Chapter Twenty-Five

DuClare House

Near Salisbury, England

Mid-June, 1803

J une in London was the season for gaiety. Amber's new maid Jane told her so. But going into that Society was not Amber's desire. Nor, thank heavens, was it Ram's. He wanted her to recover her health. She needed it too, scared as she had been that her days were numbered. But now that the second physician whom Ram had invited to the house yesterday had consulted with her, Amber was delighted at the man's diagnosis and thrilled to know she had so much to look forward to in her life.

Her new residence at Ram's gracious country house was the first of many recent pleasures. His home was two centuries old, filled with every imaginable delight, from portraits of his ancestors to books in every language imaginable and rooms filled with tapestries and furnishings fit for a king. She teased Ram that he had not told her of his wealth and position. He replied he had not thought it important.

And he was right. What he was to her was never any of this magnificence. More to the point of his uniqueness was that this magnificence was nothing to the purity of his character. All that he was and ever would be was his ethical nature, dedicated to her and all in which he believed. She marveled daily at her new life with the humorous, gallant man who had carried her from Vaillancourt and into a world filled with sunshine, soft breezes, fresh air…and the most endearing affection beaming from his blue eyes.

They had arrived to his country home near Salisbury four days ago. His mother and grandmother welcomed her with open arms. Cheerful and kind, the two ladies were polite yet so careful of Amber's health and alarmed by her recent illness. They insisted on immediately summoning the local apothecary and physician. The apothecary who came three days ago had found no evidence of poisoning. His friend the physician arrived the next day. He had declared poisoning impossible. But she wanted another physician's opinion, and Ram had called for another man to come from Salisbury to examine her. It was that man's visit yesterday who had set Amber's heart aflame with hope and new ideas for her future. How to divulge them to Ram was what Amber had pondered since the physician left her, alternately frowning or smiling to herself.

Apart from those three men's visits, Amber's days were filled with calls from the local modiste and cobbler. All were a respite from the difficult journey and her illness. She did indeed feel recovered. Still tired in the mornings and a bit queasy, she was careful what she ate and drank. But she had gained back some of her weight, and when she looked in her dressing table mirror, she looked pink and healthy.

She was kept that way by Ram's attentions on her—and by those of his mother and grandmother. Both ladies were sweet, kind, and asked few questions. What she shared of her background was minimal. Perhaps soon she would tell them more, but at the moment, she was frankly too tired to speak of her past. In truth, she was still assessing what had happened to her and how Ram had saved her. That the two ladies were without foibles, open and accepting, was helpful, even if they made eyes at her, gleefully expecting she would soon be the lady of the house.

As she sat in the sun on the breakfast veranda the fourth day, she eyed the morning delivery of yesterday's London newspapers. She had refused to read them prior but told herself she should start soon. Ram gave her the news that many British still fled France. Ram worried about many, including his friend Lord Appleby. Amber remembered meeting him the night they had attended the Théatre de la Ga?té, and he had disappeared afterward to seek out Charmaine Massey. Appleby, to Ram's knowledge, had not returned home to England. Neither had his other friend Dirk, Lord Fournier, about whom he had often spoken. Fournier had gone to Baden last year and not returned to Paris.

Ram worried about the missing. News, he said, of those who had been trapped when the declaration of war occurred was that they were marched off to prison. Many were forced into many days' march from Paris to Verdun.

Amber quivered at the thought of being waylaid in such a place. Huge, forbidding, the Verdun prison looked like so many others. Damp and cold. The food terrible. The comforts nonexistent. She remembered what it was like to live in the squalor and degradation of Carmes. Never would she wish such an existence on anyone.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Ram appeared in the open doors and came to drop a kiss to her cheek.

"You are up late this morning," she said with a smile of welcome.

"You are early," he said. "While I have been catching up on my rest." Poor man—he had worked so diligently to bring her here at risk to his life and limb.

