Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  Susanna put her hand on his arm. “Please, don’t leave, you need to hear this too. I probably should have waited for Percy to speak to you but, you know me, completely impulsive.”

  “For goodness sake, Susanna, tell me what it is,” said Electra.

  She looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. “It’s your uncle. Percy has had word.”

  Electra’s eyes widened and she sucked in her breath. “What do you mean? Has he confessed?”

  “It won’t be long. They couldn’t find him at first, he was hiding from all his creditors but Percy knows people in, you know, unmentionable places. Anyway, the thing is, your uncle had a room in a whorehouse and a friend of Percy’s knows the madam.” She looked at the others and held up her hand. “Don’t ask me for details, I don’t want to know any more about that than you do. The horrid man not only owes some very unforgiving people a lot of money but was also caught cheating at cards. His life is at risk from a number of quarters and he knows it. Percy’s associates have more than enough leverage to force a full confession and you can be sure a magistrate will have that confession before the ink has dried,” she finished, with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

  “Oh Susanna, I can’t believe it. This will all soon be over,” said Electra.

  “It may, in fact already be over,” said William. “Word may not have reached us yet.” He smiled at Electra. “You will be fully exonerated, a free woman.”

  She looked at William. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “Well, of course he knew. He’s been like a man possessed trying to track Gascombe down. In fact, I don’t think we would have found him as quickly if not for William’s contacts,” said Susanna, winking at William.

  It was almost too much to believe. She hugged Susanna and reached to touch William’s arm. “Thank you for all your endeavours. Both of you.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling, Percy wanted him just as badly as you, so when it’s over, we will all be satisfied.”

  “This calls for a celebration. I’ll go and find Percy and we can all toast your good news,” said William, heading back inside.

  When William was out of earshot, Susanna grabbed Electra’s arm and pulled her away from the door. “How on earth are you faring with the awful Lady Canby? I have been ducking behind plants and running from room to room all evening to avoid her.”

  Electra grinned. “Actually, until this evening, I was miserable and completely convinced William would sail off to England with her. But now I have the feeling he wants to stay.”

  “Of course he wants to stay, you ninny. He adores you. Even Percy has commented on it,” laughed Susanna. “Has she said when she intends to leave?”

  Electra shook her head. “Not yet. I want her gone, of course, but I have become attached to Isabele and so has William. She was such an intense, miserable child when she arrived and now she is happy and playful and a pleasure to be around.”

  “Perhaps you should send Charlotte back and keep Isabele,” suggested Susanna.

  “What a ridiculous notion. Charlotte would never allow that. It is a nice thought though,” she said, as William and Percy joined them with glasses of wine.

  “What’s a nice thought?” asked William.

  “Nothing,” said Electra. “Just Susanna being fanciful.”

  Electra had a sense of quiet elation, not present since the day Charlotte first appeared on their veranda. She looked up at William, sensing a difference in him as well tonight. Something had changed when Charlotte appeared in her violet gown. As if the spell was finally broken. Or perhaps she only imagined it was there in the first place, and wrongly construed all William’s actions since as confirmation. Even when Charlotte ensured she was the centre of attention at supper, Electra felt only pity for the woman and the choice she made nine years ago.

  She took a sip of her wine and smiled at her friends. At last she could relax. It seemed Charlotte could wield no more power over their lives.

  • • •

  William breathed a sigh of relief as they all climbed out of the carriage and trailed into the house some hours later. Although he suggested a nightcap, Callum and Shelagh preferred to head home. It had been a long and tiring night and they would be up early the next morning.

  He had been dreading the governor’s party with both Charlotte and Electra being so unpredictable lately. Surprisingly, the evening had gone quite well and Electra seemed to have returned to her old self. He watched her move gracefully up the stairs in front of him. Once again, there had not been a woman to match her tonight and his body had stirred each time he looked at her. She must have felt his stare, as she turned and smiled over her shoulder, heating his body further.

