‘Martlesham,’ said Gideon shortly. ‘Jerome Rainault sent letters to the old earl, instructing him to hold his fortune in trust for his family. Max was planning to keep it for himself.’
‘Rogers will, of course, carry out your instructions, my son.’ The viscount moved to his usual seat beside the fire. ‘But first he has some news for you.’
* * *
So Jerome Rainault is alive,’ said Gideon, when everything had been explained.
‘We believe so,’ said the lawyer. ‘Lord Rotham hopes to get him to England very soon.’
‘How?’ asked Gideon, frowning. ‘Bonaparte will not want to let him go.’
Lord Rotham nodded.
‘You are right, it must be done carefully. I am sending a courier tonight.’
‘I will go.’ Gideon’s announcement was met with silence.
‘Out of the question,’ said the viscount at last. ‘It is far too dangerous.’
‘Rainault is my father-in-law. Who else should go?’
‘Anyone,’ cried Gwen, her face pale. ‘How can you even think of it, knowing what happened to James—?’
‘Precisely because of what happened to James,’ replied Gideon. ‘My brother was heir to Rotham. I should have been the one to go to Paris all those years ago.’
‘No,’ said Lord Rotham. ‘I ordered you both to remain in England. James disobeyed me.’ He sighed. ‘He was as stubborn and hot-headed as the rest of the Alburys, in his own way.’
Gideon met his father’s eyes steadily. ‘I have to do this, sir, if only to show my wife that I do not have an implacable hatred for all Frenchmen.’
‘No, you cannot go.’ Gwen jumped up from her seat and ran to Gideon. ‘Think, my dear. You are heir to Rotham now.’
His mouth twisted into a wry smile.
‘And my heir is presently sleeping in his crib upstairs, so the succession is safe.’
Gwen gave a little huff of impatience and turned to her husband.
‘Ribblestone, pray tell him he must not do it.’
‘I will,’ said Anthony. ‘Not for the reasons you have given, but because from today the difficulties of getting anyone in or out of France are increased a hundredfold.’ He surveyed the company for a moment. ‘It can make no odds if I tell you now, for you will learn of it in tomorrow’s newspapers. We have today declared war on France.’
After a moment’s horrified silence, Gideon shook his head.
‘It makes no odds. I am still going.’
* * *
The argument raged on, but at length Gideon convinced them all that he would not be moved and suggested to his father they should discuss how it was to be done. Mr Rogers rose.
‘My work is finished here, my lord, so if you will excuse me I shall visit Mrs Rainault and advise her of the news.’
Ribblestone took out his watch, ‘And we can do no more good here, so we will go to Fairlawns.’
With a bow he ushered his wife to the door.
‘Ribblestone!’ Gideon’s peremptory call stopped Anthony at the door. He looked back, brows raised. ‘So you and m’sister have made it up. How did you do it?’
Ribblestone regarded him for a moment, a faint smile touching his lips.
‘Well, if you want the truth—and begging your pardon, Lord Rotham—I gave her a damn good spanking!’
With that, and another slight bow, he went out and shut the door.
* * *
By the time Gideon accompanied his father into dinner their plans had been made. Only two places were set, Colne informing them that Mr Rogers had departed to catch the night mail and Mrs Albury had requested a tray to be sent up to her room. As soon as they were alone, Gideon explained about his meetings with Agnes Bennet.
‘I should have told Dominique about it immediately, Father. It was a serious misjudgement.’
‘We are both guilty of that where your wife is concerned,’ replied Lord Rotham, sadly. ‘Your mother was never strong and I should have taken better care of her, but my mistake was to persuade you that all ladies were so delicate. When you brought Dominique to Rotham, she quite stole my heart and I became morbidly anxious for her. If I have somehow caused this estrangement between you, then I am very sorry for it.’
Gideon listened in silence. It was the first time that his father had ever unbent enough to make an apology and he realised how much it had cost him. He looked up and met the old man’s eyes.
‘You are not at fault, Father. I have been a fool, but I shall do better in future, when I get back from France.’
If I get back.
The words hung between them, unspoken, but Gideon knew that they both silently acknowledged the risks.
* * *
They had not quite finished their port when Colne announced another visitor.
‘I have shown him into the study, my lord, as you instructed.’
‘My original courier,’ explained the viscount as the butler withdrew. ‘He will accompany you as far as the coast, but after that you will travel alone until you meet up with your contact in Paris. How is your French?’
‘A little rusty, but it will suffice. Come, let us get this over.’
* * *
An hour later Gideon went to his room to change for his journey. Once he was ready he walked to the connecting door that led to Dominique’s bedchamber and after the briefest of knocks he walked in. She was standing before the fire, rocking the baby in her arms and crooning a lullaby.
Gideon glanced at the waiting servant. ‘Please leave us.’
The nursemaid hesitated, glancing uncertainly at her mistress. Dominique handed her the baby.
‘Take little James back to the nursery, if you please. I shall come to him later.’
Her tone was gentle, but as soon as they were alone she regarded Gideon with a stony glare, anger emanating from every rigid line of her body.
‘What do you want?’
