Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance Read online

  AMETHYST LOVE

  Janet Louise Roberts

  writing as

  Rebecca Danton

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  MORE BOOKS BY JANET LOUISE ROBERTS

  CHAPTER 1

  “Miss Gray, there be a young gentleman in uniform to see you!” The young maid was bobbing and beaming with excitement. Nothing much happened from day to day but work and more work. This was something to talk about!

  Valerie Gray sprang from the rocking chair, still clutching the youngest Bloomer child, a fat drooling infant who invariably cried much of the night. “A gentleman — who? Is it my brother, Clarence? Did he say Clarence Gray?”

  She had grown even more pale with hope. Could it be? Could her brother have returned from the wars on the Peninsula and dashed to her rescue? She had written, telling him of her situation. She had had to sell Gray Court, even the furniture, to meet the debts of her dead father. And then Clarence’s debts.

  Oh, how she had prayed every night that Clarence might return and require her for his new household. That he might be miraculously cured of gambling, settled down, more calm. Cured of his reckless rakehell ways, of his wild companions. And needing her! Needing her to come and live with him.

  “I couldn’t say, miss. He do have some grand braid about his shoulders,” said the maid hopefully. Who could work up much delight in the sight of a mere brother? But a young gentleman friend, that was more like!

  Valerie turned over the baby to the maid, brushed down her apron over the snuff-brown dress, and without waiting to push back the brown curls under the unbecoming grey mobcap, she walked out of the nursery. She was trembling. An officer to see her, perhaps Clarence, perhaps one of his fellow officers with word of his safety … Her heart beat wildly as she made her way down the long stairs to the second floor, then to the first.

  Mrs Job Bloomer was waiting her in the hallway. A plump middle-aged matron, shrewd, cold, jealous of Valerie for her youth and the fact that she had once been mistress of the grand Gray Court, she had taken Valerie in, as a distant relative must, but made her understand she must work for her living. “I’ll have no idlers here, miss,” she had said. And she kept her word. Valerie worked with all six of the children, tutoring the older, caring for the younger.

  Valerie was a bit dizzy this morning. She had not slept well, she had been up much of the night with the baby, who was teething. And she was thinner than ever, overworked, undernourished.

  “There be a gentleman for you, Valerie,” said her cousin, with intense disapproval. “I was going to forbid him to enter. You know I do not approve of gentleman callers, especially during working hours. But he would see you and said he had a-come a distance for it and would not turn back.”

  “Is it — my brother?” Valerie asked hopefully. “Clarence?”

  “No. A Major Villiers, he said.”

  Valerie’s shoulders drooped. Hope died a little. He might have word of Clarence, but Malcolm Villiers was no substitute for the beloved brother she had hoped to see.

  “Half an hour, then — no longer — then back to work!” said Mrs Bloomer, and retreated.

  Valerie nodded with resignation and went to the small back sitting room. She opened the door and found the room cold on that January day of 1809. No fire was in the fireplace. The gentleman in the mud-splashed uniform was striding up and down vigorously, trying to keep warm by swinging his arms.

  He turned at once as she entered. She managed a pale smile. “Major Villiers — you are welcome, sir. How good of you to come all this distance.”

  She searched his handsome face anxiously. He seemed tired, stern, the usual light amusement and teasing gone from it. As he came towards her, he was limping heavily.

  “Miss Gray, it is good of you to receive me.” Their hands clasped. Even in the cold room his was vigorous and warm. Hers felt chilled.

  “Pray be seated. I am given a half hour to speak with you, sir. My brother — you have news of him?” She could not keep from asking him at once.

  His handsome full mouth tightened to a hard line. He gestured to a chair, she sat down. He lowered himself carefully to a chair opposite her, grimacing as he noted her look at his right leg. “Bullet in it, invalided home for a short time,” he said briefly.

  “I am so sorry, sir,” she said politely, on edge for news of Clarence. Her chapped, reddened hands clasped and twisted in the apron.

