Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance

by Janet Louise Roberts

  The greyish white bedroom, with the wind whipping around the bed-drapes so that they rustled constantly. The tiny mirror, cracked along the side. The white-painted nightstand with the small jar for hot water, the china basin. It had been a bleak home for a year, but now no more.

  The maid’s face was beaming with excitement. All the gossip she would have to relate tonight! Even the butler and the cook would be quiet while she talked, thought the girl. They would want to know every detail.

  “Where would you be a-going, Miss Gray?” she ventured.

  “To Arundel,” said Valerie Gray. “My brother is dead, I must see him buried. Then — I’ll see —”

  The footmen came up, carried down her trunks easily between them. Valerie followed with her valise, the maid watching until she had turned the bend in the stairs.

  Malcolm waited in the hallway, his face stern, his hat on his arm. His cloak was folded about him — he was obviously ready to go.

  Valerie paused at Mrs Bloomer’s side. “I wish to thank you for taking me in, when I needed…” she said, steadily. “I am — most grateful to you and to Mr Bloomer.”

  Mrs Bloomer’s red face expressed her exasperation. “You don’t show it, walking out like this! Let me tell you, cousin or no cousin, you won’t be coming back here! There’ll be no welcome this time! You left us in a bad way, with no one to look after the little ones, no notice and all!”

  “I regret that,” Valerie began. Malcolm interrupted.

  “Her friends may wish to send their condolences,” he said, seeing to loom tall in that small hallway. “You may tell them to address Miss Gray in care of my father, the Earl of Arundel, at Arundel, Kent.”

  “The Earl — of — Arundel?” whispered Mrs Bloomer, suddenly pale.

  Malcolm bowed, and took Valerie’s valise from her. “Come, Valerie. We must be on our way at once.”

  Mrs Bloomer trotted after them, towards the front door. “But — but you didn’t say — Earl of — Arundel…” She was crying piteously after them. She was probably thinking of the small dark sitting room, the unlit fires, her manner towards Malcolm.

  In the coach, Valerie sat back with a shudder of weariness. Malcolm, unstrapping his valise, said, “You must wear a heavier cloak. I have one here, of Scottish plaid.” So saying, he took out a thick crimson cloak and draped it tenderly about her. It was so thick, so warm — like a blessing folded around her sore, aching heart.

  “You’re — very — kind…” She shivered into the cloak, cuddling under its warmth with pleasure. She leaned back against the velvet squabs. It was such a comfortable coach, tight against the January cold, rolling along on well-sprung wheels. She roused enough to say wearily, “But I cannot marry you, you know.”

  “Yes, you will,” he said positively, and leaned back to rub his thigh. “Deuced leg. It’ll take a couple of months to come right. Mother scolded me for coming after you like this, but she’ll say I’m right. Miserable house, horrible female! How did you stand it, Valerie?”

  “When you have to, you must,” she said.

  “Right you are. Found that out in Portugal,” he said reflectively. He sighed, stretching out the leg. “I’ll talk, if you don’t mind. Gets my mind off the beastly leg.”

  “Oh, please do go on. I’m so sorry about your leg. Is there anything I can do? — I mean, I do have some experience with nursing the children…”

  “One of the footmen takes care of it each night,” he said. “Pours on stuff, stings like the devil, but eases it. I’ll be all right. Oh, we change horses at Waterton, get a bite to eat, then on. Should be home by late evening. All right with you? Or we could break the journey somewhere, stay overnight. Mother said no, though,” he added dubiously. “Your reputation and all.”

  “She sounds — most considerate,” said Valerie. “Tell me about her.”

  It was like a dream, this journey, with the handsome young man rambling about his family, his ambitions, the battles.

  He told her about the family first. “Mater is fidgety, always fussing. But she’s good and has sense under the flutters. Father is always off about the estate. He loves to potter in the garden too, grows some prize roses, you should see them. You will see them,” he added with a smile down at her, huddled under the crimson cloak.

  He told her about Arundel.

