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ROBERT'S LADY
 

Robert Manning returns home to England after fighting in the Napoleonic wars, only to find that his betrothed is now another man's wife. But when her besotted sister proposes, he accepts. All is well until a  dangerous secret from his past is exposed, threatening their future as well as his very life.

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Reviews

"Nicole Byrd has created a masterpiece. . . perfect blend of mystery, suspense, and romance. . . one story you hate to see end."

--Romance Communications Review

"Vivid. . . fully developed characters and a story set at a fast clip make Robert's Lady an enjoyable read."
 

--The Romance Reader

"Very strong debut. . . a good setup. . . improved by good characterization. . . I'll be looking for Ms.
Byrd's future releases."

--All About Romance

"A moving tale of love lost and love found."

--Romantic Times

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

He'd never thought to see England again.

He braced himself as the ship rolled, then pulled against the restraining drag of the anchor. The air stunk of brine and dead fish, and the docks were a blur of noise and movement: hot-pie vendors and whistling errand boys, brawny men rolling barrels toward waiting gangplanks, a drunken sailor taking one more swig from a dark bottle.

He was also keenly aware of what was missing. Warships bristling with cannon no longer prowled the coastline. The columns of soldiers were gone, the war over. Tradesmen were back crowding the docks, and merchant sailors with shiploads of wares ready for distant shores. After all, Napoleon, the ogre who had been used to frighten a whole generation of misbehaving children, had at last been defeated. The channel was safe for trade and travel once more.

All around him on the deck, sailors moved briskly, bringing the worm-ridden old fishing boat in for one more berthing. The tall man in the ragged clothes stood silently, while the tars traded ribald jests.

"Fat Molly's awaiting for you in the bawdy house, Bones," a big sailor with a scar on his chin called to his skinny companion.

The other man laughed loudly and clutched his grimy hands to his heart in mock sincerity. "Aye, that she is, I'll wager, eager for me loving embrace."

Behind them, the quiet man held his breath as the gangplank dropped, clunking against the wooden dock, then shouldered his way past the two men. He had no trunks to wait for, no manservant to call. He left behind only a borrowed hammock and a greedy captain now a few pounds richer for this quiet passage.

"Here, now, wait your bloody turn," one of the seamen called after him, cursing.

But he'd already taken a big step -- too big -- onto the dock itself, slipping on the wet wood and falling to one knee. He heard guffaws behind him, but he didn't care. He put out one hand to the splintered wood beneath him, almost caressing the rough worn planks.

England! England was home, England was family, England was a girl with golden hair and big blue eyes, eyes he'd last seen overflowing with tears when he'd told her goodbye. Eleanor -- Eleanor would be waiting! He would have leaned down and kissed the rough wood beneath his feet, except for the crowd of people around him who might think him demented. His appearance was rough enough, anyhow, his dark hair shaggy and unkempt, his face streaked with grime, and he stank of the prison even yet.

He got to his feet, staggering just a little, and hurried past the curious stares, eager to get through the formalities of landing. The Customs officer gave him a cursory glance, then wasted little time on such a poor wretch.

Back in the fresh air, the traveler put one hand into his pocket and felt the small lump of coins. He badly needed a bath and a change of clothes, but he had only enough money to pay for a coach seat to London, and he was too impatient to linger in Dover, anyhow.

But as he strode through the streets, the babble of voices all around sounded as gentle and sweet as a nightingale's song -- they were speaking English, with many different accents, but English none the less. The words sounded strange to his ears; he had been away so long.

After he paid for his fare, he had a few pennies left with which to buy a hot meat pie from one of the vendors on the street. He took the pastry with him into the coach, sitting beside a fat merchant who pulled his coattails back quickly to avoid touching the newcomer's grimy garments.

The man whom his fellow prisoners had called Mannie hardly noticed. He crammed the pie into his mouth -- he still relished every bite of decent food, and this was hot and savory, still steaming with the rich aromas of beef and dough -- and the prim-looking woman in the snuff-brown traveling gown who sat across from him sniffed and looked away.

What would Eleanor think to see him such a savage? Frowning, he ate the last crumbs of the pie more slowly, wishing for a drink of good wine, lacking even a handkerchief to wipe away the food stains. He rubbed his chin absently and felt the rough stubble; he had hacked off his beard aboard ship with a borrowed razor.

