Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) (27 page)

“Yes, your grace. My grandmother makes the tapestry, and my daughters help her.”

“Could she also repair them? Even if they are in bad condition and very old and fragile?”

“Indeed yes, your grace. My grandmother has magic fingers.” She poured the tea. “She’s eighty-three, almost blind, and yet she still crafts beautiful creations.”

“Join me, Mrs. Mayhew. I think I have an idea how to solve both our problems.”

With curiosity, Lady Mary opened the box that had been delivered by a messenger from Ravenworth. She found Kassidy’s letter on top and began to read:

Dearest Aunt Mary,

Enclosed you will find an extraordinarily beautiful twenty-place setting of china, which I’m sure you will agree is unique. It is a gift to you from the Ravenworth villagers. I ask only that you use the pieces at your next social, and emphasize where they were made. I have found the villagers here in need of revenue, and in this, I intend to help them. I would love to see my village in vogue, but most of all, I want to see it prosper. I could use your help in this.

Lady Mary smiled and handed the letter to George so he could read it. “That’s our Kassidy. And Raile thought he would have an easy life with her.”

George laughed. “I may have a few notions on how to draw patrons to Ravenworth. I often thought if I had been born a tradesman, I would have done well.”

“Surely you have a few pounds you can contribute to this worthy undertaking,” Lady Mary said, catching her husband’s exuberance.

Lady Mary held up a delicate plate. “Most extraordinary,” she said. “It will be a welcome addition to my table.”

She smiled, and her eyes became mischievous. “I believe I shall invite Lady Talmadge to tea. She has impeccable taste, and if I can interest her in this china, everyone in London will want a set.”

Her husband became serious for a moment. “Kassidy is like you in many ways, my dear. You are both like a cat and will always land on your feet. I believe your niece just landed on hers.”

“I land on my feet because I have you beside me, George. I’m not certain Kassidy has anyone.”

30

Even though the weather had grown colder and the rain often turned to ice, Kassidy went each morning into the village and was welcomed with enthusiasm. She was now a familiar figure; the children would gather around her to vie for the chance to walk at her side.

She had located an empty barn outside Ravenworth, and with the help of the enthusiastic villagers, it had been transformed into a workshop. The men who were not employed at the castle worked tirelessly following Mrs. Mayhew’s direction.

Twelve potter wheels had been assembled, and three heavy ovens stood against the back wall to bake the greenware. Tables were set up so Mrs. Mayhew and her daughters, and several other gifted craftsmen could paint the intricate details on the Ravenworth china.

Kassidy entered the factory and paused in the doorway, watching the activity around her. “This is marvelous, Elspeth,” she said with satisfaction.

When Mrs. Mayhew saw the duchess, she set her work aside and came quickly to her. “Pardon the paint on my hands, your grace.” She glanced about her with pride. “We have almost finished with five orders for Raven worth china you brought last week.”

Kassidy handed Mrs. Mayhew several letters. “Then,” she said smiling, “you will be able to start on the twelve new orders I received today. Your fame is spreading. If this keeps up, Mrs. Mayhew, we’ll have to build a larger shop.”

“We owe it all to you, your grace.”

“Nonsense. It’s your talent and the other villagers’ hard work that made it all possible. I merely helped you find a market for your lovely china.”

Kassidy noticed that the other workers were gathering about her, all smiling.

“Your grace,” Mrs. Mayhew said, “we would like to show you in a small way, how grateful we are for what you’ve done for us.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Would you follow me, your grace?”

Kassidy looked curiously from one smiling face to another as she walked beside Mrs. Mayhew. At the front door, the workers formed a circle about her and waited expectantly as Mrs. Mayhew began to speak. “For generations, we of the village of Ravenworth have dwelled in the shadows of the castle. Sometimes our ancestors have taken shelter there from our enemies, and sometimes we have shared food from the dukes’ tables, but never have we had the lady of the manor come down to help us as you have, your grace.”

Mrs. Mayhew called Kassidy’s attention to the porcelain plaque which hung on the wall. It had the same intricate pattern as the china, and Kassidy read the words with tears in her eyes.

Dedicated gratefully to her grace, Kassidy DeWinter, the eighteenth duchess of Ravenworth, for her loving kindness to the village of Ravenworth.

Kassidy turned to the people and saw the anticipation on their faces, as if they expected her to respond.

“Thank you… ” There was a catch in her throat, and she had to wait a moment before she could continue. “I can’t tell you how much this gladdens my heart, and how I shall cherish your goodwill. The credit belongs to each of you. You were dedicated and worked hard. I will always be proud to have been a small part of all you have accomplished.”

She looked at the sea of faces and read admiration in their eyes. This was where she belonged—this was where she wanted to remain to raise her child. She had come to know these people, to admire them, to care about them individually, and she knew they returned her affection.

Knowing if she remained longer she might cry, Kassidy gave a final wave of her hand and left abruptly. She was a fool to think Raile would allow her to live here after the baby was born. After all, she had a bargain to keep.

Kassidy stood at her bedroom window, staring into the courtyard below. It was the first snowfall of the season, and the flakes fell gently earthward. She watched as the cobblestones disappeared beneath a blanket of white.

She sighed and turned to Elspeth, who was sitting on a stool near the fireplace with a basket of mending beside her. “Each season here is more beautiful than the last, Elspeth.”

“It’ll be a hard winter, your grace. I’m right glad we’re in the country and not in London.”

“Yes, so am I. Except... it does get lonesome sometimes.”

“And why not, I ask? You have only the servants to talk to, and the little one, of course. You need your husband with you at a time like this.”

Kassidy touched her rounded stomach. “Sometimes I hope this is the boy Raile wants,” she said, voicing her thoughts, “and sometimes I hope it’s a girl.”

