by Sandra Heath
“Gwilym is up at the castle, my lord.”
“He was here a moment since. I saw him.”
“Really?” The housekeeper looked up and down the lane. “Well, he didn’t come to see me, and for that will be told off, you may be sure.” She stood aside on the path. “Do come in, do come in, my lord.”
Athan did as he was bade. “Mrs. Lewis, you’d be flattered indeed if you knew how often I spent my time in St. Petersburg dreaming about your cooking.”
She blushed with pleasure. “I will cook for you right now, my lord,” she declared, making fast and loose with the contents of John Bailey’s larder. “You do not look at all well and clearly were not looked after properly in that foreign place. Some good Welsh air, Welsh cooking, and Welsh company will soon put you right.”
“Most likely, but I hardly think it proper for me to be fed at Mr. Bailey’s expense.”
“At least allow me to cut you some of my bara brith.”
“Ah, now you’ve persuaded me,” he laughed.
She beamed, and ushered him into the house.
“Has Miss Bailey arrived yet?” he asked, as they stepped into the entrance hall.
“Miss Who, sir?”
“Miss Bailey. Mr. Bailey’s niece.”
The housekeeper turned. “Yes, Mr. Bailey’s niece is here, sir, but Miss Ellie’s surname is Rutherford.”
Suddenly the very air around him seemed to become muffled, and all he could hear was his own heart beginning to race.
Mrs. Lewis watched his face, and then smiled a secret sort of smile as she took his hat, overcoat, and gloves. “Mr. Bailey is down in the cellar, and I will tell him you have called, my lord, but Miss Ellie is in the parlor. Please go right in.”
Before Athan could recover from his shock, the housekeeper had hung his coat on a wall hook, placed his hat and gloves on a rush-seated chair, and hurried away. He expected her to announce him to Ellie, but she walked past the parlor door and disappeared into the kitchen. The longcase clock ticked slowly and steadily, unlike his heart, which now thundered in his breast.
A name whispered through the house. Ellie ... He gazed toward the closed door, rooted, unable to move. The latch lifted slowly, and the door opened. He couldn’t breathe. Timeless things brushed his face and seemed to trifle with his hair. Whispers were all around him, audible, yet just beyond hearing. He heard sweet music, a snatch of melody from a distant harp, then a draft stirred strongly along the passage, bringing with it the scent of snowdrops.
“Ellie?” He found his voice, and her name escaped the confines of the otherworld and became fact.
“Is that you, Uncle John? Did you call me?” At last her shadow fell across the parlor doorway. She wore a yellow-sprigged muslin gown, and her light brown curls were piled up so loosely that they seemed about to fall down again at any moment.
She had a book in her hand, and her forefinger was between the pages to mark the place. There was no light of precognition in her bright blue eyes, nothing to show anticipation of his presence, just the natural interest of a niece who’d heard a man say her name and believed it could only be her uncle. But then she saw him. Her breath snatched, the book slipped from her hand, and she had to reach out to the doorjamb to steady herself.
“Ellie?” he said again, unable to quite believe this was real. Would she disappear if he touched her?
She did not know what to say or do. A score of emotions formed a maelstrom inside her, but love and desire broke free of the wild swirl that rendered her so helpless. This was real. He was here, in Nantgarth House, and she could see in his eyes that everything she had experienced, he’d experienced too.
They were intimate strangers, willful partners in stolen passions, and had shared impossible kisses and caresses even though they’d been hundreds of miles apart. Seeing him now, the unbelievable was somehow no longer beyond reason.
The longcase clock whirred and began to strike, breaking a moment so spellbinding it was almost opiate. Athan tried to pull himself together, to appear at least a little in command of himself. “Perhaps we should talk?” he suggested, thinking how woefully inadequate the words were; but then wasn’t he woefully inadequate in the face of such moments as these?
