Through Serena's Eyes

Through Serena’s Eyes Copyright  2000 Marjorie Daniels ISBN 1-58495-503-1 Electronically published in arrangement with ...

Author: Daniels Marjorie

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Through Serena’s Eyes Copyright  2000 Marjorie Daniels ISBN 1-58495-503-1 Electronically published in arrangement with the author ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information contact DiskUs Publishing http://www.diskuspublishing.com E-mail [email protected] DiskUs Publishing PO Box 43 Albany, IN 47320 * This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental. *

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Through Serena’s Eyes

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CHAPTER 1 Spring, 1813 Lord Clairmont was the most perfectly handsome man Serena had ever seen. Pulse racing, she forgot everything, mesmerized by the smile in his glittering black eyes as he lifted her right hand to his lips. Already, she was head over heels in love with her brother’s newly arrived houseguest. His glance flicked down and then froze. How could she have forgotten? Pulling away from him, she fought the urge to hide her shriveled left hand in the folds of her skirt. “Pray excuse me, Miss Warren,” he muttered, bowing formally and turning away to speak to her brother. Squelching the sudden lump in her throat, Serena glared at his powerful figure, disappearing with Tom through the doorway. She drew back her shoulders and took a deep, steadying breath. Her face grew hot. She had the urge to do something outrageous, something that would give the disdainful Lord Clairmont a jolt. Force him to confront the real Serena Warren. Springing up from her seat at the window of the drawing room she hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber, not bothering to control her limp even though Tom and his guest stood in the hallway. “I’m going out riding, Mary,” she told her maid. “Help me get changed.” Scarcely waiting for Mary to fasten the last button of her dark green riding habit, Serena flew down the stairs, down the long wide hall and out through the entrance leading to the stables. “ Get Taurus ready for me as quickly as you can, Wilf,” she told her groom, panting a little from her headlong rush. Brushing aside Wilf’s proffered hand, she clambered up onto the mounting block near the stable door, gathered the reins into her good right hand and directed Taurus out towards the front lawns. There he was, conversing with her brother, Tom. Like some immaculately dressed Greek God with curly black hair, Clairmont lounged beside a small table set with teacups. Perfectly chiseled features. Smug with the conviction of his own masculine attraction. Well, she would soon do something about that! Turning Taurus in the direction of the two men, she urged him on a course straight towards them. Clairmont looked up. Good, he had seen her. And she would soon wipe that supercilious look off his face.


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Serena knew exactly how to do it. She had practiced many times, after reading about the knights of old and their jousting. First, gathering speed towards the enemy. Then a slight swerve to avoid a collision. Then drive your lance through his heart and send him crashing to the ground. She saw Clairmont’s expression change from one of boredom to an awareness of danger. His eyes widened. His elegant eyebrows shot up. She laughed and kept right on towards him. At the very last moment she swerved Taurus aside and swept around her adversary. But not before he had leaped up, scattering plates and scones in all directions. Brown tea stains spattered down the front of his pale linen shirt and over the cuffs of his tightly fitted blue jacket. Serena wanted to scream with laughter. She wanted to stay and watch as he dabbed ineffectually at the spreading brown river on his cream buckskins. Dismiss her, as though she were some loathsome creature, would he? Well, now she had given him something else to think about. She wasn’t supposed to be capable of sitting a horse. She with her thin withered leg. And she wasn’t supposed to have the strength to control a horse with her crippled left hand. But her right hand was strong enough for two. One glimpse over her shoulder at the discomfited young dandy and the shocked face of her brother, and she spurred Taurus towards the woods bordering Bundle Hill, the family’s home since the time of Queen Anne. Once between the trees, far out of earshot of anyone back at home, she slowed Taurus to a walk, panting as much with triumph as with exertion. She had wiped that expression off his face. She had shown him that she was a real person with feelings. Feelings that could be hurt. She was sick of idiots like William Clairmont who obviously did not have a sensitive bone in his body. Then why did she feel so bad? Why was she leaning over her horse’s neck with tears coursing down her face? Were they tears of humiliation? Of rage? It was a long time since she had felt this way. And never before had she behaved in such a wild fashion.

“The woman is mad,” Clairmont said. He hurled his tea stained napkin in a gesture of frustration at the servants who came running to assist him. The expression on Tom Warren’s face was one of frozen shock and surprise. “I say, old man, I am most terribly sorry,” Warren said. “I have never seen my sister like that before. I cannot think what prompted her to such an action.” “Thank God your other sisters do not behave in such an outrageous fashion,” Clairmont spluttered. “I must go inside and change at once.” “Yes, of course, old man.” Tom Warren’s face was a study in puzzlement. Clairmont could see that his sister’s attack had been as unexpected to Warren as it had been to himself. Whatever had got into the strange creature? It didn’t bode well for the rest of his visit here, Clairmont reflected, if there


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were to be any repeats of the elder Miss Warren’s behavior. She surely must be affected in her mind as well as crippled in her body. He would have to remain on guard for the rest of his stay here. Pity really. Her face was actually quite stunningly beautiful. *** “Whatever came over you, Serena?” Lady Warren asked, coming into her daughter’s room later that day. Serena sighed as she faced the worried expression on her mother’s plump face. How could she ever explain, even to herself, the wild impulse that had driven her to behave in such an outrageous way. It had been the look on Clairmont’s face. He hadn’t seen her as a person. To him she was just a thing, without feelings that could be hurt. “I don’t know, Mama. I suppose I just wanted to show him…” Lady Warren raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I believe I can understand, my dear. However...” she shook her head. It seemed to Serena that her mother understood better than she did herself, because she had no idea what had provoked her to charge her horse full tilt at anyone, especially a man like Lord Clairmont. “All the same, my dear, I think you must apologize to the gentleman. After all, he is our guest as well as Tom’s.” Serena sighed. She never wanted to see ‘the gentleman’ again, but since he was apparently here to stay for three weeks, she could hardly avoid meeting him. Not that he would take the slightest notice of her, of course. But he had been forced to take notice of her this afternoon. She felt a glow of grim satisfaction. Not so grim, really. She felt full of mischief and selfrighteousness. No hint of her earlier remorse could she conjure up. “If you wish, I could send him a written apology, Mama.” “Good girl.” Her mother patted her arm and smiled, leaving Serena to take her seat before her writing desk. I’m twenty four and she still calls me ‘Good girl.’ Serena sighed again. Tom was but twenty-two, Louise nineteen and Fanny, the baby of the household, was fifteen. Only her brother Gilbert, at twenty-seven, was older. Perhaps Lady Warren thought of all her daughters as girls. But Serena knew that, unlike her sisters, there were no plans to find her a husband. With so many young beauties to be had, how could someone like herself ever expect to be married? She didn’t want to be married. She didn’t want to have children. There would be enough joy for her in playing aunt to the children of her sisters and brothers, when the time came. She was lying. ***


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Clairmont received the letter while his valet was arranging his cravat, shortly before it was time to go down to dinner. Flicking the seal off with his thumb he opened the sheet, smoothed it flat and read: Most Elegant and Godlike Sir: From your exalted position of perfection, pray accept the apologies of the most abject and imperfect of beings for believing for a fleeting moment that she should inhabit this earth, thereby spoiling the level of visual beauty to which you are accustomed. Lady Warren has instructed me to offer you apologies, to which end I send this letter. I remain, your imperfect, unrepentant but joyous servant, Serena Warren. The creature was mad as well as crippled. What execrable manners. He should go home without delay. Why was he getting himself in a lather over such an ugly creature? Well not ugly. Come to think of it, her large brown eyes and demure mouth gave her small round face an expression of serenity. But certainly that left arm, so thin below the elbow and with fingers that didn’t open out—and that limp! Goodness knows what deformity must be hidden beneath her skirts. And nothing could excuse or forgive her monstrous behavior. This letter made the situation worse. The chit was flouting her mother’s instructions to apologize. Tearing the note into little pieces, he threw them into the fireplace and willed himself to remain calm. Clairmont had always striven for physical perfection. His strong shoulders and well-developed legs attested to the many hours spent in boxing, fencing and riding, which had produced the gratifying results he admired in his looking glass. Now his unruffled demeanor must give Miss Warren no clue to the upsetting effect she was having on him. “My cravat looks like a scullery maid’s rag,” he roared at his valet, and the surprised man hastened to adjust the offending object. Descending with great dignity to the drawing room, Clairmont engaged young Louise in spirited conversation and offered her his arm when it came time to walk into the dining room. Of her elder sister there was no sign. He was just allowing himself a silent congratulation that she was afraid to face him when she limped into the room. “So sorry to be tardy, Papa and Mama,” she said, settling herself in the space directly across from him without any apparent trace of remorse. She flashed a smile at her father, seated at the head of the table and then glanced briefly at Clairmont. Was that defiance he saw in her eyes? Or amusement? Whatever it was he braced himself for the pity he was about to experience, since he would have little choice but to witness her attempts to feed herself with that claw hand of


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hers. But her left hand remained invisible in her lap and, to Clairmont’s relief, she did a creditable job of cutting and conveying her food to her mouth with her good right hand. If he hadn’t known about the claw and the limp, he could imagine for a moment that he was facing a normal person. Her auburn hair, arranged into curls that framed her pale round face, shone in the dancing light of the candles and there was a corresponding gleam in her very large brown eyes, framed by brown lashes and straight, no nonsense reddish brown eyebrows. Although smaller than both Louise and young Fanny, the crippled one had skin that was creamier than either of her sisters. Clairmont wished she was not seated opposite to him. He could not forget that her limbs were deformed, even though they were not in evidence. He would find some excuse to leave tomorrow. Although he and Tom Warren had been close friends during their days at Charterhouse School, and then at Cambridge, this was Clairmont’s first visit to the Warren home at Bundle Hill and he felt ill at ease. Better go back to face his father’s aloof censure in Shalford, or perhaps he would set himself up in a London residence. He tried not to watch as Serena Warren twinkled a smile at her father, revealing small white teeth between full moist lips. Keeping his expression neutral he conversed politely with his hosts and Fanny and Louise, seated on either side of him. “I have never seen you look so glum, old man,” Tom said, when the ladies had retired and Sir Piers Warren passed him the port decanter. “I think I am not cut out for country life,” Clairmont found himself saying. “With all due respect to your hospitality, I believe I shall go up to London tomorrow and see about getting a place of my own.” Why did it feel as though he was running away? If he left now, the crippled one would think she had scored some kind of triumph. And why should he care what construction Miss Warren might put upon his early departure? Devil take it, his comings and goings were nobody’s business but his own. He would leave first thing in the morning. *** Clairmont nudged his heels into the shiny black flanks of his horse. Behind him, his valet, a much less accomplished rider, puffed and struggled to keep up but Clairmont gave no thought to the man. Perhaps it would have been preferable to let the fellow ride with the luggage, but Clairmont firmly believed that his servants should keep themselves in top physical condition like himself. And riding was an important part of his daily regimen. He felt cross and dissatisfied with himself, although he couldn’t pinpoint the cause of his unease. Well, he should not perhaps have left his friend’s home


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so precipitously. He had seen the puzzlement in Tom’s eyes. Tom had wondered aloud whether his sister’s rash action had caused his friend distress and Tom had apologized once more. Of course he shouldn’t have allowed Serena Warren’s foolish act to upset him. But all the same he had felt ill at ease, and he was relieved to get away from Bundle Hill. He stopped for the night at the Cock and Bull, where the noise and bustle of the popular inn and the pungent smells of the London streets convinced him that a steady diet of the city was not for him. Next morning he continued to his father’s estate at Shalford, some thirty miles to the south. His father was getting very gray and stooped. Clairmont vowed that he would never let himself get stooped like that when he became the Earl of Shalford. Too much time spent as a hermit, he thought. And too little time in healthful pursuits like riding and fencing. The old earl greeted him without much warmth. Since the death of his wife when Clairmont was ten years old, he had taken little notice of his son. Clairmont couldn’t forget the gloomy holidays spent in the cavernously empty rooms at his boarding school. Like two or three other unfortunate youths, he’d been condemned to stay at Charterhouse, under the eye of a junior master assigned to chaperone them, until the start of the next school term. “When are you going to make something of yourself, William?” his father demanded, regarding him beneath eyes half hidden by the gray hairs that spiked and curved downward from his brows. What could he reply? He should have some kind of goal, but what could it be? Apart from keeping his well-muscled body in perfect shape and displaying it to its best advantage with the clothes he wore, his efforts didn’t appear to be needed. “I thought perhaps I might be of assistance to you in the management of the estate, father,” he said. Surely the old man couldn’t find fault with that. “Nonsense.” The scraggly brows drew together. “I have the best steward in the whole of England, just like his father and his grandfather before him. They know more about their business than you ever will. Leave it to them.” Clairmont swallowed the bitter lump of rejection in his throat. “But I could learn, sir.” “You’d just be dabbling. You’ve never done anything serious. Leave it alone.” His father motioned towards the door of his library. “Run along and find something useful to occupy your time.” At twenty-two, Clairmont felt like an unwanted schoolboy all over again. He must get away. If not to London, then where? He conceived the idea of building himself a gymnasium on the vast grounds of Shalford Park and luring one of the best of London’s trainers to come and work with him. The idea gave such a lift to his spirits that he penned an invitation to his friend, Tom Warren, to come and give his opinion.


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Less than a week later, Warren answered his invitation in person. He came galloping up the long driveway, reddish-brown hair flying in the breeze. All the members of his family seemed to have a reddish tint to their hair, Clairmont thought, although none rivaled the flame-like hue of the disabled one. Warren’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm when he heard the bold plan. “Capital idea, old chap. Trust you to come up with a scheme like that.” Clairmont broached the idea to his father that evening after dinner. The earl frowned and gave a short bark of a laugh. “Ridiculous idea! But no more than I might expect from a young cub, still wet behind the ears.” Clairmont felt his face burn. No matter what he did, his father would regard him as a child, and one, moreover, without a brain in his head. He had to bite his lips to hold back a retort. Warren gave him a look of sympathetic understanding, which somehow added to Clairmont’s discomfort. He hated being held up to such belittlement in front of his friend, to whom he had always acted as staunch protector against the bullies of their boarding school days. “There surely must be some endeavor I could undertake, sir, that would prove to your satisfaction I have reached a sufficient degree of manhood to warrant your confidence.” He felt his father’s speculative gaze on his face and watched the eyebrows twitch while the old gentleman pursed his lips and flared his thin nostrils. “Find yourself a suitably high born wife and get her with an heir, so I can see that my family name is to be properly continued,” he said, deliberately. “Give up this puerile obsession with your clothes and your perfect body. It’s unhealthy.” Clairmont felt his father’s words almost as a physical blow. Puerile obsession, indeed. The old fellow had never shown a whit of interest in anything he did, and now he was ridiculing his most exciting plan. He gazed back at his father’s eyes, almost black, like his own, and appearing even darker in contrast to the parchment whiteness of his face. No mistaking the stark challenge there. Anger rose like a fiery column in his throat. This old man had never cared for him and now had leaped from treating him like a child to demanding that he be hamstrung as a husband, like a middle aged man. “What’s the matter? Are you so self-absorbed that you can’t face a challenge, William? Can’t think of anyone but yourself?” His father’s voice grated hoarsely and distastefully on his ears. “Your cousin, Blaydon, stands to inherit everything if you should die without an heir. He would jump at the chance.” Clairmont’s anger coalesced into a cold determination. Pushing back his chair he stood, tight-lipped before his father. “Where is the challenge, my lord? The country is filled with simpering young women clamoring for a rich, well-born


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husband.” He tossed his napkin down on the table and bowed without expression. “However, if that is your wish, I shall fulfill my duty to you by arranging a betrothal as soon as possible.” Tom followed Clairmont into the hallway. “You’ve got yourself into a bit of a jam there, old fellow. Surely you can’t mean to tie yourself to a wife this early in the game?” “I’m sick of being treated like a child, Warren. You belong to a large family and you’re not the eldest son. You have an easier time of it. For myself, I want to get the old man off my back.” “And get some Honorable Lady So-and-So onto hers and produce an heir.” But Clairmont hardly heard his friend’s sally. He held his body rigid with fury as he laid his plans. He would go about this business in a logical fashion. Only the highest standards of physical beauty would suffice. He thought first of Louise Warren, with her perfect upright carriage, breasts rounded and shapely, but not too heavy, arms slender and graceful. But the effect of her face, rounded and delicate, was somewhat spoiled by the too generous width of her nose. Young Fanny was altogether too full of puppy fat to merit consideration, despite her gentle demeanor. Neither young woman had the face of their elder sister Serena, but here Clairmont hastily put a stop to his conjectures. No man would ever consider such an unfortunate creature, no matter how desperate he might be for a wife. *** Serena ran the fingers of her good, right hand over the keys of the pianoforte. Her eyes were closed and she was imagining a river of cascading ripples to match the one she was producing with her active, supple fingers. She had given up wishing that her left hand could be pressed into similar service, but she had lately discovered she could use the withered hand to produce the occasional note or chord to complement the right. The cascading ripples slowed into a more plaintive melody. Why was she feeling on edge, when she had just mastered this new technique to use the left hand? She was usually flushed with triumph at each new advance over her disability. Taking both hands onto her lap she used her good, strong fingers to massage the stiffness in her damaged hand. She shouldn’t hate anybody. It was quite wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t hate that she had felt for Tom’s supercilious guest, although the way he had ogled each of her sisters, as though looking at prize mares, was unpardonably rude. No, the real cause of the knot that wouldn’t dissolve from her stomach was the way he had looked at her, and then averted his eyes immediately with that look, that look that spoke volumes.


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She saw few strangers nowadays and those who came to the house were too well mannered to let their feelings be known, if indeed they were affected by the sight of her hand. But he had looked down his long nose, lifted his black eyebrows and favored her with the sight of his aristocratic profile in one swift moment. Not swift enough to hide the recoil of disgust that showed in his dark eyes in that one split second. Serena crashed her fist onto the keys, provoking Madame Fluff to awake from her snooze on the piano lid and skitter away, yowling her feline displeasure. “Whatever is the matter, sister?” Louise cried, looking up from her embroidery with a frown. Louise frowned at her altogether too much nowadays, Serena decided. She was acting as though she were the elder of the two. She had definitely shown her disapproval of what she had called Serena’s shocking behavior towards Lord Clairmont. Fanny put down her book and came to whisper in Serena’s ear. “He was dreadfully rude, Serena dear. I admire the way you made him pay.” She giggled, and her breath tickled Serena’s ear. “His face was a picture when you galloped towards him! I wonder if his valet was able to save his jacket.” Serena had a picture of the brown tea spreading over the skintight buckskin that had fitted so snugly over the muscles of Clairmont’s thighs. Had the hot tea burned him? What had made her act so wildly? Why couldn’t she make herself feel sorry? Never before had she felt so conscious of her crippled limbs. She had to a large extent been insulated from strangers by the love of her parents. Louise and her older brother Gilbert had sometimes seemed uncomfortable with her deformities but Tom and Fanny treated her as though she were as whole and unblemished as themselves. As for me, Serena thought, I have only the limitations I allow myself. And she resumed her attack on the keys of the pianoforte with fierce determination.


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CHAPTER 2 Spring, 1813 “I hope you know what you’re doing, old chap,” Tom Warren said, as he and Clairmont cantered their horses along the road back to London. Sunshine dappled the road surface through fresh green leaves on the overhanging branches. Birds twittered and fussed with their nest building. But Clairmont was scarcely aware of his friend’s voice and his surroundings. Mentally he reviewed the attributes that his future bride must have. Dowry was unimportant. His inheritance from his father would be substantial and he already possessed a substantial legacy bequeathed to him from his mother. Physical perfection was what he would seek. And he didn’t intend to take too long about his search. It was, after all, an obligation to be met. The idea of pleasure couldn’t come into it. He would choose for physical beauty and choose from a family of good breeders. Then surely he would have earned his father’s praise at last? Since the idea of taking his own London residence was too timeconsuming, he took rooms at the Connaught and persuaded his friend, Warren, to do the same. Appointments and fittings at Weston’s soon resulted in possession of an even more extensive wardrobe than he had previously owned. Clairmont made sure to order his jackets in the latest style, without falling into the trap of being foppish or dandified. Surveying the dance floor at Lady Darlington’s early-season ball, his eyes were drawn to one outstanding beauty whose pale golden hair framed her delicate features in the most alluring manner. From this distance she could have been a perfect china princess. Clairmont moved closer so he could keep her under observation. She danced the minuet with graceful movements. Her shapely breasts were cupped together by a wide silver band that topped a diaphanous blue gown clinging to her perfect figure. “You’ll never get near her, old fellow,” Warren assured him. “That’s Miss Melinda Northrup and she has a gaggle of swooning admirers every where she goes.” Clairmont watched as the dance ended and Miss Northrup’s partner conducted her back to her mama and a coterie of admirers. He approved of the gracious way the young woman smiled at these members of her court, without any semblance of deep attachment to any one of them


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“Introduce me, Warren,” he said at once. Miss Melinda Northrup. Even the name was enchanting. And the closer he got the more he could appreciate the perfectly even arch of her teeth and the whiteness of her skin. Clairmont turned his attention to Lady Northrup, who looked at him with interest after Tom Warren had whispered his friend’s credentials in the Lady’s ear. “I’ve got to hand it to you, old chap,” Warren said with some astonishment, a mere two weeks later, when the betrothal of The Honorable Miss Northrop and William, Lord Clairmont was made official. Clairmont’s prospects, as the wealthy Earl of Shalford’s heir, had induced Lady Northrup to welcome his suit with alacrity. She could now turn her attention to finding husbands for her remaining three daughters. He had made his plans and congratulated himself on having chosen a perfect bride. But on their wedding night, Clairmont had to swallow his disappointment. Melinda lay still as a stone, submitting her perfect body to his embraces with an obvious sense of duty. Clairmont did his best to pleasure her, in ways he’d learned from an experienced courtesan. Melinda remained unresponsive, her face set, her eyes refusing to meet his. An image of Serena Warren’s large brown eyes, challenging his own, arose in Clairmont’s mind. If only Melinda... but he shook the thought away. There was no doubt that Melinda was a beauty and they made a very handsome couple together. Best of all, his father was delighted by the match. “But I’m waiting for the heir, my boy,” he said. Summer, 1813 In the shade of a big beech, bordering the lawn at Bundle Hill, Serena’s glance flicked from the half-finished picture on her easel to the subjects she was trying to portray. She hoped she had captured Louise’s languid manner of waving her newest ivory fan, and the way Fanny’s curls tilted down to the open book on her lap, as she read passages aloud from Evelina. Her study was interrupted by Tom’s hasty appearance. His face shone with pleasure. Serena was glad he never affected the bored, languid airs she’d heard were fashionable amongst the young men of the ton. But the next moment her gladness evaporated like mist in sunshine when she caught sight of the two people Tom brought with him. “I have a wonderful surprise,” he said, opening his arms and seeming to include his sisters and the pair behind him. “My dear friend, Clairmont, has brought his new bride here for a visit. I’m indeed honored that they should choose to spend time with us.” Serena felt herself go rigid. Without realizing what she was doing she covered her thin left hand with her right and pulled her left foot back beneath her chair.


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Tom bowed to the most beautiful young woman Serena had ever seen. “Dear Lady Clairmont,” he said, “I am honored to present to you my three sisters.” Louise rose and curtsied gracefully. Fanny impetuously took the new arrival by the hand. “I’m so happy to make your acquaintance, my lady,” she said. Everyone was looking at Serena now. Gritting her teeth she forced herself out of the chair. Walking as tall as she knew how, she approached the new arrivals, not attempting to hide her limp. “Welcome to Bundle Hill, Lord and Lady Clairmont.” Clairmont’s bride took a step back. The smile with which she had responded to Louise and Fanny died on her face, to be replaced by a forced expression that Serena could only interpret as kindly pity. As a hard knot of anger formed somewhere inside Serena, she chastised herself for her original wish to hide her deformities. She switched her gaze to Clairmont, whose eyes betrayed a mixture of wariness and something else she couldn’t define, as he bowed slightly. Serena felt a small thrill of accomplishment. He hadn’t forgotten her, or what she was capable of doing. “What luck!” Tom said, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Clairmont and his lovely lady have agreed to stay with us while their new London residence is being prepared.” “A new residence? How exciting!” Fanny clapped her hands. “I should so like to visit London, but I must wait my turn until after Louise has had her coming out.” “Indeed,” Lady Clairmont arranged herself gracefully amongst the cushions of the chair that Fanny had just vacated. “I was devastated to leave the city, but my husband had no prior residence there and I could not abide the idea of an hotel.” “We could have stayed at Shalford, my dear.” Clairmont drew up another chair to sit beside her. “And have your father bring up the topic of an heir, thirteen times a day?” His bride pouted. “Naturally I share his interest in that regard, but his constant harping…to have it thrust at one so blatantly, is too indelicate to be born.” There was an awkward pause before Louise hastily ordered refreshments to be brought out. Serena wondered privately why Lady Clairmont had brought up the topic at all if it were so indelicate. Her throat tightened as she looked at Clairmont’s new wife, so beautiful in every way. From the corner of her eye she watched how she held her parasol daintily over her stylish bonnet, and how Tom hovered about her like a moth to a flame.


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Clairmont seemed content to sit back and let the assembled company admire his new acquisition, and her sisters appeared quite dazzled by the handsome appearance of both new arrivals. Like some kind of royalty, the new couple accepted the adulation as no more than their due. Serena felt a burning of jealousy in her heart. There was a general bustle when her parents arrived home from an afternoon drive. “My heartiest congratulations, Clairmont!” Sir Piers Warren pumped Clairmont’s hand and clapped him jovially on the shoulder. “You must be tired after your journey,” Lady Warren said to Melinda. “We are so happy you could come. You are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish.” From the corner of her eye, Serena watched the little tableau. She could find no animation in Lady Clairmont’s expression. Perhaps that was what was missing. Her features were so regular, her hair so golden and her skin so white that she resembled some painter’s work of art. What was she like beneath the facade? With difficulty she kept herself from open study of Clairmont. But she couldn’t stop casting covert glances at his face. Why did this man intrigue and upset her? With her parents, his manner was deferential. She detected an air of the libertine when he addressed either of her sisters. With Tom, Clairmont relaxed into genuine warmth. And with me? Serena couldn’t pin it down, except that he was ill at ease. Several times when she stole a glance at him his eyes met hers. He always snatched his gaze away, but not before she had detected that same flash. Was she so repulsive that he couldn’t bear to look at her? Then why did he look her way at all? Why not treat her as some piece of furniture to be ignored? Excusing herself, Serena slipped away into the house. She would spend as much time as possible in her room, or out in the woods while he was here. But whenever she was forced to occupy the same room she would be a model of decorum. The alternative was to behave outrageously, as she had during his last visit. She grinned wickedly as she remembered the look on his face when she had all but ridden him down where he sat drinking tea. Better to keep herself away rather than be tempted again.

*** Clairmont knocked briefly at the connecting door into his wife’s bedroom and entered before receiving a reply. Stupid really. She was his wife, but courtesy still extended between them, even if it seemed a little strained sometimes when he appeared for his nightly visits.


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Seated at her dressing table, Melinda fairly took his breath away. The candles beside the mirror lit her face, glinting on the pale gold of her hair giving her creamy skin a warm, inviting glow. What a perfect creature he had chosen for his bride. His deep-seated resentment of his father’s insistent push towards matrimony softened. She was truly a jewel. One or two tiny flaws had come to light, but they were of little consequence. Melinda’s eyelashes were pale straw-colored fringes. When her maid skillfully applied a perfumed black paste, they darkened at once to a rich, seductive hue. Her upper legs were a trifle heavy, but of course were hidden by day and did nothing to spoil the elegant drape of her skirts. Clairmont dismissed Melinda’s maid and, cupping his fingers beneath her chin, he bent down to kiss her on the lips. She moved very slightly and he found himself kissing her smooth cheek instead. A prick of irritation made him speak more sharply than he intended. “Are you ready to come to bed, my love?” He didn’t miss the tiny sigh that escaped her as she walked to the big bed and lay down. She was like a statue. Suddenly he needed a woman with warm, inviting arms and a welcoming smile to light his heart. “You are a very dutiful wife,” he heard himself say. Although the flat statement came out as sarcasm, Melinda gave him a brief nod as though he had praised her. “Mama explained to me that a good wife must always submit to her husband. ‘Lie still and think about new ways to trim a bonnet’ she said.” Clairmont’s lips twisted. “Are you not expected to enjoy the experience yourself?” He couldn’t miss the slight shiver that passed through her body, nor the way her mouth turned down at the corners. “Enjoyment couldn’t possibly be a factor in such a messy, disgusting act.” Clairmont clenched his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. “But I understand how necessary it is for producing children. Even dear Mama had to go through with it many times. It’s a necessary part of being a good wife.” He remembered his plea to his father. ‘There surely must be some endeavor I can undertake, sir, that would prove to your satisfaction I have reached a sufficient degree of manhood to warrant your confidence.’ And his father’s words rang clearly in his head. ‘Find yourself a suitably high born wife and get her with an heir, so I can see that my family name is to be properly continued.’ Clairmont made himself concentrate on the physical beauty of the body that lay on the bed. And he managed to do his duty before retreating to sleep in his own room.


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Next morning he woke early and flipped open the lid of his fob watch. Six o’clock. His limbs felt cramped and restless. A good hard ride would help him feel better. Not wishing to wake the household he dressed by himself and went quietly down to find his horse waiting in the stables. Although he had ridden in the coach with Melinda, he had instructed his groom to bring Lucifer separately. It didn’t take long for Clairmont to saddle up. Mounting Lucifer, he directed the horse towards the wooded park he remembered. It must stretch for at least three miles behind the main house at Bundle Hill. His horse was full of energy and it took all Clairmont’s skill to keep the animal to a trot as they entered among the trees. “Steady, old fellow. You’ll crack my head against one of these branches,” Clairmont admonished. But when he reached a wide trail running like an avenue for a good half-mile between the trees, he let Lucifer have his head. Together they raced down the pathway. How good it felt. Clairmont took in great gulps of the cool air and smelled the fresh, damp earth kicked up by his horse. Shafts of early morning sunlight dappled the way ahead of him and he could pick out the purple of foxgloves and the pink and white of wild roses. Coming to the end of the wide avenue, he slowed his horse to a walk. Here were two narrow trails, one to right and the other to the left. Which should he take? He fished a half-guinea from the pocket in his jacket, spun the coin in the air and trapped it on the back of his left hand. “Heads to the right, tails to the left,” he said aloud. The coin showed tails. Pushing it back in his pocket he cantered down the path to the left. His sense of direction was as good as any hunter’s, so he had no fear of getting lost. Yet, when he turned back for home, he couldn’t seem find the main trail again. He didn’t panic. After all, he prided himself that he never, ever lost his way. But the more he rode, the narrower the trail became. He was unaccountably relieved to see a figure on horseback approaching him. A woman riding sidesaddle. She looked very much at home and held herself tall as she narrowed the gap between them. He prayed his appearance wouldn’t startle her, and that she wouldn’t be upset to be addressed by a strange gentlemen. Clairmont should have tipped his hat to her and ridden on. But his stomach was growling. He wanted to make his way back to Bundle Hill quickly. He slowed his horse as the other rider approached. “Pardon me,” he said, then stopped when he saw who was looking back at him with enormous brown eyes. “Miss Warren!”


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In spite of trying not to stare, he couldn’t help noticing her gloved left hand curling on the pommel of the saddle. But she seemed to be doing a perfectly competent job of controlling the horse with the right hand holding the reins. She wore nothing to cover her head. Her hair was pulled back and braided into one thick plait. When caught by the dancing beams of sunlight it glowed with copper highlights. How unfashionable. How sensuously beautiful. Then he remembered her hand, and her ungainly limp. He forced a smile. “Good morning, Miss Warren.” “Are you lost?” she asked. He floundered with the directness of the question. How could he admit to this young woman that he had, indeed, temporarily lost track of the way back to the house. “I’m merely exploring the woods.” Devil take the woman. He would find his own way back. “Then I’ll not detain you.” She maneuvered past him and continued on her way, back straight and head up. The copper braid bobbed in time with the movements of her horse. Clairmont rode as far behind as he could without losing sight of the coppery glints through the trees. It was a relief that she didn’t look back to find him following her back to the house. Serena could have sworn that he was lost. Something in his expression when she had first caught sight of him told her he was uncertain of his way and had been about to ask for directions. She had observed his face when he looked down at her left hand. Something changed in his expression. She wished she could read minds, but perhaps it was just as well she couldn’t tell what lay behind those eyes, so dark they were almost black. As for the rest of him, he was almost too handsome to be real. Smooth, olive skin. Brow still without a wrinkle. Lips set in a haughty line to announce to the world how superior, how perfect he believed himself to be. The trouble was, it was all true. His body was the very antithesis of her own. No limb was misshapen. All was strongly made and good to behold. She hated him. He was so young. He was married. He found her deformities repulsive. Why then did she experience these undercurrents when they met? Why did she have an overwhelming urge to behave outrageously, to shake his composure, to put him off balance? She should hide herself behind a tree and watch him thrash about, trying to find his way back. These paths were deceptive. It was so easy to miss the shaded exits that were almost invisible from certain directions. She could jump out and confront him. Make him admit that he was lost. But instead she urged her horse directly back towards the house. “Get this braid out of my hair,” she snapped at her maid, and could feel Mary’s surprise and hurt at the unaccustomed sharpness in her manner.


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CHAPTER 3 June, 1814 “Really, this heat is too much. It makes me feel quite ill.” Melinda, Lady Clairmont, lounged on the blue and white striped couch in the drawing room of their new London house and fanned herself with the delicately carved ivory fan that was never far from her hands these days. In truth she did look uncomfortable with her rounded belly, which the loose folds of her dress couldn’t completely hide, and the beading of dew on her upper lip. Her beautiful pale gold hair was unusually limp and wisps adhered damply to her forehead. Clairmont sympathized with her discomfort. But he supposed all women had to go through this waiting process. Not having sisters or other close family, he had so far been insulated from the process. Although her expression was somewhat spoiled by the petulant droop of her lips, Melinda was still undoubtedly a beauty and his heir had the promise of being a credit to both of them. The old earl had begun sending frequent inquiries after the health of his daughter-in-law and always expressed his hope for a grandson. “Would you like me to take you for a ride in the park, my dear? Clairmont itched to get outside, away from this overheated room with its stylish, uncomfortable furniture and atmosphere of resentment. “Perhaps it would cheer you up.” “I simply cannot be seen in this ungainly condition. I must stay here and suffer the heat.” “Would you like me to ring for a glass of cordial? Perhaps that would help to cool you down, my dear?” “I prefer lemonade.” Her sigh managed to convey that she was only going to accept a drink to please him, and that she was still condemned to martyrdom. Feeling useless and in the way, Clairmont rang the bell for lemonade and for his wife’s maid to come and keep her mistress company. Then he made his escape. Where should he go? He had ridden for two hours early this morning, then spent an instructive and exhausting hour at Jackson’s Gym before returning home to Grosvenor Square to commiserate with his wife’s complaints. He decided to head for Brook’s club in St. James. At least the high ceilings there would guarantee a fair degree of coolness, and he would be able to get a drink in a quiet corner.


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Sinking into the depths of a leather armchair, he ordered red wine and beef cutlets and settled himself to eat and to examine his thoughts without interruption. He was being a dutiful son by fulfilling his father’s expectations. By God, that first child had better be a boy. But he felt uneasy and unsettled and couldn’t put his finger on the reason for his discontent. He was only just about to turn twenty three and already he had a wife who was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He was well endowed with funds and good looks, and he stood to inherit the earldom of Shalford. So why couldn’t he feel happy with what he’d got? It seemed to him in some perverse way that Tom Warren’s sister, Serena, unfortunate though she was, had learned to carry lively sparks of happiness about with her. What a ridiculous thought. She might well have the face of an angel but she must surely be troubled by her physical blemishes. And yet...there was something strong, impetuous and...gleeful, in her expression. “What on earth are you pondering, Clairmont! You look as though you need cheering up.” He jerked up his head to find Peterson Jenkins, eldest son of Lord Appleby , grinning down at him. “Jenkins!” he smiled with genuine warmth. “ How many years since I threw your filthy socks off my bed?” “And I tripped over your barbells on the dormitory floor.” Jenkins pumped Clairmont’s hand with enthusiasm. “And all three of us gorged on the cake and biscuits Tom Warren’s mother used to send him.” “Warren’s mother was always afraid he wouldn’t get enough to eat,” Jenkins said, and the two men laughed, remembering the days when the three boys had shared a room at Charterhouse School. “Lady Warren is still generous,” Clairmont said. “She invited me to take my bride to Bundle Hill while we were waiting to get into our house here in Grosvenor Square.” “Bride, eh? Got yourself into the trap so soon? Who is the lucky lady?” “The former Miss Melinda Northrup. Our first child is due in August.” “Congratulations, old chap.” But then Jenkins frowned. “So why the glum face?” How could he tell Jenkins, when he didn’t know the cause himself? “I sometimes wonder what else I could be doing,” Clairmont said, pushing aside the congealed remains of his cutlets. “Personally, I’ve thought of joining the cavalry,” Jenkins said. “But now Bonaparte is beaten, they’ll be sending the other fellows home. I won’t be needed.” He grinned suddenly. “That reminds me. I’ve got invitations to the Watier’s Masquerade next week. It’s to celebrate Wellington’s return to England. Why don’t you and your wife come as my guests?”


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“Thanks, Jenkins, we received invitations but my wife declines to go. Only a couple of months left until her confinement.” “A pity,” Jenkins said. “I hear there are to be seventeen hundred guests at the masquerade. It could be quite diverting.” Clairmont sighed without replying. He felt very much at loose ends and considered whether he might discreetly set himself up with a mistress. *** Serena leaned her head to one side and studied her picture through narrowed eyes. “Just a little more yellow ochre in the center of each petal and a touch of white at the tips,” she murmured. “Oh, Serena, it’s exquisite!” Fanny exclaimed, coming up behind and looking at the tiny painting. “You’ve caught the likeness perfectly. Whenever I try, the flowers look like blotches.” “It’s just a matter of practice,” Serena said. But secretly she felt a glow of excitement. She hadn’t realized what careful control she could wield with her brushes, thin as hairs. Her right hand was not only strong enough to control the reins of a horse, it was steady as a rock when she needed to tint fine details into her paintings. “Look, Mama. See what Serena has done!” Fanny called to her mother, who had just emerged from the house to take a turn in the garden. “I declare, it’s a little treasure,” Lady Warren exclaimed, examining the view of the gardens Serena had captured with her paints. “Do let me have it for my bedchamber, dear.” Serena smiled. “But your room is like a gallery already, Mama. I can’t imagine that you have another square inch in which to hang anything.” She knew her mother’s penchant for collecting pictures. The walls of the drawing room were already unfashionably cluttered with family likenesses and pastoral scenes. “But it’s too beautiful to be wasted,” Lady Warren said. “It would make someone a perfect gift.” She tapped her fan against her skirt as she pondered. “I have it!” she cried, “Dear young Clairmont and his bride would love it for their new house in London, to be sure!” “Oh, surely not, Mama.” A chill invaded Serena’s body, although the day was warm. Anybody but him. His handsome, supercilious nose would wrinkle at the sight of the picture, if he should find out she was the artist. He would never believe she could do anything worthy of praise. Serena had a sudden wicked thought and it was all she could do not to grin as she considered her idea. Why not? She would delicately and palely add a signature that was not her own. Then at least the painting would be judged on its own merits, and not seen through eyes of revulsion or prejudice. “The young couple may have the picture, if that is what you wish, Mama,” she said, demurely, “on condition that you do not say I painted it. I would prefer


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it to stand on its own merits and not be judged by any prejudice against the artist.” Her mother patted her arm. “If that is your wish, Serena, dear.” Serena decided to add the initials later, after giving some thought to which false ones she might use. “I hear that dear Lady Clairmont no longer wishes to go out, in her present interesting condition. The picture will cheer her up during her days of waiting,” Lady Warren said. Serena stiffened. She had not heard that Clairmont’s wife was to bear a child. The picture of Clairmont’s tight buckskins swam into her head. Hot tea stains had evidently done no permanent damage to his seed. She closed her eyes. What a strange tack her thoughts were taking. And it was none of her business. Nor was it ever likely to be. She packed her little pots of color into their box and headed into the house, pretending not to hear her mother’s voice calling after her. “Let me get for a footman to carry them inside for you, Serena,…oh dear, she’s gone! The gel is so independent!” Later that afternoon, in the privacy of her room, Serena carefully added the initials J.C. into the lower right hand corner of her painting. The pale green blended almost invisibly into the soft, wavy green grasses of her foreground. J.C. Joyous Creature? Jousting Champion? Jolly Cripple? She giggled. Maybe she was a cripple in Clairmont’s eyes. But not in her own. *** “It’s a darling picture,” Melinda declared. “It will fit perfectly in my bedchamber.” “Then that’s where you shall have it, my dear,” Clairmont said, thinking privately that the picture would fit in considerably better than he had, in recent weeks. It had been increasingly hard to bear Melinda’s martyrdom at her condition and such obvious sighs and distaste for her marital duties that he had stopped going. Instead, he had begun visits to a courtesan, some years older than himself. Josette always gave him a warm welcome, treating him as though he were the most exciting man she had ever known. But he was still unaccountably restless. Perhaps, after Melinda was safely delivered of the child, he would still pursue his idea of building a gymnasium. Or would insist that his father allow him to take a more active role in running the estate. In the back of his mind and unwilling to come forward for his open inspection was the thought that his perfect wife was turning out to be a spoiled


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and petulant partner. Together they made a handsome couple, but appearances weren’t everything. “Who do you think is the artist?” Melinda’s voice broke into his thoughts. Clairmont inspected the picture for clues. “It’s a little beauty,” he said. Getting out his quizzing glass, he scanned the painting again, when the first look revealed no name. Ah, there it was, in the bottom right hand corner, so cleverly woven in with the foreground grasses as to be almost invisible. “J. C.” he read aloud. Which of the current artists would paint landscapes and foliage in such a style? “The style reminds me of a picture I saw entitled ‘Malvern Hill,’ painted about five years ago by a fellow named John Constable,” he said. “Perhaps this is one of his?” “John Constable. That could well be the name,” Melinda said. “Anyway, I shall get it hung over my night table.” It would have graced the drawing room very well, Clairmont thought. Such incredibly delicate brushwork. He shrugged. “Certainly, my love. Just as you please,” he said. Late July, 1814 Black, black, black. That’s how Serena felt, and that’s how she would paint the world if she tried to do a picture now. Why? Why had Clairmont and his wife come to stay at Bundle Hill again? Why must Mama always have to be so generous, so open with her invitations? Why could Melinda not have stayed at home, or gone to visit with her own mother, to await the birth of her child? Serena could scarcely bear the thoughts that teemed through her head. She didn’t want them here. She wanted to run away…anywhere. Or climb on the rooftop and scream defiance to the world. And why, why was she acting and feeling this way? Suddenly unable to stand being in the house another moment she limped out to the gardens. Making her way round to the walled kitchen garden, off to the rear, she unlatched the tall iron gate and stepped inside. Sheltered from the wind inside the high brick walls, the air was still and warm in the sunshine. Serena wandered aimlessly along the graveled paths between the rows of lettuce and ferny carrot tops. She picked a ripe mulberry from one of the small trees, whose branches almost brushed the bricks of the far wall. The fruit lay warm and shiny in her strong right hand. She lifted it to her lips and bit into its unblemished, crimson skin. The juice squirted onto the front of her pale green gown but she didn’t care. She would hibernate here with the vegetables and never venture forth until Clairmont and Melinda had taken their child and gone back to London, or


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Shalford, or one of the other family estates. Surely Clairmont would prefer to be somewhere else? *** It didn’t make sense to Clairmont. Why did Melinda seem to feel more at home here at Bundle Park than at Shalford or in their London residence? He could understand why she didn’t want to go back to her parent’s home in Essex. Lady Northrup’s manner was overbearing, and there was no love lost between herself and Melinda. Having found a suitable match for her, Lady Northrup was putting all her energies into similar arrangements for the rest of her brood, and appeared to consider Melinda quite off her hands. At the moment, Melinda was in her element, sheltered in a choice spot beneath the big beech tree on the front lawn, being extravagantly pampered by Lady Warren. Clairmont left them, to pace restlessly in those parts of the grounds he hadn’t previously explored. What lay behind the weathered brick walls, taller than himself, that he found at the back of the house? The wrought iron gate, with well-greased hinges, made no sound as it swung open at his touch. How warm it felt inside the protecting walls. This was a much larger kitchen garden than the one at Shalford. He could see no gardener, but a woman was standing with her back to him, by the small trees against the far wall. There was only one person he knew with hair that color. The sun glinted on its copper hues. He wanted to call out to her. But at the same time he couldn’t bear to speak to her or look at her. She would gaze at him with those strange eyes. He would be forced to see her hand. Her withered and curled hand. Why did that upset him so much? But it did. He must get out, before she turned around. Too late. She swirled around as if his thoughts had made a disturbing noise to interrupt her. Part of a small fruit was suspended in her good hand, halfway to her mouth. Her full red lips were moist with juice, and a fresh wet splash on the front of her dress betrayed where juice had spurted out under the bite of her white teeth. “M-Miss Warren,” he said, trying to cover his unease with a curt bow. “A pleasantly warm day, is it not?” What was it he saw in her remarkable eyes and that face of an angel? It looked like a flash of embarrassment, followed by something that looked suspiciously like amusement. Alarm bells sounded in his head. How could he forget the tea spilling incident? This strange and uncomfortable creature was quite capable of hurling


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the uneaten portion of her fruit at him, making his pale gray jacket and white linen shirt the same blotched mess as her gown. The thought was tempting. Serena could just imagine the damage she could inflict on his pale gray jacket and the pristine whiteness of his shirtfront. What was it about him and his utter perfection that seemed to prod some hidden little devil inside her head? Drawing the half-eaten mulberry away from her mouth, she looked at it and then at Clairmont. Perhaps good manners would dictate that she should drop it to the ground, rather than cram the rest of it in her mouth with him watching. The next second he had hurled himself down the path towards her and gripped her raised arm with surprising strength. Then he seemed to recollect himself and his hold gentled, although he didn’t release her. His swift action came as a shock. Serena’s breath caught in her throat. She was acutely aware of his face, dark browed and intense, hovering above hers. His eyes were a very dark brown with a curling fringe of black lashes. He was close enough for her to see the tiny flecks in his irises. A strange weakness invaded her body and she couldn’t get out a word. He seemed likewise bereft of speech. Serena wasn’t sure how long they stood looking at each other. They might have been captured in some fashionable tableau of entertainment, forbidden to blink lest they break the spell cast upon the audience. But in this case the spell was on her. She couldn’t have broken free if she had tried. “Serena, where are you?” Faintly in the distance she heard Fanny’s voice calling to her. The spell shattered. Clairmont looked down in some surprise at his hand clamped about her arm. She saw the change in his expression as he glimpsed her other arm. His hand dropped away from her and he took a step back. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his face. But when the curtain came down over his expression, she turned her face aside and stared hard at the green and crimson of the ripening fruit. She had her own expression under control in time to respond with a curt nod to his formal bow. She pressed her lips hard together as she watched him stride away from her down the path to the iron gate. It seemed to her that his back exuded distaste. Her strong right hand stroked the thin curled fingers of the left hand, as though to comfort them.


