Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  Rhianna also had veiled plans to make another visit — a visit to a place in which no barouche could accompany her. A certain friend had frequented her thoughts over the years. She could not help but wonder if that friend was still living and she was determined to find out as soon as possible.

  After breakfast, Rhianna had a letter addressed to Soleil ready for the post. After handing it to Henry and informing a servant of the broken window lock in her room, she departed for the churchyard.

  It had been ten years since she had stood before a grave. The last time, it was the grave of the previous owner of her beloved brooch. Now, Rhianna stood before the shared grave of her parents. The ground was still freshly shoveled over where the coffins had been laid and the inscription on their memorial stone was simple. Sheltered by sycamores and elms, the churchyard seemed a scene of peaceful dignity as Rhianna placed the flowers she had picked along the way.

  When she cried, it was from the guilt of not crying over her parents’ deaths. Looking to the heavens, she asked forgiveness for her dispassionate emotions. If only they could have but loved her, the way she wanted to love them. If only they had been but kind, she should have mourned them the way a daughter ought to mourn a father and a mother.

  But they had not, and she could not. The black of her mourning clothes was all she could give them.

  Soon, she found her mind dwelling on the Kingsleys, on the Vallières, on the smaller, unmarked grave beside her parents’ — everything but what lay before her. And each time she caught her thoughts drifting, she chastised herself. Feelings of regret and blame quickly became overbearing. If their treatment toward her had been due, in some way, to an offense on her part, amends could never be made, nor could a new relationship ever be attained. These thoughts were enough to bring her already heavy spirits lower as she mourned what could never be.

  • • •

  Guided by the stream she followed as a child, Rhianna struggled to lift the heavy folds of her skirt above the wet ground. Even still, though she was cautious with her footing, there was no preventing the bottom of her dress from getting dirty. She hoped, when she returned later to Kingsley Manor, that she would be able to slip into her room to change before anyone noticed.

  Traveling along the infrequently trodden, muddy path, Rhianna questioned the reliability of her memory of that dimly lit trail. Once the ivy-covered hunting lodge came into view, though, there was no mistaking it. With mixed feelings of relief and apprehension, Rhianna hastened to the lodge’s door.

  Looking around, she felt as though eyes were upon her. And though it was a sensation she had often felt here, Rhianna began to wonder why she had come. After all, even as a guest at Kingsley Manor, she had no permission to be here. As a child, perhaps she could have gotten away with such an intrusion but, as a young woman, was it not outright trespassing? She paused to listen, but heard no movement, aside that of a stiff breeze and an occasional birdsong.

  She knocked.

  There had been no communication between the two after Rhianna left for Madame Chandelle’s School for Girls and, in those first moments after she’d rapped on the weather-worn, wooden door, Rhianna’s mind raced with unanswered questions. Would anyone be able to answer them if her confidant no longer lived? And, who was this woman, who led so sheltered a life, hidden from the world? Would the mysteries that accompanied her, mysteries that Rhianna had so often dwelt upon, forever be concealed?

  Perhaps she had no right to know, but that did not mean she did not wish to. It had become so very personal to Rhianna, almost as if their lives were fully connected with one another so that Rhianna did have a right, more so than anyone. This wonderful woman had especially provided a companionship to the young Rhianna, a maternal-like intimacy, at a time when she was in desperate need of it. Standing before the cherished lodge, Rhianna hoped that she had brought as much friendship to this woman in her lonely hours as Rhianna herself had enjoyed.

  At last, all fears were dispelled. The door was opened and the long-lost confidant appeared. Rhianna expected a good deal of excitement, but no such reaction arose. Her appearance still very much resembled the woman Rhianna recalled. In her plain clothing, her braided hair wrapped into a large bun, she looked upon the younger woman instead with distinct bewilderment.

  “Young woman, are you lost?” she asked with concern. “Do you need help?”

  “You do not recognize me, Mauvreen?” Rhianna said with a smile, immediately recalling that although Mauvreen might appear the same, she certainly did not.

  Whether it had been Rhianna’s words, or her manner, it was all that need be said. The expected excitement then overcame Mauvreen. Rhianna could see it in her glassy eyes.

