Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (12 page)

12

Dearest Papa,

War is rampaging throughout the Colonies, but all that seems so far away from me here. Papa, what would you have thought of this war? I wish I knew. I don't like to think that men are dying over something as frivolous as taxes. Why don't the colonists just pay the taxes as everyone else does? Why must war divide two such fine and noble peoples?

With a troubled mind, Royal laid the journal aside. She was just realizing she was not the same lost little girl who had first come to London. She had developed different beliefs, and her heart was turning away from old loyalties.

She began to see the war with the eyes of her British friends. As painful as it was, she could no longer defend her own countrymen, who had insisted on war in the first place. Why had they taken up arms against their mother country? she wondered again and again.

Even Aunt Arabella seemed a stranger to Royal now, for she no longer answered her letters, and she had not come to England in a very long time.

Royal's new friends now made up her world. She felt a strange detachment from her past until, at inopportune moments, the memory of golden eyes would intrude. When she thought of her life in Savannah, it was almost as if it had happened to someone else.

Why should she feel any ties with the Colonies? she reasoned. She had no one there anymore.

Royal picked up her journal and attempted to write, but no thoughts came to mind. She curled up on the bed and tried to sort out her true feelings about the conflict across the Atlantic. She had read every article she could find about the war, and it seemed to her that the colonists were entirely at fault.

Of course, she reasoned, everything she read had either been written for the English or by the English. She slid off the bed and walked to the window, where she stared out at the park across the street. She was not going to be sad or think about the war today. She was young, and she wanted to have fun.

Royal embraced her new life with enthusiasm. She had learned many things at Fulham School, and she was just finding out how important a proper education was. Of course, it was a definite advantage if a girl was also pretty. She was finding out that she was attractive to men and often drew their attention. It was a pleasant feeling.

Hannah entered the room, carrying a huge white box. With growing curiosity, she placed it on the bed. "This came for you, Miss Royal."

"It's not my birthday. Who could have sent it?"

"I don't know, Miss Royal. Why don't you open it? There may be a card inside."

With excitement stirring, Royal untied the yellow ribbon and gasped at what she saw. "It's the most beautiful creation I've ever seen!" she exclaimed, lifting out a shimmering white gown with silver embroidery across the hem and down the sleeves.

"Look, Miss Royal!" Hannah cried. "There're silver shoes to match."

Royal ran her hand down the soft gown, loving the feel of its silkiness. "See if there's a card," she instructed the maid, while she moved to the mirror and held the gown in front of her. "I have never had anything half so beautiful," Royal proclaimed. Then she looked somewhat doubtful. "But it is cut rather low in front. Dare I wear it?"

Hannah retrieved a letter from beneath the satin slippers and thrust it in Royal's hand, then waited expectantly for her to read it aloud.

"Could it be from your guardian?"

Royal gave Hannah the gown and quickly opened the envelope. "No... it's from Aunt Arabella!" she said excitedly. "And look, there's a ticket. I wonder what this can be?"

She quickly scanned the letter. "Hannah, my aunt's here in London, and she is performing tonight at Covent Garden. She is sending a carriage for me which will arrive at seven this evening."

"How long's it been since you've seen your aunt, miss?"

"Not since the day she left me at Fulham." Royal glanced down at the gown. "How wise of her to know I would no longer be a child." She touched the gown lightly, allowing her hand to drift to the silver trim. "This is a gown for a lady."

"It don't matter," Hannah stated with assurance. "Mrs. Fortescue won't let you go to Covent Garden unescorted. It isn't a fit place for a lady of your breeding."

Royal felt her happiness melt away. "You're right, of course. She would stop me from going... If... if she knew about it."

"Now, you aren't going to do anything foolish—are you, Miss Royal?"

"I have to go tonight, Hannah. I just have to!" She was thoughtful for a moment. "Go to Lady Alissa's room and tell her I need to see her at once."

Hannah seemed doubtful. "I know that look, Miss Royal. You're up to something."

Royal gave her maid a scathing glance and spoke sharply. "Hurry, Hannah. I am going to see my aunt perform tonight, and you and Lady Alissa are going to help me get past Mrs. Fortescue."

If Hannah had any notions about objecting, they disappeared beneath the determined light in her mistress's eyes. She quickly slipped out of the room, wondering what Miss Royal had in mind.

***

Royal pushed her foot into the silver slippers while Hannah marched around her, straightening the hem of her gown.

"If you don't hold still, Miss Royal, I'll never have you ready in time."

"I'm so apprehensive, Hannah. Suppose something goes wrong, and I am unable to see my aunt perform?"

"Well, it isn't going to do you any good to get yourself in a dither. Lady Alissa said she'd occupy Mrs. Fortescue while you slip away. Of course, you'll still have to get back in afterwards," the maid reminded her.

There was a knock on the door, and Lady Alissa poked her head inside. "Are you about ready?" She walked around Royal, her eyes wide with admiration. The low-cut bodice molded to Royal's young breasts with just a hint of daring, while the sleeves that tapered to her wrists were tied with silver bows.

"You're stunning," her friend declared. "No, you are incomparable." She looked at Royal's creamy complexion, made even creamier by the contrast of her powdered hair, which Hannah had arranged in an
à la Dauphine coiffure
. Silver ribbons were woven among the curls that spiraled down her back.

"If you weren't my friend, and if I didn't love you so dearly, I would hate you."

Royal stared at her own image in total astonishment. "I look... so... I am grown up."

Lady Alissa moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. "The carriage should be here any moment. I'll go to Mrs. Fortescue's office and keep her occupied until I know you're gone. But you must be home by ten, so I can be at the front door to admit you."

