Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (52 page)

Rhianna wondered only briefly if her outward appearance revealed the fusion of emotions within. This was the man, the
face
of the man, who inhabited so many of her dreams that even ten years in France could not allay, the man who invited her to balls and greeted her at the gates on many a wakeful night,
the man who lived in Kingsley Manor
.

“I come to inform you of an occurrence which brings me great pain to relay. Forgive me, for I know I shall never find the appropriate manner with which to report it.”

Marquis Vallière stepped forward. “Perhaps we should excuse ourselves.”

He motioned to his wife and children to leave so that Lord Kingsley might carry out his obligation with confidentiality, but Rhianna awoke from her reflections in time to intercede.

“No, pray, do not leave. Whatever Lord Kingsley has to say, he may say it before us all. Indeed, I prefer you stay,” she said, turning to Lord Kingsley, “if it is not objectionable to you, my lord.”

Guilford Kingsley showed no disapproval. “If that is your wish, it is entirely at your discretion.”

“Thank you. Please, proceed.”

He nodded in accord, and said, “Though we have never had the privilege of meeting, Miss Braden, I have been a friend of your father for a great many years. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to personally bring you a message which, in my opinion, cannot be given by way of written word.”

For the second time this day, Rhianna received a shocking announcement: a carriage accident, which Mr. and Mrs. Braden had not survived.

“When did it happen?” Marquis Vallière delicately questioned, as Philippe and Soleil assisted Rhianna to the nearest seat.

“Three weeks past,” Lord Kingsley declared. “I left almost as soon as it was made known to me. Miss Braden, allow me to be among the first to offer my deepest of sympathies.”

“Thank you,” she responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Belmont, please, some water,” Marquise Vallière requested, as she and her two children surrounded Rhianna.

Condolences were offered by the others, but she hardly heard them. Water was soon given her, but she was hardly aware as she sipped from her glass. Philippe’s hands held one of her own, but little did she feel it. Her mind accepted the knowledge imparted by Lord Kingsley that funeral services had been carried out, but beyond this her mind could not process.

Emotionally fatigued, Rhianna soon retired to her room, not to emerge for the rest of the day and night. There seclusion afforded her a chance to reflect, however deliriously, on the day’s events.

• • •

The horses moved gracefully through tall, wrought-iron gates, blithely pulling their two-wheeled
barouche
toward the manor. Bathed in the light of a beaming, springtime sun, they danced past the hedgerows that grew along the property’s enclosing stone wall and up the familiar cobblestone approach.

Breathlessly, their passenger gazed from her window, clinging to her reticule. The landscape was vast and impressive, populated with meticulously placed shrubbery, spring flowers in full bloom and, in the center of the lawn, an ornate, Grecian fountain spurting forth its sparkling waters. It was just enough to distract her until the
barouche
pulled up to the front of the great Kingsley Manor.

At long last, the horses pulled to a stop. The driver stepped down and opened the carriage door, offering his hand to assist her. Accepting it with one slender, lace-gloved hand, she, too, stepped down, lifting her parasol high above her red curls and porcelain skin. After smoothing out her muslin gown, she raised her eyes toward the portico before her. She blushed, as the enchanting lord of the manor himself appeared to greet her.

Removing his top hat, he approached with a bow, and said …

“I regret to inform you Mr. and Mrs. Braden did not survive.”

Rhianna jerked upright to a sitting position, her heart racing and her palms sweaty. A glance to the far wall revealed the tracing of a moonlit
escritoire
that reminded her of where she was. The familiar dream had taken a turn for the worse.

Gradually she took control of her erratic breathing, as the bedroom that had become home the last few years seemed to wrap its arms around her. Some hours yet remained before the sun would rise, but though she was inclined to fall back into her bedcovers and pull the white linens up under her chin, she feared what surrendering to sleep would bring.

She decided to seek comfort from the one object that, as a child, brought her peace in a foreign land — the only piece of England she still had. With the house and those in it sleeping soundly around her, Rhianna swung her feet over the side of the bed, lit a taper, and carried it to her dressing table.