  “Dear child!” she exclaimed, her hand pressed to her heart. “Ay, a child no more! Let me look at you — good heavens, I must look up!” After a moment of reflection, she implored, “Is it really you?” Rhianna could no sooner broaden her smile than Mauvreen embraced her. “Oh, but of course it is! I wonder that your red hair did not give it away instantly. Come in!”

  A mysterious, middle-aged woman, Mauvreen seemed as much a figment of Rhianna’s imagination as she always had. No one seemed to know she existed, and she had yet to give a clear explanation as to why she resided alone in the hunting lodge.

  The lodge, too, seemed an invention of the mind, which had its own secrets, not the least of which was the tombstone for Haldana that sat just outside the kitchen window. And yet, this cabin, overgrown with ivy and situated in the most distant corner of the Kingsley property, was where she had first met Mauvreen, and it was here she had spent her happiest of days.

  The natural inquiries immediately ensued of health and so on, and the two took their places by the fire as Mauvreen set a tray of tea on the table before them. Rhianna couldn’t resist a glance toward Mauvreen’s end table where a familiar drawing of a young woman sat encased in an elegant, silver frame. No matter how many times she had looked at it as a child, she never grew tired of it. The young woman, lovely in every respect, was holding a bouquet of roses. What stood out to Rhianna most was her gown — all that lace, all those ribbons! Rhianna wore that dress in her dreams on many a night.

  “You always loved that drawing,” Mauvreen said, casting a sideways glance as she poured the hot water.

  Rhianna nodded. “I can’t believe I’m here, Mauvreen. I thought I would never see you again.”

  “I must admit, I am more than surprised to see you so shortly after your return to England.”

  Taking the cup offered to her, Rhianna asked, “Did you already know of my return?” Mauvreen offered her a coy grin. “Your knowledge astounds me, Mauvreen! You must tell me how you hear such things.”

  As she spoke the words, Rhianna knew the ever-mysterious Mauvreen would offer her no such information.

  “My child,” she answered, “the trees whisper in these woods. One must learn to listen.”

  Aware, too, of her parents’ deaths, Mauvreen did not hesitate to comment on the unfortunate events, and on this topic she was most comforting. Rhianna opened up to her even sooner than she expected regarding her own regrets, and Mauvreen was quick to soothe her. Rhianna was soon convinced that the distant relationship was what her parents had wished, and that a young girl in a foreign country could not be expected to maintain a one-sided connection.

  A summary of the last ten years of Rhianna’s life was requested and an abbreviated version of this happy tale she was glad to narrate. From the grandeur of her travels through London, to the steamship at the docks of Dover, to her first night at the gothic-styled Madame Chandelle’s, to life with the Vallières, not a crucial detail was left omitted, no major experience wanting to be told. As should be expected, such a recount brought both amusement and seriousness. Humorous stories brought many laughs, whereas significant moments, such as Philippe’s proposal, brought sobriety and thoughtfulness. Mauvreen was glad to know that the brooch she had given her had brought Rhianna happiness and comfort through
out.

  “This young man named Philippe,” Mauvreen said, musing, “have you given him an answer?”

  “No,” Rhianna said, growing solemn. “It was at that moment Lord Kingsley arrived with news of my parents’ deaths. It would seem his relationship with my father was more than cordial.”

  There was no telling which subjects Mauvreen would open up to and there was a good deal Rhianna wanted to know about the Kingsley family. To her surprise, Mauvreen was not entirely silent on the subject.

  “I am aware Mr. Braden was a comfort to him when Lord Kingsley was unwell.” With a pause, she added, “I understand he has been more frequently ill.”

  This last was said almost as a question, but if such was the case, Rhianna had seen nothing to support her claim.

  “If he has, I have not observed it,” she told Mauvreen.

  Mauvreen mumbled something about a fever running through Thornton and Rhianna knew better than to try further for particulars. She would sooner receive information from Mauvreen’s whispering trees. Instead, she continued with another line of questioning, determined not to give in to Mauvreen’s efforts at changing the subject altogether.

