Falling in Love Again (26 page)

“Good evening, Uncle,” John said.

His uncle looked up from a stuffed capon and all color drained from his face. Louis had the Barron looks. Like John's father, he was short of stature, with light blue eyes and graying blond hair. He wore a napkin for a bid over his yellow velvet evening jacket. “You're back? You can't be. I sent men to Italy to make you sure you didn't return. They didn't kill you, did they?”

John sat on the edge of the table. “I never left for Italy, Uncle.”

“But I saw proof. There were tickets.”

“Purchased, but not used.” John reached over and united the napkin. “Why did you do it, Louis?”

Tears pooled in the man's eyes. He looked away and collected himself a moment before saying, “I got damned tired of working for my living—and being poor.”

John scoffed at the idea. “You were far from poor.”

“You don't know. You didn't have my expenses. You never cared for much in the way of comfort, like I did. And it wasn't fair.”

“What wasn't fair?”

“That you inherited. You're a bastard. I'm the real Viscount Craige. This all would have been mine—”

“And so you stole it.”

Louis clapped his hands down on the table. “I've just righted an injustice.”

For a fleeting second, John felt pity for the man—and just as quickly squashed it. By Louis's own admission, he'd wanted to do more than steal John's money; he wanted to see him dead. But it wasn't fear of his own life that made John angry—it was that Louis had threatened Mallory.

“And I'm here for vengeance,” John said grimly.

Louis's eyes opened wide. He shoved the chair back and looked as if he were about to bolt, but instead, fell to his knees at John's feet. “No, John, you can't.”

“Yes, I can. Where's the money, Louis?”

His uncle started shaking. “I have some of it, but I lost a great deal.”

“Tell me.”

“I lost it gambling, John. I got in debt over some heavy play.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Years. My brother wouldn't help me, and it made me angry, because it all should have been mine. But then, I realized I had your money, the funds you had from your mother, and I borrowed some.”

“Borrowed?”

“I would have paid it back. I planned to.”

John shook his head. “I would have given it to you, but instead, you stole it and forced my wife to go without.”

“Oh, John, look around you. The estate is fine,” Louis said, but they were the last words he spoke for a few seconds, as John grabbed him by his neck cloth so tightly that the man couldn't breathe.

Peterson came forward and touched John's arm. “Don't murder him, Craige—he's not worth it.”

John stood and let Louis drop to the floor, where he gagged and choked, trying to draw breath.

“What about the rest of the money?” John demanded impatiently.

Louis struggled to his feet. “Most of it is gone,” he croaked out. “I kept gambling with it, hoping I could recover my losses, and then I was in so deep I had to go the moneylenders. That was years ago. I've been borrowing from them using your name ever since.”

“Then when I returned from the war, you decided to leave,” John guessed.

“I knew it couldn't go on much longer. I took
what I felt was rightfully mine, Craige Castle, and left London.”

John turned on his heel and walked away, afraid he'd strangle the man if he stayed close. At last he exercised enough control over himself to ask, “Is there any of it left?”

“A good amount,” Louis said. “It's in a strong-box up in my bedroom.”

John nodded to Thomas, who stepped out of the shadows. “This man is Squire Thomas, Louis. He is the local Magistrate. I am remanding you to his custody. Goodbye, Louis. We shall never see each other again.”

“But what will happen to me?” Louis asked.

“I'll see you deported,” Thomas answered. “Especially after witnessing the confession you've just made.”

 

Mallory paced the floor of Hal's front hall. Her mother was just as nervous. She sat in the drawing room, twisting a handkerchief in her lap.

They both heard the horses on the front drive at the same time. Mallory reached the door first and flung it open.

John sat on a dappled gray horse in front of the door. Behind him, the others dismounted—except for John's uncle. Mallory barely remembered the man from the wedding. With his arms tied behind his back, he sat waiting for one of Thomas's servants to help him down from the animal.

John held out his hand to her. “Mallory, come join me.”

Without a backward glance, she went over to him. He reached a hand down, and taking hold of her wrist, pulled her up to sit in front of him. She spread the skirts of the yellow muslin over her legs.

“Wait!” Lady Craige said, starting toward them. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” was John's answer, and he put his heels to the horse.

His body shielded her from the mist as he rode down a road she could walk in her sleep, the road to Craige Castle.

“You found him?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And the money?”

“There is some.” His jaw tightened a moment in anger and she laid her hand against it.

“We will be fine,” she said.

He smiled down at her. “Yes, we will. Peterson told me that most of my debts have been satisfied by the sale of my properties and possessions. They sold everything except Craige Castle. Louis had had papers drawn up that made it appear the castle was his property.”

A few minutes later, they trotted through the gates of her beloved home and up to the front door. John dismounted and placed his hands on her waist to help her down, then paused for a moment. “Do you know, Mallory, I can't say that I'm sorry he did any of it.”

“You aren't?”

“No.” He pulled her from the saddle and cradled her in his arms. “Because if he hadn't
stolen my money, I would never know what I know now.”

Mallory looped her arms around his neck. “And what is it you know now?” she asked softly.

“That the richest of all men, my dearest love, is a happily married one.” He turned the handle of the door and carried her over the threshold. “Welcome home, darling.”

J
ohn and Mallory Barron, Viscount and Viscountess Craige, lived to celebrate fifty-one years of marriage together.

Lord Craige took his seat in the House of Lords and became one of the most respected members of Parliament. He was known for his intelligence and compassion, and especially for his knowledge of issues pertaining to agricultural matters.

When the Duke of Wellington's party came into power, he asked Lord Craige to serve as a member of his cabinet, which Lord Craige did for two years, until 1830. At that time, he was named British Ambassador to Italy and later to the even more difficult position, Ambassador to France.

Many inside the government believed the success of his ambassadorships had much to do with
the charm and grace of his wife. Lady Craige could converse comfortably with anyone from the lowest chimney sweep to the highest grand dame, and so great was her influence in society that she almost made freckles fashionable.

The Viscount and Viscountess had five children, four sons and a daughter, all of whom went on to successful positions in society and government.

To this day, Craige Castle remains in the hands of the Barron family.

As a note of general interest to the reader: no works written by Lord Bartholomew Woodruff have been passed down to us today. It is not known whether he ever finished his great epic poem, “The Fields of Harvest,” or if publishers found it unpublishable. However, parish records from St. Michael's in Tunleah Mews document several “harvest poetry readings” held by Bartholomew Woodruff, 4th Baron Woodruff, between 1814 and his death in 1827.

The records also show a harvest home has been celebrated in the great barn at Cardiff Hall from 1813 until the present day.

And may its rafters always ring with music, love, and laughter.

My thanks to Alex Tillen and his staff of historical interpreters at the Museum of American Frontier Culture in Staunton, Virginia, for their patience in answering my questions concerning English country life.

I also wish to express my appreciation to Chelsea Maxwell, Chris Peirson, Mary Burton, Pamela Gagné, and Donna Whitfield for their assistance, and to Damaris Rowland for her always wise counsel. Nor do I want to leave out any of my traveling companions on Lady Barrow's Tour of London, 1996.
Such a lovely day in the country, ladies, a lovely day
!

The verses on the title pages of each chapter are from English folk songs.