A Fine Passion (43 page)

They exulted as the tapestry of pleasure and delight, of sensual glory and the overwhelming beauty of love’s transcendent power spun about them, trapped them, and held them. Until, at the last, it swept them, senses shattered, from the world.

Into that place beyond reality where only true hearts and souls could go.

Into a landscape that was familiar yet subtly altered, more definite, more distinct, more sure. More emotionally certain. Together, hand in hand, they gloried in the change, welcomed it and explored; side by side, they drew their new landscape into their hearts, into their lives, and made it a part of them.

Now, forever, always theirs.

The Altwood engagement ball, held at Melton House three nights later, became the most celebrated event of the Season. Never before in the annals of the ton had four scions of a noble house announced their engagements all on one night, at one place, at one time.

The ton was beyond dazzled.

Clarice wore the plum silk gown. She wanted the ton to remember this night, her swan song, the only ball she would ever host under her ancestral roof, the ball celebrating her own engagement along with those of her three brothers.

She wanted the ton to remember her as that scandalous Lady Clarice in her daring plum silk gown.

She succeeded.

The announcements were made with all due ceremony at a dinner for sixty attended by many of the most influential in the ton, then she and her brothers and their soon-to-be spouses welcomed the army of the fashionable who had, one and all, responded to her invitation to join their celebration.

In bright satins and silks, black coats and white cravats, the crowd thronged the ballroom, flowed onto the terrace, even filled the stairs, all eager to view the most exciting moment, when the newly affianced couples took to the floor to lead the company in the first waltz.

When the musicians set bow to string and the summons rang out, the crowd quieted and held their collective breaths.

Proud and transparently happy, Alton led Sarah down the wide stairs, followed by Roger and Alice, and Nigel and Emily. Clarice and Jack brought up the rear, but when Alton reach the bottom of the sweeping staircase, he stepped to the side, and halted, Sarah on his arm. Roger followed suit, moving to the other side of the stairs with Alice, Nigel and Emily close on their heels.

Leaving Jack and Clarice center stage.

The expectation gripping the crowd abruptly cinched a notch tighter. A few gasps were heard; a ripple of whispers sped down the long room, but quickly died. All eyes remained trained on the couples at the bottom of the stairs.

On Jack’s arm, Clarice stepped off the last stair. Surprised, she looked at Alton.

He smiled. “You should always have been the first. You’ve always given us the lead in matters such as this. Without you, God only knows if we would be here, like this, tonight.” With a graceful gesture, he waved her on. “After you, sister dear.”

Clarice looked into his eyes, then looked at Sarah.

Smiling mistily, Sarah nodded. “You and Jack first.”

The music swelled; at Jack’s touch on her bare back, Clarice inclined her head regally to her brother, then turned into Jack’s arms.

She felt them close about her, looked into his gold and green eyes and saw love shining down at her. She smiled back and let him sweep her onto the floor, into their future.

The crowd let out a collective sigh.

Her brothers and their fiancées followed; the four couples alone circled the floor once. In Jack and Clarice’s wake, a flurry of deliciously scandalized whispers erupted as more of the company took note of her gown, and the rest took note of what a handsome and striking couple they made.

Then others joined them; within a minute fully half the guests had taken to the floor, all eager to be a part of that very special moment.

Clarice didn’t see them; she was too deeply enmeshed in the web of happiness that cocooned her and Jack. “When can we leave for Avening?”

He, too, had eyes only for her. He arched a brow. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

She smiled. “I’ll order the carriage for ten. We can stop at the club on the way.”

Jack grinned. “Anyone would think you didn’t appreciate the ton in all its glory.”

Clarice arched a brow back, haughty, a touch tart. “I appreciate it well enough, but I know what I want—Avening, your children, and you.”

A wise man knew when to keep his lips shut. Jack’s grin deepened into a real smile; he gathered her closer, swept her into the next turn, and started to plan how best to deliver to his warrior-queen precisely what she wanted.

They returned to Avening so James could marry them in the village church where all the Warnefleets for generations had pledged their vows; neither had considered anything else.

Mindful of Jack’s injuries, not just his healing shoulder but his still-healing head, Clarice insisted they take three days to cover the distance from London, stopping for long relaxed luncheons and ending the day in the late afternoon at a comfortable inn.

They were traveling ahead of a small army. Her three brothers, their fiancées, and numerous other members of her family, as well as Jack’s aunts and other family members, along with a select contingent of family friends, Lady Osbaldestone among them, were to follow in a few days.

They intended to marry as soon as may be; neither wished to waste any more of their lives. Appealed to, the bishop had been only too happy to bestow a special license and his blessing on them. The other members of the Bastion Club had been duly summoned; all would shortly arrive. Dalziel had been invited, but had, predictably, sent his regrets.

Jack suggested they ride the last stretch. Glad enough to be free of the confines of the coach, Clarice joined him in long gallops interspersed with ambling walks through countryside still sharp with the freshness of spring, down lanes wending through rolling fields, sunshine and a sense of belonging all about them.

At the last, they cantered up the Tetbury lane and reined in at the top of the rise, as Jack had only a few weeks before. With Clarice beside him, he looked down on Avening valley, on the orchards surrounding his home, at the clouds of apple blossom still clinging to the trees.

The same, and yet not. The emotion the sight and scent of apple blossom evoked in him had changed.

He glanced at Clarice, smiling lightly as she surveyed her domain.

Jack felt his heart swell. This was his real homecoming, because now, with her, his home was complete.

Reaching for her hand, he raised it to his lips, brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Met her eyes and smiled when, surprised, she looked questioningly at him.

Releasing her, he waved her on. Side by side, they rode down the hill, to the village, to the manor.

Boadicea, Avening, and apple blossom.

At long last, he was home.

N
ew York Times bestselling author STEPHANIE LAURENS specializes in writing historical romances set in Regency England. A Fine Passion is her twenty-eighth such work, and her fourth in a new group of novels about the members of the exclusive Bastion Club, first introduced in her novel The Lady Chosen.

Readers can write to Stephanie c/o The Publicity Department, Avon Books, HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022-5299, or via email to [email protected].

For information on Stephanie’s books, including updates on the Bastion Club and Cynster novels yet to come, visit Stephanie’s website at www.stephanielaurens.com.

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