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CHAPTER 4 February, 1815 Serious brown eyes looked back at Clairmont from a tiny face with a button nose. He grinned, and the rosebud mouth widened in an answering smile. Caroline’s face was all he could see of his daughter, since her nurse had insisted on swaddling the babe from top to toe against the cool February air of the garden at Shalford Park. Clairmont had the urge to hug the precious bundle tighter to his chest, but he was half afraid of crushing her, so he handled her like eggshells instead. In the six months since his daughter’s birth, Clairmont had constantly been aware of his father’s bitter disappointment that the child was not a boy. Melinda had immediately handed the child over to a wet nurse, and was engrossed in regaining her former figure. Clairmont’s heart constricted. He loved this tiny being, whose soft golden hair and perfect limbs were hidden beneath a wool bonnet and several lacy shawls. Her arrival had helped to give purpose to his life, although he still had times of nameless restlessness. When his friends, Jenkins or Warren, came to visit, he forgot his unease, but, when left alone with his father and Melinda, he was sometimes filled with an irritability that he couldn’t understand or assuage. “See the fish, Caroline?” He tossed some ants’ eggs into the pond, and the goldfish darted red and yellow to the surface, snapping at the food in a sudden frenzy. “Where do you think would be a good place to build, Caroline?” He gazed around the huge gardens, absently patting the little bundle in his arms, as he considered where he could place the gymnasium building that would give him some meaningful project to pursue. “Clairmont! Clairmont!” He swung around at the urgent shout. His friend, Jenkins, strode towards him through the wet grass, impatiently ignoring the winding path, and waving aside the footman who would have announced his arrival. “You obviously haven’t heard the news, Clairmont.” Jenkins’ usually languid air was gone. “Napoleon has escaped from Elba. I’m on my way to enlist.” Although he was gasping for breath, his eyes shone. “We must stop him for good this time, old man.”


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“Yes, we must.” Clairmont held his little daughter close and stared at his friend, all thoughts of his building project pushed aside. There was nothing for it now but to get into the army and get over to France to do his part in heading off the upstart little Corsican’s ambitions. His father could not object. He would be proud to have a son fighting for his country. Perhaps Melinda would be proud too, although Clairmont had learned she never allowed herself deep feelings on any subject, apart from that of being properly gowned for every occasion. And baby Caroline. He would miss his little daughter dreadfully. But he must help to make the world a safer place for her to grow up in. Napoleon must be stopped for good, this time. A spurt of excitement set his pulse racing. He welcomed this chance to escape from the hollow life he was leading and the strange restlessness and unease that assailed him. Striding into the house, he kissed his baby daughter before handing her tenderly over to the nursemaid. Then he called his valet to pack for his journey to the Horse Guards in London. “Make it quick, Webb, for I intend to leave at once.” “Certainly, my lord. And you’ll be needing a batman, too, sir?” “Of course, Webb. But it won’t be a picnic, you know.” Clairmont smiled at the man’s eagerness. “Get your own gear ready, then.” “Make sure the beggar is really done for this time,” the Earl of Shalford said, from his deep armchair in the library, where he spent most of his time these days, dozing more than reading, Clairmont suspected. “You must chose a regiment with a handsome uniform,” Melinda said. Clairmont got the feeling she would be relieved at his absence. His face burned when he considered his father’s thinly-veiled criticism of him for not producing a male heir with his first child. With Melinda lying immobile as a statue, radiating distaste for the inconvenience of further childbearing, his visits to her room had become a duty that was increasingly difficult. By two o’clock, Clairmont, Jenkins and their two menservants were on the road to London. Clairmont kept the pace as brisk as he had on that spring day, two years earlier, when he had galloped back to Shalford from Bundle Hill with his feathers ruffled from the rash rudeness of Miss Serena Warren. Two years. And another life. He had been free, and at loose ends. Now he had a wife and child. But he had still felt unsettled until this challenge had come. At dusk, the butler and housekeeper of his London residence did their best to hide their surprise at Clairmont’s unexpected arrival. The start of the season was several weeks away, and Clairmont suspected they had grown cozily accustomed to having the run of the place, with few duties. But they hurried to air out bedrooms for their master and his friend, and prepare them an evening meal.


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Clairmont was up early next day, impatient to present himself at the imposing Horse Guards headquarters, with it’s endless rabbit warren of offices and quarters. In the waiting rooms, full of men eager to join the rush to enlist or rejoin, he and Jenkins spotted the gangly figure and copper curls of Tom Warren. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to stay out of it,” Jenkins said gleefully, as he and Clairmont pounded their friend on the back. “The three of us should try to stick together.” March, 1815 Lady Warren studied the letter that had just arrived from Tom. “Listen to this, dears,” she said, waving the paper in excitement. “…Clairmont and Jenkins enlisted at the same time as me. We hope to be allowed to stay together. Since Clairmont is saddled with a most charming wife and baby daughter, he wishes that one of my sisters, perhaps Louise or Fanny, could go and keep Lady Clairmont company, for she feels very dull at Shalford, with only the earl for company.” Lady Warren pressed the letter to her generous bosom. “Isn’t it wonderful that the three young friends will be together? I must find out where they will be stationed so I can send them food packages, poor boys.” Serena smiled to hear her mother refer to the young men as ‘boys.’ Her smile turned rueful when she recollected that she herself had not been suggested as a companion for Melinda. “I have no wish to go,” Louise said. “I dislike traveling. It’s so tiring and it takes so long.” Fanny’s round face glowed. “I would love to go, Mama.” “But you’re a little young, my dear.” Serena heard the hesitation in her mother’s voice and wished she could make the journey herself. It would be such fun to travel south and to stay overnight in London on the way. With Clairmont away, there would be no awkward constraints or clashes. And she would love to see little Caroline. “I would be happy to go,” she said. Louise looked up from her embroidery. “But your name wasn’t suggested.” Serena sometimes got the impression her sister disapproved of her, or was ashamed to have her go about into company. “I’m sure you would manage beautifully, Serena,” her mother said, “but…” “I’m not suitably perfect to grace the Clairmont establishment,” Serena said, with a wry twist to her mouth. Fanny giggled. “Clairmont would probably be afraid that you would play a prank on Lady Melinda, since he’s had experience of what you can do.” Fanny was probably right. Aloud, Serena said, “Fanny would be the perfect one to go, Mama, and it would be a broadening experience for her.”


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This set Fanny giggling once more. “I’m sure I’m broad enough, sister dear, and would welcome the chance to become a little more svelte.” “Perhaps a visit with Lady Melinda would put you on the right track, Fanny,” Louise said. “I believe she is still attempting to regain her figure by eating sparsely.” “O dear!” Fanny wrinkled her nose. “She would never censor what a guest was allowed to eat, surely?” This set the three of them laughing, and Lady Warren came up with a compromise. “You may visit for a few weeks, Fanny, to see how you and Lady Melinda get along together, but I suggest that you, Serena, accompany your young sister. It will do you good, and I know you are dying to see baby Caroline.” Serena had a lump in her throat as she looked at her mother. How had she known? She excused herself, collected a warm shawl and walked out into the garden. She tried very hard to walk without a limp, as befitted someone chosen to travel and keep an eye on her younger sister. In that regard, she felt she was making progress. Every night at bedtime, she had been massaging her foot and gently rotating the ankle. It seemed to her it was becoming more flexible. The March sky was filled with high, scudding clouds that made moving patterns of the shadows on the grass. A strong breeze whipped at the edges of her shawl. She pulled it tighter around her and walked back and forth, barely noticing the coolness. Clairmont would be away at the front, so it was unlikely they would meet. She should be relieved, but she wished she could banish the unfocussed yearnings that sometimes tormented her. There would never be a baby Caroline for her. She would never know how it felt to be intimately enfolded by a pair of strong, muscular arms. No chance to stroke her hands over thighs wrapped in soft buckskin, or to see for herself the mysteries of what lay covered beneath the spreading tea stain. April, 1815 In the morning room at Shalford Park, Serena knelt on the carpet, laughing at the antics of the golden haired child on the fur rug. Caroline had managed to kick her plump legs free of the swaddling blanket. “You would like to push away the covers and dance, little one,” she cooed. Caroline gurgled and closed her fingers around Serena’s thumb. “She is so strong, I think she may start to walk at any moment,” Fanny said, from her chair by the window. When John Blaydon was announced and a footman ushered him into the room, Serena got to her feet with a reluctance which faded when the newcomer was introduced. Although not so tall or powerfully built as Clairmont, this man’s


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black hair and his strikingly similar features proclaimed a family resemblance. The dark blue of his jowls was more pronounced, and his teeth were slightly less even, but he still appeared most attractive. Melinda, who had been resting with her eyes closed on the ornate chaise lounge, came to life sufficiently to introduce Blaydon as Lord Clairmont’s cousin. “My dear lady Clairmont, Miss Warren and Miss Fanny, what a delightful scene to come upon, and sweet little Caroline, too.” Blaydon bowed over Melinda’s hand and then did the same to Serena and Fanny, with an air of such gallantry that Fanny’s cheeks blushed bright red. Blaydon’s eyes betrayed the slightest flicker as he glanced at Serena’s left hand. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, sir?” Melinda asked, smoothing her dress and opening her fan. Serena had never felt the need to learn the intricacies of the fan. Melinda, on the other hand, tended to flutter hers at every opportunity, usually with the complaint that she felt too warm. Blaydon smiled. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you languishing alone, since my cousin has deserted you to go off and seek his glory.” “He is to be commended, surely, for his devotion to the safety of his country,” Serena observed. “Without doubt, dear Miss Warren, but such devotion might better be displayed by those without the obligations of a charming wife and baby daughter.” “Those such as yourself?” Melinda raised her elegant eyebrows. “Ah, Lady Clairmont, would that I could join the ranks of those who stand against the little dictator.” Blaydon sighed. “But I fear I am possessed of a delicate constitution which prevents me from taking part.” Serena was just asking herself whether this was merely a cowardly excuse, when he smiled at her in such an engaging fashion that she smiled back, in spite of her misgivings. His eyes really were as black as his cousin’s. Caroline began to cry and rub her tiny fists into her eyes. “Oh, get the nurse to take her,” Melinda said, frowning. Fanny hurried to pull the bell, her cheeks still pink. She was obviously still affected by being treated so gallantly by a worldly gentleman several years older than herself. Lifting the child into her arms, she soothed her until the nurse came to take her small charge away. Next morning, swathed in a warm shawl, Serena sat out on the lawn, daubing fresh paint on her palette. With a critical eye, she considered a half finished picture of the goldfish pond on her easel. “I love the delicate way you have captured the tiny buds on the tracery of tree branches in the background.” A male voice, from behind her, made her jump almost out of her skin.


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“Tom!” Serena almost upset her paints in excitement at the sight of her brother, whose lanky frame was encased in a brand new red uniform. “You look wonderful! What are you doing here?” “Clairmont, Jenkins and I have come to show ourselves off and make our farewells before we embark for the continent,” he said, kissing her cheek. “They haven’t managed to tame your hair,” Serena, smiled to see that his coppery curls, although cut short, still stuck out from beneath his black shako. “It runs in the family.” Tom grinned and pulled at one of her ringlets. Then his expression turned serious. “It’s cold out here. Why aren’t you inside with Melinda and Fanny?” he said, holding her gently by the shoulders and studying her face. “I feel more comfortable outside painting, or off riding. I realize I’m not exactly Lady Melinda’s cup of tea,” she said, with a wry smile. “Then Melinda hasn’t allowed herself to see the real Serena.” Tom took her by the hand. “Come inside now and take a look at Clairmont and Jenkins. Leave your paints.” In the drawing room, Melinda reclined on her chaise lounge, elegantly beautiful, as always. Jenkins rose from his seat beside Fanny and came to take Serena’s hand. His round face always looked as though it was on the verge of a smile, even when he was serious, but as he greeted her his wide mouth spread from ear to ear and his pale blue eyes almost disappeared in the folds of his laugh lines. Serena could see the adoration with which Fanny regarded him. It was unfortunate that Jenkins still saw her sister as the small girl she had been when he was at school with Tom. Serena realized she was deliberately avoiding a direct glance at the tall, immaculately uniformed man standing beside Melinda. Bracing herself, she finally looked up at his face. He was looking back at her, his head erect and his face inscrutable. As he bowed towards her, his gaze moved downwards, past his strong straight nose, as though he didn’t want to get involved in what he saw. Instinctively, Serena straightened to her full height and inclined her head in formal recognition of his presence. “You look too dashing for words, my lord,” Melinda said, turning to look up at her husband, with the greatest show of animation Serena had observed since her arrival at Shalford Hall. Clairmont turned towards his wife with a slight lift of his eyebrows. The remark had obviously surprised him. Serena was suddenly struck by the stilted artificiality of the whole room. The ornate, uncomfortable furniture, the men, posing to be admired in their new uniforms, Melinda languidly arranged on her couch. Serena wanted to scream and say or do something outrageous. She was saved from giving in to her inclination by the entrance of Clairmont’s father, escorted by his valet. The Earl of Shalford’s shoulders were


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stooped, and he moved stiffly to take the seat brought forward for him. Pride showed in the old man’s eyes as he surveyed his son’s uniform. “You may not have given me an heir yet, William, but I’m proud to see that you are prepared to fight for your country.” The old earl harrumped and then surveyed Jenkins, wide and sturdy in his tunic and trousers and Tom, standing by Serena. “You young fellows must put a stop to the upstart Bonaparte’s ambitions.” “We’ll do our best, sir,” Tom said. “Indeed we will,” Jenkins echoed. Clairmont said nothing. Serena wondered why. His expression was non committal. Then he looked in her direction, her glance locked with his and in that moment she had a shaft of insight. He was masking a deep emotion raised by his father’s words, and he couldn’t admit it, even to himself. . . . . Clairmont turned in his saddle and raised a hand in farewell to the group assembled on the front steps of the house. It wasn’t every day that the son of the household went off to war, and his father had insisted on braving the chill dampness of the April morning to watch Clairmont and his two companions ride off, resplendent in their new uniforms. Melinda wasn’t there. Pleading an indisposition, she had remained in her bedroom, fussed over by her personal maid. Clairmont clenched his fists as he recalled last night’s scene in that room. Since Melinda had admired the way he looked in his well-cut coat and trousers, he had hoped for a more tender reception in the bedroom, especially since he was going to be absent for so long. A dull weight of resignation and disappointment had descended when she made it plain that nothing had altered her distaste for the marital act. He had clamped his jaw firmly and forced himself to speak civilly. Some husbands might have forced themselves on their wives, in similar circumstances, but Clairmont had been unwilling to do that. In some way he understood Melinda’s fear of growing heavy and unattractive with child. He would have been similarly fearful of doing something to spoil the perfection of his own strong, virile body. His eye caught that of Miss Warren. She stood beside her plump little sister, who held baby Caroline up to wave goodbye. Serena. How could such a beautiful face be coupled with such an unfortunate claw of a hand? Only the good hand was lifted in farewell. The other was out of sight behind her young sister’s skirt. He inclined his head slightly towards her. What was it he saw in her eyes? Was she mocking him, as she had when they first met at Bundle Park? She seemed to see deeper inside him than he wanted. He shivered. With a salute to his father and a loving kiss blown to little Caroline, Clairmont turned away. He took a deep breath and urged his horse to catch up with Jenkins, Warren, and the three servants who rode behind them.


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CHAPTER 5 June, 1815 Serena scowled as she watched John Blaydon walking beside her sister Fanny on one of the garden paths at Shalford Park. The fellow was too oily and ingratiating by half. And the trouble was that Fanny seemed to take him at face value. There she was blushing and dimpling her pretty round face at his blandishments, as she leaned forward to smile and coo at baby Caroline, sitting in her perambulator. The child seemed happier with Fanny than with either her nurse or her mother. Melinda scarcely took notice of her, unless the babe became fretful, when she would instruct the nurse to take her small charge away. Why had John Blaydon not gone to fight Napoleon? He claimed to be possessed of a frail disposition, but he looked healthy enough to Serena. In many ways he resembled his cousin Clairmont, except that Blaydon didn’t have Clairmont’s height, his teeth were not so perfectly even and his jowls had more of a heavy blue tinge, especially later in the day. But Serena could never for a moment imagine Clairmont fawning over a woman the way Blaydon was behaving towards her sister. There was something about it that made Serena uncomfortable, although she could not put her finger on it. She turned back to continue working at the summer landscape she had begun. The June roses were magnificent. She must capture the essence of their tightly coiled buds and delicate shades. Her careful assessment was interrupted by the hasty approach of the earl’s valet. Almost as old as his master, the man was out of breath as though he had been running. “Beg your pardon, Miss Warren, but his lordship requests everyone’s urgent attendance upon him in the library.” Calling to Fanny and Blaydon to accompany her, Serena put down her paintbrush and rubbed her fingers on her skirt, before hurrying towards the house. They caught up with her as she entered the door, but Serena shook off Blaydon’s hand when he attempted to take her elbow. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own way,” she snapped. Then she caught sight of Fanny’s surprised expression and felt a little ashamed of her outburst. Fanny quickly handed Caroline over to the nurse, and turned to Blaydon.


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“My sister is possessed of a very independent turn of mind, sir,” she said. “However, it would be a pleasure for me to avail myself of your arm.” They found the earl seated at his huge desk in the gloomy room, whose paneled walls bore tall bookshelves, unrelieved by even a single picture. The old man seemed to have shrunk. His hair stuck out like untidy gray straw. Heavy eyebrows lowered over dark eyes filled with pain. Waving them all to sit down, he waited to speak until Melinda, the last to appear, had seated herself languidly in one of the brown leather chairs. Even then, he spoke with an obvious effort to keep his voice under control. “I have received a communication from France.” He fingered the document before him as though it were a rare and odious snake. “My son has been gravely injured in the final battle of Lord Wellington’s campaign against Napoleon.” He passed shaking fingers over his face before continuing. “His injuries are such that he is not expected to survive.” Serena drew in her breath sharply. She had a searing mental image of Clairmont. His powerful limbs, shattered on the battlefield. His strong, perfect features, twisted in agony. At the very thought she felt her own pain form a tight knot, gripping her chest in a vise. Fanny uttered a cry and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes shone bright with tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. The delicate white skin of Melinda’s forehead bore a tiny crease and her eyes seemed to be looking into the distance. “We are all devastated, sir,” Blaydon said quickly. Serena tried to decipher the expression in his eyes. It didn’t match the unctuous tone of his voice, and the grave set of his mouth. Of course, Blaydon would be the one to inherit the earl’s title if Clairmont died. The thought sent shivers down Serena’s spine. A sound from the earl brought her attention back to him. He crumpled forward slowly and his forehead made a soft thud as it hit the rosewood top of the desk. *** Voices came at Clairmont in a confused babble, as though they were at the other end of a long tunnel. His face burned like the fires of hell. His leg shrieked with searing agony. Or did the scream come from his own lips? But he could not move his lips. “Lie still, laddie. We’re trying our best to help you.” Hands gripped him and he felt himself rolled onto something cold and rough. The pain of the movement brought merciful blackness. Whenever he woke the pain was there, scorching, torturing. He was in hell. He must escape…


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“Try to drink a little of this, sir.” He recognized his servant’s voice and felt something pushed against his lips. The brandy scorched and seared his whole face. He tried to turn his head away. Every movement brought agonizing pain. “Go to hell,” he roared. But the words that came out were a shapeless moan. Three long weeks later Webb wheeled him over to the stained mirror, on the wall of the country house taken over as a convalescent hospital. Clairmont could see no connection between the hideous face he saw there and the man who had been William Clairmont. He wished he had died on the battlefield. September, 1815 On the lawn at Shalford Park, Fanny watched her sister studying the arrangement of fuchsias and wild foxgloves she was painting. Serena never gave in to her disabilities, and she somehow managed to mix paint, hold even the most hair-like brushes steady and produce pictures that took Fanny’s breath away with their delicate detail and profusion of color. Since the devastating news of their dear brother Tom’s death in battle, Serena had spent even more time on her painting than before. Fanny wished she had some of her sister’s talent to dull the ache of her brother’s loss. Her own heart’s ease seemed to come when she spent time with little Caroline, and Melinda seemed to feel no jealousy at the child’s obvious preference for her, rather than her mother. But something else was eating away at Serena. Fanny wished she knew what it was, for she would give the world to hear her sister laugh and see her tawny eyes light up as they had so easily done in the past. “Ah, there you are, Miss Fanny. Little Caroline is anxious for you.” Blaydon had approached from behind while she had been lost in her thoughts about Serena. He had been less attentive of late, Fanny realized, and had spent more time with Melinda, despite the fact that she did not seem to need consoling for her husband’s absence. The baby’s nursemaid followed Blaydon with a fretful Caroline in her arms. The child reached out her arms for Fanny, who took her eagerly. “She prefers to stand on her own two feet,” Fanny said, lowering Caroline down to balance on fat little legs in the grass. The child took a few steps, gurgling with delight. “You’re walking well, my pet,” Fanny said, indulgently. “Your Papa will be so proud of you.” “Yes, indeed,” Blaydon said, in an odd tone. “I understand we can expect him home at any moment.” Caroline plopped down on her fat little bottom. Fanny bent to help the child to a standing position again. “I am so glad that he is able to come home.” “Indeed,” Blaydon said, “his recovery has been nothing short of a miracle.”


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Fanny considered his words as she held Caroline’s hands and encouraged the little girl to take more steps. Blaydon showed a remarkable lack of warmth to the idea of his cousin’s recovery. Serena had said that Blaydon would inherit the title of Earl of Shalford, if Clairmont did not, but surely his affection for his cousin must push aside all covetous thoughts in that regard? Fanny knew that if she had been in a similar position with one of her siblings—of course, girls never had that chance to be considered—but, if she had, then she would put the life and happiness of her sisters above that of herself. A sudden commotion around one side of the house drove everything else out of Fanny’s head. “It is perfectly all right, Barker, I can announce myself.” Jenkins! Fanny’s heart turned a somersault. What was he doing here? Lifting Caroline up into her arms, and heedless of Blaydon who trailed behind her, Fanny rushed with unwomanly haste to greet the new arrival. Jenkins. What a dear, good-natured face and openhearted manner, so unlike Blaydon’s cloying behavior. She had missed him so much. And he was in civilian clothing, which hopefully meant he had given up the dangerous job of being a soldier, now that Napoleon was vanquished. It was all Fanny could do to stop herself flinging her arms about Jenkins, but that would not be ladylike and would doubtless embarrass him. Serena had seen Jenkins come and was hurrying to join the little group of greeters. “I wanted to get here before Clairmont’s arrival,” Jenkins told them. The laugh lines disappeared from his face and his eyes took on a bleakness Fanny had never seen there before. “Is it possible to gather everyone together so I can explain?” “Melinda is in the drawing room, and I hope his lordship is well enough to be able to join everyone there,” Fanny said. “The earl was taken ill when news arrived of Clairmont’s severe wounding,” Serena explained, “But since the reports of improvements to his son’s condition, his lordship has rallied and even joined us all for dinner on a few occasions.” “I hope the news I bring will not upset him again,” Jenkins said quietly, as he accompanied them into the house. The Earl of Shalford, looking old and shrunken but with eyes alert, was helped into the drawing room by his faithful valet, who must surely be almost as old as his master, Serena thought. Melinda reclined in her customary chaise lounge and fluttered her fan as Jenkins bowed over her hand. Serena’s insides were gripped with foreboding. What was so important and terrible that Jenkins had felt it necessary to come on ahead and prepare them for his friend’s arrival?


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She had never seen Jenkins look so serious. His wide mouth had always looked to be on the verge of a smile, but now a frown line creased his forehead. He declined to take a seat, and seemed hard put to it to know how to begin his message. “Clairmont has been through a great deal,” Jenkins said, finally. “He is not the same fellow who went away to fight.” Putting his hands behind his back, Jenkins straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “You will need to put a careful guard on your countenances when you first meet him. The wounds he sustained to his body and his mind were deep. He could be hurt by unguarded reactions to his appearance.” Serena gripped her withered left hand with the strong fingers of her right. She knew precisely what Jenkins meant. But for Clairmont it would be a hundred times worse. She had been used to her affliction and the reactions of others since childhood. He had to face them as a man who had owned a perfect face and a powerful body. Emotional little Fanny had tears gathering in her eyes, Clairmont’s father clamped his lips together and his face turned paler than ever, but Melinda’s expression remained unchanged. Her fine brows were drawn in a straight line and her eyes gazed off into the distance, as though she were considering what dress she might wear, or what she might instruct the cook to prepare for dinner. As for Blaydon, his expression was unreadable. But Serena noticed the way he moved closer to Melinda, as though to ally himself with her or to protect her in some way. *** Every lurch and jolt of the carriage jarred his body. Clairmont gritted his teeth and tried to reign in his temper. The driver wasn’t responsible for the rotten state of the roads. “Are you all right, sir?” Webb, who was riding beside the vehicle, leaned from his horse and peered in the window. “No, I am not. I am being shaken to pieces,” Clairmont snapped and then regretted his bad temper. The man could not be responsible for the treacherous potholes that pitted the entire highway. “Nearly there, sir,” the coachman shouted cheerfully. I wish I never had to get there. He realized his palms were moist and his mouth dry as sand. He would be forced to look at their faces as they looked at him. His cheek burned and itched intolerably. He had to restrain his fingers from touching the scarred flesh. And it seemed harder to keep his balance in the swaying carriage with only one foot on the floor.


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When the carriage came to a halt outside the imposing front entrance of the house at Shalford Park, Clairmont’s insides contracted. The double doors flew open. His welcoming committee poured forth and focused all eyes on the carriage, waiting for him to alight. They would not see how he had dispatched three curassiers as they had come at him, swords aloft. They would only see what a pair of bearded giants had done to him. The ones who had come from his blind side, and who would doubtless have added a final saber slash to his belly had they known he was still alive. Clairmont wished passionately they had done that. The moment he had dreaded above all things had arrived.

Hearing the crunch of carriage wheels on the gravel driveway that they had been expecting all day, Serena and Fanny hastened down to join Jenkins at the top of the steps. “Remember what I said,” Jenkins said in a low voice. Serena lowered her eyelids for a brief moment and then opened them to look again at the terrible raised scar from forehead to chin on the right side of Clairmont’s face. It was like a purple snake, half buried in his skin. Most terrible of all, it disappeared beneath a black eye patch and reappeared below. Dear God, he must have lost that eye. There was no way such a vicious slash could have missed blinding it. Clairmont was shaking off the helping arms of his groom. She watched him make three tries to get the crutches in place beneath his armpits. The movements of his once-powerful arms were weak, and his broad shoulders had lost much of their bulk. Jenkins ran down the steps to help his friend, but Clairmont waved him away with a scowl. “Oh, his poor face …and his leg.” Serena heard her sister sob quietly and from the corner of her eye she saw Fanny, softhearted as ever, retreat into the house, overcome with a pity she did not want Clairmont to witness. The lower half of his right trouser leg was pinned up to the knee. Some of the pins had come loose and the end trailed downward. “Roads are execrable, are they not, Clairmont?” Jenkins said lightly. “I tell you, old chap, I was nearly bounced into sixteen pieces. If you are like me, you will be ready for a stiff brandy.” Somehow, Clairmont had made it to the top of the steps. Serena could sense that the effort had cost him dearly. He suddenly looked her full in the face. She didn’t attempt to turn away, but stared back at him, willing him silently to accept her strength and understanding. He seemed on the point of speaking to her, but at that moment a child’s frightened wail interrupted him. Caroline’s nurse had carried the little girl


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forward and, as they approached, the child squirmed about and turned her face into the young woman’s shoulder. “She is shy when she meets someone she does not remember, my lord,” the nurse said, biting her lip and attempting to make a small-embarrassed curtsey. “She will soon come round, my lord.” For a second he froze, then he scowled and turned to Jenkins. “Where is my father?” he said. “I suppose I had better go and get the meeting over.” “Waiting for you in the library, old chap,” Jenkins said. Again, shaking off his friend’s proffered arm, Clairmont made his way doggedly down the hall. Melinda had not appeared. Serena supposed she was still in the drawing room or in her bedchamber. Why had she not joined the welcoming group at the entrance?

Jenkins held the heavy library door open as Clairmont stumped his way into the room. His heart sank and he stopped short just inside the entrance. His father and Melinda waited in chairs on either side of the fireplace. Clairmont watched as his father’s welcoming smile faltered. Melinda met his gaze and then looked down quickly at the fan in her hand. “What are you doing here?” Clairmont growled at Blaydon, who stood in a protective attitude beside Melinda’s chair. “Just forming part of the welcoming committee, Clairmont,” Blaydon said smoothly. “I was looking forward to greeting my father alone.” Clairmont stumped towards the earl and held out his hand. “I thought we had lost you, my son,” his father’s eyes looked suspiciously bright as he took the hand in both his own. Clairmont felt a moment of surprise. This was the first time in his life that his crusty father had ever shown affection for him. Even when he had left for France, the old man had sent him away with a perfunctory handshake. Apprehension gnawed Clairmont’s stomach as he turned towards Melinda. He knew she did not love him, but he hoped she would not turn against him now. She was so wonderfully beautiful, like a goddess. One detached part of his mind observed this, while his insides churned. Melinda’s blue eyes looked up at him and he detected at once the distaste and even the fear that lurked behind the smooth brow and the small, pasted-on smile. “We thought you were dead,” Blaydon said, moving imperceptibly closer to her. “You hoped I was, no doubt,” Clairmont said coldly. It didn’t escape his notice that his cousin’s attitude had subtly changed from the days of their youth. Blaydon had always blustered and then backed away from any confrontation


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between the two. But now he sensed that his cousin had looked at his weakened state and his new grotesque face and decided he had the upper hand. The thought made Clairmont’s blood boil. “Get away from my wife,” he said, between clenched teeth. “You are hardly in a position to make threats, Clairmont.” Blaydon smiled a slow and infuriating smirk. “This won’t do at all,” the earl growled. “Your cousin was very supportive of Melinda and myself while you were away, William. No need to take offense.” “You must be tired from your journey, old chap,” Jenkins said. “Come and have that brandy I mentioned.” Clairmont nodded to his father and turned to leave the room with his friend. Melinda had not uttered one word to him. “Make mine a double, Jenkins ,” he said. Serena found him in the garden next morning when she carried out her easel and palette. Deciding to respect his privacy, she was about to retrace her steps and find some other vantage point from which to begin her sketching when he turned and fixed her with his black stare. “I hope you are satisfied, Madam, to find another unfortunate with whom to commiserate.” Serena changed her mind about retreating. Deliberately, she set down her easel and faced him squarely. “Commiserating is something I rarely do. And I see no other unfortunate here beside yourself, sir.” She felt the blood flush her cheeks as her anger rose at his insulting remark. Then she remembered all the pain and horror he must have been through, and she checked herself. Angry feelings would only get in the way of any help she could be to him. “And the only problem I perceive for you, Clairmont, is that you are too busy feeling sorry for yourself.” “You have the advantage of me, Madam, in that you have never experienced the horrors of war, nor the pain of wounds.” “I am no stranger to the pain of being rejected, solely on another’s opinion of the way I look on the outside,” she said. “My only advantage is that I have had more years to get used to the idea.” She gestured towards him, her hand full of paintbrushes. “You, sir, have always been so perfectly fashioned that you grew accustomed to admiration. The sudden change to your outward appearance is naturally hard to accept.” “Naturally hard?” he repeated in a hollow voice. “Nothing about it is natural, Miss Warren, nothing at all.” “Whereas I have had the advantage of many years of meeting a pitying look in people’s eyes when they see my hand and my limp.” She cocked her head to


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one side. “I have had time to grow a very tough skin, my lord. Every insult just bounces off.” Clairmont’s one good eyebrow rose skeptically. “I was speaking metaphorically of course,” she said. “The physical is actually not tough at all. Here, feel for yourself.” She held out her hand, still full of brushes. He looked at her as though she was slightly mad. But he touched the skin on the back of her hand just the same. “You see?” she said. “Not tough at all, but the inside…now that is another matter altogether. Words no longer have the power to wound the inside.” She smiled, hoping she was getting her message across. “How would I go about getting that toughness, Miss Warren?” Then, before she had a chance to reply he added, “No. I do not wish to try.” He hunched his shoulders and she realized the tops of the crutches must be giving him pain, since he was not used to standing with them for long periods. “If there is one thing worse than seeing distaste and revulsion in the eyes of others when they look at me, it is to read pity there.” He shook his head vehemently. “Pity is something I will not tolerate.” “But you tolerate self-pity,” Serena said. “You are fairly wallowing in it today, my lord.” She heard him take in a great breath and saw his lips clamp together. One side was puckered from the scar. He turned away so abruptly that he almost lost his balance. Serena feared he would topple over into the bushes. But he regained control and began stumping away, anger radiating from his shoulders hunched over the crutches. “I will not stay here trading insults,” he barked. “First point goes to me, I think, Clairmont,” she called after him. Unable to keep the chuckle out of her voice, she added. “And do not worry, my lord. I absolutely refuse to pity you.” Clairmont swore under his breath. What an infuriating creature. Yesterday he had stared into her eyes on the front steps. He had intended his intense glare to say, I suppose you are gratified, now that I am a cripple like you! But Miss Warren’s unspoken reply had somehow blunted the thrust of his message, and then the nurse had interrupted by bringing Caroline to greet him. What a stab to the heart his little daughter’s repudiation of him had been. It was no more than he should have expected. His scarred face must appear terrifying to the child. He leaned heavily on his crutches, despite the way they chafed his armpits, and wished again that the last saber-wielding giant had made the final thrust. The infuriating Miss Warren’s voice rang in his ears again, making him straighten his back and hold up his head. “I refuse to wallow in self-pity,” he said aloud. And he was somehow comforted by the thought that she refused to pity him as well. He could always seek her out to trade barbs with her when self-


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pitying thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. The idea gave him the first spark of challenge and hope since he had looked at himself in that convalescent ward mirror.


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CHAPTER 6 John Blaydon’s nostrils flared in disgust as he looked from the drawing room window to where his cousin, Clairmont, was engaged in an acerbic looking conversation with Serena Warren in the garden below. Together they made a fine pair of imperfects. Blaydon ground his teeth. Why were the gods always against him? Clairmont had always been stronger and more handsome than himself. And, though he now looked repulsive, Clairmont was still alive, barring Blaydon’s chance of inheriting the coveted title. For a heady few weeks Blaydon had believed that his cousin was going to die. He had hung around his uncle, the old earl, offering sympathy. He had ingratiated himself with Melinda who stood to inherit her widow’s portion of the estate. Allowing her to remain at Shalford would keep her portion close at hand when he became Earl of Shalford and inherited everything else. But his cousin, scarred though he was, had survived against all odds. And it was obvious that Melinda could hardly bear the sight of him. Blaydon looked thoughtful as he watched Clairmont turn away from the strange Miss Warren. For one moment it looked as though Clairmont would topple into the shrubbery. It would take so little, Blaydon mused, for him to lose his balance at the head of a flight of stairs and come crashing down. Clairmont was not the invincible obstacle he had once seemed... “Oh, poor dear Clairmont. It must be torture for him to be in that weakened condition.” The words startled Blaydon from his reverie, as plump little Miss Fanny joined him at the window. Blaydon found the woeful expression on her round face quite touching. Unlike her older sister she really was the most softhearted of creatures. “Your sentiments do you credit, Miss Fanny,” he said, assuming a suitably sympathetic air. “We shall have to do all in our power to help my brave cousin recover his spirits.” He shook his head and sighed. “But I fear his former good health has gone for ever.” “Oh, never say that, Mr. Blaydon.” Fanny looked alarmed. “With good food and nursing, he will surely regain his health?” “Dear Miss Fanny, what a tender heart you have. It almost makes me wish I were similarly afflicted myself, to be the recipient of your concern.” Blaydon watched through the window as Clairmont stumped away, apparently throwing some terse comments over his shoulder to the strangely smiling Miss Warren. Turning from the window, Blaydon proffered his arm to the young woman beside him.


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“Pray join me in a turn about the garden, Miss Fanny.” Time later to think of ways to ‘help’ his cousin, when he was alone and could work out a suitable plan. *** In the stable, Clairmont leaned on his crutches and peered into the stalls. His father’s two grays, Fox and Tarrin, turned their heads to him. They seldom got an airing and exercise these days, for his father had become such a recluse that he never took his carriage anywhere. Nightmare memories of Lucifer swept over Clairmont. The horse had screamed when the sharp blade sliced through the mud encrusting his beautiful black flanks, just as Clairmont had wheeled about to face the snarling onslaught closing in on him from the side. The vision from the battlefield haunted him still. Now his body longed to take action. The unused muscles in his arms and shoulders had grown dreadfully weak. His healthy leg cried out for exercise. Yet something incredibly heavy had blanketed his soul. Despair had sunk him into such a deep depression that he felt paralyzed. As though he were not really alive, because he couldn’t bear the thought of living in the crippled hulk of his body. Could he mount up and hold his seat on one of those gray backs? Would he have the strength to control a horse? Would the tender thigh on his stump exert enough pressure? “Thinking of taking one of them out for a ride, my lord?” Clairmont almost lost his balance as he swung around to confront the speaker. Serena Warren’s brown eyes sparkled at him from her impishly attractive face. Her hair looked impossibly red against the deep green of her riding habit. Tan leather riding gloves hid her clawed left hand. “I didn’t hear you coming,” he said, putting as much cold reproach into his tone as he could. She had overtaken him at a vulnerable moment. “You must have been deep in thought. I made no attempt to soften the clomp of my heel,” she said with a brisk flick of her riding crop towards the foot that always dragged a little when she walked. “It seems that you deliberately flaunt your disabilities.” He made his tone even colder. “Why should I attempt to cover them up? The horses don’t care. In any case, I never think about them as disabilities. They are just a part of me, and I refuse to let them prevent me from doing what I want.” “And I do?” he inquired, icily. “I know you have but recently come by your injuries, my lord, but it seems to me you are letting them get in the way of attempting things you want to do.” Clairmont felt himself stiffen. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand very erect. If he wanted to ride, then that is what he would do. Grimfaced,


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he called for his father’s elderly groom and ordered one of the horses saddled. “After all, my lord,” Serena said, “the horses will doubtless enjoy the outing as much as you. They do not care whether your face is scarred or perfectly smooth.” Clairmont shot her a sharp glance. Nobody had referred to his face as ‘scarred’ in his hearing. This young woman didn’t sugar coat her tongue. Then, catching the twinkle in her eyes and the laugh tugging at the corner of her mouth, he felt himself relax slightly. “They would not care about an inoperative hand, either, Miss Warren.” Turning to face her, he added, “So I shall have both grays saddled and you may ride the other, to make sure neither horse evinces any objection to our respective shortcomings.” He saw the color heighten in her cheeks and sensed a momentary hesitation. Aha! He had called her bluff. “Unless the idea of sitting up on such a tall animal as Tarrin makes you fearful, Miss Warren?” “Fearful? Why should I be fearful?” she said, a trifle too hastily. “Well then, Miss Warren, allow me to show you some of the more beautiful riding paths on our family estate.” When both horses were ready, Clairmont held himself rigidly in check as he balanced on his left leg on the mounting block, which he had scorned to use since boyhood. Willing the stump of his right leg to swing over the horse’s back, he somehow got himself seated in the saddle. The feeling was strange. He had no foot to put in the right stirrup. “Use your riding crop to direct the horse on that side. It works well,” Serena said. Clairmont nodded. Of course, riding sidesaddle, she would use that method all the time. Taking the rein from the groom, he grasped it with as much assurance as he could muster. More than two months of inactivity, following his near-death in France, had sapped the strength from the muscles of his arms and shoulders more than he had realized. He had not really cared and had wished rather for death. But now he felt a stirring of his old energy and fire. “Come, Miss Warren,” he called over his shoulder, as he turned his horse towards the entrance of the stable block. “You will not be able to outrun me, my lord, I promise you,” she said. He caught the determined glare in her eyes. Then he was forced to give his full attention to holding himself upright in the saddle. God, but his thigh muscles were weak. Squaring his already aching shoulders, he touched Fox’s flank with his left ankle and directed the horse towards the winding path that would take them to the hilltop.


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Tarrin was at least three hands higher than her own horse. Serena kept the rein tightly grasped in her right hand and took a deep breath. She had never been able to resist a dare. Now she hoped she would be able to control this powerful beast. Of course I can, she told herself as she followed closely behind Fox. In any case, she must keep an eye on Clairmont. For all his brave words, she had sensed the supreme effort it had cost him to get himself up in the tall saddle. She could see him pulling back his shoulders and almost feel him willing himself to maintain the appearance of comfort and being in command. The path took them over rolling hillsides and through green copses. Serena began to relax as she found Tarrin surprisingly easy to control, even though the animal must be unused to having a sidesaddle on its back. A slight breeze kept the summer sun from overheating the landscape and fanned the ribbon on her riding hat. Her glance kept returning to the stoic figure riding unrelentingly ahead. Finally, he came to a stop at the foot of a particularly steep path leading upwards through gnarled oaks and copper leaved beeches and Serena urged her mount ahead to catch up. “Some of these oaks must be over a hundred years old,” she said. Her voice died away in dismay as she caught sight of Clairmont’s face, white and haggard beneath the livid purple scar and black eye patch. His breathing was ragged and there was no mistaking the droop to his shoulders. “Oh, my lord, I fear we have attempted to do too much. You are not feeling well.” She could sense him bristle beneath the pale skin. His knuckles tightened on the rein. “Nonsense. It is merely that I am a little out of practice.” “But you have been so ill. We should have restricted this first outing somewhat.” “Madam, you have broken your word. You stated flatly that you were not going to pity me,” he growled. “I had no thought of pity,” she said. “I am merely stating the obvious. You have taken on too much, too soon.” But her words seemed to add fuel to his anger. A flush dispelled the pallor of his face and Serena saw him draw in an almighty big breath. “Allow me to be the judge of what I am capable of doing.” His one black eye glared in menace. “Crippled as I may be, I can still outride you, Madam.” Serena felt her own face flush. That hated word ‘cripple.’ She would never accept it for herself and could not bear that he would apply it to his own condition, despite what others might say. A stab of unreasoning anger made her toss her head and turn Tarrin up the steep path ahead. Urging the horse on and up, filled with the need to get to the top, she did not relent until she and the animal arrived panting and spent at the summit. And shortly afterwards Clairmont joined her, even more breathless than


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she. Hauling in her own ragged breaths, Serena saw him gasping and heaving over the horse’s neck. Her anger vanished in a flash and she felt a deep twinge of remorse for having goaded him into continuing up the slope. “I’m sorry. We must go back at once,” she said, striving to calm the thumping of her heart.” “The devil we will,” he managed to say. “You have not admired the view yet.” “Oh,” she gasped. “The view.” “That is why I brought you up here, Madam.” Serena looked at him puffing and yet managing to sound so self-righteous. She tried to bite her lips together to stop from laughing. But her restrained mirth grew stronger in the face of the indignant surprise she saw in his expression. Finally a merry peal of laughter escaped her, to be followed by another and another. She could almost read the procession of emotions that succeeded each other across his countenance. Puzzlement gave way to abandonment and within a few moments his own lips quirked and he joined her, letting out a series of guffaws that rang hoarsely over the hills. The thick scar prevented his mouth from laughing equally on both sides, but to see his merriment warmed Serena’s heart. He had stopped looking like a man for whom life had ended. In fact, he looked a lot like a roaring pirate, with his scarred face and half a leg missing. “You look just like a jolly buccaneer,” she managed, between peals. “Avast there, fair maiden. Have a care whom you insult,” he boomed. Serena stopped laughing. “Nobody ever called me ‘fair maiden’ before. Do not tease me, Clairmont.” “I do believe you started the teasing with your reference to buccaneers,” he said, sobering. “But I still insist that you admire the view.” Serena’s attention, which had been almost solely on Clairmont, was now drawn to the panorama around them on this clear hilltop. Forested hillsides gave way to neat fields of summer wheat, tidy barns and farmhouses that looked like doll houses from this distance. Unconsciously she clapped her hands as she was wont to do, with the palm of her right hand clapping against the back of the curled up left. The soft leather of the gloves muted the sound. She saw the change of expression that crossed his face. “Time to go back,” he said. *** Seated on the neatly clipped lawn at Shalford Park, John Blaydon scowled as he watched his cousin, Clairmont, ride out from the pathway between the trees. Recalling himself, he changed his expression to a smile, jumped up and walked forward across the grass to greet Clairmont and the Warren woman, who followed behind on the second of the grays.


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“William! Delighted to see that you can sit a horse again!” Blaydon didn’t miss the calculating look he received from Miss Warren. In the past, he had tended to consider her as part of the background, so to speak. But with evidence of a new friendship between his cousin and the afflicted woman, her cultivation might be necessary if he were going to lull Clairmont into some careless act. “Let me help you down, William.” Blaydon hurried forward. But Clairmont cut him off. “We shall dismount when we reach the stables, Blaydon.” He turned his horse in the direction of the stable block to the rear of the house. “I do wish you would consider addressing me as ‘John,’ William. After all, we are cousins, are we not...?” Blaydon’s voice trailed away. He was acutely aware of Miss Warren’s speculative gaze on him, before she turned to follow Clairmont, who had disappeared without replying. He would have to be very careful of her. She had a most discomforting stare that seemed, at times, to discern his thoughts. “See, Caroline, there is your uncle John.” Young Fanny Warren’s voice broke into his thoughts. She was making slow progress up the path towards him with Caroline tottering ahead of her on plump legs. The child reached out her arms to him. “What a clever child she is to be walking already,” he said, turning and holding out his own arms to encourage Caroline to continue towards him. Here was one victory over Clairmont, because the child was still so fearful of her father’s scarred countenance that she screamed and hid her face whenever Clairmont spoke to her. “And may I be permitted to say how lovely you look in that particular shade of blue, Miss Fanny.” He was gratified by the blush that appeared on her full, round cheeks. Knowing that she was sensitive about her generous proportions, he calculated that the vertical stripes of pale and dark blue were meant to give an impression of more slenderness than she actually possessed. Miss Fanny was definitely in his pocket and he intended to keep her there. If the crippled older sister could not be won over, at least Fanny would be a good means of communication about Clairmont’s comings and goings. Bending down, he gently tickled Caroline’s little button nose until the child giggled. Then he took her up to sit on his shoulders and danced around, making her laugh with delight. His precious little niece would be his, in any event. Already she was more at home with him than with her ugly father. “Uncle John will take you to see the goldfish, Caroline,” he said. “Come, dear Miss Fanny, we shall watch them flash and shine in the sunlight as we throw them some food.” ***


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At the stable it was all Clairmont could do not to groan as he slid off Fox’s back and stood upon his good leg, grasping the crutches that the groom held out to him. Everything ached. But the feeling inside him was exultant. He could ride. He could get about without these infuriating props that chafed his armpits and made movements ungainly. And Miss Warren—he thought of her now as Serena, although he would never be so crass as to address her in such familiar terms—had helped to provoke him into making up his mind to ride. She had accepted his challenge. Her presence had goaded him on and enhanced his pleasure in the ride. He had enjoyed the laughter they shared and the chance to show her the spectacular view of the countryside around Shalford. Refusing the groom’s offer of assistance, she had slipped down from Tarin’s back by herself and stood patting the horse’s neck with her good hand. “I should like to ride you again, old fellow,” she said. Her dark green riding hat had slipped slightly to one side and her hair was coming loose from its pins. It was almost the color of polished carrots, only much softer looking. Face flushed and animated, she made a most fetching picture. One almost could forget the hand. Clairmont caught himself. He could no longer judge the world from his former lofty ideas of perfection. His own body served as a constant reminder of the fact. Before dinner that evening he went to visit his father. The old man rarely came to the table nowadays. He took most of his meals in his own chamber. Every time Clairmont saw him, the earl looked more frail and shrunken. His white hair, once thick and unruly, was now a sparse cap of rabbit fur that rubbed off onto the pillows of the bed. “You must build up your strength, my son,” his father said, as Clairmont stumped across the room to greet him. “I shall not last much longer.” “My son.” The words hit Clairmont like a blow to the chest. His father had never addressed him that way before. He took the old man’s hand in his. It felt like a withered leaf between his own fingers, which ached from the unaccustomed controlling of the rein in today’s ride, but still felt solid with the beginning of returning strength. “We must build up our strength together, Father,” he said, setting aside his crutches and lowering himself onto the leather stool in front of the earl’s chair. In comparison with the old man, Clairmont felt strong and youthful, very different from the way he had seen himself earlier in the day. “With your permission, sir, I shall take you out for a carriage ride in the fresh air tomorrow.” The old man raised bushy eyebrows. “I may take you up on your offer, my son, on one condition.” “That condition is, Father?”


