by Anne Greene
His riding boots clicked loudly as he took the lesser hall to the baroque apartments and finally, to his own suite of rooms.
It was strange how coming here brought evil memories rushing to the surface. He dare not stay longer than a quick bath and change of clothing, or he would lose his nerve. The voices always spoke while he stayed here. He would refuse to let them put odd thoughts into his mind.
His butler approached and bowed.
“Good to see you, man. Please have the formal carriage brought around. And send up my old valet. I’ll need a bath drawn.”
While servants scurried around making a racket doing what he bid, he chose what he should wear.
The old man arrived, his white hair neatly tied behind his neck, his uniform impeccable, as if he’d been expecting Avondale. Did the man dress that way every day?
“I shall not wear a wig, but bring the powder.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” His valet nodded to his assistant who rushed from the dressing room.
“I want the new embroidered silk frock coat that is cut away from the waist with no buttons. The royal blue one. My best jabot. My tightest white breeches. And jackboots rather than buckled shoes.”
The old man smiled and nodded. “Have you been well, Your Grace?”
“I have, Robbins. Married life agrees with me.” He smiled. “But I have not long to tarry. So please hurry.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
While Avondale waited, he shaved and brushed his teeth.
When he finished his toilette, he scowled into the cheval mirror. He hated the popinjay of court clothes. Country life was far more to his taste, but today he had no choice. The ensemble was tight, restraining, but the result nothing short of glorious. Today, he needed this.
At the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive, he pulled the gold pocket watch Father had bequeathed him from his silk waist coat. Not too early. He needed to catch the man before he started his daily activities. He needed undivided attention.
Soon he was ensconced on the brown leather coach interior, perspiration already pooling beneath the tight jabot. He twirled the signet ring on his index finger.
Surely Cailin was secure as long as she wore his ring. He must not let thoughts of her vulnerability impinge on his mission. He must keep his mind clear. Resolutely he gazed out the window at the passing scenery, large mansions set back from the broad street, each one inside a quite sizeable garden.
He knew all the dukes, duchesses, lesser princes, and princesses who lived on this street. Most, like himself, who spent the majority of their time at their country estates, only visiting London during the season. The green, lush view smelled of wealth.
Cumberland Lodge was close by in Windsor Great Park.
Since Duke Cumberland had been made Ranger of the Park, he would be in residence.
Avondale settled his shoulders more comfortably inside the tight-fitting frock coat. Today he would face his nightmare. Throw off the man’s hold over him. Take charge of his life. Or lose his freedom. Terror and excitement spiked his blood. Sweat beaded his forehead. Today’s outcome would change his life.
If he were thrown into the Tower for his past actions and these last three weeks’ activities, Cailin was still free and would remain so. His title was safe. His child would inherit. This was the day he would face his demons and, Lord willing, overcome.
Cumberland Lodge’s gates stood open. Swaying side to side, Avondale’s carriage drove through and up the long, curving drive to the imposing mansion. The country house was located a bare three and a half miles south of Windsor Castle.
King Charles II had declared the house the official residence of the Ranger of the Great Park—a Crown appointment always held by someone close to the Sovereign. The Duke of Cumberland now enjoyed that exalted position, and the lodge had been renamed in his honor.
Not for the first time Avondale wondered at the ornate building’s plain name. This was no hunting lodge. The lovely architecture housed the cruelest man he’d ever encountered, the second surviving son of King George, a fat, greedy, killing brute who led a profligate, whorish life. The man was responsible for the murder of hundreds of Highland men, women, and children. He was single-handedly ending life as it was known in the Highlands. He’d destroyed the clan system, murdered or enslaved the young men, and agreed to the rape and pillage of their wives and homes.
And I did nothing to stop him. My sin is as black as Cumberland’s.
But, thanks to his dearest Cailin, he’d stopped punishing himself and finally found forgiveness. Now he must take the next step.
The carriage groaned as he stepped down to the gravel. “I shall not be long, I think,” he said to the footman holding wide the door.
The man in royal blue livery bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Avondale strode to the double entry doors, letting his boots crunch heavily on the gravel. He blanked out the beauty of the mansion and surrounding garden. He must focus on his mission.
A butler bowed before Avondale could strike the large gold knocker on the inlaid door. “Your Grace.” The servant moved aside and held out his hand.
Avondale swiped off his hat, stripped off his gloves, and slapped the lot into the butler’s hands. “Cumberland receiving?”
