Susan Carroll (49 page)

Mrs. Palmer took a deep draught of her ale
and shuddered. “He even had the boldness to suggest I might like to
meet some respectable gentlemen, a country curate or a red-faced
squire. Mr. Drummond means to saddle me with a second husband. I
know he does!”

“You never had a first husband, Mum,” Gideon
reminded her.

“Don't be impertinent, sir. You know what I
mean. I prefer to choose my own admirers.”

“I don't know what you are complaining
about,” Davy said querulously. “What about Drummond's blasted plans
for me? He said since I have this interest in handling corpses and
picking people's pockets, I might as well do it honestly and become
an undertaker.”

Gideon no longer made any effort to contain
his mirth. He laughed hard enough that his chair slammed back down
on all fours.

Both his mother and Davy glared at him.

“I don't know what you find so damned
amusing,” Davy said. “Drummond has already put a crimp in your
affairs, hasn't he, my fine sir?”

Davy's sneering remark sobered Gideon a
little. His lips twisted at the memory of his grim confrontation
with Sara's future husband, listening to Drummond's earnest lecture
on the follies of a life of crime.

“I'll never understand how Mr. Drummond
figured out you was the Hook, Gideon,” Mrs. Palmer lamented.
“Sara's husband does not look all that bright, and you did manage
to fool all the best Bow Street Runners in London.”

Gideon cast a dark glance to where George
Nagle was serving up some ale. “Drummond is cleverer than he
appears, and I have no doubt he was helped along by the gossip and
suspicions of a certain tavern host who'd sell out his own mother
for a ha'penny.”

Davy smirked. “However Drummond found out,
he's put a stop to your doings good and proper. He even made you
surrender your hook, didn't he?”

“Ah, but that is the wonderful thing about
losing a hand made of steel.” Gideon's teeth glinted in a feral
smile. “One can always have another one made.”

Then he raised his glass and proposed a toast
to the new bride and groom. “May my dear sister Sara have found her
heart's desire, and may she keep her new husband far away from
us.”

It was a toast Mrs. Palmer and Davy heartily
seconded.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Anne stood on the slope near the willow tree,
watching her daughter romp by the pond in St. James's Park. With
Pegasus tethered to a tree, the young groom trailed devotedly after
Norrie, keeping the child from wading into the waters in her
earnest efforts to toss bread to the ducks.

The breeze billowing out the soft folds of
Anne's muslin gown, she appeared all that was warm and serene,
truly the gentle goddess who had restored spring to the world. As
Mandell alighted from his coach to join her, he felt a tightening
in his chest, a rush of love and longing for her that was almost
painful.

He had not seen Anne since the night at
Windermere Palace, had been able to do no more than pen her a note,
saying that as soon as he had sorted things out, he would come to
her. Sorting things out—that had been a mild way to describe the
chaos that had surrounded him since his grandfather's death.

Another woman might well not have
comprehended his need to be alone after the devastating revelations
of that night, to come to terms with the legacy of bitterness and
grief that the old duke had left to him. But as Mandell approached
across the grass and Anne glanced round, he saw no sign of reproach
on her face. Her eyes shone with a silent understanding, a smile of
welcome upon her lips.

Only Anne knew what it cost her to maintain
such an aura of restraint. She wanted to run to him, cast herself
into his embrace, just as she had been longing to seek him out
these past days, offer him her love and consolation. But she knew
from experience that the barriers of Mandell's heart could not be
forced. He had to be willing to allow her in. He had done so once.
She prayed he would be able to again.

Before Mandell could close the distance
between them, Anne heard Norrie give a glad shout. Hiking up the
skirts of her frock, the little girl rushed pell-mell at Mandell
and flung her arms about his legs.

As Mandell smiled and lifted Norrie high into
his arms, Anne envied the child her spontaneity, her complete
freedom from the constraints and doubts that beset adults. Norrie
hugged Mandell and thrust upon him a bedraggled bouquet of
wildflowers and weeds. After a few moments of whispered
conversation, Mandell set the child down and she went skipping back
to the pond.

