Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (59 page)

“Forgive me, my lady, but where am I?”

“My name is Lady Moira Brighton, and this is my home, Ravensleigh.”

• • •

The night sky blanketed Ravensleigh when Lords Brighton and Kingsley entered the drawing room to inquire of the patient. It was explained to them by Lady Brighton that the doctor had left only half an hour prior.

“She is resting now,” she said. “He found it quite astonishing that she escaped such an incident with no more than a concussion and general soreness. He expects her to be up and about in a day or so.”

“What a relief!” cried Thayne. “I ought to censure you, Lord Kingsley, for allowing young ladies out to ride unaccompanied, but under the circumstances I trust you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Has she spoken?” asked Lord Kingsley. “Has there been an account of what happened?”

“She remembers nothing of the accident itself or what may have frightened the horse,” the lady continued. She paused as the men accepted their drinks from the servants. “There is one thing that disturbs me, though, Guilford. Miss Braden claims that before the accident she thought she saw someone, a man, following her.”

“Following her? A man, you say?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of man?”

“She gave no clear description. He was at a distance, she claims, but of dark complexion.” Turning to her son, she declared, “I thought perhaps you might have seen something, Thayne. After all, you witnessed the accident yourself.”

“I did,” he told her, “but I recall no man in the vicinity — no one at all but my driver and myself. You must allow, however, that in my fright for
her,
I was conscious only of Miss Braden and, even less so, the horse.”

“All suspicions aside, a man in such vicinity must have also seen the accident. That he did not also hurry to assist is disquieting to me,” Lady Brighton returned.

A pause of silence ensued, but nothing could be concluded in the matter.

“I am curious,” said Lady Brighton to Guilford, “as it is the nature of all women, to know who this lovely young lady is. Is she new to the area?”

“Yes, Lord Kingsley,” Thayne encouraged. “I should also like to know something about your guest.”

“Miss Braden has been in the area for almost a year now,” he told them. “She was my guest for part of that time.”

“I cannot recall seeing her at any of the social gatherings,” Lady Brighton continued. “She is quite stunning.”

Guilford gave a brief account of her history as daughter of the curate, to her schooling in France, to her recently ended period of mourning.

“As of these nine months past,” he concluded, “she is Audra’s governess.”

“Of course,” mumbled Thayne, who in his disappointment slumped deep into his chair.

This disclosure made it impossible for him to appear cheerful. The most heavenly creature he had ever had the pleasure to look upon, whose presence he had thought unworthy to stand within, and through the unfairness of society the angel was damned to the working class.
Quelle horreur!
A rising condemnation for social attitudes and structure rose in his breast.

Curate …

Braden …

All at once, Thayne was transported to a moment he had not thought of in some time. A day in his childhood when his dog had led him deep into the Kingsley woods. A day he ran into a fellow trespasser: the curate’s daughter. The very same red curls fell upon her neck then as they now lay upon the pillow in his guestroom.
Yours was the carriage that spoiled my blue dress.
The sentences that had passed between them came flooding back to him all at once and rendered him speechless. All that surrounded him now at Ravensleigh disappeared and he fell into a trance-like state. Thayne had always remembered their brief encounter, and the shock of this revelation was more than he could believe.
I have more right to be here than you, peasant.
Thayne’s stomach turned at his words to her and his pompous attitude.
You should apologize,
he heard her young voice say, repeatedly.

Thayne must have appeared quite pained, and it is no wonder, considering the thoughts that inwardly tortured him, that Lady Brighton said suddenly, “You look very ill, Thayne. Perhaps you ought to retire for the evening.”

For him, the return from these reflections was difficult. “Yes, Mother. I think I should,” he struggled to say. Turning to his guest, he offered, “The hour grows late, Lord Kingsley. Permit me to have a room prepared for you.”

“I thank you, Brighton,” he declared, “but my family will be wanting news. May I continue to leave Miss Braden in your kind care, Moira?”

“It needn’t be asked,” she avowed, as all in company arose.

“Your goodness exceeds that in all of Thornton, my dear lady. I’ll inquire of her progress in the morning.”

“We look forward to your call,” she declared.

“Goodnight to you both.”

“Goodnight.”

Thayne nodded as the butler saw Lord Kingsley out. When the door had closed, Lady Brighton gave her son an attentive look.

“You are out of spirits, Thayne. What is the matter?”

Thayne cared not that his countenance was now more clearly troubled.

“I am sure you will think me irrational, indeed, foolish,” he began, contemplatively. “I’ll have you know, Mother, that I am well aware of who I am. An Earl, Lord of Ravensleigh, owner of over fifteen hundred acres of country land, besides a house in town, with a family name that dates back generations, a seat in Parliament, and a fortune second only to Lord Kingsley’s throughout the country. All this, and yet, I have no one to share it with. I have been introduced to many women, in England and France, Greece and Italy, those women considered the loveliest, from the wealthiest families, educated, refined, distinguished, daughters of peers, renowned for their talents, with the sort of well-respected reputations that would befit someone of my station …”

Lady Brighton gave him a moment’s silence, before pressing him. “And so?” she encouraged.

He sighed. “So why is it,” he said, turning his glance to the door, “that out of all of them, the only one — and, I declare, she is the
only
one — ever to catch my attention, to intrigue me and bewitch me, all without a word, not a single one, is
Miss Kingsley’s governess
?”

• • •

Desmond paced the floor of the study, as he had for the last several hours, pausing only occasionally to look out the windows. The west faced a distant Ravensleigh and the south, the approach to Kingsley Manor. Earlier, the south had offered the most activity as Stowe, the gardener, tended to the grounds. He had seemed to enjoy his labor, but Desmond imagined it only a resignation, for who would prefer working in the garden to sitting comfortably in a study with a glass of port?

That was some time ago. At the moment, the west provided his only distraction, as a young manservant and a young maidservant met near a tree for a stolen kiss.
Such a dull, inferior existence
, thought Desmond. He felt relief he was not of their situation, born into poor families, damned to a life of drudgery. This thread of thought summoned Pierson to mind, a man born of a family whose connections were good, but whose habits brought him down in society. In Desmond’s mind, Pierson’s actions, though hardly honorable, ought not to sever him from the family. Lord Kingsley’s reasons for banishing him aside, family was all that he had for support, and Desmond did not disagree with his mother for allowing Pierson still into their lives, though against her husband’s wishes.

Suddenly, Desmond laughed to himself.
So many secrets,
he thought.
So, so many.

Miss Braden was soon present in his thoughts. A beautiful girl — among the handsomest he had come across in all his travels. Had her standing in society been different, he could easily see himself taking her for a bride and even, perhaps, being mildly contented with her for a short while. As it was, that could never be. Never could he publicly connect himself with such an unequal alliance. Privately was entirely different, of course. If she returned to the manor, she would make a very convenient mistress. He did not share his mother’s view that his father had already taken her thus and he could not help wondering if she would be easily persuaded …

It did not matter, Desmond decided. He was not expecting her to return.

A knock at the door halted his musings and Lydia Kingsley entered.

“Here you are. I have searched the whole house over looking for you,” she said, catching her breath. “The servants are already saying Guilford has found Rhianna Braden.”

Desmond turned to her coolly. “Dead?”

“No.”

Astonished, he ventured, “Well, go on.”

Lady Kingsley paced through the room. “The servants only know so much. It would seem she was thrown from her horse, but not very harmed.”

“I shall have to see for myself,” he said.

“Soon you shall. Very soon, I hear. As early as tomorrow or the day after, they are saying. I expect Guilford home shortly with more reliable information.”

“How interesting,” he thought aloud. “How
very
interesting.”

• • •

At once Rhianna recognized the name of Brighton. It was a name nostalgic of her childhood, but without the sweet indulgence such memories are oft to produce. The most arrogant, contemptuous, and insolent boy one could imagine — let alone confront in an actual existent representation (as such had been her misfortune) — was associated with it, and now he had come into her acquaintance once again. Yes, Thayne Brighton had grown to take his father’s title, as he once boasted, and was possessor of the very house whose roof covered her.