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“That you get yourself a proper artificial leg and get rid of these...” he pointed to the crutches, lying beside his chair. For the first time since his wounding, Clairmont felt excited about the idea of walking without those heavy objects. “I shall see to it tomorrow,” he promised. *** The wooden appendage strapped to his right leg felt strange, but its leather cup did not chafe his stump in the way he had expected. Clairmont practiced his walk along the sunny path leading to the goldfish pond. Apart from a little awkwardness, he was getting the hang of the balance quite well. The carpenter had molded a sturdy leg with a shapely calf and a hinged knee. Clairmont decided that he did not miss his former pantaloons in the least. Trousers were infinitely more comfortable. He could not resist a smile when he remembered the balls he had attended at Almack’s, seemingly a lifetime ago, when the lady patronesses would never allow trousers at their Wednesday night affairs, unless the wearer was elderly, or had bowlegs or some other infirmity to be concealed. Well, his wooden leg would be concealed and he was not going to allow it to be an infirmity. But...there was his scarred face. He still could not bear to look in a mirror. The sight tore at his heart. He must somehow learn to accept his appearance. And he must school himself for the horror mirrored in the faces of others, when they saw him for the first time.

Serena watched him as he paced back and forth on the fine gravel of the path. He was striding well with his new, artificial limb, and very determined he looked about the task, with his shoulders back and head held high. Time to find out how he would manage with his riding. She moved out from her niche, where she had been painting. “Are you ready to go riding with me, my lord?” He frowned and Serena was suddenly aware of the messy dabs on the smock she was wearing over her dress. Or perhaps he thought she had been spying on him. Then he laughed. “I don’t suppose Tarrin will be put off by the flecks of blue paint on your face, any more than Fox is concerned about my scar. But may I suggest a riding habit instead of that ghastly smock?” Dropping him a mock curtsy, Serena hurried off to change. She could hear his chuckle from behind her and it warmed her heart. Although it was now late September and the leaves had begun to turn, the undergrowth was still thick on either side of the paths leading through the woodlands. Serena spotted a rabbit that bobbed and bounded away at the last


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minute from the approaching hooves of Clairmont’s horse. The white tail was lost almost at once in the ferns and bracken. She was always content to let Clairmont lead, and to look at his broad back and the way his black hair curled on his collar. When they were face to face she could never overtly study him. He was so over-sensitive about his face. Ambling along on Tarrin’s back, she could just let her thoughts drift and imagine how it would feel to touch those black curls and to be held close to those broad shoulders. A small sigh escaped her lips. He regarded her as a fellow afflicted soul, but she had no illusions that he could find anything about her that would make him want to hug her. She still caught him glancing at her clawed hand, once in a while. And she chided herself for inadvertently trying to hide it in her riding glove. The view from the top of the ridge was as spectacular as ever. Some stands of wheat were fast ripening and soon would fall to the smooth movements of the harvesters and their scythes. “It feels like being at the top of the world, here.” Serena stretched out her arms to encompass it all, then remembering, she quickly drew back the curled up claw. Stealing a glance at Clairmont, she discovered him looking back at her with a disconcertingly direct stare. She could tell nothing from his expression. As always, one eye was hidden beneath the patch and the corner of his mouth was pulled down by the scar on the right side. She chided herself for being sensitive about her hand, but could not let go of the uncomfortable feeling. Taking in a deep breath she turned Tarrin around. “I’ll reach the bottom first,” she said, urging the big horse to begin the descent through the trees. She gloried in the feeling of speed and held on tightly as the sure-footed animal went full-tilt down the slope. The path was clear and well-known to both of them, so she had no fear. Serena laughed and gasped for breath when she heard Clairmont’s deepthroated shout from behind her. She was unable to distinguish the words but it sounded like a challenge of some kind. She laughed again and the sound turned to a high scream as Tarrin stumbled. The horse pitched forward on its shoulder. Serena felt herself hurtling through the air over the horse’s head. A split second of jarring, searing pain throughout her body and then nothing. Clairmont almost went over Fox’s head in his effort to bring the animal to a stop. With a speed and agility he had not known since losing his leg, he leaped from the horse’s back. Not stopping to hobble or tie the animal he rushed, stumbling down the unaccustomed slope, to where Serena lay in an unconscious heap amongst the ferns. Forcing his awkward leg to bend he knelt beside her. She looked like a face-down rag doll with impossibly red hair. Her riding hat had been catapulted


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into the bushes. As gently as he could, Clairmont turned her over and tried to wipe the dirt from her face. She sagged against his arm and her own right wrist was bent at an odd angle. “Serena,” he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “Serena! Please speak to me, Serena.” She had been laughing with joy. The horse was sure-footed and the path, though sloping, was smooth without rocks that could trip. Tarrin flailed his legs and then whinnied as he hauled himself up. He tottered for a moment and then began to limp unsteadily away down the path. Clairmont’s eyes narrowed in disbelief at the length of thin brown cord he could see stretched out across the path. This was no accident. And the cord had not been across the path on their upward journey. Clairmont felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Someone had deliberately set a trap. Someone who knew they rode this way each day. Someone who knew they would be returning on the descent faster than they would climb and consequently less prone to notice an almost invisible cord stretched right where it would trip an unwary horse. A movement behind him broke his train of thought, just as he was on the verge of bringing something else to the surface of his mind. “Fox, no!” he bellowed. But he was too late. The horse had taken off after its mate. The beat of hooves receded on the earth of the trail and Clairmont was left with nothing but the sighing of wind through the branches overhead. He cursed himself for not having tethered the horse and for his clumsiness as he gathered Serena into his arms. The balance on his new leg was still precarious. The last thing he wanted to do was to topple over and let his slender burden crash to the ground once more. Thank heaven she was so feather light. She weighed no more than a child and her left arm was so pitifully thin. He tucked it across the front of her so the hand would not hang down as he walked. Setting his feet carefully, he started down the pathway. Serena thought she must be swaying in a hammock. Then she was aware of strong arms cradling her. As consciousness returned, she lifted her eyelids and found her face pressed against Clairmont’s chest. With a shock of recognition, she looked up at his face and the movement made her cry out with the sharp pain in her right wrist, sandwiched between her own body and the smooth fabric of his riding jacket. The swaying ceased as Clairmont stopped short and looked at her. “I am greatly relieved to see you have regained consciousness, Miss Warren. But it distresses me to find you in pain. I believe you have broken your wrist and I must get you back as quickly as possible so we may get it attended to.” He gave her a tentative smile and shifted his weight. “Almost there.” “Your poor leg. I must get down and walk for myself.” She struggled to


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get herself upright and only succeeded in redoubling the agony from her wrist. “Pray stay still, Serena. I will have you there directly.” It was the first time he had ever addressed her as Serena. She felt her cheeks grow warm and she kept still as he continued walking carefully along the path. Risking a glance up at his face she saw that his expression was set, as though he was determined to get her to the house at all costs. A slight sheen of perspiration beaded his brow and he was breathing deeply as he concentrated on keeping his balance. His eye patch had moved a little to one side and Serena could see the empty socket. A quick rush of sympathy made her want to reach up and touch the poor place tenderly, but she knew that to move again would trigger the shrieking pain in her wrist. Besides, his expression was so forbidding she dared not attempt to express her sympathy in any way. He suddenly looked down and caught her studying him. His lips tightened. “Not a pretty sight is it, Miss Warren?” “I preferred ‘Serena’” she said. “Don’t you know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? I see nothing ugly there at all.” “Your eyes are very forgiving, Serena.” He returned his attention to the path. “And your perception unusual,” he added. Serena wondered whether he was thinking of Melinda’s undisguised revulsion. Then she gave herself up to the novel and quite wonderful experience of being carried in his arms. As they neared the small group of people taking tea beneath the trees, not far from the goldfish pool, Blaydon sprang up so fast that he knocked over his chair. “Whatever has happened, William?” he said, eyes wide with alarm. He attempted to relieve Clairmont of his burden, thereby causing Serena to utter an involuntary cry of pain. “Serena, dearest sister, you are badly hurt. I cannot bear to see it. We must get a doctor at once.” Tender-hearted Fanny was in tears and little Caroline started to howl in sympathy. “I cannot imagine what you two were doing,” Melinda said, setting down her teacup but not stirring from her chair. “You both look as though you have been to war.” She did not sound sympathetic, merely inconvenienced by all the fuss they were causing. “My horse stumbled,” Serena said. “Clairmont has been good enough to carry me home.” “I will convey Miss Warren into the house,” Clairmont said, without further explanation. Serena felt his tension and thought he was angry with her. “I am sorry to be the cause of all this upset,” she said. “And I do hope the horses came safely home.” “I shall call the servants to go search for them if they have not returned of their own accord,” he said. Once inside the house he set her down on Melinda’s chaise lounge, which,


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as Serena had suspected was more fashionable than comfortable. Looming over her, and with his back to Fanny and Serena’s maid, who were both fussing about whether Serena should be conveyed directly to her room, he spoke to her in a low voice. “Do not concern yourself, Miss Warren. The accident was in no way your fault.” He turned and limped out of the room, leaving Serena wondering why he felt the need to exonerate her. Surely her own recklessness was to blame?


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CHAPTER 7 Clairmont’s stump throbbed as though he had been marching on it for a year. His arms and shoulders ached from carrying Serena along the three miles of paths to the house. He called for his valet to prepare him a hot bath. While the maids and footmen scurried back and forth with the hot water and towels, he allowed himself a large glass of brandy to aid his thoughts. Despite the heat given off by the fire, Clairmont felt strangely chilled and ordered more wood to be brought. He was still conjecturing when Blaydon knocked at his chamber door and asked to come in. “Dreadful, just dreadful,” Blaydon said, seating himself on the opposite side of the fireplace after Clairmont reluctantly growled his assent. “What is so dreadful, Blaydon?” Slowly swirling the brandy glass in his fingers, he gazed thoughtfully at his cousin’s face. “Why, Miss Warren’s unfortunate accident, of course.” Blaydon appeared flustered. “Poor little lady. Must be in great pain. The doctor has bound her arm up with a great splint. Cannot think how she came by such a fall.” His fingers played with the ends of his white cravat. “Perhaps because the horse was too large for her to handle properly, given that she has only has one good hand,” Clairmont suggested, watching his cousin’s face for a reaction. “Ah yes, quite so. That must explain the problem.” Blaydon’s brow cleared and he stopped fiddling with the cravat. “We must make sure that she is better protected in future,” Clairmont said. “Yes, indeed. Poor Miss Warren.” Blaydon got to his feet. “Well, I shall leave you to your bath and your brandy, Clairmont. You must be congratulated on carrying her such a long way back.” He made for the door. “Goodnight, Cousin,” he said as he went out. “Goodnight—Cousin,” Clairmont repeated after the door had closed. How did Blaydon know it was a long way? Clairmont had deliberately not mentioned the location of the ‘accident’ and no one knew he had carried Miss Warren for almost an hour. Nobody would suppose him capable of doing such a thing. Clairmont couldn’t dispel an uneasy suspicion that his cousin had some connection with the placement of the cord across the path. “Ridiculous idea,” he said aloud. “It was someone’s foolish prank.” But unease still lurked in the back of his mind. ***


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Serena’s wrist throbbed and the splint to which the doctor had bound her arm felt as though it weighed a ton. “Do not worry your head about a thing, dear Serena,” Fanny fussed about, plumping up the cushions. “Do try to swallow a little of this arrowroot custard that cook has prepared for you.” “Oh, if only it had not been your right hand, Miss Warren,” Mary lamented. “Now you are truly crip....” Serena frowned and the flustered maid amended her statement. “I meant to say, Miss, that neither of your poor hands are in working order.” “But we shall be ready to help Miss Warren in every possible way,” Fanny said in a soothing voice. “Stop treating me like an invalid!” Serena burst out, then realized how waspish she must sound. They were only trying to do their best. In truth, apart from a slight headache and the pain in her wrist, she felt in fine fettle. There was no need for the vinaigrette that Fanny insisted on keeping beside her. She was fond of arrowroot custard, but was in no mood to have it spoon fed to her. “I should prefer to be by myself for a while,” she said, speaking in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone. “Perhaps I shall take a nap.” “Would you not prefer me to stay with you?” Fanny’s usually smooth brow was furrowed with concern for her elder sister. “No, indeed, Fanny, dear. My eyes will be closed the moment you are gone.” “I shall be close by. You have but to call and Mary and I will be here to help you.” Serena sighed and closed her eyes until she was sure they had gone and closed the door. Then she sat up and eyed the tempting dish of creamy custard, pulling the tray towards her with the puffy fingers protruding from the end of the splint. There was no way that she could hold a spoon with those fingers, but... She got the handle of the spoon between the thumb and curled fingers of her left hand. If only she could control that thumb enough to keep the handle pressed firmly enough against her palm... It took a few minutes of persistence, but she made the handle stay in place and then pushed the bowl of the spoon into the custard far enough to get some of the creamy concoction into it. Bending her head, she maneuvered the morsel to her lips. Ambrosia. And triumph. True, she could not control the spoon perfectly. A little custard spattered on the blanket covering her legs. Never mind, she was succeeding. She tried again. This time she got the spoon full, bent her head and lifted the withered hand towards her mouth. A firm rap at her door made her jump. The spoon hit the side of her mouth, jumped out of her hand and slid to the floor, leaving a trail of custard as it went.


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Damnation. “Who is it?” she snapped. “I beg your pardon, Miss Warren, I merely wished to inquire about the state of your wrist after the doctor had treated you.” Clairmont! He was the last person she wanted to see her at the moment. She made a frantic attempt to wipe her face. “I am perfectly well, thank you, my lord, but I wish to be left alone.” Too late, the door swung open and the most fierce pirate who ever lived loomed at the entrance. A pirate with a worried expression. “I do apologize for the intrusion, Miss Warren. I was concerned about your progress. The door evidently was not properly latched and came open when I knocked. I did not realize you were alone. I shall leave at once.” He put his hand out to the door jamb, as though to catch his balance. A deep shadow ringed the eye that Serena could see. Remembering how he had carried her, despite his new artificial leg that must have pained him, she forgot the spatters of custard around her mouth and on the floor. “No... wait!” she said. “I hope you have not strained your leg on my account. You did me a great kindness by bringing me all the way home after the accident. Do come in and sit down for a moment.” It simply was not done for an unmarried young woman to invite a gentleman into her room. But she was twenty-four years old and quite on the shelf. He hesitated. “I have no wish to ruin your reputation, Miss Warren.” “Perhaps if you leave the door open...?” she said. His mouth quirked at the corners. After another momentary hesitation, he came inside and walked stiffly to where Serena sat, propped up amid the pillows of her bed. Then he lowered himself into the chair Fanny had left beside the night table. “I see you like arrowroot custard,” he said. “I have not tasted any since my mother...since I was a child.” Picking up her napkin he gently dabbed at the creamy mess around her mouth. “I promise not to steal any if you will let my hand replace the one presently inconvenienced by the splint.” One side of his face was perfect, the other ravaged by the gathered-up scar. At close range it was not terrifying at all. Serena could hardly breathe. His nearness brought back the feeling she had experienced when he was holding her close to his chest. “I hate to have someone spoon-feed me,” she said, with a small tremor in her voice. “I understand. I hated the crutches. But those are gone and soon your splint will be gone.” Holding out the spoon to her he added, “However, it is possible that, by diligent practice, you might find yourself with two working hands by that time.” He understood what she had been trying to do. Serena grinned and, after a


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moment of hesitation, she carefully worked to take hold of the spoon in her bent fingers once more. At the first try she got more arrowroot on her cheek, but, at least, none spattered the blanket. By the third spoonful, most of the custard went between her lips. “I am sorry that there will be none left for you, my lord.” She ran her tongue around the outside of her lips to collect any traces. “My name is William.” His mouth curved up in a smile. “Thank you for rescuing me today, William.” The smile disappeared. “I should have been riding first down that pathway, Miss Warren.” “I have told you that I prefer ‘Serena,’ my lor ... William,” she said. “But what difference would it have made? I was careless.” He pushed himself to his feet and she dropped her gaze to the custard bowl so as not to scrutinize his determined efforts to re-establish his balance and stand erect. “I do not think it was mere carelessness, Serena. But I don’t wish to worry you at the moment.” Taking her curled fingers between his palms for a moment he said, “Goodnight. Rest well.” “What did you mean, not mere carelessness?” she inquired. But he did not appear to hear her as he went out through the doorway. Resolving to pursue the question with him at a later time, Serena reached for the custard dish. “If I practice hard enough...” she murmured as she strove to grip the spoon. . . . . . . What an impossible color her hair is, he told himself. The red was even more pronounced against the white of the pillows. He had to admire her gritty determination. Many young women would lie back and be coddled were they to find themselves in the same position. He had to amend that thought by admitting to himself that he knew precious few young women, having no sisters or cousins. But he could not help comparing Serena’s reactions to those of his wife, who had complained constantly while carrying their child, and who languidly expected to be waited on hand and foot, even now. Melinda, his perfect wife. The thought brought a sour taste to his mouth and a heaviness in his heart. He and she had not exchanged more than a dozen words since his return. She had not even expressed a word of compassion. Not that he wanted pity. He stumped along the hallway feeling defiant, but at the same time hollow. Simple acceptance would have been adequate. Added tenderness and understanding would have helped him heal. It had taken the challenging spirit of the crippled Miss Warren ... Serena ...he was coming to enjoy the sound of her name ... to start him on the road to a stubborn recovery.


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But perhaps Melinda had merely been so shocked and concerned for him that she could not express her feelings in words? It was possible that she might be more accepting of him, now that he was regaining much of his former strength, and now that he had discarded the crutches. A sudden longing to find out, sent him along to the door of his wife’s bedchamber. It was useless to try and enter from his dressing room. That connecting door had often been locked, even before he had left for France. His gentle knock produced no response. Melinda was perhaps already sleeping, even though the hour was early. Just as he turned away he detected the low murmur of conversation from within. She was not asleep, so he would not be disturbing her. He knocked more forcefully. “Who is it?” Melinda sounded annoyed. “It is William, my dear. Since you are not sleeping, I would like to come in and speak with you.” “I have retired for the night,” Melinda said, more sharply than he had ever heard her speak. A sudden suspicion riffled the hairs on the back of his neck. He tried the door and found it was locked. For a moment he was seized by an uncharacteristic rage. “It is time you and I had a talk, Melinda.” He rattled the door. “Unlock this at once. I am your husband, not a monster to protect yourself against.” There was a moment of silence followed by the rasp of a key turning and then the door opened to reveal Melinda wrapped in a blue velvet dressing gown. Her hair, which tumbled loose around her face, looked like a spun gold halo, lit as it was by the large lamps behind her. His anger deepened as he saw her expression change from irritation to a sullen pout. She took a step back and Clairmont walked into the room, slamming the door behind him with more force than he had intended. He looked behind his wife to discover the identity of the other occupant of the room. No one else was there. The pink and blue covers of the bed lay plump and undisturbed, as did the pillows. Melinda’s usual collection of hairbrushes and pots of salve and rouge littered her night table and dressing table. The brocade cushions and backs of the two ornate chairs with claw feet that decorated either side of the hearth bore no impressions of recent occupancy. Perhaps he had imagined the voices. “To whom were you talking just now?” he asked, easing his bulk down into one of the accursedly uncomfortable chairs. Melinda raised an elegant eyebrow. “Your imagination must be playing tricks on you, my lord. If you heard any voice at all, it was in all likelihood my own, musing aloud on the extreme tedious dullness of my life buried here in the depths of the country.” “I am sorry if you find it dull, Melinda.” He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm and ignore the small, niggling suspicion lurking in the back


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of his mind. “Now that I am recovering my strength, it would be entirely possible to move back to town for a few weeks. Although the season is largely finished for this year, there is always more of a social nature to do in town than here in the countryside.” Clairmont sighed inwardly. He did not care if he ever saw the town again. The prospect of facing down the stares and horrified expressions of the ton was particularly distasteful. But Melinda was his wife. He would try to bring her happiness. He saw the flicker of wariness in her eyes. “You surely do not intend to go about in society disfigured as you are, my lord?” Disfigured as you are! The words struck him like a physical blow. For a second he was plunged back into the shock and horror that had rocked him the first time he had looked into the hospital mirror. Then he jutted his chin forward. “Inside, I am still the man you married. I will not allow myself to feel disfigured, as you call it.” “How else would you describe it, Clairmont?” Melinda’s full, soft lips curled and thinned with distaste. “I can hardly stand to look at you.” Clairmont hauled himself to his feet. His legs, particularly the maimed one, felt like heavy, clumsy logs. Forcing his shoulders back he towered over his wife, glaring down at her with his one good eye. “Then you had best go elsewhere, Madam, for I do not intend to disappear.” Stalking to the connecting door that led into his dressing room, he flung it open and walked through without bothering to shut it. Behind him, he heard Melinda close it and draw the bolt across. Not until he was back in his own room did he reflect on the strangeness of that door. Why had he found it unlocked, when he knew it had been firmly locked against his entry ever since he had returned from France? He sniffed. Blaydon’s faint hint of cologne and male sweat tinged his nostrils. His cousin had stopped by briefly earlier, ostensibly to express his regrets about the accident to Miss Warren. Moving back in the dressing room, Clairmont sniffed again. Blaydon had not been in here, earlier, but the same slight smell hung in the air. He rang the bell to summon his valet and hardly spoke a word as Webb helped to remove his trousers and the newly crafted leg. “Did you see anybody else in my room earlier this evening, Webb?” “No, my lord.” The valet carefully hung Clairmont’s jacket and folded his shirt. “ But then I was in the kitchen,” he added, sounding apologetic. “ Cook put on some food for the ones who had been out searching for the lost horses. I had helped to look too, so I joined them in some bread and cheese and a mug of ale, my lord.” “Very creditable, Webb. And were the earl’s horses found?”


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“They were indeed, my lord. Both grazing in a farmer’s oat field.” Webb grinned. “The farmer was none too pleased at the trampling done by the horses and the men searching for ‘em.” He shook his head. “One of the animals has a limp, my lord, and nasty scrapes to its neck and shoulder.” “But the groom is taking care of the horse?” “Oh, yes, my lord. He’s still out there fussing. Would not even take time for his ale.” That would be old Mossop who had been with the stable staff even when Clairmont was a boy. He would go and thank the old man in the morning, and see that the farmer was compensated for the damage to his crops. After Webb left, Clairmont lay staring at the ceiling. He must face the bleak fact that his marriage to Melinda was a sham. He had chosen her for her beauty, as an appendage to his own magnificent appearance. His lips curled wryly at the remembrance. Melinda had coveted the wealth and title that would be his on his father’s death, and had also appeared gratified by the elegant appearance she and Clairmont had made together. But their marriage had been all outward show. Melinda had never welcomed his presence in her bed. Clairmont massaged the muscles in his stump and the movement reminded him that the muscles in his arms were aching too, from his unaccustomed exercise. For some reason the image came to his mind of Serena propped against her pillows with arrowroot custard on her face. She had run her tongue around her lips to clear them. The movement had stirred him by its unconscious sensuality. What a difference between the two women. One perfect ice maiden and one disfigured, irrepressible, flame-haired, sharp-tongued hoyden. And the hoyden did not find his face in the least upsetting, even at close quarters. Turning heavily onto his good side, Clairmont faced his imperfect future, tied to a woman who could not stand to be near him and a cousin who possibly wished him dead. Blaydon had always seemed a devious fellow, hanging awkwardly round the periphery of his life. Clairmont had sometimes treated him with condescension, tinged with dislike. Why was that? Tom Warren and Peterson Jenkins had been the ones he felt closest to. Perhaps because they had laughed a great deal. Their ability not to take life seriously had lightened his own heart, even though he could not generate the lightness on his own. But Blaydon had more of the dark side that Clairmont recognized in his own nature and from which he had tried to escape by his pursuit of physical strength and perfection. Thoughts swirled through Clairmont’s head of the kinds of incidents Blaydon might try, to clear his way to the title of Earl of Shalford. Blaydon was more than a thorn in his side. His cousin could pose a threat


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to his very life. But how to expose him and how to remove the threat? Those questions kept Clairmont awake. *** The skin on Serena’s wrist itched beneath the splint, but it was less than a week since her accident, so she knew she must bear with the wretched thing for some time yet. Time hung heavy as she sat by the drawing room window. If only she could play the piano. Her lips curled with mirth as she amused herself by imagining how she might play tunes with her toes. Suspended like a pantomime fairy above the keyboard, perhaps. Fanny rushed into the room, waving a folded paper, and Serena’s impish thoughts returned to reality. “Serena! A letter has come for you from Mama.” Fanny’s merry eyes danced. “Shall I read it to you?” “There is nothing wrong with my eyes, Fanny dear. I can read it for myself.” But her sister looked so disappointed that Serena laughed and shrugged her shoulders. She looked out of her window and inspected the garden below while Fanny broke the familiar seal and smoothed out the letter. “Oh, Serena, Mama says she is coming to fetch us home. How wonderful to see her!” Fanny suddenly checked her excitement and dropped the letter into Serena’s lap. Her round face took on a troubled expression. “What will little Caroline do without us? She takes to us more than to Melinda, it seems.” Her broad brow furrowed as she hurried to the door. “I must go and inform Melinda, immediately.” Serena smiled and shook her head at her younger sister’s hasty departure. She had always regarded herself as the impulsive member of the family, but Fanny seemed to be learning those same ways. Serena slipped the letter between the thumb and finger of her left hand. The sheet of paper was thinner than a spoon handle but could she hold it steady? The paper slipped to the floor. Damnation. Kneeling down, Serena tried to get the paper between her clumsy right fingers and the thin, rigid ones of her left. At the third try, she was thrilled to find the slim sheet stayed in place and she settled herself to read her mother’s words. My Dearest Serena,, It was with great concern that I received the news of your accident. Now that Lord Clairmont has returned and is regaining some of his former health, I believe Lady Melinda will be content to let you and Fanny, who have been warm companions during what must otherwise have been a lonely existence, be free to


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return here to me. I miss you both, and more so since the tragedy of losing your dear brother, Tom. A journey will be good for me. Therefore I intend, with Lord and Lady Clairmont’s approval (sought in a separate letter to them) to come to Shalford for a short visit and then bring you home with me. My love to you both. I count the days until I shall see you, Your fond Mother P.S. Your father sends his greetings. His rheumatism prevents him from traveling, but he awaits your return with pleasure. Serena was suddenly filled with homesickness. It would be wonderful to get back to riding her dear Taurus again and to play her own piano, without feeling Melinda’s disapproval at the unorthodox pieces she chose. She hoped Madame Fluff had not forgotten her. No domestic pets were allowed at Shalford and Serena longed for the chance to stroke and hug her affectionate cat, whose ginger colored fur fitted in so well with the color of her own hair. When her mother appeared, a few days later, the fingers protruding from the splint on Serena’s right hand had lost their puffiness. The clumsy splint was still a nuisance that prevented her from painting or playing the piano, but did not stop her from giving her mother a warm embrace when she arrived, tired but in high spirits after her journey. “Peterson Jenkins, what a wonderful surprise,” Fanny cried when she saw who had traveled with Lady Warren on her journey from Suffolk. Jenkins’ good natured face flushed. “I’m leaving shortly for India, but first I had to see Clairmont’s recovery with my own eyes.” Turning to slap his friend on the back, he missed Fanny’s crestfallen expression, but it wasn’t lost on Serena. After a brief rest in her chamber, Lady Warren joined the company assembled in the drawing room for tea. Melinda reclined on her chaise lounge, as usual. The old earl had come down to meet the guests and sat with cushions at his back on one of the ornate chairs, with Blaydon nearby. Fanny occupied a seat near her mother and quite close to Jenkins. Serena placed herself by the window from whence she could look out into the garden or in to the unusually full tableau of the drawing room. Clairmont stayed by the mantel. He did not adopt the arrogant pose that Serena remembered from his early days at Bundle Hill, but stood squarely balanced on his trousered legs. His scarred face dominated the room. In contrast, Blaydon’s hovering beside the old earl’s chair, struck Serena as the self-conscious groveling of one who was uncertain of his place, but anxious for acceptance. Fanny’s eyes kept straying towards the somewhat portly figure of Jenkins, nibbling at the pastries on the tea tray. It was clear she had not lost her attachment to him, despite the determined inroads Blaydon had been making on


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her affections. Lady Warren’s voice broke into Serena’s thoughts. “We had to stop for the night in London. What a dreadful place the city is, to be sure.” “Personally I find the city to be much more enjoyable than being buried here in the country with nothing to do,” Melinda said. “It is scarcely worth the trouble of ordering new gowns if there is nobody to see them.” Serena saw Clairmont’s jaw tighten. “We have neighbors, my dear, whom we could invite upon occasion.” Melinda sighed. “But none with any degree of sophistication, my lord. They would prove to be very dull company.” “I used to find that the local vicar and our tenant farmers were always delighted to be visited in their homes, to know that we at the hall took an interest in their affairs,” the old earl said. He sighed. “Since my health has deteriorated, I have had to leave such visits to my estate manager.” “You will recall, Sir, that I have offered on previous occasions to relieve the manager of some of his duties.” There was a definite edge to Clairmont’s voice. “And last evening I proposed to take you, Madam, to the city after you had expressed an interest in going.” “There you are, Lady Clairmont,” Lady Warren said. “You must take your husband up on his offer.” “My wife declined my company.” Clairmont said tersely. “But, on reflection, I have decided I shall go by myself,” Melinda announced. “Surely your husband will be lonely without you and he will miss little Caroline,” Lady Warren said. Dear mother. Still concerned about managing everyone. Serena wanted to smile. “I shall not be taking Caroline. She will be perfectly happy remaining here with her nurse.” Melinda’s statement produced a moment of stunned silence. She broke the silence herself. “I want to take Fanny with me. She can keep me company.” Fanny’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Mama, I have always wanted to visit London. Please say that I may go.” “Caroline will miss you dreadfully, Fanny,” Serena said. “And I her. But she will miss me anyway if she is to remain here and I am to go home to Bundle Hill.” “Where is the little treasure?” Lady Warren cried. “I have not set eyes on her yet.” “She has learned to walk and tries to be the center of everybody’s attention,” Melinda said. “Her ceaseless activities can be very trying. However, I will have her brought in for public inspection if you wish.” Clairmont’s face was expressionless as he pulled the bell and ordered


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Caroline to be brought in. The child made a beeline for Fanny, who held her plump little hands and led her to be introduced to the newly arrived guest. “What a little beauty,” Lady Warren exclaimed. The Earl of Shalford chucked his granddaughter under the chin. “She is undoubtedly pretty and should make a good match when she is grown, but I am still waiting for my son and daughter-in-law to present me with an heir.” Melinda looked at her fingernails and Clairmont’s brow turned thunderous. Serena felt she could cut the tension with a knife. It was broken by Lady Warren. “Why not bring your little daughter to stay with us at Bundle Hill, Lord Clairmont? I would be delighted to have a child about the house once more and your wife need have no worries about her welfare while she has her visit to London.” Serena held her breath. To have both him and the child there! The idea set her stomach fluttering. “When Fanny is not present, I do seem to be the next in line for Caroline’s favor,” she said. “Although I cannot hold her properly until my splint is removed.” Caroline had caught sight of the splint. “Me see,” she demanded. Serena let the child run her fingers over the bulky covering encasing her wrist. “Dat hurt?” Caroline wanted to know. “Only a little bit. Better soon,” Serena assured the child. At that moment she caught Clairmont’s eye upon her. His expression was tortured. The child had never approached her father and when brought close to him upon his arrival, she had screamed in fright. “Your Papa is getting better too. His poor face does not hurt so much any more.” Serena looked directly at Clairmont and the little girl turned to follow her gaze. “Papa?” Caroline said uncertainly. “Yes, he is there.” Serena took a deep breath. She desperately hoped she was doing the right thing. If the child screamed again, Clairmont would be deeply hurt, she knew, though he would never let an inkling of his feelings show. “See, Papa’s face is getting better all the time. He can smile at Caroline now.” Clairmont had his lips pressed together in a line. A vertical line between his eyebrows betrayed his nervousness. “Go to your Papa and ask him for a smile, Caroline. But you have to give him a big smile first.” The room fell silent. Melinda was cool and watchful. Jenkins stopped eating his cake. Lady Warren paused, dainty teacup in one hand. “Papa. Give smile.” Caroline toddled towards him. “Remember your own smile,” Serena said.


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“Papa smile,” Caroline demanded. She tripped on the carpet and toppled forward, catching her forehead on the corner of the small table upon which Melinda’s cup and saucer sat. The teacup went flying and Caroline set up a howl of pain and shock. Before anyone else could reach her, Clairmont moved forward and scooped her up in his arms. “Poor Caroline.” He patted her back and gently pulled her head towards his chest, stroking the child’s flaxen hair with soothing motions. “I told you that child had no business being in here with grownups,” Melinda said, with ice in her voice. “Get this mess cleared away at once,” she snapped to the footman, who had come forward with his tray. “She wanted to come and see her Papa, did you not, Caroline?” Clairmont inquired softly to the little girl in his arms whose sobs were subsiding. Caroline burrowed her head into her father’s neck. “Me wanted to smile at Papa.” “Papa is waiting, Caroline,” he said, looking down at her with an unusually gentle expression on his rugged pirate’s face. Caroline sniffed as her father wiped the tears from her face with his big thumb. “Papa smile too,” she commanded. Serena felt the tears burn the back of her eyes as she watched Caroline and her Papa smile tremulously into each other’s faces. “Want to see under here.” The child reached up to touch the patch on Clairmont’s eye. “Another time, my pet. Let us get some witch-hazel for the bump on your head. Pray excuse us, ladies and gentlemen.” And Clairmont gravely carried his daughter towards the door. “Her nursemaid is perfectly capable of looking after the child,” Melinda said. “But since we both have a received a blow to the head, we shall stick together,” Clairmont observed as he and Caroline went out through the doorway. Serena hugged her joy inside herself. What a healing gift the little girl had given her father. “I do believe your invitation was a masterly one, Mama. It will do both Clairmont and Caroline good to get away together.” “And I shall remain here to keep you company, Uncle.” Blaydon, who had not uttered a word during the whole affair, spoke up in a silky voice. Serena watched his obsequious attentions on the old earl. What a strange person he was. He appeared to have no outside interests of his own, other than hovering in this household and making sure he was attached. There was something about the man that she mistrusted. But perhaps she was not being fair to him. It must be lonely to have no other relatives in the world beyond his uncle and cousin. She would no longer need to have anything to do with him now she was returning home.


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Serena doubted whether Melinda would ever invite her back to Shalford Park. Her hostess had made it clear on several occasions that Serena’s presence here had only been tolerated as an accompaniment to her younger sister. Now Fanny and Melinda would be off to London and Clairmont and his little daughter would come back to Bundle Park to be coddled unmercifully by her mother. Lady Warren would be in her element with the two of them. Serena had long ago managed to establish her independence, but she knew her mother was always looking for lost sheep to be nurtured. Serena hugged the thought to herself that she, too, would be overjoyed to have Clairmont and his daughter close by for a few special weeks. She would not allow herself to speculate on the future, when she must lose them again.


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CHAPTER 8 Thank God he is going. Discreetly hidden behind the curtains, Melinda peered down at the scene in the circular driveway below. She narrowed her eyes as Clairmont handed Lady Warren, wrapped in a thick woolen cloak, into the cumbersome coach in which her ladyship had arrived a few days earlier. When Clairmont assisted the crippled Miss Warren up the steps and then joined the ladies inside, Melinda’s lip curled. What a clumsy oaf her husband looked, balanced awkwardly on his wooden leg. But at least he had stopped expecting to come to her bed. Melinda shuddered at the idea of his grotesquely scarred face hovering above her. Thank goodness all possibility of that was disappearing down the driveway with the coach. And baby Caroline, riding with her nurse in the smaller carriage behind, would doubtless thrive in the Suffolk countryside, being shamelessly spoiled by everybody. The child’s messy little fingers and unintelligible babble could become wearisome. Melinda hoped her daughter would be more fun to have about the place when she grew older and had acquired a few manners. Fanny and Blaydon turned from waving at the coach and walked up the steps to enter the house. Melinda studied them thoughtfully. Blaydon obviously considered himself to be playing a clever game that included flattery of Fanny and obsequious attention to herself. On no account would she permit Blaydon to accompany them to London. On this point Melinda was adamant. She intended to have Fanny all to herself. Such a sweet young woman. Melinda felt drawn to Fanny in a special way. She could not put her finger on it. But she often felt the urge to touch or hug her, to share special laughs and confide her thoughts to Fanny. Blaydon’s presence would be an intrusion. Melinda took a deep breath. Both cripples had taken themselves off together and their departure had taken a weight from her spirits. She and Fanny could have a wonderful time in the city. And, thanks to her marriage, she could enjoy the novel experience of possessing generous financial resources. No more cheeseparing to keep up appearances, as she and her mother had been forced to do before they snagged Clairmont. And wonderfully expanded freedom to go about in society as a married woman! Melinda sighed with satisfaction. *** Clairmont settled his broad shoulders against the comfortable squabs of


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Lady Warren’s coach and eased his daughter to the other side of his lap to take her small weight off his damaged leg. After their stop in London he had temporarily relieved the nurse of her small charge, leaving the surprised woman to travel by herself in the smaller carriage. The child felt warm and soft against him and instinctively he drew her ever closer to him, heedless of any wrinkling it might cause to his jacket. He should have been astonished to find himself so careless of the state of his clothing, but instead he reveled in her closeness. Across from him, Lady Warren dozed. Her head drooped to the side and the brim of her bonnet was skewed against the cushion behind her. His gaze traveled to Serena, sitting quietly beside her mother. A dark green bonnet did not entirely cover or tame her thick tresses. Curls and odd strands of red escaped around the brim and at her neck. Her glance met his, giving him an unexplained jolt. He could read nothing from her expression, but could not tear his own gaze away. For a long moment he was conscious of the muted clop of horses’ hooves, the steady jingle of harness and the swaying motion of each of them as they sat regarding each other. He gave no thought to her withered hand or the splint, tied now with a flowered scarf to conceal its gray bulk. He only remembered her independent spirit when challenged to control a spoon and a bowl of arrowroot with neither hand in working order. The hands seemed unimportant, and he realized he had not even noticed her slight limp for some time now. He had been busy practicing to control his own limp, much more pronounced than hers in spite of his teeth-gritting efforts to walk erect and swing both legs equally. And his suspicions of Blaydon had preoccupied his thoughts a great deal. Although Blaydon had professed concern over Serena’s accident, Clairmont was more and more convinced that the slender cord strung dangerously across the riding path had not been the work of a poacher. He had mentioned the trap to no one and Serena Warren had no inkling of the cause of her horse’s stumble. By the time he had gone back to search along the path, the rope had disappeared. But it had not been a figment of his imagination. And Blaydon was the only one who would stand to benefit by his death. Lady Warren’s invitation had come at the right moment. Best to stay out of Blaydon’s way until I have recovered my strength...and then... Thoughts of how he would deal with Blaydon, if the fellow tried again, brought a wry grimace to Clairmont’s lips. The expression was not lost on Serena. It was not a smile. Merely a mirthless twist of his mouth that excluded her. She had only imagined the magic flowing between them in their shared glance. Of course the feeling she had for


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him could never be returned. How could she imagine otherwise for he was a married man? His own disabilities did not blind him to the ugliness of her crippled hand. She had read too much into the strange intimacy she had felt between herself and Clairmont on the evening of the accident when, despite the wide-open door, she had felt private and alone and in tune with him. Leaning her head back against the squabs, she closed her eyes and willed herself to follow her mother’s example of falling asleep. Much of her earlier euphoria at the prospect of having Clairmont and Caroline at Bundle Hill evaporated. Clairmont would not be any closer to her than before and his presence would be a daily heartache. Disappointment settled like a lead weight inside her heart. . . . . . . “Come, Fanny, we must get ourselves into the latest fashions,” Melinda said. “I have ordered the carriage to take us shopping in the Strand this morning.” Fanny had never seen Melinda so animated. Coming to the town house had brought about such a change that Fanny could scarcely believe it. She had to admit to herself that the prospect of having new gowns made up, and purchasing elegant hats and slippers, would be enjoyable. But there was something missing. Fanny was accustomed to being part of a busy household whose members held a variety of interests. Melinda could talk of nothing but clothes and visits to plays and other entertainments. But once arrived at the theater, Melinda seemed to find more delight in posing and being admired than in the intricacies of the spectacle they had come to enjoy. True enough, Melinda was showing a great deal of affection towards her, often draping and arm about her shoulders and planting little kisses against Fanny’s cheek. Melinda did not appear to be concerned about Clairmont or her daughter. Fanny, however, missed tiny Caroline’s hugs and prattle. She imagined how well the child would be walking now. And surely the little treasure would have added a whole new list of words to her vocabulary. “Oh, Fanny dear, you are daydreaming.” Melinda stroked her hand and then playfully pulled Fanny to her feet. “It is a perfect day to go shopping. Come.” She put her arm about Fanny’s waist and lead her to the doorway. “Get your prettiest bonnet and we shall be off.” She frowned as the thud of the heavy doorknocker sounded from below. “Who can be visiting at this hour?” Fanny was surprised to see the crease marring Melinda’s normally serene forehead when the butler announced the arrival of the Honorable John Blaydon. “I suppose it is too late to tell him that we are not at home. He would observe us if we went out to the carriage now.” “I thought John Blaydon was one of your favorites?” Fanny said.


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“He is a meddler. I do not trust him. He would like nothing better than to usurp my husband’s title when the old Earl of Shalford dies.” Fanny bit her lip. Melinda had not appeared to care a whit for her husband’s welfare. She had an uneasy feeling that Melinda cared only for the status that his new title would bring to her. For a moment Fanny felt herself at odds with her hostess, and strangely homesick. Yet she could find no lack in Melinda’s warmth towards herself. Blaydon seemed to ooze into the room. “Oh, my dear Lady Clairmont, Shalford was but an empty shell after your departure.” Fanny suppressed a smile at the small sigh of exasperation to escape Melinda’s lips when Blaydon brought her languidly proffered hand to his lips. “I regret, sir, we are on our way out.” Fanny detected Melinda’s most chilling tones, but Blaydon did not appear to got the message. “My poor uncle, the Earl is in a very low state since your departure and I fear for his health if he is left long unattended.” Blaydon drew his dark brows together. “Uncle needs companionship to cheer him up.” “Then why did you leave him alone?” Fanny winced at Melinda’s unfriendly voice. “I fear he finds my companionship insufficient. He prefers the company of your husband and feels somewhat hurt that his son should have taken himself off to convalesce elsewhere.” “Then it is to Clairmont that you should be talking. The Earl has no need of my presence. Now, if you will excuse us, sir, we are already late.” Fanny could not help feeling a little sorry for Blaydon when she caught the bleak look in his eyes. He seemed forever to be hovering on the edge without belonging anywhere. “Why not go down to Bundle Hill, sir? My mother simply adores having visitors and you can tell her I suggested that you call. Then you can perhaps convince Lord Clairmont of the need to return to Shalford.” A gleam in his eye, hastily repressed, was replaced by a look of hesitant gratitude. “My dear Miss Fanny . . . I should never make so bold as to present myself, uninvited.” “I shall take it upon myself to write to my mother and she will invite you.” Fanny checked herself from adding that her mother could never resist taking in waifs and strays. “As soon as I she receives my letter you shall have your invitation, you will see.” “Now we really must be off, sir.” Melinda rose from her chair and reached for the bell pull. “Ferguson will show you out.” Blaydon pleaded to be able to conduct the two charming ladies to their


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destination and Fanny was surprised by the firmness and energy with which the often-languid Melinda refused his offer. Seeing his face fall, Fanny could not help feeling a little sorry for Blaydon. Her mother would most probably be happy to add him to her menagerie, instead of parting with Clairmont. Fanny felt a twinge of guilt when she remembered the elderly Earl of Shalford living alone in his big house. Dismissed from Melinda’s town house, Blaydon was feeling no such emotion towards his uncle, who actually seemed perfectly content to sit in his library or propped up in bed with one of his hundreds of books. The Earl’s demeanor towards himself had changed since Clairmont had returned wounded from the battlefield. Blaydon wondered whether his uncle could read his mind about his true feelings towards his cousin. Blaydon winced at the thought of anyone suspecting the degree of jealousy and hatred he bore towards Clairmont. True, he was no longer the handsome, perfectly formed specimen of manhood that he once had been, but he was still standing in the way as the heir apparent to the title of Earl of Shalford. And I have nothing, while he has everything, Blaydon thought for the thousandth time. But Clairmont had no son...yet. And though Melinda’s revulsion towards him was plain to see, Clairmont could demand his marital rights. So if Blaydon were to do anything to clear the way to his own inheritance, he must work fast, before there could be any chance of that. Fanny was as good as her word. Lady Warren’s written invitation to join his cousin at Bundle Hill arrived within the week. Blaydon lost no time in returning a note of acceptance and set off as soon as he decently could without appearing to be too eager. *** When Clairmont received his cousin with a thunderous brow and a thinning of his lips, Serena felt a slight pang of guilt. She realized her mother had assumed, from reading Fanny’s letter, that Clairmont would be delighted to have his kinsman visiting at the same time as himself. Having observed the stilted interaction between the cousins, Serena knew in her bones that this would be a mistake. Too late she chided herself for not making some tactful mention of this to her mother. Yet, watching that good lady’s welcome to Blaydon, she knew the warmhearted soul was delighted to take yet another visitor under her roof. In this friendly atmosphere, perhaps the two men would become closer. “Do try to behave in a more friendly fashion to young Mr. Blaydon, Serena dear,” Lady Warren admonished, when the two found themselves alone for a moment.


