by Sandra Heath
“It will be far from pleasant if we find the Count with her, and I would prefer you to be spared anything like that. Remain here and I will come for you.” Reluctantly she sat back, watching as he and Charles alighted. The door was slammed and she heard them inquiring of the startled innkeeper, who at first was unwilling to give any information concerning his guests, but who swiftly volunteered the necessary details at one cold glance from Piers’ gray eyes.
The minutes seemed to trudge by as she waited. She toyed over and over again with the crumpled ribbons of her bonnet, twisting them around her fingers and gazing out all the while for sight of Piers.
He came at last, opening the carriage door and putting a reassuring hand over hers. “She’s all right, Alabeth, a little tearful but quite all right.”
She felt quite weak with relief. “He hasn’t—I mean she’s—”
“He didn’t touch her.”
“Oh, thank God. He’s with her now?”
“No, he’s already gone to the quay. He had no intention of taking her with him, Alabeth. His intention was only to ruin her name, and this he believes he has done. Charles and I are going after him now.”
Her eyes widened. “Please be careful.” She remembered the pistol he was carrying.
Briefly his fingers brushed her cheek. “We will be careful.”
He helped her down as Charles emerged from the inn his face very pale and his eyes glinting with a deadly resolve. No one would be able to intervene this time should he find Count Adam Zaleski and corner him. He nodded curtly at Piers. “Shall we go then, sir?”
Piers nodded, and in a moment they were in the carriage, which was drawing back out into the busy street. Alabeth stood in the courtyard, listening until the sound of the carriage died away, and then she turned to the man who was waiting to escort her to Jillian.
Chapter 27
Jillian was weeping inconsolably on the bed when Alabeth entered the little room, but hearing the light step, she sat up swiftly and then was running into her sister’s arms. “Oh, Alabeth, Alabeth!”
Alabeth held her close, smoothing the tousled golden curls and whispering silly endearments. There were tears in her own eyes, tears of relief and tears of love for this most exasperating of creatures.
At last Jillian recovered a little, sniffing as she searched for another handkerchief. Alabeth gave her her own. With small smile, Jillian took it. “I d-don’t know wh-what to say,” she said. “I f-feel so wretched and I’ve l-let you down so much.”
“But you’re all right, and that’s all that really matters.”
“I’m r-ruined, and we both know it. He l-laughed when he told m-me about the note he’d l-left at Brooks’s.”
Jillian’s eyes were a little haunted then, for the memory of that dreadful moment was so very hurtful, so very devastating. “I th-thought he was perfect, I thought he w-was the romantic lover I’d b-been dreaming of. I really b-believed him, Alabeth. I wouldn’t h-have gone with him unless I did. I wanted it to be l-like you and Robert, I wanted that more than anything else in the world. B-but he only wanted to r-ruin me, h-he just wanted r-revenge.”
“Oh, my poor darling.”
“I should have l-listened to you, Alabeth, for you warned me about him.”
“I know how persuasive he could be,” said Alabeth, leading Jillian gently to the bed, making her sit down, and then she dipped a cloth into the bowl of cold water on the table and dabbed Jillian’s tearstained face. “Don’t cry anymore, for it’s over now and we’ll return to Town and carry on as before.”
“I couldn’t, I couldn’t face them all.”
“If we are sensible, then everyone will believe the note to have been a cruel hoax. You may not be ruined, my dearest, you must have hope of that. You don’t imagine Piers or Charles will say anything, do you?”
A pathetic ray of hope sprang into Jillian’s anxious eyes “D-do you really think we could carry it off?”
“We have nothing to lose and everything to gain by trying.”
“I’ve been such a fool, haven’t I?”
“You’ve certainly been having a moment or two recently.” Alabeth sat down next to her, taking her hands and squeezing them. Outside, the sun was still shining and she could hear doves cooing softly on the roof. In the distance the sea was sparkling and she wondered if Piers and Charles had reached the quay yet, if they had found the Count. Oh, please, God, keep them safe, keep them safe.
Jillian glanced at her. “I really admired your love for Robert, you know, I could not imagine ever settling for anything less. I thought about it all the time, dreaming romantic dreams and telling myself that I would be as fortunate as you were.”
Alabeth lowered her eyes then. “Jillian, my life with Robert was not the wonderful dream it seemed to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that although we began our life together very much in love, it was not the same by the time he died in that duel. He was a rake through and through, Jillian, and even though I think he still loved me, he continued to be rake until the day he died.”
“Surely not—”
“I knew that he gambled recklessly, but I did not know how recklessly. He almost lost Charterleigh. He also kept a mistress.”
