Authors: t
Annemarie wept openly, but Trevor fought his emotions valiantly. Caressing Stormy’s tousled hair, he whispered, “We feared we’d lost you. The only person I can blame is me. We should have never come to England. Surely, there are good men in the colonies, men who will respect you for the free spirit that you are.”
Stormy straightened to her full height, and she was tall for a girl. Indignation was just what she needed to get her fluttering heart under control. Pressing her fists into her waist, she stamped her foot. “Papa!” Her voice reflected the hurt she felt. “Are you trying to tell me that we traveled to England for the sole purpose of finding a suitable husband for me?” She literally spat the word suitable.
Trevor knew he had spoken out of turn. His daughter would never stand for any match making and it wasn’t really what he and Annemarie intended. But this trip had been in part to STORMY HEIDE KATROS
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expose Stormy to the finer things in life. Sure they held balls and musicales at Dreamscape or Charlestown for that matter. But they could not compare with the pageantry offered in London.
His dark eyes soft with love, he patted her cheek. “Sorry, sweetheart, I spoke in haste, and we are wasting valuable time arguing over nothing. We need to summon the constable and report your abduction and the robbery.”
Stormy’s heart did a painful somersault in her chest. She didn’t want her kidnapper caught. At the same time she knew that she could not let on about her feelings. Luckily, her mind was fertile ground and forever spinning dreams.
“If we call the constable, I will be a marked woman. Everyone will think the worst, even though that rogue never touched me.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. A kiss did not count as touching, did it? “I doubt the local law could find the man in the middle of the night anyway, don’t forget he was dressed all in black from head to boot, and by morning he’ll be gone to ground. Even his horse was as dark as a starless night.” Her eyes cut between her mother and father in the hopes that they would fall for the ruse.
Trevor paled slightly as Stormy’s words sank in. “She is right. If we report the abduction no decent man will want to come near her. And the hundred pounds aren’t going to break our bank. But what of the coachman? Surely, he’ll report his beating and being held up?”
Stormy looked at a point beyond her father, her fingers still crossed behind her back.
“Considering that the highwayman told us he had killed the man, yet he seems fine as rain, I have a feeling that for a couple of pounds the man’s silence can be bought.”
The three looked from one to the other and nodded in unison. “It’s best we keep this quiet then. We’ll continue on to Emerald Hills Manor and put the whole episode behind us as if it had never happened.”
But they spent the night together in the rented room, huddled on the same bed, all three of them sleeping only fitfully until morning dawned to a bright sun.
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The whole Mowbray clan sat around the breakfast table chattering in their usual exuberant way. But this morning held an added excitement, because last night a messenger had arrived with the news that Trevor and his family would arrive at Emerald Hills sometime during the day.
Thomas II, so much like his father, dug into his bowl of porridge and wrinkled his nose.
“I am not sure I will like these relatives. I have heard tales about the colonials. They are said to be crude and lacking manners.”
He no sooner had spoken, when his father’s hand smacked the table top with unexpected vehemence. “You are speaking of my brother, young man. Trevor was raised a gentleman and I am sure that his wife and daughter will know how to conduct themselves.”
A soft chuckle sounded from the door and all eyes cut to its source. “You English have a little too much starch in your shirts, mes amis.” The words held the seductive notes of a French accent.
André Marie Despard, the Comte de Villeneuve examined his perfectly manicured nails as he leaned a negligent shoulder against the door jamb. “Give the uncle and his family a chance. I wager you might find them rather interesting.”
André moved with the grace of a fencer, though he was well over six feet tall and as broad shouldered as a boxer. Picking up a fine china plate, he helped himself to some eggs and kidneys and some freshly baked scones. He moved to the end of the table and seated himself next to Annabelle, who only recently had been allowed to join the family at meals now that Elizabeth had married and left the house, instead of eating alone in the schoolroom upstairs.
A footman brought him a cup of strong tea and then retreated back into the corner, where he patiently waited until he would be called upon.