"And I have had my fill of rest." She raised her face to the sun. "I do love it here."

"I'm glad," he told her as he pulled out a chair and sat beside her. On the table, he placed a brown leather portfolio.

He did not usually bring work to the dining table.

"The modiste comes again today." The local woman was sewing an entire wardrobe for her. Much needed, the clothes would thrill Amber. She'd been living in whatever Ram could buy in the town markets of French villages. She needed the day gowns and evening dinner attire. His mother and grandmother kept to formal dressing for their luncheon and evening meals. And Amber needed pelisses and nightgowns, a robe, shoes, stockings. So much. So much. She worried that Ram would be buying it, because she had no money to pay for any of it. The idea did not sit well. She was not his responsibility. Not in that way. And she hated to be a burden or to appear presumptuous, allowing him to think she approved of such dependence.

"Before she comes this morning, I urge you to look at this," he said in a solemn voice. "It is yours."

She glanced at it on the table between them. She had never seen it before.

"I carried it with me from Paris."

Amber tipped her head in question.

"Your Aunt Cecily gave it to me the day she came to see me. The same day I came and took you from him." Between them, they never mentioned the man's name. Such a pact of silence between them appealed to her. Greatly. "Your aunt told me it was for you alone. I honored that. And have not opened it. But it is yours. From her." He stood. "I leave you to it."

She caught his hand. "Don't go."

"I think what is in there is best received in the solemnity of one's heart, alone."

He worried. Poor man, he worried a lot these days. Amber saw it as they sat in his marvelous library, reading, delighting in the peace. Yet occasionally she would look up and find his gaze on her. Worried about her health, he also feared what she would choose for her future. Even before she knew of this folio, she knew what she would tell him today.

"I can share it with you," she told him.

"Later you can." He stood, gave her half a smile, and headed down the stone steps to the garden, alive with his mother and grandmother's roses waving in the breeze.

She gathered her thoughts and pushed her expectations far away. Whatever she had wanted for her life, even as recently as a month ago, was now very different. After she looked at the contents of this portfolio, she would tell Ram what she hoped and what she wanted. No matter what was in this folder.

Unwinding the leather ties, she admired the fine leather and reached inside. Out came a stack of letters. Documents of different sizes and on different quality vellum and paper. On top was an open letter in her aunt's handwriting.

My dearest darling Amber,

Since you were nine years old, you have been a constant light in my life. I have tried and often not succeeded too well to show you how I value who you are and the wise and witty woman you have become. As you leave all here in France, I hope to give you the courage and the means to live in the land of your true heritage with the inheritance that will ensure your survival.

You and I have not spoken often of your parents. But I want you to avail yourself now of the opportunity to travel to Bath and satisfy your natural curiosity about them.

Your mother, as you know from my own words about her, was a childhood friend of mine. Annette Timmons de Vray comes from an old family who lived in West Yorkshire, descended from a Norman family in an area called Vray. She had bright-red hair, like you, and large, expressive brown eyes. With great humor and a jolly approach to life, she and I took French lessons together from a tutor my father and hers hired for us. Annette was my dearest friend, consoling me when I first became acquainted with the prince regent and later, when I had to marry Earl Nugent. She supported me when I decided to move to Paris, and we wrote often. When she became pregnant, she was overjoyed. Hoping for a son, as did her husband James, she wished to pass to her boy the gift of land and money her mother had set aside for her.

Your father, a very upright man, James Notting Gaynor, I liked very much. Tall and impressive with deep-blue eyes and brown hair shot with red, he was a dashing creature and loved your mother from the moment he first saw her.

I know not much of his family origins. Perhaps now you may investigate it for yourself. I know only that he came from a merchant family who lived and traded in Brighton. As James would tell the tale, living there in that town, he became acquainted with the prince regent and his younger brother, the Duke of Kent, by happy accident on the shore one day. James soon went into service for the duke, and in time, the regent knighted him for his loyalty.

