River of Fire by Mary Jo Putney
Feeling more nervous than when waiting for a French cavalry charge, Kenneth said, "I... I have something to show you."
He led the way to the office and produced a portfolio containing a dozen drawings he had selected from his Peninsular work. Hampton's bushy brows shot upward when he saw the picture of the mortally wounded soldier that had so affected Rebecca.
The engraver studied it for a long time, then wordlessly flipped through the other sketches. When he was done, he glanced up, his gaze keen. "Where did you get these?"
Knowing he was taking a significant step, Kenneth took a deep breath. "I drew them."
"Really! I had no idea you were an artist."
"I have drawn my whole life," he said simply.
"Have you shown Anthony your work?"
"There was no reason for him to see it. However, Rebecca thinks the drawings have merit."
"She's quite right. You and she will suit each other even better than I realized." Hampton closed the portfolio and laid one hand on the leather cover. "Would you allow me to make engravings of these? Even though the war is over, there is still considerable interest in military subjects."
"I was hoping you would want to." Kenneth hesitated, trying to find the right words to make it clear that he was interested in money as well as the honor of having his work published. "Though I've kept Sir Anthony's accounts, I have no idea what the financial arrangements should be for pictures by an unknown."
"Mmm, a good question." Brow furrowed, Hampton produced and lit a cigar. "I suppose I should exploit your ignorance and offer you ten pounds for the lot, take it or leave it. But that would be a shabby way to treat my goddaughter's future husband."
Quashing his guilt about the falseness of the betrothal, Kenneth said, "Actually, I've heard that you are notoriously generous to the artists whose work you use."
"Merely good business. Ensures that I get first choice of the best work," Hampton said, scowling as if he had been accused of theft. "You have a distinctive style. What is the best way to take advantage of that?" He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Perhaps a series called something like 'An Officer's Views of the Late War.' We could issue most of the engravings individually, then put out a book with new ones added. That way people would have to buy the book to get the other pictures."
A series. A book. Trying to control his excitement, Kenneth said, "You'll need more pictures. What kind?"
The engraver blew out a thin trickle of smoke. "Certainly more battle pictures—as many of the major engagements as possible. And views of the people and towns and landscapes as well as military subjects. Can you do that?"
"I was at almost every significant battle, and I have a good memory for details." Too good, Kenneth had often thought, but it seemed that ability would now be valuable. He liked the idea of a series. His first attempts to release his darkest memories on paper had given him a desire to do more. After he had chronicled his personal war, perhaps he would finally be free of it.
More smoke rose as Hampton considered. "How about two hundred pounds advanced against a percentage of total sales? If I'm right—and I usually am—over the next few years you could earn a nice little income from this project."
It was far more than Kenneth had hoped, enough for a decent wedding gift for Beth and Jack. "Done. And thank you." He offered his hand.
"We shall do well for each other, Kimball." After shaking hands, the engraver got to his feet and tucked the portfolio under his arm. "Make me a list of the scenes you want to do. I'll draw up a contract and send a draft for the two hundred pounds." He surveyed Kenneth's broad frame, a smile lurking in his eyes. "You don't look like an artist, but then, neither do I. So much for appearances." He donned his hat and left.
Dazed with excitement, Kenneth wandered from the office, not thinking about where he was going until he found himself knocking on the door of Rebecca's studio. Of course he had come here. Who else would understand what Hampton's offer meant to him?
Rebecca called permission to enter and he went inside. She glanced up from her easel. "You look like a cat who has dined well on fresh canary."
He laughed. "I've just gone from amateur to professional. George Hampton is giving me two hundred pounds to engrave a series of my sketches. It will be a chronicle of the war, with perhaps a book coming from it later."
"That's wonderful!" She set down her palette and came toward him, hazel eyes glowing like new-minted gold coins. "But no more than you deserve."
She was irresistible in her generous pleasure. He swooped her up in his arms and whirled her around exuberantly.
