Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (13 page)

Guilt was written on her aunt's lovely face, and her eyes were pleading. "Perhaps you are unaware of the torment an actress endures when she's preparing for a performance. You know how desperately I wanted to succeed here in London. I wanted everything to be perfect, and I devoted all my waking hours to rehearsing. You do understand, don't you, Royal?"

"Yes, of course," Royal said woodenly, still unable to disguise her hurt.

"I'll make it up to you, dearest. You will dine with Louis and me at the Goldsmiths tonight. Many of London's socially prominent will be there, and you will help me celebrate my conquest."

Royal realized she could not go with her aunt because Alissa would be waiting for her. The disappointment cut like a knife. "I can't, Aunt Arabella. I had to sneak away from Mrs. Fortescue, and I must be home by ten."

Arabella looked vexed. "That dreadful old woman, I remember her well. But are you sure you can't come with us?"

Deep inside, Royal hoped her aunt would insist that she go with her. "Yes, I am quite certain."

"If that's so, you must hurry on, dearest. I wouldn't want you to be locked out."

At that moment there was a commotion at the door and several
people pressed into the room. They were all gushing and complimenting Arabella, so Royal was pushed to the background. With a last look at her aunt, she slipped out of the room. She never doubted her aunt's love for her—it was just that she was no longer a part of her world. With an aching heart, Royal realized she had no family.

As she moved through the deserted corridor and made her way to the front of the building, she resolved to remember only the good in her relationship with her aunt. Royal was proud of her aunt's accomplishments, and she wished happiness for her in the future.

When Royal reached the front steps of the opera house, she was startled to find only a few carriages remaining. She glanced about, hoping the driver who had delivered her would be watching for her. He had told her he would wait.

A carriage with a crest on the door pulled up in front of her, and a gentleman leaped out to stand before her, his gaze boldly raking her body. "Well, look at you, little beauty. Who could have left you waiting?"

She turned away, trying to ignore him, but he placed his hand on her shoulder. He staggered and almost lost his balance, and she realized he had been drinking. She tried to back away from him, but he only tightened his grip.

"Leave me alone!" she demanded, looking about for help—but there was no one to come to her aid.

"Come with me," the man insisted, steering her toward his carriage. "I'd never leave a pretty little toy like you waiting alone."

Feeling like a trapped animal, she looked for a way to escape this odious man. She twisted away, but he reached out and grabbed her in a viselike grip and brought her tightly against his body. His breath reeked of strong spirits.

Over her shoulder, Royal saw the man's coachman, who was ignoring what was happening to her. She knew she would get no help from him. "Please, sir, release me. I want to go home."

"Such a pretty little thing," he crooned, running his hand down her throat. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, hating his hands on her. "Skin's like silk."

She kicked and twisted when he grabbed the front of her gown and ripped it. He pulled her toward the steps, and she struggled with all her might.

"Release me!" she cried. The panic was so strong she could scarcely breathe.

"You heard the lady," a clipped voice spoke up. "Let her go."

With crushing relief, Royal looked into the angry blue eyes of Lord Preston. Her tormentor released her and stepped back a pace. "The devil take you, Preston! You always get the pretty ones."

"Perhaps you should just leave, Ralph," Lord Preston suggested with a bite to his tone.

"I'll do that, Preston," the man quickly agreed. "Don't want to intrude where I'm not wanted." He bowed to Royal. "I might have known you belonged to him." With a last glance at Lord Preston, he stumbled to his coach and disappeared inside.

Lord Preston turned anxious eyes on Royal. Seeing her ripped gown, he removed his coat and wrapped it around her. "Did he hurt you?"

She ducked her head, feeling ashamed. "No, I was but frightened. Thank you for saving me."

A frown hardened his features. "Miss Bradford, what are you doing here without an escort?"

She felt like an errant child. "I came to see my aunt perform. I... didn't... I..."

A muscle worked in his jaw. "How were you expecting to get back to school?"

