Lovers Forever (3 page)
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
To her relief, it was not Avery's menacing form that appeared in the opened doorway, but those of her two aunts, their faces tense with anxiety. Aunt Meg held a warning finger to her lips as she caught sight of Tess. Hester was directly behind her, carrying a small bag and a candle.
The painful knot in her stomach that had been her constant companion since Avery had locked the door vanished, and with deep affection she stared at the two women entering the room.
Margaret Mandeville had been considered a great beauty in her day and at seventy-one was still striking, with her softly rounded chin and straight little nose. She had inherited the icy blue eyes of the Mandevilles, but there was normally such gentle humor in their depths that one soon forgot their frosty hue. Usually her expression conveyed open delight and sweet agreeability, and that made her a universal favorite of nearly everyone who met her.
It was clear Margaret took after the Mandeville side of the family, which was only natural, considering that she had been Gregory's much younger sister. Hester was clearly related to herâshe had the thick fair hair of the Mandevilles but also possessed her grandmother Theresa's beautiful violet-shaded eyes.
Staring at the pair of them as they rushed up to her, Tess felt her eyes sting with tears. They had never failed her, and even now they were running a terrible risk coming to her this way. If Avery should find them . . .
“Hurry, child, we must get you away this instant,” Aunt Meg said in hushed tones. “I gave him all the laudanum I had on hand in his wine at dinner, but it wasn't very much, and although he is sleeping soundly at the table at this very minute, I do not know how long we have. I dismissed that impertinent butler of his and told him Avery had given word that he wouldn't need him anymore this evening. The man couldn't very well argue with me, but he did not like it! We dare not tarryâyou must be gone from here this instant. There is not a moment to lose!”
“But what . . . ? How did you . . . ?” Tess asked disjointedly, trying to grasp this unexpected change of events.
Her blue eyes smiling gently, the cloud of white hair framing her still pretty features, her great-aunt murmured, “How did we know what he planned? I suspected something was going on the minute the messenger arrived with Rockwell's letter this afternoon while you were gone. Avery glanced at it, and such a scowl marred his features! He disappeared immediately into the library, and when he came out several minutes later and dismissed all the servants, except those two rascally creatures he brought with him from the continent, I just knew he was up to no good! But I couldn't decide what it could be, until he sent Lowell upstairs to put the letter in your room and I spied your uncle's handwriting on it when we passed on the stairs. When I realized that he had read your letter from Rockwell, it wasn't hard to figure out.” Aunt Meg suddenly flushed. “After Lowell had come back down, I slipped upstairs and into your room and, I'm ashamed to admit it, child, read Rockwell's letter, too, but only after I saw that Avery had opened itâI never meant to snoop! Once I learned that Rockwell was coming, I knew that Avery would be forced to act immediately if he didn't want you and your fortune to escape from him.” Contritely she added, “I know he is an unpleasant man, but I never really thought he would go this far. I'm sorry, my dear, that I didn't realize the danger. I would never have put you at risk, if I'd even suspected for a moment that he was of the same monstrous stripe as my late brother.”
“But what about you?” Tess asked worriedly. “Once he awakes and finds me gone he's going to know that you helped meâI cannot leave you here alone with him!”
“Do not worry about us,” Aunt Meg said firmly. “You are the one in the most pressing danger. He may suspect our part in your escape, but he cannot prove anything without admitting his own cold-blooded plan.”
Hester agreed. “Tess, he is no doubt going to wake up with a terrible head later, and if Aunt Meg and I greet whatever tack he tries with us with wide-eyed innocence, he is probably not going to believe that we were able to plumb his plans or that we would drug him, steal his key, and set you free.” Hester smiled deprecatingly. “Look at usâwould you suspect us of such nefarious activities?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Tess had to smother a chuckle. Two more unlikely miscreants would be hard to find. Both her great-aunt and her aunt were, like herself, small women, finely made with daintily shaped figures. Neither woman was any longer in the first blush of youth, and with their gentle manners, Aunt Meg's fluffy white hair, and Hester's clear, candid violet eyes, it would be hard to think them guilty of anything more serious than napping through vespers!
Choking back a sob mingled with laughter and despair, Tess shook her head. “No, and I'm quite certain that you would be able to pull the wool over most people's eyes, but...”