‘To talk to you.’
‘There is nothing to say.’ She turned her back on him. ‘Please leave me.’
‘I am leaving. I am going away. Tonight.’
‘Good.’
Her hands were clasped around the bedpost, as if to support herself. Gideon continued quietly, ‘Agnes found proof that Max was holding your father’s fortune. I wanted to make sure it was true, that I could secure the money for you and your mother before I told you. I was wrong to keep it from you. I beg your pardon for that.’ There was no reaction, no movement at all from the silent figure before him. ‘I am going to France, to find your father and bring him back. Perhaps that will prove to you that I don’t hate you, or your French blood.’ He stopped. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, exhaling slowly. ‘No, it is more than that. My anger has been misdirected for years. I used it to disguise my hatred of myself. You see, my French was always better than my brother’s. I might have survived.’ He rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘There is not a day goes by that I do not wish I had disobeyed my father and gone to France instead of James. I thought Father’s keeping me here was a punishment for allowing James to die—in fact, it was because he was afraid of losing me, too. I understand that now, because I finally know what it is to love someone so much that you cannot bear to contemplate life without them. Dominique, you say you cannot love me. I understand that. I promise you I shall never force my attentions upon you, if they are unwelcome. But I hope, when I return, that we may be able to salvage something from this mess.’ He paused, his eyes fixed on her rigid, unyielding back. ‘Will you not wish me God’s speed?’
He waited, but when she made no move he turned on his heel and left the room.
* * *
Dominique heard the door click shut behind him. Her hands were clenched so tightly around the bedpost that the carvings cut into her skin. She had wan
ted to run to him, to cast herself on his chest and beg him to be careful, but her anger held her silent and immobile. She could hear his steps in the corridor, that firm, familiar stride, the tap-tap of his boots on the boards, gradually dying away to silence. With a sob she threw herself across the room and wrenched open the door.
‘Gideon, wait!’
She flew along the passage and to the stairs. From the central stairwell she saw only the flapping edge of his greatcoat disappearing into the hall below. Desperately she sped down the remaining stairs. She could hear the rumble of voices and even as she reached the hall she heard the heavy thud of the door being closed.
‘Colne, Colne, tell him to wait!’ she called out as she ran. The butler opened the door again as she came up and she dashed past him and out on to the drive.
The moonlight showed her one figure already mounted, and Gideon with his foot in the stirrup. When he saw her he stepped away from the horse and without pausing she hurled herself at him.
‘Oh, Gideon, I am so sorry, so sorry!’ His arms closed around her and she cried into his shoulder. ‘I was so j-jealous when I saw you with her and I quite lost my temper. Please don’t go without saying you forgive me.’
He gave a shaky laugh.
‘There is nothing to forgive, love.’ He put his fingers under her chin and forced her to look up at him. With the moon overhead his face was in shadow, but she could discern the glint of his eyes and it tugged up that now familiar ache of desire deep in her belly. ‘Wait for me.’
‘Must you go?’ she murmured between kisses.
‘Yes. I have to do this. For you, for Tante and the duc. For James.’
‘Not for my sake! Please, I could not bear to lose you now. And no one can blame you for obeying your father.’
‘Only me. At the very least I should have gone with James—I can never forgive myself for letting him go to France alone.’
‘Then your father might have lost both sons and I would never have known you.’ She cupped his face between her hands and gazed up at him. ‘I love you, Gideon. So very, very much. Promise me you will be careful.’
‘Of course.’ His grin flashed white in the moonlight. ‘I have so much to live for.’
He gave her one last, lingering kiss before putting her from him and mounting up. As he and his companion cantered out of the gates, he raised his hand for a final salute.
* * *
Dominique stood on the drive and watched until the riders were out of sight, then she made her way slowly to the drawing room to join her father-in-law. When he saw her he went over to the sideboard and poured her a glass of Madeira.
‘So you have made up your differences,’ he said. ‘I am glad.’
‘It all seemed so petty, once he had told me where he is going.’
He held out the glass to her. ‘Believe me, my dear, I would have stopped him if I could.’
‘I know, my lord, but he is determined, even if it should prove dangerous.’ Something in the old man’s look alerted her and she sank down on a sofa, saying quickly, ‘What is it, what should I know?’
‘It will be dangerous, my dear. Extremely so, because we are now at war with France again.’
Chapter Nineteen
Days turned into weeks. Dominique busied herself around the house and looked after her baby. She scoured the newspapers every day, but the reports only made her more anxious. Bonaparte’s fury at being forced into war before he was ready was manifesting itself in attacks and imprisonment of the English who had not managed to leave France in time. If that was the case for innocent travellers, how much worse would it be for Gideon, if he was caught?
Dominique took some comfort from the fact that Gwen and Anthony were now much closer—so much so that Ribbleston soon told Gwen of the duel Gideon had fought with Max and she promptly passed the news on. Dominique’s worst fears—that Max should die and Gideon would then be wanted for murder—were soon eased when the social pages reported that the earl had retired to Martlesham Abbey amid rumours that he was seriously in debt. Dominique could only be thankful that she and her mother no longer lived under his aegis.
