by Diane Gaston
She’d been here in the Lake District for almost three weeks and was still waiting to feel peaceful. Thus far she only felt grieved.
But she put on a brave front for Edmund and Amelie. Luckily they were very busy, so Lorene was free to take walks—or runs—across the hills where the sheep grazed. No one bothered her. Even though Edmund and Amelie were there in evenings, even though she often relieved the nanny of her little nephew, Lorene felt incredibly lonely.
Without Dell.
He was still constantly in her thoughts. How was he faring? she wondered. Had he moved in his town house as planned? Were the newspapers leaving him alone? Had the scandal abated since she was absent? Was he busy? What would he do when Parliament was dissolved? Where would he go?
She tried not to think of him so often, but, she had to admit, he was all she wanted to think of. She’d heard very little of him, though. Letters from Tess and Genna usually did not mention him, although once Lorene wrote and asked Genna how Dell was faring and Genna wrote back that they hardly saw him. That set off more worries about him. Why was he not often with them? He and Rossdale were such close friends.
Was he alone?
They wrote very little about the scandal, as well, saying only that they were still working on it. The London newspapers that reached Edmund’s house still mentioned it, but less often. For a while the elopement of Lady Alice and Mr Holdsworth dominated.
Lord and Lady Northdon were expected to visit Edmund and Amelie any day now. They were to spend the summer with Edmund and Amelie. Lorene offered to find housing elsewhere, but they refused, insisting Amelie’s parents would welcome seeing her.
* * *
When Lord and Lady Northdon arrived, Lorene controlled herself from asking about Dell first thing. They had been there several days when she happened upon Lord Northdon on a walk and fell in step with him.
Before she could ask, he said, ‘You might wonder about that pamphlet business. I have news to report.’
‘Yes?’ she responded, even though it was not the scandal that concerned her the most. It was how it was affecting Dell.
‘Everything came together shortly before we left town. Your Lord Penford, Glenville, and the others gathered a great deal of information for the libel case. Lord Rossdale tracked down Lord Tinmore’s valet. It turns out that, though he did not witness your husband fall, he did witness the fact that the butler could not have seen the event. Two other servants said the same. And then there was the butler’s inquest testimony where he admits he did not see anything.’
Of course! Even she could have attested to that fact. She’d been on the stairway with full view of Dixon when Tinmore fell.
Lord Northdon continued. ‘Rossdale gathered affidavits from the servants, from the valet, the magistrate and the coroner, who vowed that they were not asked for any favours and were paid no bribes.’
‘Has that helped anything?’ she asked.
‘It helped a great deal,’ Lord Northdon assured her. ‘In exchange for dropping the libel suit against them, the New Tatler printed a strong correction, telling the true story and casting the butler in the role of villain. The correction went on sale the day before we left. The newspapers repeated the story the next morning.’
‘But it does not mean the scandal goes away,’ she added.
He stopped and took her hand. ‘There are those who will only remember the false story. And those who will repeat it simply to delight in hurting others. You simply ignore them and point to the truth.’
In Northdon’s case, the truth was the scandal and it never went away. It would always be said that Lord Northdon had married a French commoner whose family had ties to the Terror. Never mind that she was a lovely person.
‘How have you managed, sir?’ she dared to ask. ‘You constantly live under scandal. Does it make you less effective in Parliament? Do not the other aristocrats in Lords ignore you?’
He laughed. ‘I always have my vote.’ His expression quickly sobered again. ‘If you are asking me whether I would prefer more success in the Lords to being married to Lady Northdon, I would pick Lady Northdon every time.’
Pick happiness, her mother had said.
They walked on for several steps before she asked the most important question on her mind, ‘Do you know how Lord Penford fares in all this?’
‘I admire him,’ Lord Northdon said. ‘He pushed through the worst of it. Being booed in the Lords. Held his head up. Seemed less under the thumb of the Duke of Kessington than before and that is a good thing. He’s his own man. Glenville said he was tenacious in dealing with the publishers, in getting the true story out.’ He looked at her kindly. ‘You will wish to know more personally how he fares and I regret to tell you that I do not know.’
To hear that Dell was booed in the Lords made her want to weep. How alone he must have felt!
She’d abandoned him, she realised. Abandoned him the way her mother abandoned her children. She made the same excuses of how it was better to leave than to stay, just like her mother had done. If Lorene had stayed, though, Dell would not have had to go through this horror alone. She felt sick inside.
She stopped. ‘Forgive me, sir, I—I must go back to the house.’
He smiled. ‘Of course.’
She started off, but turned back. ‘Do you know where Lord Penford is now? Is he in town?’
