Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance) (35 page)

“I forgive you,” Marian smiled, patting his hand.

“For the hundredth time,” Pemberly added with a grunt.

“It’s just, I’ve never had a sister before… and I almost didn’t, because I was such an ass,” Andrew explained morosely.

“Yes, well, your brother was a bigger ass, and he still managed to make amends,” Marian grinned as she looked at Evan.

Evan gave her a mocking little smile back.

“So you can stop apologizing,” Pemberly instructed Andrew.

“I just – ”

“No! Stop!” Pemberly commanded, like he was yelling at a dog.

“I was just going to say that I’m sorry Father wouldn’t come,” Andrew said.

Marian looked at Evan, whose jaw set grimly. He had taken Marian to Blakewood shortly after their return, but his homecoming had not been a happy one. The entire reason for the visit was to inform Lord Blake of his intention to marry, and it ended with the old man threatening to disinherit Evan if he married ‘a serving wench, a scullery whore.’

Evan had courteously told his father that he respected him, and that if he must be disinherited in order to marry the woman he loved, so be it. And with that, he took Marian’s hand and walked out of Blakewood as the old man screamed behind them.

Her heart ached for him at that moment, and she felt guilty beyond compare.

But she was more assured of his love for her at that moment than any time before or since.

Evan shrugged. “Ah well.”

“It was an immense sacrifice,” she said quietly, “and I want you to know that I am more grateful than you can imagine.”

Evan looked at her, smiled the tiniest bit, and kissed her hand. “I got the better part of the bargain.”

“Hear, hear,” Pemberly said. “A bright day for you, Blake, and a dark day for me. You have taken the best woman off the market, and I shall never have the chance of winning her love.”

“Dear Pemberly, I hate to crush your fantasies, but you never had a chance of winning my love to begin with,” she laughed.

Evan winced the tiniest bit, for he knew how deeply Pemberly’s feelings ran. Marian did not. She thought it was all in fun, or she never would have jested.

The imp drew himself up in mock seriousness. “In that case, madam, I shall devote my life to drinking to assuage the pain of my loss.”

“You were drinking long before I met you.”

“Then it was time well spent. But, on a serious note for a moment… I want to let the both of you know that you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish. As long as you wish!” he declared theatrically, then paused. “Within reason.”

“We will not impose upon you too long, I promise. No more than a year or two,” Evan teased.

“What will you do?” Andrew asked. “Seriously?”

Evan folded his hands behind his head. “I have just married an internationally renowned writer. I plan to become a kept man.”

Marian laughed.

“Speaking of which, have you started writing the tale of your exploits in France?” Pemberly asked.

“Including the return of the heroine’s long-lost love, and their death-defying escape from the walls of Paris? I have,” Marian said. “But if I include all the details, it will be banned in France for sure.”

“Do it!” Pemberly commanded. “It will sell ten times better.”

“What happened to that French publisher you helped escape?” Andrew asked.

“I received a letter from him just the other day,” Pemberly interjected, “in which he told me to relate to you that he is eternally grateful. He and his family escaped to Switzerland, where they are safe and doing well.”

“Thank God,” Evan murmured.

Marian put her hand in his, and they looked lovingly into one another’s eyes.

“Seriously, what will you do?” Andrew asked again.

“You are like a parrot, sir, repeating the same phrase over and over,” Pemberly snapped.

“You should be happy to have him call you that, Andrew,” Marian teased. “He called me a parrot once, and my fortunes changed dramatically afterward.”

“I only ask because… well… I feel guilty about what has happened,” Andrew said. “You have made me the sole inheritor and the future Baron Blake, all in one stroke.”

“You have the most delicate way of putting things, sir,” Pemberly sneered.

Marian squeezed her husband’s hand.

Evan shrugged again. “He is only telling the truth,” he said to Pemberly.

“I believe we have forgiven you any past transgressions, Brother, but dear Pemberly has not,” Marian said in a stage whisper to Andrew.

“Nor
shall
I,” Pemberly snorted.

“Well, I… I just wanted to… to make amends,” Andrew stumbled on. “In some small way, and I know it might be gauche to do it now, but… I did not want you to leave without knowing…”

He pulled an envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Evan, who took it with a curious frown.

Then he opened it, and stared. “Good God, Andrew – how did you get this much?!”

“I learned a few things during your long… ah… that period when you were drinking.”

Marian leaned over, and Evan showed her. Immediately her eyes widened in shock, and she stared up at her brother-in-law.

“What? How much is it?” Pemberly asked.

Evan put the envelope inside his jacket pocket. “Never you mind.”

“Tell me!” Pemberly whined like a spoiled child.

“Enough that you should be all right for the first several years, I hope,” Andrew grinned. Then he grew serious. “But if you need more, just ask. A word, and I will help in whatever way I can.”

“That, plus what I earn from my writings, should be quite sufficient for a long time to come,” Marian said, and grasped Andrew’s hand. “Thank you.”

“And where will this ‘long time to come’ be?” Pemberly asked. “Here in London?”

Evan and Marian looked at each other.

“I don’t think so,” Evan responded.

“Well, where, then? North or south? The Lake District? The countryside? Please God don’t tell me you’re moving to Manchester or Liverpool. I shall have to disown you myself if that is the case.”

“We were thinking perhaps somewhere… outside of England,” Marian answered.

Both Andrew and Pemberly stared at her.

“Well, you’re not going back to France –
please
tell me you’re not going back to France,” Pemberly said.

Marian smiled sadly. “No.”

“Then where? Spain? Belgium? Oh God, not the Netherlands. Anywhere but the Netherlands. All those windmills and wooden shoes…” Pemberly moaned as he took a sip of port.

Marian and Evan looked at each other again.

“We were thinking… of America,” Marian said.

Pemberly nearly spat out his drink. “America?! Why, in God’s name?”

“The land of Jefferson and Franklin,” Evan smiled at his bride.

“Where all men are created equal. Without the threat of the guillotine,” she added with a shudder.

“All
men
,” Pemberly pointed out. “Not women.
Men.
”

“Give them time,” Marian said. “They’ll correct their mistake. Who knows, perhaps I’ll even help them.”

Pemberly looked at her through narrowed eyes. “If anyone else had just told me that, I would have laughed until I wet myself. But you… with you, I halfway believe it. Of course, you’ll continue writing,” he added slyly.

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be your English publisher with exclusive rights, of course?”

“Of course,” she laughed.

“Then I suppose we ought to drink a toast to it,” Pemberly sighed. “To America… and their farmers… and Puritans… and dreary lack of culture…”

“To America, and your brilliant future!” Andrew shouted, raising his glass.

“To America!” Evan and Marian laughed.

“God help us all,” Pemberly muttered.

Having a good deal more sense than Evan’s younger brother, Pemberly finally dragged Andrew away upstairs to bed.

Evan and Marian were left alone on the terrace under the stars.

“Now that all prying ears are gone, a private toast,” Evan proposed. He poured more champagne in their glasses, then walked over to his wife, who stood by the stone balustrade overlooking the gardens.

“Will it be naughty?” she asked mischievously.

“
That
I will save for the marriage bed,” he smiled. “This I would prefer to be romantic.”

He handed her a glass. The bubbles in the wine sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

“To the most beautiful, most amazing woman I have ever met… who forgave me my foolishness, and has made me the happiest man alive.”

“To the man I have loved since I first saw him,” she smiled, her eyes misting. “And who risked his life to remind me of that.”

“To the woman who was worth that risk a thousand times over… and whom I will never, ever let go again,” he whispered in her ear.

They drank, set aside their glasses, and kissed – tenderly, passionately, completely in love.

First, if you have read
Pride and Passion
, then thank you. This is my first novel, and I hope you enjoyed it.

Could I ask you a favor? If you liked
Pride and Passion
, could you please, please leave a review on Amazon, or BarnesAndNoble.com, or iTunes, or wherever you purchased it?

Reviews help sell books, from what I'm told – and I need all the help I can get!

Second, I'm not sure when my next novel will come out, but if you would like to be added to a mailing list, please email me at
[email protected]
and I will let you know as soon as the next novel is published.

Likewise, though I am a fan of historical romance, I am not the world's best researcher. I tried to do my best, but I am sure there are many errors in the book – in how people of different classes address one another, anachronisms, terminology, geography, historical details, etc. If you notice something particularly glaring, could you email me and let me know? I would greatly appreciate it. Just think of it as saving your fellow readers from my faults!

Lastly, I owe a great debt of gratitude to Grace Elliott, a Scottish-born woman who lived in Paris during the French Revolution. (You may have noticed that Dardanelle's maid mentions a Madame Elliott. That's her.) Elliott's memoir
My Life During The French Revolution
provided key plot points taken from her real-life experiences, like Evan's hiding place and the crack in the wall around Paris.

Once again, thank you for reading this book. I hope you enjoyed it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Amelia Nolan
[email protected]

PASSION AND PRIDE

Copyright 2012 Amelia Nolan

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, used, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Amelia Nolan.

Edition: September 2012