Taking a seat on the ivory, embroidered cushion mounted on a mahogany frame, she placed the taper before the mirror and opened one of the small drawers. Lifting the brooch in her fingers, she examined the gold trinket from all angles as she had many times before.

Of course, it was more than a familiar ornament. Rhianna was wholly intimate with it, knew every stone, every change of hue in each of the pearls, its oval center a window to the past. Indeed, as she examined the object — a going away present from her dear, mysterious English friend — she could still hear the sound of the impending carriage coming to take her away from the only world she had ever known.

Memories of the past held her captive for a time, but she at last returned the brooch to the drawer. Her home was here now, and despite the sadness that had loomed over Rhianna’s young life, her broken heart had healed by rooting itself, not in England, but in France.

Suddenly, raising her eyes to her reflection in the mirror, she was at once startled to see the likeness of her nine-year-old self looking back at her. Rhianna leapt to her feet as the same fair skin, red curls, and green eyes met her, but with the appearance and innocence of her younger years.

And with a blink, that young girl’s image was gone.

• • •

Lord Kingsley’s intention to reserve a room at a nearby inn was at once overthrown by the Vallières. It was quickly settled that the two weeks he intended to remain in France would be spent with them at the
manoir
.

During the course of the next several days, Rhianna recovered enough to speak with Lord Kingsley at length about the accident. She was glad when, finally, she could express her appreciation for his coming to France. To her consternation, however, as the shock of her parents’ death wore off, Rhianna discovered an unsettling truth: that other than said initial shock, she felt very little. This troubling find left her questioning her very humanness, and even many hours of meditation could not open her to forgive the coldness of her heart.

Despite a dark cloud of self-condemnation looming over her, Rhianna found speaking with Lord Kingsley a welcome respite. Always interested in the lives of those who resided in Kingsley Manor, she was eager to hear him speak of its mistress, Lydia — Lady Kingsley — and of their two children, Desmond and Audra. As the days continued to pass, Lord Kingsley transformed from the fictitious creature of her imagination to a real person — and a good-natured, sympathetic one at that. Rhianna soon hoped to learn from him, indeed, to emulate the apparent goodness in this man, who showed gracious attentiveness even to her own inconsequential account of life in France.

At dinner one evening, shortly after his arrival, Lord Kingsley made Rhianna an offer she could hardly refuse. Indeed, he told her it was an offer he always intended to make, but had hesitated for fear of overburdening her: If she wished, he would be glad to personally escort her back to Thornton, England. More than that, Guilford Kingsley completed his invitation by including a place to stay at his own Kingsley Manor.

“Kingsley Manor! Do I understand you correctly?” she asked across the table.

“For as long as you wish,” he told her, as a servant offered Philippe a clean fork to replace the one he had dropped to the floor.

Rhianna had not been to Thornton since she was a nine-year-old girl. Moreover, she was not devoid of a desire to return once again, though she quickly reproached herself for having such narrow-minded reasons as seeing her place of birth and staying at Kingsley Manor. After all, there was the matter of cleaning out her parents’ cottage to consider, though she was certain there would be nothing of sentimental value within. And, of course, as Lord Kingsley suggested, she may wish to pay her respects to the deceased.

“That is very generous,” Marquis Vallière said, followed by his wife’s echoing sentiments.

Soleil, the only one at the table who knew just how large an offer this was to Rhianna, mirrored her mother’s feelings and caught her friend’s hand under the table with an excited squeeze.

“Lord Kingsley, I hardly know what to say,” Rhianna replied, setting her wineglass down on the table without taking a sip.

“You should seriously consider it,” Marquis Vallière encouraged. “After all, we are not going anywhere.”

“No, we are not,” Philippe said.

Rhianna understood
his
meaning at once, and was, in fact, the only one to understand him. Neither she nor Philippe had discussed his interrupted proposal from that fateful morning with anyone, nor had he broached the subject again with her.

Collecting herself, Rhianna tried not to be dazzled by the idea of living at Kingsley Manor and considered her life in France. Here was her home, and besides the lure of the manor, what did Thornton hold for her?

“Lord Kingsley, I do hope you will give me some time to think it over,” she said.