He shook his head. ‘On the last day in the Lords, he said he’d go to Lincolnshire.’
To Summerfield House!
* * *
It took Lorene three days for her hired coach to reach her home village of Yardney where one of the wheel spokes broke and needed repair. She paid off the coachmen, but could not immediately find a carriage to take her on to Summerfield House. She could walk there faster than waiting for a coach. It was only a short walk, one she and her sisters had done countless times. She arranged to leave her luggage at the inn to collect later and started off.
Until she cleared the village she was stopped several times for greetings and welcomes home. With the village behind her, though, she was alone and soon she was at the part of the road that abutted Summerfield land. The old break in the hedgerow was still there, marking where she and her sisters and brother used to take a shortcut through the field. She would reach Summerfield House more quickly that way.
With each step her nerves jangled more intensely. Would he be glad to see her? Would he forgive her for leaving him when he needed her most? She lifted her skirts and tried to outrun the nerves plaguing her. Her hat flew from her head and was held only by the ribbon tied under her neck. Pins fell from her hair and it tumbled to her shoulders and blew in the wind, but with each stride she was closer. She would know soon. She would know by the look on his face when she appeared.
* * *
Dell finished his morning ride and headed back to Summerfield House at a quiet pace, cooling off his horse gradually. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw someone running, but the figure disappeared in a dip in the land. He turned his horse to wait for the person to reach the crest of the hill.
He saw her. A woman running in the direction of Summerfield House. It took only seconds to recognise her.
Lorene.
He urged his horse to a faster pace to reach her, though she kept disappearing behind the gentle hills. He dismounted at a place where she certainly would see him. She appeared at the top of the hill and stopped, so much like she had that day on a field near here after Tinmore’s death. Her hair was loose, her colour was high. She was more beautiful than ever.
He dropped the reins of his horse and strode towards her, though she stood her ground, her chest heaving from the exertion of the run.
‘Dell,’ she exclaimed breathlessly as he came close enough to hear.
This was so far from his expectations that he could not make himself sp
eak. All he could do was drink in the sight of her.
When she was close enough to touch, her expression became anxious. ‘Dell,’ she said again, taking quick breaths. ‘I have much to say to you, if you will allow me—’
‘Don’t speak,’ he managed. ‘Not yet.’
He pulled her into his arms, so grateful to feel her body against him once again. She sobbed and clung to him.
‘I did not know if you would welcome me,’ she cried. ‘I feared you would send me away.’
‘Never,’ he said.
Her voice turned raspy with emotion. ‘I abandoned you. I am so sorry.’
He pulled away so he could look into her face. ‘Abandoned me?’
‘Left you to deal with the scandal alone,’ she explained.
She was correct. He had been alone. More alone than when his family died, because he withdrew from Ross lest Ross be further drawn into the scandal. His only consolation was protecting them—protecting her—from the worst of it.
‘I was glad you were not there,’ he said. It had been that terrible—to be called a murderer wherever he went, even among his fellow Whigs who suddenly cut him completely. ‘You were right to leave.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I was very wrong.’
‘Have you heard?’ He held her against him again. ‘The New Tatler recanted. Now suddenly the truth is the story and the scandal is the lies Dixon told.’
‘I heard,’ she said. ‘But it does not matter. Even if the scandal raged on, I would want to be with you. So you won’t ever be alone.’
He took her face in his hands and savoured the light of love that shone through her eyes. He held her face while his lips descended upon hers. He’d not thought ever to taste her lips again, to hold her again. He’d told himself it was sacrifice enough to keep her out of the fray, but it was not enough. He needed her the way he needed air to breathe.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his horse. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let us go home to Summerfield.’
Epilogue
Christmas 1818
They gathered there, the Summerfields. Ross and Genna. Tess and Glenville and their son. Edmund and Amelie and their son. They’d all gathered. Even Lord and Lady Northdon. Even Count von Osten and the new Countess von Osten, Lorene’s mother.
This motley group was Dell’s family now and he was pleased to share Christmastide with them.
Most important, though, was the woman at his side. Lorene.
His wife.
And the family they were creating together.
He and Lorene married as soon as the banns were called in the village church she attended when growing up. The family showed up that day, too, as well as well-wishing villagers, tenants, and servants. Ross and Tess were their witnesses and afterwards they celebrated at Summerfield House.
Now she was expecting a baby. Genna, too.
Dell’s family was growing.
This was Christmas dinner, a lavish feast lovingly created by the servants who’d watched Lorene, Tess, Genna and Edmund grow up there. The servants even embraced their mother upon her return. This Christmastide was not a season for regrets or past injuries, but a season to celebrate the gifts of today.
