The Ruby Pendant

by Mary Nichols

  In some ways, she supposed, Wellington had been right - it had been a nightmare - but in others, it had been the happiest and most glorious episode of her life. And though she could not have asked for a more fervent welcome home from her Mama and Papa, her thoughts were constantly with the man she had left behind in France, the man who held her heart.

  While everyone rejoiced, Juliette began thinking of what had happened there, of Henri and Anne-Marie, of James and Michel Clavier, but most of all of Philippe Devereux, who was undoubtedly a Frenchman; it was Philip Devonshire who was not real. How had a man so honourable and brave made the decision to help the other side? If his clandestine activities helping the allies were to become known to his compatriots in France, he would be branded a traitor. Would he be punished or would the British forces protect him?

  Ever since she learned that he was a trusted British agent, she had realised that he and James could not be on the same side and it followed that James was a traitor. Thinking about his behaviour, his manner towards her and the escaped prisoners on the fishing boat, his anxiety about losing Napoleon's letter, and his extraordinary laughter when she told him she thought he was a double agent, had convinced her. As far as the world was concerned, they were still betrothed, and if she was not out and about in Society, it was because she was waiting anxiously for his safe return. If he came back, pretending nothing had changed, could she remain silent? She could never marry him, not only because of his perfidy, but because she was forever pledged to Philippe Devereux.

  Earlier in the year she had attended Lucinda's wedding to Arthur Boreton. Lucinda, gowned in heavy oyster satin and bedecked with jewellery, had fairly glowed with happiness. Juliette did not begrudge her friend her joy and had been one of the first to wish her well, but the occasion served to remind her of what she had lost and she had been glad to return to Hartlea to wait for the end of that terrible war, praying that Philippe survived.

  Now the waiting was done, the guns were silent and the men coming home. In France, too, soldiers would be returning to their loved ones and her thoughts constantly drifted to the other side of the English Channel. She would not allow herself to dwell on the possibility that Philippe had been killed; she held on to the conviction that their talisman, the ruby pendant, would keep him alive. 'I shall want it back,' she had told him. 'And you with it.'

  But he had made no promise to return to England, even though she had said she would wait for him. She remembered him saying that when the war was over, he would go home, and home was a village close to Hautvigne. She would ask Papa to take her to Hautvigne. She could visit Henri and Jean and Anne-Marie and look for him from there. She hurried back to the house to put the idea to her father, impatience and hope lending wings to her feet.

  His lordship had been spending more time at home as the war drew to its conclusion and he was not wanted so frequently in London. But he still received intelligence, was still visited by government officials and as she approached the house, she became aware of a carriage clattering to a stop at the front door. A tall man in a blue superfine coat, buckskin breeches and shining leather boots jumped down almost before it had come to a stop and hurried up the steps.

  He was too far away to recognise, but she assumed he had come to see her papa on business and now she would not be able to ask about going to France until he had left. Her footsteps slowed. By the time she entered the house, the two men were already shut in the library.

  `Philip, how good it is to see you.' His lordship embraced his visitor. 'It has been so long, I had almost given up hope.'

  The young man smiled. 'I am not easily disposed of, my lord. And I had a very strong reason for staying alive.'

  `Sit down, my boy.'

  Philip seated himself in an armchair by the hearth and watched silently as his lordship poured two glasses of brandy from a decanter on a side table and handed one to him. 'Now, tell me everything.'

  `First I must know if Miss Martindale arrived safely home.'

  `Yes, she did, thanks to a certain French cavalry captain.'

  Philip smiled at the memory. 'I was an ugly brute, long red hair, bushy brows and a stoop which gave me excruciating backache. Did she say she recognised me?'

  `No, but I guessed it might be you. I had asked you to find her and I have never known you fail.' He smiled, raising his glass to the young man. 'Here's to the unknown French soldier who undoubtedly captured her heart.'

  `Did she tell you this?'

  `No, but I know by the way she has been behaving, asking questions, demanding to know how the war was going, what would happen when it ended, whether the French army would be disbanded and what would happen to its soldiers, especially those who had helped France's enemies. I own it gave me a little heartache too. I tried to find out what had happened to you through other channels, but no one knew where you were. There were those in our Intelligence who said you could not have survived.'

  Philip smiled ruefully. 'The situation became so confused I could not contact our people. Down in the south the news that the allies had entered Paris and Napoleon had surrendered did not reach us in time to prevent the battle for Toulouse. There were casualties. I am afraid Emile was one of them.'

  `Bertie Wainwright,' his lordship mused. 'A very brave officer.'

  `Yes, sir.' He paused. 'He was killed by a stray shell trying to cross the lines. It is ironic that if the news had reached the Peer sooner, there would have been no battle and Bertie would still be with us.' He paused. 'I am afraid James Martindale also died.'

  `Oh.' He was thoughtful for a moment. 'Do not spare me the details if you know them.'

  `When I left Miss Martindale I went back to Toulouse. I knew Le Merle was there and I suspected James would be there too.'

