by Sophia James
‘And then you left?’
‘Carefully at midnight on the third day, for everything I had set out to do was done and de la Tomber seemed to be safely absolved from it all.’
‘A perfect outcome for everyone, save you?’
She smiled. ‘It was the end of everything, anyway, and the resulting confusion made my escape easy.’
He shook his head and walked to the window, looking out with his hands on the sill. Then he turned.
‘You told me today that I was beautiful, both inside and out. Was that something you have regretted saying since?’
A jolt of shock ran down from her throat to her stomach, making her breathless. He never had been a man to skirt about issues, but then, neither had she. ‘It is not. I love you. I will always love you. For ever and ever.’
‘God.’
‘When you left the port safely and I watched the sails of your fishing boat fill with air as it made for the open sea, all I could think was, this is my finest moment. I had not lost you to death and there was still hope in life for us.’
‘Us?’ A new tone in his question held her still.
‘I missed you and I hoped you might have missed me, too.’
‘I did, every day.’
She watched him as he came forward to kneel on the thick Aubusson rug next to the bed, his hand searching for hers and taking it into his own, the fingers warm and strong.
‘Will you marry me, Celeste? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘Your wife?’ She had never believed he would ask her this, never even hoped for it. Such a proposal was so far from any expectation that she was momentarily mute.
‘My wife, to have and to hold for ever. In sickness and in health. For richer, for poorer.’ He began to smile. ‘In bed and out of it. In danger and in safety. In France and in England. In my heart and blood and soul. That sort of wife.’
‘You were always good with words, Summer.’
‘And you were always good at hiding, Celeste.’
‘If I say yes, you might regret it, and besides, you have said nothing at all to me of love. I have to have that.’
‘Have I not? Is it not here?’ He touched their joined hands with his free one and then his fingers rested lightly on the bandage above her elbow. ‘Or here?’
Celeste had the honesty to nod.
‘I promise you faith and hope, but mostly I promise you love and the grace to stay exactly as you are.’
‘And what am I, Summer? To you?’
‘Everything,’ he whispered and when his voice broke she was amazed. Here was a man who had saved armies and enabled countries to throw off the mantle of an unwanted ruler. A man who was a hero to one half of Europe and a hallowed enemy to the other. Yet he was promising her fealty. Her with her chequered past and a future that was uncertain, to say the least.
Everything.
She could not stop the tears falling as he kept talking.
‘I love you so much that I have allowed Aurelian to place these ancient relatives in my home, precluding me from any sort of hope of luring you to my bedroom. I love you so much that I am prepared to wait until our wedding night to know again the utter joy I knew in France. I love you so much that I wish to do everything properly from now on.’
‘Properly?’
‘I will court you until I wear down any resistance to my proposal and you marry me out of love and lust.’
She smiled at that, but knew she could not capitulate completely.
‘You must come with me to Langley on the morrow, for I have one last secret for you. A good one,’ she added when she saw him frown. ‘The very best.’
‘And if I do this, will you give me your answer?’
She pulled his face into her hands and kissed him with all her heart, nothing hidden or held back.
‘I will.’
‘Then I shall hold you to it, but for now it’s best if I am not here alone with you.’
He stood, tipping his head in a goodbye. Then he was gone.
‘Please God,’ she whispered, wiping away the tears. ‘Please God, let me be good enough for him and let him love Loring.’
She was exhausted and her arm hurt, but the wonderment of her day danced over everything.
* * *
The tension between them was back as they drove south, all the confessions and high emotions from the night before quietened now into the reality of what they had nearly lost and what they still hoped to gain.
‘Aurelian made certain Guy Bernard’s body was dealt with. At least there won’t be an official inquiry into it.’
Waking this morning, Shay had felt no remorse at all for killing the Frenchman, his knives poised to murder Celeste. He could never bother them again and Celeste appeared as relieved as he to have the threat dealt with and removed.
He wanted her to tell him that she loved him again. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and understand the magic that had never gone away in all the months that they were apart.
She had almost forfeited her life for his in Nantes. That gift alone told him everything he needed to know.
‘Where did you go after leaving Paris?
‘I went to Calais. It was large enough to get lost in, but small enough not to be lost to myself.’
There were things there in her expression that he wondered about. She had not gone to Italy and to the warmth, ease and beauty of a place where she had contacts. She had gone instead to the colder climes of the department of Pas-de-Calais. Nothing made sense.
She was fidgeting with her clothing, her fingers playing with the material in her old and worn-out trousers. She’d insisted on wearing the cloak on top as well and no amount of persuasion on his part would have her shed it. Hiding as usual. She was both nervous and desperate. He could read the emotions on her face.
As they came up the driveway to Langley, she leaned forward, watching the windows above the portico and positioning herself to move the second the conveyance came to a halt.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ He asked this because he so plainly could see that she was.
‘When the carriage stops we will go into the house and straight upstairs. I have to tell you now. I don’t want to wait.’
