Love Entwined (23 page)

She glanced his way and he went to stand by her chair.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

There was a soft chorus of response from the group.

Jacqueline took Roman’s proffered hand and stood. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you Captain Roman Cardiff.”

“Please excuse my betrothed for a moment. I shall return her to you shortly.” He bowed and then led her away to the gardens.

“The king supports our pledge to each other. We shall marry within the month.” He held her near a vibrant flower hedge, which half-concealed them from the path.

“Oh,
mon cœur
, I love you so much.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and began a provocative assault. He wanted to ravish her, but not here where they might be discovered by guests milling around. “The king would like us to stay a few days, Jacqueline. He has invited you to tea tomorrow.”

“He wants to know what happened in France.”

“He watches the French king as we all do, and wants to hear from you that you are all right.”

She hugged him. “I am to share a room with Lady Forsythe. I will not sleep I will miss you so much.”

“Shall I come for you at midnight?”

“At midnight, yes.”

He walked her back up the path. He left her with the ladies under the canopy and then went in search of Dutch and Jamie, who were delivering wares to the castle.

* * * *

Windsor Castle, Berkshire County, England – July 24, 1789

“Are you enjoying your stay at Windsor Castle?” the king asked.

“Yes, your Highness, it is quite amazing.” Jacqueline sat on a velvet wing chair opposite King George. She chose a sweet meat from a tea tray proffered by a maid dressed in a crisp black frock.

She was at ease in the presence of the sovereign, but still sat straighter in her chair. The moment had come. She had not yet come to terms with the abrupt absence of her family, but she would not cry in front of the king.

“I extend my deepest sympathy to you, Mademoiselle.”

“Thank you, your Highness.”

”Did you know that Claude wrote to me some time ago of his desire to leave the country?”

“No, I did not, your Highness.”

“He wanted to protect his family. France is not the country it once was, but I am sure you will miss your home, my dear.”

“I will, but I have my memories of
Maman
and Papa…Margaux, she was to wed Marchese Falco…” It was cathartic to speak of life with her family in Asnières-Sur-Seine. She ended up telling the king everything. She spoke of the long months her father was away at court in Paris.

“Papa would come home weary and lock himself in his study, never once sharing with us his work with the assembly. Now I realize he was trying to resolve the disputes of the working class. Not even
Maman
had any idea how the situation had escalated. We lived in an insulated bubble of privilege, with our lives untainted by the troubles spreading throughout the country.”

“A father tries to protect his children,” the king offered.

“We planned dinner parties and went to the opera and ballet. We sewed our trousseaus when all around us our countrymen were starving, homeless…” her voice trailed off at the damnable stubbornness in her words, and in front of the king of England, no less. She regretted it, but regretted more that it was only now at the end of innocence she understood the folly of King Louis’ laws.

“The life you were born to is not to blame, Mademoiselle. It is King Louis who must answer for this trouble. I fear many innocent people will pay for his actions.”

“Roman and I were on the banks of the Seine; that is what saved us.” She looked down at her plate, praying the king would not ask why they were alone at the river, when everyone else had been packing to leave the country.

“That land and all of Comte St. Clair’s holdings in France are yours by right, my child. Your dowry rivals any fortune. Would you claim it?”

“Never.” She shook her head. “I will not return to France.”

“You are happy now. Is it not true England does hold some treasures?”

“It is Roman’s home, and mine now. I almost made a terrible mistake…” She had not thought of Lord Alsborough in days. In her mind and by all accounts, Roman was her intended.

“The Marquess of Alsborough?”

“I hardly know him and I wish to know nothing more. It is because of Roman that I am here. If he had not come for us…” She fought the tears but they won and she bowed her head.

King George took her hand. “You are very fortunate to have found each other, Mademoiselle. I wish you every happiness.”

* * * *

After a visit to his tailor to be fitted for wedding attire, Roman returned to the ship to settle accounts. The crew was on leave and would gather for the next voyage in the fall.