There was a small diversion at the end of May when she travelled to London with her mother to see Mr Rogers and go with him to Coutts’ bank. The dowry her father had set aside for her was signed over and the remainder of the Rainault fortune was secured for her mother’s use, but the knowledge that Gideon had made this possible only added to Dominique’s unhappiness. She had not thanked him for his efforts and the fear deep in her heart was that now she would never have the chance to do so.
* * *
The atmosphere at Rotham became hushed, expectant, as if the house itself was waiting for news. Mrs Rainault spent so much time there with her daughter that the viscount suggested she should come and stay again until Gideon’s return.
‘And he will return,’ he assured Dominique. ‘The family has many friends in France, believe me.’
But as the summer wore on even the viscount’s confidence wavered.
‘I am sure that if it was not for our being here, and little James, Lord Rotham would return to his reclusive ways,’ Dominique told her mother, when they were strolling in the walled garden one afternoon. The July sun was beating down, filling the still air with the scent of roses.
‘He has told me how much you have changed his life,’ said Mrs Rainault. ‘Rotham had grown cold and silent before you came, but he says you brought it back to life—more than that, you restored his son to him.’
‘And I am the reason he has gone away, perhaps forever.’
‘You must not talk like that.’ Mrs Rainault gave her arm a little shake. ‘You must not give up hope, Dominique.’
‘But it has been ten weeks. It feels like a lifetime. You have been waiting for news of Papa for ten years—how, Maman? How have you lived with the pain, the uncertainty?’
Mrs Rainault smiled. ‘With love, my dear. And faith. I always believed Jerome would come back to me, one day.’
Dominique felt hot tears pricking at her eyes. If only she could be so certain, but she was afraid that she had not earned such happiness.
‘Oh, Maman, we have been so foolish, Gideon and I! We wasted so much time. If only—’ She broke off, her head going up as she heard the faint scrunch of gravel. ‘Is that a carriage?’ She shook her head. ‘No, no, it is the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. I vow, Maman, I am becoming quite a nervous being, jumping at shadows...’
But her mother was not listening. She was looking past Dominique towards the house, such a look of wonder on her face that Dominique found her breathing interrupted by the rapid thudding of her heart. Fearing disappointment, she forced her unwilling body to turn. The long windows leading into the house were thrown open and a tall man stood there, his thin frame slightly stooped. His white hair was brushed back from a pale brow and a pair of familiar dark eyes looked out from his gaunt face.
‘P-Papa?’
With a stifled cry her mother ran forwards.
‘Jerome? Oh, my love, is it really you?’
The old man stepped out on to the terrace, holding out his arms.
‘Mais oui, ma chère.’
Whatever else had changed, his voice had not. It was firm and warm and brought a host of memories flooding back. Her mother was already in his arms, weeping softly into his shoulder. Dominique followed more slowly, not sure of her welcome. Over her mother’s head Jerome smiled. He freed one hand and reached out for her.
‘Dominique. Daughter.’
She took his hand and for the first time in many months allowed the tears to spill over.
‘Welcome home, Papa.’ She moved closer, hugging both her parents before stepping away. However much she wanted to be part of it she realised this was their time, two lovers reunited. Lord Rotham was standing
in the doorway, his head bowed. He had one hand over his face and his shoulders shaking. His image was blurred by her tears, but she was filled with dread. She had managed to keep her fears buried deep, except in the dark reaches of the night when the demons would taunt her with the thought that Gideon would never return. Now those fears leaped free and she found herself comparing her mother’s newfound happiness with her own bleak future.
But it was not only her unhappiness. She wiped away her tears and went to the viscount, laying a hand on his arm.
‘Oh, my lord—’ There was a movement in the shadowy room behind him and her heart stopped. ‘G-Gideon?’
‘Yes,’ said the viscount, his voice a little unsteady. ‘He is here. He is safe.’
He stepped aside and with a sob she flew across the room to the figure standing in the shadows. Gideon caught her in a fierce hug that lifted her off her feet. He was dusty from the road and smelled of dirt and horses, but she did not care, for when he sought her mouth and kissed her she lost herself in the taste and scent of her own dear husband.
When at last he released her she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder.
‘Oh, Gideon, I was so frightened you would not come back!’
His arms tightened.
‘How could I not, when I knew you were waiting for me?’ He put his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards him again. ‘I dreamed of this moment every night.’ He kissed her again, gently this time, his lips a soft caress. ‘I cannot tell you how much I have missed you.’
‘Let us go and sit down, I want to know everything.’
‘Later,’ he said, laughing. ‘I am far too dirty to sully my father’s furniture. Let us join the others in the garden.’ He looked up at the silent figure standing by the open windows. ‘My lord, will you come, too?’
‘Thank you, no. I shall find Colne and tell him to delay dinner by at least an hour.’ He held out his hand. ‘I am glad to have you back, my son.’
‘Thank you, Father. I am pleased to be here.’ He clasped the proffered hand for a long moment, holding his father’s eyes until the viscount gave a little nod and walked away.
Lady Beneath the Veil Page 24
