"Lavender," Julian said, turning her back to face him. "You will be leaving London tomorrow. It is time to go to Mannington, because I would like the baby to be born there."
"I will not be sorry to see the last of London."
His arms tightened around her. "Have you been so unhappy here? Most women would be elated to be bedecked in new gowns and jewels."
"I like pretty things," she admitted, lowering her lashes.
"Do I hear a 'but' in your voice?"
She looked at him squarely. "These last few years I have shunned all things English. It is hard to be enthusiastic when my clothing, even the food I eat, is English. 1 feel like I am betraying my beliefs and my country."
He rested his head against hers. "1 had never thought of it from your point of view." He smiled. "Would you feel better if I dressed you in sackcloth and ashes?"
She raised her face to him. "Julian, I don't think I will ever feel right again. I wish I were going back to Williamsburg tomorrow, instead of to Mannington. I do not belong in England."
He clenched his jaw and his eyes flamed. "You belong with me until after the baby is born. You seem to forget the baby is half English."
"And after the baby is born?" She prayed he would say he wanted her to stay with him forever.
He stood up and glared at her, the soft mood between them broken. "As I told you before, Lavender, when you hand the baby over to me, you are free to pursue whatever life you so desire."
Raising up on her elbow, she watched him dress, wishing she had not made him angry again. "What time will we depart tomorrow, Julian?"
"You and my grandmother will be leaving before noon. I will try and join you there at the Yuletide season."
"You will not be going with us?"
"No. I have many pressing matters to attend to here in London."
As he walked to the door, she wondered if his business had to do with another woman. "1 will wish you a pleasant journey, Lavender, since I will be gone when you rise in the morning."
She stared at him in stunned silence. She had not realized it was almost Christmas. In dreamlike unreality, she shivered. Through thick lashes she saw the cold, indifferent look Julian bestowed upon her. "Good night, Your Grace," she said, wishing he would leave before she burst out crying.
After he was gone, she buried her head under her pillow as great sobs racked her body. She scolded herself for giving in to tears again. How Chandler would tease her if he knew she was becoming so female.
Suddenly her heart ached from homesickness, and she did so want to see her family and Nicodemus. What if Chandler had met death from an Englishman's hands? That thought only brought more tears. Finally, in a state of exhaustion, she fell asleep, dreaming about Virginia and the life she had left behind.
The coach carrying Lavender and the dowager duchess crossed Westminster Bridge, and by midmorning, they left London behind. Lavender sank into the red Moroccan leather seat and leaned her head back against a velvet pillow, feeling too heartsick to notice the passing landmarks. She knew she would miss Julian very much, and she ached for the time he would join them at Mannington. Their entourage consisted of footmen, outriders. Two other coaches conveying servants and trunks had gone before. A dense fog hung over the land, and she could not even see the sky. As they moved through the countryside, a cruel, biting wind blew out of the north. In spite of the fact that Lavender and Julian's grandmother had foot warmers, they still huddled beneath woolen coverlets to keep warm.
The dowager, seeing Lavender's pensive mood, drew her into conversation. "It does not seem possible that the Yule Season is upon us. When one gets to be my age, the seasons pass in rapid progression."
Lavender sighed heavily. "I will always associate Christmas with unhappiness, Grandmama." Lavender neither realized that she had used the name the duke always used with his grandmother nor did she see the pleased glow in the dowager duchess's eyes.
"Why ever should you be gloomy at Christmas, my child?"
"Because ... my father was fatally wounded on a Christmas Eve, and, a few days later, he died."
The dowager's face was softened with sympathy. "How tragic for you, my dear. You must remember your father, but put the awful occasion of his death out of your mind."
"I know I should, Grandmama, and I do not dwell on it. But the holiday season always seems to bring it all back to me."
The dowager patted her hand. "I suspect when this baby is old enough to enjoy the season, it will take on a bright new meaning for you."
Lavender gazed out the window, choosing not to remind Julian's grandmother that she would never get the opportunity to spend a holiday with her baby. A deep, painful ache surrounded her heart at the thought of giving life to this baby and then never being able to watch it grow into childhood. Since yesterday, when she had felt the baby move, she had tried to guard herself from the eventual hurt by pretending she had no true bond with the baby inside her. But her mother's heart would not be denied, and she knew that with each passing day, the baby would become more dear to her.
"How soon will we reach Mannington, Grand-mama?" Lavender asked, trying to push her gloom aside.
"If the weather holds and it does not snow, we should be home within the week. I must say I will be glad to get back to the country."
"You do not enjoy the social events of London?"
The dowager smiled, as if she were remembering something out of the past. "At one time I was very fond of the London Season. I was considered a high-stepper in my youth. At a time when it was unheard of, I drove a coach and six right past Parliament." The older woman laughed with amusement. "I would have been in disgrace but for the fact that Julian's grandfather was so intrigued by the incident, he asked me to marry him. And, of course, no one would dare insult the future Duchess of Mannington. At least not aloud."
The dowager duchess looked at Lavender. "The Westfield men have always admired strong women. The fact that Julian chose you proves my point."
