The Return of Lord Conistone (34 page)

She was eyeing up Alec, speculatively; Alec, laughing, promised to dance with each of them. ‘But Verena first!’ he insisted.

Verena, her wrist quite healed, gladly allowed him to lead her towards the set, and said, with a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth, ‘I fear my mother is in matchmaking mode’.

‘Then I, my dear Miss Sheldon, am of no use to her whatsoever!’ He shook his head. ‘Quite done up, as they say—quite done up!’

‘You will have to find yourself an heiress,’ said Verena softly. ‘A very kind, lovely heiress. Alec, I’m so sorry I misjudged you’.

His eyes danced. ‘You thought me a wastrel and a rake—’ he smiled ‘—which meant my ruse was working. Made it easier for Lucas, you see, if he was seen mixing with a layabout like me… As to that heiress, I think I’d prefer to find true love. But that is rare indeed’.

Indeed
. She hesitated, then said, ‘You told me Lucas is busy. I suppose he is at present in London or Lisbon or some other faraway place?’

‘Lucas is a law unto himself, so it’s no use quizzing me, dear Miss Sheldon. I will only say something wrong and get myself in a pickle! He asked you to trust him, didn’t he?’

‘Yes! But—’

‘Then do so,’ said Alec Stewart firmly and whirled her into the dance.

Supper was served next, and Verena knew she should mingle. Should share the general happiness. But—she couldn’t. Just for once, she could not pretend.

She shrugged on a cloak, and slipped out into the garden to watch the moonlight glimmering over the dark, sparkling sea.

She had resolved to put Lucas Conistone from her mind, but it was no good. The terrible ache in her heart whenever she thought of him was as great as ever. She put her hands to her face. He would not come near her again, ever. She had misjudged him too often, and too badly.

* * *

Suddenly she thought she heard slow, steady footsteps, coming towards her from the house. She whirled round, her pulse racing.

A man stood, his imposing figure etched silver by the moonlight. His ebony hair gleamed softly, curling around the familiar hard, strong profile. The whiteness of his shirt made the darkness of his exquisitely fitted riding coat all the more striking; the soft fabric clung as if moulded to his wide shoulders, skimming past his lean torso and powerful legs.

Lucas. Here
. His grey eyes were hooded, his expression unreadable.

She forced herself into calmness as he walked towards her. ‘My lord. We were not expecting you…’

‘Weren’t you? Your mother invited me’.

He was very close now. Verena’s heart was thumping against her ribs. ‘Poor Mama,’ she attempted to say lightly. ‘She doesn’t give up, does she?’

His eyes captured hers. Dark, intense, the iron grey
gleaming with gold. ‘Neither do I, Miss Sheldon,’ he said softly.

She clasped her hands together, struggling to make the small talk that she usually found so easy. Easy with anyone but Lucas. ‘I hear from Alec—’
Alec must have known Lucas was on his way here!
‘—that you’ve been busy’.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve been back to Lisbon, where Wellington’s defences are holding well’.

‘Alex told me a little of it—I’m so very glad’.

‘And my lord Wellington asked me about the heroine of Busaco, so I told him about your wrist. He told me—practically ordered me—to leave my duties and come home to see you’. He was drawing closer. She saw the lines of tension, and fatigue, etched around his eyes, but his expression was full of warmth. And something else. Longing? Yearning? She could not begin to hope; it was too painful. But.

He took her hand and kissed it gently.

‘Verena,’ he said huskily, ‘I tried to listen to what you said. I tried to accept that we should be apart. But I had to come to you just one more time, to tell you how I feel’.

Her pulse began to race. ‘I understand, Lucas. I know you can never forget, about my father…’

‘You are not your father’.
He shook his dark head slightly. ‘Verena, I never stopped caring for you, ever’.

Never stopped caring
. She could hardly breathe. Her heart squeezed tight as if clamped in a vice.

‘But,’ he went on in the same low, rich voice that drove fresh shafts of anguish through her, ‘I was so desperately afraid that you would hate me, if you knew everything’.

