Amanda L.V. Shalaby

by Rhianna

  Rhianna smiled, but could not but feel tranquil as she thought of Philippe. Soleil seemed to understand her immediately, but said nothing.

  “I do love Philippe, Soleil,” Rhianna expressed solemnly. “Has he said … ?”

  Soleil hesitated. “Although I believe what you are looking for is seen plainly in his behavior, I’m afraid that is still a subject you will have to discuss with Philippe.”

  Rhianna nodded ascent. Soon, another thought came to her mind.

  “Soleil,” she began, curiously, “what does true love feel like?”

  “Ah, love!” she mused, falling back onto the pillows. “Love is not one feeling or another. Love is a collection of many emotions. Love evolves. Young love is entirely different from mature love and one person’s experience of love is not the same as someone else’s. All in all, love is mysteriously indescribable.”

  “How did you know you were truly in love with Armand?”

  “I just knew,” she said, with a sly smile. “That is what makes love, love.”

  • • •

  A hint of a French accent had returned to her voice and it tortured him. Rhianna must have lost the faint inflection when she returned to England, but in the company of the Vallières it was plainly distinctive. The painful effect of hearing it surprised Thayne, who thought every utterance from those lips a pleasant sweetness, for it was the product of time spent with him. It seemed, however, each time it nearly overwhelmed him with jealousy, she would relieve him of his sufferings by catching his glance and curling her lips at him. The weeks apart made it easy for him to become hopelessly lost in her smallest gesture, and he was sufficiently alleviated — that is, until Philippe leaned over and whispered something in her ear not meant for the rest of the dinner table.

  “Do you hunt, Count Vallière?” Thayne asked him, on one such occasion.

  Philippe turned to him, a comment from Rhianna no doubt still tickling his ears and a smile spread across his face.

  “Indeed, no,” he told him, with a friendly air. “Of course, I see the occasional necessity of it, and I hold no grudge against those who practice it, but I prefer shooting to hunting.”

  “A shame,” returned Thayne. “I was hoping you might join me on a lawn meet at the Gatewood Estate, just west of here. They run regularly this time of year and have a very good pack of hounds.”

  “Yes, and my brother has a fine collection of pistols,” announced Crispin.

  Philippe thanked him and politely declined.

  “Are you a very reckless hunter, Lord Brighton?” Soleil asked, teasingly.

  “Only occasionally,” he grinned, catching Rhianna’s gaze.

  “Thayne knows better than to discuss his high speed gallops and dangerous leaps before a worrisome mother,” Lady Brighton remarked, smiling.

  “I am sure,” whispered Rhianna to her, loudly enough for all to hear, “Lord Crispin hopes someday to join him and Lord Brighton is eager not to ruin his chances.”

  “You know me too well, Miss Braden,” Thayne bantered.

  Overhearing his name across the table, Crispin concurred. “I very much look forward to my first hunt. Now that I am sixteen, I hope my brother will allow me to accompany him soon.”

  Audra crossed her arms at once and cried, angrily, “Well, if you harm one, single, helpless little fox, I shall certainly never speak to you again.”

  Crispin stared at her blankly, while her comment drew laughter from the rest of their small party. This particular evening, the Brightons enjoyed the company of only Rhianna, Audra, and the Vallières. Thayne’s attempts at reconciliation with Desmond had not gone as hoped and both he and Lydia had refused to come to Ravensleigh. Guilford Kingsley, on the other hand, was not only willing to let go of the other week’s altercation, but was more than wishing to join them for dinner, had his health not prevented it.

  Thayne hoped, in having the Vallières at Ravensleigh, that his curiosity would be mollified. Instead, Philippe’s close relationship and level of comfort with Rhianna raised only feelings of doubt as to her own emotions and, though she did not openly flirt with Philippe as Philippe did with her, Thayne allowed himself to think the worst.

  • • •

  A conversation with Thayne had been Soleil’s goal from the start of the evening and the opportunity presented itself in the drawing room after dinner. She found herself in a far corner near the piano when Thayne commented to her that he was glad the weather was fine enough for them to come, despite a sudden drop in temperature.