Elspeth applied her needle into the material and took several stitches. “The baby’ll be what it is, and nothing can change that.” She laid her sewing aside and moved to her mistress.

“You mustn’t be on your feet too much, your grace.” She guided Kassidy to a chair, and when she was seated, placed a robe over her lap. “You don’t want to take a chill, now do you?”

Kassidy gave in to Elspeth’s pampering. She closed her eyes and listened to the peaceful crackling of the fire in the grate. It was tranquil here, and she loved Ravenworth Castle. It was as if carrying a child with DeWinter blood made her belong.

“I’ll just go below and get you a nice cup of hot chocolate to fortify you against the cold, your grace,” Elspeth said, hurrying out of the room.

Kassidy threw the blanket off and moved back to the window. By now, the ground was completely covered with snow, and the wind began blowing and swirling it around.

She felt an ache deep inside. Abigail had loved the snow so. Kassidy could envision her sister as she had run through the snow, her head turned upward, catching the snowflakes on her tongue.

If only she had Abigail with her now, to share this time with her. The baby inside of her moved, and it brought tears to her eyes.

The blinding snow tore at Raile’s greatcoat as he dismounted and tossed the reins to Oliver. The valet led both horses toward the stables, wondering why his grace had insisted on riding all the way from London in such a fierce storm.

Raile raced up the steps and opened the door, sending a swirl of snow into the entryway. He tossed his coat at the butler. “Where is her grace?” he asked moving up the stairs.

“I believe she’s in her room, your grace,” the butler answered, undaunted by the duke’s sudden appearance. “Her maid just went into the kitchen.”

Raile moved through the hallway with an urgency. He couldn’t explain the ache inside. He did admit to himself that for the first time in many years, he had missed another person. The thought of Kassidy had been with him day and night. Now that she was so near, he hastened his footsteps.

Kassidy was standing at the window with her back to him when he entered. Raile’s eyes ran the length of her. She was dressed in a flowing green velvet robe, and her magnificent hair hung in long ringlets to her waist. He could see her beautiful face reflected in the window, although she had not yet noticed him. When he saw tears rolling down her cheeks, he felt a stab in his heart.

Suddenly she saw his reflection in the window and turned slowly to face him, saying in a calm voice: “I was not certain if it was you or an apparition, Raile.”

He took two steps that brought him even with her. “You are crying, madame.” He removed his handkerchief and gave it to her.

Kassidy wiped the tears from her face, ashamed that he had seen her in her weak moment. “It will pass.”

She handed him back his handkerchief, but he closed his hand around hers. “You keep it, you never know when you might need it again.”

Kassidy glanced down at the handkerchief, absently tracing the black embroidery, R. Suddenly her head snapped up and she stared at Raile, as a door in her mind opened. She remembered that scene in the park so many years ago when she had been rescued by a handsome officer who was going away to fight the French. How could she have forgotten about the handkerchief and the man who had given it to her?

“You, Raile—you were my champion?” she asked in disbelief. She tried to imagine the dashing officer who had passed so briefly through her life. “Was it you that day, Raile?”

He took her hand and pulled her tenderly into his arms. “You did not remember until now?” he asked, his whole being filled with the sweet smell of her hair.

She buried her face against his chest. “I never forgot the incident, but I could not recall your face.” Kassidy closed her eyes, loving the feel of his arms about her. When he was holding her, there were no shadows in her world, no nightmares lurking in the recesses of her mind.

She raised her head. “How can it be that you and my champion are one and the same?”

Raile cupped her chin and looked into misty green eyes. “How can you be the lovely little girl who would probably have done the lad in, if I hadn’t come along and rescued him?”

Kassidy loved the way his eyes shone when he smiled. “I thought of my champion so often and hoped he—you would come safely through the war.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe that we met for that brief moment, and then found one another again. If I had recognized you that day I came to the castle, I would have known you were not the man who had wronged Abigail.”

He laughed, looking down at her. “Did I make such a lasting impression on you that day in the park?”

“Yes, you did,” she said seriously. “Perhaps because that was the day I learned my mother and father had drowned, and thinking of you, and what you would have to face, helped me. As the years passed, I forgot your face, and remembered only the uniform, and”— she glanced into his eyes—“your wonderful dark eyes. I should have known you right away by your eyes, Raile.”

He stroked her hair. “And I should have known those green eyes of yours.” He lay his face against her smooth cheek. “Oh, Kassidy, I’m finding out that there are reflections in a woman’s eyes that can melt a man’s heart.”

“Did I melt your heart, Raile?”

He held her at arm’s length. “If you have not melted it, you have surely thawed it a bit.”

For the first time, he noticed the roundness of her stomach. He wanted to crush her to him, but he dared not. Within her body, she carried his child—perhaps a son. For the first time, he thought of the child as a person, as a part of himself and Kassidy. Together, with God, they had created a new life.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked in concern.

She moved to the fireplace, still clutching his handkerchief and still reeling from the revelation that Raile was the man she had met so long ago. “My health is good,” she answered.

“I was told that you are suffering from nightmares again.”

Kassidy spun to face him. “You could only have heard that from my aunt.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come back sooner.”

Now she averted her face, staring at the dancing flames. “I don’t expect you to coddle me. Are you happy about the baby, Raile?”

He had expected her to accuse him of months of neglect but she had not. His eyes took on a tender light. “Extremely so. I don’t intend to leave you until the baby is born.”

She dropped down in a chair. “That won’t be for three months, Raile. Can we hold you here that long?”

He knelt before her and took her hands in his. “Kassidy, will you ever forgive me for leaving you alone for so long?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I forgive you.” He stood up, his shadow falling across her face. “I hope I never again have reason to beg your forgiveness.”

She smiled at him mischievously. “If I know you, there will be other times, Raile.”