“So,” Raile said grimly, “I now understand why I find you two at the castle instead of merrymaking in London. You fancied yourself to be the duke of Ravenworth, Hugh.” He swung his gaze around to his stepmother. “And you, Lavinia, fancied yourself as lady of the manor. I can see where my appearance might cause you dismay.”
He threw back his head and laughed deeply, at last finding a bit of humor in the tragic situation. “Yes. I can see why I would not be welcomed by you, dear brother. You thought I was dead—but since I still live, I’m the duke of Ravenworth!”
Lavinia stared at Raile with loathing in her eyes. “Well, your grace,” she drawled insolently, “I suppose you will be wanting me and my son to leave.”
Raile unbuttoned his red tunic, suddenly weary. “It matters little to me what you do, Lavinia. But no, I will not cast you out. We are all that remains of the family, and I will take care of you as I always have.”
6
Raile had been summoned to Carlton House by the Prince of Wales who, since his father’s madness, governed the nation as regent. The letter from the prince had been full of praise for what he called “gallantry against enormous odds.”
Raile knew Prinny well enough to realize the King’s son would make a public spectacle of the afternoon and he did not relish the event. In fact, at this time he’d had no wish to leave Ravenworth Castle and make the journey to London. But one did not ignore a command from Prinny.
From the torch lit portico, Raile was led forward by a liveried servant. As they made their way through ornate suites of rooms, each seemingly grander than the one preceding, they came at last to the Blue Velvet Room, which was the prince’s audience chamber.
Raile remembered the many evenings he had spent here in frivolous amusement. Strange, he thought, how much older he felt than the prince, who must be almost fifty by now.
The room was buzzing with loud conversations and even louder laughter. Prinny’s amusement-seeking disciples, Raile thought in disgust. He had once been among those favored few who hung about the prince, but he could no longer find enjoyment in their trivial pleasures.
Raile’s feet sunk into the blue-gray rug as he was announced by the servant who had led him to the prince.
Prinny came forward, wearing a field marshal’s uniform. He had a jeweled saber strapped about his bulky waist. It had always been his wish to cover himself with military honors. On his chest, he wore the numerous medals which had been presented to him by allied sovereigns.
Eagerly he greeted Raile, who by contrast, was dressed in black, but for the white lace at his throat.
“It seems we have a genuine hero here,” the prince announced as Raile bowed to him. “England is proud of her heroes, Raile—we are very proud of you.”
“I thank you, Your Highness,” Raile said as his old friends gathered around to add their welcome to the prince’s.
The prince was momentarily distracted by a messenger who required his attention, so Raile turned to Lord Justin Callaret, who had served with him in Portugal and had been his friend for many years.
“Raile, we haven’t seen much of you in London since your return.”
“I find I have little liking for the old life,” Raile said in a low voice, so only Lord Justin could hear. “You are better suited to this than I.”
Lord Justin glanced about to see if he would be overheard. “Not so much as you might think. After being in battle and knowing I could die at any moment, I find I have changed my opinion on what’s important in life.”
Prinny now turned his attention back to Raile. He spoke in a voice that held little enthusiasm, as if he had performed this duty many times before. “We made Wellington a duke, Raile, for his services to his country, but since you have already obtained that rank, Parliament has asked that I convey its thanks to you in grants worth one hundred thousand pounds. Likewise, Prussia has recognized your courage and has granted you the equivalent of an additional one hundred thousand pounds.”
There was a gasp from one of the women present, and the others applauded to show their acknowledgment of the generosity of the victorious nations to a gallant hero.
Ever the actor, Prinny warmed to his role as benefactor. “In a ceremony tomorrow,” he boomed so that all could hear, “you will be given the Order of the Garter, and the Prussian ambassador wishes to bestow on you that country’s highest honor.”
Again Raile bowed. “You are most gracious, Your Highness.”
Prinny waved his hand to an attendant. “Bring wine, this is thirsty business.” He smiled at Raile. “I always knew you were a man who would distinguish himself. You have not disappointed me.”
“I surprised the hell out of myself, Your Highness,” Raile said dryly.
Prinny laughed loudly. “Walk with me in the gallery, Raile. I would like to hear about your famous advance that day at Waterloo.”
As they moved away, Raile spoke. “I try not to remember that day, Your Highness. As a matter of fact, much of what happened is a blur.”
“I always thought I would have had a brilliant military career, had I been born a common soldier and not been burdened with this irksome responsibility of governing,” the prince said regretfully. “Don’t you agree?”
He waited expectantly for Raile to give the right response.
Even though the prince had a good mind and had mastered three languages, and introduced poets and artists to the court, he was somehow childlike, needing praise and acceptance.
“Indeed, Your Highness. But I fancy you would have made a better strategist than common soldier.”
The prince’s eyes brightened. “Yes, 1 would have. Wellington made many mistakes I would never have committed. He had several opportunities to press the advantage and stop Bonaparte in one blow.”
Raile had once found Prinny a humorous companion; he now found him sadly lacking in the qualities that would make a great king. He would always need to be flattered and coddled, and Raile would show him the respect due his rank, but he would no longer be one of his followers.