Winking at the girl, André leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, “So, Annabelle, tell me, what do you think your cousin will look like? Dowdy with buck teeth, mousy hair, and the grace of a cow?”
Annabelle giggled, but quickly ducked her head, when her father cleared his throat in admonition. “I doubt she will have anything to do with me. She is more Elizabeth’s age and you know that my sister is a married woman.” It was a prim reply, but André saw the mischief in the girl’s dark brown eyes and knew she would definitely welcome her colonial cousin with some tomfoolery or other.
By the noon meal the announced visitors still had not arrived and Thomas sent the boys to keep watch from the promontory above the mansion. André grew bored and excused himself.
It wasn’t his family arriving after all and since he was merely a house guest, it would be just as well, if he were not present when they drove up. He picked up his gun and pistol and told Thomas he would do a little target shooting out in the woods.
The hired carriage arrived in time for high tea and Emmaline hurried to gather her children. Together they all stood at the top of the stairs, their faces alight with expectation, but their hearts beating with trepidation of what this visit might bring.
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When Trevor jumped from the carriage a strange nostalgia squeezed his heart. He hadn’t seen the family estate in nearly twenty years and yet it had hardly changed. The same beds of roses surrounded the mansion built around a semi-circular drive, the trees had grown and some had been replaced, but other than that most everything looked the same. But instead of his parents standing on the top steps, his oldest brother and his family had taken over. Just before they’d left Charleston he’d been informed via mail that the Earl of Mowbray and his mother had departed for London in deference to the coming holiday season.
After a quick wave, he handed down Annemarie and Stormy and all three stood momentarily at odds as to what to do next. Thomas broke the spell by bounding down the four shallow steps and throwing his arms around Trevor in a big bear hug. In turn, he kissed Annemarie on both cheeks and then held Stormy away from him to gaze at her in wonder.
“She is a beauty, Trevor. A true English rose, even if her complexion is a bit dusky.” He guffawed at his jest, aware that he had just stepped over the line, when he caught sight of his brother’s dark expression. It had been a definite slur to mention the fact that Stormy’s skin did not possess the paleness of an English woman, even if he had not meant it that way.
The rest of the family came down the stairs and introductions were made, while footmen quickly unloaded the dray and the carriage and everyone trooped into the house. “Emmy-Lee, will you show our guests to their rooms?” Thomas’ voice held a note of teasing as well as fondness as he spoke to his wife. In an aside he told his guests, “I love to call her Emmy-Lee instead of Emmaline, because it flusters her and brings roses to her cheeks.”
His joke earned him a steely reproof from his wife, before she primly preceded her guests up a gracefully winding staircase. With a flourish, she threw open the doors to an elaborate sitting room and a bedroom on either side. “We thought you might want to be together, but if you and Annemarie rather sleep apart at night, I can show Stormy to another room further down the hall. The room across from your suite is taken by our other guest and esteemed friend André Despard, whom you will meet later.”
Trevor grinned that superior male smile. Let his straight-laced sister-in-law think what she may, but he wouldn’t let that intentional slight pass without comment. “Although it is common place even in the colonies to have separate bedrooms, Annemarie and I have never slept apart.”
His remark raised Emmaline’s eyebrows, though she didn’t say aloud what she was thinking. Not only was his aside considered uncouth, but she wondered why there was only one child, if the two of them supposedly slept together all the time?
Inclining her head, she started to walk toward the door. “I’ll have the servants bring up heated water so you can wash up. Later on, if you wish I can have them fill the tub in the bathing chamber adjoining the north bedroom. High tea will be served in about fifteen minutes, but don’t rush.”
She swept from the room in a swish of taffeta skirts.
“Phew, she isn’t the warmest person, is she?”
“Actually, her attitude surprises me, since Emmaline is of French ancestry. However, she must be warm enough, if she bore Thomas four children.” Trevor whispered the last sentence into Annemarie’s ear, while rolling his eyes in a droll way.