Jillian looked quite stunned. “Oh, Alabeth!”
“So, you see, you were admiring something which was quite different from the way it seemed.”
“I had no idea.”
“I didn’t exactly publish it all on a broadsheet.”
“But you’ve never hinted that anything was wrong. I mean, ever since Robert died, you’ve been so loyal to his memory.”
“I know.”
“Why? Why didn’t you tell me how it really was?”
“At the time it seemed the only way to be, but now— Well, now it’s too late and the damage is done. In so many ways.”
Jillian looked shrewdly at her. “You’re talking about something else now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Alabeth stared at the window. “I remained loyal to Robert after his death because I felt unbearably guilty. Before he died, I had fallen in love with someone else, someone I believed to have been as responsible for his death as the man who opposed him in the duel.”
Jillian stared then. “Piers Castleton?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Jillian reddened, remembering her own fleeting infatuation for him.
“There’s nothing to say, Jillian, for it’s all to be forgotten now. He is going to marry Adelina Carver, and by my own actions over the years I’ve more than forfeited any chance of winning him. He wasn’t responsible for Robert’s behavior, I know that he wasn’t, just as I now know the truth behind that duel he had with the Russian, there’s so much that I know for certain now and that I accept, but it has all come too late. There is a moral in this for you, Jillian Carstairs, for I believe that you feel far more for Charles Allister than you’ve been admitting to yourself. It may be too late for me, but it isn’t too late for you and Charles.”
Jillian lowered her eyes. “Isn’t it? Oh, Alabeth, he won’t want me now, not after this latest escapade.”
“So, I’m right about your feelings for him?”
“Yes. I didn’t really know it, though, until he walked into this room a short while ago. In that moment I knew how much I loved him. I suppose I knew it a little when you wanted me to write to him, telling him that I didn’t wish him to pay court to me anymore. I wouldn’t write that letter because I couldn’t bear to send him away. Oh, I don’t know what’s been the matter with me, I know how fine and good Charles is, I know that he would be the very finest of husbands for me, but at the same time I couldn’t help yearning for someone with all the romance and excitement of a Robert or a Piers.”
“Or a Count Zaleski?” Alabeth asked dryly.
“Well, I admit that that was an odious mistake, but he looked so perfect.”
/> “The flaws were there.”
“Yes, I just didn’t want to see them. Anyway, no matter what you say about there still being time for me and Charles, I think you are wrong. I am in the same boat as you, Alabeth—between us we’ve bitched up our chances of happiness.”
“That is hardly a ladylike expression.”
“It’s how I feel.”
Alabeth nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do too. But, Jillian?”
“Yes?”
“I honestly believe that Charles loves you and wants you still. I don’t think he would have come here like this today unless that were so. And you’ve admitted to me that you love him, so do something about it! He may not be handsome and dashing, he may not cut the end of dashes all the time, but he’s worth a thousand Count Zaleskis and a thousand Roberts. Tell him how you feel, don’t leave it until it’s too late, as I have done.”
Jillian looked at her for a long, long while and then nodded. “I will do as you advise, but on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That you promise to do the same.”
“It’s too late, he’s to marry Adelina now.”
“It’s never too late! She doesn’t wear his ring yet, does she? You have to tell him how you feel, Alabeth, for if it’s the right thing for me, then it’s also the right thing for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Promise me, Alabeth.”
Alabeth looked slowly into the bright-blue eyes and nodded. “Very well, I will tell him,” she whispered.
Jillian’s eyes fled toward the window and the sea beyond. “Pray God we aren’t too late.”
“Don’t even begin to think it,” said Alabeth sharply. “Don’t even begin!”
They fell silent after that, each with her own thoughts and fears, and outside the street was so busy after the recent storm that they didn’t hear the carriage returning; they knew nothing until Charles came into the room alone.
Jillian was on her feet in a moment. “Oh, you’re safe,” she cried. But Alabeth remained where she was, a dread creeping into her heart as she waited in vain for Piers to appear.
Charles saw the anxiety. “He’s all right, Alabeth, he’s down attending to the carriage.”
Relief swept through her.
Jillian could not take her eyes from Charles. “Did-did you find the Count?”
“He was already on board a French packet which had put to sea. I wanted to pursue it, but Piers pointed out that no French master would heave to to hand over the First Consul’s darling to a pair of revenge-seeking Englishmen.” He smiled a little ruefully. “He was right, but I’d have given anything to get my hands on that filthy—”
Jillian took a hesitant step toward him. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “Nothing matters but that you are safe. Oh, Charles, I do love you so.” Her large eyes filled with tears and she looked so appealing that no man on earth could have resisted. Her name on his lips, he went to her, holding her close, his fingers coiling in her short curly hair.