"If it had not been for the baby, I do not think he chose me, Grandmama. I am sure he has regretted many times his folly in marrying me."
"Poppycock. My grandson is so fascinated by you, he can hardly attend to business."
Lavender did not want to dispute the dowager's word, so she led the conversation in a different direction. "What kind of business does Julian have to attend to?"
"My dear, you have married a very wealthy man. He has interests in gold and silver mines. He has houses, plantations, and estates in different parts of the world, and the most precious jewel of them all, Mannington."
Lavender stared out the window to watch the first snowflakes of winter float earthward. A chill surrounded her heart, and it had nothing to do with the weather. Why had such a wealthy, influential duke married her? Surely he could not care so much about the baby?
Closing her eyes, her head lolled from side to side, in spite of the well-sprung coach. The sound of the horses' hooves echoed in her mind, drumming the words over and over. He will destroy you... he will destroy you . . .
20
Lavender's journey to Mannington had been delayed because of the three-day storm that caused ice-packed roads, and the blinding snow that made it impossible for the coachman to see where he was going. Much to the dowager duchess's dismay they had been forced to put up at a country inn. Today, however, the coachman had assured the dowager duchess and Lavender that they could continue their journey without fear of being stranded. Julian's grandmother told Lavender that they would be at Mannington before nightfall.
All day they traveled, and Lavender was beginning to think they would never reach their destination. Late in the afternoon, they passed through a village, and the coachman slowed the horses to a walk. Suddenly the coach was surrounded with laughing children, who ran to keep even with them. The children's cheeks were rosy from the cold, and their eyes sparkled with health. It was very apparent that they knew the dowager duchess. With a happy smile, Julian's grandmother removed a box she had s
tored under the seat.
"Hold out your hand, Lavender," she said, her eyes dancing with elation. When Lavender complied, she filled her hand with hard candies. "The children always welcome me home, knowing I will throw candy out the window to them," she explained. "It is a ritual I have performed for over fifty years, and one I always look forward to."
Lavender sat forward, looking about with new interest, "Are we home?"
"Indeed we are. If you will look out the left side of the coach, you will see Mannington."
Lavender inhaled with a gasp, and let her breath out slowly. There, situated on a hill, majestically overlooking the whole valley, was a huge redbrick structure. "It's ... so big! No one told me it was a . . . castle!"
The dowager duchess glanced at Mannington. "Of course it's a castle." Her attention was drawn back to the children, and she lowered the window and tossed a handful of candies into eager, waiting hands. "Throw your candy, dear," the dowager duchess reminded Lavender.
Lavender's teeth were chattering as she tossed the candy through the window, but she did not know if it was from the icy wind that came through the open window or her fear of the unknown.
The coach moved past the village, and the coachman urged the horses into a trot, leaving the joyous sound of children's laughter behind. Lavender fixed her eyes on their imposing destination, feeling as if it were a prison from which there would be no escape.
The horses' hooves clopped on the cobblestone roadway as they pulled the coach up the hill. When they moved through the brick, arched entryway past the gatehouse, snow began to fall again. Heavy flakes drifted from the sky, turning the countryside to a winter-white scene.
The dowager duchess pointed to the bell turret, where a charming house sat apart from the stately castle. "That is the Dowager House where I live, my dear." The dowager was bubbling with happiness. "I must say it is so good to be home. I don't know why I ever leave." She smiled at Lavender. "Although you cannot see it now, there was once a moat around all of this. It is said when it was drained over a hundred years ago, rusted armor, lances, and other interesting objects were found. Now, of course, there are flowers and grass where the moat once was."
Lavender swallowed a lump in her throat. "Must I stay in the . . . in that. . . castle? Can I not stay with you?"
The dowager duchess saw the fear in Lavender's eyes, and wanted to assure her that everything would soon be made right, but she knew Lavender would not believe her. "Julian was very adamant about you living in the apartment he uses." She smiled understandingly. "I will never be far away, and we can visit every day. I will not go to my house until I know you have been comfortably settled in. And I shall return to sup with you tonight. Will that make you feel better?"
Lavender nodded, knowing she did not feel one bit better. Seldom had she ever felt so misplaced.
The main entrance now rose out of the swirling snow, gigantic, exquisite, and, most of all, overwhelming. Yes, she thought, looking at the four-story structure with gables and turrets, this was where Julian belonged. It was from great houses like this that past dukes and barons had ruled England with a powerful hand. It was easy to see why Julian loved Mannington, because Lavender thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.
The coach stopped before the doors, and, as with the house in London, an army of servants came out to welcome them, regardless of the fact that it was snowing and bitterly cold. As the carriage door was opened, Lavender laid her hand on the footman's arm, and he helped her alight.
"Have a care with her," the dowager duchess cautioned. "I do not want her to slip and fall."
Lavender was amazed that there were no steps leading up to the main entrance. Indeed, the huge structure stood on ground level. Many pairs of curious eyes watched her move inside the doorway. With awesome wonder, Lavender stared at the tremendous entry room with its wide, ornate, gesso ceilings.
