Forever My Love (Historical Romance) (5 page)

He stood up, laughing with delight. "Now that your immediate future is settled, I have a surprise for you."

Her eyes sparkled with interest. "What is it?"

"I have corresponded with Mrs. Fortescue, who is headmistress at Fulham School, and she has assured me that you will be allowed to have your own horse. As soon as you are settled in, I shall send you a suitable young mare from Swanhouse. Would you like that?"

Her eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands gleefully. "Oh, yes, Mr. Routhland, may I?"

"Have I not just said so? Also," he continued, "I have made arrangements with my London solicitor, a Mr. Webber, and he is to meet your ship when it docks at Plymouth. He will accompany you and your aunt to London, where he has been instructed to see to your needs. You are to have a complete new wardrobe"— he waved his hand—"and whatever else you will need to make you comfortable at the school."

"Thank you," she whispered through trembling lips. "Can Aunt Arabella stay with me until I am settled?"

"I see no reason why not."

Royal's eyes were shining with tears. "You are the kindest man, besides my father, that I have ever known."

Damon blinked his eyes in astonishment. No one before Royal had ever accused him of being kind. "I consider that high praise indeed."

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Go to bed, now, little one, and dream of all the wonderful adventures that await you." He turned to the housekeeper. "See her tucked in, Alba. I shall find my own way out."

Reluctantly Royal moved to the door. Turning back, she blessed him with a smile. "I shall remember you in my prayers every night."

"Do that, Royal."

"Will you remember me?"

"Forever and a day," he pledged, "for you are etched in my mind."

"Is that a promise?"

"That's a promise."

A sad smile touched her lips, and Damon watched her disappear with Alba following behind. He saw months of loneliness ahead for Royal. Of course, Arabella had promised to visit the girl, but he felt sure that the actress would soon be caught up with her own friends in Paris and would forget about her niece.

He pulled on his greatcoat and left, closing the door behind him. As he mounted his horse, he noticed that the rain clouds had moved away and a blood red moon lit the sky.

Kicking his mount in the flanks, he headed for Swanhouse Plantation. He was concerned about the rumors of war with England, but hopefully war would not come, at least not until Royal returned. It would seem like a long time before he saw that charming little imp again.

He would instruct John Bartholomew to answer Royal's correspondence and see to her every need. "I am not the fatherly type," he muttered aloud. "What in the hell have I gotten myself into?"

***

It was the day before Royal and her aunt were to sail for England, and with an aching heart Royal had gone to place flowers on her father's and mother's graves. Standing in the shadow of the great oak tree, she whispered a prayer that the years away from home would pass quickly.

Later in the afternoon, as she went through the house with Alba and Tobias, closing most of the rooms and draping dust covers over the furniture, her uncertainty deepened—this act made her leaving seem so final.

That night after Alba and Tobias had gone to their own quarters and her aunt had retired for the night, Royal walked through each of the rooms, burning every familiar detail into her mind. When at last she climbed into her own bed, she was flooded with wonderful childhood memories. Finally, near dawn, she fell asleep.

Royal's saddest moments came the next morning in saying a tearful good-bye to Alba and Tobias. Both the servants stood on the front steps, waving to her until the carriage pulled out of sight.

***

Sunbeams danced on the surface of the water. Royal leaned against the railing of the British merchant ship Excursion and watched the shoreline of Georgia disappear in the distance. Then she turned questioning eyes to her aunt, who stood beside her.

Arabella pulled Royal into the circle of her arms. "I don't know when you will be coming back, my dear," she said, answering the unspoken question. "But be of good cheer. It won't be so bad. Think what fun you will have when you're fitted for a new wardrobe."

Royal sighed. "I don't look as good in black as you do, Aunt Arabella."

"'Tis a pity you are in mourning and will have to wear black." Arabella shrugged. "Well, no matter, I merely consider this a challenge. I know all the fashionable shops, and with my guidance, you will be the best-dressed young lady at that school. Actually," she continued, "you are more fortunate than you know to be able to leave this backwater country."

Royal managed a brave smile. "Even though my mother and father were born in England, my roots are deeply embedded in Georgia's soil."

"I know, dear. But London is such an exciting city. At the height of the Season, there are so many parties and balls to attend. I know you are going to be enchanted with everything."

Staring into the foamy trail left by the ship, Royal frowned. "I am bothered by the conflict that has developed between the Colonies and England. Do you suppose there will be a war?"

