Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (6 page)

"Very well. This interview is at a close. You may settle in now."

Then the headmistress said with a softness that surprised Royal: "You are going to have a difficult time here, Royal Bradford. You must remember on the days that are the darkest, the sun will be shining somewhere in the world. You remind me very much of myself at your age."

Without another word, Mrs. Fortescue moved to the door and called to someone who stood just outside. Royal was quickly introduced to Mrs. Hereford, the head housekeeper, a large, severe-looking woman who merely nodded and motioned for Royal to follow her.

As Royal moved into the hallway, her new shoes made a loud clicking noise against the polished floor. Dismayed, she tried tiptoeing to lessen the noise, but that only drew a reproachful glance from Mrs. Hereford.

They climbed the steep stairs and went down a long, dimly lit corridor before Mrs. Hereford stopped at a door. "I will direct the men to deliver your trunks. When your maid arrives, I'll send her up to you. Supper is at seven o'clock. If you arrive at the dining room late, you will not be allowed to eat." She looked down her beaked nose at Royal. "Of course, we dress for supper."

Royal nodded in understanding as the woman moved abruptly out the door, closing it with a snap behind her. Disheartened, she glanced about the room that was to be her home.

It was not a large room, but it was surprisingly cheerful and comfortable. A white lace coverlet adorned the bed, and matching lace curtains hung at the wide window, allowing a burst of sunlight into every corner of the room. There was a desk, a dressing table, and a chair, all of polished cherrywood. The marble fireplace meant that the room would be warm and cheery.

Royal walked to the window, which gave her a view of the long avenue at the front of the school. She watched as fashionable carriages came and went in a steady stream. Across the street was a park, and on the other side of the park she could just make out the roofs of several stately houses.

She was overcome with sadness, completely isolated in this unknown world.

What would her life be like for the next four years?

***

May 1775

It was after midnight, and the lights still glowed brightly at Swanhouse Plantation. Thirty gentlemen had gathered in the library to discuss the distressing news coming out of Massachusetts.

Damon Routhland held up his hand, calling for calm. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, this bickering among ourselves is not going to accomplish anything. All we know is that there was a skirmish at Lexington."

"War will come," Joseph Graham insisted. "It's just a matter of time until the British push us too far. What I want to know is who's going to stand with us—who demands freedom from our British enslavers?"

Some of the men raised their hands with a shout, others with more restraint.

"What about you, Damon?" Joseph demanded. "You haven't raised your hand."

Caleb Edwards came to his neighbor's rescue. "We all know that Damon is loyal to Georgia."

"For those of you who doubt my loyalties," Damon said, "let me assure you that if war comes, I will stand with you. I am not, nor have I ever been, a king's man."

"You have the most to lose if war comes," Joseph reminded him. "Since Swanhouse is the largest plantation in Georgia, you might be reluctant to join in a war."

"I repeat, gentlemen, if war comes, I'll stand with you—and war will come, make no mistake about that. But will we be ready?"

"Shouldn't we organize, form an army—do something?" Caleb asked, voicing everyone's concern.

"I suggest we do nothing for the moment," Damon injected. "Don't be in such a hurry to see destruction descend on us. It will arrive soon enough. We must be prepared."

Several men shook their heads. They all knew that Damon Routhland was right. When war came to the South they must be ready to fight.

"I ain't going to leave my home," Ezekiel Elman announced. "If I fight, it'll be right here."

"No army will take you, Ezekiel," Caleb told him. "You're long past your prime."

"That may be so," the old man admitted, "but I can still out-shoot anyone in this room, 'cepting maybe Damon here, and I taught him."

Damon studied the old man with affection. From Ezekiel he had learned to hunt and how to survive in the swamps. The old man was indeed a good marksman, but he was in his seventies. Damon's gaze moved to each man in turn, assessing his value to an army. They were planters and shopkeepers—none of them had been trained as soldiers. Lord help them if war erupts!

