She hardly knew she’d run to him, only that she was in his arms. “Oh, forgive me, Blair, forgive me...”
He held her tightly. “Do I take it I’m accepted?”
“Yes! Oh, yes!”
He smiled into her tear-filled but suddenly joyous eyes. “I adore you, Laura Reynolds, and even if I don’t always understand how you think and feel, I promise to do better from now on. I need you with me night and day. I need you now,” he added softly, bending his head to kiss the soft white skin at the base of her throat.
“I need you too,” she whispered. The moment hung, cherished and undeniable, and she smiled as she took his hand and led him to the bed.
The lovemaking that followed was more tender and fulfilling than ever, a deeply private joining of souls and bodies, and when they lay in each other’s arms afterward, there were no words, just an adoring embrace. The warmth and quiet of the early evening drifted over them, their eyes closed, and they fell asleep.
In the library, full consciousness at last returned to Estelle. Gasping with pain and weakness, she crawled from beneath the sheet and dragged herself to her feet. Pain from her wound touched the swaying room with scarlet, and she could feel her life blood draining slowly away as her tormented glance fell upon Celina’s picture. Hatred renewed her strength. She saw the buckets of paint and varnish, the faintly glowing embers in the hearth, and the little jar of wooden spills on the mantelshelf.
Then she gazed at the portrait again, and an uneven laugh rose through her. “Miles is mine forever now, whore, and so is this house! You didn’t know that, did you? He tried to trace the money missing from my fortune, well, I’m not the fool he took me for. I found a way of removing it for myself, and through my agent
I
am now mistress of Deveril House!
I
acquired your domain in order to destroy it, and now
you
will die in the flames with me, Celina. You’ve made my life an endless hell; now I’ll make an endless hell of your death…”
Summoning all her strength, she seized a bucket of varnish in both hands and flung it over the portrait. Then her skeletal fingers closed over the slender spills, and she sank exhaustedly to her knees in the pools of varnish in the hearth to hold the wands of wood to the embers.
They burst into flames that reflected in her eyes as she sat back on her heels. Varnish soaked into her flowing black clothes, but she didn’t care as she tossed the lighted spills up at the portrait, which burst into immediate flame.
Content that at last her hated rival was perishing in eternal damnation, Estelle clasped her hands joyfully. “Burn, whore, burn!” she breathed as the flames blistered the face on the portrait.
After that she didn’t move as the fire licked around her, nor did she feel as her black gauze clothing ignited. She knew nothing, for her life had expired as she knelt there.
After consuming the portrait, the hungry flames moved on to the bookshelves, and then the curtains and furniture. In minutes, the whole library was a furnace that could never be extinguished, and Deveril House was consigned to its fate.
Smoke stole out onto the landing, inching toward Miles’ body as it lay awaiting examination by the authorities, but on the floor above, Laura and Blair slept on in each other’s arms, oblivious to the fact that soon the stairs would be an impassable inferno.
Marianna and Stephen were returning toward the house with the spaniels. He was tired, but not as much as he feared, and was managing well with the walking stick. His spirits rose above the deaths and the notoriety that was bound to ensue. All that mattered was his marriage to Marianna, and the fact that they would go to Ireland with Blair. And, he suspected, with Laura. They would be a wonderful foursome, and he could foresee only happiness ahead. And maybe there would soon be more than four! His only regret was that he couldn’t contribute more to his marriage than gambling debts, poor health, and an overwhelming love for the young woman at his side.
Marianna was happier too, although uneasy that the Cirencester authorities might not believe their version of how Miles and his wife had died. Stephen had reassured her that the outcome would be as they wished, but she couldn’t quite be easy about it.
The May evening was tranquil, and the calls of the peacocks drifted over the park. The Mercury Fair had been audible too, though they hadn’t heard it for nearly a quarter of an hour now. It was early for the merrymaking to finish, Stephen thought, puzzled. The spaniels suddenly came to an uneasy standstill, stared up the hill and began to whine.
Marianna halted too. “What is it?” she said, her yellow skirts whispering as she bent to them.