  Soleil glanced upwards at him and agreed. “If it were the gloomiest day of the year, I could not be unhappy,” she added. “I can hardly believe I haven’t seen Rhianna for over a year.”

  “Such exceptional friends are few and far between,” expressed Thayne. “With Miss Braden alone I considered myself indeed privileged; only now I have two more in addition. I wonder at how I came to be so fortunate.”

  “Well,” responded Soleil, sotto voce, “between you and me, it is my hope that soon I shall have her as closer than a friend.”

  Soleil watched Thayne carefully after this, taking note of his every movement. There was one thing, and one thing alone, that could comfort Soleil if she could not have Rhianna as a sister. Indeed, she would rejoice if the man who kept Rhianna’s heart from Philippe had himself given his own heart completely to Rhianna.

  “How so?” was all he said.

  His discomfort was obvious from the start, but Soleil would not be so easily satisfied.

  “I have such delightful hopes,” she added, happily. “But shall I tell you? How well do you keep a secret, Lord Brighton?”

  Soleil played her part well, while Thayne grew visibly flustered. She could see the effect her insinuations were having on him, as his knee twitched anxiously and he sipped his brandy with intensity. Not wishing to anguish him more than was needed, she found it unnecessary to force him to respond.

  “I hope to call her sister,” she finished.

  Thayne did not know the curious eyes that examined him when he involuntarily glanced at Philippe. Soleil peered at him as his composure was lost and regained with a single word.

  “Hope?” he repeated.

  Thayne’s face contorted in such a way as to attempt to appear interested, but he did an ill job of hiding his angst. In that moment, Soleil was certain of his affection for Rhianna and had no wish of his continued suffering.

  “Oh, hope, yes,” she affirmed, quickly. “They are not engaged. You have known Miss Braden for some months now — no doubt you can understand my reasons for wishing the connection.”

  Thayne seemed mildly relieved. “Certainly.”

  “Come along, ma chère soeur,” called Philippe. “You must play something before we go. Our evening is passing along before us. Lord Brighton, surely you can spare her.”

  Thayne held out his arm and escorted Soleil to the pianoforte. Soleil seated herself on the bench and began playing from memory a soft, romantic number for her audience.

  • • •

  Lady Brighton seated herself beside Philippe for Soleil’s performance, occasionally exclaiming how moved she was, while Audra and Crispin continued their game of jacks near the fire. All were employed, and Rhianna felt a tremble run through her as Thayne seated himself beside her.

  The whole of the evening, they had had little interaction. A glance here and there and occasional quips directed toward each other among group conversation, yes. But an opportunity to speak privately had not yet presented itself. Rhianna hardly knew her hand had tightened nervously around the arm of the chair until she felt Thayne’s fingers brush against hers.

  She turned to him with surprise.

  “I missed you,” he quietly confessed to her.

  Rhianna’s heart nearly stopped and her breathing became erratic. Her gaze fell to their hands and then, after a moment, back to him. She loosened her grip on the chair and allowed his fingertips to meet hers. Soon, Thayne urged her arm to fall between the chairs and t
heir fingers intertwined.

  “I miss you still,” he told her, glancing about them. “There is nothing like a room full of people to inspire a detachment almost as unbearable as literal separation.”

  Rhianna drew a short gasp of breath before venturing to speak to him.

  “Can London have been so boring?” she returned. “Surely, there were distractions enough to keep your mind far from Thornton.”

  “Tell me you thought of me,” Thayne entreated her, a hint of lovesick desperation in his voice. “If you thought of me but once I could recover from these last weeks, the effects of which I still feel.”

  “Lord Brighton …” she breathed, rendered further speechless by his admission.

  He allowed her a moment, but she knew not how to proceed. His expression quickly fell and his delicate hold on her hand loosened.

  “Perhaps the company in Thornton was sufficiently distracting,” he said, with a glimpse in Philippe’s direction.