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Serena bit her lip. “I will try, Mama,” she said, aware that her own strange mistrust of Blaydon must have shown in the reserve of her greeting to him, although he seemed to take every opportunity to try and charm her. Then she forgot all about Blaydon because she looked out of the window and saw Clairmont bending to look at a flower his little daughter had picked and was holding up for his inspection. It hurt her to realize that Clairmont went out of his way to avoid her company, whenever he could do so politely. She longed to show him the beauties of Bundle Hill. True there were not the spectacular views such as those to be found in the Surrey hills surrounding Shalford Park, but the green woodlands and gentle breezes from the nearby sea coast would surely help to lift the depression that still so obviously enveloped his soul. She wanted desperately to erase the memories of her treatment of him on his first disastrous visit to Bundle Hill. Her cheeks flamed as the remembered sight of the tea stain spreading across his cream pantaloons. Even if Clairmont found her physically unattractive, surely he could not help enjoying a ride out with her. But in truth, she did not know how to approach him, and she felt the oppressive weight of his dark mood, whenever the two were in the same room. Serena sighed. At least she knew how to assuage her own dark moods. Seating herself at her beloved pianoforte, where Madame Fluff lazed in feline grace, she drew out her copy of Mozart’s little known Praeludium and ran the fingers of her right hand over the keys. Although some stiffness remained in her wrist, it did not pain her to play. Her fingers warming to the task, she reveled in the soaring runs and cadenzas. With this piece she needed no left hand, since she could alternate between treble and bass clefs, just as Mozart had written the notes. Her fingers darted and flew, up and down the keyboard. The young composer had included no bar lines to give clues to the rhythm he had planned. She could please herself. Losing herself in the music she let her fingers fly. The sounds that emerged thundered and soared to wild, tempestuous heights, then slowed, full of sorrow. Finally they ebbed to a wistful yearning. Coming to the end, she rested her hand quietly in her lap. Her head drooped and her breath escaped in a ragged sigh. Why had the music lost its power to cheer her? The smallest of sounds from behind gave her a start and she turned quickly. Clairmont’s solid figure filled the doorway. Caroline, still clutching a flower, looked tiny, clasped in his arms. The expression in his one uncovered eye was unreadable. She had the impression that he felt uncomfortable to be found eavesdropping. He spoke first, breaking the silence that stretched between them. “You are a talented performer, Miss Warren.”


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Serena felt the warmth rise to her cheeks at the unexpected praise. “The piece is unfamiliar. Who composed it?” “Mozart wrote it, just for himself. It was never played by anyone else until after his death.” “Your interpretation was really quite overwhelming.” Was he being sarcastic? Serena could not tell. “But what could cause the lively and determined Serena Warren to play with such torment and despair?” “And why, sir, should you believe that melancholy is your sole prerogative?” His expression flickered. For a moment she expected a retort as sharp as her own had been. “Forgive me, Miss Warren, but you had appeared to be the very embodiment of cheerful resolve. Quite invincible, in fact.” “Well now, sir, you see a few cracks in the armor.” “I did not mean to offend,” he said quickly. “Indeed your fortitude of spirit has been a source of inspiration to me.” Serena realized she was gazing at Clairmont with her mouth open. His next question caught her by surprise. “Do you ever play any pieces by Bach?” Serena snapped her mouth shut. A telltale copy of Anna Magdalena’s Notebook lay on the polished top of the pianoforte, right beneath Madame Fluff’s tawny paws. “Mr. Bach’s compositions are written for two hands.” She could hear the flat regret in her own voice. “Actually, I have some facility with the pianoforte.” A ruddy glow spread over his features. “Perhaps you and I could collaborate. That is... if you would consider allowing me play the notes from the bass clef.” Her heart jumped. How many times had she tried to interest one of her brothers or sisters to play along with her? Fanny had tried, but her own tastes ran to light, easy fare. She could never be convinced to try any of the Bach preludes and minuets that needed a strong counter-melody with a second hand. Serena swallowed. “That would be very kind.” “Not kind at all. It would be a very selfish thing on my part, for I love his music.” Clairmont said gruffly. “Me see pussycat.” Caroline wriggled down from her father’s arms and toddled towards Madame Fluff. Clairmont followed his daughter and, when the little girl had patted exploring fingers through the cat’s tawny fur, he scooped her into his arms with a laugh like the one Serena had heard from him on the hilltop near Shalford. She realized this was the first time since that occasion that she had heard it and her heart lifted. “Come, little one, the cat wants to sleep. We shall go and seek out Nurse,


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for it is time for your nap, too.” “Please stay here, Serena,” Clairmont said from the doorway. “I shall soon return and we can put our joint efforts to the test.” He had called her Serena. As his broad back disappeared she could almost imagine her heart was a galloping horse, so strongly did the beats pound in her ears. Pulling down Anna Magdalena’s Notebook, she opened it at a piece called Musette and began, softly, to play the notes of the treble clef. “You have a beautiful touch, Miss Warren.” For the second time that day Serena jumped and turned around. Blaydon stood, arms folded, just inside the door. He did not fill the opening as his cousin had done. But there was an aura of threat to him that Serena could not push out of her mind. She wished he would go away. Clairmont was coming back and she still held a tremor of excitement, deep inside, at the thought of sharing some of her precious music with him. “Thank you, sir.” Despite her mother’s admonitions to treat the guest with friendliness, she spoke icily. Turning back to the pianoforte, Serena forced herself to concentrate on the line of melody she had begun. Some of the joy had gone out of the playing, thanks to the feeling she was being watched by someone with whom she felt vaguely uncomfortable. She would persist. She wanted to do her best when Clairmont came back to join her. “Ah, my dear Clairmont. I was just complimenting Miss Warren on her delightful playing.” Serena turned her head in time to see the glare with which Clairmont favored his cousin. “Just so, Blaydon. The lady has made a remarkable and courageous recovery of the use of her hand.” “Regrettable accident.” Blaydon stepped aside as Clairmont approached. “Now, if you will excuse us, Miss Warren and I intend to make a joint foray into some pianoforte pieces.” “How delightful!” Blaydon said. Serena wanted to hit him. “Perhaps I may be permitted to stay and enjoy the delights of your joint performance?” “No, indeed...” Serena began. “The process will in no way be a public one, Blaydon,” Clairmont growled. “It is more in the nature of an experiment, to see whether Lord Clairmont or myself makes the most errors,” Serena said. Now why had she made such a facile joke? She wished she had bitten her tongue and let Clairmont handle the situation instead. But she detected a quirk at the corner of Clairmont’s mouth, so perhaps he


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had been amused rather than offended by her remark. “Just so. Miss Warren has hit the nail on the head nicely, Blaydon.” Clairmont advanced stolidly towards his cousin, who retreated towards the door. Although he bowed before ducking deferentially out through the doorway, Serena caught the look of pure hatred that flashed for a brief second in Blaydon’s eyes, as Clairmont turned dismissively away. It sent a chill up her spine. How could someone hate another member of his family so much? Then all fears disappeared to be replaced by a delicious fluttering as Clairmont lowered himself onto the padded bench beside her. His nearness and the unexpected thawing of his attitude towards her took her breath away. She hoped she would not make a fool of herself by playing all the wrong notes. “My playing is rusty,” Clairmont said. “I fear I have not touched an instrument for some time. Bach is beautiful but tricky.” “But you only have to play with one hand,” Serena reminded him. “It is just a question of keeping in time with each other.” Her cheeks burned as he turned to look at her. “Once again, you have hit upon the essence of the problem, Miss Warren.” “Then all we need to do is count,” she said, trying to keep the nervous quaver from her voice as she realized his thighs were touching hers. She could perhaps have shifted slightly away. There was at least an inch of bench left at her end. But she did not move. She began with the high A, followed by a downward cascade of notes. Clairmont joined in with the left hand, his repeated octaves making a droning accompaniment, imitating the bagpipe sounds of a musette. Madame Fluff took exception to the sound and leaped down onto Serena’s lap. The surprise movement put Serena off her stride for a moment, and the joint effort ground to a halt. On the point of apologizing, she detected the corner of Clairmont’s mouth twitching. Was he annoyed or amused? She could not tell, but changed her mind about saying she was sorry. “Madame Fluff has a mind of her own,” she said, putting the animal down on the floor. “Apparently she is a critic.” Clairmont’s mouth was definitely quirking now. Serena felt the corners of her own mouth lifting in response. “She made up her mind before we had time to practice.” “Yes, indeed. We shall confound the cat and give a performance worthy of the master himself, by the time we have finished.” She cleared her throat. “A performance worthy of Madame Fluff’s approval at least.” “That may be aiming too high,” he said, assuming an air of false gravity.


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“Well, at least let us try again.” Serena risked another glance and found him smiling broadly. Her heart began beating a tattoo in her chest. She was absurdly aware of his closeness. She could feel the warmth of his thigh through the material of her dress. How could she concentrate on the music? But this time the piece went well. Serena let her fingers dance cheerfully over the keys and Clairmont kept the beat of the bass notes in perfect time. “I am glad to see the sparkle back in your eyes, Serena,” Clairmont said in a low voice, after they had arrived in triumph at the last note. Serena realized the clouds of her dark mood had lifted. The fluttering nervousness caused by his closeness had given way to excitement. Every nerve in her body tingled. “Let us try a minuet,” she said quickly, turning to one of the liveliest pieces in the book. This time Clairmont was called upon to play passages of counterpoint, repeating quick runs in the bass that Serena had just played higher up on the keyboard. She set the pace too fast. In his efforts to keep up, his large fingers landed on several wrong notes. “I am more rusty than I realized,” he said. Hearing the chagrin in his voice, Serena slowed to a very sedate pace. “Now it sounds like a funeral march,” he grumbled. “But we are keeping perfectly together.” “True...” Whatever he was about to add was rudely interrupted when an orange, furry object launched itself up from behind and landed squarely on Clairmont’s broad right shoulder. Thinking that he would be offended, Serena hastened to remove Madame Fluff but Clairmont put his hand on her arm to prevent it. His gaze met Serena’s over the cat which clung, amber eyes wide open, to the cloth of Clairmont’s coat. “I told you she was a critic,” he said. Serena dissolved into peals of laughter. Grinning, Clairmont set Madame Fluff up on her former perch atop the pianoforte, from whence the cat surveyed them with a baleful expression. “Let us try that again,” he said. This time Serena set a more sedate speed. Clairmont’s fingers kept pace, with few mistakes. “Not bad,” he admitted. “Perfectly timed,” Serena said. As if drawn by a prearranged signal, they both looked at the cat. Ignoring them both, Madame Fluff had one elegant leg sticking straight up in the air while she industriously groomed the fur of her nether regions. Clairmont’s hearty laugh rang out with such force the startled cat leaped off the pianoforte and scuttled towards the door.


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“We certainly impressed her,” he said. Serena felt her own laughter bubbling up. Against the flush of his face, the purple scar looked less livid than usual. His strong teeth gleamed. The crinkling round his eyes had tipped the black patch ever so slightly upwards revealing the edge of the bare socket. Serena wished she could touch his face. Could caress the scar and let him know it was not repugnant to her. She had heard of glass eyes, skillfully made, that could replace a lost eye and be scarcely detectable. He should not believe himself forced to wear a patch over an empty socket for the rest of his life. She wanted to speak to him of those things but she could not. It was Melinda’s place to offer him comfort. At the thought of Melinda a knife turned in Serena’s heart. Although Melinda obviously could not stand Clairmont with his ruined face, she was still his wife.


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CHAPTER 9 Blaydon chewed on his thumbnail. His frustration was giving him a pain in his stomach. From the room above him, lively bars of music on the pianoforte soared out, punctuated by bursts of merry laughter. Deep in his pocket he could feel the crumpled bundle of notes from his creditors. The threat they represented was like a crushing weight. Perhaps he should just try to disappear somewhere beyond reach? But if he took a ship to the continent - always supposing he could raise the blunt for the fare - how would he survive there? No, that idea was useless. And it galled him that he should be forced to consider such a desperate measure when his uncle, the old Earl of Shalford was possessed of such riches. He must find a way to succeed to the title himself. If he were the heir apparent to an earldom, his creditors would not dare hound him so relentlessly. Peers could get unlimited credit. Why, the Duke of Devonshire never paid a bill in his life. Getting rid of Clairmont was the only answer. But how? His cousin was gaining strength every day, damn his eyes. What can I do? Think, man, think! The refrain went round and round in his head, making it ache. The butler’s discreet cough broke into Blaydon’s contorted thoughts. He turned around with a frown, then thought better of it and changed to a calm smile. Keep on pleasant terms with the servants. They were all eyes and ears. “Excuse me, Mr. Blaydon, sir.” “What is it, Dobbs?” “A letter has just been hand delivered. For you, sir.” Blaydon’s heart plummeted to his shiny boots. He had told no one he was coming here. Doing his best to keep his expression nonchalant, he took the offending letter and dismissed the butler. Hastening to the privacy of his room, he broke the seal and spread the sheet apart. I am sure your departure from London did not mean you had forgotten our little arrangement. If full repayment of the loan is not forthcoming by the end of the month I shall have no choice but to spread the word to our mutual acquaintances. Ever Your Friend,


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J. B. Haskett Blaydon ground his teeth as he read the signature. Some friend Haskett was turning out to be! He had dismissed Blaydon’s thanks with a wave of his hand, when offering to loan him enough to pay off those wretched gaming debts. “It will give you some breathing space until you can come up with more funds yourself, Blaydon.” Now Haskett was hounding him. And his reputation was at stake. Blaydon fuzzily remembered Haskett making some teasing little comment to that effect when he had offered the money. Surely he had not meant it? But it seems he had. Blaydon groaned. And this vast amount was added to the gaming debts he had foolishly acquired since that time, some three months ago. Clairmont’s speedy removal. The only way out! Think, man, think! Racking his brains and making his head ache worse than ever, Blaydon began to form a plan. He would need to hire someone. He must be gone from here when it was put into effect. *** Clairmont stood up from the piano bench and flexed his knee. Playing the piano with Serena Warren had been rewarding. The wooden leg no longer chafed his skin when he put his full weight on it. He felt good. Light as air. Better than he had felt in a long time. He had been wrong to avoid Serena. Her presence buoyed him. And though he must never forget his unloving Melinda, there was no reason that he and Serena could not enjoy each other’s company, as good friends. Except ... Looking at her face he was aware of the sudden cloud that came into her expression. He wanted so much to touch her cheek and bring back the merry laughter from a few minutes ago. His own expression sobered. Why had he been so blind about this young woman’s qualities when they had first met? Why had it taken a horrible accident of war to open his eyes to what was really beautiful? He suppressed a sigh as he thought of his wife. An ethereal beauty, with no more warmth than a block of ice. Although she had given him Caroline, Melinda seemed oblivious to the charms of her baby daughter. It was a mystery to Clairmont. Serena had shown more warmth and affection to Caroline than the child’s own mother. “Would you care to take a turn about the garden, Miss Warren?” he heard himself say.


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She looked back at him with those luminous brown eyes and seemed to be hesitating. “Of course,” he said, “if my rendering of Bach was too much for your sensitive ears, you may be anxious to get away somewhere quiet to recover instead.” He was rewarded by an upward tilt of her lips and a crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “If Madame Fluff could stand it, how could I possibly complain?” she said, reaching for the shawl she had left upon a chair. “Let me help you.” He hurried forward, forgetting his clumsy leg and almost lost his careful balance. “Let me help you instead.” She gripped his shoulder to steady him and the touch seemed to burn through the cloth of his jacket. He should have felt affronted to have need of sudden support like that, but strangely he felt comforted. Regaining his equilibrium, he took the shawl and draped it about her slim shoulders and felt her shiver beneath his fingers? He drew back. Did she find his touch offensive, as Melinda did? But if so, she gave no sign, other than to blush. She quickly turned away to ruffle Madame Fluff’s fur, making the cat stretch and arch its back for more. Lucky Madame Fluff. “We could go and see whether the pears are ripe.” Serena turned back to him, the blush still in her cheeks. “Yesterday, some were almost ready for eating.” Clairmont drew her hand courteously through his arm and the two of them went downstairs and out to the garden. We both limp, Clairmont thought, but it matters to nobody but ourselves. Then he felt a little guilty to think of Serena--Miss Warren-- Serena--as being paired with himself in some way. The fruit hung yellow and abundant from the leafy branches of pear trees trained along the trellises of a south-facing arbor. The scent of their ripeness filled his nostrils. The air was warm and lazily still, within the confines of the narrow sheltered path between the boughs. “Perfect. Just as I had hoped,” Serena said. Reaching up she picked one of the luscious fruit and unselfconsciously bit into it, just as he had seen her do with the plums on an earlier occasion. “Here, you must try one.” She plucked another and handed it to him. “Everyone says our William pears are the best in the county.” He sank his teeth into the pear and felt the juice run down his chin immediately. “Almost too ripe,” he said. “Mmmn. Like nectar.” Serena spoke with her mouth full, but looked so appealing that he could not help smiling at her enthusiasm.


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In fact, he was tempted to laugh aloud with joy. Except that he became aware of the wasps, black and yellow against the golden surface of some of the riper pears on the branches. Drawn by the sweet smell, several had alighted and were busy burrowing into the skin, to suck at the juice inside. “Careful!” he warned, and took Serena’s arm to lead her out of range. But a sudden buzzing close by, told him that a wasp was attracted to the juice from the fruit they were holding. Serena drew in her breath sharply and waved her arm to brush away the offending insect. Next moment she was sucking the side of her hand. “It got me,” she said, pulling a face. As if moved by a single thought they both threw down their pears and beat a hasty retreat, leaving the newly-aroused wasps to cluster on the half-eaten fruit. “We should have come dressed in suits of armor,” he said. “I would prefer a beekeeper’s veil,” Serena said with a giggle, “I can imagine the wasps wriggling through the chinks in the armor, and then we should be hopping about like a pair of mad frogs.” Clairmont found himself chuckling aloud at the mental picture her words conjured up in his imagination. For a second time today she had caused the laughter to well up inside him like a joyful tide. “Let me see your hand,” he said, sobering suddenly as he remembered. Without waiting for her to reply, he lifted her right hand to inspect the swelling red mound on the soft pad of the heel, beneath the little finger. As if he could not help himself, he brought the hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the offended spot. Her fingers tightened. Looking over them he found himself staring into her eyes, luminous and wide with surprise. But she did not blink. Simply gazed back at him, her expression changing to one that he found hard to read, as he was almost drowning in the sensations it aroused within himself. Warning bells rang, but at a distance. He had to keep looking. Here was something he had never before experienced. He wanted to stroke her smooth cheeks. Instead, he gently touched the corner of her moist full lips, and wiped away a tiny smear of juice. “We must not give the nasty little creatures any excuse to follow.” His voice sounded shaky to his own ears. She lifted her left hand as though she would touch him in return. Then the slightest of creases appeared on her forehead. She stared at the withered hand for a second before snatching it away behind her back and taking a quick step away from him. She is still self-conscious about her hand.


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Clairmont wished he could tell her that it was of no importance. Then he remembered some of his earlier dismissive thoughts of her because of that hand and he felt his face burn. “I beg your pardon, Miss Warren.” He was stammering now. He wanted to explain his remorse for those earlier thoughts, even though he could not honestly regret that he had just kissed her hand and touched her lips. But he could find no words to express his riotous mix of feelings. She did not answer, just stared at him with that small frown. But it seemed to express sadness rather than annoyance. Clairmont had the urge to gather her into his arms and kiss the sadness away. Instead, he stepped back and bowed his head formally. “Please tell me what I can do to help, Miss Warren.” She sighed, audibly, straightened her back and looked up at him. The aura of sadness disappeared when she lifted her chin. “No need for your apologies, Lord Clairmont. I appreciate your concern. Perhaps you will be kind enough to accompany me to the house to get something to ease the sting. Back in the morning room she was a model of practicality, calling for a bowl of vinegar and cold water and immersing her swelling hand in the contents. Lady Warren hurried in, just as a maid was taking away the bowl and towels. “Oh dear! Whatever happened?” “Nothing too terrible, Mama,” Serena said. “The wasps seemed somewhat unwilling to share the ripe pears with us.” “Oh, my goodness. We must have the gardeners do something about the nasty creatures. I declare I am afraid to walk in that arbor when they are swarming about.” “I say, whatever happened, Cousin?” Blaydon must have been hovering again, Clairmont thought irritably. He was always nearby and ready to insert himself into any situation, whether it concerned him or not. “Miss Warren and I obviously intruded where it was not wise, Blaydon,” Clairmont said shortly. “It is a trait that some in my family would do well to avoid.” Blaydon’s eyelids flickered. “You are still suffering under the lingering strain from your injuries, Cousin. Pray excuse me.” He bowed stiffly and left the room, managing to give the impression of an unjustly chastised spaniel with his tail between his legs. Clairmont gritted his teeth. He was not sure what Blaydon hoped to accomplish by hanging about here, but he wished the fellow gone. *** Next morning, Serena stood at the window of the breakfast room oblivious to the morning sun on the gold and red autumn colors outside. The swelling in her hand had subsided, but not her memory of the gentle kiss Clairmont had bestowed on it, nor the feeling aroused in her when their glances had met.


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“I can see you are daydreaming, Serena,” Lady Warren said, from her seat at the table. “Come and try these buttered eggs. Cook prepared enough for an army this morning.” Forcing her attention back to the present, Serena joined her mother. The footman, hovering near the heated dishes on the sideboard, brought her a plate of eggs and toast, just as Clairmont came into the room, closely followed by Blaydon. Good mornings were exchanged and Serena tried to keep her eyes from straying towards Clairmont. She thought her feelings for him must show on her face and resolved to keep a guard on her expression. “What a gorgeous autumn day,” Lady Warren said, dipping into the quince jelly. “You young people should go out on an excursion. We are within a few miles of the coast here.” She spread some jelly on her toast. “Why not take Caroline to look at the sea?” “Capital idea. She would love it and so would I.” Clairmont helped himself to a spoonful of apricot preserve and some more toast. “Why not Dunwich?” Lady Warren suggested. “Before the rest of it gets washed away. Serena, you know all about the history of the place. You could be the guide.” “Sounds intriguing,” Clairmont said. “What do you think, Miss Warren?” Yesterday, he had called her Serena. But now it was back to Miss Warren. “It’s a good idea,” she said. “We shall have to take two carriages if everybody would like to go.” “Er, you will have to excuse me.” Blaydon spoke up for the first time. “I must get back to London. Several affairs to be attended to.” Serena felt her spirits lift. It would be a relief to be free of Blaydon, and with it the unspoken tension between the two cousins. “No doubt Louise would like to come,” Serena said. We can make a whole day of it. “I’ll have Cook prepare a picnic basket,” Lady Warren said. But Louise, taking hot chocolate and toast in her room, declared it would be too uncomfortably cold to visit the seaside at this time of year, despite the sunshine. So in the end, only one carriage was needed. Clairmont took the reins and driver’s seat. Serena sat beside him, her stomach aflutter with suppressed excitement, while Caroline and her nursemaid sat in the covered seats behind. *** They stood together on the sandy cliffs at Dunwich and gazed out to sea. Serena was glad the ribbons of her bonnet were securely tied, otherwise, she was sure the stiff breeze blowing in from the water would whirl it off her head.


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Clairmont did not seem to mind the wind in the least. “I love the salty tang and the pounding of the waves against the cliff,” he said, lifting his chin and taking in a deep appreciative breath. “But the waves have cut away the cliffs, bit by bit,” Serena said. “There was a Roman settlement out there once. And a Saxon city. If you could dive beneath the breakers in front of us, you would find homes, shops and even remnants of a village church, all washed away.” He turned towards her, his face alight with interest. “People swear they hear church bells tolling as the waves roll them back and forth,” she said. “Why am I not in the least surprised to find you such a knowledgeable young woman?” Serena needed to tear her eyes away from the unexpected force of his gaze, but she could not. Clairmont looked as though he wanted to say something else, but caught himself and clamped his lips together, his glance locked with hers. They were interrupted by a call from the nursemaid. “My lord, Miss Caroline will catch a chill if I do not return with her to the carriage.” Clairmont turned to call back. “Give the child here, nurse. She will be warm with me. You may return to the carriage if you are cold.” The child’s nurse handed over her charge and climbed up into the carriage away from the wind. Taking his daughter in his arms, Clairmont wrapped her warmly inside the ample folds of his traveling cloak until only her little bonneted head was visible. Secure in her father’s hold, Caroline wriggled one arm free from the cloak and pointed out to sea. “What dat, Papa?” “Those are boats,” he said, bestowing a kiss on Caroline’s forehead. “Catching herring fish,” Serena said, aware of a sudden lump in her throat and a nameless longing that assailed her as she observed Clairmont’s action. She swallowed. “I believe a few mementos of the ancient settlements have been gathered in one of the village houses. Would you like to go and look?” “I would, and so would Caroline.” He smiled and Serena’s heart turned over. They returned to the carriage and Clairmont was on the point of handing the child back to her nurse when Serena said quickly, “Please sit her with me.” With a smile, he placed Caroline on Serena’s lap. She held the child securely with her strong right arm and felt Clairmont’s fingers brushing her shoulder lightly. Then he took up the reins to start the horses on their way. Her shoulder and arm tingled with warmth and this was accentuated by the soft heat of the little child, who turned to play with Serena’s reticule. “P’etty fowers,” she said. “Me like.” Over Caroline’s head, Serena found Clairmont looking down at her with a strange expression, half merry, half wistful.


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Then he turned his attention back to the horses and they sought out the house Serena had mentioned, where they were able to inspect pieces of medieval jewelry and coins, and several pilgrim badges, rescued by the long dead owners before the ravages of the sea had come to wash away their homes. All too soon it was time to head homeward. For Serena the day had something of magic about it. At times her body had tingled with awareness of Clairmont’s closeness. And he had been full of questions and observations. How wonderful to find him sharing her fascination with the stories of the settlements swept away by the relentless tides. Quite unlike her brothers, who treated her enthusiasm for such things with tolerant amusement, and her sisters who were plainly bored by the topic. She relaxed back against the squabs, noting from the corner of her eye how well Clairmont controlled the horses. He had obviously regained a great deal of the former strength in his arms and shoulders. He had discarded his leather driving gloves and tossed them on the seat beside her. Serena resisted the impulse to pick them up and slip her fingers inside. She studied his hands, square-nailed and broad fingered, grasping the reins firmly. How soft his touch had been against her lips. That was just yesterday. She wished he would touch her like that again. But perhaps it would be better if he never repeated the gesture. If he never touched her again. If he left Bundle Hill, just as Blaydon had left, early this morning. Strange how she had felt an unexplained relief at Blaydon’s departure. If Clairmont were to leave she would surely feel a similar relief. Wouldn’t she? She heaved a deep sigh. She might find release from the constant and confused yearnings his presence caused. But how much harder to exist with part of her heart torn out if Clairmont went away. She was dimly aware of the jolting of the rough country road and the mist that had begun to creep over the landscape and drift around the trees and hedges. Tucked beneath a travel robe, Caroline slept on the padded seat behind, while the nursemaid dozed beside her, head bobbing forward with every bump of the wheels. I cannot bear for him to go. Yet...what torture to have him nearby...to keep herself from touching him... from giving away her feelings. She was behaving like a silly goose. Clairmont had merely acted as the polite guest in playing the piano with her. Likewise in his concern for the wasp sting on her hand, and in his professed interest in today’s expedition. The descending gloom of the afternoon’s weather matched the gloom spreading in her heart. She pulled the travel rug over her knees and closed her eyes. Moments later, a mighty jolt of the carriage and a muffled oath from Clairmont made her jerk them open again.


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What she saw made her sit bolt upright in alarm. Two ruffians had sprung from the trees and stood blocking the passage of the carriage, guns trained at the occupants. As she stared, eyes glued to the weapons, a part of Serena’s mind recognized the type of flintlock pistol her brother Tom had taken to France with him. The other weapon was a clumsy looking piece with a muzzle that flared at the mouth. She was aware of the sudden stiffening in Clairmont’s posture. She felt her palms grow damp, although her throat was dry as a desert. The moment stretched in time. Grubby kerchiefs concealed their attackers’ faces. Two sets of eyes glared in menace, half hidden beneath the peaks of greasy caps. One, Serena realized, was an old shako, of the sort worn by military officers. The taller of the two wore a long black coat with a hem that sagged unevenly. The other, the one with the shako, was clad in a jacket, once red but now faded to a streaky pink on the shoulders, and adorned with stains down the front. “Get out. All of you!” Black Coat bellowed, in a voice like rusty nails. “We most certainly will not get out!” Clairmont roared back, brandishing his whip. “Now stand aside, or I’ll run you down.” But Pink Jacket aimed his pistol straight at Clairmont’s chest. “My friend ‘ere is a crack shot,” said the man in black. “It don’t pay to trifle with him.” “And shut the little bawler up,” he added, as Caroline, rudely awakened from her sleep began to cry. The nursemaid hugged the child and tried to shush her. “We’ll all be murdered,” the woman whimpered. Caroline wailed louder than ever. “I said shut ‘er up!” Black Coat advanced to the carriage and banged a filthy fist on the painted panel, right beneath Serena’s nose. Serena broke free of her torpor. “She’s only a child,” she snapped. “Keep away from them!” Clairmont commanded. Serena recognized from his tone of voice that he was controlling himself with an effort. “Try and stop me, One Eye,” the man taunted. “I told yer my friend’s a crack shot. He’ll blow yer brains out afore yer can snap yer fingers.” Serena heard Clairmont’s indrawn breath. Her blood boiled at the cruel taunt and the thought of how it must wound him. Before her mind had even thought of a rejoinder, her fingers had seized hold of Clairmont’s driving gloves and slapped them sharply across that sneering face. Blinking, the man shook his head and took a quick step back. Then all hell seemed to break loose. She heard a ‘thwack’ as Clairmont cracked the leather thong of his whip in one lightening lash that jerked the pistol from Pink Jacket’s hand. The weapon discharged upwards with a roar as it was


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wrenched away from the fellow’s hand. The man screamed and fell backwards, holding his wrist. Black Coat growled and began to raise his own weapon, but Clairmont was too quick. With a roar, he half rose and lashed out again with the whip. Not having time to get the clumsy gun in place, the man dropped it to the ground, turned tail and ran into the bordering trees. Serena’s glance flicked to the other man, just in time to see the pink jacket disappear into the same wooded area. Clairmont jumped from the carriage as if to follow, but his traitorous artificial leg let him down and he fell heavily to the ground. By the time he pulled himself to his feet there was no sign of their attackers. “Damnation. He managed to pick up the pistol.” Clairmont growled, returning to calm the horses which had been spooked by the gun’s discharge. He walked around the carriage and bent to retrieve the other weapon. “Hmmph. An old blunderbuss,” he said, as if to himself. “Could have done a fair amount of damage.” Serena had the urge to get out of the carriage and look, but her shaking legs refused to obey. She felt sympathy for the nursemaid, whose face was white as a sheet and whose glazed eyes stared unseeing at the child she held. Caroline’s wails had died away into whimpers. “Papa fa’ down,” she said fretfully. “Yes, but Papa got up again.” Clairmont straightened up and held out his arms, smiling in reassurance. “Come to Papa and see.” Reaching over the side of the carriage, he pushed the blunderbuss beneath the seat, plucked the child from the nursemaid’s arms and held her close against his chest. As the nursemaid still sat in a trance, Clairmont patted Caroline’s back and made soothing noises. “Are you all right, Miss Warren?” Over his little daughter’s head he looked keenly at Serena, who managed a smile despite the strange feeling that somebody had taken all the stuffing out of her. “Quite all right, thanks to your bravery,” she whispered. “My bravery?” He raised his eyebrows. “You are the courageous one. I could have done nothing if you had not caused a distraction.” A warm feeling invaded Serena’s stomach and started to melt away the odd trembling sensation that had deprived her legs of the power of movement. She smiled at him and his eyes crinkled in reply. She could really see the creases at the side of the eye patch, in spite of the tight scar that usually kept the skin taut in that spot. She wanted so much to soothe her fingers down his cheek. Instead, she surrendered to another impulse, an irrational one. Standing up, she took a deep breath and stretched her arms to the sky as if expressing a big Thank You, then she lowered her arms and turned to look down at Clairmont.


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Strange to feel taller than him. He didn’t look nearly so formidable from above. Strange to see such an expression on his scarred face as he turned to look up and his gaze locked with hers. Strange and absolutely wonderful. “Me want drink,” a childish voice broke the spell. Serena realized she had been holding her breath. With a wry laugh, she blew out her breath and sat down on the padded seat again. Clairmont regarded his daughter with a grin. “We’ll go find you something to drink, little one.” Glancing at the nursemaid’s white countenance, he added, “To find us all something to drink, in fact.” “I’m right sorry, your lordship,” the woman said, wiping her hands over her face. “I thought those horrible men were going to murder us all.” “Instead, we’re all still sound in wind and limb,” he said briskly. Giving Caroline a kiss on her button nose, he handed her back to the nursemaid and stepped up into the carriage. “You sent both of them packing.” Serena shook her head in amazement. “And they both had guns.” “Yes.” Clairmont rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Where did they get them, I wonder? The ruffians were amateurs.” Serena shuddered, remembering the gun trained on Clairmont, from just a few feet away. “They seemed pretty nasty to me. Why do you call them amateurs?” “A pair of highway men who rob coaches and carriages on a regular basis would work much better as a team than those two did. And they most likely would be on horseback to make a quick getaway.” Clairmont frowned. “I’m sorry I could not chase them down.” “You tried.” Serena reminded him. “Which was brave, considering your leg.” “For a moment I had quite forgotten the leg.” Such a rueful expression crossed his face that Serena had to squelch the urge to hug and console him. “You got this, anyway.” She pointed to the heavy looking weapon that Clairmont had picked up from the road. “Yes. Interesting, that. Wonder where the fellow came by it?” The rueful expression had disappeared. Clairmont’s tone was cool and clinical. He took up the reins, set the horses in motion and the carriage jolted forward. Serena wondered how he could seem so calm after such a hair-raising encounter. He did not appear ruffled in the least. And he had routed a couple of armed robbers. He seemed to be treating the episode like an interesting but nonthreatening puzzle to be solved. He had behaved magnificently. If Melinda could have seen him she would surely not spurn him as a disfigured and no longer useful human being. Melinda. If it were not for Melinda.


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I would love and cherish you for ever, she silently told the tall, cloaked figure. Then her chest tightened at the deepening scowl on his forehead. His grasp on the reins was so fierce that his knuckles showed white. Perhaps he was not unruffled after all. *** Once I would have been able to run the fellow down and make him talk. In the old days. Before the horrors of Waterloo. Useless to chastise himself and wish for what used to be. His vaunted strength and agility. Clairmont’s teeth clenched and he scowled as he thought of the ignominy of his fall. Serena had called him brave. Hmm. Rash and thoughtless, more like. Serena. His face relaxed and he almost smiled at the recollection of her indignant slap across the fellow’s face. Intrepid young woman. Inexplicably wonderful young woman. And afterwards, she had forgotten about her hand. She had stood and stretched to the sky, as though giving joyful thanks to some overarching god of the skies. How unladylike, but how beautiful to see her body, young, shapely and irresistible, poised above him. Not the sort of movement that Melinda would ever make. Melinda. Clairmont frowned again and mentally turned away from the problem she presented. Now, to consider the botched hold-up attempt....


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CHAPTER 10 Blaydon paced the cramped room of the inn like a caged animal. What was keeping the fellows? They should have come back to meet him just after dusk. That was the arrangement. For the tenth time he pulled out his watch. Almost midnight. Something must have gone wrong. But surely.... Steps on the stairway! He rushed to the door, lifted the creaky latch and wrenched it open. Seizing the sleeve of the black coat, pulled the wearer inside and slammed the door. “Where’s Mobbs?” “He ain’t comin.” Joe Sluggin jerked his arm away. “What do you mean? Where is he? Has he left the country already?” Blaydon felt a rising alarm as he caught the hangdog expression on the man’s face. Squelching the impulse to seize the fellow and give him a good shaking, Blaydon took a deep breath. “Sit down, man and tell me what has happened.” He motioned to one of the two wooden chairs the room contained. Sluggin shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ to stop.” He didn’t look directly at Blaydon and seemed to have trouble saying what was on his mind. “But what happened? How did the...er...the...expedition go?” “Expedition?” The fellow’s lips twisted. “Big word, that.” He still avoided Blaydon’s eye. “Well, whatever you call it, the cove got away.” Blaydon sat heavily in one of the chairs. The legs scraped against the rough wooden planking of the floor. “There were two of you,” he spat. “You were both armed. Mobbs is supposed to be a crack shot....” “You said ‘e was a cripple.” Sluggin’s voice was almost a whine. “Easy pickin’s, you said.” “The man’s only got one leg and one eye.” “Yeah. And he’s a devil with a whip.” “A whip!” Blaydon’s voice rose almost to a scream. Then, recollecting the flimsy quality of the walls of this seedy inn, he controlled himself and dropped his voice. “So he went on his way, right as rain?” “Him and that spitfire woman and the kid that wouldn’t stop howlin’.” Blaydon dropped his head into his hands. “Did he get a look at either of you?”


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“Nah! We ‘ad our faces covered up. And we got away pretty quick.” But why hadn’t Mobbs put a bullet through Clairmont’s brain? It had seemed such a simple solution, when Blaydon had heard Clairmont making arrangements for his outing. He had been sure that Clairmont would try to resist. And since he had never carried arms since his wounding, it should have been an easy job to fire, and then melt away into the trees. Now Clairmont would be enraged and probably suspicious. He would be bound to try and track down the two attackers. “You’d better get away and stay away,” Blaydon warned. “You know the penalties for attempted highway robbery.” And you could lead Clairmont straight back to me. “Oh, yes, we know the penalties.” Sluggin wiped his nose on his sleeve. “That’s why we need the blunt, right quick, so we can go lay low for a bit.” “But I have already paid you both.” “That was only half.” Sluggin extended a grimy hand. “’The remainder on completion,’ them were your own words.” Blaydon felt his ire rising again. “But you didn’t complete the job, did you? You made a devilish mess of it.” “We did as we were told. Wasn’t our fault we was misinformed.” “Misinformed?” Blaydon knew his voice was rising again. Better get a grip on himself. “One crippled man, two women and a child! And you each had a gun.” He shook his head. “You didn’t complete the job. If you had, I would be in a much better position to pay you.” He stood up. “You get no more out of me. You failed in your job. Now get out of here.” Sluggin looked fully at him for the first time. The man’s little black eyes bore a very strange expression. “I ‘ope they don’t catch up with us, because we’d ‘ave to tell who the gent was that hired us.” “Get out!” “You’ll be ‘earing from Mobbs and me, no doubt.” Sluggins made for the door. “Mobbs won’t take it kindly that you didn’t give us what’s owing.” He turned in the doorway. “You might find it better to settle up with us, after all.” “I said get out!” Blaydon could scarcely recognize the hissing voice as his own. He sat with his head in his hands, long after the hollow sound of the man’s boots had retreated down the wooden stairs. How could he face Haskett? Oh, God, and the other creditors too. And now there was this thinly veiled threat from the two down-and-out characters he’d involved. Worst of all, thanks to their ineptitude, Clairmont would be on his guard. He would at least start carrying a weapon, and he wouldn’t rest until he had tracked the two attackers down. Blaydon had no illusions that they would keep silent about his own part in


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the failed attempt. The carriage jolted and rattled over the hollows and bumps of the country road. Serena’s heart gradually stopped its racing. She tried to quieten her overactive mind as the scene with the two highwaymen played and replayed in her imagination. Clairmont’s voice broke into her churning thoughts. “The affair still troubles you, Miss Warren.” Serena forced a smile. “How could I be troubled when you handled those ruffians so splendidly?” “But the depth of your sigh betrays your unease.” “You must be mistaken. Surely I did not sigh?” She squared her shoulders. “I suppose a small one must have escaped without my notice.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Such an intrepid young lady should be allowed a sigh or two, whenever she feels like it.” Then he surprised her with his chuckle. “If I had not been so occupied with the gravity of the situation, I would have laughed aloud at the expression on that fellow’s face when you went for him.” Serena found herself chuckling too. “He did look rather surprised.” Clairmont turned his head to look fully at her. She could not fathom the expression in his eyes, but it warmed her to her very toes. The carriage gave an almighty shudder as one of the wheels jarred against a boulder along the side of the road. A frightened whimper emerged from the nursemaid, seated behind. Clairmont grimaced and turned his full attention to the horses once more. “Many more smiles like that, Serena, and I shall drive straight into the ditch.” His words were spoken softly over his shoulder, but their impact set her pulse racing once more. She wanted to stroke her hands down the length of his rigid back, to massage away the tension she saw there. But remembering the presence of the nursemaid, she kept her hands on the reticule in her lap. Gripping the reins more tightly, he set his jaw and his tone darkened. “As to those two rogues who accosted us...there was something strange about them. Something that didn’t fit.” Serena remembered the uniform. “Do you suppose they were deserters?” “A deserter wouldn’t dare wear his uniform.” Clairmont took one hand off the reins and rubbed his chin. “Discharged soldiers, down on their luck,” he said, almost to himself. “Hundreds of them are roaming the countryside looking for work.” “Then they might be pretty desperate.” “But these fellows did not ask for money,” he reminded her. “And they were appallingly unskilled at their job.” “Perhaps we were their first attempt at robbery?”


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“I don’t believe so.” His tone was vague as if he were considering something. The fingers of his free hand came to rest lightly on her arm, almost as though he was unaware of his action. As though controlling carriage horses one-handed was an everyday occurrence. Serena felt his touch burn, even though it held no pressure there. She wanted to ask him more of his theory about the robbers - or whoever they were. There was something here that he was not telling her. But she couldn’t bear to break the spell in case he took his hand away, so she sat, her whole body tingling, in the magic closeness. It lasted through the silence between them for the half an hour it took to reach the big iron gates of Bundle Hill. Only then did he remove his hand to guide the horses up the driveway and bring them to a halt. Serena felt she had almost stopped breathing until that point. Then the nursemaid, suddenly realizing they had reached home and safety, gave a loud wail of relief. The piercing sound shattered the spell. Two startled footmen came running to help them descend from the carriage. Wakened by the noise, Caroline caught her nursemaid’s hysteria and set up a howl of her own. Serena released a long breath like a collapsing balloon. Now to face the questions and explanations, once they got inside. All she wanted was to hide away in her room and explore her secret feelings. *** Outside Clairmont’s town house in Grosvenor Square, Blaydon squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Melinda might not welcome him, but the softhearted little Miss Fanny Warren - now she was a possibility. His situation was desperate enough that he had no choice. He must get help from somewhere. He glanced quickly up and down the street, feeling like a haunted man. None of his creditors must know he had arrived in the city. Taking a second deep breath to try and settle the pounding of his pulse, he mounted the steps and wielded the heavy brass knocker. Some fifteen minutes later, when Blaydon’s stomach churned with irritation and uncertainty, Melinda swept into the drawing room, her china blue eyes like icy points. “To what do we owe this pleasure, sir?” Her demeanor belied the civil words and she offered no apology for keeping him waiting. Blaydon attempted to bow over Melinda’s hand, but she withdrew it from his fingers and clasped both her hands together with more firmness than he had ever seen her display. The glib words he had prepared, died on his lips. He forced a smile. “I merely wished to convey my respects to your ladyship and Miss Fanny,


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and to bring greetings from her family at Bundle Hill.” Melinda’s delicate eyebrows rose a notch. “You are too late, Blaydon. Miss Fanny left yesterday for her home. I am surprised you did not know of her expected arrival at Bundle Hill if you have only just come from there yourself.” Blaydon’s heart skipped a beat. His only ally had gone and Melinda’s hostility banished any faint hopes of assistance from that quarter. “Melinda darling, do hurry. We shall be late.” Melinda spun around to face the tall, poised woman who brought her own aura of energy into the room. Blaydon could have sworn Melinda lifted her fingers to her lips, but he couldn’t see properly. However, the newcomer appeared unfazed and oblivious to the warning. “Lady Saunderson, let me introduce the Honorable John Blaydon.” Melinda’s voice held a warning of its own. “He is my husband’s cousin.” “I am enchanted to meet you, Lady Saunderson.” Something was in the air between these two women. Blaydon dearly wanted to find out more. But no sooner had Lady Saunderson inclined her head in acknowledgment than Melinda forestalled him. “I am sorry, Blaydon, but we are on the point of leaving.” “That seems to be ever my fate when I pay a call on you, dear Lady Clairmont.” “Thompson will see you out.” Melinda reached for the bell to call a footman. “I will show myself out,” Blaydon said. Suppressing his annoyance and frustration, he made a formal bow to both women and left the drawing room. Outside in the hallway he came to a quick decision. Instead of taking the stairway down to the entrance, he tiptoed up the stairs to the floor containing the larger bedrooms. His heart was pounding in his ears. A quick search led him to the master bedrooms, linked by a dressing room. Blaydon took a deep breath and listened. No servants moving about. Silently he slipped through the doorway into the larger of the two bedrooms. At the sound of women’s laughter from below, he froze. The noise grew further away as the big front door closed. Melinda and her friend had walked down to their waiting carriage. Pulling out his handkerchief, Blaydon wiped the perspiration from his face and began to look around the room. His desperate situation left him no choice but to do whatever was needed to get him out of the financial hole he was in. He needed some way to persuade Melinda it would be in her best interests to help him. Five minutes later, he had what he needed. All was quiet when he listened on the landing. The servants must have taken advantage of their mistress’s outing to gather in the kitchen for a break. Blaydon walked calmly down to the deserted front entrance and let himself out. He would return in time for a private afternoon tea with Melinda, whether she was willing or not..


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“I am sure your husband would be most interested to hear of the - errelationship between yourself and the remarkable Lady Saunderson.” Blaydon smiled and leaned back in his chair. Melinda’s stomach lurched. Clairmont must never guess at the liaison between herself and her dearest Felicity. Sitting up straight in her uncomfortable chair and wishing desperately for her beloved chaise she glared at him. “It is none of your affair, Blaydon.” “On the contrary, my dear Lady Clairmont. I cannot let my cousin be hoodwinked in this manner.” He carelessly waved his hand at the five exquisite nude sketches he had laid out on the coffee table. “Lady Saunderson has a very delicate touch and an intimate knowledge of her subject. Most intimate.” Blaydon took out his snuff box, gathered a pinch of the powder between thin white fingertips and held it delicately poised. “She has achieved a perfect likeness of you, Melinda. Very touching and revealing.” He sniffed at his fingers and the snuff disappeared into his nostrils. “Marriages have been annulled for much less.” Annulled? Melinda shivered. “And it goes without saying that all financial arrangements and privileges come to an end.” Melinda felt as though a flood were about to engulf her. She could never give up her darling Felicity. Yet, without Clairmont’s generous allowance she would be forced back to the penury of her premarital state. But Felicity had been the one person to light up her existence. With her, the ennui that had pressed upon Melinda for most of her life had simply flown out of the window, to be replaced by unimagined joys. “You are much attached to Lady Saunderson.” It was a statement of fact and not a question. “I do believe I have the solution you seek.” Melinda looked at him warily. He reminded her of a black-eyed snake she had once seen in a museum collection. “You have merely to invite your husband to spend some time with you here. A reconciliation of sorts.” “I cannot stand to be near him.” Her words were forced through gritted teeth. “I know, Melinda. I know.” She dared not chide him for his familiarity. Looking at his half smile she understood that he knew that too. “And when he arrives you will have all sorts of delicious refreshments prepared for him. Particularly his brandied custard.” Melinda felt her jaw drop. She hastily closed her mouth and sought for composure. An eerie feeling of what was to follow wormed its way through her


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insides. “And then?” “And then, since you will stir in a little something that I will procure for you, your poor husband will be stricken with a severe case of food poisoning.” Blaydon waved a pale hand. “And, voila! No more thoughts of being bedded against your will. No more threats of scandal.” “But, that’s insane!” Melinda wondered whether she was going insane herself. “ I could never get away with murder.” “Oh, come now, Melinda. If the cook used cracked eggs, or they weren’t properly cooked, anyone could become fatally ill. It’s a common occurrence.” “But you will inherit his father’s title,” Melinda felt trapped. “What will happen to me?” “I guarantee you a comfortable allowance. You will be free as a bird to live where you will, with your paramour.” Melinda flinched at the term. But, wasn’t it true? Felicity filled her life with love such as she had never before experienced. But could she trust Blaydon to stick to his promise about the money? “The alternative is to lose everything if Clairmont knows the truth. He’s not the sort of man to understand, or forgive.” Melinda let out a long breath and felt her shoulders slump. “What alternative do I have?” Blaydon smiled and shook his head. “None, my dear Melinda. None.”


