Saved
By A Siren
By
The Bawdy Book Writer
Chapter 1
Outside the carriage, a perfect English countryside went unnoticed as Gilles Henry Laurent Spencer stared unseeing out the window. He'd spent the entire morning gazing out that window but he probably couldn't recall seeing anything of note if asked about his journey. He was in Surrey, probably close to Longwood, he guessed. Gilles shifted and considered the view from the opposite side of the carriage. Picturesque, rolling hills. Great, ancient trees. Quaint little towns with ivy covered cottages. Check, check, check. All was as it was supposed to be, all was as he'd fought to keep it. England was still perfectly British and perfectly safe. Why wasn't he comforted to see it so?
He'd told himself that once he was home, away from France, he'd come around. He'd be able to leave the anger and heartbreak there and fall into his old self once he was in London. His home and his family would revive him and make the world his again. He'd been home for almost six months and none of his assumptions had proved to be true. He'd felt isolated and empty in London, irritated and bored with the trivialities of tonnish society and overwhelmed by the noise and filth of the city.
His family had been a comfort. His mother and sister embraced him with their joy and energy, their relief at his return was almost palpable and he'd felt hopeful at how touched he'd felt in response. The closeness and loyalty he'd shared with his brother and best friend had survived and when he was with them he felt a new bond had formed: all three had been men of war. In their own way, they'd seen, caused and cheated death. In their own way, each had given a piece of themselves for their country. Even with this new, unspoken understanding and despite feeling as if no time had passed between them, Gilles didn't feel as if he was truly there. He was never really with them, when they were together. It was as if he were the hollow shape of himself, smiling, laughing, drinking, walking... but he was never truly there.
Never in his six years in France, regardless of how many times he changed his name or which direction he'd run, had he ever felt so lost or unsure of who or what he was. Despite his family's best efforts, he was more lonely and disappointed than he'd thought possible. He missed them greatly, more so with every mile he put between himself and London. But it had become apparent that he wasn't ready to be among them. The pity and concern in his mother's and sister's eyes were starting to haunt him as much as his past. His brother's shrewd assessing of his moods and reactions had become unnerving.
Even more unbearable had been the pain. When he was alone, Gilles felt it even more acutely than before his return. It seemed to fester and gnaw at him the harder he tried to settle into his old life. At night, when the house was still and he closed his eyes, he relived that awful moment. He saw the pistol raise and fire, he saw the body fall and the tide rising to carry it away. He felt himself on the cliff top, holding the spyglass, screaming with rage and helplessness. He dreamt of it at night. Pushing the horse harder than he'd ever dared, pleading that he'd make it in time and still failing. Night after night, he woke up covered in sweat, a scream dying in his throat and his heart pounding.
Just as he'd failed that night, he'd failed himself and his family. Tired from lack of sleep and falling short, he'd left London. He'd put off the business of his new title and responsibilities until it had become convenient to settle matters in Surrey as his solicitor had begged since Gilles' return.
Two years prior, his great uncle Basil DeVere, the Earl of Cambroke had passed away and much to the surprise of all of England (the part that cared, at least) had no heir other than Gilles to pass the title on to. Gilles had always assumed (as had all that had cared) that a distant, older cousin was to inherit. Apparently, while he'd been in France, said cousin had quietly committed suicide and the whole matter had been discreetly covered up. So, when Lord Cambroke died at two and eighty, Gilles unknowingly inherited a title with tremendous wealth and responsibilities. Even without the burden of the guilt and pain of his past, he had very little use for any of it. Furthermore, he was exhausted.