"The coach that brought me was supposed to convey me home. The driver is not here."

Lord Preston thought of the pretty young actress who would be waiting for him and then dismissed her from his mind. Taking Royal by the arm, he steered her in the direction of his own carriage. "I will see you safely back to school."

Royal was too relieved to protest. Lord Preston helped her inside his coach and sat opposite her. He then instructed his driver to deliver them to Fulham. As the horses started off with a jerk, Royal sat tensely on the edge of the seat.

"It is hoped, Miss Bradford, that you do not often engage in this sort of foolishness."

"No, Lord Preston. This is the first time I have gone out on my own—I hope you believe that. I hadn't seen my aunt in such a long time." She ran her hand down her gown. "She sent me this gown... and a ticket for her... performance," she stammered, feeling as if she must appear to be no more than a foolish child.

"I knew Arabella Bradford was your aunt. Yes," he said, assessing Royal's features. "There is a strong resemblance. Why didn't your aunt see you safely home after the play?"

"She had made a previous engagement." Royal did not want Lord Preston to think badly of her aunt. "She had hired the driver to take me home. She would never have wanted me to—" She could not go on. Even to her own ears, her excuses merely made her aunt appear heartlessly neglectful.

Royal was not aware that she was crying until Lord Preston handed her his handkerchief. "Please don't cry, Miss Bradford. The ugly ordeal is behind you." He reached forward and drew her gently onto the seat beside him. "You are safe now."

She stiffened. "I would not want you to think I am—that I would—"

He smiled. "Have no fear of my intentions. I know you are an innocent, Miss Bradford. My sister keeps me informed of your progress. It might surprise you to learn that I know a great deal about your life."

"But why?"

He stared into her clear blue eyes. "Because you have always fascinated me," he admitted honestly, for Royal seemed to inspire truthfulness in him.

She glanced out the window shyly, her heart pounding because of his nearness. "I can't credit that you would give me more than a passing thought."

His laughter was amused. "I am watching your progress with great interest. I know when your birthday is. I know you have no family other than your aunt." His tone deepened. "And I am waiting until you are older."

She turned and stared at him with wide, innocent eyes. "But why?"

He lowered his gaze to her lips. "You are still a child. But, one day, I shall tell you why, Royal."

By now the carriage had pulled up before Fulham School. He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on Royal's forehead. When she stared at him in wonder, he merely laughed.

"Can I suppose you have devised a plan to get back into the building?"

She hesitated for a moment but managed to nod. "Alissa is waiting to let me in," she confessed reluctantly.

"Ah," he said in amusement that was laced with affection. "Co-conspirators. My sister was always the crafty one."

He stepped out of the carriage and swung Royal to the ground. "I will see you again, Royal Bradford."

"Thank you, Lord Preston. I don't know what I would have done had you not come along."

"Apparently you need someone to look after you," he said in a more serious tone. "Promise me you will never repeat such an ill-conceived action."

She tried to cloak her shame by avoiding his eyes. "I promise I will never do such a thing again," she mumbled. "I hope you won't think badly of me because of my foolish actions tonight."

"I think that you went to see your only relative, and she, in her neglect, did not cherish you—I think you have no one to cherish you, sweet Royal."

Royal attempted to ignore the softness in his voice. She held out her hand to him. "I hope you do not think badly of Aunt Arabella. She means well. It's just that her life is... is..."

He reached out and took her hand. "Go in now, Royal. It's late, and little girls need to be in bed."

She had the strongest urge to lay her head against his shoulder and feel his arms close comfortingly around her. She moved up the steps before she gave in to that impulse. "Good night, Lord Preston."

"Good night, Miss Bradford."

He cursed under his breath as he climbed back in his carriage. He had never seen anyone as sad and alone as Royal Bradford. And in spite of the fact that she was little more than a child, she intrigued him.

