Never to part, p.1
Never to Part, page 1
NEVER TO PART
Joan Vincent
Chapter One
Heart Haven, Surrey
June 1, 1810
Richard Blanchard, the eighth Baron Dremore, forced himself to follow his guests up the stairs to the upper floor gallery in his ancestral home. There he saw, as he had dreaded, the group his mother had gathered in front of the portrait of the first Baron and Baroness Dremore.
Sauntering to one side of the group Richard observed that the Baroness favoured one guest. Miss Stratton had the place of honour at Lady Dremore’s side before the portrait. He speculated on the young woman introduced to him just last eve.
Something about her enticed his attention. Not just her slender form and delicate beauty. That indefinable something stirred a response in him now just as it had last eve. Richard casually edged forward to better see her face. Caught up short by a glance from his mother, Richard clenched his jaw.
Interpretation of the very speculative gleam in his mother’s eyes was easy. Now that he thought about it they had held the same glimmer when she introduced Miss Stratton to him after the young woman first arrived at Heart Haven.
Last eve Richard had responded with his usual defensive disinterest. But after chatting with the young woman then and earlier this morn, he no longer experienced a need to grimace at this chapter in his mother’s relentless search for his bride. Cautious as always, especially since warned of his mother’s delicate health this past spring, Richard took care to conceal his interest in Miss Stratton.
Watching her now, Richard thought, An “eligible” miss in Mater’s eyes. Does she realize Miss Stratton is sister to that wild young twig Geoffrey Stratton?
Her narrowed eyes and the slight crease to Miss Stratton’s forehead showed an interest in the portrait far more intense than any of those present except his mother. Surely ‘tis not possible that she treads in her tiresome brother’s hedonistic ways. When have I ever seen him display the slightest hint of good manners?
While he watched, Miss Stratton’s jaw tightened. Her back stiffened. Her throat worked as if she found it difficult to swallow.
Uneasily recalling his mother’s belief about the portrait, or rather the pair shown in it, Richard threw a hasty glance at the painting. His 16th century-gowned ancestors remained unchanged.
No shades of ghostly life, he thought with a silent snort of disbelief at his mother’s ideas. So why Miss Stratton’s sudden unease? She is almost—he groped for a word. Alarmed, came to him. But why? Richard checked the portrait again. He saw nothing out of the ordinary there. Then he ran a cursory glance over the others gathered before it. Feigned interest was the emotion on almost everyone else’s face.
He saw his mother glance across the guests gathered about the portrait. When she heaved an overly dramatic sigh, Richard braced for what he knew was to come.
“The first Blanchards failed to convince her parents that Ricman Blanchard would prove a suitable husband,” Lady Laurissa began. “Separation by force was decreed for the young lovers by Lady Laurel’s parents as well as Lord Ricman’s. To our family’s good fortune they managed to outwit not only their families but their enemies as well.”
Richard did not have to look to know her eyes twinkled as Lady Laurissa contemplated the portrait.
“The first lord was a fine figure of man. My Dremore was much like him,” she mused. Sadness appeared to weigh on her but she rallied and gestured at the portrait.
“See the brooch pin on Lady Laurel’s breast. ‘Tis most distinctive. Note its shape—intertwined hearts. We have documents which state 'twas wrought of finest gold.” A small satisfied smile appeared when this caused soft ohhs. She beamed in triumph. “When given to the first Lady Dremore, it overflowed with priceless gems.”
The joy that lit her eyes showed she believed this true. Seconds later she heaved a sigh heavy with regret.
“Unhappily brooch and gems have been … err … mislaid.”
Richard observed her adroitly catch Miss Stratton’s eye.
“They shall be found but only by one who believes in the family legend,” Lady Laurissa concluded.
Conflicting emotions flickered across his mother’s features. Richard guessed she was troubled by his long standing unease and at times, outright fear for her embarrassment due to her “enthusiasm” for the legend. When determination took root, he knew she had decided to continue nonetheless. He also sensed another element present too.