"I suggest we do nothing for now, but wait and listen." Damon added under his breath, "And pray that when war comes, God will be on our side."

6

Dearest Papa,

Until now I have never known the meaning of loneliness. I have little hope of making friends here at Fulham School So far I have only met the headmistress and the housekeeper, and neither has done much to recommend herself to me. I have been warned that I must not be late for supper, so I must close and make myself presentable.

Royal knew the black taffeta gown with its high, unadorned neck and long, loose-fitting sleeves was not flattering on her. She was certain to make an unfavorable impression on her first appearance in the dining room, she thought miserably. She was resigned to wearing black out of respect for her father, but, oh, it did make her look pale and insignificant.

Aided by Hannah, the maid her aunt Arabella had engaged, Royal arranged her hair in simple curls that were appropriate for a girl her age. Determined to add a touch of elegance to her toilette, she directed Hannah to weave a black ribbon through her unpowdered locks.

Downstairs, Royal paused at the dining room door and peered around the corner nervously. Several girls were already inside, laughing and talking among themselves. Shyly, Royal avoided their eyes and looked instead at the four long tables that were adorned with snowy white tablecloths and laid with crystal, china, and silver that sparkled in the dancing candlelight.

When she stepped into the room, Royal could feel everyone staring at her, but no one gave her a smile or indicated that she was welcome. She wished she could run back to the safety of her room, for she could feel hostility in the eyes that watched her.

Bravely she raised her head and moved forward until she attracted the attention of a serving girl, who bobbed a quick curtsy and led her to a table at the back of the room.

"I was told to remind you, Miss Bradford, that you will be eating at this same table for every meal, so you will always know your place," the servant instructed primly.

Besides herself, there were only two other girls at the long table. Both of them wore a red, wine, and green tartan sash, so Royal assumed that they were the Scottish sisters who, like her, were not of noble birth.

Royal smiled with uncertainty first at one girl and then at the other, fearful of being rebuffed. She did not feel up to facing another rejection today. Relief washed over her when both girls smiled back at her tentatively.

"We know who you are," one of the girls said, rolling her "R" with a heavy Scottish brogue. "You are the new girl from the Colonies."

"That's right. I am Royal Bradford, and yes, I do come from the Colonies."

"I am Meg MacGregor, and this is my sister, Fiona." The girl giggled. "Like us, it seems you have been banished to anonymity."

Royal glanced around the silent room and found that everyone was looking in her direction. Lifting her chin proudly, she replied: "I'm pleased to share this obscure corner with both of you." She nodded toward the center of the dining room. "I don't believe I should be comfortable there."

Meg MacGregor leaned closer to Royal and whispered, "You aren't likely to find out. It is doubtful that any of us will be invited to eat with the creme de la creme," she said pertly. "Not that I'd want to anyway."

Meg and Fiona were full of questions about the Colonies. By the time their food was served, the three girls were conversing like old friends. Occasionally Royal would glance up and find herself the object of whispered conversations from the other tables—this she tried to ignore, but she was aware of a coldness in the hostile eyes that intermittently met her gaze.

Fiona pointed to one girl who sat at the head of the first table. Royal had noticed her earlier because there was something queenly, yet fragile, about her. "That is the one who holds the power here at Fulham," she whispered.

Royal glanced at the girl who, though beautiful, appeared sullen and withdrawn. "Who is she?"

"That's none other than Lady Alissa Seaton. She is the sister of the duke of Chiswick, and the highest-ranking student at this school. If you are noticed by her, it will make you acceptable to the rest—if not"—Meg giggled—"you'll be left at this table with us."

"Lady Alissa is a monster," Fiona chimed in. "Of course, she's lame, and that could be the reason she's so often disagreeable."

"Lame?" Royal questioned, glancing once more at the girl at the head of the table. "What happened to her?"