  “I am ’mazed to see you in these circumstances,” he said, finally. “Clarence said you had to sell Gray Court. Would you mind telling me what has happened? You have the money from it?”

  She wondered wildly if Clarence were in debt to this officer. If he had come for money from her, he was completely out of luck. “I regret, sir, that it was necessary to sell Gray Court,” she said, with forced composure. “After my father’s death, his debtors pressed me until I had to sell the house. I wrote to Clarence about it, he wrote back only to tell me to pay also some debts of his. I was forced to sell everything, furniture — even the — family portraits.”

  Her voice choked, she composed herself again with a great effort. The experience had been intensely humiliating as well as personally agonizing.

  “I am sorry. Very sorry to hear it.” He bit his lip, stared at the floor. “I am sure Clarence did not realize the extent of the debts. He kept on — I mean…”

  “Gambling? I regret, sir, if he owes you aught. I have nothing at all with which to pay you. Nothing. I work for my food and room, that is all.” And now the bitterness did reveal itself in her voice and face. She swallowed. “What — what news of him? I pray you, sir—” She glanced anxiously at the door. She would not be surprised if Mrs Bloomer should come in and order her back to work at any moment.

  Still the officer did not answer her directly. He studied her face with a frown, he glanced at her red hands, her thin waist. “You are so changed from a year ago, Miss Gray,” he said, finally. “I should not have known you. That dress, it is dreadful!”

  She smiled faintly. Malcolm Villiers had been as blunt as herself, she had liked him for that, so different from the fawning compliments of others intent on getting their way with the wild Clarence’s sister. She had felt more secure with this younger son of the Earl of Arundel. He was an all right, as her brother had said.

  “I must wear it for my work, Mrs Bloomer insists,” she said, in a low tone. In spite of her frightful appearance, Mr Job Bloomer had not been averse to pinching and touching her whenever his formidable wife was not about. Valerie had hated his touch and hid from him in the nursery. But he had pursued her, and the older children knew it and taunted her about it.

  “You cannot remain here,” said Major Villiers abruptly.

  “I cannot do anything else, I am not trained,” she said, thinking of the wasted education of her brother, the money spent on tutors, while she, hungry for knowledge, was denied even a governess. Women did not need learning, it spoiled them, said her father, and that was that. She had managed to sneak into the library while her brother was being tutored. She listened, memorized, read avidly in English, French and German, teaching herself much of the time.

  Malcolm Villiers seemed to be thinking deeply. Finally
he cleared his throat, straightened out the leg which pained him, and began again, “Miss Gray! I regret very much that it is my — duty, my responsibility, my pledge — to inform you — that I — well —” He finally faltered, meeting her clear, anxious brown eyes.

  “Sir?” She was holding her breath. “Clarence — he is — wounded?”

  “He was — wounded, yes.” Villiers flinched from the look on her face, half turned from her, but finally finished what he had to say, like a man. “I regret so much, Miss Gray, to be the bearer of such sad news. Your — esteemed — loved brother — Clarence — has died — in battle.”

  The silence in the room was intense. She was still staring at him, willing the words to be changed, to be taken back, to be removed from her consciousness. It could not be. The death of her only close relative, her reckless, laughing, loving brother … his death … leaving her alone in the world, with only cold, distant relatives who cared not a fig for her … no one to care what happened to her. Her hopes were dead as his body …

  “No,” she whispered. “No … no … no…”

  “I regret so much … so much…”

  She put her hands to her face, fighting against a cry of despair and anguish. She was trembling with the shock, the horrible feeling of being so alone. What would she do? And poor Clarence, so full of life, so eager for experiences.

  Malcolm came over to stand beside her, to take her hands, to chafe them in his own big warm hands. “I regret so much,” he said more strongly, “that I should have to tell you — this horrible news … You must be brave and strong, Miss Gray. He died in a most valorous way, saving the life of the colonel. The action was fierce, he jumped up and ran forward, into the path of the bullets. He died instantly, he could have felt no pain…” His voice went on and on, but Valerie scarcely heard what he said.