“Your Highness, it was a brilliant move to place Wellington in command,” Raile replied candidly. “The measure of a great man is to surround himself with men of great vision.”
Prinny was thoughtful for a moment. “I have missed your wise counsel, Raile. You were always honest with me. 1 have a mind to install you in my cabinet.”
“Not I, Your Highness. I would not take well to court life. I am more for the country.”
“You have not always thought so.”
“I have changed, Your Highness. I have no stomach for politics.”
The prince nodded. “Perhaps not. But I miss having you near, Raile. You spend so little time in London.”
“I have found that Ravenworth Castle will need my attention for some time to come.”
There was a pout on Prinny’s lips. “I suppose you will honor us with an occasional visit.”
“Whenever I can, Your Highness.”
Prinny’s eyes took on a cunning glow. “I was wondering when you would take a wife, Raile. We would not like to see an old and respected title slip into less, shall we say, capable hands. I would not like your half brother to stand in your stead.” His eyes suddenly grew cold. “Do I make myself clear, Raile?”
Raile knew the prince had just issued him an order. Damn his interference. He had no wish to clutter his life with a wife at the moment. “Quite clear, Your Highness.”
“Next time you appear before us, we will expect to meet your duchess.”
Raile bowed. “It will be as you wish, Your Highness,” he said, thinking it would be a long time before he returned.
Prinny looked down his imperial nose at Raile. “See that it is.”
Raile watched the prince walk away, feeling anger in his heart. Justin came over to him as the prince moved among the crowd, expecting, and receiving, adoration.
“God help England,” Justin whispered.
“England has survived much worse,” Raile said
. “She will survive him as well.”
Justin smiled at Raile. “Did the prince ask that you get married?”
“How did you know?”
“He said as much to us before you arrived.”
Raile looked at his friend with bitterness. “How is it that he does not condemn you to wedded bliss?”
“I have never been one of his favorites. And I stay just out of his reach. Besides, Raile, I’m not a hero,” he said mockingly.
Justin laughed as Raile glared at him. “I will be happy to have you safely married, though.”
“I’m not married yet,” Raile declared with ill humor. “Nor do I have any prospects. Where does one find a wife?”
“Why don’t you ask your ladybird?” Justin said glibly. “Though I doubt if she knows any schoolroom misses. And then when you’re married, and setting up your own nursery, I’ll see that Gabrielle Candeur is never lonely.”
“If you think you can take her from me, Justin, you have my leave to try. Of course, you will have to mend your roguish ways.”
“My character is beyond rehabilitation, Raile. And Gabrielle is not for me anyway—I can ill afford the diamonds it takes to keep your actress happy.”
Raile pushed his friend aside. “Have your little jest, Justin. I am off for more amiable company.”
Justin’s laughter followed Raile across the room.
Raile was scowling when he took leave of the prince.
Kassidy dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead with the sleeve of her gown. The heat in the small kitchen was unbearable, and it became worse when she stood over a boiling pot, stirring the redolent liquid.
Her sister-in-law was heavy with her third child. She insisted that only Kassidy could make the oil of rose that she needed to continuously rub on her swollen body.
Kassidy added white beeswax to the bubbling anhydrous lotion. She then measured several drops each of rose water, lavender, eucalyptus, essential oil, and peppermint. She removed the heavy pot from the fire and set it aside to cool while she folded linens.
Her thoughts turned to Abigail as they always did when she was alone. Henry had been unsuccessful in his attempts to locate her, and in a predictably spiteful fashion had forbidden the mere mention of Abigail’s name in his house.
Kassidy had only received one letter from her sister, and that had come through Aunt Mary. Abigail had written how happy she was with her husband. They lived in a small cottage near the banks of the Thames River, and as soon as she was able, she would send for Kassidy.
Kassidy could hear her two nieces’ laughter as she folded the linens. She quickly opened the door and caught their attention. “You must play in the garden at the back of the house,” she told them, feeling sorry for interrupting their game. “You know your mother has asked you not to make noise when she is trying to rest.”
“Can you play with us, Aunt Kassidy?” the elder one asked.
“Yes, please,” the younger urged.
“I can’t just now. But if you are good and play quietly, I’ll have tea with you this afternoon.”
The girls readily agreed and went bounding around the side of the house, and Kassidy returned to her chores.
She was about to climb the stairs, her arms piled high with linens, when her sister-in-law called out to her from the sitting room. She placed the laundry on a hall table and went in to Patricia, who was laying on the settee, a damp rag on her forehead.
“Are you ill?” Kassidy wanted to know.
“Of course I’m ill, Kassidy. How would you feel if you were heavy with child and you had to contend with this stifling heat? You could at least keep the children quiet,” she criticized. “I shall have to tell Henry that they have misbehaved.”
“Don’t do that, Patricia. I’ve sent them to play in the garden. Their noise won’t bother you again.”
There was a pinched look about her sister-in-law’s face. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that my daughters prefer to be with you instead of me,” she said peevishly.
“That’s not true, Patricia. I am just taking more of the responsibility for them until your baby is born.”