‘Very well.’
He could not for the life of him understand what might be awaiting him but, if it was important to Celeste, then it would be important to him, too.
She smiled at his answer and for the first time since last night touched him gently on his hand.
‘I am not mad or delusional or whatever you may be thinking. It will all be explained when we go upstairs. But we must hurry.’
The second the conveyance ceased moving she was out, hurrying for the front steps, the front door, the tall and winding staircase, a darker passage and then another door.
‘Stay here for just a moment. Please.’
He heard quiet voices inside and then the door reopened and a maid scurried away, curiosity bathing her homely face as she glanced across to him.
A second later Celeste was there, her hand held out waiting for his.
‘He needs to see us together.’
The cot was small and beautifully decorated with Brussels lace and the finest lawn. When she pulled back the blankets a child lay there watching them. A light-haired child with eyes the colour of his own and a nose and mouth that reminded him so forcibly of something he sought to put a name to.
The picture in his bedchamber in London. The one done in red chalk and fine lines. Himself as a small baby all those years before.
‘He is ours, Summer. His name is Loring, which means son of a great warrior in old French. He is almost five months old.’
‘My God.’ He came closer and the movement had the baby’s eyes following him. ‘My son. Our son.’
‘Yes.’
Happiness and joy were imprinted upon Celeste’s face as she lifted him up and cradled the baby against her, one hand behind his head and the other tight beneath his bottom. She kissed his
hair with reverence and relief and pure utter delight and then kissed him again.
‘You restored my honour, Summer, and Loring restored my hope. So the answer to your proposal is, yes, we will marry you, if you can accept us together.’
At that he placed his arms about them, a circle of love and protection, a circle that would never be broken, not today, not tomorrow and not, God willing, in all the years of their marriage.
‘I love you both, but I never expected a gift like this. A son. Our son.’
At that she handed the little bundle over, showing him how to hold up Loring’s head and keep him safe. Small fingers rose and clutched at his own, the nails with perfect crescents of white.
For the second time in two days he felt undone, he who in all his years of warfare had barely shed a tear.
It was the end of a long and lonely journey. He had finally come home.
* * *
Lady Faulkner met them as they walked down the stairs, her face alight with interest.
‘Luxford?’ Her glance went to their joined hands and then to the baby. ‘He is the father, I presume?’ She looked straight at Celeste. ‘The resemblance is there for anyone with eyes to see.’
‘He is, Grandmère, and it was not impossible, after all.’
At that, the years on the older woman’s face fell away, the creases of tension softening.
‘It could not be more marvellous,’ she said finally. ‘If I could have conjured up someone for my granddaughter, Summerley, the man on the top of the list would have been you.’
‘Not just someone,’ he said quietly. ‘Celeste has consented to marry me as soon as we are able and I hope you will give us your blessing.’
‘Then God has answered all my prayers and the sadness of Langley has been lifted for good. From now on there will only be wonderful times.’ She stopped. ‘At least until Loring grows up and begins to worry us with the taste for adventure he has most assuredly inherited. Then we will all have to take in a breath.’ Stepping forward, she took his hand in her own. ‘Your parents would have been pleased, Shayborne, and so would your grandfather, Celeste. Perhaps Mary Elizabeth, August and Jeremy will be looking down and smiling, too.’
‘I hope so.’
* * *
Much later, Loring was asleep in his cot and the night outside was silent and dark. Although Summer had wanted to do everything properly, as he put it, Celeste had no more will to wait.
She wanted him now, inside her, making her feel everything she had always thought she never would again.
‘Are you sure?’
His words entered the night as he slipped into the bed beside her, the warmth of his skin sending a blazing desperation through her.
‘I am. But you will find me different.’
She kept the sheet knotted in her hands, anchoring the fabric under her chin.
‘Different because you are now the mother of our son?’
‘Childbirth is not an easy thing.’
‘Let me look. Let me see you in the candlelight. Please.’
When she dropped the sheet he traced the small scars of childbirth that she knew crossed her hips and then his fingers rose up to the new curve at her breasts.
‘It’s why you did not want me to touch you in London?’
She could only nod.
‘You are even more beautiful than I remember you to be and that is saying something. You are tempered in steel, but bathed, too, in honey, sweet and supple and soft, and I want you.’
Relaxing back after such a compliment, she looked straight at him.
‘This time, Summer, we will make love from the fullness of our life. This time the future, not the past, will rule us.’
His hand fell lower as he leaned down to kiss her. ‘This time, Celeste, it is for ever.’
She came to him bathed in faith and when the hardness of his sex drove into her centre, she shut her eyes and breathed. Always she had tried to fill the nothingness with a temporary dissolution of fear, a momentary escape.
Tonight she could only find the joining, the place where they ceased to exist separately and both became one. Tonight as a nightingale called from the tree outside the window, Celeste knew she would hear these sounds all of the years of her existence, their existence, hers and Summer’s and Loring’s and any other child with whom they might be blessed.