She’s resolute in her bid to force me to seek out that bloody treasure, he guessed instinctively. The physician’s recent warning that her heart was dangerously weak again jolted him. There lay, he thought, the reason she pushed Miss Stratton at him too.
When Lady Laurissa glanced at her guests, Richard saw she studiously avoided his gaze.
“I studied that legend for years,” Lady Laurissa confided as if to Miss Stratton alone. Only recently did I unearth a verse scribbled in the first Dremore’s hand.”
Richard met his mother’s direct look. It challenged him to refute or deny her claim made just a week past that the verse had appeared “miraculously” on her desk. He answered with an acquiescing grimace.
“Though his script ‘tis near unreadable the verse is a clue from the past. Of that I am certain.” The baroness, hands cupped at her waist, recited:
“Lo I the man whose Muse did mask as time her taught,
Am now enforst a far unfitter task
For trumpets stern to change mine family future
And sing puzzles by lovers taunted and denied
Treasure encased in wrought gold tossed wickedly away;
Secreted ‘til freed by lover’s sight.”
The dismay that had clenched the baron’s heart at her visual challenge deepened with the first words of the verse. It increased with each line as his mother’s colour rose. Richard began to fret that palpitations would be the result of too much excitement. Worse, he feared an insensitive guest’s guffaw would soon deliver disaster of another sort. Compelled to intervene before this could happen Richard stepped forward.
“’Tis mere doggerel, Mother,” he said drolly, indicating with a wave of his hand that she was in on the joke. “Parts were taken direct from Edmund Spenser’s The Fairie Queen. The whole ‘tis cobbled together rather badly. There’s not a single clue in any of it.”
“But ‘tis a delightful verse,” a stout defence trod on his effort to deflect any embarrassment onto himself. “There must be definite meaning in it—if only for one who has studied the family legend.”
The guests strained to see who had dared challenge the baron.
In the face of the group’s disapproving examination Richard saw Daphne Stratton stiffen her backbone as she turned to his mother.
“Please share the legend,” she urged the baroness. “It sounds as wonderful as one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.”
“A spirit after my own heart,” smiled Lady Dremore. “We must have a coze, my dear. Our chat will be most interesting. The things I shall tell you.”
The mischievous glint in his mother’s eye irked Richard almost as much as Miss Stratton’s defence of the dowager pleased him. I must distract Mother before—” The thought fizzled as the fine hair on the nap of Richard’s neck stood on end. He gaped at the sudden alteration in the portrait.
The dim aura of light that had appeared around the portrait shimmered to vibrant life and hovered around the pair in it.
Richard fisted his hands. How had his mother managed this? Instantly he knew she could not have conjured the effect.
The aura flared even brighter and then winked out.
Anger swept through him at his gullibility. He had almost believed. I have listened too long to my mother’s foolishness about the legend, he mocked himself. A quick glance revealed that the guests gathered about the portrait had not noticed the strange aura.
Then his gaze lit on Miss Stratton. Richard’s fear for his mother faded when he saw that the young woman stared—gaped—at the portrait. While he watched her, her startled expression altered. What could only be deep dismay transfixed her features and his attention.
* * * *
In the gallery a few hours later a dull glow flared around the two figures in the portrait of the first Lord and Lady Dremore. The lady lightly stepped from it; her husband followed. Laurel leaves skittered about the baron’s gleaming thigh-high black boots. They clung to the hem of the baroness’ brilliant blue Elizabethan gown.
“By the hounds, how dare that pup proclaim the verse ‘doggerel,’” protested Lord Ricman not for the first time. “Spencer was too proud of those verses by far.”
“Do let it be,” cautioned his wife, “I warned thee it unwise to make sport of Edmund’s work.” Lady Laurel sighed as her husband wrapped his arms about her. “A vast unease weighs upon me.”
“The leaves caper, far too restless,” agreed the baron.