  “It’s not one of your big draughty castles. It’s a smaller place, we like it immensely, been in the family about four hundred years. Too small to catch the eye of a king, so we kept it,” he added with a small laugh. “Comfortable, too, you won’t have the wind catching your ankles every turn of the hall. We’ll have the suite in the west wing, I like it best.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that, but he went on cheerfully about his family.

  “Eustace is a good sort, moody, and not too well sometimes, but a fine chap. Rides to hounds like the best, stands up in quadrilles every dance. Engaged to Lady Deidre Ramsey. Now she is a beauty.” There was unmistakable admiration in his tone.

  She listened and memorized all he said. Eustace Villiers, the Viscount Grenville, the heir to the Earl of Arundel, was about three years older than Malcolm — so about twenty-nine, Valerie estimated. He was serious, too, took his duties well, said Malcolm. Rode about the estate when he wasn’t in London.

  Deidre was a beauty: blonde hair, blue eyes, stunning in any colour she chose to wear. She was now living with them, as they had announced their engagement. Hannah, Countess of Arundel, was schooling her in her duties. Besides, they all liked having her about.

  The more Valerie heard about the charms of Lady Deidre, the more her own feelings sank. She could never compete with such a nonpareil. No, best to attend the funeral of poor Clarence, then be off on another position, hopefully a better one than before.

  Malcolm reached into his pocket and drew out a small box. “Brought this along. Mother let me poke about the family treasures before I left,” he said. “I recalled how you looked in a violet gown one night — remember the party when Clarence had his twentieth birthday? You wore violet.” He flicked open the lid and took out a ring. It was a huge heart-shaped amethyst, deep purple in hue, glowing in the dim light of the coach.

  He took her hand, pulled off the worn glove, and shoved the ring awkwardly on her finger. It was a little loose, but not a poor fit. “Oh, but you should not — you told your mother?” gasped Valerie.

  “Yes, she remembered you, she’ll approve,” said Malcolm confidently. “There’s more of the amethysts. You’ll like them — a necklace, and a bracelet, and some drops for your ears, and a pretty little tiara with diamonds in it. Later I’ll get you some other pieces, but I always liked this — you know what it means. It’s for steadiness, and that sort of thing…”

  Valerie did know, having read all kinds of books before her father’s library was sold. Amethysts meant steadfastness in love and friendship. Perhaps that was ironic, she thought. Perhaps … perhaps it was a hope for their future. She leaned back with a sigh, admiring the beautiful ring on her rough red hand. Was it so crazy then, to think of marrying Malcolm? He was so sure, so strong. It would be pleasant to lean on his strength … if only … if only…

  She did not know where her thoughts were leading her. She fell asleep against the velvet squabs, worn out by her work and by the emotions of the day.

  CHAPTER 2

  Valerie spent the next few days in such a turmoil of emotions that she felt quite drained. The funeral of Clarence had taken place at once. He had been buried in the family crypt of the Arundel home, and she was intensely grateful to all of the Arundels for their kindness and extreme courtesy to her.

  The countess had taken her firmly in hand. The west suite was already prepared for her when she arrived, exhausted, at midnight. A maid had been assigned — Glenda, fiftyish, severe, devoted to the Arundels. She had unpacked swiftly, settled Valerie in the immense canopy-covered bed, and left her to sleep. In the morning, she had appeared again, with a tea-tray of silver, cups of the fines
t china in blue and gold, with the Arundel crest on them.

  As for the Earl of Arundel, he was a very pet, thought Valerie, with a sigh. He was greying, heavy-set, bluff, kindly, with twinkling brown eyes. He escaped family discussions and dissension by disappearing into his precious gardens, roaming about in more disreputable tweeds than the head gardener, poking carefully about the roots of his precious roses, or tying up vines, or digging in the vegetable beds.

  Eustace had been so kind, he might have been her brother transformed into a thoughtful, serious, grave young man. It was to Eustace that Valerie finally confessed her doubts.

  “You see, Malcolm takes it for granted that I shall marry him. But indeed, I can make a living for myself. I can be a governess. Though I have no formal schooling, I can prove myself in French and Latin and German. I can watercolour and paint, I draw commendably, and spell…

  Eustace had listened to the end, drawing on his pipe, studying her vivid, eager face. He had not cut her off nor told her not to be foolish.