She drew a deep breath. Her throat was aching; somehow she managed to speak steadily. ‘Of course’. She lifted her gaze to meet his
—this might be the last time you are alone with him, you must be calm, you must be
strong…
. ‘And I realise,’ she went on, ‘it’s not just my father. Lucas. I’m afraid I have made so many incredibly foolish mistakes—’

‘No more than I, Verena. And yours were only out of loyalty to your family’. A muscle at the corner of his mouth clenched. ‘Who, except for Pippa, do not deserve you in the slightest. And neither do I’.

He was turning away again, his face in shadow. She braced herself.

This is the moment. He is going to tell me that in spite of everything, we must say goodbye. I must not let him know how just seeing him again is tearing me into pieces.…

He was reaching into the deep pocket of his greatcoat, then turning back to her and smiling. And in his strong, lean hand was—a small box of morocco leather.

He said, in that husky voice that she had grown to love so dearly, ‘Verena. My darling. I’m hoping you will forgive me: for the times I’ve let you down, the times I’ve not been here when you needed me. Verena, I need your love, so very much’.

She gazed at him, her eyes wide with questions. He nodded. ‘Please. Open it’.

In it was a ring, a spectacular diamond encircled by emeralds. He put it on her finger, and drew her into his arms, his lips caressing her forehead with a tender kiss. ‘It’s known as the Stancliffe diamond,’ he whispered. ‘A pretentious name. But I want you to accept it as my bride-to-be’.

Her pulse was racing. In shock. And—hope; yes, she dared, at last, to hope. ‘Lucas…’

He was gazing deep into her eyes. ‘It’s not good enough for you, but I offer it with my whole heart. Verena, I love you. Your sense of honour; your selflessness; your love for Wycherley and its people; your loyalty, even to your father.…
Listen to me,
meu amor
. I want you with me. Always. If I have to go away again, I want to know that you will be here, waiting for me. Will you marry me? Can you learn, perhaps, to love me?’

‘Oh,’ she said quietly, ‘I have loved you for years. So very much, Lucas’.

His eyes were dark with the promise of passion as he lowered his mouth and brushed his lips against her own, letting his fingers tenderly stroke her cheek. With the tip of his tongue he caressed the soft fullness of her lower lip, and sensation spiralled in her as she opened to him, tasting his sweetness. The kiss was long and incandescent with mutual desire.

He drew away reluctantly. Murmured huskily, ‘Oh. And by the way, Miss Sheldon—did I tell you how incredibly
beautiful
you are?’

She gazed up at him, her heart full, her eyes shimmering with love. ‘If it means another kiss like that,’ she breathed, ‘then, Lucas, you can tell me again and again’.

And Verena felt that her own private heaven was finally attainable.

March 1811—London

T
he meeting in the War Office had gone on into the early hours. Lord Lucas Conistone, escaping at last, took deep breaths of the crisp night air and drank in the sounds and scents of London by night. Overhead the sky was for once clear of the city’s smoke, and, seeing a lone bright star, he remembered the velvety nights in the mountains of the Peninsula, with a million stars overhead. Remembered too the rolling downs of Hampshire at midnight, where the air would be headily scented with spring gorse, and early primroses, and the sea.

Soon, he would be riding westwards. Heading home. His travels, for now, were over.

Yesterday morning he’d returned from Lisbon bearing dispatches. Since then he’d been closeted with the King’s chief ministers, and Lucas had been able to tell them, personally, the news: that Wellington’s strategy of wintering safely in Lisbon, after luring a large French army into pursuit, had succeeded beyond their wildest expectations.
The French had endured a terrible winter of starvation and disease while trying to besiege the British force, and in early March the enemy had to turn round and make the exhausting march back to the frontier through the barren hills, harried all the way by the Portuguese. All in all, the French had lost twenty-five thousand men.

Lord Liverpool, Secretary for War, whom Lucas knew had valiantly struggled against his government colleagues to get more men and supplies for Wellington’s vital campaign, had barely been able to conceal his delight, and relief. ‘What next, Conistone?’