“’Tis Eldridge’s bile at the root. Always a treacherous cousin has he been to Richard,” Lady Laurel noted sadly.
Lord Ricman dropped a kiss on his wife’s hair. “We have given your present successor the means and the desire to diligently work toward a satisfactory end. Rest easy.”
“I cannot,” Lady Laurel said with deep unhappiness.
The laurel leaves skittered and swirled into a frenzy.
“We shall have to take a larger part in the affair,” she said with determined grimness.
Lord Ricman eyed the dervish of laurel. Upon his nod of agreement the laurel and the seventeenth century pair vanished.
* * * *
Heart Haven
June 7
Richard, Lord Dremore happily saw that only one couple remained for him to greet. He had sent his mother from the receiving line some time ago fearing she would tire from standing too long. With a firm handshake, he smiled and asked. “How is your mother, Squire Talbot? Has she recovered from the chill she took last week?”
“Almost well again, Dremore,” the squire replied.
His wife smiled. “She’ll be pleased you asked.”
“Enjoy yourself this eve.” Richard beckoned at a footman bearing a tray of filled glasses. “Decker here has just what you need to start the evening.” He started to turn as they headed toward the footman only to be halted by a gentleman who blocked his way.
Tonight not even Eldridge can mar the evening, Richard thought as he took in the square face of his first cousin with its chiseled features so like his own. He knew this and their similar build and blond hair caused casual acquaintances and strangers to mistake them for each other. But Eldridge’s frosty grey eyes, thankfully different from his dark blue, as usual had a gleam Richard could not like. He banked his impatience to find the lady with whom he longed to share the evening.
“The old pile is in fine fettle this eve. Does you proud,” Eldridge drawled.
You never change, Richard thought hearing the usual touch of sarcasm. He quashed unwelcome memories of their childhood together. His parents had raised Eldridge with him when his cousin was orphaned. Eldridge knew perfectly well that the ancient house, a dozen furlongs from the newer family mansion, was kept in good repair because of a codicil in the first baron’s will. It unpleasantly dawned on Richard that Eldridge would also deduce his mother had demanded the soiree be held here despite his objections.
“Still kowtowing to your mother’s whims.”
The purr in his cousin’s voice confirmed Richard’s thought.
“I do hope she isn’t taking guests to visit the portrait,” Eldridge said. “Could prove . . . well, you know, embar—”
“’Haps you should have remained in London,” Richard snapped. If only he could slam a fist into the man’s face and wipe off that smirk.
“Never think I meant to offend.”
Richard took a step to pass Eldridge. He arched a brow in surprise when his cousin laid a hand on his arm.
“My apologies,” Eldridge offered. “I did not mean to offend. The Haven and its grounds are truly beautiful this time of year.
Do you recall my first summer here? Lud, what a time we had exploring this heap. Remember that day we removed the panel in the library?”
Those long ago days are better forgotten, Richard thought. The consequences of his cousin’s “little pranks” had usually fallen on him.
Why has Eldridge trapped me in “conversation” this eve only to prattle nonsense? Richard wondered. What does he want? He always wants something.
As Eldridge nattered on Dremore’s thoughts went to the guest he most wanted to see. Despite an acquaintance of only a scant week with Miss Stratton, he was beyond fond of the young woman. Everything in his life brightened for having met her, even Heart Haven.
Miss Stratton. He unknowingly half smiled as he pictured her delicate oval face and extraordinary blue eyes. This eve I shall gain permission to use your given name. Richard’s smile broadened. Daphne.
Would she wear her neat braid of rich brunette neatly coiled at the nape of her neck or adopt a more frivolous style for the party? A feathering of wayward curls about her face, golden highlights shimmering amidst the coffee brown tresses would prove irresistible. Such beautiful hair, Richard mentally mused. Such kissable lips. I cannot regret that I dared more than kissing her hand when we strolled alone in the gardens yesterday. Richard sighed.