  He nodded when she reached the end. “That’s your side of it, Valerie,” he said, in his calm tones. “Now, maybe I should present our side of it. Malcolm’s, if you wish.”

  “His side?” Valerie was frankly puzzled. They were seated in the earl’s study, where Eustace also had a desk. The earl’s secretary, quiet capable Mr Louis Kenyon, was across the room, scratching away at the accounts. She thought he heard what they said. But everyone trusted Mr Kenyon, everyone knew he was devoted to the family. He was a distant cousin of the earl, with one foot shorter than the other, so that he limped heavily. The earl had taken him in when he was a lad and trained him to the work. “What side has Malcolm? He cares nothing for me, he loves to fight, and lives only to return to the Peninsula. He told me so himself.”

  “That is just exactly the problem.” Eustace puffed on his pipe, smiled an apology, and laid it aside carefully in a large ashtray with the family device on it. “The Mater has worried over him for years. Thinks he’ll end up in some battlefield, or a gaming hell, or worse, with a mistress who’ll sink her claws into him. She likes you, so do we all.”

  “You mean, if he marries me, he might settle down.” It was a discomforting thought, rather humiliating, thought Valerie, to be married for such a reason! Yet … yet if she could help the sweet, fluttery countess, or the blundering, gruff, likeable earl, she would like to do so. They had been kindness itself to her.

  “Exactly. You are a good girl, of good family. Oh, I know you have no money, but we have plenty,” said Eustace comfortably, disposing of that problem with a wave of his slim, graceful hand. “Mater likes you. Father thinks you understand gardening, and there could be no greater compliment! Seriously, I am often in London, as my fiancée enjoys the delights of it. If you and Malcolm were about, I could go with an easier conscience. Together, we can all run the place, with less work for Father. If only Malcolm would sell out…” Eustace frowned down at the desk, his face suddenly in older lines.

  “But surely there are more acceptable ladies … I mean, he must have met dozens of females, some with titles…”

  Eustace nodded ruefully. “Oh, yes, dozens. Hundreds. But never has he expressed a wish to marry any of them! We thought he would never marry. But suddenly he comes home, and says he will marry you, and no other! We are vastly astonished, but so relieved. Mater prays every night that you may persuade Malcolm to sell out and remain home,” he added simply.

  The countess said much the same thing, her vague brown eyes peering at Valerie hopefully over her sewing. “If only, Valerie dear, you might tell Malcolm that you wish him to remain, he might listen to you. He has never listened to us,” she told her plaintively.

  Valerie hesitated, torn between duty and independence, and also a longing to be coddled and cared for as she had never been. Her recent years had been nightmares of nursing her mother, then her father, worrying about Clarence, trying to think what to sell next to meet the debts of the gambling father and brother. Then the horrors of life as a servant in her cousin’s household. And the squire shoved at her … She shuddered.

  “I have so longed to have a daughter,” said the countess. “I wanted a little girl so much, and I had two big burly sons! No one to dress in pretty muslins and bows. Do you like colours, dear? I do wish we did not have to dress in black…” She sighed.

  Valerie glanced down at her pale violet muslin with the black ribbons on it. She had refused to let them buy gowns for her, only a black bonnet for the funeral, and she had borrowed a black velvet cloak of the countess’s. “Clarence would not like it,” she said gently. “He detested black for mourning. And he liked to see me in pretty colours.”

  The countess smiled, and patted Valerie’s hand with her own fragile, slim, white one, alight with diamonds. “What a dear boy Clarence was, to be sure. I quite liked him the best of Malcolm’s friends,” she said gently.

  And Malcolm himself … he was just calmly sure she would marry him. “Of course, Valerie,” he said. “There’s nothing else quite so suitable. Mater is looking forward to chattering with you all day, and Father is sure you will help him with the estate. Of course, I shall return to the Peninsula as soon as my leg is well again…”

  His hazel eyes lit up, as they did when he mentioned the battles there. Valerie looked at him worriedly. He did remind her of Clarence, so reckless, so gallant, so courageous. And so foolish. He would dash into danger, just like Clarence, and get himself killed. And what good would it do? Just so old Bonaparte should not have Spain and Portugal! What kind of good would that do anyone in the world, thought Valerie, with a recklessness that would make a British general shudder.