"She was thrown by a horse," Meg informed her. "I overheard some of the other girls talking about it. They said the doctor thinks she might one day walk, but only if she tries. Of course, she never tries. I think she likes to be thought of as a cripple."

Fiona pursed her lips. "Why shouldn't she? Everyone falls all over themselves trying to do favors for her, and to please her. But not me—I never will belittle myself to gain her approval."

"I wish I were her friend," Meg said in a fanciful voice. "If for no other reason but to meet her brother, Lord Preston. He is quite handsome of face and manner. I would gladly fawn at Lady Alissa's feet if it would call me to his attention."

"Well, Meg," her sister declared in a disgusted voice, "You can get that notion right out of your head. Besides, even if you were acquainted with Lord Preston, his brother, the duke, would not allow anything to come of it. I am told that he and that wife of his have a sad view of anyone who is not of the nobility. You'll not be introduced to him, and neither will I." She glanced pointedly at Royal. "Nor will anyone at this table, for that matter. We are the social outcasts of Fulham."

"Tis a pity," Meg said in a resigned voice. "Oh, well..." She shrugged. "Lord Preston is most probably as dull as dishwater, anyway. Still, I would like to find out for myself."

Intrigued, Royal looked across the invisible line that divided them from Lady Alissa's table. Royal judged her to be older than she was, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Her hair was so light it was almost white, and she had the saddest eyes Royal had ever seen.

Royal glanced at the wheelchair, and she felt pity for the girl. It did not matter if Lady Alissa was acknowledged and spoiled by everyone—it could not be easy being lame.

At that moment Lady Alissa met Royal's compassionate glance, and she glared back at her. With a toss of her head, she obviously dismissed Royal as unimportant.

***

Royal lay in her darkened room, unable to sleep because the sounds outside her window were unfamiliar and disconcerting. She tried to think of something pleasant, and suddenly Damon Routhland's face came to her. It seemed that when she was troubled she always thought of him and was somehow comforted. She tried to imagine what he would be doing tonight. Probably entertaining some beautiful woman, she thought.

She slipped out of bed and lit a small candle. Sitting down at her dressing table and taking up pen and paper, she began to write:

Dear Mr. Routhland,

I plead with you to bring me home. I do not wish to be troublesome, but I must make you understand I do not belong here, and I am most disheartened. I know my father would not have wanted me to be unhappy. If you will allow me to return, I promise to be no trouble to you. I beg you to consider my plight. I miss my friends and Savannah most dreadfully. Knowing you will consider my unhappiness, I will await your reply.

Your obedient,

Royal Bradford

Royal vented her loneliness in the letter to her guardian, then she folded it and put it away. She must not send a letter begging to come home—not yet, anyway.

Now at peace with herself, she crawled into bed and immediately fell asleep.

***

It had been a morning when everything had gone wrong. Royal had lost her slipper and finally found it beneath the folds of the bedcovers. Then she'd spilled water on her gown and had to change, which had made her late for class. Just last week, one of the teachers, Miss Mallory, had humiliated her before the class, making her apologize to everyone personally for what she'd termed "Royal's thoughtless behavior."

Royal moved up the stairs. When she reached the upper landing, she heard voices in the hallway below, one of which she identified as Lady Alissa's.

When a deep male voice spoke up, she moved to the railing and peered down to see who it was. "My dear sister," the man said, smiling at Alissa. "It's my hope that you will write to Mother and inform her I have been a dutiful brother in paying a visit to you."

"Lord Preston," gushed one of the girls, "would that my brother was half so attentive."

So, Royal thought, that was the brother Meg had spoken of so favorably. He was indeed handsome and most dashing. He wore buff trousers and a cream-colored coat. He wore his hair powdered and pulled back in a queue.

