Cherished

by Elizabeth Thornton

  Over two thousand guests were crammed into the opulent reception rooms of Carlton House. Though the orchestra played almost continuously, there was no space cleared for dancing. There was not a space to be had.

  The Prince Regent, in scarlet regimentals, a saber dangling from his waist, graciously presided over his glittering affair. Flanking him were the guests of honor, the remnants of the French royal family. With such a crush, it was impossible for everyone to be properly presented. Leon could not have cared less. He felt no affinity for either the British or the French royals, and since Ladies Emily and Sara were far more interested in the prince’s house than they were in its owner, he steered them to where the crush was less severe. Rolfe and Zoë waved them away and with sighs of resignation joined the long queue which snaked its way to the receiving line in the ballroom.

  Emily plied her feather fan and made a show of admiring the prince’s most recent acquisition, a painting by Rembrandt. From the corner of her eye, she was busily watching other ladies watching her husband! From the moment they had swept into the torchlit portico, she had been conscious of the stir Leon created. He was a handsome creature. She had always known it in a sort of indifferent, careless way. Formerly, however, she had been far more involved in cataloging his failings. On this occasion, she was aware of him in a way that she had never been aware of him before. In the space of half an hour, they had been importuned for introductions by a dozen ladies and their escorts, who normally would have been content to acknowledge her presence from a distance. She did not know whether she was flattered or insulted.

  In a quiet aside, for her ears only, Leon murmured dryly, “Don’t despair, Emily. I promise not to disgrace you.”

  “What?” She turned startled eyes upon him.

  “I may not be a member of the British aristocracy, but I know how to conduct myself at these functions. You forget, many of the gentlemen here are known to me. We were at university together. Besides, I could hardly be married to the daughter of a marquess and not be schooled in all the pitfalls of British protocol.”

  For all that his tone was edged with amusement, she sensed that he was offended. “That is not what I was thinking!” she exclaimed.

  “No? Then what were you thinking?”

  She bit down on a smile that refused to be stifled.

  “Well?” His eyes narrowed on her face.

  From behind her fan, she said, “What I was thinking was that I have never remarked such odd conduct…” He stiffened slightly and she quickly concluded, “…in the members of my own sex. For a moment there, I thought Lady Rossington would positively eat you whole.”

  She laughed and he laughed along with her. His smile died suddenly and Emily tilted her head in a silent question.

  “You have a beautiful smile,” he said, “when you condescend to show it.”

  Sara chose that moment to make her excuses to fall in with a lively party of acquaintances of her own age. Emily watched her go without comment. Turning to Leon, she touched her gloved hand to the sleeve of his dark coat and instantly withdrew it. “Leon, it never once occurred to me that you could not hold your own in this setting.”

  “Didn’t it?” he asked moodily, directing her steps toward the Great Hall. “Shall we take a turn in the gardens?”

  Emily followed his lead blindly, oblivious to the splendors of magnificent marble Greek columns and elaborately gilded ceilings. Conversation was impossible until they entered the two-storied octagonal vestibule. At this point, the crush to pass through the arch leading to the staircase was so dense that their steps halted altogether. Emily took up the conversation where it had left off.

  “You must think I have a very high opinion of myself,” she said stiffly.

  “I do.”

  She was so taken aback, so stung by the injustice of the remark, that for a moment she was speechless, and when she could find her voice, all she could say was, “I do.”

  “You are Lady Emily, the daughter of a marquess, and woe betide us lesser mortals who refuse to give you your due. Do you know, I never truly understood the meaning of the word ‘ladylike’ until I made a study of you. A stare, a flick of your long lashes, a smile that isn’t quite a smile—I’ve watched you employ all these devices to cut down any poor, innocent trespasser who has the misfortune to tread on your toes, figuratively speaking.”

  She was almost tempted to demonstrate just how ‘ladylike’ she could be. Conscious, however, that the subject she wished to pursue would become lost in the ensuing argument, she said diffidently, “There may be some truth in what you say. But in this instance you do me an injustice.”

  “This instance?”

  “I don’t count myself better than you, and if I have given that impression, I apologize for it.”

  “Come now, Emily. You think of me as a foreigner. Admit it. You are English to the tips of your little fingers. You look down your nose at anything and everything that is not English.”

  His face was a slate wiped clean of all emotion. Emily could not know that it was Sara’s words which were burned into his brain. In Emily’s eyes you will always be a foreigner. She frowned, trying to recall a conversation when she might have used that barb against him. Though it was entirely possible, no such conversation came to her mind.

  “When did I say that you were a foreigner?”

  “I believe the first time was when you were a child of eight or nine summers. Since then…” He shrugged his shoulders eloquently.

  She slanted him a quick glance. His expression was aloof, distancing, as though she had insulted him—or hurt him. She squirmed, knowing full well that she had said some very uncomplimentary things of late in her battle to be free of him. She did not want to hurt him. She hated hurting people. She simply wanted to be free to find her own destiny. Surely he must see that? Evidently not.

  Fluttering her fan, in a constricted tone, she said, “Sometimes you provoke me into saying things I don’t really mean. I may not want you for a husband, Leon, but that does not mean I think I am better than you. I have no fault to find with you, except in your dealings with me. Since I was a child, we have always been at daggers drawn. That does not auger well for the future.”