‘I want lots of children,’ she told him as the waves inside her heightened and he lost the power to hold back and came within her strong and deep and true.
‘As many as you like. You are mine,’ he said as her own release followed. ‘For ever.’
* * *
As the moon rose he brought her a glass of white wine and they sat in the candlelight and talked.
‘Why didn’t you go to Italy, Celeste, to have our son?’
She took a large sip and leaned back. When she spoke she did not look at him.
‘The pregnancy was difficult. I was so sick I simply could not face the thought of a long journey south, so I chose to travel north instead.’
‘What happened?’
‘I became sicker and finally a woman took me in. Eloise Mercier was her name and she was a healer. She had a way with natural herbs and made a living in administering medicines to those who were ill in the area.’
‘And so you recovered with her help?’
‘I did. It was so good being away from deceit and subterfuge and for a while I stopped glancing over my shoulder and looked inside instead. To Loring. I didn’t have you, but I had him, and all I could hope was that he would be a child that might resemble his father so that I had a part of you left. But even then I knew that there would always be people who would want to harm me and I needed to keep Loring safe. So I wrapped him up in the warmest blankets I could find and took passage on a boat to England.’
‘And returned to your grandmother?’
‘Yes. I had no notion you would ever forgive me and I knew that you were probably a viscount to boot. It was a risk to return to Langley with Luxford so very close, but for Loring’s sake it was one that I was willing to take.’
‘I should have come looking for you. I nearly did many a time, but...’
‘I’d run from you once already?’
‘That and the fact that if I had tried to locate you, it might have made everything far more dangerous for you.’
‘Maybe it would have. When you cast out such a wide net it is never certain who might be caught within it.’
‘Then I thank God that you and Loring are safe now and home.’
‘Summer?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d like our wedding to be here at Langley with only a handful of guests. Grandmère. Vivienne Shayborne and perhaps Aurelian de la Tomber? Do you think that is something you might want as well?’
‘I’ll get a special licence and send word to Lian tomorrow. If all goes to plan, we can be married within three days.’
Epilogue
One year later—London
The Barrymore Ball was the talk of the Season, with its colourful interiors, its unusual cuisine and its musicians who were the very cream of Europe’s talent.
No expense had been spared and the place was full of people. Rich people. Interesting people. Bohemian people. People who looked as though they were neither interesting nor rich, but were there to enjoy the present. A melting pot of people in a setting that was unmatched.
‘I did not imagine that the English could rival even the greatest of the Parisian soirées.’ Celeste almost had to shout these words. ‘But I think this one just might.’
‘You went to such occasions with your father?’
She shook her head. ‘I peeked a few times into the Tuileries Palace whose high windows on both sides of the building can be scaled easily if you know how. I thought the women were like princesses.’
‘You look like one tonight, the most beautiful princess of them all.’
She used her fan in the way she had observed other women here wielding t
heirs and hoped she had covered her blush. Marriage suited her, she loved the endless days and nights in her husband’s company at Luxford and the intimacy of their connection.
‘Look at me like that for much longer and I will have to take you home again, my darling, to enjoy in privacy what your eyes are promising.’
She was on the point of agreeing when their names were called, the ringing tones of the major-domo loud above the crowd.
‘Viscount and Viscountess Luxford.’
In all the months they had been married, she had never got over the thrill of hearing their names linked, though when the chatter died down and hundreds of faces turned their way she had a moment of disquiet.
If anyone recognised her...
But even she could barely see the old her in the new one any more. She was happy and in love, a wife and a mother, a granddaughter and the chatelaine to a house more stately than any she could ever have imagined. The furtive, careful Mademoiselle Brigitte Guerin had been replaced by a far more certain Lady Luxford, for with Summer at her side she knew she was loved.
* * *
An hour later she saw Aurelian de la Tomber thread his way towards them with a smile on his face.
‘You are most assuredly the belle of the ball, Celeste,’ he said when he finally reached them. ‘And I can see the chagrin on all the mamas’ faces, Shay, as they realise you are off the market.’
Aurelian had come up to Luxford to be the best man at their wedding and Celeste had enjoyed his company as much as Shay had, though she had made a point to apologise to him for her accusations in Paris.
He’d waved such a confession off completely and moved into a house not even an hour down the road in Sussex to be nearer them, a beautiful old manor that he’d had remodelled.
The gown Celeste wore shimmered under the light of the chandeliers, enhancing the shot-blue silk with shards of silver. When she had put it on she had thought it was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.
‘Will you dance with me, my love?’ Summer’s grip tightened as the first strains of the waltz were in evidence. Excusing themselves, they made their way through the throng of people to the dance floor where everything felt magical.
‘I told you that you would be unmatched and you are. Every man here is looking at you as though he would like to kiss you. Or more.’