  “What can you tell me of a Mr. Pierson? Is his a familiar name to you?” Rhianna asked.

  “Mr. Pierson?” Mauvreen resounded. “In what way do you know of him?”

  The whole of Rhianna’s brief experience with him was relayed, from the initial upset his presence invoked in Lord Kingsley, to his mysterious departure early the next morning.

  Mauvreen, for her part, listened attentively to these events — so attentively, in fact, that when the account was complete, Rhianna was not sure she could draw Mauvreen out of rumination. When at last she did, Mauvreen did not hesitate to share some passionate thoughts with her young friend.

  “It has been some time since I have heard the name,” said she. “Mr. Pierson is Lydia Kingsley’s first cousin by relation. Lord Kingsley banned him from the manor some time ago, actually — not out of concern for his own good reputation only, but in fear of the poor influence Mr. Pierson might have on young Desmond. Of that, I hope I am mistaken when I say, it is likely too late.” Mauvreen continued, “In addition to his gambling problems, Pierson was also heavily in debt and now owes Lord Kingsley a significant sum of money. I declare, if he returned to the manor, I am shocked.”

  This was more than Mauvreen had ever said together on such a scandalous topic and Rhianna was shocked nearly speechless by it, not to mention by the details themselves.

  “Well, if such is the case,” Rhianna told her, “I am glad he is gone.”

  “If he returns, Rhianna, I beg you will stay far away from him.”

  At the end of all this, Rhianna’s visit had lasted some hours and she knew it was time to return to the Kingsleys. They parted with the promise to meet again, and often, for as long as Rhianna remained in England.

  • • •

  “Ah, our young guest, come! The men and Audra have gone out. Let us take this opportunity to get to know one another.”

  Rhianna could not but reflect how strikingly Desmond took after his mother, not in manner only, but likewise in appearance. They shared the same sunken, piercing eyes, dark complexion, and domineering posture.

  Lady Kingsley continued, “The weather is so fine today. I was just about to take a turn through the garden. Will you not join me?”

  Despite the amount of walking Rhianna had done earlier, and her filthy skirt, she could hardly decline the opportunity to see more of the Kingsley grounds.

  “Certainly,” was Rhianna’s reply, and the lady took her arm in hers.

  Lydia Kingsley took pride in the formal gardens, which she proudly guided Rhianna along. “Our gardener, Stowe, is quite the artist. Some years back, the grounds were so overly ornate. I was quite anxious to move away from the formal, French style and what a work he has done! It is natural without being too natural. See how the trellis-covered walk offers the perfect transition to the garden …”

  Rhianna was quick to compliment them, followed by the lady’s wish that the visitors who “time and again” expressed their envy over “such beauty” were not so very dissatisfied with their own gardens. As she spoke, Rhianna found humor in such statements, recognizing that Lydia Kingsley was not the sort to regret any such envy her home may have evoked.

  “My husband does not view his garden as seriously as he ought,” she went on, “but that is where I take pride in our thirty-year union. I feel I quite complement him where he is lacking — and vice versa, naturally. Appearance is so very important when one is as visible in society as he is, you see. We could hardly go on with an unsuitable garden.”

  Rhianna listened courteously to her as she detailed her favorite features of the garden, the extent of the property and house, the size of the rooms compared to those in the surrounding manors, including a ballroom rivaled only by that at Ravensleigh, and the significant number of servants they kept. In the end, Lydia expressed her humble desire of only finding herself worthy of being called its mistress.

  Thus seemingly absorbed with her own home and social rank, Lydia Kingsley made it clear almost immediately that she did not care very much about getting to know Rhianna — save for one subject.

  “How long will you be staying with us?” Before Rhianna could respond, Lydia added, “Oh my, that sounds dreadful, does it not? I would never want to suggest you were imposing on us, Miss Braden. No, no, not at all. I am simply wondering how long we can expect to enjoy your company.”

  “Oh, I didn’t … I’m not quite sure, exactly …”

  “But of course you’re not quite sure,” she agreed. “You’ve only just arrived. How ridiculous of me! And do not feel you are at all in the way. The manor is quite large enough to accommodate a crowd without its members needing ever meet. And if my husband views you as his special guest, then I beg you to imagine I feel exactly the same.”