No one on the coach spoke to him, though he felt the stares of the other passengers. He tried to keep his long legs tucked out of the prim woman's way. Laying his head back against the wall of the coach, he shut his eyes; his eyelids felt leaden. He'd been unable to sleep on the voyage across the Channel, somehow fearing that they would find him, snatch him back before he reached home and did what he had to do. He had so little time. . .

But now he was beginning to believe he was actually here. He was in England. Soon, he would be home. Soon, he would see Eleanor. Despite the jolting as the coach clattered over the rough road, his eyes remained closed, and he slept.

When the coach rumbled into London, he was the first one off, not even waiting for the hatchet-faced woman across the aisle to exit the coach. She sniffed again and shook her head, but he ignored her, hurrying down the steps and jumping onto the cobblestones.

It felt as if he'd been away for a lifetime -- in a way, he thought grimly, he had -- and for a moment, his head whirled, and the crowded streets looked like one giant maze.

Then he shook himself mentally and everything settled back into place. He knew the office of his family's man-of-business, he knew the street, and though it would be a long walk -- he had no money left for any other transport -- the thought didn't faze him. He set off, his strides long, enjoying the luxury of walking unfettered.

He reached the office as the sun sank low in the late afternoon sky, hoping that Mr. Malbry would not yet have left for his bachelor establishment and the dinner his housekeeper would have waiting. The heavy outer door swung open when he pushed, but there was another obstacle -- in the outer office, a new clerk set on the high stool, ginger-haired and with a faint trace of mousy whiskers above his narrow lips.

"And what is your business with Mr. Malbry?" The clerk looked down at his nose at the rough, dirty garments of this impertinent stranger who had demanded to see his employer.

"That is between Mr. Malbry and myself. I can promise you, he will want to see me." Mannie took a deep breath, trying to restrain his anger, his impatience.

"I think not. As if Mr. Malbry would trouble himself with the likes of -- here, you ruffian, you can't go in there!" But the clerk was too slow, fumbling his way down from his high perch behind the writing desk.

Mannie pulled open the door and glanced quickly around the familiar inner office. The sight of the empty chair behind the big cluttered desk made his heart beat faster. If Malbry were already gone -- but no, there, his hand on a ledger on the bookshelf at the side of the room, there stood the neat black-suited figure that he had hoped to see.

"What's this?" The old man was balder, if that was possible, but otherwise little changed. He held his ground at this unexpected invasion, but his expression revealed alarm.

"I tried to stop him, sir, but he wouldn't listen," the clerk was saying, waving his hands.

"Don't you know me, Malbry?" Mannie asked gently.

Silence, then a gasp. "Robert! I mean, my lord -- Lord Holt -- is it really you?"

The name felt awkward to his ears; he'd almost forgotten its sound. He let it slide over him for a moment, then reached out, trying to slip back into its shape as if it were a favorite old coat, left half-forgotten in the back of the wardrobe. It seemed like another person, almost, another life; it had all begun to seem like a dream, drifting away into nothingness -- except for Eleanor. She had been his reality, his touchstone for those long, empty years.

Robert Manning, Viscount Holt, heir to the Earl of Stonesbury, shut his eyes for an instant, than sank into the wide wing chair reserved for important clients. His clothes were too filthy to touch the silk upholstery, but relief had weakened his knees. The clerk, gaping at them both from the doorway, was summarily dismissed and shut the door reluctantly behind him.

For a moment no one spoke. Malbry still stared at him as if Robert might be an apparition -- a will o'the wisp -- who would disappear again if he removed his gaze.

"It is really me, come back from the wars, more or less whole," Robert said into the sudden quiet. "I need money to get myself the rest of the way home, and news. My family -- are they well?"

Malbry, his brown eyes still as shrewd as a magpie's, nodded. "Your mother and sisters are in excellent health. Your father is not as strong as he was," he said slowly. "Though he will be better, I think, when he sees you. You know they think you dead?"

"I feared as much." Robert took a deep breath, exhaled it. "Do you have any wine?"

"Forgive me, my lord!" The old man bustled to the door, opened it and shouted, "Bring the brandy, Wilkins, the good bottle, at once!"

Shutting his eyes again -- relief that his father was still alive made him feel even weaker, and his strength had not yet fully returned -- Robert heard rather than saw the clerk return with a still-dusty bottle of brandy and two glasses on a silver tray.