She nodded and drew back into the room, but went only a few steps before turning. He was close behind her, close enough to reach out and touch the softness of her hair. She closed her eyes. Remembered fantasies were too real to resist or deny, even had she wanted to.
But her senses were out of control, her willpower was nonexistent, and her wits had been beguiled. His arm moved around her waist, and she was pliant and willing as she let him pull her to him. They were each other’s tender jailer, and there was no thought of anyone else, not of Fleur, or of the possibility that John might enter at any moment.
As they kissed, echoes of a distant past seemed to sound softly within them both. She could smell the mountains on his clothes, taste the wild heather on his lips, and feel eternity in his embrace. This was so right, so right.... Their lips moved luxuriously together, their hearts beat in unison, and their souls became one. Nothing could be more right and true than this, nothing at all....
But even such a kiss had to end, and they drew apart, their faces flushed, their eyes darkened with love. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. “I can’t believe I’ve found you again, right here in Nantgarth. I feared you were lost to me forever....”
She pulled from his arms. “I knew we were bound to meet, because I knew who you were,” she said quietly.
“You came here because of me?” He was startled.
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know then. It’s something I’ve realized since. It was something my uncle said, and I put two and two together. I’d been wondering how it would be when we met.” But there hasn’t been time for you to have received the letter Fleur says she prompted your agent to write....
“How could you doubt it would be like this?” he asked. “Surely, after the things that have passed between us—”
“—even though we both know we’ve been so far apart?” she finished for him.
He gazed at her. “Do you doubt that it all happened?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Nor do I.”
He tried to take her hands, but she had to step backward. “There is too much that really does separate us, Athan,” she said.
“If you mean that wretched business of the bank, I swear that I knew nothing. I only became a director that day we met. All that had gone before was—”
“I was thinking of Miss Tudor,” she interrupted, for somehow the Unicorn Bank was inconsequential right now.
He had to look away. Fleur was someone of whom he didn’t wish to speak, of whom he didn’t want to even think.
“You do not deny that you are to marry her?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Then you know that you and I must—”
“You and I are all that matters!” he cried, seizing her arms and pulling her toward him again. “I know I’ve asked Fleur to be my bride, but ...” His voice died away, for he knew there could be no buts.
She longed to tell him what she’d seen up at the church and damage Fleur Tudor all she could before Fleur’s lies ruined her uncle’s reputation and livelihood beyond redemption, but the fact remained that there was no proof of anything. Whatever she said, even if she mentioned Fleur’s threats, Cardiff tittle-tattle, or Freddie Forrester-Phipps’s presence here in Glamorgan, she couldn’t substantiate anything. Fleur was bound to deny it all, and would probably burst into helpless little tears about Ellie Rutherford’s lies.
Yet there was no doubt in Ellie’s mind that the moment Athan returned to the castle, Fleur would almost certainly regale him with the so-called shocking rumors she’d heard about the uncle and niece living at Nantgarth House.
But as Ellie stood there in miserable indecision, feeling damned whichever decision she made, the door opened and her uncle came in with a beaming sm
ile.
“Athan! My dear friend, how truly delighted I am that you’ve returned at last!”
Chapter Seventeen
John hastened to take Athan’s hand in both his, but then looked at him in concern. “You’re too pale and thin, sir, so it would seem that Russia didn’t agree with you any more than it once did with me.”
“The St. Petersburg winters are notorious for afflictions of the chest, and I fear I fell victim. I had no idea you’d been there too.”
Athan struggled to appear relaxed, for the truth was that he, rather unfairly, resented the interruption to his meeting with Ellie. He tried to mask his discomposure by glancing up at the portrait of the young man over the fireplace, and in so doing was startled to suddenly recognize the spire of the Peter and Paul Cathedral in St. Petersburg in the background.
He’d seen the portrait before without realizing where it had been painted, but was now struck by the coincidence of it being the Russian capital. The subject of the painting had never surprised him, however, for he’d long since guessed why there would never be a Mrs. John Bailey. Now it would seem that John’s memories of St. Petersburg were concerned not only with the vagaries of the climate.
