Rakehell's Widow (29 page)

Jillian stared then. “Piers Castleton?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Jillian reddened, remembering her own fleeting infatuation for him.

“There’s nothing to say, Jillian, for it’s all to be
forgotten now. He is going to marry Adelina Carver, and
by my own actions over the years I’ve more than forfeited
any chance of winning him. He wasn’t responsible for Robert’s behavior, I know that he wasn’t, just as I now know the truth behind that duel he had with the Russian,
there’s so much that I know for certain now and that I
accept, but it has all come too late. There is a moral in this
for you, Jillian Carstairs, for I believe that you feel far
more for Charles Allister than you’ve been admitting to
yourself. It may be too late for me, but it isn’t too late for
you and Charles.”

Jillian lowered her eyes. “Isn’t it? Oh, Alabeth, he
won’t want me now, not after this latest escapade.”

“So, I’m right about your feelings for him?”

“Yes. I didn’t really know it, though, until he walked
into this room a short while ago. In that moment I knew how much I loved him. I suppose I knew it a little when
you wanted me to write to him, telling him that I didn’t
wish him to pay court to me anymore. I wouldn’t write
that letter because I couldn’t bear to send him away. Oh, I don’t know what’s been the matter with me, I
know
how
fine and good Charles is, I
know
that he would be the very
finest of husbands for me, but at the same time I couldn’t
help yearning for someone with all the romance and excite
ment of a Robert or a Piers.”

“Or a Count Zaleski?” Alabeth asked dryly.

“Well, I admit that that was an odious mistake, but he
looked
so perfect.”

“The flaws were there.”

“Yes, I just didn’t want to see them. Anyway, no matter
what you say about there still being time for me and
Charles, I think you are wrong. I am in the same boat as
you, Alabeth—between us we’ve bitched up our chances of
happiness.”

“That is hardly a ladylike expression.”

“It’s how I feel.”

Alabeth nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do too. But,
Jillian?”

“Yes?”

“I honestly believe that Charles loves you and wants you
still. I don’t think he would have come here like this today
unless that were so. And you’ve admitted to me that you
love him, so
do
something about it! He may not be hand
some and dashing, he may not cut the end of dashes all the
time, but he’s worth a thousand Count Zaleskis and a
thousand Roberts.
Tell
him how you feel, don’t leave it
until it’s too late, as I have done.”

Jillian looked at her for a long, long while and then
nodded. “I will do as you advise, but on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“That you promise to do the same.”

“It’s too late, he’s to marry Adelina now.”

“It’s
never
too late! She doesn’t wear his ring yet, does
she? You have to tell him how you feel, Alabeth, for if it’s
the right thing for me, then it’s also the right thing for you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Promise me, Alabeth.”

Alabeth looked slowly into the bright-blue eyes and nodded. “Very well, I will tell him,” she whispered.

Jillian’s eyes fled toward the window and the sea
beyond. “Pray God we aren’t too late.”

“Don’t even begin to think it,” said Alabeth sharply.
“Don’t even begin!”

They fell silent after that, each with her own thoughts
and fears, and outside the street was so busy after the r
ecent storm that they didn’t hear the carriage returning; t
hey knew nothing until Charles came into the room alone.

Jillian was on her feet in a moment. “Oh, you’re safe,” s
he cried. But Alabeth remained where she was, a dread creeping into her heart as she waited in vain for Piers to a
ppear.

Charles saw the anxiety. “He’s all right, Alabeth, he’s d
own attending to the carriage.”

Relief swept through her.

Jillian could not take her eyes from Charles. “Did-did y
ou find the Count?”

“He was already on board a French packet which had p
ut to sea. I wanted to pursue it, but Piers pointed out that
no French master would heave to to hand over the First
Consul’s darling to a pair of revenge-seeking
Englishmen.” He smiled a little ruefully. “He was right,
but I’d have given anything to get my hands on that
filthy—”

Jillian took a hesitant step toward him. “It doesn’t
matter now,” she said. “Nothing matters but that you are
safe. Oh, Charles, I do love you so.” Her large eyes filled
with tears and she looked so appealing that no man on
earth could have resisted. Her name on his lips, he went to
her, holding her close, his fingers coiling in her short curly
hair.

Alabeth slipped silently from the room, closing the door
gently behind her. She paused for a moment in the low-
ceilinged passage. Jillian had carried out her part of the promise, and her reward was that she was now safe and
loved in Charles’ arms. Now it was Alabeth’s turn, but
how could there possibly be such a happy ending for her?
Taking a deep, trembling breath, she walked along the
passage, gathering her apple-green skirts to descend
the stairs toward the courtyard.