By that time, he and Jacqueline would be married and the foundation of their home in Yorkshire under construction.

Jacqueline had a fondness for the opulent styles of the Renaissance period. They had spent many nights together drawing plans for their new home.

He had arranged for his groundskeeper in Yorkshire to ready the main cottage for their arrival of the architect and his helpers.

Soon, he would have Jacqueline all to himself. They could have married at court, but a wedding in the Season would be a circus. He preferred to be wed among friends in the Yorkshire countryside, where his mother and father were laid to rest at Kingston Abbey.

London, England – July 29, 1789

Their first stop was Madame Giraud’s.

She greeted Jacqueline and Roman with hugs and kisses. They followed her to a clothing rack filled with gowns and capes.

Jacqueline ran her fingers over the fur trimming of a beautiful wine colored wool cape.

A seamstress brought over a large box and Roman took the cumbersome load from her to set it on a table.

There were silky stockings and undergarments of satin and lace, silk chemises all in pastel colors of the rainbow. She lifted a pale pink confection from the box and rubbed the smooth material between her fingers. It whispered as she arranged its folds in the box.

The seamstress brought out a tower of smaller boxes containing matching slippers for the dresses, and boots for the heavy capes.

“They are all lovely, Madame Giraud. I am in your debt.”

“
Ma chérie
, you were my inspiration, so young and vibrant. It is only what will do justice to rare beauty such as yours.”

She caught Madame and embraced her. She had no idea how long she would be able to wear these lovely clothes made especially for her.

She had missed her monthly flow. Though she could not be certain for another few weeks, she had always been quite regular. She would say nothing to Roman yet. For now, she would pray for the miracle to take root in her. If she and Roman brought life into the world, her family would live on in that child.

* * * *

Jacqueline watched the busy streets of London through the coach window and breathed in the pungent smells of roasted chestnuts and cider.

As the coach rumbled on, the close-set shops and inns gave way to dignified brownstones and tree-lined parks. They were soon passing larger manses and estates set back on manicured lawns with the privacy of the upper classes protected by tall wrought iron gates. The estates grew further apart as they traveled away from London. Finally, dense forests surrounded the coach and the only sounds to break the silence were the occasional horse-drawn carriages passing them on the road. The hypnotic rocking motion of the coach put her to sleep.

Jacqueline’s head lay nestled in Roman’s lap. He played with a long lock of hair, which lifted with the gentle rise and fall of her bosom. Her face was peaceful in slumber, her thick lashes swept down and rose ripe lips were slightly parted.

He had kept her quite busy these past few weeks, giving her almost no time for solitary thoughts. The week at Windsor Castle eased her focus away from grief.

He placed his hand against her belly and wondered when she would tell him what he had already divined. Night after night, he had come to her and she had never once turned him away. He had not yet witnessed her monthly flow.

Her breasts were a pleasing handful and her lush hips rounded to perfection. But there was a promising glow in her eyes when she looked at him, and her skin was radiant.

He would wait on her. It would be difficult, but he would let her revel in silent joy until she was ready to share this secret treasure.

The birth of their child would be a soothing balm to her ravaged heart. A babe would be the final victory against their misfortunes, lying to rest the specter of a carousing fiancé and his mysterious rubies.

He spent the rest of the trip to Yorkshire planning a nursery for St. Clair Manor.

* * * *

Cardiff Land, North Yorkshire, England – July 31, 1789

Jacqueline stood in front of the forest haven while fieldworkers removed their belongings from the coaches. She had expected a small bungalow, but this two-story brick home Roman had built with his own hands was almost as big as the Gunwalers Inn. Set in a clearing surrounded by trees, it was not visible from the road. Buttercups and daisies bordered the walkway up to the cottage. The aromatic pine and tangy scent of fresh cut grass signified how far they were from London’s copious smells.

