Chapter 19
The Last Bottle at Liberty
Cilly straightened and rubbed the small of her back, staring in satisfaction at the neatly packed trunk. “I think that’s everything, Nichols.”
“My lady, I told you to leave it to me,” Nichols tutted as she hurried back into the room.
“Nonsense. I cannot believe I packed so much for this visit, but it’s just as well. It’s less for the servants to bring from Ealdor.”
“True, but you mind your wretched father don’t forget to send the furniture and pictures your mama left you in her will. He tried that with Hetty, but she gave him short shrift, so I hear.”
Cilly gave a snort. “I think he’s too keen to be rid of me to risk it. I might return to the palace and shout at him, heaven forfend. No, I don’t think he’ll cause any trouble this time.”
“Knock, knock.”
Cilly looked around, smiling as her grandmother appeared at the door. “All packed, darling?”
“Yes, are you?”
Her grandmother nodded, smiling at Nichols, who discreetly left the room to give them privacy. “Yes, I shall be glad to get home. What with staying at Ealdor and then here, I’ve been away for too long, though it has been a wonderful summer.”
“And so eventful,” Cilly added with a laugh.
Her indomitable grandmother grinned and nodded. “I had a feeling something wonderful might happen if we came here, but I must confess, I did not know what I was putting in motion.”
Cilly went to her, clasping her hands in her own. “Thank you, Grandmama. Thank you for always being an ally to me and to Hetty. Hart, too. We all adore you, I hope you realise, and you must come and stay with us whenever you wish. Damian made me promise to tell you he said so too.”
The old lady snorted. “Yes, because he felt safe enough to be sure I would stay with Maria. Don’t be foolish, you silly girl. I know better than to impose myself on newlyweds, but perhaps in a year or two, if I am still alive and kicking, when there are grandchildren to coo over.”
Cilly’s heart gave a painful thud, but she smiled and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “I shall look forward to that day then,” she said, her voice a trifle unsteady.
She knew it would take time for her to fully come to terms with the future, but she had meant her words to Damian.
It pained him too, and so she could never hold his decision against him.
Besides, she wondered now about the possibility of adoption.
It was something they ought to consider, but not yet.
They had years to enjoy just being a couple and she meant to make the most of them.
Damian had already changed so much, accepting her not only into his life but his heart too.
That was so much more than she had expected at the beginning, so who knew what further surprises might await them.
For now, it was enough that they were moving into their beautiful new home, that their nights together were passionate and loving, with Damian finding ever more inventive ways to bring them both pleasure.
With every day that passed, the bond between them grew ever stronger.
She had more than many women could ever dream of, and so if fate did not grant her more, she would be a fool to allow it to spoil her life.
Not everyone was blessed with children, after all, but with the right partner it need not be a tragedy, simply the chance to live a different life.
They’d be able to travel, for example, something Cilly would never dream of doing if she had children in tow.
“That’s everything, my lady,” Nichols said, coming back into the room.
Her grandmother smiled at her. “And my carriage will be here shortly, so I had better get myself ready to leave. I shall call in upon Hetty on my way, but you take care of yourself, Cilly, my dear, and that husband of yours. You know, I think he may turn out to be a rather good fellow after all.”
Cilly laughed, embracing her grandmother and giving her cheek a soft kiss. “He is the very best of men, Grandmama, that much I promise you. Safe travels, my dear.”
“Thank you, Cilly, and good luck to you.”
Cilly watched her go and then took one last look around at the beautiful room which had been the backdrop to such wonderful changes in her life.
Turning to the window, she gazed out at the sea.
It was grey today and sombre, with tiny white horses frothing on the waves, yet it still soothed her heart to look upon it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Whatever the future brings. Thank you.”
Damian smiled at Mrs Fairway as he handed back the keys to the suite of rooms that had been his home on and off for the past summer.
“Thank you, Mrs Fairway. It’s been delightful. The rooms are perfection and the food beyond compare. I promise you we shall return often.”
“Especially for the ices, if I know anything,” the lady said with a chuckle.
Damian smiled, certain his expression was one of a besotted husband, and finding he did not care. “Quite so. Lady Rivington is rather partial to them.”
Having paid their bill, he bade Mrs Fairway a good day and strode out of the hotel, intending to make his way up to Hatherley Hall to see how Celia was getting on with packing up the belongings she had left there.
