by Diane Gaston
Phillipa raised hers. ‘Stinging a little, but Cook’s salve has done wonders.’
‘And you, sir?’ the girl asked Xavier.
He showed her his bandaged ones. ‘Cook says they will heal quickly if I do what she says.’
‘Then you must do as she says,’ Phillipa told him.
They changed into clean clothes. When done, Xavier turned to Phillipa. ‘We do not need to stay here. We have a house to go to. Cook can pack us a dinner and Lacey can pack a change of clothes—’
A few minutes later they were ready to leave with a picnic basket and a portmanteau. As they opened the door, Mr Everard stood on the outside, ready to sound the knocker.
‘Oh!’ He startled, then bowed. ‘Mr Campion. My lady. I wonder if I might have a word with you.’
‘You have seen Daphne?’ Xavier asked, standing aside to allow him entry. ‘Was she injured in any way?’
‘Nothing to signify,’ Everard responded. ‘But, as you can imagine, she is rather distraught.’
‘She ought to be. The whole street could have burned,’ Xavier said.
‘She is, perhaps, not yet thinking of anyone but herself.’ Mr Everard looked apologetic. ‘I came to inspect the damages, however, and to inform you that she will pay full restitution.’
Xavier nodded. ‘Arrange it with MacEvoy. He is in the supper room. Please include generous restitution to him, Cummings and all our servants. They bear the brunt of the cleaning up.’
Mr Everard inclined his head towards Xavier’s hands. ‘You are injured.’
Xavier shrugged. ‘I will heal.’
‘Well.’ Everard cleared his throat. ‘I will not keep you. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for—for all this.’
Xavier acknowledged his apology and Mr Everard started up the stairs.
‘Everard!’ Xavier stopped him.
Everard paused on the stairway.
Xavier said, ‘Make certain she does not come here again. Or approach me in any way. Or Lady Phillipa.’
‘I will, sir.’ Everard continued up the stairs.
‘One more thing,’ Xavier called to him.
He paused again.
‘She should go away.’
Everard’s brows rose.
Xavier spoke firmly. ‘I am serious. She should go to the Continent.’
Everard nodded. ‘I will make the suggestion.’
Xavier and Phillipa continued out the door.
She stopped him, ‘Why did you say Lady Faville should go to the Continent?’
‘For the same reason your brothers sent your father away.’ He took her hand, but winced in pain. ‘Daphne has opened herself to scandal. But everyone will forget if she is away.’
She threaded her arm through his. ‘I suppose the scandal will reach us, as well. People are already talking about us.’
He gave her an understanding hug. ‘It will be worse for her, though. She will be alone.’
They reached Piccadilly and finally Dover Street and stood in front of the door to what would be home. He put down the portmanteau and tried to reach in his pocket for the key. His bandages made it difficult.
‘I will get it for you.’ Phillipa set down the basket of food.
Her fingers stung, but she reached in his coat pocket, an act that seemed very wife-like. It made her smile. With the key in hand, she unlocked the door.
Her hand was on the latch when she turned back to Xavier. She threw her arms around him and hugged him, never wanting to let him go. She’d almost lost him. To the fire. To her own folly.
‘We are home, Xavier,’ she cried.
It had been just as she’d dreamed as a child. Xavier had indeed whisked her away—in a hackney coach, not on horseback, and to a town house on Dover Street, not a castle—though he was and would always be her prince.
She imagined a crescendo of music, louder and faster, from the lower keys to the higher.
He returned her embrace. ‘When I am with you, I am home.’
It was the perfect final note.
Epilogue
London, May, 1820
Phillipa would not say there was a crush of people in the drawing room, but there were enough that she had to crane her neck for a glimpse of her husband. He stood at the opposite end of the room, speaking to her half-brother, Rhys, father of John Rhysdale the junior, the reason for this celebration. They were probably talking business. Of Rhys’s steam engines and Xavier’s shops. He owned five now and she could not be more proud of it.
Watching Xavier was a thousand times more pleasurable than listening to the chatter of her sister-in-law, who’d parked herself at Phillipa’s side and made no signs of ever moving away.
Or of going silent.
‘It was a lovely christening, was it not?’ Adele said for the thousandth time. ‘Did we not make fine godparents? I am so glad you held the baby, because I am certain I was so nervous I would have dropped him....’
Xavier had indeed made a fine godfather, so handsome in his new coat, as much of an Adonis now as he had been in his regimentals all those years ago at Lady Devine’s ball. He’d assured Phillipa that she looked her finest, but the old insecurities poked at her throughout the ceremony. She’d taken to using a bit of cosmetics to minimise her scar, but she’d wager a night’s take at the Masquerade Club that someone in the church had commented on how unbelievable it was for Xavier Campion to marry Phillipa Westleigh—the Adonis and the scarred spinster.
Such comments had never entirely stopped.