A middle-aged man who wore a leather apron over his shirt came around the side of the house. He had an abundance of thick, brown hair and his sideburns connected to a beard that just about covered his face, making him look like a creature of the wood in the guise of an English farmer.

“Captain, good to see you, sir,” the man said.

“Henry Warton, our groundskeeper,” Roman made the introductions.

Henry bowed low to Jacqueline. “My lady, it is an honor. Welcome to England.”

Roman took her hand and pulled her along.

The cottage was filled with curios from around the world, giving it a hodge-podge of styles from rustic wood to society elegance. The main room on the first floor was a combination dining room and hall, with a stone fireplace.

A wood kitchen was off the main room, with a pantry and storeroom. Henry’s wife Anya and his niece Sarah greeted them from the butcher block in the center of the kitchen, chopping vegetables for the evening meal. A large, open fire with an oven dominated one wall, where pots steamed with the tempting aromas of dill and pepper.

Roman led her to a flight of stairs.

“You are an artist as well, my love.” Jacqueline ran her hand up the gleaming mahogany banister, Roman’s handiwork.

There were several bedrooms on the top level. Roman’s room was decorated in somber colors with a ceiling swathed in fish netting, giving the impression they were still on the high seas.

She opened another door and walked into the sunshine. It streamed across the polished parquet floor from three large-paned windows, which overlooked the clearing. The room ran almost the entire length of the second floor. There was a huge oak desk with intricate scrollwork on clawed feet.

On an armoire in front of one of the windows, there was a delicate hand-painted ceramic Buddha.

“On our wedding trip to India we will visit the monastery in Ladakh where I received that gift.”

She put the figurine on the nightstand by the largest oak wood tester bed she had ever seen. The canopy hung with rich, red velvet and gold tassels.

Jacqueline sat on the coverlet, running her fingers over the rich fabric. “Oh, Roman.”

He sat next to her. “I purchased the set in Paris after the ball at Versailles.”

“You planned this?” Tears welled in her eyes when she thought of the resistance her father would have brooked against them.

He must have been determined to have her. Against all odds, he had known she would be here with him in England, had never thought any different.

He wiped a tear from her cheek and then took her chin in hand to kiss her lips. “I was but waiting for you, my love.”

“Our first home together.” She sighed as he eased her back on the bed and his tongue trailed into her bodice.

He unclasped the front of her white cotton blouse and burrowed deeper until he found her nipple, already ripe for him. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, massaging his scalp.

She was ever amazed at how this man could touch her very soul. He was the maestro playing her to perfection. Like strings on a harp, her body hummed in answer to his skilled touch, taut with delectable tension and ready to snap with the fullness of her desire.

She felt the sweet ache in her belly, almost painful in its intensity, as he suckled.

He lifted her skirts and began strumming below, gently tugging and coaxing her swollen lips in to the melody he played on her senses. When her juices ran over his fingers and she clutched his buttocks, he stood.

Breeches were kicked to the floor, and he drove into her.

For a moment, they lay still, both savoring the sensation as he pulsed inside of her.

She could wait no longer. Her hips gyrated and he gave her what she wanted, surging between her thighs with a force that took her breath away. She wrapped her legs around him and he pounded into her.

She felt the delicious spiral in her core unravel like bowstrings, coiling and twirling, spinning her out of control.

She was keening when Roman impaled her, pushing her down into the bed in his own release. They lay that way as she kissed whatever part of him she could reach.

They were finally home.

Cardiff Land, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1789

He was swimming in her current, his strokes clean and true, on a quest for fulfillment.

He held her as the rising tide lifted them to the heavens. They were one. Light mingled with their love and embodied this life, this union. The wholeness of it was sacred to them. Their souls exploded together. The waves crashed over them both, setting them adrift in the depths of their love…

Roman slowly opened his eyes, kissing the sensitive spot on Jacqueline’s neck just below her ear. She was still clinging to him with her eyes closed. He rolled over, placing her on top of him.