Dell felt as blessed as he ever had been.
This meal was marked by toasts, spontaneously given throughout the courses. Ross toasted Dell, calling him his friend, closer than a brother. Lord Northdon toasted his wife for marrying him and forgiving him the years he did not show her how he loved her. Lorene’s mother toasted her daughters and stepson who, as she said, might not have forgiven her, but who each filled her with admiration. Edmund, in return, toasted the new Countess, thanking her for caring about him and making him feel important when he was a boy. Tess and Genna stood up together and toasted Lorene for sacrificing herself for them. They also begged her never to do it again.
Dell rose. ‘I have a toast,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘Be patient. It is a long one.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To Lorene. My beloved wife. In my darkest days she was a bright light who made me take my mind off my loss and think of her. In those dark days I thought I had lost everything when my father, my mother, my brother and my sister perished in a fire. I could not even see that I had a brother.’ He pointed his glass to Ross, then back to Lorene. ‘From my regard for Lorene came something more.’ He swept the glass over all of them. ‘I’d lost one family, but another embraced me. All of you.’ He turned again to Lorene. ‘I toast you all. My family.’
They all drank to the toast.
* * *
After dinner and gifts when it came time to retire, Dell walked with Lorene to their bedchamber. Soon nestled in their bed with Lorene in his arms, Dell could not be more satisfied.
‘I feel sad,’ Lorene said.
‘Sad?’ He was surprised. ‘Why?’
‘I wish your parents and your sister and brother could be with us now. To see how happy we are.’ She laughed softly. ‘Of course, they would probably not have liked you being linked to the Scandalous Summerfields. Who would?’
What could he say? They probably would have protested any connection with the Scandalous Summerfields.
‘Let us name our children after them,’ she said.
‘Children?’ He placed his hand on her rounded belly. ‘Do you not mean our child?’
‘No. Children.’ She rose on an elbow and looked into his eyes. ‘At least enough for all their names.’
He reached up and pulled her towards him for one of many kisses. ‘If you insist,’ he murmured.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story,
you won’t want to miss the first three books in
THE SCANDALOUS SUMMERFIELDS
quartet from Diane Gaston
BOUND BY DUTY
BOUND BY ONE SCANDALOUS NIGHT
BOUND BY A SCANDALOUS SECRET
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SPANIARD’S INNOCENT MAIDEN by Greta Gilbert.
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The Spaniard’s Innocent Maiden
by Greta Gilbert
Prologue
Seville, Spain—March 1517
Carlos dropped to his knee in the crowded marketplace, swept off his feathered hat and asked Luisa Valentina Altamirano if she would do him the honour of becoming his wife. A small st
ray dog, who had reluctantly agreed to play the role of Luisa, whined mournfully.
‘Release her,’ Carlos told his brother, Benicio. ‘She has made me into a fool.’
‘Indeed she has,’ agreed Benicio, releasing the scruffy canine, who took a direct route to a nearby butcher’s stall.
‘I need a more intelligent understudy,’ Carlos said, stroking his nascent beard, ‘one who will appreciate my poetry.’ Carlos eyed Benicio steadily.
‘Not I,’ Benicio protested, holding up his book of formulas. ‘I am a man of science. I am unqualified to assess your effusions of love.’
That was not entirely true. Cursed with the double-edged sword of male beauty, Benicio had had a stream of love interests over the years—women attracted by his piercing blue eyes and towering figure, which he had been told he moved with a remarkable grace. There was only one woman, however, whom Benicio had ever loved and she was about to receive a proposal of marriage from his younger brother Carlos.
‘If you will not play the role of Luisa, then I will ask Armando to do it,’ said Carlos, beckoning to their portly older brother, ‘though he is less suited to it.’
Benicio scoffed. ‘Armando is perfectly suited,’ he said. ‘Just look at how he preens before that hatters’ mirror.’ As Benicio and Carlos laughed mockingly at their older brother, Benicio slid a glance to the avenue that led into Seville’s bustling Plaza del Triunfo. Any moment, Luisa’s painted carriage would appear and La Belleza herself would disembark in a flutter of skirts and ribbons.
Benicio was already steeling himself against that moment, for he held a secret that even his brothers did not know. Only two months past, he had made his own proposal of marriage to Luisa and had not yet received her answer.
Tranquilo, he told himself, continuing to laugh rather too gaily. Why was he finding it so hard to control his nerves? He had known Luisa since childhood, after all. For most of their lives, they had been the best of friends. There was no reason for his heart to be racing as it was, or for the sweat to be surging beneath his chemise in a soaking torrent.