"Of course not. There will always be a few hotheads who try to incite dissension, but I am certain that cooler heads will prevail in this instance. Try not to think about anything but the adventure that awaits you."

"I'll try," Royal said doubtfully. She studied her aunt closely. "Why do you suppose Damon Routhland has been so kind to me?"

"I don't know, dearest. I've been wondering that myself. At first I thought it was because of me, but now I'm not sure."

"Were you once in love with him, Aunt Arabella?"

Arabella shook her head. "No, but I was enchanted with him. You will have to understand that at the time, he was too young for me—or so I thought."

"Did he love you?"

"He fancied he did, but I think what he felt for me was not really love."

Arabella's flaming hair was blowing in the breeze, and Royal thought no one could be more beautiful. "I am sure many men have been in love with you, Aunt Arabella."

"Yes, I suppose."

"Do you think I will be pretty when I grow up?"

Arabella's laughter was musical. "Dearest, when you become a young lady, there will not be a woman on either side of the Atlantic who will come close to you in beauty. Men will fight duels and die at your feet"—she smiled—"just as they have over me."

Royal did not want men to die for her. She thought of the darkly handsome Damon Routhland and wondered if he would ever think she was beautiful. Most probably he would be married by the time she returned to Savannah, she thought regretfully.

"It's very strange, Aunt Arabella. I have known Mr. Routhland for such a short time, and yet I find he dominates my thoughts. Why do you suppose that is?"

Arabella looked at her niece with new awareness. Royal's young body was beginning to develop, and her once pale skin had taken on a healthy glow. It troubled her how much Royal had to learn about men.

"You are no different from any other woman when it comes to Damon Routhland. Men like him draw women like bees to a honey pot. It is natural that you should be grateful to him, Royal, but do not ever lose your heart to him," she warned, "for I feel certain he is incapable of loving a woman. Most likely he has already dismissed you from his mind."

"He promised he would remember me, Aunt Arabella," Royal said with conviction, "and I believed him."

5

Dearest Papa,

Crossing the Atlantic was uneventful The water was calm for most of the way. I suppose I was not in a mind to enjoy the voyage with the enthusiasm Aunt Arabella tried to arouse in me. I remained in my cabin most of the time, and poor Aunt Arabella thought I was seasick, when in truth I was homesick.

March 1775

Royal glanced out the window of the rumbling coach. The emerald-green glories of spring were complemented by a deep blue sky. The English countryside was so lovely it reminded her of a painting from some master artist's palette. The landscape was dotted with colorful wildflowers, while rolling hills gradually gave way to a small hamlet with thatch-roofed houses and cobblestone streets.

As Damon had promised, his London solicitor, Rupert Webber, had met Royal and her aunt when they docked at Plymouth. With him in command, the journey to London had thus far been trouble free. They now traveled aboard his well-sprung private coach, which was pulled by six matching grays.

"Are you not fatigued, dearest?" Arabella asked, noting the heightened color in Royal's face. "The voyage has drained me, and the bustling crowds we encountered at the docks were unnerving to say the least."

"I am not at all tired, Aunt Arabella," Royal assured her. "I find the journey invigorating. Papa often told me about the beauty of the English countryside, and now I am seeing it for myself."

Mr. Webber nodded. "The exuberance of youth. Would that I could work up such enthusiasm over anything, Miss Bradford."

Royal turned her attention to the slightly built man whose powdered wig was a bit askew on his balding head. She glanced quickly out the window, fearing she would laugh if she looked at her aunt.

"Miss Bradford," the solicitor continued, "I trust you won't find it too difficult to adjust to our way of life. Everything in England is steeped in customs and traditions."

Her expression became serious. "My country is still so new. We are searching for direction."

He turned inquiring eyes on her. "Your country? My dear Miss Bradford, I was not aware that the colony of Georgia was a separate country from Britain."

"No, of course it isn't. It's just that England is so far away from Georgia that it's sometimes difficult to think of ourselves as your colony."

The solicitor burst into jovial laughter. "It's just such thinking that troubles many members of Parliament." Then, more seriously, he added, "Guard your tongue well, Miss Bradford, or you will be singled out to your disadvantage at Fulham School." The warning was issued in all sincerity, which gave Royal pause for thought.

Arabella had been listening to the exchange, and she now addressed Mr. Webber. "My niece has always been encouraged to speak her mind, and I hope she will continue to do so, no matter whom it offends."