Mandell came the rest of the way across the
grass. He favored Anne with a small bow and presented her with
Norrie's nosegay.

“For you, milady,” he said. “Your daughter
appears to think I need some help with my wooing.”

“I have never thought so,” Anne murmured as
she accepted the motley collection of daisies, violets, and blades
of grass.

For a fleeting instant, Mandell smiled and
Anne thought that all was well. But the light vanished from his
eyes far too quickly. She sensed an air of weariness about him that
went as deep as his soul. The first hint of silver had appeared
amongst his midnight-dark strands, and fresh lines of sorrow were
carved near that sensitive mouth.

“Your sister told me I would find you here
this morning,” he said.

“Yes, I know it is early for a walk, but I
felt the need to escape.” Anne winced. “Since all that has
happened, I find myself a figure of some notoriety. We are plagued
by visitors at all hours, come to offer congratulations upon my
narrow escape. I believe most are just curious to meet a lady who
was once a resident of Newgate.”

“That is one nuisance I have not been plagued
with,” Mandell said drily. “Few are presumptuous enough to foist
their curiosity upon the grandson of a murderer. My chief problem
has been my servants. They will persist in calling me 'Your Grace'
now. Only Hastings seems to understand how it affects me.”

Anne wanted to show him how much she also
understood, but Mandell turned away from her. He nodded toward
where Norrie had coaxed Pegasus to the pond's edge, trying to
convince the stubborn pony he needed a drink.

“I trust Eleanor has taken no ill effects
through all of this?” he asked.

“She did cling to me for the first day I was
returned home,” Anne replied. “But children have a way of accepting
the most extraordinary events that surprises one. To Norrie, I
believe, it all seemed like nothing more than a frightening story
of me being held prisoner in a tower. Then you dashed in to rescue
me and deal with all the ogres. I fear she now expects there to be
a happy ending as well.”

Anne waited breathlessly, hoping for some
sign of concurrence in Mandell. He merely lowered his lashes,
veiling his expression, and Anne's heart sank. He was building his
walls again. She could sense that, and she did not know how to stop
him.

“Norrie and I have both been worried about
you,” Anne ventured at last. “She feared you would be made very sad
by the death of your grandfather.”

“In truth, Anne, I scarce know what I have
been feeling these past few days. Guilt mostly.”

When Anne regarded him questioningly, he
said, “No matter what the old devil did, the grief and suffering he
caused, I would not have wished him such an end. I should never
have been so careless, leaving that pistol behind.”

“Your grandfather would have but found some
other way. What else could he have done? Could you imagine the
proud duke of Windermere forced to give an accounting of his
actions, even to a jury of his peers?”

“No,” Mandell said reluctantly, “I could
not.”

He swallowed thickly, “That last conversation
I had with my grandfather, I have not felt able to speak of it. But
I would like to tell you now, Anne.”

Anne breathed a tiny sigh. Perhaps the wall
this time was not quite as insurmountable as she feared. Norrie's
flowers fell from her fingers unheeded as she reached out to take
Mandell's hand.

“I am listening,” she said quietly.

He seemed to derive great comfort from
entwining her fingers with his own. His voice was calm and steady
as he related the details of that final interview. Anne could only
guess what the duke's horrible revelations had done to Mandell, the
ravaging of his spirit reflected in the dark depths of his
eyes.

Anne grieved for Lady Celine and her young
husband, a couple whose great love had been sacrificed to a
revolution and an old man's bitterness. She grieved for the little
boy who had thus been deprived of both of his parents. More than
anything, she grieved for the man who clung so tightly to her hand
as he related these horrors.

“I remembered so little myself of what
happened in France,” Mandell said. “But yesterday, I found some old
letters amongst the duke's private papers that clarified
everything. They were from my mother, the last one posted from
Calais. She explained that she had decided to defy her husband's
wishes that she set sail for England, and instead meant to return
with me to Paris. It appears my mother was a true Windermere,
stubborn and arrogant. She simply could not be brought to believe
that any French rabble would dare to harm the daughter and grandson
of an English duke. Setting that bit of hauteur aside, she wrote as
a woman who could not bear the thought of being parted from the man
she loved.”