John ushered Ellie to sit down on the settle, then made Athan sit there too. “A glass of sherry?” he offered, going to the decanter on a table in the corner.
“That would be agreeable,” Athan replied.
“Yes, I had the misfortune to visit the Russian capital and am afraid that the good memories I have of the place are by far outweighed by the bad. But enough of that, for you’re home in Wales again now, and all is well. Mrs. Lewis is going to bring us some tea and bara brith in a little while, which will do your constitution the power of good.”
John finished pouring three glasses, then brought two to the settle. “Well, Ellie, is Lord Griffin the young gentleman you spoke of from the Isle of Wight?” he asked.
“Yes, he is,” she answered, catching Athan’s inquiring eye and deciding to do what she could to put him in the picture. “Lord Griffin, I told my uncle that I thought that you were among a party of gentlemen that called at Rutherford Park one afternoon a year or so ago....”
“Yes, I recall,” he replied.
To their relief John didn’t inquire further, but took his seat on his rocking chair, and raised his glass. “To our health and happiness,” he declared.
They raised their glasses and shared the toast.
John cleared his throat. “When it comes to health, nothing good ever came out of St. Petersburg, but when it comes to business, it is a different matter, eh, Athan? I gather we both have reason to celebrate in the latter respect, you with your horses, me with my tureens.”
Athan was taken aback. “You know about the horses? But—”
“I’d be willing to wager that Gwilym Lewis knew at practically the same moment as you,” John interrupted with a wry smile. “Don’t ask me how, but he’s been certain enough to have already selected a mare and a colt, and to have been up to St. Dwynwen’s well with them to seek her blessing. Ellie saw him up there with them, didn’t you, Ellie?”
“Yes, indeed.” And Gwilym Lewis wasn’t the only person I saw up there, Ellie thought.
Athan was philosophical about Gwilym. “I suppose I should no longer be surprised by anything about Nantgarth’s very own Merlin, but somehow it comes as a shock every time. The supernatural is around us more than we even begin to know.” He glanced at Ellie, and she at him.
John chuckled. “And am I to blame the supernatural for your lack of surprise when I mentioned tureens?”
Athan returned his smile. “No, sir, you are not. I merely confess to having traveled back from Russia in company with Prince Valentin Andreyev.”
“So he’s safely here in England?” John sat forward.
“Yes, and will shortly be coming to Castle Griffin. He means to consult with you then about the minutiae of the czar’s order. It was because of my acquaintance with him that I decided to call here before going on to the castle. I thought you would appreciate knowing he’d arrived in the country.”
“That’s most considerate of you,” John replied warmly. “Well, I have no fewer than three tureens from which Prince Valentin may choose, although as you may guess, I had to throw away many more than that before I had even one that was good enough.”
Athan was sympathetic. “You still haven’t quite established the formula?”
“On the contrary, in recent weeks I feel certain that I have at last, but now it seems there may be a fault of some sort with the smaller of my two kilns. I’ve made every inspection and correction imaginable, but can’t find out what it is, yet I know there must be something, because if the formula itself were still at fault, I’m sure I wouldn’t get any decent porcelain at all.”
He gave a broad grin. “But tureens are all I need to be going on with, and they are all almost completely decorated. Oh, they’re rare items, I can tell you, and I’m as pleased as punch. Whichever one goes to St. Petersburg will be a splendid advertisement not only for this little works, but also for British ceramic ware in general. We’ll show the French, eh? The supremacy of Sèvres and its likes will soon be at an end. Now, let us talk of something else that is pleasing. I refer to your betrothal to Miss Tudor. Are we soon to have a date for the wedding itself?” he asked then.
“Nothing is fixed.” Athan looked uneasily at Ellie, who kept her eyes upon the fire.
John laughed. “It soon will be, you mark my words. You know what ladies are when it comes to such things. I imagine Miss Tudor has decided upon her wedding gown ten times over.”