***

Royal held her journal on her lap, going over in her mind the events of the evening. In her short lifetime she had met two remarkable men, and each had played the part of her rescuer and had come to her in her need.

Dear Papa,

Life can be so confusing at times. If I were older and a great beauty, which man would I choose to love: the dark, brooding Damon Routhland or the light-hearted, often teasing Lord Preston? If I loved either of them, it would be to no avail—it would be like reaching for the unattainable.

She closed her journal and laid it on the dressing table. She then blew out the candle, and the strong tallow smell invaded her nostrils. Tonight she had come to the realization that Aunt Arabella was so immersed in her own life Royal had been all but forgotten.

Even though Royal had been hurt, she would always love her beautiful aunt. She believed her father would have wanted it that way, too.

13

Dear Papa,

              War seems to be the topic of every conversation. I am often asked my opinion, since I lived in Georgia. I have come to believe that George Washington is an upstart and a rabble-rouser. If only cooler heads would prevail, so they could put an end to this war and both sides could get on with their lives.

December 1778

The war in the Colonies had escalated. It had turned south—and it had turned ugly.

On Christmas night, Lieutenant Colonel Archibald Campbell, commander of the British forces, sent soldiers ashore to scout out Savannah.

Like a sparkling jewel, Savannah sat vulnerable upon her lofty bluff. Behind her were marshes and pine-covered plains, making her isolated and hard to defend. The navigable Savannah River seemed to invite an invasion fleet because of the easy access from the Atlantic Ocean. The British scouts reported that Savannah would be easily taken, and two days later a battle ensued.

After a valiant effort from the Colonial army, Savannah fell to her enemy and was occupied by the British forces. Those who supported the Loyalists celebrated—those who wanted their freedom from the British cried bitter tears.

The defending army fled to join General Benjamin Lincoln in South Carolina.

***

Charles Town, South Carolina

The tattered banner of the Fifth Regiment, Continental Light Dragoons, whipped in the wind outside Colonel Damon Routhland's headquarters. Inside the tent, the lantern flickered as an icy gust of wind tore open the leather flap, sweeping across the camp desk and scattering papers in its wake. Damon's aide-de-camp, Corporal Thomas, scampered after them.

Damon was bent over the desk, his uniform disheveled, his boots muddy. Tired lines flared out from his eyes. He had been forced to watch his men die today. One boy, too young even to shave, had sustained a musket ball to his arm; the impact had thrown him from his mount, and he had been trampled beneath the horses of his enemy.

Damon's eyes burned, and he could hardly see the report he was writing. It was an urgent plea to Congress to dispatch more troops to the South where they were desperately needed.

"What's going to happen now, sir?" the aide asked, neatly re-stacking the papers on the folding desk.

Damon leaned back on his stool and studied the corporal, who could be no more than seventeen years old. Idealism showed in the eager young face, in contrast with the frustration that was etched in the hard line of Damon's jaw.

"Today is a sorrowful day for the South, Corporal, because the invasion has come to us. We must not look back, but must be prepared to defend our country at all costs."

"We will, sir! We'll drive the British dogs into the sea."

Damon stood up and moved to the opening of the tent, staring out at the camp. "That will take much forbearance and a miracle or two to accomplish, Corporal." He smiled. "But then, I have always believed in miracles."

"What do we do now, sir?”

"Tonight we lick our wounds, care for our injured, and bury our dead. The cost was high, and we are teetering on the edge of destruction. With today's defeat, the way is open for the British to sweep across the South. They realize that Savannah is a primary seaport. Now that they have captured Savannah, they will surely turn their eyes to Charles Town. But this time we must stop them!"

"We will stop them, sir," Thomas said with battered pride. "We'll stop them, by God! They can't hold Georgia, and we will never allow them to take Charles Town!"

Damon flexed his aching muscles, wishing he could muster as much faith as his young aide displayed. Having fought in many campaigns, Damon was now a seasoned veteran, and he was weary of watching men die. "I fear, now that the British have insinuated themselves in our midst, it will be difficult to be rid of them, Corporal."