Stephen gazed up at the house and saw smoke billowing from several open windows on the second floor. “Dear God, there’s a fire! Blair and Laura!” Seizing one of Marianna’s hands, he found a surge of strength that helped him to half run, half limp up the hillside. The spaniels dashed ahead, barking loudly.
There was a reason why Stephen hadn’t heard the fair for a while now. The smoke had been seen from the village green long before it was noticeable to Marianna and Stephen, and people came running down the drive as he and Marianna reached the front of the house. There was no sign of Blair or Laura, and Stephen limped swiftly to the main entrance, accompanied by Ha’penny Jack, but then there was an explosion of glass overhead as several landing windows burst. The two men ducked and shielded their heads as shining splinters cascaded around them. The onlookers gasped as the ferocity of the newly liberated flames told of the fire’s extent. Already everyone knew Deveril House couldn’t be saved.
Stephen and the showman pressed bravely on, but found the entrance hall full of choking smoke, and as they reached the staircase one of the landing chandeliers fell with a crash as the flames devoured the ceiling. The fire was beginning to creep down the staircase handrail, but Stephen limped forward again. He had to get to Blair and Laura! The heat singed his hair and eyebrows, and he was forced back, coughing and retching from the smoke. Ha’penny Jack dragged him away, and they staggered outside again.
No one spoke, because words weren’t adequate as the great house went to its doom.
In Laura’s third-floor room, there was little sign yet of the conflagration below, but the falling chandelier disturbed Blair’s sleep. His eyes opened, and he became aware that the hair on the back of his neck was stirring unpleasantly. He sat up. Something was wrong.
Laura awoke too. “What is it?” she whispered, seeing the unease on his face.
He drew her hand briefly to his lips. “Wait here,” he said, and slipped from the bed to the door. He saw the first tendrils of smoke creeping along the passage.
“Sweet God above,” he breathed, and hurried toward the staircase. He heard the crackle of flames, and looked down at the inferno. Thick acrid smoke choked the air, and the heat was unendurable.
He ran back to Laura, and closed the door. She was sitting up nervously, her eyes wide and apprehensive. “Is—is that smoke I can smell?”
“Yes. The house is on fire.”
Her heart lurched, and she got up slowly from the bed. How could she have forgotten that fire would destroy most of Deveril House?
Blair went to the window. The kitchen garden and stables were deserted, and so far the windows directly below were intact, although one or two further along had exploded and flames were reaching out. Returning to the bed, he dragged the sheets off and began to tie them together.
Laura’s lips parted. “We’re going to climb down?” she gasped.
“We have no choice.”
“But we’re so high up!”
“We’ll manage somehow, but we must be quick. If the windows of the room below us should blow, we won’t be able to get past.”
He
tied a blanket to the sheets, and when he’d used all the bedding, he knotted one end of the makeshift rope to the bed. More windows shattered on the floor below, and he looked out hurriedly to see if their escape route was still safe. All seemed well, so he lowered the rope and held his hand out to her.
She hesitated. “I—I don’t think I can do it!”
He pulled her briefly into his arms. “We’ll go down together,” he said softly, brushing his lips over hers. “Now, sit on the window ledge, with your legs on the outside.”
She did as he said, trying not to look down as he joined her. Then he turned his back toward her. “We’ll go down piggyback. Hold me, and I’ll carry you.”
She circled her shaking arms around him, clasped her hands tightly together, and closed her eyes. There was a loud splintering of glass, and then the roar of flames as another nearby window burst from the heat. Then she felt Blair ease from the ledge until their weight was taken by the rope.
Suddenly there were shouts from the stables as people came from the front of the house and saw them escaping, but Laura kept her eyes tightly closed. She heard Marianna and Stephen calling out, and the spaniels barking, but nothing would induce her to look.
Blair lowered them both very slowly toward the next window. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the heat proved too much for the glass. When that happened, and the flames licked out, the rope would soon be aflame... His arms shook with the effort as he continued toward the ground as quickly as he dared, and at last helping hands reached out to take Laura almost fainting from his back.
The window above exploded, and everyone dashed back to safety as hot glass scattered like hail.