Adele sighed. ‘I do hope dear Ned and I conceive soon. It seems unfair that Celia has had the first baby in the family, although one cannot quite credit this baby as a Westleigh, seeing as they’d had to marry and my baby will be heir to the family title...’
Empty-headed Adele had no idea how insulting she could be.
Phillipa pressed her hand to her abdomen. Her sister-in-law would likely soon learn of another baby in the family, but for now it was a delicious secret, hers and Xavier’s.
She glanced over at Celia, Rhys’s wife, holding little John, so tiny in her arms. How would it feel to hold Xavier’s baby? To know that a living creature could result from their act of love?
A woman’s laughter broke into Adele’s monologue. It was Phillipa’s mother, arm in arm with General Henson, conversing with the clergyman who had performed the christening. Her mother was happy now and for that Phillipa was glad.
Xavier caught her eye, smiled, and started across the room to her. Phillipa’s cheeks flushed, just as they had all those years ago when he’d crossed a ballroom floor to dance with her.
He winked and turned towards Adele. ‘Forgive me, Lady Neddington, I must steal my wife from you.’
Adele opened her mouth to respond, but Xavier already had taken Phillipa’s arm and led her away.
‘You have rescued me once again,’ Phillipa said. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Not far.’
It was a thrill to have his hand firmly on her arm, to be close enough to inhale the scent of him, now so familiar to her. Ladies’ heads still turned as he passed and she supposed one or more of them would repeat the familiar refrain—how could a man like that marry her?
He loves me, ladies, she pretended to reply. That is why.
Two rooms had been opened into one long one to accommodate the guests. He led her to the far end where a violinist and cellist were setting up their instruments next to the pianoforte.
‘Musicians!’ Phillipa cried. ‘I did not know Celia and Rhys hired musicians.’
‘I thought this might interest you.’ Xavier smiled.
‘Surely they are not to have dancing as well?’ That would be odd at a christening.
‘Unfortunately, no dancing,’ he replied.
&
nbsp; ‘Unfortunately?’
He put his arm around her. ‘I enjoy dancing with you.’
Their opportunities to dance together had been rare. Only one ball in the autumn and none yet this spring.
‘Now that mourning for King George III has been lifted, we may dance again.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘If we receive any invitations, that is.’
‘We will receive invitations.’ He squeezed her tighter. ‘Do you remember dancing with me at Lady Devine’s ball? It was right before I was to return to the regiment in Holland.’
‘I remember.’ That ball, that dance, had changed everything for her.
The musicians began tuning their instruments, the discordant sounds a fitting accompaniment to memories of that night.
Xavier went on. ‘I do not think I ever enjoyed a dance more than that one we shared.’
She gaped at him. ‘You enjoyed it?’
He looked surprised. ‘Of course I enjoyed it! I’d been away so long, and home on leave so briefly, everyone seemed like strangers to me. Some of the young ladies, I certainly had never met. Then I saw you, my dear friend. I was so happy to see you, dancing with you was...’ He paused. ‘It was very special.’
She made him look directly into her face. ‘No. My mother made you ask me to dance.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Your mother? I do not recall seeing your mother until afterwards when she told me you’d gone home ill. I could not call upon you to enquire about your health, because I had to leave for Holland the next day.’
‘My mother did not set it up for you to ask me to dance?’ She couldn’t believe it.
‘Indeed not.’
Her knees suddenly felt so weak she might have sunk to the floor if he had not been holding her. All this time she’d thought—
How her life might have altered had she known at the time that he’d chosen her.
He inclined his head towards the pianiste and two other musicians. ‘They are ready to start playing.’
Phillipa’s head was already swimming. It took several bars of music for her to notice the familiar tune. ‘They are playing my sonata!’
He grinned. ‘As I requested.’
Before Christmas he’d sold several of her music pieces to a publisher. She’d seen them for sale at a music shop, but never performed. In fact, she’d never heard this arrangement anywhere but in her own head.
She glanced around the room, but Rhys’s guests seemed to take the music in stride. ‘I feel like shouting aloud that they are playing my sonata.’
‘Shall I?’ He made as if he would do so.
‘No.’ She pulled him back. ‘Just listen.’
The pianoforte dominated, then the violin, then the cello. The composition had been inspired by the sounds of the gaming room at the Masquerade Club and Xavier had once remarked upon the version she’d written just for the pianoforte. It seemed fitting that this sonata should be played at this celebration of Rhys’s and Celia’s child. The Masquerade Club had played such an important role in their romance.
As it had in Xavier and Phillipa’s romance.
She leaned her head against Xavier’s shoulder as the music filled her ears and happiness filled her heart.
‘You make beautiful music, my dear wife,’ Xavier murmured to her.
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781472043481
A MARRIAGE OF NOTORIETY
© Diane Perkins 2014
First Published in Great Britain in 2014
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