She laughed, her head barely missing the slanted ceiling. "You're a lunatic, Captain."
"But a happy one." She was like a flame in his arms, vividly alive. When he stopped spinning, he found that he could not let her go. He lowered her back to the floor slowly, her body sliding along his. Soft. Feminine. Erotic.
The few days since they had made love seemed like an eternity. He bent his head and kissed her. Her arms tightened around him and her lips clung, sweet as the first strawberries of spring.
He was on the verge of carrying her to the sofa when a wisp of sense intruded. Reluctantly he ended the kiss. "I keep forgetting that we're not supposed to do that."
"So do I," she said unevenly as she detached herself from his embrace. Her lips had a ripe, just-kissed fullness.
Trying to regain his control, he glanced around the familiar studio. It was so thoroughly Rebecca. He'd missed it. "Hampton approves of our betrothal. I wince whenever someone congratulates me. They all seem so happy about the prospect."
"Probably because it was assumed that I was a hopeless spinster," she said with light self-mockery. "You are much admired for your courage in taking me on."
"Rebecca," he said quietly. When she looked at him, he continued, "If a jewel is concealed in the attic, the world has no chance to appreciate it. I think I am envied for being the lucky man who discovered a hidden treasure."
A shimmer of what almost seemed like pain showed in her eyes. "What a lovely romantic thing to say. Utter nonsense, of course, but lovely." She drifted toward her easel. "This is definitely your lucky day. I've learned there will be no baby."
Surging relief was tempered by a surprising pang of regret. A small part of him that was all feeling and no sense would have welcomed a situation in which marriage was the only choice.
But not a marriage where he risked having Rebecca despise him if he learned something that harmed her father. Schooling his face, he said, "About the sitting this afternoon. The usual time?"
Not looking at him, she lifted a brush and drew the point across her palm experimentally. "Usual time."
He left, wondering if the day would ever come when he could speak freely to her. Even more, he wondered what he would say if that happened—and how she would respond.
Chapter 23
As they waited in the salon of Ashburton House for the carriage that would take the bridal party to the church, Rebecca circled Beth for a last-minute check. Kenneth's sister looked enchanting in a cream-colored silk gown. It had been a gift from Lavinia, who adored all weddings. Rebecca paused in her orbiting to make a minor adjustment to the train.
"You're more nervous than I am," Beth said with a smile.
"Probably. I've never been part of a wedding before." Rebecca was enjoying the combination of high spirits and hysteria that surrounded the event. Hiding from the world had caused her to miss a great deal of fun.
But she was still impatient to be off. Kenneth and Catherine had gone to confer with the cook about the wedding breakfast, which the Kenyons were providing here at Ashburton House. Michael and Catherine had both been wonderful. Though Kenneth might not have accumulated much in the way of worldly goods, he had certainly acquired friends beyond price.
"Soon you'll be doing this, thought not on such short notice," Beth remarked. "Have you and Kenneth set a date?"
Rebecca glanced away. "Not yet. There's no hurry."
&nbs
Rebecca stared, wondering if she was misinterpreting the gesture. "Are you saying that... that..."
"That I'm in the family way?" Beth said cheerfully. "I thought Kenneth would have told you, since you're his fiancée. I guess he was being a very discreet big brother, but it's not the sort of thing that can be kept secret very long. When the baby is born, anyone who can count will wonder, even if the dates are not wholly impossible."
No wonder Kenneth had agreed to an immediate marriage. Rebecca was not surprised that he hadn't told her. Though he had done another sitting, they had both been on rigidly good behavior. It took so little to set passion blazing between them. Even friendly conversation was dangerous.
The door opened and Kenneth and Catherine entered. He was carrying a sizable parcel. "Beth, this was delivered a few minutes ago, addressed to both of us." He set the package on the table beside her. "A wedding gift, I presume, though I don't know why my name would be on it."