  “No,” she hurried, dispelling this suggestion at once, but Thayne seemed barely to hear her. His pain penetrating her at the core, Rhianna mustered all the bravery she could, and told him, “I hoped every day to see you.”

  Thayne watched her mouth as she spoke and Rhianna wondered if it was the memory of a kiss that drew a faint smile to his lips.

  “I thought of nothing but you,” he professed, unabashedly, “every moment of every day.”

  He leaned toward her, his eyes examining the details of her face. It was the same look he gave her the night of their kiss — the last moment before he left Kingsley Manor, the night before he left for London.

  “Please, do not look at me so,” she begged. “I have seen that look before. It resulted in our not seeing each other for some weeks.”

  “Miss Braden,” he said, with a spirit nothing short of urgent, “I must speak with you.”

  “Snow!” Audra pointed excitedly out the window. “Look! Is it not beautiful?”

  Their hands separated as Soleil’s song came to a sudden halt. Lady Brighton made her way to where Audra and Crispin were holding back the curtains and examined the conditions.

  “It is a wonder the servants did not tell us sooner. They must not have seen, or surely they would have.”

  With concern, Rhianna asked, “How bad is it?”

  Meanwhile, Soleil and Philippe made their way to the windows. As they rose from their seats, Rhianna anticipated the worst, namely, that she and Thayne would not be able to continue their conversation at present.

  “It is very bad,” Lady Brighton declared, worriedly. “You are, of course, all welcome to stay here, but by the looks of it, you may be here a few days.”

  “Lord Kingsley would be so worried,” declared Soleil.

  With one look at Audra, Rhianna agreed.

  “You should go at once, then,” Lady Brighton told them. “Any later and your opportunity will most certainly have passed.”

  Crispin elbowed Audra for drawing attention to the weather as the group prepared to leave. With an exchange of parting glances, Rhianna accepted she and Thayne must renew their dialogue at a future time. Moments later, Thayne was handing Rhianna into a carriage, with nothing but a squeeze of the hand to express herself.

  • • •

  Thayne was miserable. Anyone who saw him would’ve had to have been very hard-hearted not to feel for him. Hours passed and he did not leave his library, the east windows of which faced the white, icy land that met with Kingsley property. Throughout the night the snow had fallen heavily; no soul in Thornton dared leave his house. For Thayne, this more specifically meant no visiting Kingsley Manor, no Rhianna.

  All afternoon, he could be found sitting in a brown leather armchair. The now-dying fire providing him no warmth, the glass of brandy on his desk no comfort, and the book on his lap, upon whose cover his eyes had not glanced, no diversion. The young lord laid his head against the chair back, one hand dangling over the armrest to stroke his dog, Ranger. With absent eyes he gazed forward, not seeing the wall clock upon which they rested. Rather, he saw only Philippe Vallière, snowed in also, but at Kingsley Manor.

  Snowed in with her.

  He moaned. The visions he conjured in his mind had not only brought on a headache, but also worsened it with each passing minute. That hint of a returned French accent in Rhianna’s voice rang in his ears. The last vision of her in the carriage departing from Ravensleigh replayed continuously in his mind’s eye. Damned Frenchman, he thought. Why could he not stay from whence he came? Undoubtedly, Thayne imagined, he would have Rhianna for himself before the snow thawed.

  He heard a knock at the door. Lady Brighton entered, partially awakening him from his disquieting thoughts.

  “Wondering if I am still here, Mother?” He smiled weakly, and she closed the door behind her. “My body is, but my mind is not.”

  The lady’s face held a look of tender pity that only a mother can feel.

  “I know, Thayne,” she said gently. Pressing her lips to his forehead before taking a seat brought a sigh from him. “Must you do this to yourself? The snow may last for days or weeks …”

  “Please, I beg you, do not speak to me of the snow continuing. I have nothing if I cannot be optimistic there,” he told her.

  “Then of what shall I speak?”

  “Talk only of springtime, and of horses. Of Frenchmen who return to their homes with their sisters only,” he cried, in his worsening state of affliction.

  Rising to his feet, Thayne took his stand beside one of the east windows. He beheld the dismal scene before him with chagrin and his person grew more somber still.