Royal glanced down at the faces of Lady Alissa's ever-present entourage. It appeared each girl hung on to every word Lord Preston spoke and worshiped him with adoring eyes. Their slavish adulation filled her with disgust; never had she seen girls behave so foolishly over a man. Her gaze moved to Lady Alissa's face, and she saw a softness reflected there. Apparently Lady Alissa was fond of her brother.

Lord Preston picked up his sister in his arms and carried her toward the stairs. "You have had enough excitement for one day. Perhaps you should rest this afternoon," he told her.

Alissa wound her arms around her brother's neck. "Must you go? I had hoped we would spend the whole day together."

He carried her up the stairs while the other girls followed. "Would that I could, Alissa, but, alas, I have another appointment that I dare not break."

"Redhead or brunette?" she asked petulantly.

His laughter was spontaneous. "You know me too well, little sister."

Royal had flattened herself against the wall, hoping to go unobserved, but she had not reckoned with the keen eye of Lord Preston Seaton. He paused before her and gave her a heart-wrenching smile. "Whom have we here?" he asked with interest.

"Pay no attention to her," said Kathleen Griffin. "She's of no importance."

Preston gazed into sad blue eyes. "You are wrong, Miss Griffin. I think she is someone very special—for who but one of great import could have eyes that rival a morning sky?"

Royal drew in a deep breath and blinked in astonishment. No gentleman had ever said anything half so marvelous to her.

"Preston," Alissa said in an icy voice that revealed her unwillingness to share her brother's attention with Royal, "meet Royal Bradford. She's from the Colonies, I believe."

Royal watched Lord Preston, waiting for his reaction, but he merely smiled. "Well, Miss Royal Bradford, the Colonies' loss is England's gain."

With a pounding heart, Royal turned away and rushed down the hallway. She could hear the giggling voices of the girls, and Lady Alissa's voice was taunting. "She has no manners at all. Whatever possessed Mrs. Fortescue to accept such a student?"

Royal rushed into her room and closed the door behind her. Her eyes were soft as she remembered Lord Preston's words to her. Now she could not blame the other girls for acting such a fool—had not her own actions been far worse?

Lord Preston Seaton was wonderful—simply wonderful!

***

It was an hour before supper when Kathleen Griffin knocked on Royal's door. Then, without waiting to be invited in, she pushed open the door and looked about her with a curled lip. "How quaint," she said at last, her gaze boring into Royal.

Royal had been sitting by the window, but now she came to her feet, her eyes blazing with anger. "I didn't invite you into my room, so I don't have to endure your insults. Leave at once!"

Kathleen shrugged. "It was not my idea to come to see you. Lady Alissa asked me to tell you to come to her room immediately."

Royal moved to stand before the girl. "I'm not one of Lady Alissa's puppets. I will not go running to her any time she summons me." Her head went up a bit higher. "But I wager you do, don't you?"

For a moment the girl's dark eyes snapped with anger, then she smiled scornfully. "Is this what you want me to tell Lady Alissa?"

Royal turned away. "Tell her what you will. If she wants to see me, she can come here."

"She is lame," Kathleen reminded Royal, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "She won't like this, you know."

"Go and tell her I refused her summons," Royal said without turning around.

Malicious laughter filled the room as Kathleen crossed to the door. "Is this your last word?"

Royal turned to face her tormentor. "No. Don't come back—that's my last word."

"Very well, but I would not want to be the one to thwart Lady Alissa. I can almost find it within me to feel pity for you—almost, but not quite."

After Kathleen had gone, Royal could not keep her hands from trembling. Should she have gone to Lady Alissa's room? She turned to the window. "No," she said aloud. "I will not allow anyone to treat me in such a shabby manner. I am Royal Bradford from Savannah, Georgia, and proud of it."

Royal rushed to the door and down the hallway toward Meg and Fiona MacGregor's room. Fiona answered the door and invited her inside. "You look pale, Royal," she observed. "Has something happened?"

Meg offered Royal a chair, and when she was seated she looked from one sister to the other. "I fear I have made a powerful enemy today."