Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (39 page)

Miranda’s cheeks flushed bright red. She’d meant to control the reaction, but she couldn’t.

“You can’t jilt me,” she insisted. “It’s the height of outrage. When word gets out, no other female will ever have you.”

“I don’t care.”

When she couldn’t stir Tristan to sympathy, she turned her attention back to James.

“But...but...if you do this to me, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ll be teased and belittled. I’ll once again be the laughingstock of the entire city!”

“It won’t matter.”

“And why wouldn’t it?”

“Because you won’t be
in
the city.”

Her pulse thudded with dread. This was bad. This was very, very bad. If James sent her away, how would she ever seduce him?

“Where am I going?”

“I have decided that you are not ready for marriage—”

“I am ready! I am!”

“—and before I bother with finding you another husband, you need some solitude to reflect on your conduct.”

“What are you saying?”

“There is a small convent outside Edinburgh.”

“A convent? In Scotland? Are you mad?”

“You will travel there immediately and spend the next year in quiet contemplation.”

She gasped. “Then what?”

“Then...we’ll see.”

“You’ll keep me prisoner?”

“Depending on your attitude, you may spend a second year. I refuse to allow you to inflict yourself on another family as you have inflicted yourself on mine.”

“James! James! Say you won’t do it!”

She wept in earnest, and she rushed around the desk and fell to her knees. She clasped his hand and rested her cheek on his thigh. She thought he might pat her shoulder or stroke her hair as he often had in the past, but he was still as a statue.

Tristan grabbed her and pulled her away, lifting her to her feet.

“You could stop him,” she charged, “if you wanted to.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh, let me stay!” she begged. “I’ll change. I swear it.”

Her pleading was genuine, but it was too late to exhibit any sincerity. They were unmoved.

“I am marrying Helen Stewart,” James announced, and Miranda actually staggered as if he’d struck her.

“And
I
,” Tristan added, ”am marrying her twin sister, Harriet.”

“Ah! No!” Miranda shrieked.

“We can’t have you here,” James nagged, “making mischief for everyone. So you’re leaving.”

“When?” Like a cornered animal, she glanced about as if searching for an escape route. “When must I go?”

The library door opened, and she peeked over to discover her Aunt Bertha standing in the threshold.

“Bertha has come from the country,” James explained, “to escort you to Scotland. You’ll depart at once, and she’ll see that you arrive safe and sound.”

“But I have to say goodbye to my friends. I have to pack.”

“While we were talking,” James said, “we had a bag packed for you.”

“I need my clothes! I need my things!”

“The nuns asked that you bring only a few personal items. They will have a simple gown for you to wear.”

She clutched Tristan’s arm. “Please, Tristan! If you were ever fond of me...”

His stony silence told her that, in fact, he had never been fond at all.

“The carriage awaits you.” James’s words rang with a grim finality. “It’s out front.”

Miranda wanted to rail, wanted to shout and protest, but they were both so firm and unbending. How could she get them to pity her? How could she get them to relent?

“I’ll never forgive you for this as long as I live,” she hurled.

“I’m sure you won’t,” James replied, “and you’ll have plenty of time to stew over me. In Scotland. At the convent.”

“Miranda,” Bertha called, “you’re making a spectacle of yourself. The earl has decided; there’s no use arguing. Let’s be off.”

Miranda glared at Tristan, at James, her hatred shining through. Then she whirled away and stomped toward her aunt, her conspirator in every devious, deceitful scheme.

“Honestly, Miranda,” the older woman said, “if I’d known the trouble you were going to cause, I’d never have gone home and left you here alone.”

“Shut up, you fat cow.”

Miranda swept out of the room.

EPILOGUE

“I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I.”

Harriet actually started to cry. Harriet—who never cried about anything.

Helen took her sister’s hands in her own.

“What’s this? Tears on our wedding day?”

“I’m so happy,” Harriet sobbed.

“I am, too.”

“I never thought I would be again.”

“That’s not true, Harriet. You never lost hope.”

“Everyone has been so kind to us.”

“Yes, they have, and Tristan loves you so much.”

