Chapter Two
In an hour Celeste cleaned and dressed the children appropriately. She put on her best gown, the worn black one she donned for church on Sundays. The clouded looking glass showed a bruise already forming on her face.
She would not conceal her physical injuries, and the emotional scars of the past did not show. She patted her curls into place and turned away from her reflection.
They were soon seated in the vicar’s large parlor. Mrs. Robson, a thin, taciturn woman, served tea and cakes to them all. She weakened Mignon’s tea with milk.
“There now.” The vicar smiled his most beatific expression. “If everyone is comfortable, we can begin. Colonel St. John, please proceed to tell us your plans.”
Celeste covered her mocking smile at the Colonel taking orders from the stout little vicar. Good, the colonel is not omnipotent, after all.
“It is the decision of the Crown that the title of baron be restored to your family, as the hereditary line, Miss Hargreaves. Unfortunately, the lands and property were confiscated and given to others, for service to the Crown.”
“Yes, I remember.” All of their possessions were taken from them, including their clothes and the toys for the children. She often wondered if the people who received her horse, Tempête, treated her well.
Colonel St. John was still speaking. She returned her focus to the present.
“By the grace of the Duke of Richmond, the Parkfield estate will be held for Baron Hargreaves until he reaches the age of his majority.”
The Duke of Richmond was the principal accuser against their father.
Colonel St. John, his second son, gathered the information for the accusations.
They ought to make reparations. Our father would be alive if not for Richmond and his son.
The families had been close during her childhood. Until her father was accused, she worshipped Sheridan St. John. As a lovesick girl, she had dreams of a future with him. His betrayal hurt more than all the others.
I will not allow you to hurt me again.
“As to William, he will be schooled for his role in the peerage by my family. My father will oversee his education.”
“Miss Hargreaves, you and Mignon will accompany him and reside at our home.”
She faced him, an awful suspicion rising within her. “And what will our position be while William is being schooled?”
“You have been deemed wards of the Duke.”
The devil we have. I am too old to be anyone’s ward. Feeling her face grow warm, Celeste carefully put her tea on the table. Calm yourself, your argument must be logical and sound. “Such a thing is not necessary. It is understandable William needs a proper education which could be accomplished by hiring a tutor. We could establish our residence at Parkfield. I will care for Mignon. I am a grown woman, in no need of protection, quite capable of taking care of my siblings.”
She could not bear being forced to live with the austere man who betrayed their friendship and coldly destroyed her parents.
Vicar Robson and his wife watched the conversation with avid interest. “I am afraid that would be highly improper.” The vicar blustered like a self-important rooster.
“It is what I have done here in Tideswell.”
“Of course, my dear, but here you have been under my protection.”
As she took a deep breath, Celeste vowed she would not scream. Her hands tightened into fists in her lap. “I appreciate all you have done for us. You have been kind to arrange for my position. But we are quite capable of managing on our own, given property and staff.”
“Nonsense, you are a young woman, hardly more than a child. You need a man’s protection.”
“If you were to marry, perhaps your husband would allow you to care for your siblings.” He looked at the colonel, speculation in his eyes.
On no, you will not make a match between us. Horrified at the direction of the man’s glance, Celeste responded quickly. “I will never marry. I promised my mother to raise my brother and sister until they are adults, established in their own lives.” That settles that.
“I know she was a foreigner, but surely she did not mean for you to forego your female duty.” Given the excitement of the day and the number of cakes he consumed, the vicar’s face turned an ugly red.
Selecting her words carefully, Celeste waited to respond. “Maman was justifiably concerned about the future of my brother and sister, as any mother would be. Rearing the children for my parents is my duty as I see it.” There has to be some way around the decree. I need time to think, to plan.
Colonel St. John stood with some difficulty. “I am afraid the decision rests not with me but with my father. It is his wish that we return to Sussex. We will start the journey tomorrow morning. Please be ready.”
Bowing to the ladies, he relinquished the field and turned to leave.
Robson rose from his comfortable chair and refreshments to accompany his aristocratic guest to the door. “I will see that they are prepared to leave as you requested.”
Neither man saw William come up behind them. “I will not go with you,” he said suddenly. “You are a murderer. I will not live with your father. He is a murderer, too.” The boy ran swiftly out the door and down the steps. “Nobody can make me.”
“William, come back here.” He ignored Celeste’s order. She ran after him, followed by St. John and the rest of the group.
St. John stumbled awkwardly to his horse and mounted by the sheer force of his will. He grimaced at the pain and followed the boy who had already disappeared into the forest.
Celeste stood on the steps, holding Mimi’s hand. She could no longer see her brother or the colonel.
“Why did ‘Liam run away?” asked Mimi, her eyes wide at the exciting events before her.
“He is afraid, darling.” Celeste knew William had every right to be fearful. I don’t want to live with them, either. They are such frightful people, betraying our parents’ trust. We will be forced to answer to them for everything we have.