Beth unwrapped the package and found an elaborately gilded casket. She unlatched and lifted the lid, then gave a gasp of astonishment. Inside was a gleaming trove of jewelry with a sealed note resting on top.
"Good God!" Kenneth exclaimed. "The Wilding jewels. I don't believe it."
He removed the note and tore it open. As Rebecca and Catherine converged on the table, he read,
"To Beth and Kenneth: I've decided that the Wilding family pieces belong with you. Best wishes on your wedding day, Beth. Hermione Kimball."
Eyes wide, Beth picked up a pair of sapphire earrings, cradling them gently in her palm. "I never thought I would see these again. How wonderfully generous of Hermione."
"I don't believe it," Kenneth said flatly. "She never had an unselfish impulse in her life."
"Nonetheless, the proof is in front of our eyes." Beth frowned as she returned the earrings to their velvet-lined compartment. "And I didn't even invite her to the wedding." She glanced at her hostess. "It's too late for her to come to the ceremony, but may I invite her to the wedding breakfast?"
"Of course," Catherine replied. "There is paper and ink in the writing desk in the corner. Write a note, and I'll have a footman deliver it right away."
As Catherine and Beth went to the desk, Kenneth folded the note and tucked it inside his coat. "I still don't believe it."
"Nor do I," Rebecca said quietly. "The woman is a snake, and while snakes may shed their skins, they don't change their spots. She must have had an ulterior motive."
Kenneth frowned. "I wish I knew what it was, but I can't imagine any way she would benefit by giving these back."
Rebecca touched the brilliant diamonds of the magnificent necklace Hermione had worn to the Candover ball. Someday Kenneth's wife would wear it. "Are all the heirlooms here?"
He surveyed the contents of the casket. "I think so. There are some pieces I don't recognize."
"Perhaps she included some of her personal jewelry in a fit of remorse for the way she looted your family," Rebecca suggested. When Kenneth gave a disbelieving snort, she chuckled. "Or perhaps Hermione got wildly drunk last night and acted while the balance of her mind was disturbed. Whatever the reason, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Now that the jewels are in your hands, they are yours."
An arrested expression appeared in her companion's eyes. Before Rebecca could ask what he was thinking, Beth rose from the desk and Catherine rang for a servant.
When the footman arrived, he accepted Beth's letter and added, "The carriage for the bridal party is ready, my lady."
Catherine turned to the others. "Shall we go? I'll ask the butler to put the casket in a safe place until later."
"In a moment." Kenneth lifted a beautiful multi-strand pearl necklace from the box. "You can be married in Mother's pearls, Beth. They were always meant to come to you."
"What a wonderful blessing for the day," Beth said softly as her brother fastened the pearls around her neck. "Now I regret all the unkind things I've said about Hermione. She really does have a heart under her glittering surface."
Rebecca wasn't so sure. Kenneth's stepmother had a glittering surface, all right, but it was composed of reptilian scales. There had to be an interesting story behind the casket of jewels. She hoped someday to learn it.
* * *
A few minutes' ride brought the bridal party to the small church where the wedding was being held. Kenneth helped the three ladies from the carriage. Then, with his sister on his arm, he entered the church. They were greeted by a joyous cascade of organ music that made the old stone walls resonate.
Catherine hugged Beth, then went into the sanctuary to take her place with the handful of other guests. While they waited for the ceremony to begin, Kenneth studied his sister, feeling a little sad. He was losing her before ever having a chance to become really close. There was too great a difference in age, too many years when he had been gone.
His mood must have shown on his face, because Rebecca said briskly, "Take heart, Kenneth. You're not losing a sister. You're gaining a steward." Then she peered through the double doors to check the progress of events. "Almost time, Beth. Jack looks wonderfully handsome. Also ready to expire on the spot. Michael is fulfilling his groomsman's duties by standing ready to catch Jack if he swoons. Ah. Jack is smiling now that he knows you're here. I think he'll survive after all."
