The Complete Regency Surrender Collection. Louise Allen
the first morning in ages where her father’s death had not been her waking thought. To lie in Will’s bed, for even a few minutes, thinking of nothing but the night before was an unimaginable liberty. It could not last, of course. After breakfast, she was back to playing Montague’s spy.
She had made her way to the rendezvous point with the hope that she would soon be free of him. Then, out of nowhere, the past had come to remind her of her duty. She must go there again and search more thoroughly.
It had been years, of course. No trace of evidence could have remained. If there were truly diamonds to be discovered, they would not be stuck in a hollow tree where anyone might see them. But she knew she would return to the place, even so. She would not be able to help herself.
It had been even more foolhardy to encourage Will to remember. He might just as well have said, ‘Of course. How could I forget Hans be Bryun, the diamond merchant? And you are his daughter, the woman that stood and watched as I was nearly murdered in Bath.’ Despite what had happened on the previous evening, she’d have been in custody before she could explain herself.
But she could not have resisted the temptation to ask. It was fortunate that William Felkirk’s amnesia was as impervious as ever. Her hopes had risen when he’d admitted to being there the night of the murder. But even then, he could not remember anything helpful. Nothing but useless details about birds and crowns, while her father had lain bleeding in the oak leaves at his feet.
She must remember that he had been but a child and very sick. If there had been a death in the family, and illness, she now knew why the old duke had been far too preoccupied with their own family to give any thought to hers.
But still, to have learned her father’s last words after all this time would have been as valuable as diamonds. She let out a sigh and with it she released the last of her bitterness towards the Felkirk family. While her life had been unfair, she must admit that it was no real fault of theirs. Having walked the path where the crime occurred, she had no reason to believe it was not as safe as William claimed. She had always imaged some lawless wilderness where a merchant might fear to tread after dark. But she was sure that there was not so much as a poacher on the land, much less a highwayman. No one could have predicted that his cries for help would be delayed by worries over a sick child. His death was not accidental. But the circumstances around it were much easier to understand then they had been.
It did nothing to ease the hurt of her past. But if she had thought to get revenge, as Montague had, she could find no logical justification for it. The duke, his wife and her William were quite blameless in what had happened to her father, and to her.
But if they were not at fault, then who was? If the path was not particularly dangerous, how had someone discovered her father on it? He would not have announced, when passing through the local inn, that he carried a bag of valuable stones in his pocket. Yet, someone must have known of his plans and waited on the path for him.
‘I have something for you.’
She started again and looked up to see Will standing in the doorway that connected their bedrooms. She must learn not to jump at the sound of her husband’s voice. It should be as familiar to her as her own. And after last night, sleeping in his arms, she had to admit that it was a pleasure to hear. At the memory, she remembered to greet him with a smile. ‘A gift? I am sure, whatever it is...’
‘Is not necessary? On the contrary, the thing I bring is yours already. You should have had it for some time. Giving it to you was one more thing that I had forgotten.’ He held out a closed fist to her. ‘Close your eyes and open your hand.’
She did as he wished, trying to stifle the feeling of excitement. He might be simply be rewarding her for her behaviour in bed with him. She had received such gifts before and felt the disappointment and shame that came with them. Could not the pleasure be enough to satisfy them both?
Then, she felt the slim, cool band of metal resting on her palm. She had an illogical desire to yank her hand away before she opened her eyes and saw what she knew must lie there.
‘I must have promised you this, I am sure,’ Will said, in the voice he used when trying to manufacture memories to fill the void of the last six months. ‘It belonged to my mother and was set aside, waiting for my marriage.’ He shuffled his feet, as though embarrassed that he could not offer her more. ‘It is not so grand as the duchess ring, of course. Although I doubt Penny would mind giving it up to you, should you want it. She says it is far too heavy to be practical. All of the best pieces are already in her jewel box. But they are entailed. This is mine. And now, it is yours.’
He withdrew his hand to show the delicate gold setting with a single rose-cut diamond at the centre of it. She could not help her instincts. What her father had not bred into her, Montague had taught, so that she might be his partner in the shop. She held the stone up to the light, searching for flaws.
It did not shine as a brilliant cut might, but the stone was perfect, a testament to elegance. The setting was etched with vines and made it look even more like the flower it was meant to represent. The colour was a clear blue-white, the weight, if she subtracted the gold, was slightly over a carat.
It was not worth as much as the stones her father had lost. But should she sell it, she would have several thousand pounds. It was more than enough to launch both herself and her sister on a new life, free of the interference of Mr Montague.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Will was still standing before her, hand outstretched, ready to place it on her finger. Instead of responding with gratitude, she was calculating the value of a lover’s gift.
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she spoke from her heart. ‘It does not matter to me what Penny has. This is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen. I would not trade it for the world.’
‘That is what I hoped to hear,’ Will said, with a satisfied smile.
It was true. She wanted this ring as she had no other. She’d no jewellery of her own, other than the string of pearls she had been given on her sixteenth birthday. They had been her mother’s and had been less a present than an inheritance. For all the other pieces that passed through her hands, she had never been more than a model. A pretty neck to hang things on so that Montague might sell them. She had long since stopped coveting them.
The more she looked at this ring, the more she wanted it and all it symbolised. She burned to have it and to have the man that held it. It meant safety, peace and an unbroken circle of union.
‘Let me help you.’ He meant with the ring, of course. He wanted to put it on her finger. But something in his voice was coaxing her to tell him how much help she really needed.
She let herself be wooed and closed her eyes again. He slipped it on and whispered, ‘With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods I thee endow.’ Then he warmed the finger with a kiss. She opened her eyes to see him looking up into hers. ‘That is right, isn’t it? Were they the words I spoke to you, when we married?’
She did not know, nor did she care. They were the words he’d spoken to her, right at this instant, and she could feel that he meant them. ‘They are perfect,’ she whispered back.
As was the ring. The fit was comfortable. The weight was not awkward. It added elegance to the hand. It made her want to gesture, casually, so that others might notice and envy what her husband had given to her. She could not stop looking at it. And she could not stop smiling.
He gave a sigh of relief. ‘You do like it. Sometimes, I wonder. You are so quiet and too easily pleased. I cannot always tell your mood. As I have told you before, you must not do things just to please me.’
‘Of course I like it,’ she said. ‘And...’ She stopped, frozen. Then she said what she was thinking. ‘And I love the man who has given it to me.’ Unlike so many other things she said, it was truth. An inconvenient truth, perhaps. She still did not know how to free herself from Montague, or what might happen if Will remembered Bath. But even if there could be no future for them, she had to share her feelings.
Things