‘Lord Wellington is preparing, my lord, to move out from Lisbon to secure all of Portugal, then aim for the French-held Spanish border fortresses by the summer,’ Lucas replied.

‘And, by God, he’ll take them too!’ Lord Liverpool was jubilant. ‘We’ll have Bonaparte on the run! Appreciate all your efforts, Conistone. And Wellington wrote to me you had more than a little to do with the success of that vital encounter at Busaco last September—is it true?’

Lucas did not answer straight away. Lord Liverpool was to tell a colleague afterwards that he seemed—abstracted. But finally, Lucas said, ‘The real credit lies with someone who prefers to remain anonymous, my lord’. And a smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Lord Liverpool patted his shoulder. ‘Well, thank the fellow heartily when next you see him, will you? Now, we’d better let you go, Conistone. You’ve had a lot to deal with since your grandfather died’.

The old Earl had passed away in December. Lucas, the new Earl, had been torn between his duties to the great estate and his role as Wellington’s aide—but Verena had told him to fulfil his commitment to the army by travelling to Portugal just one more time.

‘Lord Wellington needs you,’ she told him softly. ‘It will take him time to find a replacement for you’.

‘Won’t you miss me,
minha querida?’

‘I’ll miss you every minute of every day, Lucas,’ she said in her quiet, tender voice. ‘But you must do your duty, as you always have’.

They’d been married in the Wycherley church, just as she’d wished, on a sunny late November day, and she’d looked exquisite, her amber eyes luminous with happiness. As the great drawing room of Stancliffe Manor rang with music from the orchestra, Verena danced every dance—with Lucas. The Earl, though his health was failing, was present throughout, enjoying this happy occasion, his animosity towards the Sheldons forgotten. He died peacefully in his bed, a few days later.

There was much to do to set the house and the estate to rights. Before Lucas left for Lisbon in late December, with the frost crisping the ground, he had asked Verena if she wished to spend the next few weeks in London with her mother and sisters while he was away, so she could enjoy their company and the shops and theatres. But she’d said, no, there would be time enough for all that when he was home again for good.

* * *

Alec was waiting outside the War Office for him, with a horse. The plan was that Lucas stay at Alec’s house in Bedford Street for what remained of the night, then set off for Hampshire at first light.

‘So that’s the end of your travels for now?’ queried Alec lightly.

‘For a while’. Lucas, swinging easily astride the big horse, grinned at him, his teeth white in the darkness. ‘After all, I’ve got my reputation as a man of leisure to keep up’.

‘And an earldom to look after,’ Alec reminded him. ‘So
you’ll not be serving as Lord Wellington’s secret agent again?’

‘Did I say that, Alec?’

Alec sighed. ‘There’ll be the devil to pay if Verena thinks you plan to go off adventuring again!’

‘Not in the near future,’ declared Lucas. He couldn’t wait to get home to Verena. ‘How’s your latest heiress, Alec? Is a betrothal in the offing? ‘

Alec shook his head ruefully. ‘Her father was a cotton trader, so she’s rich as Croesus—but alas, Lucas, the tongue on her! I’m sailing back to Portugal on Monday, and I tell you, the cannons of the French will be a welcome relief after the perils of London’s marriage mart!’

They rode on together through the quiet streets, chatting amiably until they got to Bedford Street. Alec’s groom was waiting to take the horses; and Lucas, who’d often stayed here before, bade Alec goodnight and headed up to the guest room.

He started to undress, flinging off his coat, his cravat, his shirt. Eyeing the pristine, lonely bed with distaste.

Only one more night alone
. Tomorrow, he’d be with Verena.

He had his back to the door and was pulling off his boots, when he heard a soft knock. Heard the door opening.

Lucas sighed. Alec’s manservant was attentive, but really, he thought, this was too much.

He swung round. ‘I’ve already said I do not require anything else tonight’.

A husky female voice whispered, ‘Not even me?’

His eyes widened. ‘What the—?’

Verena was there. She was dressed—if you could call it dressed, he thought in amazement—in a light cream muslin concoction that teased and tantalised. She was
smiling at him as she softly sidled into the room and closed the door.