  Lady Deidre Ramsey had departed for a visit to her own home for a month. Valerie was glad of that, she felt ill at ease with those sure, cool blue eyes studying her. Lady Deidre had been presented at court three years before, and had tom a swathe through the ranks of the gallant beaux, said the countess proudly. She was the catch of any season, and Eustace, quiet though he was, had caught her and had his ring on her slim finger.

  How Lady Deidre would smile if she saw Valerie’s uncertainty! She detested anyone with a pretence of learning, she had drawled, gazing significantly at Valerie. She had met real scholars in the drawing rooms of London, brilliant men who guided our country’s destiny. Any young mouse like Valerie would scamper for cover, said Deidre, with a gay laugh, at being caught in an argument with one of the real wits!

  No, Deidre was not one of Valerie’s favourite persons. And the thought of living in the same mansion with her, huge though it was, was enough to dampen her spirits further.

  She sighed again. Malcolm, lounging at ease in the sitting room of the west suite, looked at her thoughtfully. “Why the wind blowing?” he teased her gently. “You cannot endure the thought of settling down to domestic bliss with me?”

  “I don’t want to marry at all,” said Valerie bluntly. “Oh, we have been honest with each other, Malcolm. I don’t think you want to marry any more than I do! So why not let it be! I can search for another living, perhaps your mother can recommend a position to me. I am sure I can become a governess, and not have to work so hard as I did with Mrs Bloomer’s children. I should enjoy teaching, it is a noble profession. And I could read all the books I choose —”

  “Arundel has an excellent library,” said Malcolm. “Besides, I’m not about to let you become a bluestocking. Ruin you, it would. Come on now, say yes. Mater is anxious to arrange the wedding. It will be a quiet one, in the family chapel. But she wants to invite half the county —”

  “I don’t want to marry,” said Valerie, setting her mouth.

  “You cannot manage on your own,” said Malcolm, equally stubborn, his firm mouth set in even harder lines. “Come on, now, Valerie, give in, do!”

  He sounded so like Clarence coaxing her, that tears filled her eyes. He quickly took advantage of that, patted her hands, kissed her cheek, and coaxed her, until she had agreed to his plan.

  The we
dding was held in the chapel in a week’s time. The countess gave in to Valerie’s request for a very quiet wedding, and invited only some twenty-five persons. The local squire and his family, the parson and his family, several cousins, with Eustace to stand up beside his brother, and the earl to give her away. They were all so kind, so jolly. And Valerie had been lonely and afraid.

  Perhaps they were right, she could not manage by herself. And it was terrifying to think what might happen, should she become ill from overwork, from eating poor food. What if she landed in another such family as the Bloomers? She might die in a few years. She was young and hopeful, she did not want to fade and die.

  The dressmaker in the village had taken the cloth that the countess had given her and had come up in record time with a lovely wedding dress of white silk covered with fragile white lace like a spider’s web, with small lace flowers caught in it. The veil matched it, and the small train swirled about Valerie’s white slippers. The mirror showed her with great dark eyes, brown curls to her shoulders, and her hair at the back caught up in a Psyche knot. Real pearls were at her throat and in her ears.

  Malcolm wore his splendid uniform and limped scarcely at all. He met her at the altar, gave her a grave smile, spoiled it with a quick wink, and altogether behaved as though it were a great lark to get married. He was the life of the reception, teasing Valerie, teasing his mother who wanted him to get married so his wife could look after his buttons, teasing his brother that he should get married soon, or Malcolm would have more children than Eustace.

  The earl was gravely pleased, patting Valerie’s hand, telling her he had been sure she was a right one for Malcolm. Only Lady Deidre, hastily returning, seemed to disapprove of the whole proceedings. She looked more grand than the bride, in a stunning new-fashioned blue silk gown, cut low at the neck, like the French, covered with a blue velvet cloak, with blue sapphires at her throat and ears. Valerie felt demure as a mouse beside the grandness of Lady Deidre’s shining blonde curls, brilliant blue eyes and elegant conversation.