Lady of Pleasure (43 page)

“It’s beautiful,” Caroline gushed. “She lives here?”

He drew in a ragged breath and drew them to a stop. “Yes.”

Caroline leaned in toward him, noting that he was staring at the house. She shook his arm. “What is it?”

“I wrote to her not only about us getting married, but about how I had paid for everything throughout the years. I felt she needed to know. She never responded. Mind you, we have been traveling, but…” He shifted his jaw.

Caroline gently nudged him. “That part of your life doesn’t exist anymore. It is done. It is over.”

He nodded. “Yes. I know.” He started walking them forward again.

As they made their way toward the entrance, the double doors opened wide and a group of servants breezed out, arranging themselves with a bow out into the portico, awaiting their trunks.

Within moments, a tall woman dressed in a simple French morning gown of white and verdant bustled out toward them, her blond, graying chignon swaying against her brisk movements. “Ronan!” she cried. “Everyone has been absolutely restless knowing you are married! The governess can hardly contain them.”

Ronan glanced down at Caroline and slowly grinned, his dark eyes brightening. “It doesn’t exist anymore. Bless her and bless you.” Squeezing her arms one last time, he released her and darted toward his aunt.

Skidding to a halt, he embraced his aunt, lifting her up and up off her slippered feet before lowering her back down. “I’m a bachelor no more. Can you believe it? Aunt Beatrice, meet the ever glorious Caroline.” Ronan waved Caroline over.

Caroline excitedly held her bonnet and hurried over to them.

Aunt Beatrice spread her arms out toward Caroline and smiled, her smooth porcelain-looking cheeks rounding. “Any woman capable of winning my Ronan’s heart deserves endless fawning and recognition. Welcome, dear. And
bonjour
.”

Caroline pressed the woman’s lily-scented softness to herself. “
Bonjour
! ’Tis a pleasure to finally meet you after hearing so much about you.”

Aunt Beatrice pulled away and searched Caroline’s face with bright blue eyes. She flicked Caroline’s hair with an exploratory finger. “I do believe you have outdone yourself, Ronan. She is absolutely exquisite.”

Ronan quirked a brow at Caroline. “Isn’t she, though? I’ll have to carry a pistol with me whilst in Paris to keep all the amorous French bastards away.”

Caroline let out a nervous laugh. “Let us not overdo the compliments.”

Beatrice grabbed Caroline’s arm and then Ronan’s with the other, re-directing them and ushering them toward the house. “Not to be rude, but the children have been preparing a play for you. And they won’t give us peace until we see it. So sadly, there won’t be much talking or visiting until
after
they have presented it.”

Caroline glanced over at Ronan, feeling as though she was about to burst. She was here. She was actually here. In Paris. With Ronan. And she was about to meet every single last one of her nieces and nephews.

Aunt Beatrice escorted them into a large open marble and gold painted hallway that opened to two enormous side rooms with soaring ceilings. The scent of freshly baked bread hung in the air as candles softly illuminated honey colored silk-brocaded walls that decorated the expanse of the dim hallway.

Releasing their arms, Aunt Beatrice gestured toward the receiving room on their right and waved them toward it. “Be seated. I will go upstairs and let them know you are both here.” Gathering her skirts, she hastened up the stairs.

Ronan stepped toward Caroline and yanked her back firmly toward him, wrapping both arms around her. His hold tightened. “My aunt never sits still and is worse than the children.”

Caroline tugged on the lapels of his morning coat. “I revel knowing it. It means we will never be bored. And wait until all of my sisters get here in a few months. Paris will be burning.”

He chuckled. “Come along. We had best be seated before they all come down and we never make it to our chairs.” He grabbed her hand and strode them both into a simply furnished room with an array of upholstered chairs and French clocks. The walls were adorned with a soft, pale green paper and bore an oversized gilded mirror and a few sconces that expanded the small room and allowed the light from the outside windows to brighten it all the more.

Three chairs had been strategically set out before an empty space.

“Apparently, the stage and our seats,” Caroline announced.

“Yes. They always perform their plays in here.” Ronan rounded them toward the chairs and in unison, they seated themselves. Ronan shifted in his seat, adjusting his coat around his frame.

Silence hummed.

“Prepare yourself for noise,” Ronan drawled. “Lots of it.”

She bit back a grin. “I grew up with four sisters and a brother. I think I’m ready for noise.”

The thudding of feet resounded in the corridor like the beating of a hundred drums followed by staggered shouts being belted in French.

Caroline turned in her seat toward the doorway as a troop of boys and girls appeared and marched into the room in a single line, sending short trousers and above ankle skirts and little polished boots and slippers shuffling and swaying within the large receiving room.

Caroline’s lips parted, for they were indeed all mulattos. Every single last one of them. With curling black hair tied in bows for the girls and short curling black hair well-brushed with tonic for the boys. Some of them had dark eyes and some of them had bright blue eyes, and their skin tones ranged from very light to very dark.

They peered over at her hesitantly, arranging themselves at different heights and shoving themselves shoulder to shoulder, eventually grew quiet. Their eager faces all stared at her as if waiting for acceptance. An acceptance few in society probably offered them.

Tears pricked Caroline’s eyes fully understanding why these children meant so much to Ronan. They were more than nephews and nieces. They were children society scorned due to their skin color. She grabbed Ronan’s hand and choked out, “They’re beautiful.”