  “Poor Clarence,” she finally said in a dull voice, her hands still in those of the major. “He enjoyed life so much. And he was but twenty-three. So young, so brave, so splendid…”

  “He was all that. And all honoured and loved him. I — I brought back his body with me, Miss Gray,” said Major Villiers very gently. “It is to be buried at Arundel. I promised him before — well, when I heard about Gray Court, and he was concerned — if aught should happen to him…”

  “That was good of you, so good and kind and — and fine.” She managed to choke it out. “When … when …?”

  “As soon as we return,” he said. “Oh, yes,” he said, to her surprised look. “I shall take you back to Arundel with me. You will wish to see him properly buried, I regret you cannot see him. He is — sealed in — in his coffin. His uniform was brushed and fine, we put flowers in with him before…” He was stammering, but she pressed his hands tightly with hers.

  “Thank you. Thank you.” She whispered it, her eyes tight shut against the tears.

  She released one hand, groped for a handkerchief but found only her apron. She raised it to her eyes, found a fine white lawn handkerchief pressed hastily into her hand by Malcolm. She held it to her face. It smelled of a faint masculine scent, somehow reassuring. She wiped her eyes, gulped back a sob. Men hated tears, Clarence had always flung out of the house when her mother cried.

  She managed to say, “Thank you — very much. I should like to return — for the — funeral — but Mrs Bloomer…”

  “Valerie.” Malcolm took her hands tightly in his again, speaking urgently. “You can’t stay on here. Surely you can see it is impossible. That dreadful woman! Sorry … she is your cousin! But she is horrible! You must come back with me to Arundel and let us look after you. Matter of fact … I promised I would take care of you. Promised,” he repeated impressively.

  She shook her head drearily. “You owe me nothing — but thank you. I shall — take care of myself…”

  “You can’t,” he said bluntly. “Listen, Valerie. I know I’m the younger son, no prospects. Good old Eustace is the heir, and all that, don’t begrudge it to him. I’m no farmer! Let him look after the lands. But we could have a good time of it, when I get home again. Want you to marry me now.”

  She blinked, her long lashes wet with tears, her brown eyes dazed. Was he mad? He seemed sober, not drunk. His hazel eyes were close to hers, he was studying her intently. He was slim, vibrant, medium height, like Clarence. But somehow full of intensity, seriousness.

  “You see, I promised solemnly that I would take care of you, Valerie,” he said, as she did not speak, “Promised! Sacred word. And I’m not old enough to be your father, and you’re not young enough to be anyone’s child. I’m sort of a guardian to you, word of honour. But how can I look after a young lady like you, unless I marry you? So it’s got to be marriage, Valerie.”

  She did not follow his reasoning. It seemed wild to her. She kept shaking her brown head, the long bobbing curls escaping from her grey mobcap. “No, no, I cannot, Major Villiers. Thank you — I’m sure. But I shall manage…”

  “You can’t manage, Valerie. You’re a woman! For women, there’s nothing to do but teach or marry. And I’d hate to see you wasted on other women’s children,” he said.

  Poignantly, his words struck home. Other women’s children. Sometimes, at night, when she had rocked the unattractive, spoiled Bloomer baby, she had longed for a little one of her own, sweet and cuddly, her own child. Not one with the red round face of Job Bloomer, and the fretful nature of his wife.

  She sighed deeply and kept shaking her head. There had to be some other answer.

  The brief knock on the door did not wait their reply. Mrs Bloomer opened the door and stepped in. “It’s long past half an hour, Miss Gray,” she said, sternly disapproving. “The gentleman must go now.” Her small eyes showed her curiosity. “Bad news?” she asked eagerly.