Aunt Meg clucked her tongue. “Stop it! We are not in dangerâyou are.” Sending her great-niece a look of mock severity, she said firmly, “If you are really worried about us, you will leave immediately. The sooner you are gone, the sooner we can return to Avery the key to your room and remove ourselves to the safety of our roomsâwhere that monster will find us soundly asleep when he finally does awaken.”
Not giving Tess a chance to argue, Hester thrust the small bag she was carrying into her hand and said, “We gathered up all our ready money and packed some cold meat and cheese for your journey. Once Aunt Meg informed me about the contents of the letterâwe didn't have much time to plan things.” Hester took a deep breath. “You must get away from here at once!”
Still Tess hesitated, unwilling to leave the other two. A stubborn expression on her face, she demanded, “Why can't you come with me? You know my uncles will welcome you and protect you from Avery.”
Aunt Meg pursed her lips. “And how do you expect us to come with you? I'm sure that between us we could harness the horses to the coach and, more than likely, manage to drive the vehicle, but we would have to stick to the main roads and we would be traveling much slower than a horse and rider. Should Avery attempt to find you, people are more likely to remember a coach than a lone rider.” She sent Tess a kind look. “My dear, it has been a number of years since we have done any serious riding. We would only imperil your escape.”
“She's right, and you know it Tess,” Hester added grimly. “You have to go alone. And if we are not to come to grief, you must leave now!”
For a second longer, Tess stood there. Then, the bag Hester had thrust at her in one hand and the pillowcase containing her jewelry box in the other, she flung her arms first around Aunt Meg, then Hester, and muttered, “I'll be back for you! I will not desert you to Avery's care.”
“Of course you won't,” Aunt Meg said soothingly. “Now
go!”
go!”
Without a backward glance, Tess left the room, running down the wide hallway. Her eyes half blinded by the unshed tears that shimmered in their depths, her ears alert to any sound of danger, she swiftly made her way to the rear of the house, to the long gallery that ran across the back of one entire wing. Off the gallery there was a large balcony with a stone staircase curving grandly down to the terrace below; this seemed her safest choice for escaping unseen by either of the two remaining house servants.
Breathless, her heart thumping madly in her breast, Tess finally made it to the gallery. Stopping for a moment, she glanced around nervously, the silence of the house unnerving, and again she was struck by the uneasy sensation that the house itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting . . . waiting. . .
Tess shook off her fears and took a resolute step forward, wishing she had remembered earlier how spooky it was at night in this section of the house, how lonely, how deserted, how the shadows seemed to leap out at one in the flickering light from the burning candles that reposed in a pair of sconces at either end of the room.
The gallery was long and narrow, the high walls hung with portraits of the ancestors of the Mandeville family; as she moved slowly along its length, Tess felt as if the condemning gazes of all those long dead Mandevilles were burning daggers into her back. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the far end and the light, little though it was, from the other pair of sconces. The double doors that led to the balcony were directly in front of her, and she stopped, her hand on the silver-plated doorknob, to glance across at the picture of her great-grandmother, the tragic Dalby heiress, Theresa....
In the dancing shadows, it seemed to Tess that Theresa was staring directly at her. The portrait was full length and had been painted the spring of the year Theresa had disappeared with Benedict Talmage, the seventh earl of Sherbourne. Theresa had been twenty-one at the time and in the full bloom of her breathtaking beauty. She had been painted standing near a lily pond, her gown in the style of the times, yards and yards of boldly striped Spitalfields silk, her hooped skirt falling gracefully in a bell shape, her lovely flame red hair built up with plaiting and festooned with ribbons and flowers. Tess had frequently stood in front of this particular portrait, wondering what had gone on behind those sad eyes, and again she felt the link, the inexplicable link she often felt with Theresa. The power of it this night was suddenly so strong, she nearly gasped aloud.
The wide violet eyes seemed to beseech her, to beg her, to
plead
with her, not to tarry, to hurry, to run as far and as fast as she could. Tess stared, mesmerized, at the portrait; her blood seemed to pump in rhythm with the message in Theresa's eyesârun, run,
run
! And she did.
plead
with her, not to tarry, to hurry, to run as far and as fast as she could. Tess stared, mesmerized, at the portrait; her blood seemed to pump in rhythm with the message in Theresa's eyesârun, run,
run
! And she did.