  Rhianna found herself nearly speechless by this, but managed a simple “thank you.”

  Upon nearing a grand, ivory-colored rotunda, its pillars draped in clematis and its dome reflected in a nearby, manmade lake, the two women paused for sanctuary from the sun. From a bench within, they had an excellent view of the back of Kingsley Manor and its courtyard. Having never seen the home from this angle, Rhianna was struck by its undeniable beauty.

  “My husband, in his good intention of seeing you promptly settled,” continued Lady Kingsley, “placed you in the lavender guest room. I have since told him that you would be much more at ease in the rose room. You can see its window from here. It has a positively enchanting view of this rotunda and is far superior to the room you are presently in. Besides, as my husband’s distinguished visitor, you deserve the best.”

  “You are very thoughtful, Lady Kingsley,” Rhianna expressed, speaking for what was almost the first time since they had left the house. “I am sure, however, that the present situation is most sufficient. I would never wish to be moved. It would be beyond unnecessary.”

  For a brief moment, Rhianna thought she sensed a feeling of disapproval from Lydia Kingsley. Indeed, the look that crossed her face proved she did not expect to find resistance. Rhianna hoped it was not ill-mannered of her to refuse such an action as the lady was suggesting. Never did she intend to insult her, nor did she wish to seem ungrateful. Rhianna’s feelings were simple — they had already done quite enough for her and the idea of them doing more was a thing she could in no way accept.

  Lady Kingsley seemed intent on persuading her. “Oh, but my dear, think of how you’ll not have to deal with the stuffiness that comes with your current apartment. The heat from the fire is more in proportion to the measurements of the rose room.”

  “Thank you, and thank you again, but …”

  “I cannot hear it,” she interrupted. “I shall have you in comfort by the end of the afternoon. Besides, Katie is moving your articles as we speak.”

  With this last, her fate was sealed. To the rose room she must
go.

  Strange feelings accompanied this conversation. Something in the tone of it reminded Rhianna of her conversation with Desmond earlier. Perhaps it was merely speculation, but she was beginning to believe that there was a decided reason Lady Kingsley wanted her out of the lavender room.

  Rhianna’s things were moved upon their return to the house, and it was in the rose room she would prepare for dinner at Kingsley Manor. When the door was closed behind her, Rhianna conducted a brief inspection. The view of the rotunda, where only an hour before she had been a guest, she could not but fall in love with. But aside from being in the rear of the manor and a very little improvement in temperature, Rhianna was unable to distinguish any great differences between the rose and lavender rooms.

  From this location, however, there were no carriages and no voices to awaken her. Rhianna would have slept peacefully through the succeeding nights, save for a few childhood memories come back to haunt her dreams …

  • • •

  Like the ivy that overtook the lodge, the roses overtook the garden and the white picket fence that enclosed the area. No post, no stone was free of them. To grow such flowers so deep in the woods undoubtedly took a great deal of energy and care, and these roses were as plump and brilliant as any Rhianna had seen in more favorable conditions. A break in the trees above allowed the necessary sunlight. Rhianna tilted her head back and felt its warm rays on her face. Such a perfect, peaceful place, she thought, while raising one particularly red flower to her tiny nose. The fragrance of them swirled in the air around her as she continued her exploration, tracing the short, stone walkway that led to the heart of the garden.

  And there, at the end of the path, a gravestone emerged. A nine-year-old Rhianna caught her breath as she read the engraving: My Beloved Haldana 1794–1813.

  The stone blended in so well she hadn’t noticed it at first. It lay close to the lodge and was framed in roses and vines.

  All at once, Rhianna felt as though the world fell silent. It was as if the woods around her were not only watching, but waiting — even anticipating — for something to happen. The roses, too, seemed to close in on her, to trap her. The world outside the garden seemed to grow farther and farther away. She began to feel lightheaded. Her pulse quickened. Her fingers tingled. Fearfully, she retreated to the outer edge of the garden.