Harriet cried even harder. “I can’t believe he does.”

“I can.”

The organ began to play, and Helen glanced to the front of the church as Tristan and James moved to the altar with the vicar. Aiden Bramwell was with them, serving as Tristan’s best man. Phillip would ultimately stand there too, with James, after he escorted Helen and Harriet down the aisle.

They were holding the ceremony in the village near Brookhaven, in the church where they’d never been welcome. As girls, their relatives had refused to let them attend lest the neighbors gossip about their ancestry.

It was amazing, seeing what power an earl could wield. Tristan was living at Brookhaven, preparing it for Harriet. With his now owning the property, Harriet was being lauded as a grand hostess, even though she hadn’t yet stepped across the threshold.

She’d gone from being a social pariah to a sought-after celebrity, and Helen couldn’t get over what a waste it had all been.

Their family tragedy was ended, but on such a joyous day, she wouldn’t focus on the past. She gazed toward the altar—toward the future—where James waited for her.

The vicar’s wife was in charge of the event, and she was frantically gesturing to Phillip’s wife Anne to start down the aisle. Anne hurried over, hugged Helen and Harriet, then walked off, her measured strides keeping time with the music.

Fanny was next, and with tears in her eyes, she hugged them, too.

“You both look so pretty,” she gushed. “I’m so happy! I feel like I could burst!”

“We were just saying the same thing,” Helen admitted.

“I’m so glad we’re all together.”

“So am I.”

The vicar’s wife gestured again, and Fanny marched off, her bouquet trembling.

Phillip grinned and moved between them, ready to follow Fanny, when the door to the church opened behind them, and they turned to see who had arrived.

To Helen’s extreme astonishment, it was Lord Trent. She had sent him an invitation, but it had never occurred to her that he might show up.

They had met him on several occasions, and they were all still trying to figure out how their relationship should unfold. He was very handsome, very charming, and it was easy for Helen to imagine how her poor mother had fallen for him.

While in their company, he was cordial, but cool and detached. He appeared willing to work on a closer association, but there was an evident aloofness about him they couldn’t breach, and Helen wondered if it was possible for him to bond on any significant level.

He was an enigma, one that she would spend the rest of her life unraveling.

“Hello, Charles,” Phillip said. “I’m delighted you could make it.”

“I hope I’m not too late.”

“No. Come in, come in.”

“Hello, Charles,” Helen and Harriet said, too.

They had never considered calling him
father
. The appellation felt wrong and wasn’t deserved.
Trent
seemed too formal, and
Charles
seemed just right, with Charles insisting it was the mode of address he preferred.

He kissed Helen on the cheek, then Harriet.

“My, what a pair of lovely brides,” he praised. “But then, I’d expect nothing less from my daughters.”

Fanny had made it to the altar to join Anne and the men, and the guests were craning their necks, watching for Helen and Harriet to enter. The vicar’s wife was motioning for them to proceed, but Charles ignored her.

“I have something for you,” he mentioned.

He reached into his jacket and extracted two lockets. They hung from gold chains and were encrusted with diamonds, and they were in the shape of a figure-eight, like the mark on their wrists that had identified them as his children.

Helen was stunned that he’d thought of them, that he’d brought them such a precious gift.

“I bought one for Fanny too,” he explained, “so you’d all have one.”

“That is so sweet,” Helen said. “Thank you.”

“May I,
cherie
?” He pointed to Helen, indicating that he wanted to fasten it round her neck.

“Of course,” she replied.

She spun away, raising her hair so he could pin the clasp. Then he did the same for Harriet. As they turned back to face him, there was an awkward hesitation, then Harriet leapt forward, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him the fiercest hug in the world.

He was uncomfortable with the embrace and didn’t seem to know how to accept it. As she pulled away, he smiled and patted her on the shoulder.

“Would you like to walk them down the aisle?” Phillip inquired.

“No, no, I don’t want to create a fuss. It’s their celebration.
They
should be the center of attention. Not me.” He waved toward the impatient crowd. “I’ll sit in the back, out of the way.”