  Valerie put the large white handkerchief to her eyes. She felt dizzy and overcome. It was all too much. The thought of going back upstairs and taking care of the baby, the older ones … their lessons and the monotonous routine of the drills…

  Malcolm Villiers spoke for her. “I regret to inform you, madam, that Miss Gray’s brother has been killed in action on the Peninsula. He died bravely, honourably, saving his colonel’s life. I have come to take her back to Arundel with me. The funeral will be held as soon as we arrive.”

  Mrs Bloomer’s thin mouth gaped in surprise. “Dead, is he? Well, I’m not surprised. A more reckless, thoughtless young man I have yet to meet!”

  Valerie gave a stifled sob. This cruelty, on top of all…

  Major Villiers said, very coldly, “That is not how his country looked on him, Mrs Bloomer. His Majesty has sent a personal letter of regret and a wreath of flowers and laurel. Now, time is growing short. I propose to take Miss Gray back with me, yet today. We can make it by late evening if we start at once.”

  “Take her away? Indeed, you will not,” said Mrs Bloomer, indignantly. “She works for me, sir! She’ll not absent herself, not without making a peck of trouble for herself! I’ll get Mr Bloomer to speak to you, I will!”

  “Miss Gray is now under my protection, Mrs Bloomer!” Major Villiers drew himself up, so he appeared more than his height. “She returns to Arundel with me. My parents are anxious to greet and console her, as her brother’s friends are also.”

  “She don’t need to go nowhere,” said Mrs Bloomer flatly. “He’s dead. No need to go into such a fussy dither about it. She stays. Besides, her beau is coming this evening. Mr Bloomer is going to give his permission to wed. The squire is quite a catch, he is.”

  Valerie gasped aloud. She jumped up. “The squire? Oh, no, I have not said I would … oh, Mrs Bloomer … you know my feelings on the matter! I have said I would not receive him again!”

  The squire, Phineas Kastner, was a widower of some forty years, with four husky young demons, as the villagers said. He had had his eye on Valerie since she had arrived – just the one to take his four in hand, he said, beaming and looking her up and down like a prize cow.

  “Nonsense, you cannot remain h
ere while a fine young man like the squire is asking for you and needing you.” Mrs Bloomer’s cold eyes belied her friendly manner. Valerie realized the woman had seen some of her husband’s pinching and touching of her, and was not about to allow him his little pleasures. She shuddered. Between Job Bloomer and Phineas Kastner there was not much choice. She detested them both — and feared them.

  “Madam, you have the situation completely wrong,” said Malcolm, stepping between them easily. “Valerie Gray is promised to me. She is to marry me, so that I might offer her my protection, now that her brother is deceased. I propose to take her to my mother at once. Our marriage shall follow shortly.”

  Mrs Bloomer gulped, so did Valerie. What choice did she have? She hated it here. Perhaps if she went with Malcolm, he might be able to find her another more acceptable post, or his mother would be sympathetic with her longing to work in a more congenial place.

  So she remained silent, as Malcolm took the situation in hand.

  “You will go and pack at once, everything you have, Valerie,” he said, in a tone his men usually obeyed immediately. “I shall send up my footmen to bring down your trunks. Ask a maid to assist you; I wish to be upon my way practically at once. The carriage is standing, and the horses will be chilled.”

  Valerie looked at Mrs Bloomer — aghast, puffed with fury, baffled, arrogantly sure of her right to rule. She looked at Malcolm Villiers — strong, straight in spite of his injured leg, the keen look of his eye, the clean-cut face.

  “I’ll go and pack at once. I shan’t be long,” she said. She raced from the room as though demons were at her heels. She ran up the stairs, to the third floor where the back room was hers. Cold, chill, barren, but for the two small trunks and the valise which she had brought with her. She did not glance again at the room until the maid had helped her pack her few garments, her pitifully few possessions from her old home. When all was in the trunks, they were closed and strapped. The valise was shut, she put on her worn cloak, and then she took one last look about.