Chapter Three
N
icolas Talmage, the tenth earl of Sherbourne, tried to convince himself that he was
not
running away. But try as he might, the unpleasant suspicion that there was a strong odor of a decidedly hasty retreat about his impending departure did not sit easy with him.
icolas Talmage, the tenth earl of Sherbourne, tried to convince himself that he was
not
running away. But try as he might, the unpleasant suspicion that there was a strong odor of a decidedly hasty retreat about his impending departure did not sit easy with him.
Idly watching his lantern-jawed valet, Lovejoy, pack his belongings, Nicolas told himself firmlyâand for perhaps the fifth time that eveningâthat he was merely returning to his estate in Kent to spend the winter as so many of his friends had done. With the City so thin of company, there was no reason for him to stay. He would just have to renew his quest for a bride in the spring, when a new and hopefully more appealing crop of marriage-minded females would be put forth.
Only partially satisfied with his own explanation of why he was departing so unexpectedly tomorrow afternoon for his ancestral estates, when it was well known that he had planned to stay at the Sherbourne House in Grosvenor Square until January, Nicolas picked up his goblet of port and took another sip. As his fine black eyes continued to monitor Lovejoy's deft movements around the room, he told himself again that it was just time to leave. There was no reason to stay.
The fact that he had just learned that the lovely, widowed Lady Halliwell was remaining in town through the winter did not have any bearing on his change of plans. Nor did the fact, he thought stubbornly, that she had hinted, oh so delicately, not three hours ago at Lady Grover's ball that she would not object to forming a closer alliance with him have
anything
to do with his sudden desire to return to Sherbourne Court....
anything
to do with his sudden desire to return to Sherbourne Court....
The truth of the matter was that he found the young woman extremely temptingâhe found her so tempting, in fact, that three years previously he had taken one look at her beautiful face and had, for the first time in his life, fallen head over heels in love. He had been home, on leave, while he recuperated from a wound he had received at the Battle of Vimeiro in Portugal and had come to London with his brother, Randal, to spend a few weeks before returning to the war on the continent. It had been in the fall of 1808 at the start of the “little” season in London, and Maryanne Blanchard, as she was called then, had been only seventeen years old and already a great beauty and an accomplished flirt.
Possessing a beguiling smile, a head full of soft, fair hair, and china blue eyes along with a face to make the gods swoon, Maryanne had become the cynosure of all eyes no matter where she went that season. Nicolas found himself utterly dazzled by her.
Nicolas had left Sherbourne Court at an early age to begin his military career, and having spent several years with Sir Arthur Wellesley in India before fighting in Portugal, he was far more worldly and older than most of the young men who flocked to worship at the feet of the latest “Incomparable.” But even at the grand age of twenty-nine, he had almost immediately fallen under her spell and had paid the young beauty assiduous court. It was common knowledge that her family was expecting Maryanne to marry well to retrieve the family wealth, but despite his lack of any fortune, for several weeks that fall Nicolas was the odds-on favorite for the hand of the fair Blanchard. When it appeared that the Beauty seemed to be found most frequently in his company, the wagering on his chances of success reached a fevered pitch in the various gentlemen's clubs about the city.
At that time, Nicolas had possessed neither fortune nor title, as the youngest and second son of Lord Sherbourne, and a military career was all that had been open to himâa life in the clergy, frequently the other career for second sons, had not even been considered. But if Nicolas had lacked a fortune, he had been blessed with charm aplenty and as handsome and manly a face and form as any maiden could have wished. With his black curly hair and laughing black eyes, broad shoulders, and elegantly muscled legs, it was no wonder that he was a great favorite among the ladies. The gentlemen, too, found him very agreeable company, and it was the consensus of many of Maryanne's suitors that if
someone
had to marry the Blanchard Beauty, a better candidate than Lieutenant Nicolas Talmage couldn't be found.
someone
had to marry the Blanchard Beauty, a better candidate than Lieutenant Nicolas Talmage couldn't be found.