Before he'd been recruited to work as a covert operative for the War Office, Gilles had lived a thoroughly charmed and privileged life within society as the first son of a second son of a duke. His maternal grandfather had been a French marquess. Regardless of his lack of title, he had been a prime candidate in the Marriage Mart due to his staggering wealth. Not that he was vain or had ever really cared, but his handsome face and build hadn't hurt his chances either. In fact, as a younger man, he'd capitalized on it. He'd charmed women from young to old and bedded every beautiful woman he could (though he was careful to adhere to specific rules- no virgins or married women and no children out of wedlock) in pursuit of his title as one of the ton's most dashing rakes. Upon his return, he was horrified to learn that he'd become even more eligible. Now, the women almost literally hurled themselves at him. He'd actually witnessed a mama push her unsuspecting daughter directly into his path as he stepped out of his carriage. The poor thing would have bounced off of him and splattered on the pavement if he hadn't noticed and stepped back in time.
Aside from the unwanted attention, Gilles had no need of additional homes in the city. He currently lived with his brother at Burton Place, an entirely appropriate gentleman's residence they had occupied since they graduated school. Though it had been a source of great conjecture, very little debauchery had ever occurred at Burton Place. Instead, it boasted an enormous library and various antiquities. Most of which were devoted to maths, sciences and art. Unknown to society in general, Gilles had been an excellent student and taken a first at Oxford. Even at the height of his days as a rake, he could find as much pleasure in a book as he could a woman's arms. Though he usually enjoyed the latter before the former.
Alastair, on the other hand had always been devoted to study. He studied books, he studied people, he studied the world around him. He studied everything. Two years younger, as a child, he'd always been quiet. Always slow to speak, choosing to weigh all facts and outcomes before he made a remark, all possibilities and probabilities before he made a request. After their father died, he became quieter. He was never remote or detached, just more reserved. Less trusting of the world in general and more focused on protecting his family and eventually his work for the War Office, protecting his country. He'd been nicknamed 'Automaton' while at school and it had remained when he came to Town. While it seemed to bother him little, to those he loved and that loved him, it rankled. Despite his precise demeanor and intimidating intellect, Alastair was gentle and sensitive to those he cared about. He was rarely emotional or affectionate, but when he chose to be it was always sincere and rendered when one needed it most. Many joked that he was made of stone or metal but when he chose to be, he was more human than anyone Gilles had ever met. But, like his family and many others, he had often wondered about Alastair's relationship with women. He'd never known him to flirt with a woman let alone take a mistress. He'd never so much as witnessed a kiss. Which stung Gilles' pride a bit. His brother and best friend had overseen his first botched attempt and he'd confided in both about numerous women over the years. Yet Alastair had never mentioned a single lady. He'd never needed advice or wanted to boast. He kept that part of himself separate. His aloofness towards women only served to pique their interest. Gilles had overheard more than a few speculating about what his brother was like beneath "that icy facade". Some imagined him to be "like a wild heathen that would tear at a woman's clothing" or that he'd "burn like the heat of the sun once he had a woman in his arms". He'd never seen any evidence of that in his life, let alone at Burton Place.
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s mother and his sister resided at their family home, Spencer Place. Occasionally referred to as Fortress Spencer, a large, stately mansion in the heart of Mayfair, Spencer Place was where those he loved most in the world (those that still remained) gathered every morning for breakfast and for dinner when one wasn't tied up elsewhere. Because he was the son of a second son, Spencer Place had been where his family had weathered most months of the year. His sister, Mirabelle and his mother kept the home handsomely furnished and full of flowers and laughter. When Gilles had first returned, walking into Spencer Place and their arms had felt like a soothing balm. Eventually, he realized it was gratitude he'd felt. Seeing them safe and just as beautiful and healthy as he'd left them had been a relief but it had done little to ease his real injuries.