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CHAPTER 11 Clairmont frowned at the letter in his hand. How uncharacteristic of Melinda it seemed. He smoothed it down and read it once more. My dear William, I hope your recovery has proceeded satisfactorily. I find myself missing you and our little daughter. Even though I know how much you dislike the city, I should be delighted if you would join me here for a few days. Do send word that you will come. Ever your devoted wife, Melinda Clairmont rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. Hope flickered and died again. Once he would have been delighted to think that his wife wanted his company. But now his feelings were mixed. What had caused Melinda’s sudden change of heart? Absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but he couldn’t say that his feelings towards his wife had improved since they had been apart. In fact.... He thought of Serena and his lips twisted. Getting to know her had changed his own feelings about a lot of things. On a sudden impulse he went looking for her. She seemed to be avoiding him during the last few days. Perhaps she was still upset by the incident with the two highway ruffians. But she had acted so bravely. And he had felt so close to her during the drive home. The memory warmed him. He found her in the garden with Caroline. His daughter’s tiny pink sun bonnet and Serena’s cream straw hat were close together, as their wearers laughed at the antics of Madame Fluff, tossing a cloth mouse in the air. A lump came into his throat. “You taught me to laugh again, too,” he said, coming close to the pair. Serena jerked up her head and color flooded her cheeks. “It took courage for you to come to terms with your injuries.” “But you made it easier.” He hesitated, then decided to continue. “Thanks to you, I have come to view our respective disabilities in a new and much more positive light.” She looked quickly down at the ground. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her how beautiful she appeared to him now. He really didn’t want to go to London. But Melinda was his wife.


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Caroline had hold of the mouse’s string and was pulling the toy back and forth, followed by a pouncing Madame Mew. On an impulse, Clairmont took Serena’s hand and pulled her up to stand facing him. “My wife writes to ask me to take Caroline to visit her.” He paused. He just had to say it. “Caroline is greatly attached to you.” And so am I, he added silently. “I want you to come with us.” The flush left her face, leaving it pale as she stared at him. In the whiteness her eyes looked darker than usual. “I am not sure that Lady Clairmont would welcome my presence.” “Caroline would be desolate to leave you behind, Miss Warren.” Hearing her name, the little girl looked up. “Come play with pussy cat,” she invited. She held out her arms to Serena. “Me love you,” she said. Serena turned a suspiciously bright gaze to Clairmont. “How could I refuse?” *** “My Lord...William...I am happy you decided to come.” Melinda looking pale but remarkably beautiful, came gliding down the stairs to greet her husband. Serena remembered Clairmont’s homecoming after being wounded, when Melinda had stayed in her room, away from the welcoming party. Perhaps Melinda was ready to accept his scarred face and wooden leg. In spite of herself, Serena suffered a pang of jealousy. Melinda offered a cheek for Clairmont to kiss, and then held out her hand to Caroline. “What a pretty dress and bonnet, dear,” she said, making no attempt to pick the child up. “Oh, Miss Warren. How do you do?” The coolness of Melinda’s greeting bordered on ill manners. Serena knew she had made a mistake. She should not have let Clairmont persuade her to come. “Miss Warren has been very encouraging to me during my convalescence,” he said firmly. Serena could tell he was trying to mitigate the effect of Melinda’s snub. “And she has been wonderfully patient with Caroline.” “Indeed.” Melinda inclined her head but her expression didn’t become any more friendly. “Once you have changed out of your travel clothes, I have refreshments waiting in the drawing room.” The sparseness of Serena’s room under the eaves confirmed that she was neither expected nor welcome. She sighed. Melinda was still allowing the withered hand to blind her to the normal person underneath. But not Clairmont. A warm glow pushed away the hurt that Melinda’s greeting had caused. She lifted her chin and went downstairs for refreshments. The low table in the drawing room was spread with dainty plates of assorted tiny cakes. A tray bearing a large silver bowl surrounded by small silver


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cups, sat on a smaller table at Melinda’s elbow. Serena was the first guest to arrive. Melinda appeared to be rearranging the cups, but at Serena’s entrance she stopped and began wafting her ever-present fan instead. She treated Serena to a frosty inclination of the head. Taking a seat close to the tall window, Serena kept herself apart from the group that gradually assembled. “Do come and sit over here, Miss Warren.” Clairmont, who had entered soon after Serena, indicated a chair closer to the others. Serena smiled and shook her head. This was Melinda’s house. She would not intrude herself. In any case, she liked the idea of being able to sit and observe Clairmont, unnoticed by the others. “Tell me, William, how was your journey?” Not stopping for an answer, Melinda smiled brightly at a tall, statuesque woman, dressed in a blue and gold striped gown “Do have some cakes, Lady Saunderson.” “Later perhaps.” Lady Saunderson smiled and quirked one eyebrow. For some reason, Melinda’s cheeks took on an unaccustomed pinkness. The woman, who had ignored Serena completely after their brief introduction, seemed to have replaced Fanny as Melinda’s confidante. Where Lady Saunderson had come from or how she had met Melinda was a mystery. “And how is my little treasure?” Melinda flashed a smile at Caroline, who sat like a doll on the stool at her father’s feet. “The weather has been unusually fine for the time of year, don’t you agree?” She still did not pause for an answer. “And dear Lady Warren. How kind of her to invite you to Bundle Park. I trust she is in good health?” How odd. Melinda never chattered that way. She usually lounged on her chaise lounge looking slightly bored with the conversation. “Aside from a brief indisposition, my mother is in excellent health, as always.” Serena could not have said why she broke into the flow of questions like that. Particularly as she had vowed to keep herself on the sidelines. Melinda turned her head, mouth slightly ajar. The look she gave Serena could have scorched. Perversely, Serena kept her composure and returned a determinedly serene smile. Clairmont’s lips twitched. Had she offended him, or was that a grin he was trying to suppress? Melinda turned her back on Serena and continued to chatter. She seemed to be getting more nervous by the minute. Serena was puzzled. “Do have some of this wonderful brandied custard, William,” Melinda said, her hand hovering over the contents of the silver bowl. Clairmont turned to look at his wife in sudden surprise. “Oh yes, William, I remembered that it was your favorite.” Why was Melinda’s other hand clutching the fan so tightly that the blue veins showed through the white skin? “Thank you, Melinda. How thoughtful of you to think of it.”


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Melinda laid her fan aside, picked up the small cup nearest to her and spooned a portion of the creamy concoction into it. “Here you are then, William.” Melinda’s hand shook slightly as footman took the cup from her and presented it to her husband. How unusual for Melinda to serve anything out herself. Melinda paused before filling more of the cups. But Clairmont courteously waited for the others to be served before he lifted up his own. “I’m sure it will be delicious.” Taking a spoonful of the runny mixture he raised it to his lips. Melinda’s shoulders looked so tense. Surely Clairmont’s approval of the custard was not so vital as all that. “Me want some too!” Caroline, who had remained still, like a well-bred little lady, suddenly reached up to the spoonful in her father’s hand. “Me too!” “You shall have your own bowl, child,” Melinda said sharply. “Pour her one,” she instructed the footman. “No need. She can share mine.” Clairmont sounded unruffled, but Melinda was plainly agitated as he offered the spoon to his little daughter. “No!” Serena’s scream echoed in her own ears. Forgetting her ungainly foot, forgetting everything, she fairly hurled herself across the room. She tripped on the edge of the turkey carpet and sprawled full length at Clairmont’s feet. The spoon went flying from Caroline’s small hand. The bowl splattered most of its contents across Clairmont’s lap and the rest on the pink and turquoise design of the carpet. “What in heaven’s name?” Clairmont struggled to stand up. Caroline let out a startled cry and then began to sob with disappointment. His face bore a scowl of incomprehension. But he bent forward and helped Serena to her feet. “I presume, Miss Warren, that you had a very good reason for that display?” “Quite a performance,” Lady Saunderson’s voice drawled. Serena didn’t look at her. She stared at Clairmont who loomed above her, waiting for an explanation. “...The child is too young to have brandy.” How inadequate her excuse sounded Clairmont cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “You can do better than that, Miss Warren.” Serena could feel her face flaming. How could she explain her sudden intuition that there was something harmful about that cup of custard. Something intended for Clairmont but not his daughter. “Pray excuse me.” Pulling her arm away she straightened her dress and


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stumbled towards the door on legs that she couldn’t control. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Melinda’s horrified eyes and the clenched hands covering her mouth Back in her tiny room she sat trembling on the bed. Why had she not voiced her suspicions? Yet how could she accuse her hostess of trying to harm her own husband. The idea was ludicrous. I must be going mad. But why had Melinda’s fingers trembled so? And why had she been so agitated when Caroline wanted to share her father’s cup? The mental image returned to Serena’s mind of the moment she had walked into the drawing room. Melinda - hastily straightening up and turning away from the tray. A light tap at the door broke into her thoughts. It must be her maid. Serena sighed and delayed answering. She needed a few moments more to think. Clairmont tapped at the door again. He knew he should not be here but he had to talk to Serena. His starched collar was damp where Caroline’s wet little face was pressed against it. He did not want to put the child down and had been deeply touched by the way her sobbing had subsided in response to his picking her up. Her new nursemaid had been about to remove the frightened child so that her crying would not inconvenience the adults, but Clairmont had needed to comfort her himself. When Serena opened her door, he could see that she was in need of comfort too. “Will you accept my daughter as a chaperone and let me come in?” The defiant expression with which she had greeted him gave way to a rather tentative smile. She opened the door wider and he followed her inside. What a box. This was a servant’s room. He felt a flash of anger at Melinda’s thoughtlessness. “I am sorry there is only the one chair,” she said. “Please sit down.” She resumed the rumpled place on the bed where she had obviously been sitting when he arrived. In the short silence that ensued, Clairmont stroked his little daughter’s hair. The child hiccupped and cast Serena a baleful glance. “Me like custard too.” “I thought it was bad custard, Caroline.” Serena spoke softly to the child. “I didn’t want you to be sick.” Clairmont spoke just as softly. “I have vivid memories of a young woman whose wild actions caused me to spill scalding tea in my lap.” He looked directly into Serena’s eyes. “I did not understand it at the time, but I believe I do now.” He shook his head. “What an unfeeling and unseeing wretch I was.”


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“And I believe today’s action must have been prompted by something very important.” He paused and let the silence stretch between them. “I wish you would tell me what that something was.” He held his breath and watched the struggle going on behind her expressive eyes. “Perhaps you should persuade Melinda to tell you.” Melinda? His wife’s behavior had been out of character today. More animated and agitated than he had ever seen her. She had flushed and dimpled at her new friend, Lady Saunderson. She had presented him with a food that he particularly liked. Not the cool, disinterested Melinda he thought he knew. “Go on...” he said. But Serena shook her head. “Ask Lady Clairmont about the custard...the whole story.” And she would say no more on the subject. Clairmont had the urge to shake her. To take her in his arms and kiss those soft lips until she gasped for breath. To.... He stood up abruptly and tightened his arm about his daughter. “I shall go and speak to Lady Clairmont.” He looked around him. “And get you moved into a decent room, Miss Warren.”


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CHAPTER 12 Caroline’s small head drooped against Clairmont’s shoulder. The frightening episode in the drawing room had bewildered the little girl and she was ready for a nap. Clairmont kissed the tendrils of hair feathering over his daughter’s forehead. Handing her into the care of her nursemaid, he squared his shoulders and prepared to confront his wife. Guessing Melinda would be in her elegantly decorated bedchamber, he knocked and called her name. After a brief pause with no answer, he tried the door. It swung open at his touch. Melinda stood at the window fiddling nervously with her fan. “I would like to have a word with you, Melinda.” Clairmont said. Her face was drained of all color and she appeared not to hear him. “Alone, please.” Clairmont added, turning to the tall, woman who stood by the fireplace, her expression unreadable. “If you will excuse us, Lady Saunderson.” Melinda came to life abruptly. “Don’t go, Felicity. Please do not leave me.” “Am I, then, such an ogre that you cannot bear to be left alone in my company, Madam?” Clairmont’s voice sounded harsh and foreign to his own ears. “It is not that...It is....” Melinda’s face crumpled and tears began flowing. Clairmont took a step forward but Lady Saunderson was quicker, hurrying over to comfort Melinda as though trying to protect her from himself. “I don’t know what is going on here, or why you should be so upset, Melinda, but I really must insist on speaking to you alone.” “It’s all right, Felicity dear.” Melinda dabbed her eyes. “Please go. I must face him sooner or later.” Lady Saunderson swept past Clairmont, giving him such a baleful glare that he felt like a monster. His annoyance increased. The affair was none of this woman’s business. When the door had closed somewhat forcefully behind Lady Saunderson, Clairmont approached Melinda. He stopped a few feet from her when she seemed to shrink away. “Surely I am not such an ogre as all that, Melinda.” His wife sniffed into a tiny handkerchief, but remained silent. Her blue eyes regarded him warily over the wisp of white lace. Clairmont thought of Serena’s words. He must ask. “What was the real story behind the special custard, Melinda?”


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She clenched the handkerchief into a ball and gnawed at her lip. Clairmont wished she would shout or spit in his face, or do something other than retreat into herself. In her place, Serena would be fiery and splendid. He sighed and strove to keep his tone patient. “What was it all about, Melinda?” Suddenly Melinda’s beautiful face contorted and her rouged lips stretched into a piercing scream. The raw sound echoed strangely in the lush setting of the bedroom. The screams continued and escalated until his eardrums ached. Clairmont strode towards his hysterical wife and slapped her cheek. She stopped in mid shriek and regarded him, wild-eyed. With a rush, Lady Saunderson banged into the room, seized Melinda and pulled her away from him. “He shall not harm you, my pet,” she crooned, clasping Melinda to herself and glaring at Clairmont. “This is none of your business, Madam.” Clairmont glared back and was gratified to see the firebrand quail a little, although she did not release her clasp on Melinda. “Tell me about the custard, Melinda.” At all costs, he had to get to the bottom of this. “It was...Blaydon’s fault...” Melinda’s face began to crumple again. “Blaydon?” A strange feeling invaded the pit of Clairmont’s stomach. “He gave me the stuff.” “Stuff...?” “The powder...I had to put in your custard....” Clairmont felt a chill through his body. “...And what kind of powder?” But Melinda was sobbing again and made no reply. “What was supposed to happen with the powder, Melinda?” “You’re browbeating her, Clairmont.” “Quiet, Madam. This does not concern you,” Clairmont growled. “Tell me, Melinda.” “He means to inherit your father’s title.” Melinda dabbed at her swollen eyes with shaking fingers. Clairmont snorted. “Hell can freeze before that happens....” He stopped short. “But...why would you try to help him?” He shook his head. “What possible benefit could there be for you?” “He threatened to tell you.” Melinda’s lips quivered. “Tell me....Tell me, what?” Melinda turned her face into Lady Saunderson’s neck. The woman stroked Melinda’s cheek and kissed it, making soothing sounds of endearment. Watching Melinda’s fond response, Clairmont had a sudden, vivid image of his wife’s stone-faced reaction to his own caresses. This Melinda was alive and warm in a way he had never known. The answer struck him like a blow between the eyes.


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How could he have been so blind, so mistaken? With his lightning bolt of understanding came a flood of unexplained relief. The feeling hardened to a cold anger, directed as much at Blaydon as the two women. “So you and your... lover tried to murder me.” Hands clenched he took a step towards them. “Felicity had nothing to do with this.” Melinda said, trying to shield the other woman’s body with her own. Clairmont gave a short bark of a laugh. “Calm down. I can hardly call a woman out.” He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. This episode explained so much. But he could have been killed. And his darling Caroline.... Closing his eyes for a second, he gave thanks for Serena’s watchfulness, and her crazy, quick action. “What are you going to do?” Melinda’s voice quavered anxiously. Clairmont stared out of the window, deep in thought, for several moments before answering. “I shall seek an annulment or a divorce, of course.” The calmness of his own voice surprised him. “But...I have no money? How shall I live?” “As the mother of my daughter, I can hardly abandon you.” As for being his attempted assassin as well.... No, he mustn’t think of her in those terms. Surely, it was Blaydon who must pay for that attempt. “I shall make a settlement on you...with the provision that you and your...lover,” he flicked a glance at Lady Saunderson, “leave the country and live elsewhere.” Willing himself not to limp, he made for the door. Aware of the total silence behind him, he turned to look back from the doorway. The two women stood like statues, as though they had stopped breathing. Then Melinda broke free and ran towards him. Her eyes were red, but Clairmont thought he had never seen her expression so radiantly alive. She put her hand on his arm. “Thank you, William...Lord Clairmont....Thank you.” Covering her hand with his own, he patted it gently. Then, with a brief nod of acknowledgment, he made his exit. *** Serena was unsure how it came about, but by nightfall she was installed in a well-appointed room that had been hastily vacated by Lady Saunderson.


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In a flurry of activity, Melinda’s maid was packing her mistress’s belongings to be collected on the morrow. Melinda had already gone with Lady Saunderson, to an inn, in preparation for a journey. Serena burned with curiosity to know what had happened when Clairmont questioned Melinda. He had been tightlipped during the exodus and Serena thought it best not to ask. Having caught the undercurrents between the two women, Serena thought she knew why they had left together. But, what about the custard? “You must be tired after the journey, Miss. Would you like to get ready for your bed now?” Mary’s expression had lost its grimness, now that her mistress was installed in a proper room instead of the cubbyhole assigned to her on their arrival. Serena’s head was still full of the extraordinary events of the day. Sleep would surely evade her, especially with the bustle coming from the adjacent room. “I would like to go out walking beneath the stars, Mary,” she said, only half in jest and was amused to see the crease that reappeared on her maid’s forehead. “The city streets are full of cutthroats, day or night, Miss Serena. We’re not in the gardens at Bundle Hill.” “You are always trying to protect me, Mary. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Unlike the youthful French maids most other young women had, Mary was a holdover from Serena’s nursery days. She was not particularly skilled in trimming dresses and bonnets in the latest style, but she was fiercely loyal. And Serena had never cared about fancy clothes. She sighed, wondering whether fashionable dresses would make her appear more attractive to Clairmont. She could never compete with Melinda in that department anyway. “I might as well get ready for bed,” she said. Mary helped Serena undress, brushed her hair into a red-gold cloud around her shoulders and then departed for the smaller room that now was hers. Serena lay back on her pillows and willed sleep to come. For the tenth time she replayed the scene in the drawing room. How stupid she must have looked. Yet, how could she keep silent about what she feared would happen if Clairmont or the child swallowed any of that custard? What had it contained? What had taken place during the meeting between Clairmont and Melinda? Where had Melinda gone, and what did it all mean? An hour later, Serena gave up trying to quieten her overactive mind. She would have to get outside. Surely she would be safe in the tiny garden at the back. Before she had time to change her mind, she pulled her traveling cloak over her nightgown, slipped her bare feet into brown leather half boots that felt slippery and strange without stockings, and let herself out into the corridor.


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Lanterns in sconces flickered dimly on the staircase. Serena gripped the banister and descended the steps slowly, testing each one for squeaks. Reaching the long hallway leading from front to back on the main floor, she tiptoed towards the rear entrance. As she reached the last doorway on the left, a sound made her freeze in her tracks. She caught her breath and eyed the partly open door. The noise came louder. It was the rasping of a heavy snore. Serena unclenched the hand with which she had unconsciously gripped the edge of her cloak. Venturing a peek into the room, palely lit by the embers of a banked fire, she saw a form huddled on a ledge let down from the wall. A kitchen worker whose job was to keep the fire from going out, by the looks of it. When Serena tiptoed past and reached the solid back door, she gripped the heavy bolt in her strong right hand. To her relief, it was well oiled and slipped back smoothly, without a single squeak. The air outside was cool on her face. Very slowly she edged through and pulled the door closed behind her. She stood for a moment adjusting her eyes to the night. By the time she had counted to twenty, she could pick out the shapes of bushes and see a pale path bordered by shrubs. The entire garden, bordered by a brick wall as high as her head, would have fitted into the vegetable garden at Bundle Hill with space to spare. No vegetables here, just a fresh smell of greenery. Her fingers brushed against the cool, damp ivy climbing over the bricks. She would have to investigate during daylight to identify the rest. Turning her face up to the sky, she looked for stars. What a shimmering display. Serena wished she had somebody to share the sight. The air was so still here. Sounds of carriage wheels rumbling over cobblestones came from a distance, without disturbing the sense of peace in the tiny oasis. Suddenly a hand gripped her shoulder, making her jump almost out of her skin. Her involuntary cry was muffled by another hand against her lips, although the touch was light and without threat. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” Clairmont whispered. “I didn’t want to break the magic.” If he had wanted to soothe her, his presence had the opposite of his intended effect. Every one of Serena’s senses were suddenly heightened. She wanted to run away but felt rooted to the spot. If she turned around and faced him, he would surely be able to read her feelings for him, even by starlight. She must never let him know. Clairmont made no effort to turn her around. Instead, he held her with a light hand on each of her shoulders. Through the thickness of her cloak, Serena felt his touch burn. Without her conscious volition she found herself leaning back against him. Her silent warnings of the foolishness and wrongness of this went unheeded.


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His body was solid and dangerously exciting. His fingers gripped more strongly, holding her against him. She felt his warmth spreading through her own body. He slipped his hands down so that he was holding her about her waist. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. What was happening to her heart? He must surely feel it beating. As if they had a life of their own, her arms settled themselves over his, as though to prevent him from withdrawing from their position around her waist. He held her more tightly. She went to stroke his clasped hands and caught herself in embarrassment at the sudden thought of the way her withered left hand must feel to him. She held her breath as he, seeming to sense her discomfort, took hold of the offending hand and stroked it. “Every part of you is beautiful to me, Serena.” The words, breathed softly into her ear, sent waves of pure joy washing through her body. Gently, he turned her round to face him. Serena lifted her chin and gazed up at his ravaged face. She could not help herself. She allowed her joy and love for him to show in her eyes. She knew there could be no mistaking the meaning. “Serena,” he whispered. “Forgive me for my earlier blindness... my stupid lack of understanding.” In answer she gently stroked her fingers across the livid mark that scarred his face. It was a gesture she had longed to do. He caught her hand and carried it to his lips, in much the same way as when she had received the wasp sting at Bundle Hill. This time he made no hasty apology. Her body tingled at the touch of his lips on her palm. Then he was stroking her cheek, tilting her chin with his fingers and bringing his lips towards hers. The meeting was unlike anything Serena had imagined. And when he deepened his kiss and his tongue feathered the lightest of touches along the insides of her lips, her body melted with an unfamiliar weakness that spread to her very core of her being. He drew her closer to him and she reveled in the strength of his arms. His shoulders were so broad she should have been smothered by the sheer size of him. Instead, she felt cherished and protected. An unexplained longing coursed through Serena’s body. She wanted him to hold her forever. And yet...and yet...whatever Melinda had done, Clairmont was still married to her. Warning bells sounded, somewhere in the back of Serena’s mind, only to be crowded out by the magic of this moment. As if her thoughts had flashed to him in some way, Clairmont suddenly held Serena a little away from him and gazed down at her face. “Melinda no longer wishes to be my wife,” he said in a low voice. “I am to make arrangements for a divorce...or...an annulment.”


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Serena’s heart leaped. When he stroked her cheek once more, she clasped his fingers and held them close to her face. “It may take some time to get the arrangements sorted out,” he said. Serena hardly dared to breathe at the possibility of what he might say next. Cupping her face in his hands he looked steadily at her. She could see the intensity of his gaze, despite the gloom of the night. “Will you wait for me, Serena?” She shivered with the unexpected delight, his overpowering nearness and the pure joy of the question. “The waiting will be hard,” was all she could trust herself to say. But the sudden tightening of his fingers against hers told her he understood. She guessed the waiting would be hard for him too. “Come with me to Shalford,” he said, urgently. “But your father...?” “I’m sure he will be glad to have me back there, and I want him to get to know you.” Serena remembered how Melinda had shunted her into the background at Shalford Park, when they had all awaited news of Clairmont from the battlefield. The old Earl of Shalford had been but a shadowy, distant personage to her in those days. This time it would be different. She would be invited by Clairmont himself, instead of being merely tolerated by Melinda only because her mother had insisted she keep Fanny company. “I’m a fool,” Clairmont whispered into her ear. “I don’t want to be parted from you, yet it will be a torment to have to greet and treat you politely, when what I really want to do is this.” His arms stole around her again and enfolded her against his body. Serena’s joy threatened to overwhelm her entirely. She strove for a light, bantering tone to disguise the depths of her feelings. “You won’t hear any complaints from me, my lord.” “I have never heard a complaint of any sort pass your lips,” he murmured, feathering her cheek with tiny kisses that set her pulse racing even more. “You are, without a doubt, the most spirited and joyful young woman I have ever met.” The slightest of sounds from one of the overhead windows broke the spell between them. Serena caught her breath. Then she shook her head. “I don’t care who finds out, or what anybody thinks,” she whispered. Although his face was in shadow, she thought he smiled. “Don’t ever change, Serena.” He raised his head to look in the direction of the sound. “All the same, I think you ought to go in, before we do something we may regret.” “I will do my best not to rouse the house by tripping on the stairs,” she said.


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His answering chuckle was smothered when he buried his face in her hair. “You think you have a challenge?” he asked. “Try coming downstairs in perfect quiet with a wooden leg.” They clung to each other, shaking with silent mirth. It gave way to a need on Serena’s part for more of this magic closeness. She pressed her body closer to him and heard his sudden groan. Then he took her gently by the shoulders, pushed her a little away and planted a tiny kiss on her nose. “I think you could turn out to be a siren, beautiful saver of my life. Go first now. I’ll wait a few moments.” Back in her room, Serena was further from sleep than ever. Her mind raced with the possibilities of life with Clairmont. He had warned that they might have to wait a long time before he was free to marry. Of course she could wait. Such an exciting prospect was worth any delay. But the next moment she was hugging herself tightly and trying to subdue the strange and erotic needs aroused by Clairmont’s kisses, and the feel of his unexpectedly hard body when he held her close to him. The thought of what could follow made her breathless. She couldn’t wait. How could she endure the torture of anticipation, when her body ached for it now? Clairmont sat on the side of his bed and fumbled with the strapping that held his artificial leg in place. He had no desire to call for his valet, whom he had dismissed much earlier and who would doubtless be snoring in the anteroom. Events had happened too quickly for him to dismiss them from his head in the same way. Tomorrow he must summon his lawyer and consult with him as to the best way of initiating divorce proceedings against Melinda. How did one prove adultery or ‘criminal conversation,’ when one’s wife loved a woman instead of another man? Would an annulment be the best course to pursue? What effect would it have on Caroline’s status? Clairmont’s head was spinning. Deliberately he forced the dilemma aside and allowed himself to think of Serena. This fiery current between them was likely to consume him if they stayed too close. Yet he could not bear the thought of a separation that might well last several years. Remembering how she had melted against him caused his body to react, making him ruefully aware that it had been months since he had lain with a woman. Lying with Melinda had not stirred him in the same way as his contact with Serena. Some hot spark had run between them. He wanted Serena sharing his bed. And he wanted her warm, lively presence in the rest of his life. And in the back of his mind was the realization that his cousin Blaydon must truly be desperate to blackmail Melinda into trying to poison him. The incident with the highwaymen had heightened his suspicions, coming as it did


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after the strangely placed rope across the riding path. Yet neither had pointed conclusively to Blaydon’s instigation. This time, there was no trace of doubt. Why was his cousin so desperate? Surely Blaydon’s father’s legacy, small as it was, had not left Blaydon in such a financial straitjacket that he would stoop to murder? I must face him and have it out with him. But how to contact him? Without doubt, Blaydon would stay out of the way while waiting for Melinda to do his dirty work for him. He would not know precisely when Melinda would administer the poison. Finally freeing himself of the artificial leg, Clairmont hurled the heavy wooden appendage, still clad in its boot, across the room. A moment later the black eye patch followed. Clairmont rubbed fretfully at the empty socket before settling himself down in a vain attempt to sleep.


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CHAPTER 13 Late October, 1815 In his room at the Hole in the Wall, Blaydon took one bite of the salty ham and then pushed away the cracked plate. Even if the food had been more inviting, his stomach churned so badly that he doubted he could eat. Would Melinda be resolute enough to give the poison to her husband? Blaydon was worried on that score. But if she carried through with the plan, would she have done it immediately, when Clairmont arrived hungry after his journey, or would she wait until he had been there for a few days? For God’s sake, woman, get it over with! Blaydon was fed up with this wretched inn in Cheapside. He was weary of hiding from his creditors. He was sick of feeling his insides constantly twisted up from the danger and uncertainty of his situation. Melinda had expected Clairmont to reach the London town house yesterday. Was it too soon to search the columns of the Morning Post, where Melinda was to send the announcement of Lord Clairmont’s sad and sudden demise? Of course it was. How was he going to survive the wait? A sudden happy thought crossed Blaydon’s mind. He would go to Shalford Park for a visit with his uncle. The old man would surely not object to a visit from his only nephew. He might be persuaded to give a financial helping hand, if Blaydon phrased the suggestion of his present need with tact and skill. And what better place to hear of Clairmont’s death, which must surely be communicated to the earl, almost as fast as the news appeared in the papers? The relief settled Blaydon’s stomach to the extent that he took a few bites of the ham, but gave up on the leathery, salty slab. He was just putting his belongings in his bag—his wretch of a valet having deserted him after receiving no pay for several weeks—when he heard a knock at the door. His first impulse was to pretend he was not there, but the loud banging persisted. “Who is it?” Blaydon called at last. “A message.” “Slip it under the door.” He tried to control the waver in his voice. “It’s to be delivered in person.” “Go away. I’m too busy.”


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There was no mistaking the snort of disbelief on the other side of the door. “My instructions are to stay until the message is delivered.” His pistol in his hand, Blaydon approached the door, unhooked the piece of wood jammed into the latch to prevent its opening and cautiously slid the door open, just the merest crack. The force of the sudden door opening bowled him backward, knocking the pistol from his hand. Two large ruffians grabbed him by the shoulders and propelled him across the room. Blaydon felt himself pushed down hard on the narrow bed. He tried not to let his alarm show in his face. “How dare you!” “How dare you,” one of the men mocked his tone. “We mean business. And the man wot sent us...he means business,” the other man said, thrusting a paper into Blaydon’s face. “You get the message?” asked the first, blowing a great breath that stank of his rotting teeth. Blaydon nodded, forcing himself not to recoil from the stench. “What do you say, then?” prompted the other, wrapping his fingers around Blaydon’s windpipe. “Yes.” Blaydon managed to croak. “I understand.” The paper was thrust into his hand. The messengers banged their way out of the room, leaving him gasping for air. Blaydon jammed his makeshift wooden block into the latch again. He knelt to retrieve the pistol from under the bed, where it had been kicked in the scuffle, and unfolded the message. My Dear Blaydon: You must appreciate my distaste for having to make a second request for repayment of the loan made to you, repayment of which is several weeks overdue. I trust no further inducement will be needed for you to make a full settlement of the total, to which is now added the cost of keeping your whereabouts known to me. J. B. Haskett Blaydon massaged his neck and tried to control his feeling of panic. Haskett now had him under surveillance. Mobbs and Sluggin were looking for him. He crumpled the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. No matter how he looked at it, sanctuary at Shalford was his only hope.

*** There was not much room inside the carriage. Serena and Clairmont sat side by side on their journey to Shalford Park. Caroline was supposed to sit with


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her nursemaid on the facing seat, but she passed the better part of the journey on Clairmont’s lap, or squeezed between Serena and her father. Although the dozing nursemaid made a poor chaperone, Caroline’s constant chatter helped prevent a buildup of tension. Serena had feared the combination of the close confines of the carriage and the emotions caused by Clairmont’s overwhelming presence. Every time a bump in the road jolted the two of them together, she felt a shivery sensation where his arm brushed against hers or where their thighs briefly touched. “Papa, are we nearly there? Caroline asked for the fifth time. “We still have a way to go, little one.” Clairmont stroked his little daughter’s hair. “Would you like me to tell you a story?” Serena offered. Caroline nodded, folding herself, warm and cozy against Serena’s skirts. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks,” Serena began. By the time she had finished the part where the little bear discovered Goldilocks asleep in his bed, Caroline’s eyelids were drooping. She fell asleep with her head on Serena’ lap and her feet, clad in pink kid boots, across her father’s knees. Clairmont smiled at Serena. Such a smile as made her insides turned to water. She stole a furtive glance at the nursemaid, whose head lolled against the squabs, then permitted herself to return his smile, feeling the somersault of her heart that it caused. His nearness aroused a storm of feelings Serena could scarcely comprehend. He loved her. But they must try to hide the depth of their feelings for each other, until he was free to love her openly. It was almost a relief when the cream sandstone facade of Shalford Park came into view. In the late autumn sunshine, the place looked warmly inviting. Servants came down the front steps to meet them. Clairmont. waved away their offers of help, and marched up the stone stairs and into the front foyer unaided. The three new arrivals were conducted at once into the drawing room where the Earl of Shalford sat in a chair by the fire. “I’m glad to see you are able to move faster these days, William,” the earl said. “And I’m delighted to see you up and around, sir,” Clairmont told his father, giving the old man a hearty handshake. What an improvement in the earl’s condition. Serena remembered the last time she had seen the old man, when he had appeared frail and almost at death’s door. She wondered whether he would recognize her from her former visit. He regarded her gravely from beneath his spiky gray eyebrows and favored her with a civil nod, before turning to inspect his small granddaughter. True to form, Caroline hugged her grandfather and then patted his brows with her fingers. “Gran’papa Bear has fuzzy cat’pillers.”


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Clairmont’s lips twitched and Serena hid a smile. The earl drew the caterpillars together in a mock stern expression. “Observant little minx,” he said, but he didn’t look upset. After dinner, when Caroline was asleep in her bed and Serena had gone upstairs, Clairmont shared a quiet talk and a brandy with his father. “I’m impressed by the extent of your recovery, William,” the earl said. “Congratulations. You must have worked hard to improve your walking ability so drastically.” “Thank you, sir.” Clairmont felt his cheeks burn with the totally unexpected praise. “I must say that Miss Warren’s example has played no small part in my efforts to get back to normal.” The earl shot Clairmont a glance full of meaning. “A remarkable young woman.” He cleared his throat. “But have a care to the proprieties, William. Where is your wife?” It was Clairmont’s turn to clear his throat. He explained, as briefly as he could, the situation with Melinda, omitting any mention of the attempted poison incident. “A very serious thing, a divorce, William,” the earl said. “It will be misunderstood in some quarters.” “I’m well aware of that, sir, but it is the only option open to me, and...” he hesitated before finishing, “it offers more hope of an heir than would be possible if I remained married to Melinda.” Clairmont bade his father goodnight and made his way up the stairs. He paused outside the chamber that had been Melinda’s and tried the door, remembering how it had been locked against him when his wife was inside. The door opened easily. The room still bore unmistakable evidence of Melinda’s prior occupation. Ornate and lavish hangings, gilded ornaments and even a held over perfumed aroma. She had certainly left her stamp on this boudoir, from which he had been excluded. Clairmont thought of the evening when, he suspected, Blaydon had been talking in here with Melinda. He smiled grimly. Whatever they had been discussing, there could have been no physical attraction between them, at least on Melinda’s part. He walked through to the entrance to the dressing room. All was neatly in order. In his own room, Webb, who had come from London atop the smaller carriage with Serena’s maid and the extra luggage, was still busy brushing and hanging Clairmont’s jackets and trousers. His nightshirt and toiletries were already in place beside the mahogany washstand. “Can I help you with your leg, sir?” The valet asked. For Clairmont this was a touchy point. He hated to need help. Yet Webb sometimes looked a trifle hurt if he was dismissed before he had seen his master divested of the leg and comfortable in bed.


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“I’m not ready for bed yet, Webb. No need for you to wait. I can manage,” he said. “Go and get yourself a pint of ale in the kitchen,” he added. “You deserve it after the busy day you’ve had, with all the packing and unpacking.” He saw Webb’s appreciative grin as the man bid him goodnight. Clairmont felt far too restless for bed. The journey hadn’t left him tired. In the old days, he would have ridden his horse beside the carriage and would have been ready to sleep. But the journey in the confines of the coach, so close to Serena, had been anything but tiring. He thought of the number of times he had wanted to touch her, so tantalizingly near to him. The only occasions they had touched were when the coach jolted them together and he had felt the warmth from her thigh or her arm. Serena had been magnificent with Caroline. No doubt about it, his daughter adored Serena and the feeling seemed to be mutual. How wonderful it would be when, and if, they could finally be together as a family. Living without Serena would be unthinkable. Only with her did he feel whole and vibrant...and joyful. On an impulse, he walked out of his room and along the corridor to the room where Serena had been lodged on her previous visit. He knocked and Mary the lady’s maid came to the door. Her eyes opened wide to see who was standing there. “I just wanted to make sure Miss Warren has everything she needs to be comfortable after her journey.” Clairmont tried to make his voice sound casual, as a polite host would sound. “I’m extremely well looked after, thank you, Lord Clairmont,” Serena said, coming herself to the door. She was still dressed in the blue muslin she had worn at dinner. Her eyes sparkled. Serena looked far from ready for sleep. Clairmont’s heart hammered in his chest. “In that case, Miss Warren, I wonder if you would do me the honor of taking a glass of wine with me in the library.” There was always a good fire ready in the library, he knew. “I should be delighted,” Serena said, formally, although her expression was anything but formal. “Thank you, Mary. I shall call on you later to help me when I am ready for bed.” Mary pursed her lips. Clairmont remembered that she had looked after Serena since childhood and seemed not to have given up her protective instincts. “I shall escort Miss Warren carefully on the stairs,” he found himself saying to the elderly woman. “Go and enjoy a nice hot drink with the housekeeper, Mary,” Serena said. “You’ve had a busy time today and have earned a rest.” “What a diplomat you are,” Clairmont whispered when the maid had disappeared. He held out his arm to Serena and the two of them walked sedately downstairs to the library.


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Serena had a brief memory of the day, almost five months before, when news of Clairmont’s grave wounding had come and the whole company had assembled here. The old earl had taken a bad turn at the terrible news. Now, he seemed to be recovered, and, as for Clairmont... her heart swelled as she felt her arm in his. How amazing his recovery had been. He loomed above her, tall and muscular. He scarcely limped at all. Even the scar on his face had diminished to a narrower line. Of course, he would never get back his lost eye. But Serena had ideas about that. “Would you like a glass of sherry?” Clairmont asked, once he had closed the door behind them. Serena turned towards him. She slipped her hand from his arm and stood looking up at him, without answering. “Would you…” Clairmont began in a softer tone of voice, but Serena didn’t let him get any further. Some little imp inside her propelled her on. All day she had sat confined in the coach, her longings and feelings rising, despite herself. “I would like...” she said. Then she slipped her arms about his waist and her head seemed naturally to incline itself towards Clairmont’s chest. She fancied she could feel his heart beating, although perhaps it was only the echo of her own. She heard his sharp intake of breath and his arms stole around her shoulders. She felt warmed, and magically at home. Lifting her head she looked up at him. In the firelight and the gleam from the candles on the mantelpiece his one eye glowed blackly and with such intensity that she almost gasped. Without any conscious volition on her part, she tilted her face toward his and parted her lips. “Serena,” he whispered. “Serena...I...” Then his lips were on hers, gently at first, but with increasing heat as the magical feeling between them grew and grew. The taste of him sent warm sensations through her body, filling her with a weakness that left her leaning against him, cleaving to him as though she could never leave go. She felt Clairmont gently pull away. He looked down at her and she couldn’t read his expression. She frowned a little as she swayed on her feet. As usual, when the internal imp propelled her, she had acted without thinking of the proprieties. But Clairmont had declared he loved her. She certainly loved him. And this melting, longing sensation that surged through her body was not to be denied. Clairmont heard the low moan that escaped her. It was echoed by one of his own. He wanted to take her for himself, then and there. Love had been denied to him too long. The sexual tension was unbearable. Yet he felt


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responsible to protect this wonderful, warm and trusting young woman whom he had come to love and cherish above all things in his life. I am still a married man. I must be the one to behave honorably. He tried to draw away, but seeing the hurt puzzlement in her expression, he cupped her face within his hands and endeavored to explain in words what he had been telling himself. Somehow his lips were drawn to her moist, full mouth. Once there, he couldn’t seem to draw away. This time, the moan he heard was his own. We must wait. I must control myself. But his body and his senses couldn’t be stopped. She pressed ever closer against him and he felt the delicious rounded contours of her body, his burning need grew along with hers. He slipped one hand down to caress her shapely buttocks, telling himself frantically that he must stop, immediately. As if she could hear his unvoiced thoughts, Serena whispered, “Please...don’t stop...I couldn’t bear it.” Serena had only the haziest idea of what she wanted, of what should come next. She only knew she had waited all her life for this feeling. It was worth giving up empires for, she thought dazedly. But...he mustn’t stop now. “Serena dearest...I...” “I don’t care,” she said. “Melinda and the rest...I don’t care what happens...whatever anyone says or thinks.” His smile was the gentlest one she had ever seen. “Come say that again,” he whispered, drawing her down with him on the luxuriously thick fur of the rug before the hearth. Feeling the warmth of the flickering fire on one side, and the more searing heat she sensed from his body, she stretched herself out with a little frisson of anticipation. Clairmont’s fingers tantalized her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. Her nipples tingled and then stood, erect, when he pushed aside the tiny puffed sleeves of her dress, and slipped the straps of her shift down over her arms, leaving her two breasts glowing rosily in the firelight. Serena had only a moment to ask herself what wonders were coming next, when Clairmont lowered his head and began kissing her two exposed mounds. She contained her delight until his tongue began caressing one of her nipples. The combination of moan and sigh that escaped her then brought an answering low moan from Clairmont. His fingers moved downward, beneath the hem of her dress. They trailed upwards to her thighs, where they discovered and stroked the most private and sensitive of her female secrets.


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Shuddering deliciously, Serena wondered why she would need the dress on at all, and began tugging the top of her gown down with her good hand. Clairmont helped her, as her movements quickened feverishly. When they were done, and she lay naked, caressed and cocooned by the soft fur of the rug, she pulled Clairmont down towards her, driven by some unexplained need to feel the spell of his body. The firm hardness of his maleness beneath the fabric of his trousers surprised her. She was even more surprised when he took her hand and laid it against himself so that she felt the throbbing heat beneath. A few moments later, he had removed the trousers. His shaft sprang free, quite diverting her from the momentary impression of the wooden leg revealed below. She gently touched the evidence of his arousal. He took her hand and cradled it to himself with a moan, then suddenly let her go. “Serena...my darling Serena...you have me bewitched. But we must go no further.” Her whole body burned and melted with an unnamed desire. To stop now would be unbearable torment. What could she do to convince him? She found herself stroking the fascinating evidence of his arousal. How vibrant, how alive it felt. She tried to draw him towards her, towards the sensitive longing she felt between her legs. “Oh, my love...” his words were lost as he buried his face in her hair, and moved against her. “Please...don’t torment me,” she said. “Torment you?” his breath came warm against her ear. “Who is tormenting whom? My dearest Serena, I cannot resist this divine torture.” “Then don’t resist...please,” she said. “I don’t want you to resist any more.” To add impulse to her words, she sought to cradle his lower body and bring it closer to herself. Clairmont thought he must be going mad. So desperately did he want to plunge himself into his darling, darling Serena’s willing, aroused body. But he should be the one to honor her, to control himself and stop this now. The contrast to Melinda’s coldness was overwhelming. He had never felt so virile, so desperately desired. “Please...” she said again, and he found himself swept away. He tried to hold back, to be gentle and slow, but she would have none of it. Serena knew she had to experience all of it. She had to know, she had to take everything to its conclusion. A tiny gasp escaped her at the initial tightness and the sharp sensation that was over in a moment. She felt him hesitate again, but moved her thighs upwards to take him fully into herself. The sensation of mounting pleasure grew


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and grew with each of his thrusts. His movements quickened, seeming to sense that her pleasure was unfeigned and urgent. The wonder and need grew and grew, until it burst like stars within her. As she shuddered and clutched him to her, he groaned and expended himself into her. She felt the warm, liquid throbbing of him. When they both became still, she clung to him, as though unwilling to give up the breathless magic of the moment and the irresistible force that had driven them together. Some time later, when their breathing had calmed, Clairmont propped himself against a heavy leather chair by the fireplace. Serena lay on the fur rug with her head resting in his lap. He smoothed back the slightly damp red curls from her forehead. She stroked her fingers over the straps holding his artificial leg in place. “Do those straps chafe you?” “Sometimes,” he admitted. “The leg looks a bit grotesque,” he added. “Does the sight of it offend you?” “Why should it offend me, when it is the chief means for you to walk about without crutches?” “And my face...?” his question trailed off. “…Is more handsome and dear to me than the perfect face you had before,” she said, brushing his cheek with her fingers. “Because now you smile at me and can see past the blemish of my hand.” “What an arrogant young fool I was.” He shook his head. “And what a sorry wretch I felt when I came back from Waterloo.” He sat up straight and took her face in his hands. “You wouldn’t let me feel sorry for myself and you challenged me.” “I could hardly let you wallow about like a bear with a sore head.” Serena smiled to soften the words. She feathered her fingertips across his lips, evoking an answering smile. Then he seized hold of her fingers and kissed them. “You’re a witch. You enslaved me and I could no more resist your spell than I could hold back an avalanche.” His tone was light and teasing, but she saw the passion in his face. “Are we about to have another avalanche?” As she spoke, she reclaimed her hand and rested it lightly against his shaft, which had been lying relaxed, close to her head, and was now beginning to stir. “A witch. I told you,” he said, with a mock groan. “I’m enjoying the metamorphosis so much that I may keep my broomstick permanently at hand,” she said, wickedly. This time they made love with less urgency, lasting out their pleasure and exploring each other with delight.