Her fear loomed as great as her brother’s. Without the title, William could have a life of freedom. He could choose his own path. As the baron, he would have the responsibilities of an estate as well as the family. Would such a life be what he wants?
A commotion from the tree line drew her attention. St John caught William and pulled him onto the huge stallion. William twisted and turned trying to break free. The colonel held him still and managed the horse.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Celeste called as they neared the vicarage. She descended the steps, with Mimi right behind her.
St. John let go of the boy, allowing him to slide to the ground in front of the house. “He is not harmed.” The colonel unsteadily dismounted, favoring his leg.
“Thank you,” her tone was curt. She held out her arm to keep Mimi from going farther.
St. John bowed to her. “I do not wish to see any of you harmed. The Prince Regent is personally interested in your welfare.”
The Prince Regent is personally interested? That doesn’t bode well. A commotion drew her attention. In horror she watched William take a running jump and vault onto the huge stallion’s back, kicking him hard.
“Go, blast you. Go!”
“William, do not scream at him. He is a warhorse who participated in many battles. He can be unpredictable if provoked.” St. John attempted to catch the loosely flying reins as his horse contorted and reared.
The boy screamed louder. “I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t have to go with you.” He grabbed the reins and recklessly whipped the stallion’s neck.
“Liam, no.” cried Celeste seeing the fear in the rolling eyes of the horse.
The steed bucked his hindquarters into the air and successfully lost his troublesome rider. He ran headlong down the road as if chased by the most voracious hounds of hell.
Jolted off the horse, William flew up into the air before he landed on his side with a horrible crack. He lay where he fell, unconscio
us on the dirt.
On her knees beside him in an instant, Celeste became calmly efficient in the crisis.
She ran her hands over his still body. His arm was bent at an odd angle. “We will need the doctor quickly please. His arm is broken.”
Vicar Robson nodded, moving as fast as he could. “I will send one of the servants for him. Let us have William carried to the cottage.”
“Thank you.” Celeste got to her feet. She pulled a sobbing Mimi into her protective arms. “There now, do not cry. William will be fine.” Just the mere mention of having their rank restored had awful consequences. How would the Prince Regent view the news of the afternoon’s debacle? She looked up to see St. John hovering near them.
“Hadn’t you better go after your horse?” If you don’t leave I swear I will strike you. I don’t want you near us.
“If you’re certain I can’t be of assistance here, perhaps it would be best.” He bowed to her and limped toward the road.
“You have done quite enough. I hope you’re satisfied with your work this day.” She turned her back to him.
The vicar dispatched one of his servants for the local doctor and another to carry William back to the cottage.
Celeste did not see St. John again until long after darkness had fallen. She stood by William’s bed when St. John appeared in the doorway.
You dare walk into our home unannounced?
Warning St. John to be silent with a finger to her lips, Celeste turned back to her sleeping brother. She smoothed the threadbare quilt over him, tucking him in like she had years before.
St John inclined his head toward the boy and whispered. “Is he all right?”
“He will be, no thanks to you.” She gathered up the remains of the doctor’s visit and led the way into the main room. “Dr. Jenkins put a splint on his broken arm and gave him valerian tea. He should sleep through the night.”
Celeste noticed the colonel’s cane was missing, his limp more pronounced. She felt the first trace of sympathy for him in several years, and fought it back. No. I have no time for sympathy for St. John.
“Why have you come here this late? It is hardly proper. The vicar would be shocked.” Even after all that happened he was dangerous to her, making her long for what she could not have.
“I wanted to inquire about William’s condition.”
“As you saw he is resting comfortably. Is there anything else you wish to say?”
“No, thank you. I will return to the vicarage.” St. John turned to go. He dragged his injured leg slowly.
In spite of her distaste, Celeste could not turn him out like that. She must be charitable, even to him. To do otherwise would be disloyal to her childhood teachings. “Please sit down for a moment and rest.” What happened to you? How were you wounded? … No, it does not matter. I must not care about you.
He eased down onto the old settee, his injured leg held out stiffly. His fine uniform was mud-spattered. His blond curls fell on his forehead in wild disarray.
“Your door stood open. You should be more careful.”
“Yes, all sorts of animals might find their way inside. In the rush to help William, I forgot to bar the door. I will remedy my lapse as soon as you leave.”
She poured him a cup of tea and brought it to the rickety table beside him. I am only being polite, after all. She was merely curious, certainly not concerned about him. “Did you find your horse?”
“Yes, I found him. Then I had to persuade him to come back with me.” He eyed the tea. “That is not valerian, is it?”
“No. It’s common black tea, perhaps a bit weaker than your customary tea.” She pushed the cup toward him. “Drink it. You look as though you need it.” He looked so bedraggled she could not help but offer comfort.
Impulsively, she leaned toward him and brushed the curls off his forehead, as she thought of the distant past. He had been so jovial then, so funny. When was the last time I truly laughed? I cannot remember. Laughter died on the gallows with her father and her future.
His large hand wrapped around her delicate wrist, pulling her closer. “That is a dangerous maneuver, Miss Hargreaves.”