Annemarie ignored his innuendo, in no mood for jests. Flicking a negligent hand through the air, she replied with less than her charitable usual self. “Yes, I thought I detected a slight lilt in her speech, but some people affect an accent thinking it makes them more interesting.”
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“Sheathe your claws, Annemarie. We won’t be here but a short time and I am sure we’ll all get along splendidly. We are family after all.”
For the sake of peace, Annemarie bit her tongue. She knew this visit meant a lot to Trevor, she would not spoil it for him, if she could help it.
Stormy explored the two bedrooms and decided she would take the one close to the bathing chamber. She astutely deducted that the bathing chamber would be shared by all. “I can sleep through anything and the bed is a bit smaller than the one in the other bedroom.”
High tea started as a stilted affair with no one knowing quite what to say. But Annemarie noted with some satisfaction that hers and Stormy’s clothing certainly outshone their cousins’.
Stormy had just taken a bite of a freshly baked scone, savoring the taste of clotted cream on her tongue, when footsteps sounded in the foyer.
Emmaline’s face lost some of its strain, when she recognized the solid tread of men’s boots, André’s boots to be exact. André had a dry wit about him, and surely with him in attendance they would all relax.
André walked into the sitting room and stopped in his tracks. His eyes raked the assembled guests and his heart did a double take, when he spied Stormy. Dressed in a yellow muslin dress, edged with green satin, she would have stood out, even if that cloud of midnight hair hadn’t swirled around her shoulders. For a moment André stood transfixed, his usual suave manner completely eluding him.
He felt most grateful, when Emmaline rose from her seat and walked toward him with outstretched hands. Inclining her head, she half turned and smiled smugly at her guests in that “I am so above all of you” manner she had affected right from the start. “May I introduce our good friend and neighbor André Marie Despard, the Comte de Villeneuve?”
Facing him, she rolled her eyes and gestured toward her guests. “André may I introduce you to Thomas’ American relatives?” She made the word American sound like a disease as she quickly ran down their names as if it cost her dearly to do so.
Trevor felt obliged to set his sister-in-law straight. Gad, he hadn’t known her to be such a prude. He rose and offered his hand, though it galled him that he should have to defend himself to this French fop. “Actually, I am Thomas’ younger brother, but Emmaline is quite right, I feel more connected to the country of my choice than that of my birth. I am proud of it, too.”
André grasped Trevor’s hand and shook it warmly, then bent over Annemarie’s hand and kissed the air above her knuckles. But when he advanced to Stormy his ebullience almost deserted him.
Merde, and here he had thought she would be mousy and have the grace of a cow. He felt the color rise up his neck. What if Annabelle let his rude remark from breakfast be known?
How could he live that down? Moments later he was lost in the sea green of her eyes, unaware that she was equally enthralled by the color of his.
Their fingers touched and seemed to fuse. Mesmerized, they simply stared at each other and let the rest of the room fade into oblivion.
Trevor noticed the attraction the Frenchman had for his daughter and he didn’t like it one bit. Clearing his throat, he moved a step toward the pair, but Annemarie covertly pulled at his coat tails in the last possible moment to prevent a confrontation.
André dropped Stormy’s hand as if he’d been burned, but he managed to rasp an enchanté. Enchanted? Merde, he felt pole-axed. This American beauty had a staggering effect on his senses and he wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling.
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Trying to cover for his lapse, he cast a devastatingly wicked smile at his hostess. “I see I came at the right moment, ma chérie. I am famished and I believe a good cup of English tea should revive me.”
He gracefully seated himself where Emmaline pointed to a chair and accepted the cup she poured for him. He declined sugar and cream. Under the pretense of taking a sip, he lowered his extremely long, inky lashes and focused once more on the exquisite beauty they called Stormy, though they had introduced her to him as Lady Michaella Marry Mowbray. She certainly exuded a certain savoir faire that went missing among the English ladies he had been introduced to in the past. There was nothing of the shrinking violet about her.