There was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Lewis came in with the promised tray of tea and a plate of warm buttered bara brith. When the housekeeper had withdrawn again, and Ellie had attended to the duties of hostess, Athan diverted the conversation to the matter of his progress at the bank, which was something he was anxious for her to know.
“Forgive me for mentioning this, Miss Rutherford, but with regard to the inquiry you made just before your uncle joined us, concerning the proceedings at the Unicorn Bank. As a partner, I—”
John was dumbfounded. “You are a partner of the Unicorn?”
“Indeed so, but I assure you I wasn’t at the time of Mr. Rutherford’s unfortunate experiences. When a senior partner, Albert Forrester-Phipps, died quite suddenly, I was approached to take his place, and I decided it would be a wise investment. That was why I was present the day Mr. Rutherford last went to the premises in Ludgate Hill, and in view of the tragic events that followed, the matter naturally preyed upon my mind.”
Athan worded it all as carefully as he could, bearing in mind that he and Ellie were supposed to have met only briefly on the Isle of Wight, so he was ambiguous about the whys and wherefores of his interest in what befell Josiah Rutherford. “I thought of it a great deal while I was in St. Petersburg,” he went on, “and immediately on my return to London I investigated the entire case.”
“What have you discovered?” John asked.
“That something certainly went on at the bank that ought not to have done, although I have yet to uncover evidence that Miss Rutherford could use to prosecute the bank.” Athan explained everything he’d learned, and then came to Josiah’s supposed associate, John Arbuthnot Billersley.
Ellie was pouring her uncle another cup of tea, and her hand jolted so much on hearing the name that she almost dropped the teapot. John was so appalled that he leapt up from the rocking chair. “But that’s impossible!” he cried in utter disbelief.
Athan looked at him and at Ellie’s suddenly pale face. “Is this Billersley person known to you?” he asked.
Ellie fixed her gaze low again, and left any response to her uncle, who hesitated, then answered very unwillingly. “In a manner of speaking,” he said.
“What does that mean?” Athan asked.
“It means that I knew someone called John Arbuthnot Billersley, but he is now deceased, and has been for some years.�
� John’s guilty gaze caught Ellie’s, and became imploring. Don’t expose me, Ellie, I beg of you....
“Deceased?” Athan looked from one to the other again, and knew he wasn’t being told the truth. “Now look, how am I going to be able to help in this matter if you aren’t being entirely honest with me? You both know more about this Billersley person that you care to admit, and I expect you to do me the courtesy of including me in the secret.”
“Uncle?” Ellie looked inquiringly at John, who sat down again slowly, his shoulders slumping as he decided to own up.
“Very well, very well, but Athan, you should know that what I am about to say may result in the termination of my lease here, maybe even in my incarceration in debtor’s jail, but I am left with no choice. You see, I am John Arbuthnot Billersley.”
“You?” Athan was astounded.
John nodded. “Yes, but I swear upon everything I hold dear that I have had nothing whatsoever to do with my late brother-in-law’s finances.” He looked urgently at Ellie. “You must believe me, my dear. I may be guilty of adopting a false identity here in Nantgarth to escape my duns, but that is all I have done.”
“I believe you, Uncle.”
“What duns?” Athan demanded. “I don’t recall your mentioning such circumstances when you and I first met in that inn on the Pennines.”
“No gentleman likes to admit to debts.” John looked unhappily at him and explained what had happened over the past fourteen years, including his visit to St. Petersburg.
When he’d finished there was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire; then Athan drew a long breath. “I know the truth when I hear it, John, and am prepared to accept your reason for deceiving me. Your secret is safe with me, for it is not my inclination to tell tales to duns.”
John was almost sick with relief. “Oh, thank you, thank you! And ... and my lease here?”
“Is secure, although I cannot vouch that will remain the same should the duns actually catch up with you, which they may, of course.”
“I pray not,” John said with feeling.