He slipped into the rear pew as Phillip positioned Helen and Harriet on either side of him.

“Are you ready?” Phillip asked.

“Yes,” they answered together.

“Then let’s go. We’ve kept everyone waiting long enough.”

He offered each an arm, and they grabbed hold. The three of them started off, and Helen could feel Charles observing them, his gaze like a soft, encouraging caress, but she didn’t glance back.

Her eyes were trained on the front, on the man who would soon be her husband.

They came closer and closer, and when they were a few feet away, Harriet leaned around Phillip and murmured, “I wish Mother was alive. I wish she was here to see this.”

The sentiment finally unleashed the tears Helen hadn’t shed. Love’s price was high and difficult to pay. She wondered how differently things might have gone if their mother and father had wed, if she and Harriet had had a normal upbringing. But then, they would never have met Tristan and James. Their paths would never have crossed.

They stopped at the altar, the vicar directly before them.

He smiled and intoned, “Who gives these two sisters in holy matrimony?”

“I am their brother,” Phillip responded, “and
I
give them.”

He handed Harriet to Tristan and Helen to James.

Helen was shaking so hard that she could barely stand, but James drew her near, supporting her, cherishing her.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

“I’m not.”

“I’m right here with you,” he said. “I’ll always be right here.”

THE END

DON’T MISS THE THIRD AND FINAL NOVEL

in

CHERYL HOLT’S

“LORD TRENT TRILOGY”

LOVE’S PERIL

The story of John Sinclair, also known as
Jean Pierre
,

The French Terror
, the world’s most notorious pirate!

Coming in July, 2013

Turn the page to read an excerpt now!

LOVE’S PERIL...

CHAPTER ONE

Bramble Bay Estate, English Coast, June 1815...

Sarah Teasdale marched down the rutted lane. She was distracted and furious, so she wasn’t paying attention. She tripped on a rock, twisted her ankle and fell, landing in a heap in the dirt.

She’d been shopping in the village and was walking home, so the contents of her basket spilled everywhere. The decanter of expensive brandy she’d specifically gone to purchase cracked open, the amber liquid spilling on the ground.

Luckily, she was alone, so no one had witnessed her humiliating tumble.

“Serves you right,” she scolded.

All morning, she’d been in a dither, angry with her stepmother, Mildred, when it was pointless to be upset.

Sarah’s mother had died when she was a baby, and her father had remarried shortly after. Sarah had no memories of her mother, and at age twenty-five, it seemed there had been no maternal figure but Mildred. Yet Mildred had never liked Sarah, though Sarah had no idea why.

She glanced about, taking stock of her location, her condition. Her palms were scraped and bleeding, her skirt muddy and torn where her knees had hit the gravel.

The rip in the fabric could be patched without too much trouble, which was a relief. Mildred was very stingy. She refused to spend even the smallest amounts on Sarah, declining to provide the barest necessities such as new undergarments, shoes, or gowns.

Sarah’s life was so terrible, and she’d been so horribly abused, that she could have been Cinderella in the fairytale. That’s how she felt: lonely and unappreciated and maltreated.

When her father, Bernard, had been alive, she and Mildred had lumped along without too much tension or bickering. Mildred’s worst excesses had always occurred when Bernard wasn’t looking. But Bernard had been deceased for several years, and Mildred’s festering dislike of Sarah had been given free rein.

Still, despite Mildred’s snubs and slights, Sarah tried to be helpful and obliging. She had to constantly remind herself that Mildred was simply a very unhappy, miserable person. In Sarah’s dealings with her, she had to avoid the protracted arguments that fueled Mildred’s temper.

The only other option was for Sarah to leave Bramble Bay, as Mildred often suggested. Yet Bramble Bay had been the Teasdale family home for two centuries, and Sarah was Bernard’s only daughter—her sole sibling being her half-brother, Hedley.

Hedley was Mildred’s son with Bernard. At Bernard’s death, Hedley had inherited everything, with Sarah not receiving a penny of support, and Hedley and Mildred treated Sarah like an interloper. But she shouldn’t have to leave and wouldn’t let them chase her away.