At her words. Cord felt his breath leave him; which fortunately did not preclude his kissing her once more, tenderly and with great thoroughness.
“My dearest—my only love,” he murmured into the scented silk of her hair, “you have just returned my life to me.” He pulled back a little to look at her. “Just to make certain that I truly understand you, are you saying that you will marry me?”
“Yes. When?”
Cord gave a shout of laughter, and grasping her about the waist, swung her feet off the ground in great circles.
“As soon as it can be arranged, my darling.” He set her upright once more. They began to move toward the manor house, leading their mounts. “You do not have to tell me anything you don’t wish to,” he said hesitantly. “But, what changed . . . er, what brought you to the realization of your deathless passion.”
Gillian sighed. “I’m not sure. A combination of things, I guess. My first reaction to all that you said yesterday was to reject it out of hand. But I thought long and hard about everything. Then, later, Aunt Louisa gave me a piece of her mind.”
“Aunt Louisa!”
“Yes, I never realized what a cunning old file she is. I had never disclosed to her my ... feelings for Kenneth, but she had, unbeknownst to me come to a close summary of what I was going through. A great deal of what she said was a repetition of your opinions.”
“My harshly stated opinions. I’m sorry to have grieved you so, Gillian.”
She smiled tremulously. “No, my love. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I pondered your words—and Aunt Louisa’s—and at last I looked into my heart. I realized finally—in the wee hours of the morning—that I’d been a complete fool. Kenneth was a good man—a sweet, kind, gentle man—but he wasn’t the man for me. If I’d been honest, with him as well as myself, I would have never agreed to marry him, let alone led him such a dance. On the other hand, if he’d been honest, too, he would have told me to go find some other man to bedevil.
“His death was a tragic, useless sacrifice, for which the expectations of a number of persons were to blame—mine, Kenneth’s, our parents and even our friends. I am desperately sorry Kenneth is dead, but, as Aunt Louisa said, if he had returned, I might have compounded the tragedy by marrying him.”
Gillian sighed and turned again to Cord. “In short, I arrived—at last—at a point where I can put the whole sad episode behind me.”
Cord blew out a sigh that seem to expel all his doubts and disappointments. “May the poor fellow rest in peace,” he declared solemnly and in all sincerity. He bent to kiss Gillian once more, an activity that proved so pleasant that he was compelled to repeat it.
Gillian pulled away from him at last.
“Cord, instead of continuing on to Wildehaven, would you mind if we returned to the cottage? Aunt and uncle will still be in their beds, but I don’t think they’d mind being roused for a bit of good news.”
“If I know Sir Henry, he’s probably been up this hour and more, working on the diary a bit more before he turns it over to John.”
Gillian chucked. “I’m sure you’re right. In fact, he will no doubt be highly incensed at our interrupting him with such a triviality as a betrothal announcement.”
“For which Aunt Louisa will put him firmly in his place.”
“Lord, yes. Our news will take first priority with her. You know,” she added mischievously, “she had you staked out for me almost the moment you walked in the front door of Rose Cottage.”
Cord clapped a hand to his forehead. “I knew it! Another scheming female!”
“Yes, indeed. Ah, the curse of being wealthy and titled—and absolutely lovable,” she finished softly.
“How I’ve suffered all my life,” murmured Cord, bending to affirm this assessment by his beloved.
“I am so very glad we have no more secrets buried between us,” Gillian declared rather breathlessly at last. “No more revelations of a misspent past. And,” she added with a chuckle, “most important of all—at least to one member of my family—no more codes to be discovered.”
“Ah, the diary. I wondered when we would come to that. Let me tell you, my love, that in the event your uncle—fine fellow though he is—decides to dip his scholarly fingers into the Egyptian stone translation he will have to look elsewhere for help. For I shall be much too busy to involve myself.”
Gillian sent him a sidelong glance. “You mean setting about all the tasks you’ve neglected for so long.”
“Yes, of course. That and starting in on those offspring I spoke to you about awhile back.”
At this, Gillian sent him another glance, this one filled with such warmth and promise that Cord was obliged to kiss her again—several times. At length, Gillian withdrew, flushed and laughing.
“I think we’d best be on our way, love. Enticing as the idea sounds, I think we should not start on that particular project right this minute.”
“No,” sighed Cord regretfully. “But I suggest an early wedding.”
They remounted their horses at last, and turning, trotted toward Rose Cottage, into the dawn.
Author’s Note
History credits young John Smith of St. John’s College, Cambridge University (afterwards Rector of Baldock in Hertfordshire) with the translation of Pepys’s diary, which was published in 1825. Although Lord Grenville seems to have been involved with breaking the code, it is not clear who made the actual connection between Mr. Pepys’s shorthand and the Shelton system of tachygraphy. Therefore, the author feels no qualms in creating a story of it-might-have-happened-like-this.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to thank Aude Fitzimmons, Assistant Curator of the Pepys Library, Magdalene College, Cambridge University. Her kindness on my visit there was much appreciated, as was her invaluable assistance in my pursuit of the history of Samuel Pepys and his fascinating diary.
To Mary Jo Putney, whom I am proud to call friend. She has served as mentor and general booster to countless aspiring authors, myself very much included, and she is a writer of awesome talent.
Copyright © 2000 by Barbara Yirka
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451200233)
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental
.