  `He was the traitor,' his lordship said quietly. 'I suspected it.'

  `Yes, my lord. I had hoped you might never know. I planned to offer him a way out, stay abroad, play dead and I would see that he was a hero in England. I didn't want to hurt you or Miss Martindale.'

  `I think, like me, she has guessed the truth. She never mentions him, but do go on.'

  Philip sipped his brandy before continuing. 'By the time I found out where he was, it was too late. Le Merle had executed him, believing he had double-crossed them. By then everyone was preparing for the battle and I found myself on the wrong side of the lines. I was obliged to take part, though I was careful not to inflict casualties.'

  `I would like to think that perhaps James regretted what he had done,' his lordship said. 'Like his father, he was a weak man and a gambler. The more money he owed, the more he gambled. I tried to help him by finding him a post in the War Office, but that was a grave mistake. He was vulnerable to our enemies there and the suggestion of debts being cleared in exchange for a little information was too attractive a proposition to resist. Once in, there was no way out and the whole thing escalated until he was out of his depth.'

  `Yes.' Philip was relieved to know that his lordship had not been so blind as he had thought. 'He wanted to get out of his obligation and when he found Miss Martindale on that fishing boat and heard about the ruby pendant, he thought it was a way out. A fortune in gold and jewels would see an end to his troubles.'

  `But there was no fortune, so my daughter tells me.'

  `No.' He paused. His duty had been done without having to carry out the order that would have barred him from ever returning to Hartlea. Now all he wanted was to be reunited with Juliette. 'How is Miss Martindale?'

  `She is well, but as I said, a little despondent.' He smiled. 'But that will lift as soon as she sees you, I am sure.'

  `You will allow me to speak to her?'

  `Of course. Nothing will give me greater pleasure.'

  `But I have nothing to offer.'

  `I am sure a grateful country will reward you for the sterling work you have done. And with James dead and no heir, I intend to break that entail at the earliest opportunity. You are my ward; if you marry Juliette, Hartlea will be yours.' He
smiled and, putting down his glass, left the room, leaving the young man to pace from the hearth to the window where he stood gazing out on the sunlit scene, wondering if Juliette had changed since returning home.

  Could he bear it if she rejected Philip Devonshire simply because he was not the romantic Philippe Devereux? Time and place played havoc with the memory.

  Papa and his visitor had been talking a very long time, Juliette decided, as she and her mother sat in the withdrawing room, each busy with a piece of needlepoint.

  `I wonder if your papa is going to ask him to stay?' Lady Martindale mused. 'I think I should go and warn Cook and order a room to be prepared.'

  `Perhaps he is in a hurry,' Juliette said. Now she had made up her mind, all she wanted was to talk to her father about going to Hautvigne and she could not bear the delay that entertaining a guest would cause. 'He might decline.'

  `Possibly, but I would not want to be thought wanting in manners.' Her ladyship rose and left the room, leaving Juliette to put down her sewing and wish fervently that the man would go.

  She was wondering how to broach the subject she most wanted to discuss with her father, when he came into the room with a broad smile lighting his features. 'Ah, Juliette, there you are. Come into the library, there is someone I would like you to meet. He has an interesting story to tell.'

  Mystified, she rose obediently and followed her father to the library, where he stood on one side to allow her to enter first. She was surprised when he did not follow her, but shut the door softly, leaving her to confront the young man who was standing between her and the window, his face half in shadow.

  He turned to look at her for a long, long moment, drinking in the sight of her. She was wearing a blue cambric morning dress with a high neck and two rows of ruched trimming around the hem and under the high waist. Her glorious hair was loose about her shoulders, framing a face that was even more beautiful than he remembered it. Her large eyes were surveying him with some puzzlement as if she was not sure how she ought to greet him.

  `Miss Martindale.' The voice was soft with a well-modulated English accent, reviving memories of her come-out ball, the garden at Martindale House, the picnic at Richmond, but why did it suddenly stir memories of the pine-clad woods behind the chateau at Hautvigne?

  `Sir. You wish to speak to me?'

  He moved forward. 'Oh, my love, are you always so easily deceived?' His laugh jolted her into looking closely at him and, as he stepped towards her, she saw the scar, much fainter than it had been but plainly there, nevertheless. It was the same shape, the same length, and the brown eyes, looking down into hers, were as familiar as her own when she looked into a mirror.

  `Philippe?' Her legs buckled beneath her and she would have fallen if he had not caught her in his arms. `Steady, my love.'

  `Is it really you?'

  `Yes. Who else? Here, come and sit down beside me.' He led her to a sofa, put his arms about her shoulders and drew her to him to kiss her tenderly.

  She did not doubt that it was Philippe but she was so confused, she kept shaking her head from side to side. 'I can't believe it is you.'

  `Why not? You have seen through my disguises before, haven't you? There was that time when I came to the ball as a cardinal...'