Malbry poured a generous amount into the first glass and passed it to him. Robert sat up straighter and accepted the wine. He brought it to his mouth so quickly that the liquid inside sloshed the sides of the glass and drank it down in one quick gulp.

The old man looked shocked. Malbry closed his gaping mouth and poured more brandy into Robert's glass.

Controlling himself -- no one was going to take it away; he must shed those habits he'd acquired to stay alive in that hellhole of a French prison -- Robert took a sip, rolled the brandy on his tongue and savored its deep body.

"Excellent," he murmured. "Deep-flavored, yet smooth. You haven't lost your ability to choose a wine, Malbry."

The attorney looked reassured as this more normal behavior. "Shall I send word to your father's estate, my lord, before you journey on? You might like to visit your tailor while still in town, and--"

Robert was surprised into a laugh. "What, you don't think I could start a new fashion?" He glanced down at the filthy rags that barely kept him decently covered.

Malbry permitted himself a slight smile. "Not precisely, my lord. And indeed, the shock of seeing you--"

Robert's laughter died. "You may send word, of course," he said. "But I cannot tarry here, I have no time to waste."

"My lord?" The old man looked puzzled.

Robert took another sip of the brandy, feeling the fire of it burn through his weariness, as the other man's offer of hospitality tempted his resolution, prompting thoughts of a clean bed, a warm bath. . .

No, he could not. He had no time, no time. The words came unbidden to his tongue, but he pushed them back. He couldn't explain. He trusted Malbry completely, but still, there were some things the man-of-business did not need to know. No need to put his head into the noose, too.

"I am impatient to see my family and my home again, Malbry," he said now.

"I can visit my tailor another day. If you can extend me funds--"

"Of course, my lord, it goes without saying," the old man interrupted. "Whatever you need, my lord."

Robert nodded. "Thank you."

"If you don't wish to go to your club," Malbry glanced at his client's beggar's costume, then quickly away again, "I would be honored to offer you a bed for the night, my lord. And dinner, and a bath. . ."

"I had thought to travel by night," Robert told him. "The moon is just waning; there will be light for some hours."

"And after that, my lord? Besides, you are barely able to stand," the other man told him bluntly. His long employ and trusted status allowed him to speak so. "Better to rest tonight and start early tomorrow."

Robert pushed himself to his feet, ready to argue. But the room spun for an instant, and he had to catch hold of the arms of the chair. He waved the old man away. "I'm all right."

But he was weak as a new-born pup, and the brandy roared inside him, searing his too-long-empty stomach. In the end, he lost this argument. He rode home in the older man's chaise and shared Malbry's roast pork and mint jelly.

While he ate, forcing himself to chew slowly, not wolf down the tender meat which seemed to melt into his tongue, Robert brought up the question that burned inside him. "Do you know of the whereabouts of my commander, Colonel Richmond?"

There was a silence; Robert heard a log pop in the fireplace and a slight creak, like a door opening. Then the footman, a skinny, raw-boned fellow who seemed to ill-fit his livery, reappeared to offer him another spoonful of jelly. Robert took it, though his stomach already felt tight with unaccustomed bounty.

"I'm afraid he was killed at Leipzig, my lord," the old man said slowly. "I am sorry indeed to be the one to acquaint you with his death."

Robert felt his throat tighten. Struggling to keep his expression even, he took a sip of wine to ease the ache in his throat. "I feared as much," he said. "He was a good man." And I should have known it would not be as easy as that, he thought bitterly. Of course not. His one hope for peaceful nights and dreams not haunted by the gallows. . .

He saw that Malbry stared, his forehead wrinkled with concern. Robert forced his fears to the back of his mind. "You were telling me about the Prince's argument with the Prime Minister?"

They passed the rest of the dinner with gossip of the London society that Robert had once known so well. Then he had a long, luxurious bath with real soap and scrubbed himself over and over -- not sure he'd ever feel clean again -- and he slept in a borrowed nightshirt which was barely long enough to cover his muscular thighs.

In the morning -- since nothing that Malbry owned would begin to cover his long-limbed, broad-shouldered frame no matter how much weight Robert had lost during his imprisonment -- he put back on the clothes that the plump little housekeeper had scrubbed the night before and hung near the fire to dry. They were wrinkled despite her best efforts and still ragged, but a trifle cleaner than before, and at least he did not smell so rank.