“Your mother did not make a wise choice, but
a perfectly understandable one.”

“That is what I am endeavoring to remember
out of the whole senseless tragedy,” Mandell said. “How much my
parents loved each other, and that they must have been happy for a
time.”

He bowed his head in silence for a moment
before he could continue, “There was a more recent letter amongst
my grandfather's effects. This one from the present Comte de
Valmiere seeking information about myself and my father. God alone
only knows why the old man did not destroy it, but I am grateful
that he did not.

“I have an uncle living near Caen, and
several aunts. It occurs to me that they might be able to tell me a
great deal about my father, things that I was never privileged to
know. The comte mentioned that he still has some of my father's
compositions. It seems that the reason he took my mother to Paris
in the first place was that he hoped for an audience at court, a
chance to find a patron for his music.”

A slight flush of embarrassment stained
Mandell's cheeks. “I know this is going to sound absurd, but I feel
that if I could learn to play my father's music, I could somehow
have a part of him back again, perhaps even regain a part of myself
that was taken from me so long ago.”

“It does not sound absurd at all,” Anne
said.

He slipped his hand from her grasp. “I want
to go back to France, Anne.”

She wondered if he even realized that as he
said this he paced several steps away from her. Once more, Anne
felt the distance threatening to grow between them. But she forced
back the lump in her throat and said, “Of course, my lord. If that
is what you need to do.”

“If circumstances had been different, I would
have asked you to go with me. But I no longer have the right to do
so, not after these discoveries about my grandfather. He often
accused me of having tainted blood, and so I do. Not my father's,
but his.”

“No, Mandell,” Anne protested, seeking to
recapture his hand.

But Mandell stepped back, saying in a voice
raw with anguish, “There was one dread moment, Anne, when I looked
into his eyes and I saw myself reflected there, when I realized
there was a danger I could become just like him, cold, ruthless and
uncaring.”

“No, Mandell! There was an evil in him that
has never existed in you.”

“How can you be so certain of that?” he asked
bitterly. “Because you believe that Norrie has this uncanny ability
to peer into hearts? Because for some strange reason your little
girl loves me?”

“No, because I do.”

Her answer stopped his agitated pacing. Every
part of him seemed to go still as he stared into her eyes,
desperately wanting to believe.

She cupped his face between her hands and
said, “I love you, Mandell. Do you think that I could care so much
for a man who was as cold and hard as you describe?'

“Then despite all that has happened, you
would still marry me, Anne?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You would permit me to be a father to your
little girl?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Trust me enough to—”

“To surrender my entire life and happiness
into your keeping? Yes, my lord,” Anne repeated fervently.

A shadow passed from his features, his eyes
shining with such tenderness and humble gratitude that Anne felt
tears start to her eyes.

“I have another name, you know,” he said
almost shyly. “I was christened for my father, Dominque.”

“Dominque,” Anne repeated. “It is a very fine
name.”

“For so long I tried to forget it.”

“I know,” she said, caressing back the dark
strands of hair from his temple. “Because remembering brought you
the nightmare.”

“You have banished the nightmares, milady,”
he said huskily. “For us, I vow there will only be dreams.”

Drawing her into his arms, he sealed the
promise with his kiss.

###

About the author:

Author Susan Carroll began her career in
1986, writing historical romance and regencies, two of which were
honored by Romance Writers of America with the RITA award. She has
written twenty six novels to date. Her St. Leger series received
much acclaim. The Bride Finder was honored with a RITA for Best
Paranormal Romance in 1999. Ms. Carroll launched a new series with
the publication of The Dark Queenl set during the turbulent days of
the French Renaissance. Ms. Carroll was born in Latrobe, Pa. She
spent much of her childhood in South Jersey where she graduated
from Oakcrest High School in Mays Landing. She attended college at
Indiana University of Pennsylvania, where she earned a B.A. in
English with a minor in history. She currently resides in
Illinois.