The little man smiled, and his whole face creased into laugh lines. "Since Mr. Routhland has requested that I look after your niece's interests, I would be derelict in my duties if I did not point out the pitfalls awaiting her at Fulham School. I have to tell you that pressure was brought to bear to get her into the school as it was."

"Why is that?" Arabella asked. "My sister-in-law went there. I don't recall that she had any trouble getting in."

"This school is very prestigious. Some mothers enroll their daughters at birth to make certain that they will be accepted. Most of the pupils come from the nobility or upper classes."

"I won't tolerate any unkindness to Royal. And I take exception with anyone who thinks my niece is not good enough to be in that school," Arabella said haughtily.

"Rightly so, rightly so," Mr. Webber agreed. He held Royal's gaze. "When I called Mrs. Fortescue's attention to the fact that your mother had attended Fulham, she was more receptive to your enrollment."

Royal glanced out the window, wondering how she would ever feel at home in this country where people were separated into classes. Her footsteps had been set upon a path that was not of her making; however, she would try to behave in a manner that would make Mr. Routhland proud of her and reflect well on her mother.

"Look out the window, Royal," Arabella pointed out. "We are approaching London!"

The sight that met Royal's eyes was not at all what she had expected. The quaint, dirty, stall-lined streets were flanked by drab, crumbling warehouses. The smell of rotten vegetables and raw fish was so overpowering that Royal covered her nose with a handkerchief so she could breathe. The coach rattled over cobblestone streets, past garish inns that looked ready to collapse and public houses where dingy laundry had been hung out the windows to dry. The streets seemed to be filled with an endless swarm of disheveled men and women, trailed by shoeless, dirty children.

When the horses clopped across a wooden bridge, the scene began to change. It was as if they had entered another world. The sky was webbed with church steeples and towering buildings that gleamed in the afternoon sun.

"We are entering London's par excellence district, Miss Bradford," the solicitor informed Royal. "Here the highborn, titled, wealthy, and powerful dwell. The choicest section is said to be bound on the north by Piccadilly, on the south by Pall Mall, on the east by the Haymarket, and on the west by St. James's Street. Your new home, Fulham School, is, of course, within this domain."

If Mr. Webber was trying to make Royal feel at ease, he had failed. More and more she was convinced that she would not fit in, no matter how hard she tried.

They passed coaches with coats of arms boldly painted on their doors, symbolic of the nobility that rode inside. Royal gazed at the wide avenue with its age-old trees standing guard like sentinels, defying entrance to any outsider. Here, well-dressed men and women strolled in and out of fashionable shops. Royal was surprised when they passed stately homes with block gardens not unlike those in Savannah.

When the coach drew to a halt before the fashionable Devonshire House, the solicitor smiled. "This is where you will reside until such time as you are properly outfitted for Fulham School. On Mr. Routhland's instructions, I have made arrangements for you to patronize several of the shops. This is Monday. I should think by Monday next, you will be ready to be presented to the headmistress, Mrs. Fortescue."

Royal caught her aunt's eyes and received an encouraging smile. Drawing on her courage, she moved out of the coach. Whatever the future held for her she could not guess, but she was prepared to meet it bravely.

***

The office of the headmistress of Fulham was sparsely furnished, cold and impersonal. Two straight-backed chairs faced the cherry-wood desk where a woman with cold, hard eyes looked Royal over from head to foot. Royal met the headmistress's assessing stare with interest.

It appeared that Mrs. Fortescue was in her late fifties or early sixties, but it was difficult to tell for certain. She was tall for a woman, big-boned, and wore her hair unpowdered and drawn tightly away from her face and covered with a stiff white cap. Thick glasses sat on the narrow bridge of her nose, and she tended to look over the rim rather than through the glasses.

Mr. Webber had warned Royal that the headmistress ruled with the same authority as a queen laying down laws for her lowly subjects. Royal felt certain that Mr. Webber had described the woman correctly.

Mrs. Fortescue glanced down at the log book on her desk, allowing Royal and her aunt to wait to be acknowledged. At last the woman raised her head.

Pale blue eyes seemed to bore right into Royal with an intensity that made her shiver with fear. The headmistress pointed to the chairs in front of her desk, indicating Royal and her aunt should be seated. Both quickly complied.

"I have been expecting you, Royal Bradford," Mrs. Fortescue said in a decidedly irritated voice, the words clipped and impeccably enunciated. "If you are to be a student at this school, you will be punctual at all times, and you will be dependable in all your habits."

"My niece only reached England nine days ago," Arabella stated in defense of Royal. "I was told that she was not expected until this week."