  His pleasant reverie on his wife’s attributes was interrupted by Charlotte’s sharp voice admonishing poor Annie, who had been ordered to wait up to help her undress. He wondered what madness had possessed Charlotte to wear that gown. Was she so misguided as to think it might rekindle his feelings for her? He was grateful Electra had said nothing but he knew it was on both their minds each time they looked at her. Charlotte even had the audacity to ask him if he remembered the gown, giggling flirtatiously as she spoke. His curt reply of, “Yes, unfortunately,” had sent her off in a rage.

  He sighed, convinced she would not give up her mission to lure him back to England. If he did not return and take up his position as the earl, his second cousin Lawrence and his wife would be expected to take over Canby Castle in his place. Charlotte would, of course be allowed to remain at Canby with Isabele, but she would no longer be the mistress of Canby Castle. He suspected she would not countenance another being the mistress in her home. The puzzling thing for William was Charlotte’s inability to register that he had a wife. Nor did it occur to her, if for some incredible reason he chose to return, Electra would be by his side as the mistress of Canby. Charlotte would never again be anything other than the Dowager Lady Canby. Perhaps Charlotte had become a little unbalanced since he left.

  He reached the door of his room when Charlotte called his name.

  “Will, would you be a dear and give me a few minutes before you retire?”

  He rolled his eyes but could think of no good reason to refuse. “I will meet you in the library in five minutes.”

  At least he could tell Electra he wouldn’t be long and maybe tonight she would not move to the far side of the bed. He closed the door of the bedroom and removed his jacket, cravat and waistcoat. He bent to plant a lingering kiss on his wife’s lips and promised he would be back to finish what he started.

  “Will, don’t go. I don’t trust her,” she said softly.

  “Nor I. But I will be back very soon and will wipe her completely from your mind,” he grinned.

  Charlotte was already waiting for him in the library when he entered. Her dark, glossy hair hung loosely down her back and she wore only her nightclothes covered by a thin, silk dressing gown. As he entered the room, she moved toward him and took his hand in hers, her soft hair brushing against his arm.

  Despite her state of undress, her suggestive touch and her undeniable beauty, nothing stirred in him. She seemed to sense his detachment and tried to pull him closer. He suddenly had an urge to laugh at the arrogance of her games, but was stopped by her next words.

  “Will, there is something I must tell you,” she paused for greater effect, “Isabele is not your father’s daughter, she is yours.”

  Stunned by the casual delivery of such shocking news, he tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Finally he sputtered, “What? Are you mad woman? Will you stoop so low to get what you want?”

  Charlotte stared at him and her eyes widened in disbelief. “Will? Don’t you remember how we were together?” She reached out to touch him but he pushed her hand away.

  Her fingers coiled around his wrist in a steel grip, the veil of innocence gone from her eyes. “It’s true,” she hissed. “I lied to your father. I pretended she came early.”

  “As if I cou
ld believe you now. Everything you’ve said has been a lie.”

  “This is no lie, I swear. And I think your father suspected all along. He never loved Isabele. Besides, I can prove it to you,” she said.

  “There is nothing you can say, Charlotte, that I would believe.”

  He moved away from her but she stepped closer and pushed his sleeve up his arm, exposing his bicep and the small heart shaped birthmark.

  “There, see? She has it too. It’s in the same place and exactly the same shape. Your father had nothing like it anywhere on his body.” She stepped back, triumphant.

  William staggered to a chair and slumped with his head in his hands. It was his mother who had carried the same mark, not his father.

  “What does this mean?” he whispered. “What do you want, Charlotte?”

  She smiled. “It means we can be a family. Isabele needs a mother and a father. It means you can leave this miserable, barren existence and your convict wife and come home. With me, William. Where you belong.”

  The whole story was so bizarre, but it could be true. Even more bizarre was the look of complete satisfaction on Charlotte’s face. As if with those few words, she could wipe out who he had been for the last nine years. He could not stay in the same room with her for a moment longer. Without another word, he stood and walked out.