"You just lead, and we'll follow, sir," Thomas vowed loyally. "The men who serve under your command would be willing to follow you into hell if you asked it of us."

Damon managed to smile. "Hell may look good after tomorrow. That's when we take to the swamps to avoid detection by enemy patrols."

He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, looking longingly at his cot. He had not been to bed in over twenty-four hours. "See that the sentinels are posted every twenty paces. It's getting dark, so pass the word to extinguish all fires and lanterns. We don't want to announce our presence to the enemy."

The young aide snapped to attention and gave a respectful salute. "Yes, sir." Turning on his heels, he rushed to do his colonel's bidding.

Wearily Damon sat down on his cot, where he unbuttoned his tunic and fell back, too weary to undress. Today had been agonizing for him. As a Southerner, the loss of Savannah had been a bitter defeat. He wondered if Swanhouse Plantation would escape the enemy's vengeful destruction.

His eyes drifted shut, his last thought of his ward's home in Savannah. Had it survived the torch? he wondered. Was the enemy occupying little Royal's house tonight?

His hand fell over the side of the bed, and he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

***

London

Snow drifted down in crystal flakes, settling like a blanket over St. James's Park. The few enterprising souls who had ventured forth on such a cold day were rewarded by the sight of a regiment of the king's guards sprightly marching up to their cannons and, with great ceremony, firing several volleys. A joyous cheer arose from the crowd.

Royal sat astride her prancing mount, watching the celebration with detachment. She turned to Lady Alissa, who had just ridden up beside her. "Whatever are they celebrating?" she inquired.

"I don't know," Lady Alissa replied, turning to a man who stood nearby. "You, sir, what is the reason for the revelry?"

"Haven't you heard?" he said in a boisterous voice. "Savannah, Georgia, fell into our hands like a ripe plum. And it only took two days!"

Lady Alissa turned quickly to her friend, but Royal had already spun Enchantress around and was riding across the park at breakneck speed. Lady Alissa considered riding after her but wisely concluded that Royal would need some time alone....

Tears blinded Royal, and deep sobs tore from her throat. She rode until her mount was exhausted, and then she slid to the ground. Leaning her head against the trunk of a tree, she cried until all her tears had been spent.

***

Two months have passed since Royal discovered that Savannah had fallen. It was the night of the annual social, and she was not looking forward to the event with the same fervor as the other girls.

Royal wore a white gown with yellow rosebuds scattered across the front. Her hair was unpowdered and entwined with a yellow ribbon. She entered the music room that had been converted to a dance floor for the evening, dreading the hours that stretched before her. Since she had no beau, she would pass the time watching the other girls dance.

Already the music was playing, and couples were dancing a lively reel. Royal decided she would stay only a short time and then return to her room. But that was before she saw Lord Preston threading his way through the crowd toward her.

"Good evening, Miss Bradford," he said. "I began to despair that you were not coming tonight."

Royal tried to speak, but her throat went dry. She had not expected him to be here tonight. Could he hear her heart beating? Was her face flushed?

"Do you remember that you once promised to save a dance for me, Miss Bradford?"

"I recall a rash promise made to you by a very young girl."

His smile was spontaneous. "I have come to hold you to that promise."

He presented his arm to her, and she placed her hand on it reluctantly, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Royal panicked as she went over the steps in her mind. She hoped she would not make a complete fool of herself. What if she forgot a step? What if she was clumsy?

When they reached the parquet floor, Lord Preston took her hand and swung her around and around, leaving her breathless. Her eyes glowed, and she had the feeling she was floating on air. No, she had not forgotten the steps, and how wonderful it was to dance with a man who moved her so gracefully across the floor.

He gazed down at her sparkling eyes and drew in his breath at how lovely she was. "You are light on your feet, Miss Bradford."

She blushed at his compliment. "I've never danced with a man before," she confided, "except, of course, the dance master, and he's very old... thirty-seven, I believe."