Without hesitation, she slapped him hard across the face with her free hand. “So is that, Colonel St. John. Do not touch me.” How dare you, after all you have done?
He did not drop her hand. Instead he looked at her with those deep eyes.
Captivated, the years faded away for her. She remembered this man and the feelings he invoked in her. Oh Sheridan, it has been so long.
She moved inevitably nearer, drawn to him. She remembered well the taste of his lips, the feel of his arms around her. She yearned for the security of those arms. I love you, I always have.
A popping log on the hearth abruptly brought her back to the dingy little parlor. Her breath caught and she pulled back from him no longer bemused.
She had no business succumbing to this man. He had ruthlessly stolen all of her security. No, you are my enemy.
She pushed against him and backed away, as far as she could. Mystified by her conflicting feelings, she stared at him.
Why can this man turn my will to mush?
He gently released her. “I’m not sorry for taking your hand.”
“I can see that. It is time for you to leave, Colonel St. John, or must I scream to alert the vicar?”
He rose and bowed formally to her, a mark from her hand visible on his cheek. “Miss Hargreaves.”
Briefly sorry for slapping him, Celeste shuttered her heart. So you have a mark where I hit you. My own wounds go much deeper than my skin. They are wounds of your making.
Celeste watched him slowly drag his leg to make his way out of the cottage. I will not yield to you again. She dropped the bar across the door as soon as he left. There would be no repeat of her momentary weakness. She would make certain of it, no matter the temptation. Tears welled as she sank onto the settee.
As he hobbled through the darkness, Sheridan thought of Celeste. His heart all but died when he lost her. He buried his grief when he joined his regiment, only to have it return as he lay fevered in the field hospital, his leg slashed to the bone.
When he finally returned to England, he learned of Baron Hargreaves’ innocence. His horror at his role in the baron’s execution sickened him, much more than the French officer’s saber that had nearly destroyed him.
How could he have been so wrong? Everywhere he turned, they all said the same thing: Baron Henry Hargreaves was the traitor passing information to the French.
Even one of the smugglers told him the man who paid him to take the note was a “red-haired gent named Henry.” Why would the man lie? He faced his own charges.
Sheridan stumbled through the dark night, ignoring the pitfalls of the uneven path, not caring if he fell. His thoughts were riveted on his guilt, for that’s what it was. He came to the inevitable conclusion and vowed to atone for his crime against Celeste and her family.
With the absolution of the baron, he had the opportunity to begin his penance. He had insisted his father allow him to retrieve the Hargreaves family, though he was not fully recovered from his wound.
When he first saw Celeste in Tideswell, he admitted his love for her was still strong. Though there were moments where she softened toward him, he was unsure of her feelings. She would not forgive him easily for what he did. He could not forgive himself.
The reunion did not progress as he hoped. He could not resist the opportunity to touch her. Despite the events of the day, seeing her again made him whole for a moment.
Now, Sheridan’s leg ached too much to mount his stallion. He trudged through the night leading Thor and thinking of Celeste. He had watched her incredible violet eyes flash back at him. It reminded him of their shared past.
Even in plain garb, she was elegant in her posture. Her black curls against her pale skin made her a woman of lovely contrasts. Petite in stature, she faced him as an equal.
Disguised as hatr
ed, her passion burned within her, giving Sheridan hope they could find their way back to each other. It would take much effort and patience to overcome their difficulties, peel away the layers of pain for both of them. Though possible, it would be a lengthy battle with an unknown outcome.
A veteran with many victories, he was used to battle. He had survived the bloody battles of the Peninsula. Many Englishmen did not. Winning Celeste would take a concentrated campaign. She would not capitulate easily.
They belonged to each other. He simply had to convince her.
Author and actress Sharon Drane is noted for her kazooing skills. But that's only scratching the surface of her many talents.
Sharon began dance lessons at two years of age. In her high school drill team, she not only performed dance routines, but twirled as well. At the age of 16, Sharon's grandmother insisted on classical voice lessons. As a drama major in college, she appeared in lots of productions. The standout was Arsenic and Old Lace in which she played Aunt Abby. Her directing officially began in college and she has since directed roughly 25 productions
Sharon wrote short stories and occasional poetry while in high school, then wrote Star Trek stories that were published in several fanzines. This led to her first two novels. Both are currently living sealed in boxes where they belong.
Two years ago, Sharon started a blog that quickly became popular: The Author & Pop Culture Diva, featuring film, book, television, and music reviews, as well as "thought pieces."
She is deeply involved in Native American culture, art, jewelry, and spirituality.
As a child, Sharon played the piano and the guitar. As an adult, she is fascinated by drums, and makes her own. When a Native American makes a drum, he or she puts a voice in it so that it will sing its own song. Sharon's elkhide drum really has a musical tone to it, quite a lovely voice. "But that's due to Spirit," she says. "Not to anything I did."
She loves Hawaii and has had the privilege of visiting the islands several times in her life—the first time was when she won a trip in a radio contest.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends