Historical Romance – The Best Of The Year. Кэрол Мортимер

the month nurse, and Lord Rotham ordered that Colne should treat the servants to a few bottles of his best claret to toast the health of his new grandson, James Jerome Albury.

      With each day the viscount became more cheerful, never more so than on the first evening that Dominique was well enough to come downstairs for dinner. She took her place opposite her mother, while Gideon and his father sat at each end of the small table in the oak parlour. Conversation was desultory, until the covers were removed and Mrs Rainault announced that she should be thinking of returning to Martlesham.

      ‘I have rather neglected my letter writing since being here with you,’ she told Dominique, when she protested.

      ‘Surely you can write your letters anywhere,’ remarked the viscount.

      ‘Why, yes, my lord, but I have taken advantage of your hospitality long enough.’

      The viscount sat back and steepled his long fingers together.

      ‘I wonder, ma’am, if you might consider moving to Rotham? I own a small house in the village that is empty at present.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I would like to help you in your efforts to find out what has happened to your husband—Gideon has told me of your quest, ma’am, and Lord Martlesham’s—er—reluctance to help you.’

      Dominique looked up. ‘I believe he discarded Mama’s letters, rather than frank them.’

      The viscount frowned. ‘That would not happen at Rotham, I assure you.’

      ‘But we must not raise false hopes,’ said Gideon quickly. ‘Our lawyer in London has been looking into the case, but we have had no luck at all.’

      ‘Rogers is a good man,’ said the viscount. ‘I am sure he has gone through all the official channels.’

      ‘I believe so, my lord.’ Dominique sighed.

      ‘I, on the other hand,’ he murmured, ‘will go through rather more—unofficial channels.’

      Dominique stared at the viscount. He was sipping his wine, that disturbing twinkle in his eyes.

      ‘Would you do that for me, my lord? For Jerome?’ Mrs Rainault gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘I beg your pardon, but I know—that is, I am aware—that you have no cause to think kindly of any Girondin.’

      ‘Dominique has told me your husband advocated moderation. I understand he gave up the chance to come to England with you because he wanted to save his king.’

      ‘That is true, my lord, but we have heard nothing for so many years.’

      He smiled. ‘Let me see what I can do for you, Mrs Rainault.’

      * * *

      By the end of the evening it had all been arranged. Mrs Rainault would remain as the viscount’s guest until her maid had returned from Martlesham with her belongings.

      ‘I am amazed and so grateful for your father’s kindness,’ exclaimed Dominique, when Gideon escorted her upstairs later that evening. ‘Especially when he has as little cause to like the French as—’ She broke off, flushing.

      ‘As I have,’ he finished for her. ‘I beg your pardon, Dominique. I treated you very badly when we first met.’

      His use of her name again brought a flush of pleasure to her cheek.

      ‘But the provocation was very great,’ she admitted.

      ‘True, but I should not have reacted as I did.’ He stopped on the stairs and turned to her. ‘Can you forgive me, my dear?’

      Forgive him for marrying her? For making her fall in love with him?

      ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

      He kissed her hand.

      ‘You are too good,’ he told her, moving on. ‘It is no wonder that my father wants to do all he can to help you and your mother.’

      ‘Just to have someone supporting her has made Maman so very happy.’

      ‘And what of you?’ he asked her.

      ‘I would just like to know the truth. It has been so long and we have heard nothing.’

      He put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm.

      ‘If anyone can find the truth it is my father. Although he has lived retired for the past decade, he is not without influence.’ They had reached the door of her bedchamber and he stopped, leaning down to kiss her cheek. ‘Sleep well, my dear.’

      * * *

      It was the end of March when Gideon took his wife and child to Chalcots. Thomas ran out to open the carriage door, puffing out his chest to show off his new butler’s livery.

      ‘Welcome, Mr Albury, ma’am.’

      Silently Gideon jumped out and helped Dominique to alight, leaving Thomas to assist the maid who was following with the baby. Just when he thought he could wait no longer for her opinion of their new home, Dominique squeezed his arm.

      ‘Oh, Gideon, it is lovely.’

      He grinned and realised how anxious he had been for her to like the house.

      ‘I hope I have followed all the suggestions you sent me in your letters.’ He took her hand. ‘Come in out of the cold.’

      ‘Everything is ready for you, sir,’ said Thomas when they reached the hall. ‘There is a good fire in the drawing room and Mrs Thomas has set out wine and cakes, too.’

      ‘Perhaps you would prefer to rest first,’ suggested Gideon as he lifted her travelling cloak from her shoulders and handed it to the waiting footman.

      Dominique did not answer immediately, for she was issuing instructions to the maid to take Baby James upstairs. Then, tentatively, she took his hand.

      ‘May we look around first? I am not in the least tired, I assure you. Now that I have a wet nurse to feed little James I no longer have to coddle myself so.’

      ‘It is not only for our son that I wish you to look after yourself.’

      Dominique’s heart swelled with happiness at his words. She hoped, now they had a home of their own, that he might share her bed again and that his professed affection might blossom into love.

      * * *

      The house was everything Dominique had imagined. The reception rooms were light and elegant, the nursery perfect for a growing family. For her family. Word soon spread that the Alburys were at Chalcots and the invitations began to arrive, a trickle at first, but after Mrs Albury’s Court presentation they became a flood. She was delighted that Gideon insisted upon accompanying her to all the balls, parties and receptions, especially when they met Max at so many of the assemblies.

      ‘He is furious to see us so content,’ remarked Gideon as they drove back to Chalcots after one particularly pleasant evening. He patted her hand. ‘I cannot thank him enough for providing me with the perfect wife.’

      ‘Am I?’ murmured Dominique. ‘Do you really think me so perfect?’

      ‘Why, yes.’ Gideon lifted her hand to his lips. ‘I could not wish for a better.’

      She said daringly, ‘You do not d-demonstrate it.’

      There was an infinitesimal pause before he said lightly, ‘Faith, madam, I spend every day with you, is that not enough?’

      No, I want you with me every night, too!

      The words were loud enough in her head, but she could not bring herself to say them, afraid to see his warm looks turn to revulsion when she disclosed her wanton desire for him. She tried to convince herself Gideon was afraid for her, that he was trying to protect her, but when she looked in the mirror each morning a tiny demon in her head whispered that she was not the fair English rose he desired.

      * * *

      Dominique