Alabeth slipped silently from the room, closing the door gently behind her. She paused for a moment in the low-ceilinged passage. Jillian had carried out her part of the promise, and her reward was that she was now safe and loved in Charles’ arms. Now it was Alabeth’s turn, but how could there possibly be such a happy ending for her? Taking a deep, trembling breath, she walked along the passage, gathering her apple-green skirts to descend the stairs toward the courtyard.
Piers was watching as a new team was brought for the return journey. He seemed to sense that she was there, for he turned, smiling, as he held out a hand to her. “I trust that all is well between Charles and Jillian.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
“I’m so glad that you did not catch the Count.”
“Perhaps it was just as well.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“He will not get away completely scot-free, for his reputation will suffer greatly as a result of what he did when he pinned that note to the wall at Brooks’s. There is little chance of the tale not reaching Paris.”
“I know.”
He put his hand to her chin, raising her face a little. “Don’t look so despondent, for Jillian’s character will survive, especially as she is bound to shortly become Lady Jillian Allister.”
“We both have a great deal to thank you for, Piers.”
“You should have written to me for help, you know,” he said, “instead of leaving it to some unknown person to do that which should have sprung instantly to your mind.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to ter.
She read it. “Piers. Please come to me, for Jillian has run away with the Count and I do not know what to do. Alabeth.” She smiled a little, for it was Octavia’s writing, dear Octavia, remaining true to her promise to meddle if the situation should ever seem to warrant it. “You recognize the writing?” he asked.
“Octavia Seaham.”
“A very shrewd lady,” he said softly.
“Yes. Piers?”
“Yes?”
She couldn’t say it; the words were on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t say them. Once again all she could think of was that he had asked Adelina to marry him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I want to wish you every happiness with Adelina.”
He gave a short laugh. “Do you, indeed? I wonder what Harry Ponsonby would make of that?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Adelina is to marry Harry Ponsonby, so I doubt if I am about to enjoy any happiness with her at all.”
“Oh.” She felt totally bewildered.
“Alabeth, I once remarked to you that when I had last seen Adelina she had been looking triumphant and decidedly scheming, and I think that perhaps now is the time to explain it all to you. There was never a liaison between Adelina and myself; it was all a plot to bring Harry to his senses. Adelina is a dear friend, but I have never entertained any notion of marrying her. I pretended to court her in order to stir Harry’s jealousy. The ploy worked admirably.”
“Oh.” Her head seemed to be spinning. He wasn’t marrying Adelina? He didn’t love her?
He smiled at her. “Oh, Alabeth, does it not now occur to you that I had as much reason as Adelina to enter into the conspiracy?”
“You?”
“When sweet reason and patience failed, I had no other course than to try other means in order to prod you just a little.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” His hand moved gently against her cheek and his eyes were very dark as he looked down at her. “That first time I met you, Alabeth, I had never in my life seen anyone more lovely, more enchanting, or more vulnerable. You were Robert’s wife, so very young and only just beginning to see the unhappiness your notorious marriage was going to cause you. I wanted to rescue you, take you away from him, make you mine, and I could see in your eyes that you loved me too. Oh, you didn’t want to love me, you felt disloyal—and I didn’t want to love you for you were another man’s wife. I should have stayed away from Charterleigh, but I couldn’t, for that would have meant not seeing you and I could not have endured that.”
“Oh, Piers,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“When he died, I hoped you would be mine, but instead you spurned me, indeed you seemed to hate me suddenly. I tried to accept that you would never be mine, and thought I was beginning to get over you—until this spring when you left Charterleigh and came to London again. Nothing had changed when first I saw you, Alabeth, I loved you still. I love you now.”
“As I love you,” she said softly, “as I’ve always loved you.” The tears welled out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “Forgive me, Piers, forgive me for all I’ve said and done—”
“Forgive you? My darling, I love you.” He pulled her close, kissing her on the lips. “There is nothing to forgive, for we’ve both said and done things we regret. It will all be different now, for you may have marri
ed the wrong man the first time, but you’ll be marrying the right man this time.”
He kissed her again, and she held him close, giving herself completely to the embrace. It was a first kiss, more heady and magnificent than any before, and all the sweeter for the years which had kept them apart. They were oblivious to everything, totally unaware of the astonished grooms and ostlers who watched them.
Copyright © 1984 by Sandra Heath
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 9780451129703)
Electronically published in 2016 by Belgrave House/Regency
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