Surely
, thought she,
had he any notion of what position I held he would not have helped me.

Only, he
had
helped her. Indeed, while she spent the entire next day in his guestroom, surrounded by a sea of blankets and pillows, he concerned himself with her hourly, inquiring of her at every opportunity. How often she heard his voice on the opposite side of the door and with what earnestness he expressed in his tone! Rhianna knew that when the hour approached to speak with Lord Brighton she must be cordial to him. Even if his character was one she could not excuse, he had done her a great service. For this, she did wish to thank him, for she truly was appreciative.

Dr. Logan had instructed Rhianna to remain in bed for two full days. During that time, Lady Brighton was frequently with her and Rhianna could not but take pleasure in the lady’s company. She was certain that Thayne Brighton must have taken after his father’s disposition, as his mother displayed everything that was good and generous.

As the pain subsided and her power to hold conversation returned to her, Rhianna, for the first time since her departure from France, enjoyed with Lady Brighton something akin to the family atmosphere she knew with the Vallières. Surprised by what seemed an immediate friendship, Rhianna was even more surprised — after it was decided that she should return the following day to Kingsley Manor — to hear Lady Brighton acknowledge, as a woman frequently surrounded by her sons, she would miss Rhianna’s company.

On the morning of her departure from Ravensleigh, she saw him. Lady Brighton brought her to the drawing room where he and Lord Kingsley sat; both rose at her entrance. The walls were delicately adorned with Chinese wallpaper and the ceiling molding was finely executed in ivory-colored relief against a backdrop of pastel green. Rosewood tables and armchairs were strategically placed. As Rhianna was led near the fireplace where the men had been seated, she could not help but admire the lavish carving in the overmantel, an elaborate, marble chimneypiece. Opposite, a draped window curtain revealed a picturesque view of the drive she could not remember passing along three days previous.

An official introduction followed. Thayne, now a man of two and twenty, proved to have striking, even features, with dark, straight hair and sapphire eyes, outlined by thick, black lashes. She was surprised to see his face unveil a manly outline and square jaw that replaced the rounder, prepubescent face of the young boy she’d met years ago. Had Rhianna not disliked him so much, she might have even thought him handsome.

Lady Brighton offered an official introduction. Rhianna searched, but could find no hint of recognition in his gaze; neither could she find in his tall, strong frame any indication of dislike. On a further study of his demeanor, she found he presented himself most civilly. It was an unforeseen interview. Under no circumstances had she expected to find him at all mannerly.

Thayne bowed to her. “I took it upon myself to inquire of your health earlier, Miss Braden. May I again inquire to see if the report is as well now as it was earlier?”

“You may, and it is,” she told him, while examining his careless black coiffure and straight nose. “I cannot begin to express the extent of my gratitude — ”

“And you need not,” he interrupted, all thoughts connected with the unpleasant event seeming to him very disagreeable. “Please, it is most unnecessary. We are only glad to have you as our guest. Let us not make mention of it.”

She nodded assent. “Very well, Lord Brighton.”

Thayne motioned her to a Grecian chaise-lounge beside a mighty hearth where a great fire flamed and flared, and the four were soon seated.

“I neglected to mention last night,” said Lady Brighton to Guilford, “how very glad I am to see you so well. You seem quite a different person than you were a twelvemonth ago.”

“Quite so,” he returned, cheerfully. “No doubt my returned health was, in part, due to the good counsel of Doctor Logan and spending more time outdoors. It was very bad times then, however, and Miss Braden’s father was a source of great comfort to me.”

Rhianna glanced toward Thayne, but found no reaction in him of what she expected. There was no start, nor wonder in his looks. Either he was an excellent actor or Lord Brighton was already well aware of her background. He might not perhaps remember their past confrontation, but he was sensible of her position in society, her station in life. And still, he treated her respectfully and courteously.