Piers was watching as a new team was brought for the return journey. He seemed to sense that she was there, for
he turned, smiling, as he held out a hand to her. “I trust
that all is well between Charles and Jillian.”

“It is.”

“Good.”

“I’m so glad that you did not catch the Count.”

“Perhaps it was just as well.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“He will not get away completely scot-free, for his reputation will suffer greatly as a result of what he did when he pinned that note to the wall at Brooks’s. There is little
chance of the tale not reaching Paris.”

“I know.”

He put his hand to her chin, raising her face a little.
“Don’t look so despondent, for Jillian’s character will survive, especially as she is bound to shortly become Lady
Jillian Allister.”

“We both have a great deal to thank you for, Piers.”

“You should have written to me for help, you know,”
he said, “instead of leaving it to some unknown person to
do that which should have sprung instantly to your mind.”
He took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to
ter.

She read it. “Piers. Please come to me, for Jillian has r
un away with the Count and I do not know what to do.
Alabeth.” She smiled a little, for it was Octavia’s writing, dear Octavia, remaining true to her promise to meddle if the situation should ever seem to warrant it. “You recognize the writing?” he asked.

“Octavia Seaham.”

“A very shrewd lady,” he said softly.

“Yes. Piers?”

“Yes?”

She couldn’t say it; the words were on the tip of her
tongue but she couldn’t say them. Once again all she could think of was that he had asked Adelina to marry him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I want to wish you every happiness with Adelina.”

He gave a short laugh. “Do you, indeed? I wonder what H
arry Ponsonby would make of that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Adelina is to marry Harry Ponsonby, so I doubt if I
am about to enjoy any happiness with her at all.”

“Oh.” She felt totally bewildered.

“
Alabeth, I once remarked to you that when I had last seen Adelina she had been looking triumphant and de
cidedly scheming, and I think that perhaps now is the
time to explain it all to you. There was never a liaison between Adelina and myself; it was all a plot to bring
Harry to his senses. Adelina is a dear friend, but I have
never entertained any notion of marrying her. I pretended to court her in order to stir Harry’s jealousy. The ploy
worked admirably.”

“Oh.” Her head seemed to be spinning. He wasn’t marrying Adelina? He didn’t love her?

He smiled at her. “Oh, Alabeth, does it not now occur
to you that I had as much reason as Adelina to enter into
the conspiracy?”

“You?”

“When sweet reason and patience failed, I had no other course than to try other means in order to prod you just a
little.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” His hand moved gently against her cheek and his eyes were very dark as he looked down at her. “That first time I met you, Alabeth, I had never in my life seen anyone more lovely, more enchanting, or more vulnerable. You were Robert’s wife, so very young and only just beginning to see the unhappiness your notorious
marriage was going to cause you. I wanted to rescue you, take you away from him, make you mine, and I could see in your eyes that you loved me too. Oh, you didn’t want to
love me, you felt disloyal—and I didn’t want to love you for you were another man’s wife. I should have stayed
away from Charterleigh, but I couldn’t, for that would
have meant not seeing you and I could not have endured
that.”

“Oh, Piers,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“When he died, I hoped you would be mine, but instead you spurned me, indeed you seemed to hate me suddenly. I
tried to accept that you would never be mine, and
thought I was beginning to get over you—until this spring when you left Charterleigh and came to London again. Nothing had changed when first I saw you, Alabeth, I
loved you still. I love you now.”

“As I love you,” she said softly, “as I’ve always loved you.” The tears welled out of her eyes and down her
cheeks. “Forgive me, Piers, forgive me for all I’ve said and
done—”

“Forgive you? My darling, I
love
you.” He pulled her
close, kissing her on the lips. “There is nothing to forgive,
for we’ve both said and done things we regret. It will all be
different now, for you may have married the wrong man the first time, but you’ll be marrying the right man this t
ime.”

He kissed her again, and she held him close, giving hers
elf completely to the embrace. It was a first kiss, more
heady and magnificent than any before, and all the sweeter f
or the years which had kept them apart. They were
oblivious to everything, totally unaware of the astonished grooms and ostlers who watched them.

Copyright © 1984 by Sandra Heath

Originally published by Signet (ISBN 9780451129703)

Electronically published in 2016 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.