Mrs. Fortescue turned her cold stare on Arabella. "Yes, that is correct, and this week began two days ago. She was expected Monday morning."

"That would have been impossible, Mrs. Fortescue, because Royal had fittings for her new wardrobe. It was not easy finding black gowns that were flattering to my niece. You know she is in mourning for her father." Arabella drew in a breath. "And her shoes had not yet been—"

A tight smile pinched the headmistress's lips. "We have a rule here that is never broken, and that is: No excuses ever—only results."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Fortescue," Royal apologized. "It will not happen again."

"See that it does not," came the reprimand. "You may as well know right now that we usually do not take girls from the... Colonies, here at Fulham." She pronounced the word Colonies as if it were some dread disease. "Fulham School is over two hundred and fifty years old and has the reputation of accepting only young ladies from our finest families."

Royal's eyes gleamed. "I make no apologies for my family."

The challenge went unanswered, and Mrs. Fortescue continued as if Royal had not spoken. "Fulham accommodates no more than twenty-five students. Of those twenty-five students, only you and the two granddaughters of the lord mayor of Edinburgh are not of noble birth. However," she continued frostily, "since your mother was a student here, and since your guardian, Mr. Routhland, is not without influence, we have decided to allow you in." Her eyes narrowed. "On a probationary basis, of course. You will find that if you tend to your own affairs and apply yourself to your studies, you will fare well enough."

Arabella came to her feet, her eyes blazing with anger. "It is inconceivable for me to leave my niece in a place that belittles and talks down to her! I am of a mind to take her away from here right now!"

Mrs. Fortescue seemed unruffled by Arabella's outburst. "You cannot take Royal away, Miss Bradford. The moment she walked through those doors this morning, she became my responsibility. As a matter of fact, I am going to ask you not to visit your niece for at least three months. We have a settling-in period, and we find the students adapt more easily to Fulham if their well-meaning relatives do not, shall we say, interfere."

“I am not bound by your outdated rules. It's barbaric to keep young girls away from their families. You cannot stop me from seeing my niece."

"But, you see, I can—and I shall."

The two women stared at each other until at last Arabella, realizing she could not win this confrontation, lowered her eyes. "Before I leave, at least assure me that Royal will be well treated here."

In a composed voice Mrs. Fortescue replied, "Better than that, your niece will learn to work with needle and shuttle and do fine embroidery. She will learn mathematics, history, and geography. She will learn to speak French and Latin, and if she does not know how to read and write, that will be taught her also. If she is adept in music, she will have voice lessons, and she can choose from several instruments in which to become proficient. She will be instructed in dance and, of course, the social graces. When your niece leaves Fulham, Miss Bradford, she will be presentable in any house in London, and at any table. No one could do more for her. Though the school year is under way, she will be expected to catch up with her classmates."

***

Arabella looked dejected. "Then I have no choice but to place her in your care. Will you give me time to take my leave of Royal in private?"

"No," Mrs. Fortescue said. "You may say your good-byes here and now. Already the two of you have disrupted my morning. Your niece is not the only student at our school, you know."

Royal stood up and rushed into her aunt's arms. "Must I stay, Aunt Arabella?"

Arabella's eyes clashed with the headmistress's, and she gave a resigned sigh—she could not win against this woman. "I'm afraid so, dearest." She tilted Royal's face up to her. "You are not to worry about anything. I will be in London for the rest of the week. After that I shall have to return to Paris, but I will keep in contact with you." She glanced at Mrs. Fortescue. "I would hope you have no objections if my niece and I correspond with each other?"

"I have no objections to letters. Just do not come yourself."

Tears gathered in Royal's eyes, and she wiped them on the back of her hand, bringing a disapproving frown from the headmistress. "Do not worry about me, Aunt Arabella," Royal said bravely. "I shall be fine."

"I think it's best that you leave now," Mrs. Fortescue instructed Arabella. "I will see your niece settled. Have no concern for her."

With a final embrace, Arabella moved hesitantly to the door, turned and smiled at Royal, and then left. She felt as if she were deserting the child, but what choice had she?

With the memory of Royal's forlorn little face in her mind, Arabella climbed into the waiting coach and instructed the driver to take her to Devonshire House.

Mrs. Fortescue looked Royal up and down with a critical eye. She took in her crisp, new black gown and her forlorn expression. "Have you brought your own maid to see to your needs, Miss Bradford?"

"Yes, madame. My aunt engaged a girl for me. She should arrive this afternoon."