Unfortunately, it wasn't too long before polite society was titillated by the antics of a man older than Maryanne's own fatherâthe notorious duke of Halliwell. Having watched the courtship of Nicolas and Maryanne for some weeks with cynical, calculating eyes, the duke finally decided to put an end to the nonsense. Halliwell let it be known, and not too discreetly, that since the time of mourning for his late wife, a poor downtrodden creature known more for her wealth and breeding than her beauty, was over, he was looking to marry to please himself. Wealth or even breeding didn't matter so much this time, as he had already done his duty and provided for the continuation of his line with his first wife. Wealthy, powerful, and arrogant, he soon made it clear that if the Blanchard Beauty married anyone that season, it was going to be he. Sir George, Maryanne's father, immediately began to be seen quite frequently in the company of Lord Halliwell. When it was learned that the Beauty and her family were to spend the Christmas holidays at the duke's palatial home in Derbyshire, the odds favoring Nicolas in the betting books changed dramatically.
Nicolas couldn't believe that he had been ousted so easily from Maryanne's affections, but all too soon it was obvious, even to him, that the Beauty had decided to marry for the wealth and power she would have as the wife of a duke rather than endure the uncertain life she would face as the wife of a mere lieutenant. He had been utterly disillusioned and certain that his heart had been shattered. It had been with a great deal of disgust that he had put London and the Blanchard Beauty behind him and returned to the war in Portugal.
Taking a long, slow sip of his port, Nicolas reflected ironically on the vagaries of fate. Who could have known that two short years later, not only would his father, Francis, have died, but that his brother would die without issue and that the once “mere” lieutenant would inherit everythingâthe title, the great wealth, the broad fertile acres, and one of the most notable estates in England? He smiled cynically. Or that the duke would die within eighteen months of his marriage to the lovely Maryanne?
Upon her stepson's inheritance of the title and all the vast wealth of the Halliwells, Maryanne had been politely removed from Halliwell House and banished to the far less magnificent Dower House. Fortunately, she had a generous settlement and spent most of her time in London, living in the imposing town house the old duke had bestowed upon her when they had married. Not yet twenty-one, at the height of her beauty and charm, possessed now of her own respectable fortune, she was once again, not surprisingly, surrounded by a court of eager admirers and suitors.
But
I
ain't among them! Nicolas thought sourly as he tossed off the last of his wine. Thinking of the lonely, bitter nights he had spent upon his return to Portugal three years ago, drowning his sorrows in far too many nights of hard drinking and taking foolhardy risks with his life in battle as he tried to forget a particular pair of china blue eyes, he knew he wasn't about to walk down
that
path again! Especially since he suspected that the dowager duchess of Halliwell wouldn't have wasted a second glance on him if he had returned to England as Lieutenant Nicolas Talmage instead of the earl of Sherbourne!
I
ain't among them! Nicolas thought sourly as he tossed off the last of his wine. Thinking of the lonely, bitter nights he had spent upon his return to Portugal three years ago, drowning his sorrows in far too many nights of hard drinking and taking foolhardy risks with his life in battle as he tried to forget a particular pair of china blue eyes, he knew he wasn't about to walk down
that
path again! Especially since he suspected that the dowager duchess of Halliwell wouldn't have wasted a second glance on him if he had returned to England as Lieutenant Nicolas Talmage instead of the earl of Sherbourne!
Regrettably, even knowing that money and a title meant more to Maryanne than an honest love, Nicolas still found her undeniably alluring. Too alluring, he admitted grimly. His dreams of late had been filled with her, and the seductive notion that he could have her this time, in his arms and in his bed, that his reluctant search for a bride to provide the necessary heirs for the Sherbourne title would be over, had begun to occur with disturbing regularity. By marrying her, he could have everything he wanted, the beautiful woman who had haunted his dreams for far too long and the wife he needed to bear his sons.
His handsome mouth twisted. If only he could pretend her marriage hadn't happened or at least forget the
reasons
she had married one of the most notorious old rakes in England. The fact that she had lain in the arms of another man didn't bother himâthere was much to be said for an experienced womanâbut it rankled him to know that if he married her, it would be his title and fortune that had persuaded her to accept him. He might need to get married, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be snared by a seductive, fortune-hunting little witch!
reasons
she had married one of the most notorious old rakes in England. The fact that she had lain in the arms of another man didn't bother himâthere was much to be said for an experienced womanâbut it rankled him to know that if he married her, it would be his title and fortune that had persuaded her to accept him. He might need to get married, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be snared by a seductive, fortune-hunting little witch!