  What was he to tell Electra? It had to be the truth. There had been too many secrets already. He took a deep breath and opened their bedroom door.

  She lay with her eyes closed, propped up on her pillows. Her shift was unbuttoned and her thick, exuberant curls fell across her shoulders, framing her creamy cleavage. Something made him stand quietly and commit to memory her gentle heart-shaped face with her nose, so straight and charming. Her soft red lips were slightly parted and he could see the tip of her pink tongue resting on the floor of her mouth. As he watched, she opened her remarkable eyes and held out her arms. Within moments, he had her pressed urgently against him, desperate to suspend time and postpone what he had to tell her.

  She must have sensed his emotional turmoil and pushed him away from her.

  “What happened, Will? What did Charlotte want?”

  He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Electra, I just don’t know how to tell you this.”

  She didn’t speak. Her luminous eyes willed him to cause no more pain.

  He took both her hands in his and looked unwaveringly into her eyes. “She says Isabele is not my father’s child. She is mine.”

  Electra clapped her hand over her mouth. “She is lying, Will. You know she would say anything to get her way.”

  He gazed into her eyes, swimming with uncertainty, with desolation and sadness as she fought to deny his words. He hated himself and he hated Charlotte for the wounds they would both inflict on Electra. But he had to tell her all of it. “That’s what I thought, but she can prove it.” He told her about the birthmark on his arm and Charlotte’s claim that Isabele also had an identical mark.

  Electra threw back the bed covers. “Then we shall check immediately if she is telling the truth. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can wait until morning.” He looked unsure. “I’ll take the candle and see for myself.”

  They agreed it was better for her to go alone in case Isabele awoke. The wait seemed interminable but he finally heard the click of Isabele’s door as Electra left. When she did not immediately return to the room, he thought she needed some time alone. His first instinct was to follow her downstairs but then he decided to wait until she was ready.

  • • •

  William awoke with a start, disoriented for a moment, then as he looked around in the half light, remembered he had been waiting for Electra to return. The bed was empty and when he reached over, the sheets were cold. She had not returned. An inexplicable chill ran down his spine, despite the fact he knew she would be somewhere in the house. He left the room and hurried downstairs. There was no sign of her. Plumes of smoke rose from the kitchen chimney and he realised she would be there with Shi Liang, sipping hot chocolate. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked out the back door toward the kitchen.

  Shi Liang hummed to himself as he kneaded dough for the day’s bread. He was alone.

  “Where is my wife, Shi Liang?” asked William.

  “Why you ask me, Master William? You velly clumsy, lose wife,” he giggled.

  William ran out of the kitchen toward the stables and stopped when he saw the strange markings in the dirt. There were four or five different footprints and two heavy lines like something had been dragged along the ground. He followed the footprints. With every step, his heart grew colder. Then he saw her slipper near the first boundary fence. He raised his eyes. Tied to the fence was a strip of red fabric.

  He howled her name. “Electra! Electra!”

  There was not a sound in response and for a moment, his despair paralysed him. Then his military training took over and he ran. First, he raised Callum and then Tom O’Reilly, to send him for the soldiers. He and Callum armed themselves with pistols, rifles, and knives, saddled their horses and rode furiously to the western boundary where the footprints disappeared into the bush.

  “Murphy and his curs will know this bush like the back o’ their hand, Will. We’re no’ trackers, we canna follow without knowin’ the right direction, aye?” said Callum.

  William scanned the ground, trying to pick up the tracks. Then he whirled on Callum and thumped his palm with his fist. “You’re right, we’re not trackers, but by God, I know who is,” and he thundered off into the bush with Callum in pursuit.

  • • •

  Electra was exhausted. She had not slept for more than thirty hours and every inch of her body ached. A twisted knot in the tree to which she was tied pressed into her back; she squirmed, trying to ease the pain. Her head throbbed unbearably and she had vomited on her sleeve and on the ground as she regained consciousness. The men were some distance away, gathered around a campfire. Probably discussing her fate.