Rebecca waited for the processional music to begin. Then she clasped her flowers in front of her and walked down the aisle with slow grace. She wore the amber silk gown again and looked almost as radiant as Beth.
His sister leaned her cane against the wall and took hold of his arm. When he raised his brows, she said decisively, "I'm not going down the aisle with a cane." She smiled up at him, her face luminous with love and certainty. "Besides, I won't need it. I have you to lean on now, and Jack later."
Kenneth smiled back. "You look lovely, Beth." He was struck by a pang of grief and deep regret. "I wish Mama could be here to see you."
Beth gestured at the vaulted ceiling and the glowing stained-glass windows with her bouquet. "I think she is, Kenneth."
Then she locked her hand firmly around his elbow and they proceeded to the altar, and into Beth's future.
* * *
After the ceremony, the newly married couple and guests returned to Ashburton House for the wedding breakfast, all of the females except Rebecca wiping away happy tears. There was a period of buoyant confusion in the vast foyer. The process of removing cloaks and hats was not helped when Louis the Lazy, the Kenyon hound, decided to nap on Beth's train. Eventually the party went on to the dining room.
Kenneth lingered behind with Michael to say, "My thanks to you and Catherine for making the day special."
His friend made a deprecating gesture. "Who doesn't like a wedding? I've always thought well of Jack Davidson, and your sister is a darling. Seeing her safely wed must be quite a burden off your mind."
"I suppose this is good practice for when Amy gets married."
Michael groaned. "Don't talk about it. I'm afraid that I will break the neck of any beastly young man who dares ask her to walk in the garden."
Kenneth smiled, thinking that his friend had taken to the role of stepfather very thoroughly. They were walking toward the corridor that led to the dining room when the knocker smashed furiously into the front door. Michael went to open it. "A late guest, perhaps? I can't think who is missing."
The door swung open and Hermione barreled into the foyer. Ignoring Michael as if he were a footman, she charged straight at Kenneth. "How dare you!" she shrieked. "First you break into my house to steal my jewelry. Then you have the unmitigated impudence to make Beth write and thank me for 'giving' the jewels back! You... you beast! You contemptible villain!"
This was the stepmother he recognized. As she slashed at his face with clawed fingers, he caught her wrist in an iron grip. "It's too late to change your mind, Hermione," he s
"Liar! I did no such thing." She wrenched her wrist free. "I'll have the magistrates on you for theft!"
"Oh?" Kenneth withdrew from his coat the note that had come with the casket. "This looks like your handwriting to me."
Hermione opened the note with shaking hands. "It's a forgery!" she gasped. "I never wrote this."
"Perhaps you did in a fit of absentmindedness, then forgot." Wanting to keep the note in case it was needed as evidence, he plucked it from her nerveless fingers.
As Hermione prepared for a new explosion, a musical voice said guilelessly, "Lady Kimball, how lovely that you've come to the wedding breakfast. Beth will be so pleased."
Catherine sailed into the foyer, every inch the gracious hostess. "I'm Lady Michael Kenyon. We've never been introduced, but of course I recognize you as one of the great beauties of London society." She smiled a thousand-candle smile. "I was deeply touched when the jewels were delivered this morning. It does you great credit that you put the claims of tradition and sentiment over personal gain."
Hermione stared, stunned speechless by so much lavish charm.
"As soon as the jewels arrived, I wrote about your unselfish gesture to my brother-in-law, Ashburton," Catherine continued. "Of course, you must know him."
A calculating gleam appeared in Hermione's pale blue eyes. "I've never had the privilege of meeting the duke."
"Then I shall invite you to dine with us when he returns to London. Just a private gathering, of course, since he is in mourning for his wife, but I should like you to meet him. It is so important that he make the right choice when he remarries."
There was a long, meaningful silence as the two women regarded each other. Then Hermione's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Since I have also been recently bereaved, I'm sure the duke and I shall have much in common."