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They scarcely noticed that the fire had gone out before they finished. And when Clairmont had helped her on with her dress and she had assisted him with his trousers and shirt, Serena didn’t even care whether anyone heard their attempts at getting upstairs without sound. For a young woman with a limp, and a young man with a wooden leg, she thought their efforts to tiptoe were laudable, even if they were both silently convulsed with amusement at the attempt. *** Blaydon discharged the carter in whose wagon had he traveled to Shalford. He would walk up the driveway to Shalford Hall and give a concocted story of having his money and baggage pilfered in London. A sudden shocking sight made him duck down behind some bushes. Blaydon couldn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes. Clairmont was sitting tall on a horse in the middle of the driveway, holding little Caroline in the crook of his arms. The Warren woman rode side-saddle on a second horse. Catastrophe! His cousin was alive and well! Something had gone dreadfully awry. Had Melinda got cold feet and scuttled his plan? Had she tried it and failed? Cursing silently and biting his thumb, Blaydon considered his shrinking options. He dare not approach the house, lest Clairmont had uncovered the plot. Yet, where could he hide himself? He had been successful in escaping his London lodging by night, leaving some of his belongings in order to travel light. Now, he must keep himself hidden at all costs. He slipped quickly away into the concealing woodland adjoining Shalford Hall.


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CHAPTER 14 Holding his daughter securely, Clairmont urged the horse to a gentle walk down the driveway. “Can we go feed the fish, Papa?” she said. “We’ll do that after our ride,” Clairmont told her. “First, I’ll take you to see the doves in the woods. “S’rena come too,” the little girl said. “Oh, yes, Miss Warren is riding with us.” Clairmont turned to smile at Serena. “We wouldn’t think of leaving her behind.” “S’rena, not Miss Warren,” Caroline insisted. “It’s more polite to say Miss Warren.” Serena came up beside them, smiling. “I told her she could call me Serena.” “You’ll spoil her,” Clairmont said. “I love her,” Serena said. And she knew that she did, indeed, love the child. Over Caroline’s head, Clairmont pulled a wry face, but then gave her a look which told of shared love, stolen passion and such utter seduction that Serena’s body responded. Despite being seated on her horse, she felt the now familiar and delicious sensations of arousal in the secret place between her legs that she shared only with him. She could hardly wait for the evening to come. But as they rode through the woods, with the child pointing excitedly to birds flitting from branch to branch and a hare that darted out in front of them, she was aware that Clairmont’s attention had focused on something else. “What is it?” she asked him. “I don’t know, but there was a movement in the trees and, just for a moment, I thought I caught sight of Blaydon.” “But he would never dare to come here, surely?” “I intend to find that out for myself, but I can’t do that while I’m carrying Caroline.” “Let me have her,” Serena said. “But...” “Don’t you trust me to hold her safely?” Serena could see the doubt in his expression. “Tie her to me, then.” And as he hesitated she added, “I love her as much as you do. I won’t let her fall.” Clairmont brought his horse close to Serena’s and hefted the child up behind her. “Hold on to Serena very tightly,” he said. “There’s no need for you to be tied.”


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“We shall amble back very sedately,” Serena assured him, as she turned the horse back towards the house. “Now hurry after Blaydon.” He nudged his horse into a gallop and took off in the direction where the shadowy figure had disappeared. Once he reached the spot he slowed, keeping a sharp lookout for telltale signs of moving branches or sounds of crackling twigs. How he wished for two good eyes. He kept turning his head to compensate for the sightless one but he saw nothing. Then he sat very still and listened. Slight sounds, that could have been caused by a small animal, or even the wind, came from the right, his blind side. He urged his horse in that direction. Through the trees he caught sight of a moving figure. Clairmont increased his pace. He was sure it was his cousin. “Blaydon!” he called. “I want to talk to you.” The figure began to run. Clairmont followed as fast as he dare. He didn’t want his horse to catch its foot in a rabbit hole and come crashing down. He had almost caught up, when Blaydon dived headfirst into some low bushes where the horse couldn’t follow. Clairmont hurled himself to the ground, jarring himself on the landing, then dived after the rapidly retreating figure and caught him by the ankle. Blaydon kicked and struggled. Clairmont hauled him out and pinned him to the ground. Blaydon spat in his face like a wild man. “You tried to poison me, Blaydon.” “You’re mad, Clairmont!” Then Blaydon took another tack. His face took on a martyred expression. “You’ve always had everything,” he whined. “You have no conception of what it’s like to exist without money, without a title to my name.” “There’s no excuse for murder.” Clairmont knew he had to get Blaydon back to the house. He must be arrested and charged, despite the devastating effect such a charge would have on the old earl. Clairmont could see the sheen of sweat that coated his cousin’s forehead. His face was covered with black stubble. The man obviously hadn’t shaved for several days. Clairmont sniffed. Nor had he washed. Some sense of compassion for his cousin’s wretched state caused him to unconsciously relax his grip for a few seconds. The next moment he gasped as Blaydon’s fingers gouged into his good left eye. The world turned to stars and Clairmont could see nothing through his pain. He felt Blaydon’s frantic movements of escape and grabbed at the flailing limbs. But the man tore away and was gone from sight by the time Clairmont was able to bring his surroundings into focus. Worse still, Blaydon had taken his horse.


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“Papa, come,” Caroline called, at Clairmont’s approach. “See, I’m feeding the fish.” Serena looked up in dismay at Clairmont’s disheveled state. She almost let go of the back of Caroline’s little jacket, which she was holding firmly to save the child from tumbling into the pond. “What happened?” “The devil got away...with my horse.” He ground out the words as though they gave him physical pain. “Your eye...it looks nasty.” Serena tried not to let her horrified feelings show in her voice or face. “We must put a cold compress on it at once to stop the swelling.” She sensed his anger and shame that Blaydon had got the better of him. “It was very brave of you to go after him, and he didn’t fight fairly.” “For a moment I felt sorry for the scoundrel. My mistake,” Clairmont growled. Serena led the way into the house and handed Caroline over to her nursemaid. Installing a thunderous-faced Clairmont in a chair, she waved a solicitous Webb away and held cold, wet compresses to his eye. She had removed the patch from the other eye as she worked. She bit her lip as she surveyed the empty socket. If only she could persuade him to get a glass eye to match the good one. He would surely feel better not having to hide the socket beneath a patch. She had little time to think about it, however. “I must find him,” Clairmont said, pulling back from her fingers. “He’ll probably head for London where it’s easier to hide himself. “Don’t worry,” he added, and Serena realized her deep concern must have shown in her face after all. “I’ll take care, and I’ll also take steps to try and hurry my divorce proceedings.” He smiled suddenly, took the damp cloth from Serena’s hand and held both her hands between his large ones. “The library floor is an exciting place to make love, but I want you in my bed,” he said with low intensity. “I can’t bear to have you exposed to the possibility of scandal and ridicule.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, at first softly and then with deepening passion. Serena responded, not caring whether the valet might come back into the room. “I want to let the world know you are my wife.”

November, 1815 With Clairmont away, the days seemed to stretch forever, despite Serena’s efforts to fill the hours. She found solace in playing the piano in the large,


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deserted music room. She also spent some time each day reading to the old earl, who seemed to enjoy her company and never once questioned what she was doing in his household. Sometimes she caught him watching her from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. When she returned his look, she felt sure she saw a twinkle in the dark eyes, so like his son’s. The old man wasn’t completely at ease with his small granddaughter, so when Serena spent time with her she would stay in the nursery or take Caroline for outings in the garden. She even persuaded one of the gardeners to make the child a sturdy rope and canvas swing, attached to a sturdy tree branch. Sometimes they visited the stables, where Caroline was very taken with the horses. Serena made a mental note to suggest that Clairmont get his daughter a pony when he returned home. Serena was very conscious of her own body in Clairmont’s absence. His lovemaking had aroused desires that had never plagued her before. She longed to have him back, stroking her breasts and exploring her in ways that gave her such exquisite pleasure. She found herself wondering what it would be like to touch and kiss the parts of his strong, muscular body that she had not yet explored. In the back of her mind, she wondered whether they would have to postpone their lovemaking if she were having her monthly courses when Clairmont returned. Then, counting the days, she realized the time for them to show had already passed. She experience a little frisson of alarm mixed with delight at the hint of what this might mean. On the tenth day, as she was pushing Caroline on the garden swing, Clairmont rode up. “Papa!”, Caroline shrieked, and almost fell from the swing. “Careful!” Serena steadied the little girl. But she knew her own excitement was every bit as strong as Caroline’s. Clairmont swept his daughter up into his arms. When Serena’s eyes met his, over the child’s head, a jolt of something electric passed between the two adults. “I’ve brought you a present,” Clairmont said, lifting down a small basket from the top of his saddlebag. Serena opened the lid and almost dropped the basket in surprise. A kitten, a smaller replica of Madame Fluff, peeked up at her. Tears stung the backs of Serena’s eyes. “I know how much you must miss Madame Fluff,” he said quietly. “I also know that you left her at Bundle Hill because your sister Fanny was also deeply attached to her.” Crouching down so Caroline could see and stroke the new arrival, Serena cradled the small bundle of ginger fur, smiling her thanks to Clairmont. She couldn’t trust herself to speak for a moment.


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Caroline tugged her father’s coat. “Did you bring something for me, Papa?” “You have something special coming, but it won’t arrive until tomorrow,” he said. “Do you think you can wait that long?” “What is it? What is it?” Caroline hopped excitedly from one foot to the other. “Just one more sleep and then you’ll find out,” Serena told her. “In the meantime, you can both help me choose a name for the kitten.” “Tibby-tibbs,” Caroline said. “Miss Fluff,” her father suggested. They settled on Miss Tibbs, and the child danced happily ahead as the three of them entered the house, leaving the groom to take his own and Clairmont’s horses round to the stables. That night, Serena crept down to the library, where Clairmont was waiting for her. Drawing her down with him onto the hearthrug he kissed her as though they had been apart for years instead of days. Greedily she kissed him back, and, after they had once made the desperate love of the deprived, they loved each other a second time. Remembering her thoughts and longings while he had been away, Serena stroked and kissed and caressed with her tongue, those hidden parts of his body she had longed to explore. “You are truly beautiful,” he said, feathering his fingers through the triangle of soft curls covering the creamy skin at the base of her stomach. Serena cupped his face in her hands and studied it. “And you are beautiful.... every part of you, because I love you.” “Even the scars?” “Especially the scars. They show the courage of the person underneath.” He took her left hand in his and smoothed the fingers. “You see how these lie flatter these days. And I’ve seen how you can hold a spoon and play notes on the pianoforte. That’s a badge of courage.” He thought for a moment. “Actually that’s proof of just plain cussedness.” He smiled and ducked as she aimed a cushion at his head. “I’m grateful you challenged me to show some cussedness of my own.” Serena snuggled against his chest and dozed. She awoke to find the fire out and the room growing chilly. Clairmont’s face was turned towards her and his eye patch was awry. Gently she slipped it off. He awoke and she kissed the tip of his nose. “You don’t need that patch,” she told him. He smiled lazily. “I have nothing to hide from you, my flame-haired little witch.” As they negotiated the stairs together, Serena decided she enjoyed being a flame-haired witch. But could a witch have a baby? She wondered about that as she entered her bedroom.


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“Better wait and see,” she confided to Miss Tibbs, who was curled up on the embroidered quilt of the bed. Two weeks later, there was no need to wait for her answer. Serena, who usually felt ravenous at breakfast, found that nauseous stirrings in the mornings banished all thoughts of food. Clairmont, sensitive to her reticence, didn’t urge her to eat, but his expression showed his concern about her condition. “I must call a doctor at once,” he said. “If you do, I shall go and camp out in the woods until he has gone again,” Serena said. “But I am very concerned about you. It pains me to see you unwell.” “I do not believe I am unwell,” Serena said. “Come walk with me in the garden and perhaps the cool morning air will help me feel better.” Clairmont called for her gloves and shawl and the two walked out into the crisp autumn day. The leaves of the sycamore trees had turned to a golden hue. “Those will soon be down in a thick carpet,” Serena said. “Then we can scuff our feet and hear them rustle.” She knew she was chatting to put off the touchy discussion to come. “Better stay on the paths,” Clairmont said. “The grass is still soaked with dew.” “But I want to go to the pond,” she said, resolutely striking off in that direction. She heard the little click of annoyance in his throat. “Serena, if you are unwell...” She stopped for a second and looked back at him. “We can talk better there.” He didn’t say another word, just took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “That is what I am afraid of,” he said in a low voice. They stopped beside the pool. Round droplets of water glistened on the lily pads. Wet grass had soaked the hem of Serena’s dress. She pulled her shawl closer round her shoulders. “So you already know,” she said, turning to face him directly. “I had suspected.” He bit his lip. His expression was stark. “I should not have allowed myself to get swept away. My behavior was reprehensible.” “You were not the only one to get swept away,” she said. “How could I stand to be alone with you and keep my distance?” She smiled up into the anguished expression on his face. “What has happened between us has been the most wonderful, magical thing in my life. I can never, never be sorry.” She reached up to touch her gloved fingers to his cheek. “I would only be devastated if something happened to stop it.”


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Clairmont seized hold of her hand. “Serena, darling, Serena. I could never imagine life without you...but...I should have waited.” He let go of her hand and turned away. “I acted dishonorably...I should have waited.” “But I could not,” she said gently. “And I am glad...glad, that you didn’t force me to wait.” Approaching him from behind, she slipped her arms about his waist and laid her cheek against his back. She could feel the warmth of his body through the fine wool of his coat. “I love you, William.” Her voice came out muffled against the cloth. “And...I’m so happy to know that a witch can have babies.” He heard the catch in her voice and swung round to face her. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears and her lips quirked into a mischievous smile. Clairmont felt at that moment his heart would burst. He was on the verge of doing the unthinkable himself at the moment, by giving his own tears free rein to cascade down his cheeks. Whatever it took, he must hold on to this unquenchable sprite who had goaded and challenged him back from his self-imposed hell. “You taught me to laugh again, little witch. Now you are laughing at yourself.” Taking her in a bear hug, he held her tightly to him. Then, remembering she must be treated with especial care now, he set her away a little. “I must treat you very gently, my love.” “But I’m not made of eggshells,” she protested with a smile, moving closer and holding up her face for his kiss. “I don’t care if the whole world is looking,” she said as he kissed her and then drew back. “But I care about your reputation.” He couldn’t quite cast off his fears. “ I must hurry the divorce. We must marry before...” “Before our child is born.” As she finished his sentence, a thrill of delight tinged with apprehension shivered through him. “Our child,” he repeated. “And I must hurry back to my room,” Serena said urgently. Her face had paled and she held her handkerchief to her mouth.” “Oh yes...I...that is, you...oh, poor darling...” Clairmont whipped out his own larger handkerchief and held her head tenderly as she wretched into it. *** When Lady Warren’s letter arrived the following week, Serena opened it with delight. But the contents gave her mixed emotions. My Dearest Daughter,


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It was with the greatest pleasure that I received your message, several weeks ago, that you were to accompany Lord Clairmont and his little daughter from his London residence to his estate at Shalford. I assumed that Lady Clairmont was a member of the party. Your latest note makes it clear that is not so, and I fail to understand the whole of the situation. You say that Lady Clairmont has left her husband. Where has she gone? And who is to be your chaperone at Shalford Hall? It is most unseemly that you should be there without a chaperone. I propose to sent your sister Fanny, without delay, to stay with you. I am sure Clairmont will understand my concern. I look forward to receiving word of his invitation to your sister by the earliest possible post. Your affectionate mother, Sarah, Lady Warren Serena blew out a long breath and let the letter fall to her lap causing Miss Tibbs, who had been snoozing there, to shake her ruffled fur indignantly and jump down to the floor. Her family would have to know the situation sooner or later. Her parents would probably be scandalized and hurt, and she was sorry to cause them distress. As for her brother Gilbert, whom she scarcely ever saw, and Louise, always slightly disapproving of her elder sister, she expected some censure from both. But Fanny, plump, affectionate Fanny. How would she react to the news? Serena longed to see her youngest sister, no matter what the outcome. She went in search of Clairmont to get his formal stamp on the invitation to Fanny. December, 1815 Serena ran out impulsively on hearing the sound of the carriage wheels on the graveled driveway. “Serena! I’m so excited to be here. I’ve missed you so much and longed to see you.” Fanny’s round face glowed as she hugged her sister, showing little trace of tiredness after her long journey. Serena hadn’t realized how much she had missed Fanny too. She gave instructions to the footman to direct her sister’s maid and the luggage upstairs and pulled Fanny inside to the warmth of the drawing room. “Come by the fire and I’ll order tea.” “Oh, my goodness,” Fanny said, stopping short at the sight of Miss Tibbs, who had leapt down from the window ledge and was approaching across the carpet. “I didn’t bring Madame Fluff, but this must surely be her little sister.”


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“Clairmont bought her for me,” Serena said. She bent down to pick up the cat and to hide the sudden flush that came to her face. She hoped Fanny wouldn’t notice. “Oh? How kind of him.” Fanny’s voice held a question, but Serena decided she must wait for another occasion to tell her how things were between Clairmont and herself. “Is Clairmont here? And where is little Caroline?” Fanny asked. “She’s with her father in the stables. He bought her a pony and she demands to go out and see it every half hour.” Serena laughed. “She loves to sit in the saddle and have Clairmont lead the pony round the yard. She won’t let the groom do it. She has to be led by her papa or...” “Or?” “Or by me, actually.” “Mm,” Fanny said, “it sounds as though you have taken my place in her affections.” Serena was saved from responding when the door opened and a maid carried in the tea tray. The woman was almost bowled over by a small whirlwind approaching from behind her. “S’rena, guess what? Me rode out in the lane...” Caroline stopped short at the sight of Fanny. She turned about as if to leave the room and bumped full tilt into her father’s legs. “Whoa, little lady.” Clairmont scooped her up in his arms and turned her around again. “Surely you remember Miss Fanny.” Caroline hid her face in his shoulder, but was soon persuaded out of her shyness when Fanny produced a tiny doll from her reticule. Carved out of wood, its painted face, no bigger than a thumb, bore big round eyes, bright pink cheeks and a smiling mouth. “Pretty dolly,” Caroline said, fingering the muslin skirts. “See, S’rena.” With prompting from her father, the child thanked Fanny, before skipping off to show the new treasure to her nurse. “She seems happier than I have ever seen her,” Fanny observed. “Yes, your sister has a magic touch with her.” Clairmont came over to where Serena sat and touched her lightly on the shoulder. Serena felt her face go hot again at the feelings aroused by the brief contact. Fanny eyed them both without saying a word, but there was the slightest of puckers on her usually smooth forehead. “Serena, what is it that I sense between you and Clairmont?” Fanny said, that evening, when the two were alone in Fanny’s bedroom.


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Serena was silent for a long moment. She and Fanny had always been close, but this was something different. How could her young sister be expected to understand her deep feelings for Clairmont. How could she ever explain what had induced her to make love with him, when he was a married man. Her actions were completely wanton and within a few weeks or months the results would be visible for all to see. Yet there was no possible way she would have avoided acting the way she had, even if she had known the outcome beforehand. She hugged the thoughts of the baby to herself. It seemed to armor her against the world. Her sister would know the truth before long, but Serena decided she could not deceive Fanny in the meantime. “I love Clairmont,” she said. “He has begun divorce proceedings against Melinda.” She wouldn’t burden Fanny with the reason. Perhaps her sister would not understand, and there was no need to go into details. “Clairmont loves me...very much.” She felt some surprise and a burgeoning of pride in the disclosure. “We are to be married as soon as the divorce is granted.” Serena took a deep breath. “I am carrying his child.” “Then I am too late,” Fanny said. “No, Fanny.” Serena took her sister’s hand. “I wanted it to happen so much.” “But surely Clairmont should have respected you, honored you,” Fanny said, desperately. “He is married to Melinda.” “Melinda left him. She...never loved him. The marriage is over.” “Mama will kill him,” Fanny said. Serena had to bite back a bubble of laughter at the mental picture this conjured up. “I hope Mama will get over the urge and come to visit her new grandchild when it is born.” Fanny bit her lip and eyed Serena uncertainly. “I can never quite understand you. You do the most outrageous things and...” she suddenly flung her arms around Serena’s neck, “and you’re brave and incorrigible...and I love you very much.” Serena swallowed the large lump that suddenly gathered in her throat. “But...Mama will be terribly upset and the scandal will hurt the rest of the family,” Fanny said with a frown. Serena knew. And her last wish was to bring hurt to her family. But it was too late to think of that now. That evening, Fanny went to bed early, professing herself tired from the jolting of her uncomfortable coach journey.


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Serena looked forward eagerly to her meeting alone with Clairmont. They had been so greedy for each other. She went at once to the library, expecting Clairmont to grab her close, almost as soon as the door closed behind her. She stopped uncertainly on seeing him sitting in his father’s big brown chair behind the desk, unused of late by the frail old earl. Clairmont was frowning at a package of papers, delivered earlier in the day. Serena hurried across the expanse of Turkey carpet that separated them. She could hardly wait to feel his arms about her. Clairmont looked up. “Serena...I...,” he stopped. “What is it?” She must be quick to comfort him if something was wrong.” “Please do not come closer.” “But...what is wrong?” Her alarm tightened her insides. The crash of his fist on the mahogany desk made her jump. “Everything is wrong, and it’s all due to my own lack of self-control.” The knot in her chest threatened to squeeze off her breath. She gasped and leaned on the desk for support. Instantly, he was around the desk and by her side. “Serena, dearest, are you ill?” She looked at him and shook her head. “Clairmont...William...what is this turnabout? I don’t understand you.” He groaned then and took her in his arms. “Serena, I should never have allowed my feelings for you, my infatuation, my...lust, to cloud my judgment.” Serena drew back from him. She felt cold as ice. She tried to summon a laugh, but it came out as a croak. “Are you telling me that you no longer wish to marry me?” His dark eyebrows drew together. “Serena, dearest Serena, I want, more than anything in this world to marry you.” “Then, what is the problem? Why the frown? Why have you changed in this way?” “I should have been strong enough to wait until I was free.” He stroked her cheek and she could see the anguish in his face. Then he gestured to the papers scattered on the desk. “It appears it may take months, possibly more than a year, to get the divorce petition heard before the House of Lords.” He dropped his hand and turned away. “And, there are mountains of problems standing in the way of its granting.” “Can’t you explain to me what some of these mountains are?” Serena’s stomach was tightened in dread, but she felt that, surely, there must be some way open through the impasse. “If Melinda had consorted with another man, the task would be considerably easier, but, just to go abroad with a woman...there’s no legal precedent for that to end a marriage.” “You and I know that it is over,” she whispered.


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“It was over, in all but name, by the time I joined the army.” His expression was tortured. “It was one of the reasons I decided to go.” Serena sighed and reached for his hand. “Then that is all I care about.” Smiling up into his face, she lifted her own for a kiss. He lowered his lips to hers, as though drawn by an invisible force. A groan came from the depths of his being as he held her to him and her fingers stole up to caress the thick shiny hair at the back of his neck. She pressed herself against him to make him aware of her need. When he lifted his head to look down at her face she smiled. “The whole world can disapprove, and be damned to them, so long as I can be with you.” “But I can’t bear to think of what the gossips will say behind your back, or how they will make your life a misery in public...” She saw the doubts assembling forces and chasing themselves through his thoughts again. “Don’t you understand, William, Lord Clairmont, my dearest one,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “I do not care about gossips or snubs. I do not care.” “And I believe you,” he said at last. Then he smiled. “So let us thumb our noses at them, and give them even more to gossip about.” “What are we waiting for,” Serena pulled at the folds of his cravat and tossed it on the carpet. “My little wanton!” He peeled the shoulders of her dress down over her shoulders. “How is a wanton different from a witch?” she asked, as his tongue feathered the hollow at the base of her neck. “You tell me that,” he said, moving his lips down towards her breasts. But all she could manage was a gasp of pleasure. The answers could come later. Afterwards, he carried her to the big chair by the fireside. Serena lay curled up in his lap as he sprawled, artificial leg stretched towards the hearth and eye patch askew. Serena absently stroked the smooth, muscled flesh of his arms and shoulders and the firm muscles of his torso. “A penny for your thoughts,” he whispered in her ear. “I was just thinking how utterly beautiful you are.” Observing the crease that appeared on his forehead, she added, “Beautiful inside, and the outside is beautiful too, in my eyes.” “I wish I’d been blessed with your eyes when we first met,” he said soberly. “I’ve never forgotten the thrill I felt, when I looked into your eyes.” Serena held her breath. “But I felt it too,” she whispered. He shook his head. “Then I ruined everything.” He smoothed and massaged the fingers of her withered hand. “I was too wrapped up in myself to see the truth.”


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CHAPTER 15 Spring, 1816 Sleep wouldn’t come. Clairmont stared unseeing at the ceiling, wondering when their agonizing wait for the divorce would be over. Lawyers talked of patience, and procedures to be got through, but Serena’s pregnancy was beginning to show. He tossed himself over onto his left side and burrowed his cheek into the pillow. Now, he couldn’t even see the pale rectangle of the window, where the moonlight shone. But it didn’t help. His brain teemed with a thousand thoughts. What else could he do to hasten the passage of his divorce? Where was Blaydon, who seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth? Did Blaydon still pose a threat? If Clairmont’s detectives ran Blaydon to ground, how would he go about prosecuting his cousin without implicating Melinda? He must leave Melinda out of it. Clairmont remembered with a sudden pang the luminously happy expression on her face when she had left the house with Lady Saunderson. Melinda had given him Caroline, and for that he would always be grateful. Now Serena was carrying his child. Serena...if only she could be in here with him now.... He needed her beside him. Just to feel her presence. Why could they not share a room as man and wife? He punched his pillow and turned over again. No use to torment himself. An almighty banging on his bedroom door made Clairmont sit bolt upright. “My lord...come at once!” Clairmont bounded out of bed and landed in a swearing heap on the floor. His old reflexes had responded, but his right leg was no longer there to support him. “What is it?” he bellowed, massaging his shoulder where he had landed heavily on it. “His lordship has been taken bad, sir.” The voice of the old earl’s valet came muffled through the thickness of the door. “Come in, man, and help me. The door is unlocked.” Old Pender, clad in his formal jacket thrown hastily over his nightshirt, pushed open the door. In the flickering light of the candle he carried, his face looked white as death.


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Clairmont knew this faithful old servant should have been retired with a comfortable settlement, some years ago. But, in his self-imposed retreat, his father had resisted change and clung to the familiar. “I’ll ring for Webb,” he said. “Get back to my father. I shall be there in a few moments.” As he spoke, he tugged at the bell-pull. By the time a sleepy-eyed Webb appeared, struggling into a dressing robe inherited from Clairmont several months before, Clairmont had retrieved his wooden leg and had begun strapping it in place. His father seemed to have shrunk. His hands on the bedcovers looked like gnarled sticks. His eyes were closed and his spiky brows stuck out more prominently than ever, over the sunken lids. His breath rasped weakly. “Webb, send a groom to fetch Doctor Napier, at once,” Clairmont said. The old man uttered a sound like a moan of protest, but his eyes remained closed. “At once,” Clairmont repeated sharply, alarmed at his father’s apparent inability to speak. Clairmont’s hovered by the old earl’s side for what seemed an eternity. When Pender ushered in the diminutive figure of the physician, Clairmont was surprised to find that scarcely an hour had passed. Doctor Napier rested his hand against the earl’s forehead, then drew back the covers to expose the flannel nightshirt. “Dry as a bone,” the physician said. “He obviously cannot expel the harmful vapors. He must be purged at once.” The figure on the bed emitted a sound like a protest. Clairmont recalled how the purgings he had received during his treatment at the field hospital had had the effect of leaving him totally drained and weakened. His father already looked too weak to survive. The earl’s lips moved slightly. Clairmont bent his head towards them and detected the note of remonstrance in the wordless message. “The earl is much too weak for such a harsh remedy,” he said. “We must let him rest and build up his strength until he can speak to us and tell us what he wants.” “But why would you refuse my prescribed treatment after you have summoned me, my lord?” The color rose to Napier’s face and he seemed to swell with injured displeasure. “Because I am not at all certain your remedy is the right one, and I refuse to allow my father to be subjected to discomfort for naught. No...” he held up his hand to cut off further protest and the disgruntled man headed for the door. “I shall present my bill for answering your urgent call so quickly, despite the inconvenience of being roused from my sleep,” he huffed. “Of course. And thank you for coming so speedily,” Clairmont said.


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“Pender, fetch my father’s favorite brandy,” he said, as soon as the door closed behind the doctor. Turning back to the bedside, he took the old man’s hands in his own and chafed them. “I shall take care of you myself, father.” When Pender came back with the decanter of brandy, Clairmont poured a small amount into a tumbler, lifted his father’s head and tried to get him to drink. But the brown liquid dribbled down the old man’s chin. Clairmont persevered and succeeded in getting a small amount between the slack lips. The old man swallowed, convulsively and his eyelids fluttered. “It’s good brandy, isn’t it, father?” Clairmont said. “Try just a little more.” To his relief, his father’s eyes opened. Clairmont smiled and managed to get a few more drops of brandy down his father’s throat. The old man struggled to say something through paralyzed lips. Clairmont bent his head to hear. He couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he thought the old man was saying, “Need some yourself.” Clairmont grinned. “I’ll have a drop to keep you company, father.” He was rewarded by a slight crinkle at the corner of the old man’s eyes. Was it the brandy, or was it the faint return pressure he felt from his father’s hand? Clairmont wasn’t sure which caused the glow that began to warm him within the next half hour. The breakfast room was deserted next morning when Serena walked in. Not only was there no sign of Clairmont, but the big sideboard was bare. No hint of the usual silver domes, covering eggs and meats, awaited her. She felt a stab of alarm and went to find a servant. “They’ll all at sixes and sevens in the kitchen, Miss Serena,” her maid Mary informed her. “Seems as if the earl was taken bad in the night.” Serena immediately thought of Clairmont. He must be very concerned. “Is Lord Clairmont with him?” “I believe he is, Miss.” Serena knew Clairmont respected his father and felt certain he would stay close to the earl if the old man was ill. She remembered the earl’s stroke when the news of Clairmont’s wounding had reached Shalford. Nobody could doubt the bond of affection between the two men, even though each found it difficult to communicate with the other. “I must help,” she said. At the door to the earl’s chamber, she hesitated only a second before knocking gently. Frail old Pender opened the door. He looked as though he hadn’t slept for a week, and his uncharacteristically rumpled clothes confirmed that something was gravely amiss.


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“I came to offer my services as a nurse,” Serena said. “Ask Miss Warren to come in, Pender.” Clairmont’s voice sounded scratchy. Once inside, Serena surveyed Clairmont’s stubbled chin, his lack of eye patch and his hastily thrown on clothes. His one good eye was red rimmed. She had to control the impulse to run over and fling her arms around him, to offer him comfort. “You look as though you need some relief,” she said. “I don’t want to leave my father.” “Your presence would do him more good if you had a shave and could summon a smile for him when he wakes up.” Clairmont frowned and passed his fingers over his raspy chin. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I’ll have a quick wash and shave. But a smile will be more difficult. I’m very worried about his condition. I think he’s had a stroke.” “He survived the stroke caused by the news of your wounding,” she said. “He will come through this too, if we take care of him.” Clairmont stood up and gripped her by the shoulder. “I heard you say ‘we’ and I’ll be grateful for your help. I turned the doctor away.” “He prescribed a purge, or emetic, I suppose,” she said. “How did you know that?” “I’ve been on the receiving end of such medication and I avoid it like the plague.” She pushed him towards the door. “Go now. Get something to eat, too. I will stay with your father.” “You’d better get some rest, Pender. His lordship is sleeping,” Clairmont said. “Come back later, when you feel stronger yourself.” Serena smiled at Clairmont’s departing back. What a difference between his present thoughtfulness and the self-centered arrogance of the young man she had first fallen in love with. And now he loves me too. She almost hugged herself at the thought. Drawing close to the bed to straighten the sheets, she was startled to find the earl’s black eyes looking up at her. Controlling her surprise, she smiled. “You had your son worried, my lord,” she said. “But I’m sure you will recover soon.” She watched his lips twitch, as though he wanted to reply, but the muscles were too slack. “And I’m sure you will soon be able to tell him yourself how well you are recovered.” Carefully, she poured water from the ewer into the basin in the washstand. With a moistened cloth, she sponged the old man’s face and hands. “I see you have had some brandy,” she said, noticing the partly emptied glass beside the bed and detecting its aroma on the sheet beneath his chin. “Would you like a little more?”


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Regarding him closely, she saw an almost imperceptible sideways movement of his head as he closed his eyes and opened them again. “Is there anything else you would like? A little soup, or tea, perhaps?” The earl made a strangled sound. Serena bent her head to try and distinguish words, but it was impossible. Getting the germ of an idea, she looked about the room for some writing paper, but could see none, so she rang for a servant. “Please ask my maid to bring me the notepaper from my room,” she told the footman who came. Moments later, Mary returned with the footman carrying Serena’s portable desk. “Set it on here.” Serena cleared aside the brandy decanter and made room on the bedside table, aware of the earl’s black eyes watching her movements. With the footman’s help, she propped the earl into a semi-sitting position with pillows to support him. Taking a sheet of paper, she leaned it on a book and held it in the old man. Then she inked her pen and put closed his fingers around it. “Now...” she said. A glimmer showed in his eyes. With infinite care, he wrote something in a shaky, spidery hand. ‘My son.’ “Clairmont is coming back at any moment,” Serena said, delighted to have discovered a way for the old gentleman to communicate. “Inform Lord Clairmont that the earl is requesting his immediate presence,” she told the footman. “I’m here, father.” Clairmont walked into the room a few seconds later, jubilation on his face. His expression changed to puzzlement, when his father didn’t respond. “He will write you a note,” Serena said, pointing to the paper and dipping the pen into the inkwell once again. Clairmont’s eyebrows shot up and he exchanged a secret smile with Serena over his father’s head. “Wonderful idea!” He watched as the earl tried to write words on the paper. The old man faltered, as though the effort was too much. “It’s all right, Father,” Clairmont said, in the most gentle voice Serena had ever heard him use to anyone but herself. “You can tell me tomorrow.” But the earl received the words with such distress that Serena shook her head. “Let him take his time and tell you now.” She inked the pen again, for the earl had scratched it dry. “No hurry,” she said. “Your son will stay with you and listen. Would you prefer to be alone with him?” The earl scratched the word, ‘Stay.”


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“I agree with him,” Clairmont squeezed her shoulder, as though the contact could strengthen him. This time it was Clairmont who dipped the pen in the inkwell. His expression was puzzled when he read the name wavering across the sheet of paper. “Blaydon?” The earl’s eyes looked pained. “Take care,” he wrote. He lost his grip on the pen, which rolled over onto the sheet, making a black stain. The earl closed his eyes. “He’s worn out,” Serena said. “Thank you, father.” Clairmont covered the earl’s thin hands with his own large, capable one. “I have known for some time of my cousin’s plot to replace me.” The old man made no reply and Serena supposed he had fallen asleep. “As for the heir,” Clairmont said in a soft, urgent voice, “I haven’t given up. It’s vital that the divorce come through before you are brought to bed with our child.” The earl’s eyes opened suddenly and he was looking straight at her. “I don’t know whether you heard or approved of what your son just said,” she told him gently. “But we hope to be married. I can promise you I will never stop loving him.” She took a deep breath, feeling shy about what she was about to say, but needing to tell the old man. “If I do not give him an heir, it will not be for want of trying.” The skin around the earl’s eyes crinkled. Serena took his hand and smiled down at him. Clairmont still had his father’s other hand in his big one. “You will be proud, father, I promise you,” he said. Serena felt a slight answering squeeze in the parchment fingers laced with hers. Then the fingers went limp in her grasp. The old man’s breath came out on a rasp. Though his eyes remained open, their expression began to glaze. “Don’t leave us, father,” Clairmont whispered. But the Earl of Shalford was dead.

*** William, Lord Clairmont, Third Earl of Shalford, sat at his father’s desk in the library, going through the papers he found there. The estate records had been meticulously recorded since the time of his grandfather, just as Clairmont’s father had told him. Aside from the records, correspondence had been neatly kept. All except one letter. It had been crumpled into a ball and pushed to the back of the big mahogany drawer. Puzzled, Clairmont flattened it out and read it through.


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It was dated only a couple of days before his father’s death. My Dear Uncle, It is with a heavy heart that I write to you at this time. My sense of duty compels me to inform you of events of which you are doubtless unaware. My cousin, William, who has initiated divorce proceedings against his wife, Lady Clairmont, being unable to contain his lustful feelings towards the handicapped Miss Warren, has impregnated her with his illegitimate child. You will appreciate the dishonor he has brought to this unfortunate young person, who is a lady, in spite of her physical shortcomings. How much better if he had chosen one of the serving girls for the purpose of slaking his physical needs. By his actions, my cousin has deeply dishonored the family of Viscount Warren. As the titular head of our family, I am certain you would wish to prevent news of this lapse from being spread about. Being a concerned family member, and second in line to your title, I am prepared to keep silent on this matter if you could see your way clear to augmenting the sadly inadequate allowance which I inherited from your late sister, my dear mother. Fifty thousand guineas, placed in a trust fund, would ensure my total silence and everlasting gratitude. I remain, sir, your most humble servant and devoted nephew, John R. Blaydon Clairmont stared at the letter as if it were a snake. So this was the catalyst which had disturbed his father severely enough to bring on a stroke. Crumpling the letter savagely in his fist, he hurled it towards the fireplace. The ball of paper landed in the hearth. He got up to retrieve the missive and speed it into the flames. Serena came in to find him staring into the fireplace, his face like granite. “I’ve got to find Blaydon,” he growled. “I’m going to kill him, just as he killed my father.” Her eyes opened wide with shock. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he felt so full of anger that he was unable to show tenderness at that moment. He described the contents of the letter in a few terse words and then it was she who put her arms about his rigid body. “Don’t let yourself get eaten up with hate,” she whispered. “Blaydon can’t reach your father now and...I don’t care what the world says.” “But I do!” Clairmont exploded. “I cannot bear for him to make you the subject of malicious gossip. “Perhaps he had never planned to carry out his threat,” she said. “Perhaps it was just a means of getting money out of your father.” “It was just as despicable. It upset my father enough to lead to his death.”


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Clairmont felt her soft fingers stroke his cheek and the back of his neck. “Don’t allow Blaydon to hurt you so,” she murmured into his ear. He felt himself relax slightly into her fingers. As she continued to stroke and knead the tight muscles in his neck, so he felt the gripping knot of anger dissolve in his insides. “We’ve never made love here in daylight,” she said, with a sly smile. “Let’s lock the door.” She took his hand and led him to the doorway. When she had locked it securely, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the mouth. He pulled her close to him and deepened the kiss until he felt her sway and cling to him. Taking her hand, he pulled it down to feel the arousing bulge within his trousers. “You are truly a witch. Moments ago I was burning with rage to murder a man. But your spell renders me weak with desire.” “Not too weak, I hope,” she said, with a mischievous light in her eye. In answer, he swept her up into his arms as though she weighed no more than a feather and carried her across to the hearthrug. The flare of the letter had burned into a black shell among the coals. Let it be, for now. Thoughts of revenge retreated, as Clairmont gave himself up to Serena and an explosive sharing of sensuous joys. When he came back to earth, Serena was endeavoring to pat and poke her disordered mop of hair back into shape. She giggled. “We can’t creep upstairs and go to bed, because it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon.” “And I must make arrangements for the funeral,” he said. He should feel strange about making love in his father’s library in broad daylight. Clairmont hoped the old man would understand. Anger and shock from the letter had hastened the earl’s death. But Serena had helped Clairmont release his own rage through the power of love. *** Fanny stood at the top of the stairs with Caroline holding on to her hand. “We looked everywhere for you but we couldn’t find you,” Fanny said. “William had to go through some of his father’s papers and I was...helping him,” Serena said, feeling a twinge of guilt at the white lie she was telling her sister. “Want to see Papa.” Caroline pulled her hand away from Fanny’s and started down the stairway towards Serena. “He’s busy making plans for your grandfather’s funeral. Why don’t we go out to the stable and visit your pony for a while.” Caroline clapped her hands. “And Miss Tibbs come too.” “We’ll find her and see if she wants to come,” Serena said.


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“Miss Tibbs was asleep on Serena’s bed. She offered no resistance when Fanny picked her up, and pricked up her ears when they approached the stable. Within minutes, the little cat was perched up on Mayberry’s broad back, like a tawny mop, to Caroline’s delight. “You look like a cat that’s got at the cream yourself, sister,” Fanny murmured, as they stood watching the impromptu circus. Serena tried not to blush beneath Fanny’s observant gaze. William always made her feel so...cherished, so alive and so...needed. But is was impossible to put this into words for her younger sister. “I am very happy,” was all she could say. Clairmont came out of the library when they returned to the house. “Where’s my little girl, then,” he called. Caroline shrieked with delight as he swung her up on his shoulder. “Papa! I’m teaching Miss Tibbs to ride Mayberry!” “Indeed? And does she hold the reins in her paws?” “Oh, Papa, her paws are too little. She just holds on like this...” Caroline clenched her fingers in his hair like claws.” Clairmont gave Serena a secret smile that warmed and thrilled her to her very toes. “Thank you, ladies, for diverting my daughter and keeping her happy while I was preoccupied,” he said formally, including Fanny this time. *** The old earl was put to rest in the family plot in the village of Shalford. The small church overflowed with people. Titled mourners occupied the front pews. Small local landowners and estate workers sat behind. Those who couldn’t get into the church waited outside to accompany the coffin to the already prepared spot where the earl would join the young wife who had died when Clairmont was a boy. The church was cold as the tomb. Outside, gray skies threatened rain. Serena drew the edges of her heavy cloak together. She felt a sadness that she had not been able to get to know the old earl sooner. Her reading to him, and the unspoken communication between them at the end, made her feel closer to him than she had thought possible. If only he could have lived, the old man might have drawn closer to his son as well, completing the process that began when William returned from Waterloo. Looking round at the faces, pinched in the cold wind, Serena realized she knew very few of those who were here. Perhaps she never would if they all decided to ostracize her. Strangely, Serena didn’t feel deeply affected. She had long ago stopped worrying about people’s opinions of her. Except for William’s opinion. She had obviously been very hurt by his repulsion of her at their first meeting. What other reason could explain her


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impetuous charge at him? Serena winced, remembering its effects on the perfectly superior young man taking tea with her brother on the lawn that day. “Ashes to ashes.” The vicar’s droning voice broke into her thoughts. “Dust to dust.” Serena’s back ached. She swayed on her feet, caught Clairmont’s concerned glance and smiled slightly in reassurance. At least the morning sickness had passed. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold. The vicar’s voice died away and the graveside service was over. A somberfaced Clairmont handed Serena up into the black-draped carriage that would take them back to Shalford Hall. “We must get you home so you can rest,” he said. “I’ve never seen you looking so pale.” When the carriage began to move off along the rutted lane, he slipped his arm about her and cradled her head against his shoulder. “Darling Serena,” he murmured, as the coach jolted and bumped both of them. “Having you beside me at the funeral was a comfort. I hope it wasn’t too taxing for you.” She nestled against him, feeling the circulation return to her limbs. “I’m not tired in the least, just a bit shivery from the cold and damp. But you are taking care of that,” she added, as his other hand rubbed gently over her arms, banishing all cold and awakening another, now familiar, warmth within her body. Turning towards him she pushed a corner of his heavy coat collar aside, feathered a kiss on his neck and nuzzled her face into the hollow beneath his chin. She heard him catch his breath and felt the sudden heaving of his chest. “Serena...you have the most extraordinary effect on my senses.” “Imagine the coachman’s face if he catches us in a compromising position when he opens the door,” she said, wickedly. He groaned and set her gently aside. “We’ve turned into the driveway already. Now I can hardly wait until all the guests have departed and I can have you to myself.” Inside the house at Shalford Park, servants hurried to take damp cloaks and usher the mourners into the drawing room for a collation of hot tea and cold meats. Having no official place in the household, Serena removed herself to the window seat, prepared to keep a low profile. Since the old earl had been a recluse for many years, the gathering was small and Serena knew none of them. She thought of the packed assemblies at Bundle Hill, when her gregarious mother invited guests from far and near. Although Serena had kept in the background on those occasions, she had enjoyed watching and listening to the babble of gossip drifting from the company. She decided to do the same here, but Clairmont would have none of it.


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“As the future Countess of Shalford, your place is beside me.” Serena took one look at the determined set of his jaw and joined him to receive the line of mourners.. She lifted her chin a notch, proffered her right hand to each guest and refused to hide the left one. The fact that she was carrying a child was beginning to show, but there was little she could do to hide her condition. Lady Walstrom, looked down her long, thin nose, when the introductions were made. “Forgive me. I had remembered your countess somewhat differently. Hair almost silver, in fact.” “Your memory is correct, Lady Walstrom,” Clairmont said stiffly. “Circumstances change with time, however. Miss Warren and I are to be married as soon as my divorce passes in the House of Lords.” Lady Walstrom’s expression was pinched as she inclined her head and retired across the room. Serena tightened her lips at finding herself studied from afar, once that lady had rummaged in her reticule for her lorgnette. She resisted the impish urge to turn and stick out her tongue. Nobody else made such remarks aloud, but Serena felt the air full of speculation and side-glances, once the conventional phrases of condolence had been dispensed. She longed to go and find Fanny, who had stayed upstairs with Caroline. Finally, when the first guests began to take their leave, she whispered her intention to Clairmont and slipped out of the door, heading up towards the nursery. The voices reached her just as she rounded the curve in the wide main staircase and stepped into the hallway above. “My dear, you would think he could contain his lust until he was free to bed her decently.” Though the words were spoken in low tones, Serena could hear perfectly. “Of course, there were rumors that his wife repulsed him, poor man, when he lost his leg and his eye.” “But surely he could have bedded some serving wench and nobody would give a fig whether he gave her a child or not.” “Indeed, you are right. Imagine, parading that unfortunate Miss Warren before everybody’s eyes.” “And she has no shame at all. Did you see her hand? She made no more attempt to conceal that than she did to hide her condition.” Serena clamped her lips together hard and hurried off down the hallway towards the nursery. She burst headlong into the room, slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to control her feelings. “Whatever is the matter?” Fanny got up off her knees where she had been playing with Caroline and came to hug her sister. “Why, you’re shaking, Serena! Come over here to the fire.”