  So far she had seen only Murphy’s face and she shuddered at the memory. He was as ugly and cruel as the stories suggested, and she knew without a doubt that he would show no mercy in his treatment of her. A tear slid down her face; not of self-pity, but of anger. An indignant fury at those who had once again deprived her of her freedom. She cursed herself anew for not returning directly to William when she came from Isabele’s room.

  Isabele looked so sweet and innocent, lying on her side with her small fist curled under her cheek. Barely able to breathe, Electra bent over and gently pushed the sleeve of Isabele’s nightgown up her arm. The child moaned in her sleep but did not waken. As she gazed at the small heart-shaped birthmark, her heart slowed in her chest. A solitary tear slipped down her cheek as she tiptoed from the room. It was not possible to return to the room she shared with William and pretend everything was going to be the same. Outside the bedroom door, she kissed her fingers and pressed them against the warm oak. “I love you, Will,” she whispered. Then turning away, she fled down the stairs and, grabbing a light coat, left the house.

  Of their own volition, her footsteps led her to the river. A clear, crescent moon overhead sent small glimmers of moonlight scurrying across the surface of the water, pretending all was well. The gentle movement of the river brought a momentary sense of calm. But it was not long before the anxiety crept back in.

  She had no doubt Charlotte would use all her persuasive powers to convince William to accompany them when she and his daughter returned to England. His daughter. She tested it on her tongue and the dread filled her again. Look at the river, she commanded herself. There was nothing she could do, it would have to be William’s decision. And she knew better than anyone the extent of his integrity. Because she loved him, she vowed again to keep her pregnancy a secret until he had decided.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a small sound. It could have been an animal but some instinct told her it was not. The first sound was followed by a high-pitched screech. Like t
he creak of a rusty door hinge. It was difficult to determine the direction or distance, as in the predawn silence, sound carried so clearly. She finally decided it was coming from the stables and got to her feet, uncertain of what to do. The thought crossed her mind to alert William but when there were further muffled sounds from the stables, she made the fateful decision to see for herself.

  As she rounded the side of the stables, a heavy instrument struck her on the head. Her body spun and dropped to the ground. For a few seconds her mind struggled to draw in information but the blackness dragged her down.

  Electra slipped in and out of consciousness for an interminable time. When she finally came to, she was bouncing like a sack of wheat, slung across the front of someone’s saddle. Her hands were tied and she had lost both her slippers. Her captor smelt of stale, dried sweat and rotten meat and something else; did evil have a smell? An attempt to turn her head was met with a nauseating dizziness and she moaned aloud.

  “The wench is awake, Mick.”

  “Good. It’s time to be stoppin’ and ye’ll be keepin’ her quiet ’til I’m ready for her, Red.”

  “I don’t know as why we had to take her, Mick. We could have had her there, grabbed what we wanted from the house and be gone. She’s gonna be trouble, I can tell jes’ by lookin’ at her.”

  “Ye’ll be findin’ out what trouble is boyo, if I hear yer whingin’ voice again.”

  The voices blurred as the fog resettled over her mind. And anyway, none of the voices were familiar. Her mind snapped back to consciousness as the name “Mick” registered. Oh God, she thought, sickened, it’s Mick Murphy. I’ve been captured by Mick Murphy and I know what he does to women. William, where are you? Then she remembered. He didn’t know she was gone.

  And now here she was, tied to a tree, helplessly awaiting her fate. Electra decided to try and loosen the ropes on her wrists, but her struggles only tightened the knot. She steadied herself and looked around, taking note of her surroundings. They were in thick, scrubby bush with only a smattering of light visible through the branches of the towering eucalypt trees. The ground was littered with broken branches and dry leaves and a mist threatened in the distance. By the angle of the land, she determined they were on a ridge and the slight chill in the air indicated they had climbed in altitude. This was unfamiliar country and her despair deepened at the knowledge William would not find her.