Of your father's devotion to your mother, I will say I never heard the equal. He was more than courteous and honorable. He was kind, chivalrous, and a husband all others should emulate. His passing soon after your mother died was a tragedy.

I learned of it from the prince regent himself and hurried to England to bring you home with me. I dare to hope that when I meet my God, He will judge me at least half as wise and tender as your mother and father were to each other and to all who were fortunate to be their friends. I loved you, my dear Amber, as if you were my own—and what I taught you by word or example about love of country and your fellow man and woman I hope can buoy you throughout your life.

The enclosed documents will be useful to you as you begin your life in Britain. You will find each useful, a spur to greater understanding of those who bore you and those who nurtured you.

I urge you to use them each to your benefit and your joy. For wealth and land are comforting. Knowledge of one's ancestors is enriching. Using all to build a satisfying existence for oneself and one's loved ones is the finest gift to yourself and all who know you.

I press this page to my heart and send you all the love and courage I have to help you meet your new challenges. I urge you to consider the enormous love Godfrey DuClare bears you, for he gave all of himself to deliver you from evil.

Honor and keep him. One loves once totally. Twice, rarely. But when love comes upon one, it is vital to nourish and protect it.

I wish you well, my darling girl.

Accept all within this portfolio as your honest and legal due.

With my love,

Your aunt.

*

Minutes later, Amber rose from her chair and made her way toward Ram. The roses greeted her with a perfume that intoxicated her. Would that it also inspires me to say the right words to him.

He had wandered far to the other side of the orangery. She found him sitting on a bench, which surprisingly reminded her of the one she had often sat upon waiting for her superior in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés Abbey gardens. A duty now done. A duty well done—and one she took pride in, but left now happily to others.

She had other prospects before her. Other duties. To herself and to the man she loved.

She sat down beside him and took one of his hands in hers. "I love this garden."

He smiled. But his heart was not in it. And he did not look at her, but stared off into the distance.

"I always wanted to grow roses."

"I remember."

She cleared her throat. "I am an heiress."

He frowned. "What?" he asked, as if he did not comprehend.

"My mother bequeathed me five thousand acres in Yorkshire. I also have a bank account with Child's in London. Aunt Cecily knows not how much is there. When she came to take me with her when I was nine, the total in the account was more than eight thousand pounds."

"Dear God," he murmured, his expression going from shock to delight. All for her.

"That is in addition to a good sum of money that Aunt Cecily grants me from her own investments. I have shares also in an American shipping company out of Baltimore, Maryland, in the new United States."

Ram stared at her. At once he blinked and reached to enfold her in his arms. "That's extraordinary!"

She giggled. "It is, rather, isn't it?" She gave a little shake of delight.

"Not many can say such a thing. You will be unique, and all in London will rush to call upon you."

"Oh? Are we going to London? I thought you said it was best if we stayed here because the Season is so hectic."

"It is mayhem. But now that you have all this to take care of, you should go. Did Cecily tell you the name of a solicitor to administer all that?"

"She did." Amber waved a hand. "I forget his name. I'll find it, and then you must tell me if he's any good."

Ram snorted. "I doubt the Countess Nugent entrusts her financial dealings or yours to a hack."

"But I want you to come with me. Tell me if he meets your standards."

Ram got to his feet. "Sweetheart, the man most likely walks on water."

She gave a laugh and let her head fall back to view how handsome her beloved was. She had missed him in her bed these many months. They had not made love since that fateful night in February when they reunited at the theater and later in her bed. "I have missed you, my darling."

It was as if she had poured ice water over him. He stiffened—and spun on his heel to stride away.

She shot up to catch him. But like that night in Charleville, he marched onward, focused on nothing but getting away from her.

"Wait! Wait, Ram!"

He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and went on.

She ran in front of him, her hand out. "Stop! You are angry because I tell you I want you?"

"Yes."

"Don't be."