Ronan grabbed her hand in turn and shook it, rasping, “I knew you would think so.”

“Oh, Ronan.” Caroline released his hand and scrambling to her feet knew she had to hug each and every one of them. “
Bonjour, mes chéris
.”

Glancing toward each other in astonishment for being openly acknowledged, they rushed at her and arms were thrown around her waist and her thighs and every surface of her body until they were all swimming against each other’s movements.

In French, one of the oldest boys hollered out, “I knew you would love us! I knew it, I knew it. Because I know everything there is to know about everything!”

Caroline laughed and stumbled against them, grabbing each head she could reach, kissed them one by one by one. They smelled like apple orchards and starched linen. Laughing, she glanced toward Ronan and called out, “Something tells me they like me.”

Ronan slowly rose from his seat to his full height, his eyes searching hers and silently mouthed, “I love you.”

Swiping away tears, she mouthed back, “I know.”

Turning her attention back to her nieces and nephews she dragged some of them into a swaying dance knowing
this
was merely the beginning of a beautiful, beautiful life.

Second week of June

Bath Abbey

There is usually one defining moment in every man’s life when he realizes he is destined to fall in love with the right woman and there is absolutely
nothing
that would keep him from doing so. And that moment was here and now with his new wife.

Caroline. His Caroline.

When the ceremony had come to an end in the cavernous abbey and the registrar had been signed, Ronan grasped Caroline’s hand, turned them away from the alter and symbolically held her hand up to showcase the new, gold ring on her finger for all to see.

Banfield and his American wife, lingered in the pews. They whispered to each other in smiles, hinting of something beautiful about to bloom. Lord Brayton and his wife of two weeks also lingered in the pews. Right along with Hawksford, Lady Chartwell, the dowager, all of Caroline’s sisters, Caroline’s squinting grandfather, Ronan’s own uncle who grinned like the devil that he was, and of course, Madame de Maitenon who majestically stood with her cane for support at his uncle’s side.

Madame grinned and inclined her silvery head in wordless congratulations.

Ronan inclined his head in turn and lowered Caroline’s hand.

Excited voices floated around them as he and Caroline walked through the abbey. Every wooden pew and every marble pillar had been decorated with wreaths of white blossoms, sweetly perfuming the air around them and mingling with the sultry scent of melting bees wax from the candles.

Life was beautiful.

The sun sparkled in through the rows of stain glass above, highlighting Caroline and portions of the altar with a rainbow of soft, muted colors. As he and Caroline walked down the aisle toward their waiting carriage that would take them to the day planned ahead, and as everyone followed them out of the church, Ronan knew he was ready to share the surprise he knew Caroline would have never guessed.

Tightening his hold on her hand, Ronan leaned toward her and said, “How do you like your ring?”

Still walking toward the carriage, she held up the ring before herself, letting the ruby glint against the sunlight and glanced toward him, her blue-green eyes searching his face. “It’s beautiful. I have never seen gold shine like this before.”

He bit back a smile. “That is because it’s lucky. I had my sovereign melted down and remolded for your ring.”

She brought them both to a halt and gaped. “Ronan. What— You shouldn’t have.”

“What do you mean? It’s worth even more now.” He quickly leaned in and kissed her cheek.

She grabbed his arm and laughed. “That poor coin never saw this coming. I wonder what Wellington would think knowing that all of Waterloo’s luck is now resting on my finger?”

Paris – late July

Morning

The warm wind rushed against Caroline’s face, causing the silk ribbons of her pleated bonnet to flap against her chin as she stepped out of the carriage and took Ronan’s outstretched gloved hand. She landed pertly beside him onto the gravel of the sweeping portico leading to the grand home before them and released his hand. “I can’t believe you and I are actually here.”

The curved brim of Ronan’s top hat shadowed his dark brown eyes against the brightness around them as he glanced down at her. He held out an arm. “I can’t believe we even made it out of England. I think our wedding breakfast with your family alone took about a week to finish.”

“I can tell you miss Alex.”

He snorted. “Hardly.”

Slipping her arm around his, she tightened her hold on Ronan and drew in a deep breath, savoring the moment of stepping into Paris and the doorstep of what was her new family. Unlike London, the air was tinged with an unexpected sweetness that reminded her of a garden in full bloom.

It was like breathing in freedom.

Though the land beneath her still seemed to sway, after she had been confined to the ship and then a carriage for so long, she felt as if she had awakened to find herself in a land of royal powder blue skies and mountainous white clouds of a perfect summer day. Behind them, across an expanse of overgrown trees, the Seine river shimmered green, reflecting the blinding brightness of the sun above, which peered through the clouds. Flower boxes dotted wide windows of the large villa home.

“It’s beautiful,” Caroline gushed. “She lives here?”

He drew in a ragged breath and drew them to a stop. “Yes.”

Caroline leaned in toward him, noting that he was staring at the house. She shook his arm. “What is it?”

“I wrote to her not only about us getting married, but about how I had paid for everything throughout the years. I felt she needed to know. She never responded. Mind you, we have been traveling, but…” He shifted his jaw.

Caroline gently nudged him. “That part of your life doesn’t exist anymore. It is done. It is over.”