Royal brushed her cheek against her friend's. "Thank you for helping me, Alissa."

Lady Alissa smiled. "That's what friends are for. Give me enough time to get to Mrs. Fortescue's office before you come downstairs. Have Hannah go before you to make certain no one sees you leave."

As Royal rushed through the hallway and down the steps, her pulse was thundering inside her. Never had she deceived the headmistress, and guilt lay heavily on her shoulders.

She hurried out the front door and down the steps, where she was helped into the carriage by a smiling coachman. She settled back against the cushioned seat and pressed her hand against her heart to quell its rapid beating. When the horses pulled away from the school, Royal let out her breath—she had made it safely away.

The coach moved down well-lit streets, through parks, and past elegant shops. After a time the broad avenues gave way to dark, narrow passages where ominous forms loomed out of the shadows. Royal observed women offered bawdy invitations to any gentleman who happened along. She felt a prickle of fear when hands reached through the window, and she shrank back against the seat on hearing the coachman's whip lash out and someone yelled in pain.

Royal was flooded with relief when, at last, the coach turned down King Street and the theater rose out of the darkness. Had she been foolish to come without an escort? she wondered. Surely her aunt would not have allowed her to travel alone unless it was safe to do so.

The coach came to a halt, and the coachman opened the door and offered her his arm. As she descended, she was certain she smelled strong spirits on the man's breath, but surely she was mistaken.

"I have been instructed to wait for you until the performance is over, Miss Bradford. And then I'll take you back to school."

"Yes, thank you. Please wait for me."

She moved up the wide steps and was soon engulfed by the crowd of people who had come to see the performance.

The inside of the opera house was decorated in bold reds and bright yellows. Shining mirrors lined the walls to reflect the many chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Royal handed her ticket to an attendant, who looked startled, apparently because she was unescorted. When he saw her ticket, he smiled.

"Come with me, miss," he said. "I have been instructed to escort you to a private box."

As she moved gracefully beside the attendant, men looked at her in appreciation and women with envy. She was aware that she was receiving marked attention, but she didn't know why. She could not know how fresh and lovely she looked in her white satin gown.

Once she was seated in her box, Royal found a table laden with every conceivable delicacy and flowers so plentiful that the aroma was overpowering. After the attendant seated her, he withdrew, leaving her alone. There was a note on the table from her aunt.

Dearest, I can hardly wait to see you. Come to my dressing room after the performance. I will expect you to sup with me afterward.

Royal glanced at the people being seated and waited impatiently for the performance to begin. Soon the lights were lowered, the mumbling voices ceased, and the curtain rose.

She had been so excited that she had not even noticed the name of the play. But now she recognized the words from Othello.

When Arabella appeared on stage as the gentle Desdemona, Royal could feel admiration ripple through the audience. Arabella was at the height of her beauty, and her clear, distinct voice captured the essence of the tragic heroine she played with passion and fire.

Unashamed tears rolled down Royal's cheeks as Desdemona was slain by her jealous husband and again, when the play reached its tragic end.

The curtain fell, and the audience reacted with resounding applause. When Arabella appeared on stage to take her bow, she received a deafening response. She looked in Royal's direction and blew a kiss.

Royal knew her aunt had attained great fame in Paris and Rome, and, at last, she was being acclaimed in her own country, as she deserved.

Royal brushed her tears away as the same attendant who had seated her reappeared. "If you will accompany me, Miss Bradford, your aunt will see you in her dressing room."

Royal followed the attendant through a narrow passageway that led backstage. When they reached her aunt's dressing room, the man bowed and left her abruptly.

Royal rapped softly on the door, which was immediately whisked open by her aunt. For a long moment the two of them could only stare at each other. Then Arabella embraced Royal, and the girl melted into her arms.

"My dearest, at last we are together."

"I have missed you," Royal said, realizing how much she had yearned for this dynamic influence in her life.

At last Arabella held Royal at arm's length and beamed at her approvingly. "It's like looking at myself as a girl, except you are much more beautiful than I ever was," she said generously.

Royal assessed each perfect feature of her aunt's face and doubted the truth of her statement. Arabella wore a yellow Chinese dressing gown that hugged her curvaceous body and enhanced her flaming red hair. "I could never hope to be as beautiful as you are."

"You will far surpass me, dearest."

"I love the gown, Aunt Arabella," Royal exclaimed, twirling around in a circle. "It's lovely."

"I knew it would be just right for you. You are a young lady now."

"Thank you," Royal said, her eyes moist with tears.

"Did you like the play, dearest?"

"Oh, Aunt Arabella, you were magnificent! I will remember your performance for the rest of my life. If Papa could only have seen you, he would have been so proud."

The two Bradford women looked into each other's eyes as renewed pain stirred to life—pain Arabella thought she had buried with her dead brother. "I always yearned for my brother's praise, Royal, but I only succeeded in arousing his disapproval."

"Who is this beauty?" a deep voice spoke from behind Arabella.

Royal had thought they were alone but for the maid who scurried about the room, gathering discarded clothing. She met the dark gaze of a man and turned inquiring eyes to her aunt.

"Royal, this is the Marquis de Moreau. Louis, my niece, Miss Royal Bradford."

The marquis was not a young man and was portly and short in stature. Yet while he could not be considered handsome, his eyes were lively and his smile genuine. "Charmed, mademoiselle. I have heard of little else but you since we arrived in London last week."

Royal turned hurt eyes to her aunt Arabella. "You arrived last week?"