Seeing where Lavender's attention was drawn, Julian's grandmother indicated the painted scenes on the ceiling. "The sixteenth-century artist depicted much of the early history of the family. In other rooms you will find later generations likewise depicted."
"It's magnificent," Lavender said, pulling her fur-lined cape about her for warmth. She could have added that it was frightening to live in a museum, but good manners forbade such a statement.
Lavender was delighted when Mrs. Forsythe stepped forward. "Shall I show Your Grace to your chambers?" she asked, smiling happily. "I have a nice fire going, and your things are all laid out."
"Yes, take the child upstairs and make her comfortable," the dowager duchess stated with authority. "See that she has everything she needs."
"Very good, Your Grace," the housekeeper said.
As Lavender followed the housekeeper up the grand staircase, she glanced back at the door to find that the servants were still lined up and watching her progress. She watched Julian's grandmother pass among them, asking questions about their health, family members, and calling them each by name. Lavender decided that was the way a duchess should behave toward her hirelings, gracious and caring about their welfare.
As they moved down a long gallery with brilliant, colored glass inset in mullioned windows and priceless tapestries hung from the walls, Lavender could not help but ask, "How many rooms are there here at Mannington?"
"I'm not right sure anyone has ever counted them, Your Grace. Perhaps His Grace will know."
"Has there been any word of His Grace?" Lavender inquired as she stopped to catch her breath.
"Why, yes. He arrived only this morning. He found out, after arriving, that he had passed the inn where we were staying without knowing we were there."
Lavender drew in a deep breath, while her heart sang. For whatever the reason, her beloved was here. Her footsteps were a little lighter as she followed Mrs. Forsythe into the bedchamber.
The room was smaller than Lavender thought it would be, but lovelier than she could have imagined. The bed coverings, canopy, valances, and curtains were all made of lemon cut velvet on a cream satin background. Thick white rugs were scattered about the polished wood floor, and a warm fire crackled in the wide fireplace. She was inundated with the strangest feeling that she had just come home.
"His Grace has asked to see you as soon as you are rested and have changed for dinner."
"I do not need to rest, and it will not take long to change," she answered, wishing she could run to Julian at that moment. "How will I ever find my way around, Mrs. Forsythe? Everything is so confusing."
"You will discover, after you have been here a while, Your Grace, that the house was laid out very simply. In no time at all it will become familiar to you. I will return to take you to His Grace when you are ready." The housekeeper walked over to the bell pull. "All you have to do is ring, and I will come to you at once."
Mrs. Forsythe left Lavender at the open door of the huge study, telling her that His Grace was expecting her. When the young duchess moved across the room, her footsteps were noiseless as her shoes sank into the thick red carpet. Dark paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. Green leather couches and chairs were placed around the room. The smell of leather and old books filled the air. It was very apparent that this was a man's room, and Lavender felt like an intruder.
Julian sat at a huge mahogany desk, and apparently had not heard Lavender come in. His black velvet coat fell open to reveal his cravat was untied and his snowy white shirt was open at the neck. As she studied him, he did not look up, but continued to write. She glanced down at the ice-blue gown, hoping he would like the way she looked. Knowing he liked her to wear her hair down, she had pulled it away from her face with a blue velvet ribbon.
She stood undecided, unwilling to disturb him at his work, yet feeling awkward just standing there. His dark head came up, and for one brief moment, she thought she saw pleasure in his eyes, but she could not be sure, since the expression quickly disappeared.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked in a clippe
d tone.
"I only just came in, and did not want to interrupt you."
He stood up and moved around the desk, helping her into a chair. "I have no experience in such matters, but 1 am sure in your condition you are weary from your journey."
"No, I am not tired, but then I am very strong."
He smiled. "Yes, I recall several instances where you proved that point. Nonetheless, from now until the baby is born, I want you to take the greatest care of yourself. The family doctor has moved onto the same floor with you, so he will be able to attend you at a moment's notice."
"But why?"
"Let us just say that we will be prepared in case any difficulty should arise."
Lavender was finding out that Julian was a man who left nothing to chance. "I can find no fault with your reasoning," she admitted.
His dark eyes moved across her face. "This must be a day for miracles. You gave in so easily, have you decided to be reasonable and stop opposing me at every turn?"
She gazed into his face, feeling as if he had just stolen her breath. "I would not go that far, Julian, but 1 can be reasonable at times."
He looked at her doubtfully, then shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to tell you that we are having guests tonight. Do you think you are up to entertaining?"
"I suppose so." Her eyes sought his. "It isn't the prince, is it?"
He laughed. "No, Lavender, it is not the prince. It is the Marquess of Waltham and his sister, Lady Georgia, two very good friends of mine who live in a neighboring shire."
"What if I should make a mistake?" she asked earnestly. "I would not want to embarrass you."
"You underestimate your obvious good breeding and natural charm. You never have to worry about not doing the right thing." His eyes danced with humor. "Except at those times when you choose to singe someone's wings. Will you remember to play the devoted wife tonight instead of the ardent rebel?"
"I will remember to pretend to be the devoted wife," she remarked pointedly. "And—I am a patriot, not a rebel."
Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 29