He scowled. And he was
not
running away from Lady Halliwell!
not
running away from Lady Halliwell!
Before he could continue the fruitless argument with himself, there was a tap on the door to his bedchamber. Upon his command to enter, the door swung open to reveal the plump form of his London butler, Buffington. His bald pate gleaming in the glow from the candelabra that lit the room, his blue eyes full of discreet curiosity, Buffington bowed and proffered a silver salver.
“A gentleman caller, Your Lordship. I, ahem, took the liberty of ordering refreshments for him and showed him into the library.”
Mystified by who would be calling at this time of night and who could warrant such obsequious behavior from a man freely stigmatized by Lovejoy as a “stiff-rumped old maggot,” Nicolas set down his goblet and took up the small white card that lay in the center of the salver. One of his thick black brows arched as he read the name on the card. Roxbury? Now why in the deuce was that sly old rascal calling on him?
A thoughtful expression on his handsome face, Nicolas glanced across at Lovejoy, who had ceased his packing when Buffington had entered the room and was watching him expectantly. They had been together a long timeâsince Nicolas had joined the army and Lovejoy had come along with him as his batmanâand there were few people Nicolas regarded with higher affection or respect. They had faced violent death together in India and Portugal, and upon occasion each had risked his life for the other. Consequently, Lovejoy was more than just his valet.
Meeting Lovejoy's eyes, Nicolas shook his head slightly and murmured, “It's nothingâcontinue as you were. I still plan for us to leave as soon as possible tomorrow afternoon.”
Walking down the grand staircase, Nicolas pondered all the various reasons for a visit from the duke of Roxbury but could come up with nothing that made any sense. He hardly even knew the older man, although he knew that Roxbury and his father had been friends and that Randal had counted the duke's heir, Viscount Norwood, as one of his closest companions in debauchery. He could remember no more than a half a dozen times that he'd ever exchanged more than polite conversation with the man who was now waiting for him in his library.
It wasn't that Nicolas didn't know
of
Roxbury; everyone knew the duke of Roxbury. He was a wealthy and powerful man and a notable and admired figure about town. He was also, it was whispered, a man not to cross as well as the exquisitely delicate hand behind many a diplomatic, and sometimes not-so-diplomatic, coup. He was reputed to have tentacles in places and events where one would never expect to find a lord of the realm, and his power with those in high places was enormousâit was said that not one important event occurred in England, or anywhere else, for that matter, that Roxbury did not know about . . . or hadn't arranged. So what, Nicolas wondered, does he want with me?
of
Roxbury; everyone knew the duke of Roxbury. He was a wealthy and powerful man and a notable and admired figure about town. He was also, it was whispered, a man not to cross as well as the exquisitely delicate hand behind many a diplomatic, and sometimes not-so-diplomatic, coup. He was reputed to have tentacles in places and events where one would never expect to find a lord of the realm, and his power with those in high places was enormousâit was said that not one important event occurred in England, or anywhere else, for that matter, that Roxbury did not know about . . . or hadn't arranged. So what, Nicolas wondered, does he want with me?
Entering the library, he found the object of his speculations, a tall, silver-haired gentleman looking very elegant in a black velvet jacket and pearl gray kerseymere breeches, sipping a snifter of brandy. He appeared quite at his ease and was comfortably ensconced in a channel-backed chair near the fire in the marble-fronted fireplace against the far wall. The merrily leaping flames brought out the rich tones of the many-colored leather-bound volumes that lined the walls of the room and intensified the hues of the scarlet-and-gold Aubusson carpet that lay upon the floor.
Looking up and seeing Nicolas standing there just inside the doorway, Roxbury smiled, his deceptively sleepy gray eyes betraying nothing. “Ah, you
are
at homeâyour butler didn't want to commit himself when I arrived, but he very kindly saw to my comfort before he went in search of you.”
are
at homeâyour butler didn't want to commit himself when I arrived, but he very kindly saw to my comfort before he went in search of you.”
Crossing the room and helping himself to some of the brandy that reposed in a crystal decanter nearby, Nicolas smiled faintly. “He is not normally quite so hospitable to strangers who come calling at this time of night.”
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