Blair caught Laura close again, his smoke-marked lips moving tenderly against her forehead as he watched Deveril House burn. A thick column of smoke stained the summer sky, and the roar seemed to shake the hillside.
The fire didn’t raze Deveril House entirely to the ground, but left the L-shape that would one day become the hotel, and no one would ever know exactly how the house came to burn down, though it was suspected a spark from the library hearth had somehow ignited paint and varnish left too close.
The authorities accepted the story of how Miles and Estelle died. Miles’ obsession with Celina was well known, so it wasn’t doubted that Estelle killed her husband out of jealousy, or that he’d managed to fire back and take her with him.
As far as ownership of Deveril House was concerned, Estelle’s wish for anonymity endured after her death. It made no difference to Blair, who had already been paid for the property. When Estelle’s new estate eventually came to light, there was a twenty-five year dispute among her heirs and those of Miles. As the tedious proceedings dragged on and on, the truth about Deveril House became obscured, and by the time the courts settled the inheritance upon one of Estelle’s distant cousins, only the folk of Great Deveril and the surrounding villages remembered what had happened.
In the meantime, the once magnificent house had lain in ruins in its overgrown park, a neglected corner of the Cotswolds until it was at last sold to a Victorian gentleman who turned it into a farm.
But the house kept its secrets, and over the years the mystery began to burgeon again. The fire and the deaths were reported in the local press, and people started to wonder how and why such a magnificent property had become a farmhouse only a third its size. The enigma of the lost mansion became another local puzzle, like the skeleton in the secret vault at Minster Lovell, the ghosts at Littledean Hall, and the similar disappearance of another great Cotswold house, Cassey Compton.
At the beginning of 1819, after spending the intervening months at their London residence in Berkeley Square, Sir Blair and the second Lady Deveril moved across the Irish Sea to Castle Liscoole. With them went Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Woodville.
Many of the servants from Deveril House also chose to start anew in Ireland, but not Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt. Gulliver was happy with Dolly, and, like Laura, didn’t regret exchanging the future for the past, and he elected to stay in Great Deveril, where they had so many friends. For a while he was afraid he’d be whisked away again to the confines of his hated wheelchair, but it didn’t happen. For both Laura and him the travels in time ended with the fire, as if the destruction of Deveril House brought everything to a close.
But before leaving for Ireland, Laura was to experience one more fleeting brush with time, not a journey to the future, but a close encounter that somehow served only to confirm that the astonishing adventures were over.
It happened in Blair’s Berkeley Square townhouse, on the eve of their departure. Blair had already gone up to their bedroom, while she lingered downstairs to finish a letter to her family in Norwich. An hour passed before she went up to join him. It was a hot August night, and the windows stood open to the square, where the leaves of the famous plane trees were motionless beneath the starry sky. Blair had fallen asleep naked on the bed, his body pale against the embroidered satin.
She paused in the entrance of what would one day be the Art Deco living room of an apartment occupied by four twenty-first century actresses. Instead of hooves and carriage wheels outside as now, they would know traffic noise of a very different kind. She drew a thoughtful breath. Her life in the future seldom crossed her mind now, but tonight for some reason it felt near.
For a moment a finger of alarm touched her. Was she going to go back again after all? No, please... She closed her eyes, fearing to hear the sound of the square change, but nothing happened, there were still just hooves and carriage wheels on cobbles.
She looked again, and something drew her attention to the mirror above the fireplace. With a start she saw her future self looking at her. It was the moment after the gala fund-raising night at the Hannover, when modern Laura had looked into the mirror and seen her Regency counterpart, except now it was the other way around, and she herself was that Regency counterpart! She remembered what happened next too. Smiling at herself in the mirror, she slipped out of her clothes and climbed onto the bed with Blair.
He didn’t stir as she bent over to kiss his thigh. Her yearning fingers moved gently between his legs, sliding richly into the moist forest of hair that grew there. Desire kindled irresistibly through her as she kissed his thigh again. Still he did not stir. Her hand crept to touch his dormant maleness. How soft and quiescent it was, how immeasurably inviting...