“For Your Grace, of course. Please wait in the main drawing room.”
Avondale’s boots clicked authoritatively over the granite floor as he stalked through the portico into the entrance hall. He passed the famous crystal staircase with its glass handrail and glass newel posts, and went on into the vast gilded drawing room designed to impress and cower the highest noble.
Not this time. He refused to grovel to this man, though portraits of kings, queens, and princes lined the walls. Only Cumberland’s ailing older brother and his father, King George, held more power in the land than Bloody Billy. Billy the Butcher.
Yet, Avondale would not be intimidated. Not this time.
Moving to the long bank of windows that overlooked the vast grounds, he stood, hands clasped behind his back and gazed out. English landscaped acres undulated before him, peaceful and real. This was no nightmare.
His task was mortal.
Minutes ticked by.
Finally a tall, obese man, still in dressing gown and robe, limped into the drawing room.
Avondale forced himself to bow. “My Lord.”
“Ah. I thought you were still in Scotland.”
“I was, but found it necessary to see you. On business.” He firmed his jaw.
Bags encircled Cumberland’s bloodshot eyes. He tied his robe around his fat frame, and motioned to the servant standing by the door. “Bring some refreshment.”
“I shall not take up much of your time.”
“Nonsense. It’s been way too long. Take a chair.” Fat fingers motioned to several chairs clustered beside a small table near the enormous fireplace.
Avondale walked to the nearest and dropped down to perch on the edge of the Queen Anne wing-back, both boots planted firmly on the marble floor.
Cumberland limped over to the matching chair. “Blasted wound. Makes sure I’ll never forget the action at Dettingen. Never healed properly.” He kicked over a priceless stool, dropped awkwardly into the chair and propped his foot on the stool. “So, what brings you here so early?” He glanced at the empty doorway. “My latest mistress, Marianne, is still abed, and your early arrival has made her grouchy.”
“I’m afraid I don’t care about the mood of your latest damsel.” He leaned forward. “And don’t expect me to fawn over you in order to erase that scowl from your face.”
Cumberland’s face grew mottled red, and then unexpectedly he leaned back in his chair and laughed. “You’re feeling lucky today, are you not?”
Avondale shook his head. “You expect more money from me in order to exempt me from your army. Instead, I have come to volunteer my service.”
The butler brought in a serving table loaded with food as well as assorted dri
nks.
“Ah. Breakfast. Fill my plate, James. And I’ll have the port.” He frowned at Avondale. “What is your pleasure, man?”
No one else in England dared address him in such a way. He tamped his temper. “I have eaten.”
“Port, then?”
“No thank you.”
“So, rather than pay, you wish to join my army?” Cumberland took a huge bite of stuffed quail.
“That is correct.”
“Hmm.” Cumberland chewed and took several more bites, and then a long drink. “I have a second-in-command that I am quite pleased with.” He wiped his mouth. “I have no need of your service.”
“Then we are agreed.” Avondale held his shoulders straight. “I am not in your debt. When you have need of my service, I shall ride with the Army. I shall not pay you another pound.”
Cumberland smiled. “We are agreed on that point.” He took another long drink. “But there is the small matter of you overriding your Duchy and claiming to protect Lowland Scots far outside your boundaries.”
So Cumberland had heard of his interference. Well, best to take care of that business while he was here. Sweat ran down his armpits. He clenched his fingers to keep from gripping the arms of his chair. “Yes. Those people were not involved in The Jacobite Rising. Nor were they harboring fugitive Highlanders. They are completely loyal to the King.”
“Perhaps a visit to the Tower would change your mind on that.”
“Perhaps a gift of twenty of the finest racing horses ever bred would change your mind about the Tower visit.” Sweat ran down between his shoulder blades, but he kept his eyes steadfast on the bulging eyes of the man who could lock him away for the rest of his life. He would not allow the man to enslave his soul again. The horses on his estate in Berkshire were his last assets.
Cumberland’s fat mouth opened in a wide grin. “Ah, yes. I accept your gift with many thanks. They should go a long way towards making your time in the Tower a good bit shorter.”
Avondale stood to his full height and towered over the sitting Cumberland. “I understand your failure to clear the woods at Fontenoy lead to the defeat of your forces by the French. Should word of this get around, you might find yourself relieved of your command and any future command.”
Cumberland’s face drained of color.
