Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (17 page)

17

Dearest Papa,

I tremble with fear at the uncertainty in my life. Last night I was brought before the British commander, Colonel Campbell, and he appeared most eager to aid me in any way. I know I cannot find Preston without the help of Damon Routhland. My first dilemma will be locating Damon. If that is accomplished, I will still have to convince him to help me free Preston.

Royal had been given a room at the British headquarters, where she spent her first night in Savannah. It was now early morning, and she had politely refused the military escort Colonel Campbell had offered her. But she had accepted his offer of a horse-drawn buggy and a nonmilitary driver.

If she was to find Damon, she would have to begin her search at Swanhouse Plantation, and she could hardly go there under the protection of British soldiers. Her only hope was that John Bartholomew would know where to find her guardian.

The horses were clipping along at a good pace beneath the canopy of blue skies. As Royal looked for familiar faces, she saw mostly Redcoat soldiers, and for some reason she resented their presence in Savannah.

She was heartsick at the destruction the war had wreaked on the city—houses had been burned and storefront windows broken. She wondered how her own home had fared, but she had no time to find out. Her first task was to locate Damon.

Suddenly Royal felt strangely elated as she glanced out at the familiar sights. Though tattered and bruised from the ravages of war, Savannah had survived—Royal had the feeling it always would.

When the buggy crossed Bull Street, Royal strained her eyes to see her house, but it was hidden by the trees. She wondered about Tobias and Alba, and she was anxious to see them—but not yet. Every day Preston was held prisoner was agony for his family and for her.

When the buggy turned down Oglethorpe Avenue, she instructed the driver to stop at the cemetery. She could not pass without visiting her father's grave. Time whirled backward as she pushed open the iron gate and moved down the path to his gravesite. She stopped beneath the oak tree and clasped her hands together in prayer.

How long ago it seemed that she had last visited the cemetery, a lost child in the rain, saying good-bye to her father. Now she was here as a woman, but still lost and searching all the same. The last time she had stood here, newly turned earth blanketed her father's grave; now it was covered with grass.

Royal saw that her parents' graves had been well tended. This, she realized in a burst of gratitude, would be attributed to Alba and Tobias's devotion.

She touched her fingers to her lips, placed them to her father's headstone, repeated the same gesture at her mother's headstone, then turned to leave. It was time to look after the living—Preston needed her.

***

As the buggy came in sight of Swanhouse Plantation, the stately Georgian mansion loomed against the sky. Royal let out a pent-up breath. She had been afraid that Swanhouse would be ravaged by war. Apparently it had survived.

The three-story structure had been built of red brick and was wondrous to behold. Along a watery avenue, a crystal pool caught the reflection of the house in its shimmering depths. There were four huge fountains in the shape of swans, and though the fountains were now silent, live swans floated upon the mirror-bright surface.

When the buggy pulled to a stop before the massive steps, Royal stared in awe at the house. She had only heard about Swanhouse from her father, but his description had not done it justice. Over the massive double doors was a large wood carving of two swans with their long necks intertwined. Beneath the carving were the words:

MAY ALL WHO PASS THESE PORTALS FIND SHELTER

"Wait for me here," Royal told the driver. "I don't expect to be long."

She moved up the steps and approached the front door. When she raised her gloved hand to knock, the door swung open and an elderly butler greeted her with an astonished look on his face. "Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?"

"Can I assume your master is not at home?"

The black eyes looked back at her suspiciously. "Master Damon ain't been home these many months."

Royal could see that the butler was distrustful of her and was about to close the door. She stopped him. "Take me to John Bartholomew," she said in a clear voice.

The butler looked hesitant. "I don't know if Mr. Bartholomew will see you. Who should I tell him is calling, ma'am?"

She stepped into the entry hall. "Royal Bradford."

Seeing that she was determined, the butler relented. "If you'll follow me, ma'am," he said, leading the way past the entry hall and down a long corridor, where her footsteps sank into luxurious Turkish carpet.

"Please wait in here," the man instructed, stopping before a door and pushing it open. "I'll inform Mr. Bartholomew you're here."

When the butler departed, closing the door behind him, Royal moved about the room, inspecting it carefully. She could almost feel Damon's presence. It was obviously the library, judging from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the deep-set bow windows that caught the morning sunlight.

The walls were covered with mellow red silk that matched the heavy curtains made of Utrecht velvet. Family portraits painted by European masters hung on the wall, and a desk was situated near the fireplace. It was an elegant room, and one that bespoke great wealth.

Two black-and-white spaniels lay before the immense fireplace and all but ignored Royal. Again, she could feel the presence of their master here, leading her to believe that Damon must have spent a great deal of time in this room.

Suddenly the door opened, and a sprite little man appeared. He walked toward Royal with jerky motions, all the while looking her over with care.

Royal studied the secretary, who had been her only link with Savannah for the past four years. He looked very much as she had pictured him, perhaps a little grayer and somewhat older. "I hoped you would know me, Mr. Bartholomew. I believe I should have known you if we had met on the street."

She smiled at John Bartholomew, thinking his personality fit his style of letter writing—stiff, authoritative, and loyal. When still he failed to respond, she laughed impishly. "Oh, Mr. Bartholomew, don't you know me? Even though we have never met in person, we have carried on a lively correspondence for quite some time."

His eyes snapped open wider, and he studied her more intently. Her hair was arranged in curls and powdered. Her green brocade gown bespoke an elegant European styling. "Can you really be Miss Bradford? But you are... should be... a child."

