Alluring Secrets

Seductive Secrets

Tantalizing Secrets

Richard and Rose

Yorkshire

Devonshire

Venice

Harley Street

Eyton

Hareton Hall

Maiden Lane

In this game of hearts, winner takes all.

A Betting Chance

© 2010 Lynne Connolly

The Triple Countess, Book 4

Sapphira Vardon needs five thousand pounds to avoid a cruel marriage and a grim future, and there’s only one path for her. Don a mask and an assumed name, and risk everything to win at the gaming tables. First, though, she has to get through the door. Luckily she knows just whose name to drop.

Corin, Lord Elston, is curious to find out who used his name to gain entrance to Mother Brown’s whorehouse and gaming hell. The enigmatic woman who calls herself Lucia isn’t the sort of female usually found here. Behind her mask and heavy makeup, she’s obviously a respectable woman—who plays a devilish hand of cards.

Sapphira is desperate to keep her identity a secret, but Lord Elston’s devastating kisses and touches demand complete surrender. And once he learns the truth, there’s more at stake than guineas. Corin finds himself falling hard for a woman who’s poised to run. A woman who’s about to learn that he only plays to win…

Warning: Hot action on the gaming table and in the bedroom might make you go looking for a time machine.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
A Betting Chance:

“I wish you’d trust me with your secret. I might be able to help,” Lord Elston said.

“I don’t know you.” Not in any recognized meaning of the word. The connection Sapphira felt to him had to be her imagination. He couldn’t feel it, not this wild needing.

“I think we should get to know each other better. I want you to trust me.” He touched her chin, his forefinger stroking her skin. She wanted to purr like a cat, but instead she moved back. Before she could retreat out of his reach he tilted her chin up so she had to meet his direct gaze. His eyes bored into her soul. “There’s something about you—I don’t know.” He bit his lip. It was the first time she’d seen any vulnerability about him and she found it meltingly seductive.

She couldn’t risk weakening. She put her guard back up and kept it firmly in place, reminding herself that he was a stranger, that she didn’t know him. “I told you, I can’t do that. I’m here to play cards, no more.”