“Take all the time you need,” he answered. “The option is there, if you wish to accept.”

As the night wore on, Rhianna became increasingly aware that a fascination with returning to England was strong within her — not to mention the prospect of fulfilling her childhood dream of not only stepping foot in Kingsley Manor, but
living there
. Nevertheless, the notion of leaving France, where she had made both a home and a family, was a melancholy one. Moreover, there was Philippe’s confession of love to consider …

But the prospect of marrying Philippe frightened her terribly — and is that what one ought to feel after receiving a proposal from an agreeable gentleman? Rhianna suspected not, and her suspicions grew stronger as Soleil’s fascination with Armand grew daily. Of course, if she rejected Philippe, Rhianna could not help but wonder what she would do if Soleil were to marry. Under such circumstances, would she find reason to remain in France? Or, was marrying Philippe the only sensible option for a woman in her position? The Marquis and Marquise seemed to be very happy together; perhaps she could have something similar with Philippe. On the other hand, what could England possibly hold for her? And would she ever forgive herself if she did not go?

• • •

Marquise Vallière and Soleil had immediately seen to it that their dressmaker prepare the necessary mourning wardrobe for Rhianna, and on the day following Lord Kingsley’s offer to accompany Rhianna to England, the first of three outfits was completed. Thus smothered in layers of black
crêpe
, Rhianna decided to debut her dreary new costume with a turn through the garden.

She was not there long when Lord Kingsley appeared. “Miss Braden, may I have a word?”

Always pleased to see him, the somber mood her clothing inspired quickly lifted at his arrival. “Good day, Lord Kingsley. Of course.”

Guilford held his hands behind his back as he walked with her. The day was fine, as it had been the day Philippe professed his love. Rhianna was at once grateful that it was Lord Kingsley, and not Philippe, who accompanied her on her stroll.

“I believe you are aware that I bestowed Mr. Braden with the benefice at Thornton Church,” he said to her.

To this common knowledge, Rhianna replied in the affirmative. “I am.”

He paused before his next statement, but his countenance gave off a serious air. Rhianna got the distinct impression there was something more. As, in fact, there was.

“What you are no doubt unaware of,” he said at last, clearing his throat, “is that I deeded it to him many years ago.”

Rhianna stopped and turned to him. As she did so, her arms fell to her sides and her hands closed over folds of ebony fabric.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lord Kingsley supported his statement with a nod. “You are the sole heir, Miss Braden. The benefice is now under your control.”

Rhianna realized suddenly that she was staring. Quickly returning her eyes to the path, she began to place one foot carefully in front of the other. He followed her.

“I hardly know what to say, Lord Kingsley.”

“Then you have already fulfilled my request.” As she turned to him yet again, he continued, “It is not public knowledge that such is the case. In fact, at the time the matter transpired, it was under the stipulation that it remain, for all intents and purposes, a private transaction. I had my own reasons for doing so, and I’m sure you will understand I cannot elaborate.”

Rhianna mumbled something in agreement, though she hardly knew what.

“Miss Braden,” Lord Kingsley went on, “obviously, no one could foresee the sad situation that has now befallen us. I must admit to you, though, I did not anticipate the matter of the benefice coming to light at this time.”

He paused, and Rhianna felt the necessity of a response.

“I’m not entirely sure I comprehend you,” she admitted.

“It is my wish,” he told her, discreetly scanning the garden around them, “for the time being, that the general understanding continue to be that the benefice is Kingsley property. I am hoping that in placing this delicate situation in your confidence you might be willing to work with me.” Lord Kingsley drew a long breath, and added, “I realize you would have no reason to grant this peculiar request of mine. Furthermore, you have not been of my acquaintance for more than a week …”

“Lord Kingsley,” Rhianna said, incited by her clearer understanding, “please, say no more. We may not have known each other for very long, but I am forever indebted to you for overseeing my parents’ funeral arrangements. Not only that, but your kindness in traveling to deliver the tragic news of their passing to me personally will not be forgotten. Whatever your reasons, it would seem to me the least I could do. In fact, I would be happy to oblige.”