She turned around for his inspection. "I can assure you it is I—all the way from England—and all grown up."

For just a moment his professional mask slipped, and she saw warmth in his quick smile. "I cannot believe you are here, Miss Bradford." Then he frowned as he remembered Damon Routhland's instructions regarding his ward. "Did you not get my correspondence telling you it was unsafe to return to Savannah at this time? Mr. Routhland will not be pleased that you have disobeyed him."

"I did get your letter, Mr. Bartholomew, but I had to come. A friend of mine is in trouble, and I hope my guardian can help him."

John shook his head. "Mr. Routhland isn't here."

She gave him her most winsome smile. "But you can tell me how to get in touch with him, Mr. Bartholomew."

He looked skeptical. "I might be persuaded to help you, if you can prove to me that you are truly Mistress Bradford. You sound very British to me."

She laughed in amusement. "How would you expect me to sound? I was, after all, educated in an English school." Her gaze became serious. "What must I do to prove my identity?"

He was thoughtful for a moment. "What is the name of the horse that was shipped to Miss Bradford from Swanhouse?"

"Enchantress," she stated, then added, "My father's name was Douglas, my aunt is Arabella. Alba and Tobias are my servants. Does that convince you?"

"Many people might be privy to that information."

"I am glad you are protective of my guardian. But it is truly I, Mr. Bartholomew." Then Royal gave him a special smile. "What if I tell you that I was always grateful you never forgot my birthday, and even though my gifts bore my guardian's name, I was aware that you had selected them."

She moved forward with a quickness that took him by surprise and pressed her cheek to his. "I thank you for never neglecting me."

John blushed, but he could not hide the pleasure in his eyes. "Yes, you are surely Miss Bradford. No one else would be as precocious as you."

"Will you tell me how I can reach Mr. Routhland? It is imperative that I contact him as quickly as possible."

He looked at her grimly. "I know where he was a month ago, but no one can be sure of anything these days." "Please tell me," she implored.

***

Charles Town, South Carolina

A heady breeze stirred a damp mist from the marshes of the lowlands, encasing the night in an eerie fog. The weather, however, did not discourage the guests, who with supervised regularity arrived at Major Leaman's mansion on Meeting Street. Each carriage deposited its passengers at the front door, then pulled away to make room for the next.

Colonel Damon Routhland, in full dress uniform, leaned against the stairs, watching the dancing couples whirl by. He was aware that Major Leaman's daughter was trying to catch his eye, but he pretended not to notice. He had been in no mood to attend this party and had done so only because he felt compelled by good manners to make an appearance. He decided he would leave as soon as he could without seeming rude.

Damon did not know what made him turn, but when he swung around to face the door, his eyes collided with a woman who held not only his attention, but everyone else's as well.

If the woman was aware that everyone was staring at her, she did not show it. With the gracefulness of a swan, she descended the steps that brought her into the ballroom.

She was as lovely as an angel, delicate and ethereal in a fragile white gown with gold braiding along the hem. Her hair was powdered and dressed in the latest style. Her beautiful face was unsmiling, and it appeared that she was carved out of delicate porcelain.

Damon watched her as she glided gracefully across the room. It soon became apparent to him and everyone else that she was walking right toward him. He wondered why she had chosen him, because he did not know her, he was certain of that. He would never have forgotten her.

Royal clutched her hands to her side to still their trembling. Could Damon sense her distress? she wondered. Could he tell by looking at her that she was frightened? She felt a strange kind of sweetness stirring deep within her body at seeing him again.

She had come to the ball uninvited, but no one at the door had challenged her right to be there. She extended one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to approach Damon, when in truth she wanted to run away.

When she stopped before him, she stared into those now familiar golden eyes, not daring to look away for fear she would lose her courage. She had not remembered him being so tall or his shoulders so broad. He was dressed in a blue uniform with gold epaulets on the shoulders and looked dashing indeed.

Had he always been this handsome? His dark hair was unpowdered and tied back in a queue. He was tanned and exuded leashed strength that reminded her of a caged tiger.

She waited for some sign that he was glad to see her, but she could not be certain. Perhaps he was angry that she had disobeyed him by leaving England.

Damon lowered his lashes over those glorious eyes and smiled. Clicking his booted heels together, he bowed to her. His voice was deep as he spoke. "Let me live in fool's paradise, lovely angel. Allow me to believe that you came here tonight to see only me."

She was hurt and confused. Damon had promised never to forget her, and yet he did not recognize her—how could that be? Perplexed, she decided she was not going to be so quick to reveal her identity. She would flirt with him, toy with him, torment him, before admitting who she was.

"I am here to see only you, Colonel Routhland," she said in a throaty voice.

He arched a dark brow. "If that is so, Miss..."

She placed a gloved finger to his lips. "Please, no names tonight. Would you like to dance with me?"

He had not missed her British accent, and her gown could only have come from London. "You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, yet I don't know you."

For the first time in her life, Royal felt flirtatious. Anonymity somehow made her bold. Mrs. Fortescue would probably faint dead away if she could witness her prize pupil's performance tonight. But Charles Town was a long way from London and Fulham School.

"Do you not like a mystery, Colonel?"

He took her hand and led her into the stream of dancing couples. "Not... usually," he whispered, staring at her full lips. "But you are a mystery I will enjoy... solving."

"Do you think you can?" she taunted.

Again he arched an eyebrow. "I'll give it my best effort."

As he led her forward in a reel, she smiled. "I will issue you a challenge, Colonel. If you can guess who I am before sunrise, I will reward you."