Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (54 page)

“What a notion! What reason could I possibly have to remain in Thornton once my obligation is finished? I have nothing holding me there, Philippe.”

“What is it that holds you here, Rhianna?” he asked, his hand still wrapped around hers.

With this, she knew Philippe was hoping for some small confession on her part, but something held her back. She
did
love Philippe, she always had, but love has many forms. And, deep within her heart, did she not feel he deserved better than a curate’s daughter? Though he would not admit it, as far as Philippe was concerned, it would be a poor match. Rhianna suspected that some time away from Manoir Vallière to think might be beneficial for them both. In the meantime, she resolved not to allow him the opportunity for his affections to be alleged further.

“
Everything
holds me here. France is my home,” she declared. “It grieves me very much to go; it shall be sorely missed.”

Philippe raised the back of her hand to his lips before releasing it.

“And you, my dear Rhianna, will be painfully missed in return.” He concluded, “You must come back to France. I will not hear of it otherwise.”

Voices were soon heard descending from the upstairs chambers. To Rhianna’s great relief, it was only moments before Marquis Vallière, his wife, Soleil, and Lord Kingsley were all assembled together with them, ending what was to be her last private conversation with Philippe before her departure.

• • •

It was soon settled. Rhianna Braden would return to Thornton, England and reside as a guest at Kingsley Manor. With her bags quickly packed, everyone gathered together in front of the Vallière home to see her off the very next morning.

Still overwhelmed with the developments of the last fortnight, Rhianna, dressed in black bombazine, bid dreamlike farewells to her surrogate family. The picture seemed an illusion as she took trancelike steps toward a halted
barouche
, the door opened for her entry.

As the coachman pulled away, Soleil and Philippe were the last to return to the house. In fact, Rhianna did not see them return, for a hill obstructed her vision. But Philippe stood outside that sad home long after Rhianna’s carriage disappeared from sight.

Chapter Two

Guilford Kingsley was notably devoted to her comfort the whole of the trip, but it was a long, exhausting journey. Rhianna was glad for the quiet hours when she could reflect on recent events, though, at first, thoughts of Philippe and their last conversation tormented her with some regularity. As they drew closer to their destination, however, her musings shifted to that of her life before France, her childhood memories of England. Indeed, as their
barouche
traveled beneath a hazy English sky, farmers plowing their hawthorn-enveloped fields along the roads between the scattered towns of Essex, Rhianna had a strong sensation of being exactly where she ought to be.

As they neared the final stretch, both travelers were equally fatigued and eager to bid the carriage
adieu
in exchange for the amenity of a fireside. At last, the carriage turned onto a road that Rhianna knew well. She moved closer to the window as they drove past the old stone church and the little cottage where she had spent the first nine years of her life.

To her surprise, little had changed. The same cold stones decorated its outer walls and the same thin branches of an apple tree rattled against the glass of the cottage’s southern windows. It only seemed smaller to her now, seen through the eyes of a grown woman.

At last, the horses picked up their pace and began their assent up the very hill which held at its peak, the house — Kingsley Manor — that inspired many a pleasant daydream to a child and, now also, to a young woman, who was never meant to experience the luxuries of aristocratic life.

The horses moved gracefully through tall, wrought-iron gates, blithely carrying their two-wheeled barouche toward the manor. Bathed in the light of a beaming, springtime sun, they danced past the hedgerows that grew along the property’s enclosing stone wall and up the familiar cobblestone approach.

Rhianna’s dream came back to her, as colorful and vivid as ever. She could see herself, seated on the cottage stoop beside her friend, Brenna, gazing upward at Kingsley Manor, her imagination having run away with her.

Breathlessly, their passenger gazed from her window, clinging to her reticule. The landscape was vast and impressive, populated with meticulously placed shrubbery, spring flowers in full bloom and, in the center of the lawn, an ornate, Grecian fountain spurting forth its sparkling waters. It was just enough to distract her until the barouche pulled up to the front of the great Kingsley Manor.

At long last, the horses pulled to a stop. The driver stepped down and opened the carriage door, offering his hand to assist her. Accepting it with one slender, lace-gloved hand, she, too, stepped down, lifting her parasol high above her red curls and porcelain skin. After smoothing her muslin gown, she raised her eyes toward the portico before her. She blushed, as the enchanting lord of the manor himself appeared to greet her.

Of course, the experience did not perfectly resemble her dream. When she awoke from recalling it, she saw that the flowers were not in season and the dry fountains were not emitting any sparkling waters. Neither did the lord of the manor come out of the house to greet her — this last, however, was understandable, as he needed first to exit the
barouche
— and, though Rhianna was not so well-dressed as she would have liked and there was no lace-gloved hand to offer Lord Kingsley as she alighted the vehicle, the event itself was every bit as splendid as her heart could wish.

Situated in the middle of a monumental landscape of almost two thousand acres of park and woodland, Kingsley Manor stood with its more than one hundred rooms, hallways, and corridors. With an exterior constructed in the dramatic Baroque style, Kingsley Manor faced south, with two symmetrical wings on either side, everywhere exploding with fanciful shapes, pediments, and opulent decoration. As Rhianna stood before the center block portico, fatigue wrestled with her as she attempted to engage the finer details, but it could not best her resolve to soon know every brick, statue, and stone.

Their baggage was scarcely unloaded from the carriage when, from atop the portico, the front doors of the manor flung open and a girl of about twelve hastened down the stairs.

“Papa!” she cried, with open arms.

“Audra!” Lord Kingsley called, as he knelt and embraced her.

Felicity beaming from her expressive eyes, she explained, “I saw you from the window of the drawing room. Desmond and Mama are there.”

“Are they?” he said, delighting in her youthful animation.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “And you will never guess! Cousin Pierson also is with them.”

This piece of news, he was clearly unprepared for. The change in Lord Kingsley’s air was dramatic. His shoulders stiffened visibly and his expression hardened. He shot a glance toward Kingsley Manor that Rhianna imagined could turn the sky black.

Audra was not unaware of this and looked at him questioningly. “Papa?”

Her observation seemed to recover him, enough, at least, to better conceal his emotions.

“Well, we mustn’t keep them waiting, shall we?” he replied. “Audra, I would like to introduce you to Miss Rhianna Braden.” A synchronous curtsey followed, before he added, “You remember her father, Mr. Braden, who visited me while I was sick.”

“I do remember him,” Audra confirmed to her father. “He was a very dull man.”

“Audra!” her father reprimanded. “Do you not know Mr. Braden passed away not two months ago?”

At this, she lowered her chin and looked up with a remorseful gaze.

“Forgive me, Miss Braden. Please accept my condolences.” Rhianna nodded her acceptance of this apology, and Audra, addressing her further, added, “You seem nothing like him. I like
you
exceedingly well.”

Rhianna could not help but be drawn to Audra’s unaffected personality, despite her candid comments.

“You should know,” Rhianna replied, with a grin, “I like
you
exceedingly well, also.”

Audra curtseyed again with a wide smile. “I think we shall become the best of friends.”

“Come,” Lord Kingsley announced, as the servants gathered their bags, “it has been a long journey. Audra, why not lead the way inside?”

• • •

She dared not breathe. Everything about the entrance hall, from the white marble floor to the winding staircase, from the crystal chandelier to the various classical artifacts and columns was just as she had imagined it should be.

“Thank you, Henry,” said Lord Kingsley to the doorman, his resounding voice awakening Rhianna with a start. “See to it that Miss Braden’s things are placed in the lavender guest room.”

These orders were immediately carried out. Meanwhile, Audra grasped Rhianna’s hand in hers and led her eagerly to a set of double doors.

Another servant approached and addressed Lord Kingsley. “Whom may I say is arrived?”

“Miss Rhianna Braden, Alfred.”

“Very good, sir.”

His gloved hands reached for the doorknob, whose door Rhianna supposed led to the drawing room. Before she took her first steps inside, laughter issued forth from behind the doors and, to her surprise, it sounded as if there were only two persons, although she imagined there would be three. A man’s laughter, in particular, stood out as an intimidating sort of roar and she wondered if this laugh belonged to the “Cousin Pierson” whose visit, from Lord Kingsley’s reaction, was so unwelcomed. Rhianna drew a defensive breath as they prepared to meet with those inside.

Alfred entered and Audra followed with a bounce in her step, pulling Rhianna along with her into the drawing room. Her eyes quickly scanned the four walls, absorbing as much as possible of the feminine decor, French windows, built-in bookshelves, and relaxed, informal arrangement of furniture.

“Lord Kingsley, Miss Kingsley, and Miss Rhianna Braden,” Alfred announced.

The party of two in the gold-and-blue-themed drawing room did little to ease Rhianna’s discomfort, as it seemed the addition of the announced three brought their pleasures to a cease. Both the woman and the man seated before them appeared ill at ease, and they did not, at first, hide their sentiments well. Rhianna had the feeling of having intruded on their good time.

“Darling …”

The woman placed her drink on a table beside her and rose from her seat beside the fireplace, whose surround and central plaque were of a neoclassical design with fluted pilasters and marble inserts. The Kingsley coat of arms, featuring a white rose — the symbol of love and faith — was portrayed on the overmantel.

“Welcome home,” she continued. “I see you have brought back with you a guest.”

“I have.” Without expression, Lord Kingsley added, “I confess, I was surprised to hear she is not the only one.”

This last comment, in direct reference to Cousin Pierson, did much to cause uneasiness to the entire company.

“Well,” the woman replied, “as you see, it is only Desmond and me.”

Had Rhianna not been so conscious of the tension in the air, she might have imagined the woman’s response rather smooth.

Introductions followed. The woman was presented as Lord Kingsley’s wife, Lydia, and the man as the Kingsleys’ only son, Desmond. Only Audra seemed sorry to see that Cousin Pierson had left, whereas Lydia and Desmond appeared indifferent and Lord Kingsley seemed irritated, as before.

Rhianna continued to feel intrusive, but her reception was one of graciousness. Despite the initial awkwardness, Lady Kingsley and Desmond recovered enough to prove even friendly. Sympathies for her losses were bestowed, refreshments offered, and attention was given to her comfort. Their meeting was not long, for the hour was late, and Rhianna was soon persuaded by Lord Kingsley to retire for the evening.

Even exhausted as she was, sleep, for a time, was out of the question. A friendly, young servant named Katie settled her into the so-called “lavender room,” tended to the coal fire, and left before Rhianna could wrap her mind around where she was. But the following few hours of quiet and uninterrupted contemplation and exploration were not sufficient to allow the reality of her situation to sink in. The clock chimed two when, after thoroughly inspecting the bedchamber, from the canopied bed and mahogany storage pieces to the lavender wall tapestry and settees upholstered in silk-embroidered wool, Rhianna concluded that several weeks would not be enough to convince her of where she was, and she at last went to bed.

• • •

Rhianna had not been asleep long when she awoke to the sound of galloping horse hooves and rolling carriage wheels. With a glance toward the window, she wondered that anyone would be out in the dark of the early morning. Indeed, for what reason would someone be traveling during the predawn hours in what sounded like a panicked hurry?

Far too curious not to investigate, she arose from her bed and crossed the Persian rug to the windowsill. Pushing aside heavy, lavender drapes just enough to peek through, Rhianna could see the dim-glowing, swinging lanterns of a carriage as it raced away from the manor. Whoever its passenger was clearly had reason to be quick and was already some ways down the approach. Had Rhianna waited a moment longer, she would have missed the scene altogether.

Apparently,
someone
had reason to be out before daybreak. Her mind was at once awake and formulating theories. Her first thought was that there was some sort of emergency and Rhianna hoped no one was ill or worse. Tragedy had been no stranger to Rhianna as of late. Yet, something gave the impression that this was not an emergency, at least, not of that particular sort. Something about this event seemed … darker. She told herself it was the dead of night — not to mention her first night in a new place — that inclined her to think the occurrence more mysterious than it was in reality. But her attempts to be sensible failed and she returned to thoughts of schemes and intrigue.