While a lack of title had resulted in a lack of land on his family's part, the Spencer's had a marvelous country retreat whenever they were in need. Through what Gilles often thought of as divine machination on his mother's and her best childhood friend's part, the two had married two very well heeled gentlemen that had been best friends. One of those gentlemen was the former Duke of Clerendon. The result of which was a very close alliance between the Spencers and the House of Clerendon. The current duke, Lucien Guillaume Henry Adrien Haviland was as much a brother to Gilles as Alastair. In fact, the three had been inseparable from birth and rarely included outsiders in their adventures. The only exception had been Mirabelle. And that had only been when necessary or decreed by their parents. While in London, both families spent the majority of their waking hours at Spencer Place, probably due to the fact that there was only one child in residence at Clerendon House and three at Spencer House. When the families weren't in London, they were at Winthorpe, in Fulborne. The seat of the Dukes of Clerendon, Winthorpe was an ideal place to ramble and raise hell as a youth. The staff was as loyal to the current Spencers as it was to the Havilands. Gilles and Lucien were separated by two years, with Gilles having the advantage. Despite outranking him, Lucien had always looked to Gilles as an older brother.
But Winthorpe wasn't what Gilles needed. He would always be a welcomed guest there but he'd never be master. It would never be his. Longwood. Longwood was his. He could find the time he needed in Surrey and grow into his new title and identity there. He would find a way to make peace with his past and move forward without tormenting his family.
Gilles learned from his solicitor that the Earls of Cambroke had always lived at Longwood and that it was well past time for him to settle matters there. From what he understood, the late earl's wife was in residence, and would remain until he recommended otherwise. Gilles had the perfect solution: Cambroke House was as well situated in Mayfair as Spencer House and would remain uninhabited for many years to come. He would allow the Widow DeVere use of Cambroke House for as long as she lived in exchange for vacating Longwood. She was also in possession of Harwood Grange, a comfortable estate not far from Longwood, if London wasn't to her liking. Gilles told himself that he was in no way making an elderly widow homeless and was probably doing her a tremendous favor as most women preferred London over the country.
Gilles consulted the window as the carriage slowed to turn into a long drive. He took in the the distant face of Longwood. Soft, cream colored stone and shining leaded glass windows combined to create a majestic yet relaxed elegance that appeared quite at peace with the land around it. Wild, rolling woodlands encased lovingly manicured gardens, the focus of which was a manmade waterfall that fed into a gentle stream and meandered through a fantasy gardenscape, at the base of which, stood a fantasy manor. The drive appeared to be the only gravel feature in the landscaping, everything else spoke of soft, green lushness underfoot. I will make this mine, thought Gilles as the carriage came to a halt.
As he descended, an elderly, storklike man in formal black appeared from the opened, great doors of the manor. He bowed and addressed him.
"My lord, it gives me great pleasure to finally welcome you to Longwood. My name is Holderson, I am butler here."
Gilles smiled. Finally? Was the man criticizing him? No doubt, he'd deserved it. His instincts immediately told him that Holderson was a man to be respected and trustworthy.
"Thank you, Holderson. The grounds and the outside of the manor seem quite in order." There. Perhaps you could show me indoors instead of keeping me on the stoop. Gilles grinned as he gestured towards the door.
Once inside and the staff was introduced, he took stock of the entryway. Various large tapestries covered the walls and several oriental rugs covered the floors, overlapping here and there. Very little floor and wall was left unexposed.
"I take it Lord and Lady Cambroke weren't very fond of oils and water colors..." Gilles muttered as he rotated in place, assessing his surroundings. He saw Holderson stiffen along with most of the staff. He felt their stares briefly before they schooled their features.
"Is her ladyship not about, is she busy? I would have thought she'd be quite anxious to greet me..." he mused aloud as his gaze traveled along the line of servants. Again, many eyes went wide before relaxing into the expected, acceptable forward gaze. Holderson cleared his throat and stepped closer to his side.
"Lady Cambroke awaits you at your earliest convenience. Would you care to refresh yourself or see her directly, my lord?"
Again with the censuring? Gilles wondered at the older man's presumption. He must be quite assured of his position. Which wasn't surprising. He liked him instinctively and wondered why he was found lacking.