  `But it was different in France. That was not a game, it was deadly serious. And in spite of everything I said, you stuck to your story and convinced me you were Philippe Devereux.'

  `That is because I am Philippe Devereux.' He smiled, touching her hair, her nose, her lips with gentle fingers, making her shiver with delight. 'Your father rescued me from The Terror, just as he did you, except that he brought my mother out too. She died in England soon afterwards and I became Philip Devonshire and grew up as his lordship's ward.'

  `But why had we not met before last year?'

  `I am afraid your mama wanted to keep us apart. She thought I knew what she believed was the truth about your birth and she was afraid I might tell you, or noise it abroad. His lordship never understood her animosity, but he always deferred to her and so we always met at Horse Guards or his club or my home.'

  `Poor Mama. It has all been put to rights now. She and Papa are happier than they have ever been with each other.'

  `I am glad. It was my indebtedness to your papa and because I could see the dreadful consequences of Napoleon's greed for power, that I agreed to return to France as an agent.

  `I no longer thought of myself as French. I had been ten years a French boy and I have been twenty years an Englishman and hope to be so for many, many more years. So you see, we both have good reason to be grateful to your papa, me especially because it was through him, I met you.'

  `Why couldn't you have told me?'

  `It was a state secret. Only your father knew the truth. It would have jeopardised my work if others had known.'

  `Even me?' She smiled. 'How you must have been laughing at me when we were in France.'

  `No, my love. I hated myself for deceiving you, but I had to do it, there was too much at stake. One slip, a careless word...' He paused to kiss her again. 'Can you forgive me?'

  She laughed, suddenly carefree. 'In France I often found myself making comparisons, the eyes and the laugh seemed so familiar. But you spoke in that difficult French dialect and you had long red hair and a beard and that scar.' She reached up to touch it. 'Philip Devonshire did not have that.'

  `He has now. It was given to me by Michel Clavier when I landed in France and went after him to find out what had become of you.'

  `Why did you?'

  `Because your father asked me to and because I loved you...'

  `Even then?'

  `Yes, even then though, because of my work, I felt I could not declare myself. I tried to explain it to you once, but it all went wrong. And then you accepted James Martindale. You have no idea what that did to me. I could cheerfully have run him through.'

  `But you didn't,' she said, thinking of that aborted duel. Was that the reason he had allowed himself to be branded a coward? 'What happened to James, do you know?'

  `When I left you with Lord Wellington, I went back to find him, but I am afraid Clavier killed him before I reached them. I was unable to prevent it.'

  `Was he really a traitor?'

  He smiled; there was no need for her to know the truth. James was dead, killed by his own accomplices, and it was only because he had not had to put an end to the man's life himself, he had felt able to return. 'No one will ever know for sure, will they?'

  `No, I suppose not.' She paused, glad that James's treachery need never become public. If everyone thought he had died a hero, then no shame would reflect on her father. And she had all she wanted, here in Hartlea, loving parents, her home and the man she loved. 'And now the war is over?' she asked. 'What will you do?'

  `Become a model English gentleman, marry and have a family. 'That is, if you will have me.'

  She laughed, looking up at him with eyes alight. 'Sir, is that a proposal?'

  `Indeed, it is.' He felt in his pocket and drew out a package which he carefully unwrapped. 'I promised to return this to you, didn't I?'

  Juliette gasped. The ruby pendant lay on his hand, but it was not the broken piece she had given him, but a whole necklace, not as ostentatious as the original with its crowded jewels, but, even so, a fine piece of work, with several smaller rubies on either side of the large one on a silver chain. 'Oh, Philippe, it is beautiful.'

  `It is our talisman,' he said. 'It brought us together and it will keep us together, through all our lives.'

  She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him. He laughed and kissed her back. 'Wanton.'

  She giggled. 'Am I? Well, it is your fault. You never would have told me you loved me if I hadn't said it first, would you?'

  `I was afraid for you. Your safety was more important than my feelings.'

  `I know, but now we are both safe and the war is over, you can tell me.'

  `I love you. I love you.' He kissed her again and agai
n. `Will that do?'

  `For a beginning, but I shall expect the same every day for the rest of our lives.'

  `Is that an acceptance?' he asked, grinning.

  `Of course, it is. How could you doubt it?'

  His lips traced the contour of her face, roamed down her neck, sending delightful tremors tingling through her, banishing all sad thoughts from her mind. The privations she had endured faded into insignificance in the face of a love she knew would endure all their lives.

  She had been uncommonly attracted to Philip Devonshire before she ever went to France and it would be Philip Devonshire she married but it was Philippe who had made a woman of her. They were indivisible, the man beneath the skin was the same, whatever he was called. Her love. Soon to be her husband.

  She pulled herself from his arms at last. 'Don't you think we had better go and tell Mama and Papa our news?' She stood up, hauling on his hand. 'They will be imagining all manner of indiscretions.'

  'Not without justification.' He rose, laughing, and allowed her to lead him to the withdrawing room, where Lord and Lady Martindale waited.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten