Fenella Miller Page 9

  Mary curtsied and Jack bowed, her father clapped his hands in delight. "They are quite delightful, a credit to you. Now, children, I have had Cook prepare a feast for you in the breakfast parlour. I seem to remember that children are partial to sugar fancies and hot scones." He waved at the door. "Run along with your pretty nursemaid, I wish to speak privately to your mama."

  Tilly, who had been waiting by the door, hurried forward and took the children's hands, the thought of cakes and other sweet treats was enough to send them off happily. Emma took the chair beside him.

  He waited until they were alone and then looked shrewdly at her. "Young Jack said something about your coming here spoiling your wedding plans. Is that true?"

  "Partially so, I am but recently betrothed to Mr Bucknall, he has ridden to London to get a special licence. We were to be married on his return. I wrote him a letter explaining where I am, I am hoping he will join us here."

  "Excellent, you can be married here. I missed your first nuptials, it will be a wonderful thing to be able to witness your second. My dear girl, what a long time it has been since I saw you. Why is it that we never know how precious something is until it is lost to us?"

  She reached over and took his wrinkled hand in hers. "You were right to be angry, I behaved disgracefully and regretted my impulsiveness, the marriage was not a success. However, my union brought me the most precious things in my life so I shall never regret that it happened. Can we put the past behind us and start afresh?"

  He nodded vigorously, then wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Tell me everything that has happened to you these past years. Also, I wish to know everything about your future husband. I hope that he is a sounder choice than the first."

  "He is the most wonderful man, I cannot wait for you to meet him. I shall arrange for the carriage to return, I cannot keep his coachman and groom with me."

  * * * *

  The next few days were filled with laughter and happiness. She could never remember her father so jolly, he was already in the thrall of his grandchildren and was spoiling them outrageously. It was as if he was trying to make up what he hadn't done for her.

  Saturday soon arrived and she was on edge all day waiting for Rupert to appear. When he didn't she was anxious, but not unduly so. He must have been delayed in London, he would be with her very soon. A further two days and still no word. She could think of only one explanation, that he had changed his mind and wished the relationship to be at an end.

  How could she have mistaken him? She had believed him to be as committed as she to their relationship. There must be another explanation, she would not entirely abandon hope until a full week had passed without word.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Rupert remained in his study unable to sleep, or eat and drink, until the day of Foster's funeral. It had taken longer to arrange this as the rector had been struck down by an attack of gout. He must pull himself together, his appearance at the funeral was essential. He owed it to the old man who had served him so loyally, remained at his post when all others had deserted him.

  He gave the male staff permission to attend, and had ordered ale and cider to be made ready in the barn to drink the departed's health. Refreshments were also provided, he thought it a good thing to make it a celebration, rather than a time of sorrow. Tavistock was to be there in his stead; he would attend the service and committal and then return to the house.

  His nightmares had returned, but this time they were not of his wife and child but of Jack drowning in the lake. He had returned to his chair in the study, sitting there at least he could doze without fear of horrific dreams. He was lost without Emma, like one of his ship's drifting rudderless, he could not focus on the present, could not visualise a future without her and her wonderful children.

  Something drew him to the butler's rooms; the young man who had taken over the position had not yet moved down from the attics. No doubt he thought it would be disrespectful to do so until after the funeral. The bed was neatly made, the room smelled fresh, one would not have known there had been a death in here a few days before.

  There was still evidence of Foster's life, his faded coat hung on the back of the door. He had been buried in his new outfit, no one had yet removed his other possessions. Rupert was about to leave when something in the pocket of the jacket caught his eye. He dipped in and pulled out a letter, it was addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting, it was Emma's.

  He tore it open and scanned the contents. His knees folded beneath him and he sunk on to the bed. She had not left him, her father was on his deathbed and she had gone to be at his side. She begged him to join her as soon as possible. There was no mention of Jack's accident, it was full of concern for him and how much she would miss him until he was at her side.

  He leapt to his feet, rejuvenated. He could see at once how this misunderstanding had occurred, Foster had taken the letter and then died before he could pass it on. Another missive must have arrived from Essex, knowledge of this had also died with the old man.

  William would be at the wake, he must fetch him. Emma would think he had deserted her, he must get to her side and put this matter right as soon as possible. The noise of the jollity could be heard as he burst out of the side door. There were so many people there, villagers, tenants as well as all his staff that it was impossible to pick out his valet.

  "Mr Bucknall, are you looking for me?"

  "William, good man. Mrs Reed left me a letter after all, I have just found it in Foster's coat. She was called away to visit her dying father, we must leave immediately. I should have been there yesterday."

  He would ride, but Tom must bring the carriage with his luggage. It would also be needed for when they came home. He patted his waistcoat, he knew he was grinning like a simpleton, but he cared not. He had his licence and the rings next to his heart, he would take them with him. It was just possible they might be able to marry before her father died; if they didn't, he knew Emma would insist on waiting several months until they tied the knot.

  If that was what she wished, then he would acquiesce. As long as he knew that, one day, she would be his to cherish and love for the rest of her life, then he could bide his time. Tavistock appeared at the door to his study.

  "Is there anything you wish me to do in your absence, Mr Bucknall?"

  "Carry on as we agreed. No, there is one thing you can do. Have my chambers refurbished, they are not fit for a lady to share. Mrs Reed has already chosen the fabrics and wall coverings for her own apartment, use the same for mine."

  Tavistock looked startled but said nothing. Rupert chuckled to himself as he mounted his huge gelding, no doubt he would be the only gentleman in England with flowery bed hangings and birds and suchlike on his walls. It mattered nothing to him how his room was decorated as long as his darling girl was there to share it with him.

  * * * *

  The weather was especially clement, Emma had arranged for meals to be served on the terrace overlooking the park. Her father had a bath chair in which his valet could wheel him around. Jack thought this an excellent game, and frequently she heard him laughing as the unfortunate manservant was obliged to push both his master and her son around the place.

  She was making every effort to appear sanguine, not show her anxiety to her children or her father. He kept asking her when Rupert would arrive, she said nothing of her fear that he would never come, she had no wish to spoil the festive atmosphere. Seeing her father enjoying her company, and that of her children, meant at least that they would have a happy home to live in if Rupert did not come to claim her.

  Papa retired early. The children, exhausted by a day spent picnicking outside and paddling in the shallow river that skirted the park, had also gone to bed. Emma had no appetite, was obliged to make an effort when she was with her family, but as she was on her own tonight she sent word to the kitchen that tonight she did not require dinner to be brought to her on the terrace.

  It was still early,
another hour or two of light before the sun set and the nightingales began their night-time chorus. She sat contemplating the vista, although the grounds were not anywhere as extensive as those of Stansted, they were very pretty. This was something she had not fully appreciated when she was living here. Her days had been over full running the household because her father had been too miserly to employ a housekeeper. There had been little time to sit and enjoy her surroundings.

  The terrace was at the rear of the house, the front faced north west, the drive ran straight as an arrow to the gatehouse. At first she had spent much of her time watching this ribbon of gravel, now she was almost resigned to being abandoned and no longer watched for Rupert's arrival.

  Her cheeks were wet; she was becoming a veritable watering pot lately. Would it have been better if she'd never met him? Her heart would have remained whole and she would be able to relish this reconciliation with her parent, count her blessings instead of sitting here feeling that she would never be truly happy again.

  The sound of boots thudding towards her jerked her out of her reverie. She jumped to her feet, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. She was sure she recognized those footsteps. From around the side of the house her beloved appeared. It didn't matter he was several days late, he was here.

  She picked up her skirts and raced towards him. "Rupert, I have been so worried, I thought you have changed your mind."

  He opened his arms and she fell into them. He crushed her close and she tilted her face to receive his kiss. His mouth was salty, his face sweat streaked, it made no difference to the sweetness of his lips on hers. After a blissful interlude he set her down, but kept his arm around her waist.

  "My darling, I thought you had abandoned me. Poor old Foster died the day I returned and never passed on your letter. I only discovered it by chance. I have been in an agony of despair without you."

  She rested her cheek against his chest and breathed deeply. Laughing, she reeled back. "My love, I am overjoyed to see you, however do you think you could change your raiment before we continue this…err…discussion?"

  "I beg your pardon, sweetheart, I have ridden pell-mell to be with you. Unfortunately I have no fresh clothes to change into until William arrives, he should not be too long behind me."

  "In which case, I shall conduct you to the apartment that has been waiting these past four days, and at least you can wash the journey from your person."

  What the staff thought of his sudden arrival she had no idea, but they rallied round and soon he was upstairs and a bath sent up to him. Suddenly her appetite returned. She was sure he must be ravenous having ridden all the way from Hertfordshire to Essex. She pulled the bell-strap in the drawing-room. When a parlour maid appeared she gave her instructions.

  "Mr Bucknall has just arrived, we should both like supper served on the terrace. Ask Cook to send cold cuts, pickles and chutney, some of that delicious cheese and plenty of bread and butter." She frowned she thought what else they might like for their celebration meal. "Yes, also send some of the fruit pie we had at luncheon."

  "Shall I ask Mr Thomas to send wine as well, madam?"

  "Yes, and fresh lemonade if there is any. Do you know if Mr Bucknall's valet has arrived?"

  The girl curtsied. "He arrived as you rang, madam."

  Emma returned to the terrace to await the arrival of the man she loved to distraction and their supper. The food was arranged on the damask covered table, candelabra lit and casting a romantic glow over the silver cutlery when Rupert returned.

  "Thank the good Lord, I am half dead with hunger, my darling. I had not eaten properly for days. I believe I could devour this on my own." He kissed her upturned mouth lightly before pulling out a chair and guiding her into it. "Sweetheart, forgive me for saying so, but that seems a remarkably happy household for one who's master is about to depart for a better life."

  "My papa is not on his deathbed, it was a ruse to get me to come home. When he received my missive announcing my intention to marry he thought if he did not summon me immediately I might never come."

  His shout of triumph caused the pigeons settling in the trees to leave their roosts in a flurry of protest. "My darling, I cannot tell you how delighted I am to hear that there is to be no death in the family. I have brought the special licence with me, do you think we could be married here?"

  "My father insists upon it. He can no longer walk well, but apart from that, is in good health. I am so glad I did not tell him what I feared."

  Unable to contain her happiness she left her seat and went to him. Pushing his chair back he took her on his lap, her hands moved up to rest on his cheeks. She felt the ridges of his scars, ran her fingers lovingly across them, they were part of him, she would not have him any other way.

  "Rupert, my love, I cannot tell you how happy I am. A few weeks ago I was all but destitute, now look at us? I am reunited with my father and about to marry the man of my dreams."

  He encircled her waist, then deliberately removed the leather glove from his right-hand. She took it to her lips and kissed each scar. She glanced up…his eyes blazed.

  "I love you, Emma, I do not deserve you, but I promise you I will spend the rest of my days making you and your children happy."

  "That is impossible, my darling, for I could not be any happier if I tried."

  About the Author

  Fenella Miller lives in Essex in an ancient cottage with acres of unspoilt woodland. Her husband, an arthritic cat and a Border collie share the house. She has two children and two grandchildren.

  Fenella has always written but was too busy teaching in both secondary and primary schools to complete a book until she was able to give up work three years ago. In the past two years she has sold eleven Regency novels to various publishers.

  Visit Fenella Miller's website at http://www.fenellajanemiller.co.uk/

  Publishing Information

  Copyright © 2010 by Fenella Miller

  Originally published by My Weekly Pocket Novel 1724 [9771758165013]

  Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

  http://www.BelgraveHouse.com

  Electronic sales: ebooks@belgravehouse.com

  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

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