For all her beauty she is the kindest creature I have ever met. He could not forget that Miss Stratton, a stranger among his friends and neighbours, had leaped to prevent his mother any embarrassment when he tried to deflect Lady Dremore’s too-enthusiastic telling of the Dremore Legend.
That was the moment she ensnared my heart.
Only that brief mysterious aura’s appearance across the portrait and the startled, unhappy look on Daphne’s face when it happened marred his thoughts. Richard still did not dare ask what Miss Stratton had seen in the portrait that disturbed her.
She’ll think me as mad as my mother if I ask if she saw an aura, he mused while he sought some way to ask just that. A solution belled into clarity. Why yes, I shall just enquire if anything about the portrait disturbs her.
Intent upon doing so at once, Richard blurted, “Blanchard, I really must mingle with my other guests.”
“But you did not answer my question,” Eldridge objected.
Guilt at his inattention over-rode irritation. “What question?” Richard asked. Instead of an answer he saw Eldridge nod at someone behind him. When Richard tried to turn to see who it was, his cousin tightened his hold.
“Yes?” the baron asked tightly.
“’Tis nothing that can’t wait for another time,” Eldridge said smoothly and released Richard’s arm. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
With a nod made curt by impatience and his disbelief in his cousin’s sudden unusual politeness, Richard stalked away. He barely caught Eldridge’s quiet quip behind him.
“Miss Stratton awaits your discovery, cousin.”
Eager to find the young lady, he ignored a ripple of unease. Casting thoughts of his unpleasant cousin from him Richard visited easily with his guests while he looked for Miss Stratton.
Making his way to the main corridor he glanced into the card room. His mother happily played whist with old friends. Satisfied all was well the baron smiled in anticipation as he continued his search. A sudden surge of laughter from the Rose Salon drew him toward it.
Outside the door the sound of his mother’s voice startled Richard. What the devil? No, he decided, but ‘tis very like hers. Unease jittered in his stomach.
“Ricman Blanchard,” intoned the pseudo-voice.
Richard halted just inside the Rose Salon’s open doors. He saw a large number of guests seated facing the fireplace. Miss Stratton stood before it, her back to them.
“Appear as I command.”
Unaccountably a wave of dread swept through Richard; froze him in place. She mimicks Mother?!
“Do as I bid. Tell me where the brooch is hidden,” Daphne continued.
Confusion roiled through Richard. Why is she doing this? When Daphne continued a swell of bitter betrayal replaced his confusion. This from the woman I thought kind? The woman I thought I cared for a great deal? That I contemplated asking—
How great a fool I have been. Bloody hell, I knew she was a Stratton.
A young woman, a family friend, joined him. She whispered, “I tried to dissuade Miss Stratton. Do not be too angry, she is but a green country girl and doesn’t—”
Shrugging away Richard pushed his way through the seated guests and up to Daphne. “My mother has been nothing but kindness to you, Miss Stratton,” he snarled. “This is how you reward her?” Richard waited, hoping beyond hope that Miss Stratton would explain; would give him reason to pause. Then he noticed the glassy cast to her eyes; heard a halting twitter escape through the lopsided twist of her lips.
His last hope disappeared like a stone skipped across the water sinks. She is foxed! How could I have erred so greatly, Richard wondered as pain, sharp and unbearable, wrenched his heart. Richard drew upon the protection of hauteur’s shield.
“Be at the servants’ entrance of Heart Haven at seven on the morrow’s morn. A carter shall take you to the crossing for the coach to Chesham. Do not miss it.”
Chapter Two
Heart Haven
August 20th
Baroness Dremore pursed her lips as she waited for her son in the Rose Salon. Knowing him well, she knew he would be dismayed by her summons to this particular room. It held memories he had done his best to escape in the weeks since the soiree. He would come with reluctance but he would come.
He thinks I do not know about that kiss in the garden. Nor that I know just how strongly his attachment was for Miss Stratton before that unhappy evening.