Lord Preston laughed with delight. "You are a charmer, Miss Bradford. I am honored to be the first man to dance with you, except for the dance master, of course." Royal looked into his eyes.

"You look lovely tonight," he continued, feeling like a young boy with his first love. "Even more lovely than I remember."

"I believe you flatter me, Lord Preston."

"Not so. The time will come when you will know I speak only the truth."

She glowed beneath the warmth of his words. Around the floor he swung her, their hands lightly touching, their eyes speaking a language of admiration. Royal felt young and beautiful, and the grief over Savannah's tragic fate melted away beneath the glow of soft blue eyes.

The music ended all too soon for Royal. Lord Preston escorted her from the dance floor, but instead of excusing himself, he remained at her side.

His attentiveness did not go unobserved by others, nor did it escape Lady Alissa's notice. She frowned up at Lord Holden, her betrothed.

"Preston is showing too much attention to Royal," she stated in a worried voice. "I am aware of my brother's reputation with women, but I will not allow him to hurt her."

Lord Holden glanced over her head and observed that Preston and Royal were deep in conversation. "Do not concern yourself, Alissa. I will remind Preston that he must tread carefully where Miss Bradford is concerned. I'm sure he must realize she is too highborn to be a mistress, but too lowborn to be a wife. Preston should not put ideas into her head. He is already promised to another."

"Holden! How could you even suggest such a..." She glanced quickly at her friend and recognized adoration in her eyes. "I will never allow either of those situations to happen."

"I have rarely seen Preston so captivated by such a young miss," Lord Holden stated, now sharing some of Alissa's concern.

"When I think about it, Preston has always shown an interest in Royal." Her brow knitted. "Even if he is my brother, I will not allow him to turn Royal's head. Nothing could ever come of it."

"I'm sure you are distressing yourself unduly, Alissa. Preston knows where his duty lies." His eyes softened. "Forget about them. I want your whole attention tonight. Have I told you how lovely you look, and how I can hardly contain my impatience to make you mine?"

Lady Alissa's eyes took on the glow of a seductress, and already she had forgotten about Preston and Royal....

Royal was unaware that she was the subject of much speculation. She was caught by Lord Preston's charm and fascinated by his quick wit.

"So, Royal Bradford, have you been applying yourself to your studies?" Lord Preston asked lightly.

"I am doing well enough," she replied, not wanting to tell him she was hailed as an extraordinary student by her teachers.

"Does that leave time for a beau?"

She shook her head. "Alissa could tell you I have no beau. My social life does not put me in such places where I would meet young gentlemen."

There was a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "I happen to know the only place you visit is Chiswick, and certainly the only unmarried gentleman you would encounter there is Holden, who has eyes only for my sister. I have arranged it so there will be no rivals for your affection."

She laughed at his banter, not seeing the seriousness in his expression. "You are wicked beyond belief! Besides, I happen to know you are betrothed, Lord Preston, and I doubt you ever give me a second thought."

His eyes lost their luster. "Yes, the betrothal—a barbarous tradition, don't you agree?"

When Royal did not answer, he bowed to her. "I expect I must be going. I only came to collect my dance."

She was sorry to see him leave. "I enjoyed the dance, Lord Preston."

He brushed her face with his eyes, then paused to stare at her parted lips. "Until another time, Royal Bradford. You have not seen the last of me."

She watched him walk away, wondering at his strange mood. Usually he bantered and joked—tonight he had been much too serious.

She glanced around the room and saw the others were all paired off, so she moved to the door and made her way upstairs. She wanted to be alone to think. Lord Preston had stirred something to life within her, but she did not want to examine it closely—she was too afraid!

While a sleepy Hannah helped her undress, Royal went over her conversation with Lord Preston. Why had he seemed so despondent? And had he really come only to dance with her?

She remembered that he was to be married and spent the rest of the evening trying to put him out of her mind.