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“Come and play with us, S’rena,” Caroline said. “I don’t think Auntie Serena feels like playing at the moment,” Fanny said. “Can you tell me what the trouble is?” Serena shot a warning look towards the nursemaid, mending a ripped frill on one of Caroline’s dresses. “Nurse, could you take Caroline out into the garden for a few minutes?” Fanny said. “Why not take her down to see Cook and get some biscuits for both of you?” In spite of her anger, Serena remembered how cold and damp the day was outside. “Miss Tibbs come too.” Caroline tried to pick up the cat, who had been stretched out on the rug before the fire, but Miss Tibbs had other ideas and sprang up onto the window ledge. When the nurse and child had left, Serena gathered the furry bundle onto her lap, feeling her breath grow less ragged and her nerves calmer as she stroked the soft ginger fur. “I overheard a few nasty comments from a couple of the guests about my presence and position here,” she said. Fanny’s eyes opened wide. “How dare they be so rude? And in Clairmont’s own house, too!” She looked thoughtful and added, “Yet...although it’s nobody else’s business, I’m afraid you may run into more thoughtless comments.” She paused and sighed. “Even from our family, Serena.” Serena hugged the little cat to herself and considered this possibility. Surely, her family members would not condemn her, when they saw how happy she and Clairmont were together. The breathless feeling started to invade her chest again. Telling herself her fears were groundless, she forced herself to breath deeply and be calm. That night, Clairmont wasn’t in the library when she crept downstairs. No fire crackled in the grate. How bleak and cold the room looked without its cozy glow and Clairmont’s welcoming presence. Serena shivered. She waited several minutes. Perhaps Clairmont had got wind of the imprudent remarks made by some of his guests and had decided to keep her at arms length until he was free to marry. Dismay caused her to sink down into one of the big leather chairs. Its smooth, shiny surface was so cold she jumped up again, rubbing her bottom. Well, she had to find out, or she would never have another moment’s rest. Taking her candle in her hand she let herself out of the library and headed for Clairmont’s own room. Her heart pounded so loudly in her head she felt sure someone else must hear her. At his door, she listened for a sound but heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.


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When Clairmont opened the door, his good eye looked haggard and his mouth drooped as though from weariness. He was still fully dressed, except for his black jacket, which was thrown onto a chair. Without a word, he stepped back, Serena walked into the room and he closed the door. “I waited for you,” she said. Coming close to him, she slipped her arms about his waist and laid her head against his broad chest. Clairmont thought his heart would break. He had been painfully aware of the sidelong looks and raised eyebrows caused by Serena’s presence at his side that afternoon. If he had possessed an ounce of good sense, he would never have insisted she stay with him. “Forgive me, Serena,” he said. Her answer was muffled because her face was pressed against his chest. But her words were unmistakable. “I love you, William.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I love you,” she repeated. “Carrying your baby is like carrying a most wonderful treasure inside me. I really don’t care what the rest of the world may think about it.” The radiance of her smile warmed his heart and tore at his insides. He wanted to be able to protect her from the rest of the world, no matter what she said. And he knew he couldn’t. And he knew that if she stayed in the room with him, he would make love to her again, because she excited his senses so. He loved her beyond all reason. “We must stay apart from each other.” As he spoke the words he found himself stroking her hair, glinting red in the candlelight. “Why?” She whispered the question into his chest, and his resolve was almost gone. “Because...I would not want to harm you...or our child.” “You would never do that.” Her hand slipped very gently up to caress the back of his neck. In spite of himself, he held her closer and felt his body betray him yet again. She must have sensed it too, for she pressed her soft curves against the hard evidence of his arousal. “I must not...” he began, but his words were cut short when she pulled his head down and tilted her face up, seeking his kiss. He groaned and swept her up into his arms. His lips were on hers, tasting her warm sweetness as he carried her across the room and laid her among the pillows of his bed.


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CHAPTER 16 In a room reeking of mold, on the edge of the Thames River in London’s East End, Blaydon groaned and turned over onto his back. His mouth tasted like a cesspool. He should never have drunk that vile ale last night. Brandy and port were much more to his taste, but beggars can’t be choosers. He had survived by going underground in this seedy flophouse. His yearly annuity, collected in January from his mother’s trust fund, was almost gone and it was only March. Despair deepened his depression. How would he survive? Did he want to survive? He felt a sudden draft and rubbed his crusted lids in an effort to open his eyes. Something hard and thin pressed against his windpipe. He tried to scream but no sound came. He squinted up into a smooth-shaven face with a long nose. The pinched nostrils and disdainful set of the lips indicated the owners disgust with the odors he was inhaling. “Haskett!” The word came like a croak from Blaydon’s cracked lips. Fear flooded his limbs. He desperately needed to use the chamber pot. “You thought you could hide, Blaydon.” Haskett’s voice was smooth, conversational in tone, but he kept his cane pressing against Blaydon’s throat. Blaydon knew exactly how that cane looked. Its silver head, intricately carved like a Chinese dragon, had fascinated him. Haskett had often fondled it absent-mindedly while he was speaking. Blaydon tried to get his hands up to pull away the hurtful thing from his throat, but his hands were entangled in the sweaty blankets. “I knew your whereabouts, Blaydon, but it didn’t seem worth pursuing you,” Haskett’s silky voice continued. “One cannot, after all, get blood out of a stone, and physical vengeance is not really in my line.” Another push on the cane set Blaydon wondering whether this was true. He gagged and the pressure eased slightly. “Why...” he croaked. “Why have I sought you out now?” Haskett said. “You obviously are out of date. Your cousin, Clairmont, has got himself into a bit of a bind, Blaydon.” What was this? What had he missed, while he skulked here in fear? Blaydon forced his eyes open and fixed his gaze on Haskett. “The newest Earl of Shalford has set tongues wagging. Not only does he seek a strange divorce, he is parading his pregnant paramour,” Haskett


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continued. “Instead of discretely hiding the fact that he has dishonored a lady, he has offended polite society by advertising it.” Blaydon frowned and cursed himself for letting his fear of discovery by his creditors, and by his cousin Clairmont, override the importance of keeping up with events in society. “What can I be expected to do about it?” he croaked fretfully. “Come now, Blaydon, you owe me thousands of pounds. I expect you to use your ingenuity.” By now, Blaydon’s head was ready to burst. He forced himself to think, but no solution came. Haskett sighed. “Don’t you see? If Clairmont’s divorce were to be granted, he could marry his doxy, the scandal would eventually be put to rest, and his place in respectable society restored.” Haskett stopped a moment and looked around the room, his nose wrinkling. “And, if you helped him achieve this happy result, you could bid farewell to this filthy hole, while repaying me what you owe.” “But how could I do that?” Blaydon tried unsuccessfully to keep the fretful tone out of his voice. “The key to the whole affair seems to be that Clairmont cannot prove his wife committed adultery with another man. In that regard, she is pure and cannot be cast off lightly.” Haskett took one hand off the cane pressing on Blaydon’s throat and inspected his fingernails. “However, I am certain that a little cousinly help, in the form of your confession to being the guilty man, would speed up the divorce process. Clairmont is so desperate to make an honest woman of his paramour, and give himself an heir instead of a bastard, that he might be persuaded to part with a sufficiently handsome sum for such a service.” Blaydon’s thoughts spun around in his head. He tried to sit up and clear his mind, but the pressure from Haskett’s cane prevented movement. Clairmont knew about his part in the attempted poisoning. And at their last meeting in the woods at Shalford, Blaydon had stolen Clairmont’s horse and gouged his one good eye. He dare not go near his cousin again. But if he did not...what would Haskett do? He’d had a false sense of security in believing himself hidden from Haskett. Fear gripped Blaydon by the belly. He began to retch. Haskett stepped back, revulsion etched on his aristocratic features. “I expect full repayment of your debts to me. And I do not expect a long wait.” Turning away, he wrenched open the door of the room and slammed it behind him just as Blaydon retched the foul contents of his stomach into the cracked chamber pot. ***


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Serena savored her buttered eggs and toast. How wonderful to be able to enjoy breakfast again. Clairmont, who had breakfasted earlier, was drinking coffee and reading yesterday’s copy of the Morning Post. She saw his face darken. He crumpled the pages and threw them on the floor. “You would think the publishers would have more good sense than to print such malicious gossip,” he said, through tightened lips. Serena knew of the innuendo and speculation about the progress of Clairmont’s divorce, tied in with the date of her expected delivery. She was not deeply concerned, being perfectly used to ignoring the veiled pity and nonacceptance of the world at large. But she knew that Clairmont was deeply offended on her behalf, and filled with impotent rage at the porridge-thick avenues through which his divorce petition must pass. When a footman brought in a letter on a tray, Serena’s hope rose. Perhaps the communication had brought good news. As she watched him read it, her spirits fell again. She had never seen Clairmont’s expression so thunderous. He passed the letter across. Serena read it with misgiving. My dear cousin, Although we have not always seen eye to eye in the past, and both have committed actions for which we may be sorry, I feel it is time to bury the hatchet. I hope you will concur. It has come to my attention that you have encountered difficulties in arranging your divorce. I believe I have the solution, if you will accept my help. I stand ready to testify to my own act of adultery with Melinda, Lady Clairmont. In the face of such testimony of ‘criminal conversation,’ the path of your divorce proceedings would be considerably smoothed and hastened. You, I am sure, would not wish such cousinly assistance to go unrewarded, especially since you must be aware of the straightened financial circumstances in which my mother’s side of the family was left. Perhaps we could meet, with an atmosphere of mutual help and forgiveness on both sides. My lodgings are somewhat spartan, but you may wish the discussion to take place away from Shalford. May I suggest a meeting at Number 6, Pimm’s Reach, Cheapside, London, in ten days time. I look forward to receipt of your letter of confirmation. I remain, Your repentant and devoted cousin, John W. Blaydon Serena read the letter again, hardly believing her own eyes.


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“Surely he must be lying about committing adultery with Melinda? She never gave the slightest hint of warmth towards him. Sometimes it seemed she could barely tolerate him.” “There was one occasion when I heard voices in her room,” Clairmont said, frowning. “And I suspected he had entered my room through the connecting dressing room.” He shook his head. “He might have been plotting my removal and trying to ingratiated himself with Melinda, but a sexual liaison...highly unlikely. Any overture of that sort would have been rebuffed, believe me.” “So he’s offering to do this just to get money out of you.” “Apparently he’s willing to perjure himself.” Clairmont’s mouth twisted. “And he thinks I might be so desperate for the divorce that I’ll take him on.” “And will you?” Serena’s heart almost stopped as she waited for the answer. “I might,” he said. “At least I’ll go and meet with him.” “I’ll come with you.” The look of horror on his face made Serena realize she would have to battle to get her wish. But no amount of argument, pleading or reason would move him and, finally, it was she who gave in. “I don’t trust him, William,” she said, unable to keep the catch in her throat from sounding in her voice. “Please take care.” One week later, Clairmont handed Serena and Fanny into the coach that was to take them to Bundle Hill. They would stay overnight at the Connaught Rooms in London, where Clairmont had assured Serena she would be comfortable. He planned to ride up to town the following day. “I will take care, Serena,” he whispered as he kissed her goodbye. She repeated his assurance to herself as the coach jolted along. Fanny’s voice interrupted her worried thoughts. “I’m so excited at the thought of seeing Mama and Papa. I’ve never stayed away from home so long before. Do you think they will have aged, perhaps?” Serena chuckled. “They won’t have developed many wrinkles in the last four months, but they may exclaim at how much you’ve grown.” “Now I know you’re teasing me.” Fanny flushed. “I have a feeling Mama may have composed a list of suitable young men for me to meet.” She was silent for a moment as the coach drove around a curve in the road, bumping her against Serena’s shoulder. Then she frowned. “I’m so afraid Mama will be shocked to see your condition. I should have warned her in my letters.” “But you didn’t, because I asked you not to,” Serena reminded her. “I want to be able to talk to her myself. I hope she will understand. She is fond of Clairmont and she knows that Melinda left him.”


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“Yes, but kindhearted though Mama is, she’s a stickler for the proprieties.” “She may be shocked at first, but she will come around,” Serena said. She spoke confidently, but Fanny’s words had awakened nagging doubts. The coach drew up in front of the house at Bundle Hill the following afternoon. While the coachman was still setting down the steps and preparing to open the carriage door, Lady Warren erupted breathlessly out of the big double doors of the house. “Dear girls! My dear girls!” Here we go. Serena’s heart was suddenly in her mouth. She hadn’t cared a fig about what others thought about her. Until now. It was suddenly desperately important that her mother shouldn’t cast her off, shouldn’t stop loving her. “You go first,” she said to Fanny. As the coachman handed Serena down the wooden steps, she steeled herself for her mother’s reaction. I love William. He loves me, and I’m glad to be carrying his child, she repeated to herself silently, like a talisman. She would never forget her mother’s face. Lady Warren advanced with arms opened wide in greeting. Then her plump, radiant expression faltered. Puzzlement creased her brow. Her eyes rounded and she stared, just stared, for a long, agonizing moment before she screamed and fainted away. *** It was late afternoon by the time Clairmont found Pimm’s Reach, where the house was located. Once more, he checked the address, to make sure he had come to the right place. Blaydon had used the word ‘spartan’ to describe his lodgings, but the buildings here were squalid. Nothing but peeling paint and crooked windows. Clairmont wrinkled his nose at the stench of rubbish and rotten fish wafting from the gutter that ran down the center of the narrow alley. He remembered Serena’s advice to take care. Warning bells sounded in his head. Perhaps he should have kept Webb with him. But the horses had balked at entering the gloomy passage where a man could reach out and touch both sides at the same time. Clairmont had instructed his servant to wait with the two horses in a square, not far back. Planting his feet firmly, so as not to trip on the cobblestones or bits of garbage, Clairmont continued on to check the numbers. He’d had a hired man searching for Blaydon’s whereabouts for months without success. This was the only lead he had, and he intended to follow it to the end. Clairmont wasn’t sure what he would do when he encountered Blaydon. His inclination would be to shake the man like a rat and haul him to justice for plotting a poisoning.


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Yet Melinda would have to be called to testify. Oddly, Clairmont knew his need for revenge on his cousin wasn’t strong enough to drag her into it. But he couldn’t let Blaydon get away with it. And what was he to do about Blaydon’s offer to help speed up the divorce? I would do almost anything for the freedom to marry Serena before our child is born. Clairmont knew he had to find Blaydon and talk to him, face-to-face. On the left he passed another alley, leading into this one. It was just as narrow and just as dim in the fading daylight. Shadows moved. Clairmont tensed and stood stock still, listening and watching. All was quiet. Too quiet. Get out, man. But he had to find Blaydon. Mustn’t stop now. On the next door, black and forbidding, he was just able to make out the number six. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock. The slightest of sounds from behind set him whirling round. Two figures sprang towards him in the dusk, arms upraised. Clairmont saw the movement of a club coming at his head. He ducked. The club hit the door with a thump. Clairmont jammed his elbow into the assailant’s midriff. The fellow grunted and dropped the club. The other attacker grabbed for the weapon, but Clairmont got there first, catching it before it hit the ground. He was just in time to catch the first man, coming back at him with lowered head like a battering ram. The club cracked against the man’s skull and he went down in a heap. Clairmont braced himself to face the second aggressor, but the man shrieked and scuttled away into the alley Clairmont had just passed. Damn this wooden leg! Clairmont knew he hadn’t a hope of catching the fugitive. He bent down to quickly examine the felled attacker and his heart almost stopped. This had been no random attack by footpads. The fellow who lay, ashen faced and bleeding from a gashed forehead, was one of the highwayman who had leveled a blunderbuss at himself and Serena on the road between Dunwich and Bundle Hill. Blaydon was still trying to kill him. Clairmont had suspected a link between his cousin and the spurious highway robbers, but his inquiries had led to nothing. He felt the blood pounding in his temples as his anger grew. The whole scheme had been a set-up. The offer of help with the divorce had been nothing more than a very clever bait. And he had fallen for it. Blaydon would pay for this. But it would be a waste of time to look for him in this wretched place. Blaydon was probably laughing in false triumph, somewhere far away. Seizing the club, Clairmont hammered a couple of mighty blows on the door of number six, then hurled the club away from him into the gloom. Fuming


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with barely suppressed outrage, he stumped back to where he had left Webb with the horses. *** Serena tried to concentrate on Mozart’s Praeludium. It seemed an age since she had played this favorite piece that Mozart had written just for himself. She hadn’t taken her precious copy with her to Shalford. The fingers of her right hand were still agile, as she and Clairmont had continued their joint playing of Bach and Clementi most days on the rosewood pianoforte in the Shalford music room. But her heart ached for Clairmont, whether sitting beside her on the piano bench or walking hand in hand with her in the garden. And her body ached for him too. She hadn’t been prepared for her need to continue in this way. After all, she was five months gone with a child in her womb. But still she longed to feel Clairmont’s caresses of her most intimate parts. Perhaps I am wanton as Mama keeps saying. Serena had seldom been affected by other’s opinions, but her mother’s continued distress was causing her deep anguish. Her worrying thoughts were interrupted when Fanny came into the room, carrying Madame Fluff. “I thought you might need a friend to keep you company.” Fanny deposited the tawny bundle onto the top of the pianoforte. The little cat sniffed at the music books before hunching down and regarding Serena through lazy, narrowed eyes. Serena reached up to tickle the animal behind the ears. Madame Fluff began to purr. “I’m glad to see I have at least one other friend besides Fanny,” Serena said to the cat. Fanny put her arms about Serena’s shoulders. “I’m sure Mama will come around eventually,” she said. The door opened again. Louise stepped inside and stopped as she saw her younger sister embracing her elder one. “Oh, I thought the pianoforte must be free by now,” she said, looking directly at Fanny and ignoring Serena. “I’ve just finished, Louise,” Serena said. Louise sniffed. “Fanny, I hope this display of affection does not indicate an unfortunate inclination to condone your sister’s wanton behavior.” Serena’s chest tightened into a knot. She took a deep breath before speaking. “I am sorry that you disapprove of my actions, Louise, but please allow Fanny the freedom to hold her own opinions.”


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“I am four years older than Fanny and therefore have a perfect right to advise her.” “And I am several years older than both of you,” Serena observed, trying to keep her temper in check. “But you have always been a law unto yourself, and a very bad model to follow,” Louise snapped. “And it looks as though your behavior will contaminate the whole family.” “Louise!” Fanny protested. “That’s going too far, Louise,” Serena said through tight, angry lips. “Is it?” Suddenly Louise’s lips trembled and tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Your actions have snatched away any chance I had to make a good marriage.” She dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. “Sir Henry Morton used to call on me every day. I was expecting him to make a declaration, but he hasn’t called once since the news about you got out.” “I’m sorry, Louise, I truly am.” Serena felt a guilty stab for unwillingly being the cause of her sister’s pain. “I know you were partial to him.” “But it’s not just him.” Louise scrubbed at her eyes as though ashamed of her tears. “Thanks to you, no decent man would consider marrying into this family. You’ve ruined Fanny’s chances, too.” “I don’t care about that.” Fanny put her arms about Serena’s shoulders again. “Serena deserves to be happy and Clairmont is devoted to her.” “You’ve missed the whole point, Fanny. You’re far too young to understand.” Louise resumed her snappish attitude. “Mother is absolutely desolated, and Jane Featherstone’s family may well consider breaking her engagement with Gilbert.” The knot hardened in Serena’ chest again. She knew of her brother Gilbert’s deep attachment to the shy, pretty Jane Featherstone. Surely her affair with Clairmont wouldn’t jeopardize that union? That evening Fanny and Serena ate dinner alone in the vast dining room, usually filled with family and a host of invited friends. Lady Warren was prostrate in her room. Louise chose to eat in her bedchamber and Sir Piers had holed up in his library, losing himself in the world of his beloved books. “I must go back to Shalford,” Serena said. Suddenly she was filled with longing for Clairmont. He needed her and she missed him more than she could bear. “I shall come with you, no matter what Mama says,” Fanny said. *** Blaydon chewed at his thumb. The nail was bitten down until his flesh was raw but he couldn’t stop himself.


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What had happened to Clairmont? He was supposed to have come earlier today, but dusk had arrived with no sign of him. Then Blaydon’s heart had jumped into his mouth at the terrible banging he’d heard on the outer door below. It was not the sort of knock a caller would make. It had sounded like the battering of a heavy club. Even if Clairmont had been unfriendly to him he would have knocked like a gentlemen. No, this had been some sort of attack. Surely Haskett would not have sent someone to frighten him. Haskett, after all, stood to gain if Blaydon could lay his hands on some Shalford money and pay down his debts. Perhaps the attack had been directed at one of the other inhabitants of the house. Apart from the absentee landlord, who came round weekly to collect his rent, Blaydon had never met the other tenants, preferring to keep his identity anonymous. Once or twice he’d caught a glimpse of other shadowy figures disappearing into the cramped boxes into which the house had been divided. Blaydon had been too fearful to go down and investigate the cause of the banging. He wished, fretfully, that Clairmont had kept his word, given in the terse reply to Blaydon’s own letter. Had Clairmont changed his mind? Or had he gone to the wrong house? Perhaps he had miscounted the days. Perhaps he would come tomorrow. Blaydon’s spirits rose at the thought. Then he heard a scratching at his door. The hair rose at the back of his head. This could not be his cousin. Clairmont would knock properly at the door, he wouldn’t make a furtive scratch like that. “Who is it?” Blaydon seized his pistol from beneath the gray, lumpy pillow on the bed. “A friend wants to talk with you.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it did not belong to Clairmont. “What friend?” Blaydon hoped the tremor in his voice wasn’t audible through the door. “A fine gentleman. Come to talk with you.” Blaydon let out his breath in a whooosh of relief. Clairmont was here. He’d obviously brought his servant with him. With slightly shaking hands, he hid the pistol back in its place and pulled out the wooden plug that kept the latch from lifting. Before he could open the door himself, it burst inwards. Blaydon found himself staring into the bloody face of Joe Sluggin, with Mobbs scowling from behind. Blaydon’s knees felt so weak with shock he could scarcely keep on his feet. He had believed himself clear of this pair. Mobbs gave Sluggin a push that sent him careening into Blaydon, who tumbled backward onto the narrow bed. “Look what ‘appened to my friend,” Mobbs said.


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“Now you owe us double.” Sluggin growled. He wiped at the streaming blood with a filthy hand and then gripped Blaydon’s neck with smeared fingers. “Thought we’d never find you, didn’t you?” Blaydon recoiled at the man’s foul breath. Sluggin shook Blaydon like a terrier shakes a rat. “We tracked you down and what do we find?” Blaydon could only stare, petrified at the menacing face, so close to his own. “Tell ‘im what we found, Mobbs.” “Right outside your very door,” Mobbs said. “The posh bloke with the wooden leg. The one who was s’posed to have a nasty little highway accident.” “What was he doing, coming here?” Sluggin demanded. Blaydon tried to speak, but the fellow shook him again and Blaydon couldn’t get a word out. “You refused to pay us for the first job. Said we’d failed. So when we found him in the alley we thought we’d have another go at him,” Sluggin said. “You wouldn’t have no excuses then. And we thought he’d be good for some blunt, or a fancy watch at the very least. Him with his fine jacket and boots.” “But...look what he did to my partner.” Mobbs hissed. “Now you really owe us.” Blaydon’s anger fought with his fear. Clairmont had come after all. And these fools had tried to attack him, with obviously disastrous results. Clairmont would assume that the pair had been working on his orders. Anger won out. Jabbing his knee upwards into Sluggin’s groin, Blaydon took advantage of the man’s loosening grip on his throat. “Idiots!” he sputtered. “You’ve ruined everything! That man you attacked was going to bring me a great deal of money.” “Oh yeah! Tell us another one,” Mobbs sneered. “He had finally agreed to pay me the legacy owed to me,” Blaydon blustered. “Now he’ll think I set you onto him.” “You’re lying through your teeth.” Sluggin’s snarl revealed his own stained fangs. Something exploded in Blaydon’s head. If these two had done their job properly the first time, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. He would be living in comfort at Shalford Park, where he belonged. He twisted sideways and fumbled for the pistol, but Sluggin grabbed him by the throat again. “See what he’s got there, Mobbs,” he snapped. While Blaydon thrashed about, Mobbs delved beneath the pillow. “Well, well. Look at this.” He lifted the weapon like a prize. “Not a bad piece.” “And he was aiming to use it on us,” Sluggin growled.


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“No...” Blaydon started to protest, feeling the sweat running down his face as fear overcame his anger. “I’ll hold him while you look around and see what else he’s got hidden,” Sluggin said. “You may come across some blunt.” “I’ve got nothing else. If I had money, do you think I’d be living in this hole?” Blaydon knew he was whining and he tried to get in control of himself. “Take the gun and get out of here.” He hoped it sounded enough like a command. “We ain’t taking no more orders from you.” Sluggin thrust his ugly, bloodied nose into Blaydon’s face. Something snapped in Blaydon’s head. Clamping his teeth onto the nose hovering half an inch away, Blaydon bit as hard as he could. Sluggin’s scream tore at his eardrums. Blaydon stopped biting and screamed himself as Mobbs beat at his head with the butt of the gun. His pain was intense and got worse when an enraged Sluggin began beating him in the stomach. Blaydon tried to roll out of the way of those agonizing blows. He fell off the edge of the narrow bed and hit the floor with a thump. Sluggin’s blows turned to kicks, which were ten times worse. One of the blows caught him in the head. Blackness overcame him. A bumping noise returned him to a hazy consciousness and he opened his eyes a crack. The two men had overturned the chair and bed and were rifling through his possessions. If he could only escape! Blaydon tried to inch his way across the floor towards the doorway. Every part of his body screamed with pain. “No you don’t, you little worm!” Sluggin loomed over him, holding the pistol. Blaydon could see the black hole at the end of the barrel, like an evil eye, pointing and staring at him. He heard the click as Sluggin cocked the gun. Blaydon knew he’d reached the end.


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CHAPTER 17 Back in the room he had taken at the Glassblower Inn, Clairmont paced back and forth, still seething after his encounter in the gloom and dirt of Pimm’s Reach. He wanted to find Blaydon and deal with him at once. But the fellow could be anywhere in the city. He might even have left London, so he wouldn’t be connected with his hired thugs attack. Blaydon would continue to pose a danger until he was found. Clairmont vowed to redouble his efforts track his cousin down. On the other hand, Clairmont couldn’t wait to get back to Shalford. He needed to be back with Serena. He ached to be with her. There was something about her presence that sent the rest of the world back into focus. With her, he wasn’t just a broken survivor of the battlefield. He felt whole. A virile, sensuous man with boundless enthusiasm for life, as though Serena had infused him with some magic potion for energy and shared laughter. But Serena was not at Shalford. She was in Suffolk, at Brundle Hill. Clairmont opened the door to the small adjoining chamber where his valet was waiting for his master’s call to help him prepare for bed. “We’re not going home yet, Webb,” he said. “I intend to ride to Brundle Park first thing in the morning.” *** Serena watched her maid Mary folding and packing her clothes in readiness for the journey back to Shalford. Mary’s lips were compressed and the lines of disapproval had deepened on either side of her mouth. Serena sighed. Mary was more than just a lady’s maid. She had been with the family since Serena was a child. At times, she acted as if she almost regarded herself as Serena’s guardian. “What is the matter, Mary?” Serena asked. “It’s not my place to say anything, Miss Serena.” Mary sniffed and tweaked at the sleeves of a dress she was folding. “You would prefer that I remain at Brundle Hill, I think?” Mary had spent most of her life here and her brothers still lived in the nearby village. Shalford was too far distant for Mary to visit them, on her half days off. “Are you loath to be so far from your own family, Mary?”


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The maid turned with a puzzled expression on her broad face. “Why no, Miss. My brother’s have their own ways. They don’t feel as much like family as you do, Miss.” She colored. “Begging your pardon for my presumption, Miss Serena.” Serena was touched by this admission. “Then why are you reluctant about coming to Shalford Park?” Mary tugged at the folds of dark blue pelisse. “It’s...your position there, Miss Serena, its...neither flesh nor fowl, if you know what I mean.” Serena tensed. It was none of the maid’s affair. “I shall be mistress of Shalford Park if the earl gains his freedom,” she said shortly. “And if not, I shall stay by the earl’s side, and have his child nonetheless.” “Then I must go with you, Miss Serena,” Mary said. “I can’t let you have the child alone. I mean to take care of you...if you’ll have me.” Unable to speak for the lump in her throat, Serena gave her loyal maid a hug. A rapid tapping at her door made her turn to face it just as Fanny rushed in, out of breath. “Come down, come down quickly,” she said. Her expression glowed with suppressed excitement and importance. “What...” Serena began, but Fanny took her hand and all but tugged her to the doorway. “Come and see for yourself!” she said. When they reached the drawing room, Fanny stopped and put her fingers to her lips. “In there,” she whispered. Then she gave Serena a little push towards the door and scampered back upstairs. A premonition set Serena’s heart soaring. Pushing open the door she walked inside, and straight into Clairmont’s arms. He clasped her against his chest and she breathed in the wonderful smell of fresh air, woolen coat and saddle leather. Then she raised her face for his kiss. His cheeks were cold and ruddy from his ride but the lips that met hers pulsed warm with a magic that set her aflame. “I couldn’t wait for you to come back to Shalford,” he said hoarsely. “I couldn’t bear to be parted from you any longer.” “And I was already packing to come, because I missed you so much.” Serena laughed aloud with the thrill of his coming and then felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “What is it, love?” he asked, suddenly anxious. “Why the tears?” “I didn’t care what the rest of the world thought about us, but I find I care very much that my family has turned away from us.” Serena’s throat constricted and she swallowed. “Fanny is the only one who stands by us,” she said in a low voice.


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“Then we’ll take Fanny back with us and be damned to the rest,” he said, wiping her cheeks with his thumb. The next day, when it was time to leave, Serena went to her mother’s chamber to bid her farewell. Lady Warren, who was not yet dressed, broke into sobs. “I shall do nothing but worry about you. Who will take care of you when the child comes? What will become of us all, if nobody will visit us any more?” She mopped her tearstained face with a lace handkerchief. “Poor Louise had her heart set on Sir Henry Morton. It seems certain he’s gone off. Your father has washed his hands of us all and Gilbert may well lose that nice little Featherstone girl.” “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you grief, Mama.” Serena took her mother by the hand. “Fanny and Mary will take care of me, and I’m sure that your visitors will soon be back. You always make guests feel at home.” But Lady Warren could only sob and press Serena’s hand wordlessly. In the end, Serena had to leave, praying her mother would recover her normal good spirits and that the consequences wouldn’t be as dire as she predicted. Serena’s mood was somber as she rode with Fanny and Mary in the traveling coach. Clairmont and Webb accompanied them on horseback, so there was no chance for a private conversation. The only time her heart lifted was when Clairmont came alongside to inquire how the ladies were faring and to share a secret smile with her. Clairmont had promised to tell her about his London experience once they got home to Shalford Park. Serena sensed that things had not gone well and was impatient to hear the full account. Caroline danced with excitement at their arrival. Frightened by all the uproar, Miss Tibbs hid under the sideboard and had to be coaxed out with a morsel of chicken. It wasn’t until Caroline had been put to bed and Fanny had retired to her room that Serena and Clairmont could be alone. When she ran into his arms in the library, he kissed and teased her until she was dizzy with desire. He carried her to the rug before the fire, leaving his shirt and her dress scattered on the floor. “I can’t wait any longer,” she entreated, when they had finished undressing each other with eager fingers. But he continued his exploration of her body with lips, tongue and fingertips and, just as she thought she would go mad with need for him, he drove himself into her. They each cried out as she completed her shuddering release at the same time as he reached his own orgasm. Afterwards, Serena lay beside Clairmont, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.


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“I’ve come home,” she murmured. “And now I’m truly home, too.” Clairmont sighed and cuddled her closer. “Tell me what happened in London.” As soon as Serena spoke she felt his body tense. “That rat, Blaydon, set his thugs on me. The whole thing was a trap.” For a moment Serena was too shocked to say anything. She clutched him tightly. “Did...did they hurt you?” His smile was grim in the flickering firelight. “No, not a scratch. But I rather think one of them got more than he bargained for. The other fellow ran away.” “Blaydon must be crazy. Why does he keep trying to hurt you?” “Because he still has wild hopes of becoming the next Earl of Shalford. I’m still without an heir. I’m the only one standing in his way.” Serena clenched her hand so tightly round his arm that her knuckles showed white. “I would so love to give you the heir you need.” “I wish that more passionately than anything in the world,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Yet I feel so helpless about getting the divorce arranged. The thing has a life of its own. It’s out of my control.” Clairmont stroked Serena’s face. He thought his heart would overflow at the loving, trusting expression he saw in her eyes. Whatever happened with the divorce, he wanted Serena with him forever. If their child were to be born a bastard, he would love them both and do his best to protect them from the sneers of the world. And Blaydon would never gain control of Shalford. Clairmont vowed to hunt him down like the rat he was. “Come to bed with me,” he whispered. “I need you with me.” “I’m so content here that you’ll have to carry me.” Clairmont could see by the sudden glint of mischief in her expression that she was teasing him. Without another word he pulled away from her and stood up. He pulled his shirt on over his head. It hung down over his thighs but did nothing to hide his legs. “You have very handsome legs,” Serena said. “Now I know you’re teasing me.” She looked serious for a moment. “Let’s just say that you have one-and-ahalf strongly muscled and shapely legs. And I’ve grown to admire the skill with which you deploy the rest.” Bending to take her hands, he pulled her to her feet. “And I’ve grown to love every part of you.” He kissed the palm of her withered hand with tenderness. “Come to bed with me this minute, you siren.” He scooped her up into his arms.


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“I can walk,” Serena protested. But Clairmont reveled in the feeling of strength in his arms and the hardwon control he’d finally achieved over his balance. He bent his head to kiss her. “I shall carry you,” he said. “William...I have no clothes on.” “So I observed.” He grinned at her. “The servants may see us.” “Since when does my mischievous sprite care about such trifles?” Clairmont started carrying her towards the door. “I feel like Lady Godiva,” she giggled, pulling her hair down over her breasts. “I shall be your faithful white steed.” Clairmont heard her sigh and saw her eyes close as he held her against him. “My love,” she whispered. His heart sang. Clairmont felt her weight as no more than a feather all the way up to his room. It was still dark when Clairmont woke next morning and slipped quietly from beneath the covers. Serena’s hair was spread in a red-gold cloud on the pillow. His throat constricted at the sight of her. He was getting to be an expert at strapping on his leg. It took him no more that a few minutes to do that and to pull a warm robe about his shoulders. Descending to the library he was able to retrieve his trousers and Serena’s dress, shift and slippers before any of the servants came in to clean up the firegrate. When he returned to his room, Serena sat on the side of the bed, stretching and yawning. She gave him a slow, lazy smile that made him want to take her back beneath the covers with him. “I’ll be so happy when I can stay with you,” she said, as though she had read his thoughts. “But for the moment I shall go back to my room and endeavor to look as though I was there all night. Just for my maid’s benefit. She’s my selfappointed guardian.” Serena slipped her gown over her head. “I won’t ask you to fasten any of the buttons, because I can’t reach to undo them again, anyway.” Picking up the filmy shift, she wafted it at him as she went out of the doorway. “Witch,” Clairmont called after her. When Clairmont arrived in the breakfast room, Serena was already there, looking very domesticated and unwitchlike with Caroline on her knee. “She wanted to have breakfast with us, instead of in the nursery,” Serena explained.


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“Well then, she had better have her own seat.” Clairmont called for cushions and piled them on one of the chairs, so his daughter could sit at the table. “I missed you and S’rena, Papa,” Caroline said, trying to capture a slippery morsel of coddled egg that wouldn’t seem to stay on her spoon. “We missed you, too.” Clairmont leaned across and scooped up the errant spoonful of egg for his daughter. “Where is Fanny this morning? I hope the journey didn’t tire her too much,” he said to Serena. “Auntie Fanny is a sleepyhead,” Caroline said. Serena smiled. “Fanny was never one for getting up in the mornings. She’ll be down directly.” A footman knocked and came into the room bringing a letter on a tray. “This just came for you, my lord. The messenger seemed in a hurry to deliver it.” Clairmont turned the paper over. The wax seal bore the imprint of a penny coin. He knew nobody who used a plain penny for such a purpose. His acquaintances used their own family seals. Flicking the single sheet open with his thumb, he read the contents with growing disbelief. Dear Sir, I regret to inform you that your cousin, The Honorable John Blaydon, has met with a grievous accident. His condition is extremely grave and he may not live. His present location at number six, Pimm’s Reach, Cheapside, is not conducive to his recovery. To leave him in such a situation, without care and good nursing, is to condemn him to a certain death. Since the gentleman is a close member of your family, I believe you would wish to attend him and render all possible assistance. It is for this reason that I take the liberty of informing you of the gravity of his situation. A Friend No signature. Just an anonymous letter. It’s a trap! Clairmont threw the letter down on the table. It skittered off one of the shiny plates and fell to the floor. His anger boiled into a cauldron inside him. If the situation were indeed true, then it would serve his cousin right. After his despicable attempts get the Shalford title for himself, Blaydon deserved no help. And who was this anonymous writer? The whole thing sounded like another attempt to lure him to London to be attacked again. Serena was staring at him with a shocked question on her face. “Don’t you want that paper, Papa?” Caroline asked. “Can I have it?”


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“No, Caroline, it’s a nasty paper. Nobody wants it.” Clairmont pushed aside his half-eaten breakfast and strove to answer the child in a reasonable tone. “Good morning, everybody. I hope you left me some nice rashers of ham,” Fanny said as she came into the breakfast room and gave Caroline a hug. “There’s plenty left, Fanny.” Serena kissed her sister on the cheek and retrieved the letter from the carpet. “You arrived at the right moment. William and I have something urgent to discuss. Could Caroline finish her breakfast with you while you eat, or shall we call her nurse?” Clairmont saw the sharp look of inquiry Fanny gave Serena, but was glad she didn’t ask questions. “Caroline and I will enjoy one another’s company. Then we shall take an apple out to Mayberry,” Fanny said, carrying her plate to the sideboard to check out the covers over the heated dishes. “Whatever has made you so furious, William?” Serena asked as they reached the sanctuary of the library, which looked less romantic in the daylight. It was now respectably tidy and a brisk fire crackled in the newly cleaned grate. “Read what you’ve got in your hand.” Clairmont breathed deeply to keep in control of himself as he watched the shock and disbelief that appeared on her face. “Do you believe this, William?” she asked. “No. I think it’s a trick.” “But...suppose Blaydon really is close to death?” Clairmont knew that a revengeful spirit wasn’t an admirable trait, but he couldn’t help expressing his feelings. “He deserves every ill he has brought upon himself.” “But it’s important to find out whether any of this is true,” Serena said, coming close and putting her arms about him. “If it is not true, he could still pose a danger to you.” “I shall send a couple of reliable fellows to investigate,” Clairmont said. “And they will be well armed and forewarned.” He kissed Serena so fiercely that she gasped. “I’ll never give Blaydon another chance to hurt either of us,” he vowed.


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CHAPTER 18 Blaydon knew he couldn’t be dead. He was in such searing pain that death would have been a release. Sometimes he lay in total darkness. Then he would be aware that a burning red light, like a furnace was hurting his eyes, although he still couldn’t see anything in that light. He thought he heard Haskett’s cultured voice. He couldn’t be sure of that because the sounds came garbled into his consciousness. Blaydon’s tongue was fused to roof of his mouth. “Water,” he tried to say, but the word in his head escaped as a moan. Someone was sponging his face with vinegar. He could smell the vinegar and tried to get his eyelids open to see who was there. The lids must be stuck. He could see nothing. An arm reached behind his shoulders and began to lift him. Blaydon shrieked with the agony until the arm was taken away. Then he was left by himself. It seemed like many days, many days of darkness when nobody was there. Although he called out, he received no answer. He was drifting between pain and release when he heard noises that grated on his ears. Then talking between others, as though he wasn’t there. He tried to open his eyes. “Bring a light,” he said. This time he heard his own words come out. “Take the lamp close,” a man’s voice said. But Blaydon still couldn’t see. “My God, what a mess,” another voice said. Someone touched his arm and the agony made Blaydon scream. “He’ll never use that limb again,” the first voice muttered. “Who are you?” Blaydon tried to lick his parched lips. “Give him a drink.” Blaydon didn’t see the flask of brandy, but he drank and sputtered as someone dribbled a few drops of the fiery liquid between his lips. “He needs laudanum.” Again, Blaydon saw nothing coming, but smelled the sickly medicine just before it reached his mouth. He swallowed gratefully and felt his pain recede. “He’ll sleep for a bit, now...” The voices trailed off until Blaydon could no longer hear them.


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Reeves and Brown removed their hats and stood respectfully in front of Clairmont’s desk when they were shown into the library at Shalford Hall. “That was quick work, gentlemen,” Clairmont said. “What did you find out? Did the fellow give you any trouble?” The two men exchanged glances. “Blaydon won’t be giving anyone trouble anymore,” Reeves said. “Unless someone takes a lot of trouble to nurse him.” Brown shook his head. “Besides being black and blue from head to toe, he’s blind and his right arm is smashed.” “And he looks as though someone shot a ball through his shoulder, but we couldn’t be sure...he screamed too much when we touched him.” “Good Lord!” Clairmont squelched the immediate sense of horror and pity that he felt. He reminded himself that Blaydon would have been happy to see him dead. “Was anyone else there with him?” “Not as far as we could see. We rousted out one of the other renters. He said the landlord had been around and wanted Blaydon out, but some posh cove had called in and paid Blaydon’s rent for an extra week.” Reeves twisted his hat in his hands. “We couldn’t find out who the cove was.” “But he’s going to need a lot longer than a week before he can go anywhere, or even get out of his bed,” Brown said. “We gave him a bit of brandy and laudanum that I carried in my saddlebag for my toothache.” “How long ago was that?” The two men looked at each other. “About six hours ago. We found him this morning and rode straight back here to tell you about it.” Clairmont felt numbed as he paid the men for their work. Still in an unbelieving daze, he rang for a servant. “My compliments to Miss Warren and please request her to join me here.” Serena came smiling through the doorway. She closed the door behind her and came to perch on the desk. “Much as I should enjoy an afternoon liaison, I fear the household is too wide awake for privacy.” She suddenly became aware of the tense way he was holding himself. “What is it?” she asked. As Clairmont related the details about Blaydon, Serena felt a rush of horror and pity for the wretched man. “He stands no chance of recovery if he stays in that dreadful room by himself,” she said. Clairmont’s lips set in a hard line. “He brought his troubles onto himself,” he said. “If he had tried to live within his means instead of gambling it all away, he could have resided in a much safer part of the city.” “But he is your cousin.”


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“And he tried to kill me, Serena. Not once, but several times.” Clairmont’s voice sounded harsh and unlike himself. “Am I supposed to conveniently overlook his attempts at murder?” “You could never overlook or forget such behavior, William.” Serena came around behind the desk and laid her hand on his arm. “But I would urge you to show some forbearance towards him.” “Forbearance!” he growled. “And what, pray should the form of that forbearance take?” “Just to get him moved to a cleaner place and have someone to look after him, to give him a better chance to recover.” “I’ll not see him moved anywhere.” Serena had never seen Clairmont like this. He seemed even more bitter than when he had returned from Waterloo, a broken man. She had to help him shed his bitterness. But what could she say to soften his hatred and obvious need for revenge against Blaydon? At the moment, she could think of nothing. But she couldn’t get the image out of her mind of a badly beaten man, lying neglected and alone in a filthy room. She would have to enlist Fanny’s help. While Clairmont met with his estate steward to consider repairs to several tenants’ cottages, Serena spent an hour with Fanny, telling her about Blaydon’s past efforts to get rid of Clairmont. She didn’t gloss over the seriousness of his actions, but when she explained about the discovery of Blaydon, beaten and alone, her young sister’s eyes filled with tears. “I hate what he tried to do to dear Clairmont,” she said. “But nobody should be left alone in such a wretched state as Blaydon is now.” “But you understand why William can’t bring himself to think clearly and dispassionately about him...at least, not just yet?” “Indeed I do, but surely there is something that could be done?” “I have a plan,” Serena said. “Listen carefully for I shall need your help.” That night, sensing Clairmont’s troubled withdrawal within himself, Serena suggested that he come with her to the music room. “I am in need of practice and of cheering up,” she said. “And music is always more fun when my favorite person comes to partner me.” As she hoped, Clairmont gradually relaxed as he concentrated on keeping time with her on the keyboard. Before long, the two of them were laughing at their mistakes, and at the antics of Miss Tibbs. The little cat had adopted Madame Fluff’s penchant for sitting on the piano, but she took it a step further by reaching down with her paw to swipe at their fingers, when they played the fast bits. By the time she and Clairmont had gone through their repertoire, Serena was elated to find him so much more cheerful, for it had pained her to see him sour and unhappy. Now for her next step.


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“It cannot have escaped your notice that my gowns are becoming tight and I need some new ones,” she said. He placed his hand on her swollen tummy. “You are the most beautiful sight in the world to me, but I can see that something of a more ample cut is required.” “I would like to spend a few days in the city to purchase a fresh wardrobe.” “But there’s no need for you to go to the discomfort of another journey, my love. We can have the mantua makers come here.” “Fanny is in need of a more fashionable wardrobe too, and the best materials and styles are to be found in the city,” Serena said. “We can choose from a wider variety of fabrics there. Once the measurements are taken, we can return to Shalford and have the dresses sent to us.” Clairmont shrugged. “Of course, if that is what you would prefer...I shall be pleased to take you both.” “Thank you, William,” Serena said. She slipped her hand in his. “I want to come up to your room straight away. Never mind what anyone thinks,” she whispered. After their lovemaking, Serena was pleased to hear his deep, even breathing and know that he had relaxed in sleep. Now she must find a way to help him get over his hatred of his cousin. And she hoped she could do something to alleviate Blaydon’s suffering too. Two days later, ensconced in a comfortable suite of rooms at the Connaught, Serena and Fanny, escorted by a footman, prepared to set off in their carriage to make the rounds of the shops. “Are you certain you do not need me to accompany you?” Clairmont asked, as Serena kissed him goodbye. “Fanny and I have the footman to carry parcels. No need for you to be bored while we examine bolts of fabric and chose patterns.” “Then I shall visit my lawyers and prod them for action on the divorce,” he said. “Take care not to tire yourself.” Within the space of an hour, Serena had made her choices and been measured for new outfits. Few callers would see her at Shalford and she had never taken a great interest in the latest fashion. Fanny agreed to make another foray the following day to complete her selections and Serena directed the coachman to take them as close as he could get to Pimm’s Reach. While the coach waited in a nearby street, the tall footman accompanied the ladies to the disreputable looking house. Finding no response to his knock, the servant tried the door, which creaked open on rusty hinges. Serena bid the


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footman stay at the foot of the narrow stairs while she preceded Fanny up to the third floor. The stench of Blaydon’s cramped, filthy room assailed Serena’s nostrils. A stubble-cheeked Blaydon lay on a narrow cot with a grayish cloth covering his eyes. His right arm was covered with purple weals and bent at a grotesquely unnatural angle. “Oh, poor Blaydon!” Fanny cried. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stood rooted in the doorway. “This is horror beyond anything.” “We must do something for him,” Serena said. Blaydon started at the sound of their voices. His own came hoarsely through cracked lips. “Miss Warren, Miss Fanny, for God’s sake, help me!” “We’ll get someone to clean you up and care for your wounds.” Serena strove to make her voice sound calm and reassuring. In truth, if she could not persuade Clairmont to get him out of this unhealthy hole, Blaydon would have no chance of survival. “We can’t leave him here,” Fanny said. “We must, for the moment,” Serena said. “But we can ease his situation somewhat.” Rapidly she calculated her own financial resources. Luckily, her mother had expected her to go through life without a husband. So she had arranged for Serena to receive a fairly generous pin money. Serena hoped her mother’s distress at her behavior wouldn’t mean she was cut off. “We shall engage someone to nurse you,” she told Blaydon. “I will find someone before the day’s end.” “Water...so thirsty,” Blaydon said. Serena inspected the cracked cup of liquid on the floor beside the bed. The contents smelled vaguely of brandy. She tried to lift his head and give him some but Blaydon cried out with pain so she poured drops between his lips and he seemed to be soothed. “We must go now, but we won’t desert you,” she said. “Try to sleep until help comes.” Fanny didn’t say a word as they left. Tears flowed down her cheeks as they rejoined the anxious-faced footman waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. That afternoon, Clairmont reacted with fury when Serena told him of her visit to Blaydon. “How could you go behind my back in that fashion?” He stormed back and forth in the sitting room of their suite. “You put yourself at terrible risk to go near that scheming, murderous blackguard.”