He was led forward and then to the left through a long hallway. The floors were highly polished but hidden beneath even more oriental rugs, the wood paneling on the walls glowed warmly and the smell of orange oil filled his nose. A set of doors opened to a room that took Gilles by surprise. In the past it had been a ballroom. The floors were parquet but were obscured again by rugs. The long walls were almost completely floor to ceiling windows and French doors that were thrown open to allow as much light and air into the space as possible. The space was filled with marble sculptures of various sizes. They ranged in size from a small, lifelike rendering of a flower arrangement to a great majestic horse. Various figures from history and mythology lounged or towered here and there as well as the occasional small replica of famous palaces. Outside, jasmine, roses, rosemary and lavender bloomed and their evocative scents floated into the space with the breeze. Somewhere in the distance a piano played, it's melody beautiful yet haunting.
Gilles took it all in, "Her ladyship must not be much of a dancer but her taste in art is to be commended." he turned to Holderson, the large smile across his face fell as he took in the older man's withering glare.
"Lady Cambroke is just through here. Would you like to me to have your bag sent upstairs or to your study, my lord?" he asked as he motioned towards the satchel under Gilles' arm.
Gilles shook his head and patted the leather bag. "I have some papers I'd like her ladyship to look over and sign. I'm sure she'll be quite pleased." He'd had an agreement drafted that rewarded Lady Cambroke with an increase in her allowance and reasserted her possession of Harwood Grange. He'd hoped it would open discussion to the point of her leaving so that he could have Longwood to himself.
Holderson stopped and turned. "My lord, you should know that if her ladyship should leave Longwood, the majority of the staff would follow." With that he led the way out of the ballroom and gestured towards a small, opened door just off to the left in the small hallway.
Stunned, Gilles nodded and walked into what must have been a small music room or parlor. Holderson left, leaving Gilles to wonder if the staff of Longwood had just resigned.
As he surveyed the room, he became aware that the music had ceased. Blinking his eyes at the brightness, he took in more tapestries as well as patterned velvet wall paper in cream and gold, cream colored velvet fabric draped about the room and windows and several large pieces of furniture upholstered in various shades of cream and gold. The far wall was again a formation of glass windows and
doors and bright, golden light flooded in. Centered in the glow sat a small ethereal figure at a large piano at the back of the room. Gilles could make out very little of the figure other than she was very small and definitely not elderly. He detected flowing, golden hair and delicate shoulders. As he edged along the wall, the light shone less in his eyes and he became acutely aware of her testing a single key. The soft, low note echoed though the room as he drew closer. He reached the far end of the piano and regarded the woman at the bench.
"Woman" seemed inadequate as Gilles took in the totality of her. He felt as if he were Icarus, too close to the sun. Melting and falling towards the sea. The soft golden locks he'd noticed at the door cascaded around a face so delicate and fine it could be no more than twenty. Glowing ivory skin kissed at the cheeks with the softest blush was adorned by a small, delicately pointed nose and full, pink lips. Her chin was a touch firm and her neck long and graceful. From what wasn't obscured by the piano, Gilles observed a petite yet lush figure encased in pale aqua silk.
The testing of the key continued as he drew close and she finally looked up and gazed slightly off to his left. Instinctively, Gilles looked and found nothing but the wall behind him before turning back to her. He was immediately struck by how similar in color her eyes were to her gown. Instantly, Gilles realized her eyes were not distant but unseeing. Almost like a blow to the chest, he knew that Lady Cambroke was not only the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, she was blind. And he was completely and inexplicably in love.
"Welcome to Longwood, my lord." Had a voice ever sounded as lovely? He thought as he edged closer and the note repeated and carried through the air.
"Lady Cambroke?" He asked though he was quite sure. Other questions flooded his brain. How old was she? How could she be Basil DeVere's widow? How long would they be alone? Why did the note keep repeating? Had any other woman smelled so lovely? If he touched her would he melt like Icarus' wings? Could he ever be worthy?
Saved By A Siren: Spencers in Love Book One Page 1