“Your reputation in London has suffered as well. I hear the name Bloody Billy bandied about in all the best clubs. You’re not popular. And your elder brother is ailing. If you aspire to become king when your father passes, you’ll discover that adding my name to the list of people you’ve wronged will not be politically helpful.
“Parliament and the people may well decide to choose your nephew to reign as king rather than you.” Avondale unclenched his hands and slapped his thigh. “It’s unwise to lock up a fellow duke.”
Cumberland choked. His face grew scarlet. He pounded his fist on the low table.
32
“I took that gift you told me about.”
Cailin noticed every move Avondale made. Every shift. Every quiet laugh. A living, breathing force arced through the air between them. She felt soft and fluttery inside and couldn’t drink in enough of his hard masculine strength sitting just inches away. It was so delightful to have him back. And judging from the movement inside her womb, the baby felt the same.
His dark chocolate eyes made her heart pound. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
They sat there, gazes locked.
He laced his fingers with hers.
She was riveted by the sight of his large, strong, tan hand holding her small pale one. Her heart thudded a wild reaction to his words. “And your heavy burden of sin?”
“Forgiven and forgotten by God.”
A sense of rightness flooded her. A sense of completion. A sense of all being right in her world.
Perhaps he would have other times he couldn’t remember. Perhaps he’d have times when he disappeared. Perhaps he’d make wrong decisions in the future. But he was a forgiven man. A child of God. A new creation in Christ. A husband she knew loved her.
Perhaps his demons were gone. Perhaps he’d never have another spell. But if he did, he belonged to a higher power Who could help him through his trouble. A power Who could guide him in the way to go. A power Who could strengthen him.
This was the man she loved with all her heart and soul. He wasn’t perfect, but he knew the Man who was perfect. Just looking at him made goose bumps shiver on her arms. She stared at his beautiful lips. “Tell me again.”
“I am a child of the everlasting King. I’m forgiven. I’m a new person in Christ, and I love you with all my heart, now and forever into eternity.”
She tilted her head and raised her lips. “Kiss me again.”
And she had learned that just because she loved God with all her heart didn’t keep bad things from happening to her. Bad things did happen to committed Christians, but God was faithful, and He would work out all things according to His will.
She’d not been able to make this marriage happy, hadn’t been able to make her husband happy, hadn’t been able to make him love her. She had even thought about having her husband murdered, but her faithful God worked all things out well.
And now along with his duty caring for the estates, taking his place in the House of Lords, and caring for the orphanage he’d promised to help create, he would become a father himself.
Already her bulge showed through her afternoon receiving gowns. She relaxed against the cushions in her chair. And if this child was not the expected son, well, she and Avondale had many years ahead of them.
And with all Mums’s adopted lads running about the estate, surely one of her own future children would be male. She smiled a secret smile. She would so love to have a baby girl.
They sat together in the rose arbor where they had promised their vows.
Sunlight touched the mahogany in his thick hair with shafts of gold. He held both her hands and gazed into her eyes.
All around them invited guests, English and Scottish nobles, chatted, drank, and ate together, and glanced at them sitting together in broad daylight and so very obviously in love.
Haggis
Ingredients
1 sheep stomach
1 sheep liver
1 sheep heart
1 sheep tongue
1/2 pound suet, minced
3 medium onions, minced
1/2 pound dry oats, toasted
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried ground herbs
Directions:
Rinse the stomach and soak overnight in cold salted water.
Rinse the liver, heart, and tongue. In a large pot of boiling, salted water, cook over medium heat for 2 hours. Remove and mince.
In a large bowl, combine the minced liver, heart, tongue, suet, onions, and toasted oats. Season with salt, pepper, and dried herbs. Moisten with some of the cooking water so the mixture binds. Remove the stomach from the cold salted water and fill 2/3 with the mixture. Tie the stomach closed. Pierce the stomach several times to prevent the haggis from bursting.
Place the filled stomach in a large pot of boiling water. Cook over high heat for 3 hours.
Thank you for purchasing this White Rose Publishing title. For other inspirational stories, please visit our on-line bookstore at www.pelicanbookgroup.com.
For questions or more information, contact us at [email protected].
White Rose Publishing
Where Faith is the Cornerstone of Love™
an imprint of Pelican Ventures Book Group
www.PelicanBookGroup.com
May God’s glory shine through
this inspirational work of fiction.
AMDG
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