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In his outrage, Clairmont seemed oblivious to his eye patch all askew. As he marched back and forth, he jerked at his cravat until he’d unraveled the ends and destroyed the neat folds that Webb had arranged. “Blaydon poses no danger to anyone, William,” Serena said, in the most conciliatory tone she could muster. “If you could only see him...” “I don’t want to see him,” Clairmont exploded. “I don’t want to lay eyes on him ever again. The man’s an unprincipled scoundrel!” Serena suppressed a sigh. She had known it wouldn’t be easy to convince Clairmont to give help to his cousin. But the vision of Blaydon’s terrible injuries and his wretched surroundings was forever imprinted on her brain. She couldn’t give up. She would try another tack. “Blaydon may have brought this disaster on himself...” she began. “He most certainly did. And he deserves the consequences.” “...But I believe he is truly sorry and, if he can survive, he will be a changed man,” she continued. Going close to Clairmont she stood in his path, so that he would have had to push her aside in order to continue his pacing. He stopped and glared down at her. Serena thought she had never loved him so much as at that moment. “My fierce and wonderful pirate,” she said. Then she slipped her arms about him and laid her head against his chest. A sound like a sob escaped him. “If Blaydon had hurt you...” his arms stole around her and he held her fiercely to him. “I believe Blaydon is tormented by remorse as well as by his injuries,” she said. “And I’m convinced he will be a changed man, if he survives his ordeal.” Serena drew William to sit on the couch, where she could nestle in his lap. She stroked his cheeks and his lips with soft, adoring touches. “I remember a strong and perfect young man who came back from Waterloo so horribly wounded he couldn’t bear himself. He regarded himself as so disfigured he could never laugh or enjoy himself again.” She touched the scar running down his face. “You changed. You taught yourself to look at the world, and the people in it, through fresh eyes.” Clairmont took her fingers in his hand and kissed them. “You’re wrong. You taught me to look through your eyes, Serena.” “However it happened, you changed,” she said quietly. “And I believe Blaydon can change, if you give him the chance.” She felt Clairmont stiffen and thought she had lost. “There’s one vital difference,” he said. “I never plotted to murder someone.” “No. You are a decent, honorable man.” She took a deep breath. “That is why I would beg you to come with me and see Blaydon’s situation for yourself.” Clairmont drew his brows together and stared at her for a few moments. “I’m making no promises,” he said.


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Then his expression softened. “If his condition is as grave as you say, we’d better go at once, before it gets dark. Outside the squalid house in Pimm’s Reach, Clairmont had a sense of deja vu for a moment. The gutter still stank. The place looked as neglected as before. But this time, he had two stout footmen with him, and Serena, who had insisted on bringing candles, a container of soup, and a bottle of laudanum. Clairmont was unprepared for the shock that hit him when he saw Blaydon’s condition. The caked blood from the shoulder and the impossible twisting of Blaydon’s arm brought a stark reminder of the mangled, pitiful young men on the canvas stretchers of the field hospital. And of Clairmont’s own pain when his leg had been amputated. Clairmont smelled the fetid air. Saw the battered face and the weakness of Blaydon’s movements. His cousin was near death. Clairmont’s insides twisted with pity. “He’s too ill for soup. He must be removed from this filth if he’s to have any chance at all,” he said. “I want him taken him to the Connaught.” The two footmen moved towards the bed and Blaydon screamed when one began to lift him by the shoulders.” “Stop!” Clairmont barked. “He’ll need a stretcher. In the meantime, get some of that laudanum into him.” Serena hastened to comply. Clairmont was relentless in his efforts. Within a few hours the battered man had been transferred to a quiet room at the back of the Connaught. Dosed liberally with laudanum, Blaydon had been unconscious while a surgeon removed his smashed arm and dug the pistol ball out of his shoulder. Serena stood looking down at him as he lay cocooned in clean white sheets. She offered up a silent prayer that Blaydon would recover, then left him to the care of one of the two women who had been engaged to nurse him round the clock. Back in their little sitting room, she found Fanny sitting on the couch holding a book, open but unread in her lap. Clairmont stood against the fireplace, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece. Serena’s back ached. She felt drained but oddly exultant as she walked over to stand in front of him. “I’m so very proud of you, and I love you, my fierce pirate.” Clairmont’s gray pinched expression disappeared as a flush infused his face. “I shall go and check on our new patient,” Fanny said, setting the book aside and going towards the door.” “What a tactful soul my sister is,” Serena said, taking his hand. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t wait until we were by ourselves to tell you what I think.”


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“Now I know you are truly are a witch.” He drew her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. “If anyone had told me this morning what I would do before the end of the day, I should have poured scorn on their heads.” “You were magnificent,” she said. “I’m thankful you prodded me.” He led her towards the couch. “Come and tell me again how magnificent I am,” he said, taking her hand and drawing it against himself. “See what your presence does to me?” Serena smiled, her backache and fatigue banished. “Let’s go to your room,” she said. “Fanny might come back here at any moment.”


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CHAPTER 19 During the next two weeks Blaydon’s condition showed improvement, though he was still not out of danger. His bruises faded but the flesh around the wound in his shoulder stayed inflamed and he drifted in and out of consciousness. Clairmont called in a doctor with a reputation for healing eyesight, but although the man anointed Blaydon’s eyes with foul smelling ointments, the treatment did no good. The blows he had received had damaged the nerves beyond repair. Since Fanny had not completed her search for new clothes, Serena offered to go on another shopping expedition with her. Best to take advantage of the haberdashers, milliners and fashionable mantua makers of London while they could. But Fanny had lost her interest in a new wardrobe. “I am anxious about John Blaydon’s progress,” she said. “I would prefer to stay and keep him company. “Blaydon has two nurses already,” Serena pointed out. “They only keep him clean and give him his laudanum. If I am there, I can help him try to take a little soup and I can read to him.” “He can’t hear you if he’s unconscious,” Clairmont said. “I feel certain my presence comforts him.” Fanny set her lips in a more stubborn expression than Serena had ever seen. So Fanny spent several hours each day sitting beside Blaydon’s bedside. Serena heard her talking softly to the patient and reading passages from one of her favorite novels. Serena wasn’t at all sure that Blaydon would be engrossed by The Mysteries of Udolpho, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Blaydon’s condition was certainly not getting worse from Fanny’s attentions. Perhaps Blaydon would be interested in some of the daily news in the Morning Post? With that idea in mind, Serena ordered a copy of the newspaper to be sent up to her room one morning. Scanning the front pages she found news from Europe. Efforts to keep France bottled up, to prevent ambitious hotheads from copying Napoleon’s failed attempts to dominate of the continent. Would Blaydon find such an article tedious? How about reports of the latest debates in Parliament? No, too much pompous argument. Not the stuff to cheer a sick man.


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Serena turned to the inside sheets and discovered a gossipy section containing snippets of so-called ‘on dits.’ As she glanced through one of these she gasped. She read it quickly again and felt sick. A certain freshly-minted earl has recently arrived in town and taken rooms at the C... with his paramour. Miss W... exhibits a disregard for the conventions of polite society by a display of her present interesting condition, which would appear to have been arrived at through the seduction of a married man. One is left to wonder at the status of the plump younger sister who also accompanied the party. Is little Miss A...a failed chaperone? Or does she share the wanton tendencies of her sister towards the battle-scared young earl? Serena hurled the paper to the floor, as though it had bitten her. Her pulse raced with anger and shock. She had seen such veiled and titillating reports before, but only in the scandal sheets. And they had seemed mildly amusing, with their unfinished names which left little doubt of identities. But she had supposed the Morning Post to be a respectable publisher of news facts, not scandalous innuendo. She must keep the paper away from Fanny and Clairmont. How dreadful to have her dear young sister the object of such scurrilous speculation. As for the hurt she felt herself...well, she had to admit she had welcomed, even actively encouraged Clairmont’s lovemaking. Yet, even if she had not, an adulterous woman was always an object of blame, while a married man who took a mistress was not. Serena suddenly remember how angrily Clairmont had reacted when titled mourners snubbed her at his father’s funeral. He would be enraged at this snide attack. She must hide the newspaper away from him. A knock at the sitting room door startled her. She stuffed the offending sheets beneath the cushions of the couch before answering. Her maid Mary stood in the doorway. The maid looked at Serena and wrinkled her forehead. “Is something the matter, Miss Serena?” Serena lifted her chin. “Not at all, I’m perfectly all right.” Mary looked unconvinced. “The concierge brought a message that there’s a gentleman downstairs in the lobby asking to see Lord Clairmont. When he heard his lordship was out, he asked to see you,” she said, handing Serena a card. Serena turned it over and read the name of the Honorable Peterson Jenkins, Clairmont’s friend who had gone off to India, after bringing Clairmont back to Shalford from Waterloo. “Have the gentleman brought up at once,” she said.


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Serena smoothed her dress and wished she could do the same with her ruffled feelings. Perhaps even Jenkins would avoid them if he got news of the scandal. “Dear Miss Warren, I am delighted to see you again!” Jenkins bowed low over Serena’s hand and looked genuinely pleased to see her. Jenkins’ time in India had made his cheeks more ruddy, but they were as plump and rounded as Serena remembered. His mouth still turned up at the corners as though he was ready to break into a wide grin at any moment. Except for having increased his ample waistline, he looked unchanged from the goodnatured young man who had left England. “I have just arrived back in England and I can’t wait to see how Clairmont health has progressed,” he said. “His recovery was remarkably good, as you will see. He will be back shortly,” Serena said. “ Please stay and take some tea until he returns.” She rang to order a tray to be sent up, and invited Jenkins to take a seat. It wasn’t proper for her to entertain him alone, but it was too late to start observing the proprieties now. “How did you find us here?” Serena asked. In answer, Jenkins pointed to a corner of the Morning Post, which was sticking out from its hiding place under the sofa cushions. “I have to thank the scurrilous rag that you have there.” For once, his expression looked sour. Serena’s heart sank. “Then you’re already up to date with the current gossip?” “The papers are always full of gossip,” he said. “The remedy is to ignore it. They will eventually find others to pillory.” Serena began to feel a slight lift of her spirits. She smiled at Jenkins. “You were a good friend to Clairmont when he came home so badly wounded.” “And I observed that you, Miss Warren, did not repudiate him, nor did you let him feel sorry for himself.” There was a brief pause before he added, “Melinda’s rejection of him must have cut even deeper than his wounds.” Serena gave Jenkins a smile that said more than her full heart could express. This was one man whose esteem and friendship they hadn’t lost. “And Miss Fanny, how is she?” Jenkins asked. His tone was far too casual. Serena remembered how Fanny had worshipped Jenkins from afar, but he had always been tongue tied in her presence, though he was some seven years her senior. “Fanny is very well,” Serena said. “She is keeping an eye on Clairmont’s cousin, John Blaydon, who was badly hurt in an accident. Clairmont had him brought here for nursing.” “Would Miss Fanny remember me, do you think?” Jenkins asked.


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Serena forced herself to keep a straight face. “I think she would have some remembrance of you. Would you like to see her?” She led Jenkins to the room where Blaydon lay and opened the door quietly, so as not to disturb the sick man. Fanny had her back to the door reading in her soft voice. Serena saw the flush that suffused Jenkins face and neck. She coughed and Fanny turned around. For a moment, Serena thought her sister would fly across the room into Jenkins’ embrace. Then Fanny recollected herself, closed the book and came to offer him her hand, the sparkle in her eyes contradicting her sedate demeanor. “Come and have tea with us, Fanny,” Serena said. Fanny looked stricken. “The nurse has gone out. I cannot leave the patient on his own.” Jenkins’ adam’s apple rose and fell again. So far, he hadn’t said a word. “Th..then I will stay too...with your permission, Miss Fanny.” “I’ll call you as soon as Clairmont returns,” Serena said. Serena left Blaydon with his two guardians and returned to the sitting room. The tea tray had arrived and her appetite had returned with a vengeance, so she helped herself to a couple of tiny sausage rolls. “My favorite lover and my favorite food,” Clairmont strode through the doorway, still clad in his greatcoat. He kissed Serena on her lips and then filched one of the savory rolls to pop into his own mouth. “And who might your other lovers be?” Serena asked in mock severity. “Banished, all banished since you stole my heart.” Dropping his mock jaunty air, Clairmont took off his coat, draped it on a chair and came to sit beside her. “Something is wrong.” Despite his banter, Serena could see it in his face. Clairmont must have seen the gossip reported in the newspaper. “I’m terribly concerned at the slow rate of progress the divorce is making. It takes a private act of parliament, which was tabled months ago, also a great deal of money, which I have gladly paid. The sticking point still seems to be the lack of proof of Melinda’s adultery with another man.” “That was why Blaydon hoped to get a settlement from you in return for testimony. “Yes.” Clairmont stroked his chin, frowning. “What puzzles me is why he set his thugs on me when I went to see him.” “Perhaps he didn’t,” Serena said. “It might have been a misunderstanding.” “I must question Blaydon about it, if he recovers. Have you seen how he is this morning, by the way?” “Yes, I was in there a few minutes ago,” Serena said. “I left him with a special visitor.” She rang for a servant and requested that the gentleman, who was visiting Mr. Blaydon, be conducted back to the sitting room. When Jenkins came in, Clairmont jumped up, his face glowing.


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“My dear friend! What a wonderful surprise! When did you get back from India?” “I returned just a day or two ago,” Jenkins said, as the two men greeted each other with handshakes and hearty thumps on the back. “You’re looking considerably better than when I last saw you, old man.” “And a lot of the credit goes to this wonderful lady.” Clairmont smiled and sent her a look of such tenderness that Serena’s heart turned over. “But how did you know I was in the city, and staying at this place, Jenkins?” Serena bit her lip and drew in her breath sharply. Jenkins looked at her. “Oh dear,” he said. “Did I let the cat out of the bag before you had a chance to show him?” “Show me what?” Clairmont demanded. Serena had no choice but to retrieve the Morning Post from beneath the cushions and point out the offending column. His face darkened as he read and the muscles in his jaw clenched rigid. Then without a word, he tore the sheets into shreds and hurled them into the glowing coals of the fireplace where they erupted briefly into flames. By the time the flames had died and the charred remains crumbled into tiny black fragments, Clairmont had gained control of himself. “They wouldn’t dare print names or they would find themselves hung out to dry for libel,” he said in a bitter voice. “As it is, they can wreak havoc on our lives with impunity.” “It’s a low blow, Clairmont,” Jenkins said, “but your true friends will not be affected by such mean spirited gossip.” “They dared to insult and hurt my dear Serena,” Clairmont said slowly. Serena put her hand on his arm. “I don’t care, William. Truly I don’t care.” His eyes looked haggard as he looked down at her. “But I care, terribly. And...even little Fanny didn’t escape their innuendo.” Turning to Jenkins, he shook him by the hand. “Thank God for a staunch, honest friend like you. As to the rest of society, it can go to hell.” Jenkins called every day for the remainder of their stay in London. He was a regular visitor to Blaydon’s sickroom, where he spent several hours keeping Fanny company in her bedside vigil. Clairmont fretted to shake of dust of London from his boots and to get far away from the sense of isolation he now felt in the city. Every time his dear Serena went out, he feared some new slight that would wound her. Although she assured him that nothing of the sort could upset her, Clairmont wanted to protect her from all unpleasantness, just the same. He admired her strength and spirit in the face of the insults she had suffered. And they hadn’t only come through the newspapers. On a recent visit to the Lackington Allen bookshop, seeking fresh reading material for Fanny,


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Serena had endured several sly comments from former acquaintances. The Ladies Markham and Granby, close friends of the Northrup family, had snubbed her altogether. Even though Melinda Northrup had left him, Serena was clearly labeled as an adulteress for taking her place. Serena was up in her room at that moment, seated at her little portable writing desk, writing a letter to Caroline. At least, it was a letter designed for the nurse to read aloud to his daughter. Clairmont felt comforted by the obvious love that existed between Serena and his child. On a whim, he decided to join Serena, and add a postscript to the letter, sending his love and the promise that they would be back in Shalford very soon. Before he could carry through with the notion, a servant announced the arrival of a visitor with important business, who was waiting in the lobby below. The visitor’s card bore the title of The Honorable J. B. Haskett. Clairmont had heard the name, but had never met the man and knew nothing about him. He frowned and shrugged. “Show the gentleman up.” Haskett, tall, long-nosed and poised, bowed deeply to Clairmont, who returned the salutation with more reserve. “I have come to inquire about the health of my good friend and your cousin, John Blaydon, sir,” Haskett said. Warning bells sounded in the back of Clairmont’s consciousness. Blaydon had never appeared to have many good friends, merely gambling acquaintances. “Blaydon is recovering slowly, but still has a long way to go,” he said. “Will he ever regain his former health and strength, do you think, Sir?” “He will be a permanent invalid,” Clairmont said shortly. “Ahh...” Haskett shook his head and took on a mournful expression. “Then the poor fellow is hardly likely to be able to fulfill his financial obligations...” The warning bells grew louder. “Which obligations are those, Haskett?” Haskett looked down his long nose and coughed delicately. “Blaydon had a...strong tendency to be attracted to the gaming tables. He suffered some unfortunate reverses of fortune. In fact...he faced total ruin on several occasions.” Clairmont frowned, but didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch. Haskett coughed again, then continued. “As his friend, I felt obliged to help when he came to me in distress, appealing for my assistance.” “How much?” Clairmont demanded. “How big was the loan?” “It...mounted up somewhat...I helped him out on several occasions.” “How much?” Clairmont repeated. “The final total amounted to some fifty thousand pounds.” Clairmont could hardly believe Blaydon’s stupidity to get himself into such a hole. “Why did you keep advancing him money when he kept losing and it was obvious you wouldn’t get your money back?”


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Haskett hesitated, appearing to choose his words with care. “He assured me that, as a close member of the Earl of Shalford’s family, his debts would be honored.” A close member of the family. Clairmont recognized the phrase. “It was you who sent me the anonymous letter to inform me of what you called Blaydon’s ‘unfortunate accident’.” “Indeed it was, Sir. Since he was your cousin, I knew you would wish to come to his aid.” “And how did you learn about the ‘accident?” “I discovered him when I called at his lodging. He had promised to have a repayment ready for me. But instead he was lying on the floor, covered with blood.” Haskett shivered delicately. He stopped and took a pinch of snuff from a blue snuffbox. Despite the shiver, Clairmont noticed that the fellow’s fingers remained steady. “The bed and furniture had been overturned and ransacked. I called my servant to put the furniture back to rights. He laid Blaydon on the bed and wiped his face with vinegar water.” “You didn’t attempt to help him any further?” “I felt I was already involved too deeply in Blaydon’s affairs and that his family should come and take care of him.” The fellow was too smooth by half. Clairmont glared at him. “I suggest, Haskett, that you were the one who attacked him because he owed you money.” “Ridiculous,” Haskett sputtered. “What good would it do to attack him and leave him for dead like that? How could he have repaid me then?" “That was the point of your letter, Haskett. You had meant to hurt him a little, just so he would be scared enough to get the money. But things got out of hand. You were afraid he would die, so you sent word to me, so I could have him taken care of.” “Wait a minute! You can’t think that I...?” Haskett stepped back, eyebrows raised with outrage. “That’s just what I think, Haskett. And now you’re trying to con me into covering Blaydon’s losses.” Clairmont stumped across the room and glared into Haskett’s narrow face. “But surely, Clairmont, you must cover your cousin’s debts. Your family’s honor is at stake here.” “I’ll see you in hell first, Haskett. Now, get out before I have you arrested and charged with my cousin’s vicious beating.” Haskett sneered up into Clairmont’s face. “I will personally see to it that you never get your divorce passed in parliament, Clairmont. There are those amongst both Whigs and Tories who owe me favors. You will die without an heir and your doxy’s bastards will have no claim to your estates.”


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“Out!” Clairmont growled, restraining himself with difficulty from throwing Haskett out bodily. As he slammed the door behind the fellow, Clairmont thought his head would explode. The headband of his eye patch chafed him and he pulled it off impatiently. He stumped over to the window and watched Haskett emerge from the hotel entrance, five floors below. The man didn’t look up, but climbed into a waiting carriage and drove away. Clairmont rested his throbbing forehead against the cold glass of the windowpane, and was still standing there when Serena came to look for him several minutes later. “I thought you would like to read what I have written to Caroline...” she began, then broke off and flew over beside him. “Dearest! Tell me what has happened.” Drawing her close to him, he cradled her in his arms. “Nothing of any consequence as long as I have you,” he said through gritted teeth. Haskett’s taunt about bastards and his referral to Serena as a doxy gripped Clairmont in a visceral way. Once again he was tormented to acknowledge how he had let his passion for her destroy his self-control and her honor.


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CHAPTER 20 The next morning, rain beat against the windows of their sitting room, and candles were lit to dispel the gloom of the day. But, for Serena, they did nothing to disperse the heavy atmosphere between herself and Clairmont, as they each picked at the breakfast, which had been sent up from the hotel kitchen. Last night they had not slept together. “I feel too restless. I fear disturbing you,” was all Clairmont had said as he kissed her goodnight at the door of her room. Serena had tossed uneasily herself. I hadn’t been the growing size of the baby in her womb, although its pressure caused her to get out and use the closestool during the night. She simply felt adrift from the closeness she and Clairmont had shared for so many weeks. “I can’t wait to leave the wagging tongues of the city and get back to the peace of Shalford,” he said, pushing his plate aside. “I look forward to going back, too,” Serena said. “But I’m glad we came to London.” She reached over to stroke his hand. “ Your caring treatment of Blaydon is heartwarming.” “I couldn’t leave him to die. And I shall continue to have him lodged and tended to. But he will never be welcome in Shalford, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive him.” The harsh note in Clairmont’s voice and the stubborn set of his jaw made Serena realize how tense he was. Yet all threat of attack from Blaydon had now evaporated. The broken man in his back room could never initiate any move of the sort, even if he lived. What was behind Clairmont’s anger? It had intensified beyond his indignation at the sly newspaper gossip. It seemed to stem from the time she had found him alone in the sitting room the afternoon before. He had refused to tell her what had upset him. But she must pry it out of him, or it would eat him up. “Something bad happened yesterday afternoon. It upset you very much but you haven’t told me what it was,” she said. Clairmont threw down his napkin and stood up from the table. “Since there is little either of us can do, there is no point in hashing it over.” Serena stood up too. “Yes, there is. And I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.” She glared at him. “I won’t let you retreat into yourself and shut me out.”


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He turned away as if to leave the room. She gripped the edge of the table. For a moment she thought she had lost him. “Yesterday you said it was nothing of any consequence as long as you had me,” she said. “But you’re about to lose me if you erect this barrier of anger and silence between us.” He swung back then, torment in his face. “I’d sooner lose my own life than lose you.” “Then, whatever the problem, let me face it with you,” she pleaded. “The fault is mine and the blame is mine,” he said bitterly. He pushed up his eye patch and rubbed his thumb irritably over his brow and eyelid, adding to the red mark left by the headband holding the patch in place. “I have ruined your reputation, just because I could not control my lust for you. In the eyes of the world you are an adulteress, a fallen woman.” Taking her hands between his he kissed them, looking up at her with bleak eyes. “Our child will be labeled a bastard.” Serena tried to shake off the chill that gripped her. “Surely we shall be married before the birth,” she said, making her voice as positive as she could. Then Clairmont told her of Haskett’s visit, of the money owed to him and his threat to block the passage of the divorce. A hard knot of worry began to gather in Serena’s stomach. This would not do. She must keep up her spirits to guard her own health and that of her baby. There was no question of Clairmont paying off such a huge sum of money when he’d had no part in gambling it away. “You must never submit to blackmail,” she said. “It may be clutching at straws, but why don’t you go and talk to Blaydon.” Clairmont’s brow darkened. “I don’t see what good that can do.” “But he’s more intimately acquainted with Haskett. He might have ideas to share with you, especially since you have been the means of saving his life.” “I still can’t forget that he tried very hard to take mine,” Clairmont growled. “I can hardly bear to be in the same room with him.” “We’ve got nothing to lose,” she said. Fanny hadn’t arrived in the sick room to take up her self-appointed post of cheer-giver by the time Clairmont walked in. Fanny was a night owl who loved to linger in her bed long after Serena had risen. A middle-aged woman wearing a blue-checkered dress and voluminous white pinafore stood up to greet Clairmont. “Good morning, my lord. Mr. Blaydon is awake. He had a good night and he ate his gruel like a lamb this morning.” “Thank you, Mrs. Knight.” Clairmont glanced at the figure lying in the bed. What a difference from the dying wretch he’d been, some twelve days before.


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“I wish to speak with the gentleman, alone” he said. “He can hear what you say to him, sir, but he hasn’t done much talking,” the woman said, as she made her way out. Clairmont moved closer to the bed. Blaydon’s eyes were swathed in a cloth. The parts of his face that were visible no longer bore bruises and the attendant had shaved him. His jowls looked even darker than usual against the chalk-white skin of the rest of his face. His left arm lay outside the sheet. A bulky bandage covered the shoulder. With a shock, Clairmont remembered that there was no arm on the right side at all. “Blaydon, can you hear me?” he said. He thought Blaydon must be asleep after all, because there was no response. Drawing a chair closer to the bed, he sat to wait. After a few minutes Blaydon’s lips moved. His voice sounded like a man in a dream. Clairmont leaned forward to catch the words. “Clairmont...it was a mistake...I needed the money.” “I know. I’ve been talking to Haskett. He’s trying to dun me for it now.” “He’s...a very powerful man. Half the cabinet owes him money.” So that was why Haslett made his threat to prevent passage of the divorce through the House. “And he’s dangerous, judging by the violent of the attack on you.” “No,” Blaydon lifted his hand in protest. “Not Haskett.” “Well, I doubted he would have attacked you personally. Beneath his dignity. He would send hired thugs do his dirty work.” Blaydon appeared to be in distress, thrashing his head from side to side. “What is it, man? You need more laudanum?” Clairmont fumbled for the bottle beside the bed. “Sluggin and Mobbs,” Blaydon burst out. “Came after me. Demanded payment.” “Haskett’s men.” “No...” Blaydon screwed up his face. “Not Haskett’s men.” “Good God, don’t tell me you had somebody else after you. Who else lent you money?” “Only Haskett. He advanced me enough to pay off all my gambling losses.” Clairmont felt his stomach sink. Why would the man do this? “Have a care, Clairmont. Haskett has influence on both sides of the House. It’s rumored that both Pitt and Fox are in his debt.” Blaydon was talking nonsense, Clairmont decided. Both men were wealthy. Each reveled in the verbal fisticuffs between Whigs and Tories which daily widened the political gulf between them. How could such men be indebted to Haskett? “But if it wasn’t Haskett who hired this pair of thugs to attack you, then who? You must know, if you have their names.”


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Blaydon groaned and thrashed his head about. “My men,” he said, finally. “My fault.” Clairmont felt he was getting out of his depth. “What on earth are you getting at?” “I owed them money.” “But you just said Haskett advanced you money to pay off your debts.” “This wasn’t gambling. This was...a job they messed up.” A light dawned. “You paid them to kill me,” Clairmont said coldly. “The two supposed highway robbers who attacked me on the road from Dunwich. They failed. And then you set them to trap me in the alley at Pimm’s Reach.” “No. Not that time,” Blaydon protested. “I wanted to talk to you about the divorce. Haskett was pressing me for repayment. He threatened...said you would be desperate enough to pay for my help.” “It was bad luck,” he whispered. “Sluggin and Mobbs had found out where I was and came to demand payment. When they saw you, they thought it was a chance to finish what they were supposed to have done before.” “You certainly chose a most inept pair,” Clairmont said. “Vicious but not skilled.” “You were a tough nut to crack.” Blaydon’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “And then you took care of me. Why?” “You have to thank Miss Warren for that. If it had been left to me...” Clairmont hesitated, “I wanted nothing more to do with you.” “I would now be dead.” “Yes. And you would no longer pose a threat.” “How can I possibly be a threat to you in this condition?” “If you survive, and my divorce is denied passage, you still stand to inherit my title and estate if anything happens to me,” Clairmont said. A sheen of sweat had begun to form on Blaydon’s forehead and neck. “You’re going to kill me!” Clairmont looked with contempt at the writhing, fearful creature on the bed. What a deep hole Blaydon had dug for himself. And his cousin’s debts now made Clairmont vulnerable to Haskett as well. He tried to see Blaydon through Serena’s eyes. Though he was the architect of his own misfortunes Blaydon was surely paying for his follies. Blinded in both eyes, he had lost his right arm and would be permanently weakened by internal injuries. Taking a deep breath, Clairmont took out his handkerchief and wiped away the perspiration from his cousin’s brow. “No need to be afraid of me,” he said in a low voice. ”I don’t think I can ever forgive you. But I shall arrange for you to be cared for, as long as you need it.”


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While Serena waited for Clairmont to return from Blaydon’s room, she called in the servants to clear away the breakfast and put the sitting room back ready for visitors. In many ways it would be good to be back at Shalford, where they could leave breakfast dishes out for latecomers like Fanny. Shalford had a drawing room, a parlor and even a gallery where they could receive guests. Not that they would have a great many callers, if she and Clairmont were considered ‘beyond the pale.’ Serena didn’t care about most of the visitors, but it hurt to realize that, apart from Fanny, her family members would refuse to come and stay with them. She drifted over to the window. Rain still teemed down. Not much chance of an outing today. Somehow, with this realization, the walls of the sitting room seemed to close in like a prison, making her restless. Would Clairmont be able to find a way out of their problems during his talk with Blaydon? Serena rubbed impatiently at a fly speck on the window pane. A phaeton splashed through the puddles on the shiny street below and drew to a stop outside the entrance to the hotel. The portly figure of Jenkins, emerged and was immediately hidden by the umbrella of the porter who hurried out to escort him inside. Serena rang the bell. “Show Mr. Jenkins up at once,” she said, not waiting for his card to be brought up from the lobby. Thanks to the porter’s ministrations, barely a drop of water had reached the shoulders of Jenkins’ dark green coat. And the rain had done nothing to dampen his cheerful smile. Serena felt her spirits rise as he came through the door. She welcomed him with enthusiasm and invited him to sit down. “I have a special favor to ask you,” she said. “Anything within my power, dear lady.” Jenkins leaned forward attentatively. “Actully, it’s something I should like to order for Clairmont.” Serena went on to explain precisely what she wanted and Jenkins nodded. “Very thoughtful idea. I shall see about it immediately, Miss Warren.” “I should be pleased if you would call me Serena.” His round face grew rosy. “I consider it an honor, Miss ...Serena.” The door burst open and Fanny came in with a rush. She stopped to see the two of them talking. “What’s this? I hope I didn’t interrupt! Good morning, Mr. Jenkins.” Fanny looked flustered to see him there. She darted a glance around the room. “Oh...I’m too late.” “I’m so sorry, Fanny, I had forgotten that you hadn’t eaten any breakfast,” Serena said. She had been so concerned with the problem that loomed for Clairmont and herself, which had destroyed her own appetite, that she had thoughtlessly ordered the food cleared away.


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“No breakfast, Miss Fanny? What a terrible fate,” Jenkins said. “Breakfast is my most favorite meal. In fact, I would welcome another. Allow me to escort you down to the dining room to see what they have to offer.” “I think the breakfast service will be finished,” Serena said. “Perhaps we could persuade the kitchen to cook something special. We cannot have a young lady going hungry. If you will excuse us, Serena?” Jenkins courteously escorted a surprised looking Fanny through the door. Serena could hardly believe it. The shy, diffidence that Jenkins usually displayed in Fanny’s presence had disappeared. A mutual love of food had done what the usual situations of polite conversation could not. Jenkins was rising to the epicurean challenge. With their departure, she began to wonder about Clairmont’s visit with Blaydon. Perhaps she should go down there and see how they were getting on? No. That would be entirely the wrong thing to do. She must just wait until they had finished. She wished she had her piano here. There was so little to do, unless one embroidered or read, or wrote letters. Perhaps she should write to her mother. Even though Lady Warren had stopped communicating with her, and only wrote to Fanny, there was no reason why she should not send a letter to Brundle Hill and hope her mother would read it. She would have her little writing desk brought down here. That way she would be ready to hear how Clairmont had fared, just as soon as he came back. Serena had just written, Dearest Mama, when Clairmont walked in. The expression on his face was not encouraging. “Did Blaydon talk to you?” Clairmont nodded. “Not much help there, I see,” she said, setting aside her pen and going to kiss him. “The man’s been a fool. Haskett has him right under his thumb. And Blaydon has provided a handy conduit from Haskett to me. Clairmont frowned. “I think it’s time I took my seat in the House of Lords.” Serena’s chest tightened. “But that means we should have to stay in London. I thought you were anxious to return home to Shalford.” He drew her close and kissed her. “You must go back to Shalford and take good care of yourself and our child. I have the option of coming with you and being in a constant state of worry over the divorce proceedings, or staying here to fight actively to get the bill passed.” “But the House of Lords is not the Commons,” Serena said. “It’s in the Commons where it must be heard first.” “I am well aware of that, my love.” Cupping her face between his hands he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “There are certain favors that I may be able to call in. It’s just a chance, but I must try everything.”


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Two days later, Serena’s heart was ready to break as she bid him goodbye. When the heavy traveling coach turned the corner at the end of the street, she looked back to see Clairmont standing at the Connaught entrance with his hand raised in farewell. He still bore a strong resemblance to a tall, fierce pirate. Beside him, an unusually serious Jenkins lifted his hat in salute. Fanny and Mary sat with her on the thickly padded seats. The maid fussed over her mistress. “Let me tuck the robe around your legs more snugly, Miss Serena. Oh, I’m so relieved to be getting away from London. Such an unhealthy place for birthing a child.” “It’s a warm spring day, Mary, and I’m not expecting the baby until July,” Serena said trying not to add exasperation to her sadness at leaving Clairmont behind. Fanny said very little during the journey, apart from expressing her worry about Blaydon’s welfare without her daily visits. “Won’t you be concerned about Peterson Jenkins’ welfare in your absence?” Serena asked at one point. Fanny colored a little. “Mr. Jenkins managed very well by himself all the while he was in India. I should imagine he can do as well in London.” “I find it a comfort that he is with William,” Serena said. Barely a fortnight later, Jenkins appeared at Shalford with a letter for Serena, bearing the seal of the Earl of Shalford, and the news that Blaydon was getting stronger every day. Fanny clapped her hands. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it,” she said. “Such terrible wounds. I pitied him deeply.” Jenkins seemed to shrink within himself at Fanny’s delight over Blaydon’s improvement. He was once again the tongue-tied young man of yore. But Serena, anxious to read Clairmont’s letter, retired to her room, leaving Jenkins and Fanny to converse as best they could in the drawing room. Serena held the letter close for a moment. Clairmont’s strong, capable hands had sealed it that very morning. Then she opened it eagerly. My Dearest Serena, How I miss you and long to be there with you. I need to feel your arms about me. I need to caress your beautiful, loving face and hear your laughter. I miss the support of your inner strength and that stubborn spirit that defies the world. I miss...but dearest, you know what I miss. Perhaps it is just as well that we are apart for when we are together I find it almost impossible to resist the charms of your body. I fear any hurt I might cause to you or our unborn child. As for the progress of my mission here, I have buttonholed every member in both Houses with whom I have been acquainted in any way. I have been met


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with sympathetic ears, but the world of politics is so devious, so fraught with strange divisions that I do not appear to have made substantial progress. Men seem to give verbal assurances with relative ease and then change their positions overnight. I will not give up. I cannot give up until I have won the fight to make you my own darling wife. Kiss little Caroline for me. Tell her Papa will bring her a present when he comes. Please give my regards to Miss Fanny. I remain, Your most loving and devoted William Clairmont Serena’s eyes were bright with tears when she finished reading. At times, her stubborn spirit seemed to desert her. She longed too much for Clairmont’s presence. Whether she ever became Lady Clairmont, Countess of Shalford, or remained plain Miss Warren seemed of relative unimportance to her. A year ago, she never could have imagined the bliss of being beloved by Clairmont and of carrying his child. But her happiness was blemished by his anguish at her precarious position in the world, should he not be there to protect her. And her marriage was vital in the eyes of her parents. The loss of their closeness was the other blot on her life. Serena kissed the letter and placed it in her writing desk. Then she wiped her eyes and went to find Caroline in the nursery, to give the little girl a hug and her father’s message. The following morning she gave Jenkins a letter for Clairmont. “I shall deliver it into his hands before dark,” Jenkins said. “And I have not neglected the commission you gave me, Serena,” he added, tucking the letter into his saddlebag. “The article in question is being carefully crafted. It will be ready within the next few weeks.” Fanny’s eyes were wide with questions. Serena smiled, but didn’t explain.


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CHAPTER 21 Summer, 1816 The hot, sticky days of July had come. Serena knew her time of delivery was close. She sat in the garden close by the goldfish pond, sheltered by the large parasol Mary had insisted on bringing out. Caroline was rolling in the grass instead of sitting sedately on her rug, much to her nurse’s chagrin and Serena’s secret delight. “You’ll get green stains all over your pretty dress, Miss Caroline,” the nurse chided. “Look, Miss Tibbs likes it when I tickle her tummy. Why doesn’t Miss Tibbs’ fur get green stains?” Caroline asked, as the cat wriggled back on all four feet and pounced on the stem of grass in her hand. “Perhaps we should knit you a dress made of kitten fur.” Serena suggested, pointing to a small handful of tawny hairs the cat had left on the rug. Caroline laughed. “You’re just teasing,” she said. Then she looked up and startled Serena with a piercing shriek. “Papa!” Serena felt almost lightheaded with joy and relief. Having caught up the small missile hurtling towards him, Clairmont smiled over his daughter’s head at Serena with such love she thought her heart would burst. “I had to come. I knew it was time,” he said. But when they were together that night and he was holding her as gently as if she might break at any moment, Serena learned that the divorce seemed to be elusive as ever. “The delays are driving me mad,” Clairmont confessed. “I run into more arguments and obstacles at every turn.” Serena pushed the dark hair back from his forehead and slipped off the eye patch. “Hush, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I have you here with me and nothing else matters. Nothing, do you understand?” Groaning, he buried his face in her neck. “I long to caress you, but I’m afraid of hurting you.” “Touch me here and feel your baby.” Taking his hand, she laid it on her swollen abdomen and watched as his face lit up with delight. “It’s moving,” he said. “I can feel it clearly.”


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Clairmont passed the next two days alternately fretting over possible avenues he might have missed to get the divorce bill over its hurdles, and worrying about Serena. Although she assured him she had never felt so well, he remembered Melinda’s grumbling about her discomfort in the heat. Surely Serena must be coping with the same difficulties. He watched her getting out of her chair. She moved slowly, unlike her usual quick, graceful movements, pulling on the arm of the chair, to help herself. She must feel heavy and bloated. Why was she not railing at him for being the causing of her condition? When she looked up and caught his glance, her face broke into a smile. “Soon now,” she said. “Oh, William, I’m a little afraid, and yet so impatient. I can’t wait to hold our child in my arms.” Clairmont had to turn away from her. He was living on a knife’s edge. Why couldn’t you have left her alone? His mind screamed at him. “Why are they holding up the divorce?” he agonized aloud. Her hand clutched his arm and he swung back to face her. Serena’s brows were drawn together and he lips parted in a grimace. “Fanny!” he shouted. “Mary, come quickly!” He rushed to pull the bell rope. Fanny, Mary and two footman converged on the room at the same time. “Quickly, send for Dr. Napier!” Clairmont said. Serena puffed out a breath of relief. “It’s gone off now. It must have been something I ate.” “Begging your pardon, Miss Serena, it was nothing you ate. Your time is due,” Mary said. “But, don’t worry, it was just a signal to start getting ready.” “I’ll take her upstairs,” Fanny said. “I’m quite capable of taking myself up.” Serena started walking towards the door. Her next cramp came when she reached the bedroom. When it faded, she turned and faced the little entourage with exasperation. “Please, everybody go away. And William, I don’t want Dr. Napier to come. I just want Fanny and Mary.” “But I’ve never attended a birth,” Fanny said in alarm. “Then I’ll have the village midwife. She must have brought dozens of babies into the world. She can instruct you.” Clairmont argued in vain. Serena declared she would rather have a midwife’s herbs than a doctor’s harsh medications and forceps. Within half an hour, Anna Clark was duly fetched from the village and she took charge of preparations in the birthing room. By mid-afternoon, the pains were coming more frequently. Banished from the room because his edginess drove him to pace so much that he was upsetting Serena, Clairmont continued his agitated stumping back and forth in the gallery. This was the lowest, most painful point of his life. Even worse than when he had been wounded. He had been able to bear the pain then, but now he


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berated himself for what he had inflicted on his beloved. He had left her without honor and although he had striven mightily to put things right, his world was beyond his control. Hearing a loud voice coming from the direction of the entrance hall, Clairmont hurried in that direction, ready to castigate whoever was shouting. He refused to allow anyone else to disturb Serena. “Clairmont!” Jenkins pushed past the footman trying to take his cloak. He almost ran towards Clairmont his round face bursting with good news and almost too much out of breath to get it out. “You’ve got it! They passed it! Congratulations, old man!” Jenkins had pounded him on the back a couple of times before Clairmont could absorb the import of what his friend was saying. He shook his head in disbelief, then he felt as though a crushing load had miraculously been lifted from his mind and his heart. He seized Jenkins by the shoulders. “When? How?” he demanded, as if, even now it could turn out to be a hoax, hiding one more implacable delay. “Whoa, steady on, old chap,” Jenkins said. “Give me a large brandy and I’ll tell you how it went. Did you know that it was , in fact, Haskett’s interference which turned things in your favor. Some people felt he went too far...” But Clairmont only half heard his friend. He bellowed to the footman still standing inside the big entrance doors. “Fetch Dawson from the parsonage. Tell him it’s a matter of the utmost urgency. I don’t care what he’s doing. Get him here at once!” The footman turned to run. “Take my fast horse. Put the clergyman up behind you. Hurry, man!” Clairmont bellowed after him. Serena fought through the waves of pain that engulfed her. “Push, my lady. That’s my good girl.” The convulsion left her drained. Fanny wiped her forehead with a cool, wet cloth. Some detached part of her mind heard the juxtaposition of addresses and her lips twisted in amusement. “Mama always called me ‘Good Girl,’” she said faintly. But she was no longer her mother’s good girl. She wanted to explain the irony of it to Fanny, but she was too tired. Serena was aware of a sudden bustle and a draft from the doorway. “You can’t come in here now, my lord!” Anna Clark was protesting. “I must see her at once!” “William?” Serena called. “William!” “Lie still my lady,” the midwife ordered. “Serena, will you marry me?” Clairmont rushed to the bedside and took hold of her hand. His voice rang urgent and jubilant in her ears.


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“Of course, my darling! But why are you asking...?” She suddenly realized why his face was so radiant. “Oh, William, you’ve got the divorce? How wonderf....” But another contraction gripped her and she was forced to give herself up to the next, allconsuming push to bring her child into the world. “Yes! Yes, my love,” she said, when it let her go again. “Oh...but, the license...?” Serena’s voice trailed away. She felt Fanny sponging the perspiration from her face. “Clairmont laughed, and Serena thought she had never heard a more wonderful sound. “I’ve had the special license ready for weeks. And the parson is right here, beside me, ready to perform the ceremony.” A piercing joy swept through Serena’s body like some magic potion, lifting her to an unreal place, where she repeated words after the clergyman, between the ever-quickening contractions that seized her. The clergyman’s voice stopped. “I love you, my dearest wife,” William said. Serena was wracked by a contraction that forced her beyond any pain she had ever imagined. A scream forced itself from deep in her throat. Seconds later a lusty, defiant wail sounded in her ears, as though in answer. Serena fell back, exhausted. A short while later her new husband’s face came into focus, as he leaned over her. “Say ‘hello’ to our son.” Although Clairmont’s cheeks were wet with tears, he still looked like a rascally grinning pirate as he placed the squalling little bundle on her breast. Daylight peeked through the curtains. A slight sound woke Serena. She opened her eyes to find Caroline standing beside the bed holding a blanketwrapped Miss Tibbs in her arms like a baby. Suddenly chafing at its confinement, the cat wriggled out and escaped, landing with all four feet on the floor and a disdainful shaking out of her fur. Caroline began to cry. “Miss Tibbs was s’posed to be my baby but she won’t stay wrapped up.” Serena gathered the little girl up onto the bed and cuddled her. “You will have a baby of your own some day, but you can hold your little brother now, if you take care.” Clairmont came towards them, smiling. He lifted his son from the cradle and placed him in Caroline’s arms, so that Serena was holding both children. “You were determined to make your other hand work,” he said. “And you did.” “That reminds me,” Serena said. “I need to talk to Peterson Jenkins.”


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Clairmont cocked one eyebrow. “He’s waiting for Fanny to appear in the breakfast room.” “Ask him to come up. And perhaps you would take our daughter out to say good morning to Mayberry?” “Delighted to take our daughter out. Come along, Caroline.” When Jenkins came in, he shyly kissed Serena’s hand. “Did you bring it?” she asked. “Here it is.” He brought out a small box. “I made very sure that the fellow matched the color.” Serena studied the contents of the box. “Perfect,” she said. “Thank you, dear Peterson. Now, please go back and take breakfast with Fanny.” His round cheeks flushed. “And be sure to ask her to marry you.” “But...M..Miss Fanny cares more for Blaydon,” he stammered. “No, she doesn’t. She’s naturally tender hearted, but she has loved you for years,” Serena said. “But you must ask her.” “I will.” Jenkins left the room with a bemused smile on his face. Young William began to cry, so Serena took him to her breast, and that was how Clairmont found the pair of them when he returned. “Lucky young fellow,” he said. Serena pointed to the box on the table beside her. “I have a present for you.” “You have already given me the greatest gift of my life,” he said. He opened the box and studied the exquisitely made glass eye, reposing on a cushion of blue velvet. His own good eye looked suspiciously bright and he seemed to be bereft of words. Pulling off his black patch, he handed it to Serena with a flourish. “Say farewell to your pirate, my enchanting witch,” he said. ***

Epilogue: As Serena had hoped, news of the wedding dispelled her parents’ distress. Lady Warren came to stay at Shalford for the birth of Serena’s second son, and


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was kept happily busy attending Fanny’s confinements, following her marriage to Peterson Jenkins. Like a man possessed, Blaydon taught himself to shoot a pistol with his left hand. Within a year he took his own life, immediately after putting a pistol ball through Haskett’s heart. A glowing obituary for Haskett appeared in the Morning Post, but several prominent parliamentarians breathed a private sigh of relief.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Marjorie Daniels

Marjorie Daniels is a former teacher with a passion for story writing. Through Serena’s Eyes is her fourth novel. In her spare time she paddles on a dragon boat team and has written a book on the subject to raise money for breast cancer research. Marjorie lives happily with her husband, Danny, on Vancouver Island and in Arizona.

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