  “You come in hopes of bringing me solace, and I am grateful. Only you come in vain. Forget optimism! There is neither solace, nor hope.”

  A moment of silence ensued and Lady Brighton, having tried several times throughout the day to comfort him, must now be convinced that nothing but time could do so.

  “I only wish I knew, one way or the other,” he said suddenly. “If she is to go with him, then let it be done with. But the torment of standing here helplessly as the wretched plans are made is insufferable!” In his moment of insanity, Thayne grabbed for his coat, saying ardently, “I can bear it no longer. I will make my way there before it is too late!”

  Leaping from her chair, Lady Brighton hurried to calm him. “Do not be unreasonable. It is impossible to leave now. Only let the snow melt …”

  “I very well can’t stand by and let it happen!” he cried, as she took him lovingly by the arms and gently moved his dark hair away from his eyes.

  “Look at me, Thayne,” she insisted. “You mustn’t let your imagination run away with you. You are wild, my love. Are you sincerely going to ride there, unshaven as you are and half-intoxicated? You wish her to see you like this?”

  “I wish to see her. That is all I know.”

  “Yes, and you shall. But, I declare, if you have this much doubt of a return in her affections for you, then perhaps your own feelings are severely misplaced.”

  This last stopped him. What if Rhianna did not care for him as he had thought? Philippe Vallière would not have much difficulty in winning her heart. It would be foolishness to risk all health to reach her, only to find himself in time for the announcement of their engagement.

  Further downhearted, he agreed to forego his trip and stay home, but he could stay no longer in the library.

  “As there is nothing to be done at present,” Lady Brighton suggested, “Crispin has been having difficulties with his arithmetic. I’m sure he would be glad of any assistance you might be able to offer.”

  Thayne hung his head low and returned to his desk to finish his brandy.

  “Tell Crispin I shall be there in a moment.”

  • • •

  Guilford Kingsley’s health worsened dramatically within a few days and soon he was confined to his bed. The weather would not permit even the doctor to be called and the entire household was consumed with his condition. His cough was frequ
ent and his appetite was lost. Audra often insisted Rhianna accompany her to visit with him and he was so very lethargic Rhianna began to lie awake at night, considering what Kingsley Manor might be like without Lord Kingsley.

  It was not a happy vision.

  Days passed and he did not improve. Ought she to leave with Philippe and Soleil and return to France? How could she leave Audra at such a time? What was there to hope for between her and Thayne Brighton? After one particularly unsettling night, rather than spend her early morning overlooking the rotunda from her bedroom window, as usual, Rhianna decided to make her way to the morning room in hopes of some distraction.

  There, she found Philippe, standing by the windows, overlooking the approach.

  “Good morning,” he greeted her. “You are up early.”

  Rhianna met him at the window. “I haven’t been sleeping well. How is the weather?”

  “It has abated,” he told her, holding back the curtain and allowing her to take a peek for herself.

  Though uncomfortable in its own way, Rhianna was grateful to find Philippe alone in the morning room, as opposed to Desmond.

  “Soon, Soleil and I will have to begin our trip back to France,” he told her, demurely. “What with the weather being so uncertain and Soleil’s wedding …”

  Rhianna reached for a scone and broke off a piece. She chewed it gingerly before realizing she did not have much of an appetite. She quickly placed it down on a small round plate on the table.

  “I should have expected it,” she replied, “but I’ve been so happy to have you both here, I couldn’t bring myself to think of the day you would leave.”

  “We don’t have to leave without you,” he told her.

  Oh, that she had stayed in her room that morning! Rhianna fully knew what he was leading up to and she trembled with the idea of it. She sorely wished that things could have remained as they had been, as when they were children together. But children they could not stay. That relationship was something lost forever.

  “It is unthinkable that I should come all the way to England, all this way to see you,” Philippe continued, “and return to France without addressing a very particular subject.” Philippe gently slid his hand down her arm and took her hand in his. “Let us conclude the conversation we were unable to finish one year ago.”