He made his way through the town and up the hill, following the winding lane until All Saints’ church came into view. Here he paused, turning to study the vicarage. It was a handsome house, elegant and yet homely, welcoming. It suited its proprietor down to the ground.
Damian hesitated. He told himself it was foolishness, that no matter how kind the man’s intentions, there was no magical solution to be offered him.
Perhaps, though, the reverend could help him carry the burden of guilt that sat so heavily in his gut.
He knew that what Celia had told him was true.
She would never blame him, never reproach him, and never ever hate him for his refusal to give her a family.
But that did not stop him from feeling like a bastard every time he denied her.
Loving her was a gift, but every night had become an exercise in self-restraint, and it was killing him.
Damian walked towards the house, placed his hand on the gate, and then changed his mind. He was about to turn away when a jovial voice hailed him.
“Lord Rivington, what an unexpected pleasure. Come in, come in. You are just in time for tea.”
With no easy way of escaping, Damian turned to find Reverend Honeywell beaming at him. “I wasn’t… I was only—”
He sighed and gave an awkward laugh.
“Perhaps we’ll put a dash of something in the tea,” Honeywell suggested, his eyes twinkling.
Damian nodded. “That would be good. Thank you.”
A very short while later, Damian found himself sitting in a comfortable armchair with a plate of biscuits and cake balanced on one knee and a cup of tea on the other. The reverend was on his hands and knees, rummaging in the depths of a dark wood cupboard, his voice somewhat muffled.
“I know it’s here somewhere. I’m perfectly certain…
aha!” With an air of triumph, he extricated himself from the cupboard and blew the dust off an ancient-looking bottle.
“Before the war, I had the honour of doing a kindness for a fellow who turned out to be a French duke. He sent me two crates of the best cognac you ever tasted in thanks, bless his heart. My housekeeper has most of them under lock and key in the cellars, but I managed to squirrel one or two away before she did so. This is the last of the bottles at liberty.”
Damian laughed, charmed by the old fellow. “Are you sure you wish to waste it on me?”
Honeywell frowned. “Waste? No such thing, my boy, no such thing. I shall enjoy it all the more for your company, I assure you.”
With a grin reminiscent of the naughty schoolboy he certainly must have once been, Honeywell poured two glasses and set one at Damian’s elbow. “Perhaps drink the tea first, it seems like sacrilege to ill use such a vintage by diluting it with tea.”
“Quite so,” Damian agreed, feeling suddenly ill at ease as the man sat down opposite and took up his own teacup. The reverend sipped, gave a sigh of content, and then reached for a biscuit. The sound of chewing and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds.
Damian took a sip of his own tea and replaced the cup in the saucer, gazing at the amber liquid and fervently wishing he hadn’t come.
“I don’t really know why I’m here,” he said with a short laugh.
“Yes, you do.”
Damian looked up into shrewd blue eyes. There was no judgement there, only a deep well of patience and understanding.
Damian laughed despite himself. He gazed down at the tea again, frowning, wondering where to begin, if he ought to begin at all.
“I think you know a little of my er… family history,” he said, avoiding the man’s all-too-knowing gaze.
“A little. Your brother had the kindness to confide in me when he was troubled.”
“Kindness?” Damian said with a snort. “Is that what you call it?”
The reverend’s expression became grave, and he nodded earnestly. “Yes, indeed. For it is a kindness. When someone is at a low ebb and needs to unburden him or herself, for that person to find me worthy of their confidence is both a kindness and an honour. I shall never view it otherwise.”
Damian let out a shaky breath.
“What did he tell you?”
The reverend studied him for a long moment.
“He told me about a terrible night, when your mother’s mind betrayed her and made her do dreadful things.
He told me how she killed your father, and how she tried to kill him, and might have done if not for the bravery of his older brother, who was only a child himself. ”
Damian made a harsh sound and set the teacup down with a clatter. “That’s not true. The servants saved him, I just—”
“Kept him safe until they could restrain her. Yes, I know. What might have happened if you had not stood between him and your mother?”
Damian shook his head, unwilling to think on it.
Honeywell waited, saying nothing, and the silence stretched on and on.
“I’m afraid I’m like her.”