  Laughter flickered in his eyes as he gazed down at her beautifully appealing expression. With the fingers of one hand, he stilled the agitated fluttering of her fan. “You are wrong, you know. In the first place, it’s my opinion that it does auger well for our future, and in the second place, we are not always at daggers drawn.” To her blank look he elaborated. “May I remind you of the two delightful days you spent aboard my yacht?”

  Emily’s cheeks bloomed scarlet. They had entered the arch to the famous double staircase. She snapped her fan closed, then angrily flicked it open and looked about her with interest, completely ignoring the man at her side.

  In an amused undertone, from behind his hand, Leon drawled, “I do beg your pardon. I believe I just trod on your toes.”

  At half-past two, in the small hours of the morning, supper was announced and the Prince Regent’s two thousand guests sat down en masse under a large marquee which had been erected in the gardens. An army of liveried footmen was on hand to serve the several courses as well as dispense an unending supply of iced champagne. The prince’s private table, at two hundred feet long, had been set up in the privacy of the conservatory.

  Rolfe, who was summoned to dine with the Prince Regent’s party, managed a few words with Leon and Emily before escorting Zoë to their places.

  “This is quite something, isn’t it?” he said in a tone of voice that left his hearers in no doubt of his distaste for the extravagance of his prince’s hospitality. “Who would believe that a war is in progress or that English soldiers are existing on starvation rations on the Peninsula?”

  Leon’s eyes traveled the glittering array of guests. “It was spectacles such as this which led to the Revolution in France,” he observed idly.

  “Where is Sara?” asked Zoë.


  “She met some friends,” Emily interjected. “You know them, Aunt Zoë, the Berkeley girls and their brothers. We are all to meet up here. Sara will be along presently.” It was second nature for Emily to make excuses for her sister. Sara would do as much for her.

  “Damn the girl!” said Rolfe. “Isn’t this just like her? Look, we must go. We can’t keep the prince waiting.” His flashing smile did not quite mask his uneasiness. He was worried about Sara and it showed.

  “I think I know where Sara is,” said Leon. “Leave it to me. I shall find her.”

  When Rolfe and Zoë had melted into the crowd, Leon picked up his soup spoon and calmly began to eat.

  Emily’s brows winged upward. “Well? Where is Sara?” she demanded.

  “Knowing Sara, she could be anywhere.”

  “But you said…”

  “I know what I said. What I should have said was that Sara is playing out one of her little games. For some reason, she is in a sulk, and when Sara is sulking, everyone must be thrown into a tempest. She’s not like you. She doesn’t withdraw hoping no one will notice her. Quite the reverse. You of all people must be familiar with this pattern. When she was a child, it was an endearing trait. Now…” His half-finished sentence spoke volumes.

  In considering silence, Emily picked up her spoon and followed Leon’s example. There was a constriction in her throat and after a moment, she merely toyed with the liquid in her bowl. She was thinking that Sara’s heart must be breaking, and when Sara was overcome with emotion, there was no telling what she might do.

  As though he could read her mind, Leon set down his spoon and said softly, “All right. If it will set your mind at rest, I shall go and look for her. But I don’t expect to find her.”

  “Then if she is not here, where can she be?”

  “At home, in her bed.” He gave a disbelieving laugh. “I am just coming to see that you don’t know the first thing about your sister.” Rising, he swiftly left her.

  Emily ostensibly gave her attention to her dinner, though her thoughts remained on Sara. Before long, her neighbors at the long table began to make polite conversation. Her answers were brief and noncommittal until she recalled her conversation with Leon.

  She had a high opinion of herself, he had intimated. She could set down innocent trespassers with a flick of her lashes or with a smile that was not quite a smile.

  But it wasn’t true. She didn’t have a high opinion of herself. It was just her way. Unthinkingly, she frowned, and the young man on her left, who had begun on what he hoped was an amusing description of the prince’s table in the conservatory, halted in mid-sentence.

  “I beg your pardon,” he mumbled, a flush creeping from under his collar. “I daresay you’ve seen it. I daresay you’re bored to tears with the subject.”

  “But I am not bored!” She gave him her undivided attention and smiled encouragingly. “It sounds like quite a spectacle. Pray, continue.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, quite. I don’t know how I came to miss it. An artificial stream, you say, meandering down the middle of the table? How…original.”

  Taking encouragement from Emily’s animated expression, the young man started over. “Like the Serpentine in Hyde Park,” he said, “with miniature bridges—oh—and rocks and plants of every description.” He slanted her a sidelong glance, gauging her interest.

  “How…amusing.” She flashed a brilliant smile and bobbed her head.

  “But that’s not all.”

  “No?”

  “There are fish in the stream, real ones, gudgeons and roach and dace, swimming about as if they were in the Thames.”

  Others joined in the conversation. Not everyone endorsed Prince George’s taste, though no one criticized it too vehemently. On the morrow, in the gentlemen’s clubs and ladies’ drawing rooms, they would have more to say.

  Leon’s words still fresh in her mind, Emily made a determined effort to be gracious. She did not have a high opinion of herself. If she had given that impression, she must correct it.

  She was on her second glass of champagne when she became conscious that someone was watching her covertly. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked straight into the diamond-bright eyes of William Addison. Her heart lurched.

  Holding her gaze, slowly rising from the table, he moved off in the direction of the house. The message was unmistakable. He wanted a word with her in private.

  Emily swallowed. Her eyes darted about, frantically searching for her husband’s tall figure. Leon was nowhere in sight. She did not know whether she was glad or sorry. If Leon were with her, there would be no question of a private tête-à-tête with William. The decision to meet with him would be taken out of her hands.

  Making her excuses to her neighbors, she scraped back her chair and followed William from the marquee. He was waiting for her at the doors which gave onto the prince’s private apartments. On this special occasion, all the chambers were open to the public. Murmuring a greeting and a few words of apology for his long absence, he led her to the library. With vigilant footmen stationed along the corridors and at every doorway, there could be no real privacy. Emily was relieved. It would not do for her husband to find her alone with another man.

  They made a show of admiring the ornate bookcases and gilded columns.

  “Devereux is in town, so I’ve been told.”

  Emily nodded. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Uncle Rolfe, having failed her, William was now her last resort. She would put the whole sorry story before William, knowing he would take her part against Leon. He would know how to extricate her from her unwanted marriage.

  “He must be told about us.” He gave her a searching look. “Now is the time to press for an annulment, Emily.”

  She moistened her dry lips. Her eyes grew misty. William did not deserve this. He loved her. He trusted her as she trusted him. What she had to say was bound to devastate him.

  He was smiling at her tenderly, love shining in his eyes. She felt like a murderess.

  “Emily, what is it?” he asked softly, his eyes moving over her frozen features.

  Hoarsely, she got out, “Leon won’t even consider an annulment. He has booked passage for us both on a ship sailing for New York. We leave from Falmouth at the beginning of next month.” It was as close to the truth as she could force herself to come. Knowing herself for a coward, she hung her head.

  His tone was grim. “We shall soon see about that. Don’t worry, my darling. Devereux isn’t dealing with a helpless female. I am not afraid to stand up to him.”

  The words trembled on her tongue, but she could not force them past her lips. “He is adamant,” she prevaricated.

  “Does your uncle know this?”

  She nodded.

  He uttered an explosive profanity. “I am amazed! Rivard must have taken leave of his senses! He must know what manner of man Devereux is.”

  “Uncle Rolfe admires Leon. He…he wants the marriage to become a real one.”

  “That must never happen. I would not trust Devereux as far as I could throw him. I am not only thinking of our happiness. The man is dangerous. I am onto something, something which Devereux, yes, and your uncle, are trying to conceal. Promise me, Emily, you will never be alone with him.”

  “What are you saying? What have you discovered?”

  As they spoke, they had idled their way into the adjoining drawing room. The low basement ceiling, the unrelieved gold of the pillars and walls—all contributed to Emily’s sense of overpowering doom. She seated herself on a crimson sofa in one of the alcoves. William remained standing, to one side of a round Boule table.

  “What have you discovered?” she repeated softly.

  He shook his head. “Frankly, I’m not sure. At the War Office, I have come across records, snippets of this and that which have set me to wondering. The information is confidential. I can’t divulge it, but I repeat my warning. Until the annulment is a settled thing, you had best beware of the m
an.”

  Emily was not alarmed. Nor did she take her companion’s words seriously. Leon was dangerous, but not in the sense William was suggesting.

  Hints weren’t working, and she had run out of ways to break the news gently. Inhaling a quick breath, forcing herself to look into his eyes, she said achingly, “Oh, William, please forgive me, and tell me what I must do. You see, the marriage…the marriage has been consummated.”

  For a moment, uncertainty flickered in the depths of his eyes. As the full import of her words sank in, the uncertainty vanished and shock stiffened every feature.

  Emily sprang to her feet, her hand raised in a placating gesture. “Ah, no!” she cried out. “Don’t hate me! I could not bear it if you hate me.”

  She waited in abject submission for the spate of questions to begin, not knowing how she could answer him. If he had struck her, she would not have been surprised. There was no greater betrayal than the one she had committed.

  His control amazed her. His willpower was almost a tangible thing. She could feel it as he forced himself into a calmer frame of mind, forced down the murder that was in his eyes.

  “Oh, William, tell me what to do and I shall do it!” she whispered.

  Harshly, he answered, “If the marriage has been consummated, there is nothing to be done. You always knew this!”

  “There must be something…”

  “I warned you…I told you…” She could hear his teeth grinding together as he strove to hold onto his patience. “You should have told me that you preferred Devereux.”

  “But I don’t prefer Leon! It’s you I love.”

  “You have a fine way of showing it!”

  Her head drooped and she bit down hard on her lip to stop its trembling. Tears dewed her lashes. She could not defend herself, for what she had done was inexcusable. As though from a great distance, she heard him say something to the effect that although he could never be her husband, he hoped she would always regard him as a friend.

  At the end, his voice broke. “I shall always love you, Emily,” he said.