"Not easy, my girl." He made to go around her.

She planted her feet. "Do. Not. Leave. Me."

He halted and slowly turned his head to gaze down at her. "You are unkind."

"How?" she breathed.

"You come sit beside me and list all the ways in which you will become your own woman, your own person, wealthy, landed, respected, and you expect me to be happy."

"I know you are," she said, ready to cry that he was so forlorn.

"Fantasy."

She wanted to scream at him, but tried something more logical. "It is fantasy. That you are mine."

"No."

Oh, he is stubborn! "Deny all you like. You love me! You would not love me half as much if I were not already my own woman—money, land, or not."

He did not move. He did not speak.

"You love me," she repeated in a saner tone. "You have never said the words. But I know you do. Each time your eyes hold me or your arms take me. Each time you have saved me from others, from myself. Whereas I have told you often that I love you. I burst with it, Godfrey DuClare. I belong to you and you do to me."

"It's not enough, Amber."

"I agree. So don't you think it wise that you marry me? I mean, I know now where my birth is registered, and I understand one must know such things to be married in England in the eyes of church and state. I love you, Ram, and I am asking you to marry me, sir. I am a widow with land and money in both England and France. The French wealth may not be claimed, sadly, while a few ogres are in power, but here in England, I am rather, so say the documents in Aunt Cecily's packet, a good catch."

His smile, which had dawned when she first asked him to marry her, was now a broad grin and about to be a chuckle. "A good catch?"

She nodded eagerly. "Quite so. I mean, you have all this here"—she extended a hand to sweep over the beautifully appointed landscape—"but we could administer more, don't you think? You and I are wise and—"

He snatched her up in his arms. "You tease!"

"Do I?"

He allowed her to slide down his form, held fast within his embrace. "I accept your proposal, Madame St. Antoine."

She beamed at him. " Merci beaucoup, Monsieur le Vicomte."

He cupped her nape, while his eyes adored her. "What say you to a wedding next week?"

"So soon? Can we?"

"I will see to it." He kissed her cheek.

"I need a new wedding ring. One to go with mine from Charleville."

"You still have it?" he asked as if nothing in the world pleased him more.

"It was a part of you from which I could never part."

He pressed her closer to him. "Never part from me again."

She shook her head and grinned at him. "Never a moment without you."

He kissed her, a ravenous claiming of his fine lips. Then he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "We'll go to London. We must for a special license."

"Only for the wedding. Not to stay," she said. "I do not want to deal with the ton . Not just yet."

"You won't have to. We'll take Mama and Nana with us for the ceremony. And we'll invite Kane and Gus."

"Oh, yes, I'd like that!"

"Then we'll go on a honeymoon."

"Wonderful! Where does an English couple go for that?"

"For us, it will be Brighton."

"Fitting," she said, and squeezed him. But then she grew quite serious and pulled away from him. "However, I think I… I cannot do it. I cannot marry you."

"What? No?" His whole body stiffened. "Why not?"

"You have not said you love me." She planted her feet and pouted. "How can I marry a man who cannot admit he loves me? It is a—"

"Nightmare. A problem. An insult. How could he not?"

She beat one fist into his chest and pushed at him.

He hauled her back and held her flush against him. "He can say it."

"When?"

"Every day. Every hour. You will grow weary of it."

"Weary me now, sir."

He picked her up to swing her around in his arms. Then he stopped, and all the angels of heaven could have heard his deep and darling voice. "I love you, Amber St. Antoine. From the moment I saw you. From the second I held you. Each time you smiled at me. Each time you argued or aided or walked away from me. Yes, I loved you. I was caught. Honored. Enraptured. You were my beginning and my end. My breath. My salvation. And yes, so often, too often, you were my ruin. I loved you then. I love you now. I will love you till the end of time."

Her knees failed her. "Ramsey, you are my everything."

He grinned and gave her a smacking kiss. "Soon to be your husband."

"And the father of our child."