Patricia sighed. “It’s a woman’s lot in life to bear children for an ungrateful husband,” she said sanctimoniously.
Kassidy was in no mood to hear Patricia’s complaints. She removed the cloth, rewet it, and placed it back on her sister-in-law’s forehead. “You just rest now. I’ll see that the children don’t disturb you.”
“Bring me a glass of lemonade, but mind that you don’t get it too sweet. And bring me a vanilla cake, but scrape the icing off. I’ve told cook repeatedly I don’t tolerate sugar when I’m with child. It makes me ill.”
Kassidy moved out of the room and closed the door. It was hard for her to have sympathy for Patricia when all she did was rest while Kassidy took care of the house and children.
She heard an insistent knock on the door, and wondered crossly why the servants had not answered it. With a feeling of impatience, she opened the door to find a man standing there. He was a stranger to her.
“Be you Miss Kassidy Maragon?” he asked, eyeing her speculatively.
“Yes, I am.”
“I was told to put this only into your hands, miss.” He thrust the letter at her. “I’ll wait for you at the crossroads until an hour after dark.” He tipped his hat and left abruptly, to climb into a buggy and drive away.
What a strange man, she thought. She stared down at the letter and recognized Abigail’s handwriting. She quickly thrust the letter into her apron pocket and hurried to the privacy of her room to read it.
Tearing open the letter, she read:
Dearest Kassidy,
The man who delivers this to you is named Tetch. He and his wife work for us, and he is completely trustworthy. I only hope this letter reaches you in time. I am going to have a baby any day now, and I need you urgently. Please come at once. I am desperate, dearest—please hurry.
Kassidy quickly rushed to the window, where she could just see the crossroads. Yes, the man was waiting there as he had said. Without considering the consequences, she threw open the carved wooden box her father had given her for her twelfth birthday. There, nestled among her treasures, was the money she had saved over the years. It wasn’t much, but she had a feeling she would need it.
If she asked Henry to allow her to go to Abigail, he would only refuse. Besides, he would not be home until later in the evening, and Abigail’s letter had said she must hurry.
After scribbling a note for Henry, she placed it on her pillow. She would just slip out of the house before he returned. No one could keep her from Abigail when her sister needed her.
Kassidy hurriedly changed into her Sunday gown and shoes. She folded her only other good gown and placed it in a straw basket with the money and a few other items she thought she might need on her journey. If anyone saw her leave, it would appear that she was only going to the market.
Putting on her bonnet, Kassidy went downstairs. She could hear Patricia calling her, and she realized she had forgotten about the lemonade and cake her sister-in-law had demanded.
Running quickly into the kitchen, she gave the cook Patricia’s instructions. She then went into the garden to her nieces. She hugged them both. “Remember I love you,” she told them. Her arms tightened about ten-year-old Trudy. “Take care of your little sister.”
“I will Aunt Kassidy. But why?”
“Because she isn’t strong like you.”
Kassidy stood up, knowing she must not make the girls suspicious. In their innocence, they might alert their mother, and she had to be far away before Henry came home.
Kassidy hurried through the garden, her gaze on the distant road. Fear gnawed at her insides. Suppose Henry came back before she could get away?
When she approached the buggy, the man hopped to the ground and assisted her inside. “Miss Maragon, I’m glad you’ve come. Your sister needs you awful bad.”
She felt tension tighten inside h
er. “Is she ill?”
“I don’t know much about women’s ailments, miss, but your sister’s been feeling poorly. Me and the missus was hired to look after her until her husband returned. But he’s been gone these past six months.”
He whipped the horses forward. “She’ll be better with family about her, miss.”
At first Kassidy kept looking over her shoulder, fearing Henry would come after them. But as they left the village behind, her fear lessened.
For two days they traveled, stopping at night in secluded inns, where Kassidy gave a false name, because she knew by now Henry would be searching for her. She watched in apprehension as her savings dwindled. She had no idea travel could be so expensive. It was almost midnight of the third day when Tetch guided the horses into a small stable and nodded at Kassidy.
“Your sister be in the house, miss.” He swung her to the ground. “You can go right on in.”
Kassidy hurried toward the house, where Mrs. Tetch stood on the steps, a lantern in her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here. I fear her labor has started.”
“Take me to her at once,” Kassidy said.
The servant nodded and led the way upstairs.
Kassidy’s mind was filled with questions that she could not ask Tetch or his wife. Although the house was neat, it was not the home of “a man of great importance,” as Abigail had described the man she was to marry.
The housekeeper showed Kassidy into a bedroom and bobbed a curtsy. “If you need anything, miss, I’ll be right downstairs.”
There was a single candle burning in the room. Slowly, she approached the bed, hardly daring to breathe. “Abigail,” she whispered, “are you awake?”
“Kassidy!” Abigail cried, raising her arms. “I knew you would come.”
Kassidy dropped down beside her, and they cried in each other’s arms. “I’m here, dearest. Everything will be all right now.”
“Oh, Kassidy, the baby is coming, and I didn’t want to be alone.”
Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) Page 5