The hired carriage with its job horses couldn't travel fast enough for him. He leaned forward in the seat often, as if he would thrust his head out the window and urge them on. If he had been stronger, he would have ridden, Robert thought, and hang the distance.

But by late afternoon, he was at last rolling into the drive that crossed one of the bigger parks in Hertfordshire and curved past the small lake where he had taught his sisters to fish. There was the oak tree beneath whose sturdy limbs he had kissed Eleanor for the first time, the day he had proposed. Eleanor -- her family's estate bordered his family's holdings; he had been tempted to go straight to her house, first. But he could hardly drive past his own home, and his parents would understand if, after a quick greeting, he hurried on to find his sweetheart, to kiss away her tears and at last make plans for the wedding they had both awaited for so long. And the wedding night -- the wedding night, thoughts of which had sustained him through so many desperate hours -- the old ache in his groin returned, and he took a deep breath at the thought of at last bringing his golden-haired love to bed.

He would teach her all the secrets of love-making, and the passion they would know -- he exhaled slowly and forced himself to think of more sedate matters. Not long, now, not long. . .

At last, the carriage was slowing. Robert sat up straighter as they neared the big house. Glancing out of the carriage, he caught a glimpse of a figure in a sprigged muslin gown entering the walled garden. Perhaps it was one of his sisters, but still -- still, could Eleanor be here? Her family and his visited often, it would not be so strange.

He couldn't wait to find out; his pulse was racing. Yelling, "Stop, here," to the driver, Robert paused barely long enough for the carriage to roll to a halt before he jumped down. He took long strides across the drive toward the garden and the feminine form he had seen only from the corner of his vision. Inside the garden, a woman knelt by the formal flowerbeds, bending forward to pluck a yellow blossom from the just-opened daffodils.

"Eleanor!"

She started, then straightened and turned to stare at him. Robert ran toward her, then slowed, almost stumbling, though the turf of the garden was level and smooth.

It was not Eleanor, but her younger sister, Katryn. Why hadn't he seen that instead of gold, her locks were a soft brown, and her eyes a clear green instead of deep blue? Because he had wanted so badly for it to be Eleanor, he thought, cursing silently. He'd seen a vision of his own making, that was all. He'd waited so long for this reunion that now another hour apart seemed such exquisite torture.

Katryn looked at him with wide eyes, her face very pale. He realized that, despite the bath and a decent shave and the scrubbing of his ragged clothes, he must still present an alarming sight. She was not accustomed to roughly-dressed strangers with long shaggy hair following her into a private garden. She must be struck dumb with terror.

"It's all right, Katryn," he said awkwardly. "I won't harm you. I just--"

"Did you think I would not know you, Robert?" she said, her voice trembling a little. "Are you real, flesh and bone -- no ghost, no vision?"

"Quite real," he said, smiling, warmed by her perception. He took a deep breath, and some of his tension ebbed. He was home, he had lived to see home despite all the terrors, all the dangers. "Eleanor is not with you, I suppose?"

Katryn didn't seem to hear his question. She gulped audibly, then drew a deep breath as if she could not quite believe it. "Not dead, after all?"

"It is I, alive and well. Napoleon has not killed me, not yet, anyway," he said with a self-mocking grin.

She came forward slowly, touched the rough ragged sleeve of his shirt with a trembling hand. "Oh, Robert, I knew it. Somehow, I knew you must be still alive. I told Eleanor--" Then abruptly, she fell silent. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, and she blinked hard.

Moved -- he would not have expected so much emotion from little Katryn, who used to tag behind Robert and her sister when they walked in the garden, whom he had once teased lightly when she followed her sister into the drawing room uninvited, whom he had taught to dance, unknown to her mother or governess, before she was old enough to wear long skirts -- Robert took her hand in both of his. "Then I must thank you for your faith in me," he told her, and he heard a huskiness in his own voice that took him by surprise. "My parents -- are they inside?"

"They -- your father is napping, and your mother and sisters are at Eastborne, my lord, paying a call on my family; they will return soon."

She sounded unexpectedly restrained, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze, then let it fall. She was surely not in the schoolroom any longer; by now she would be out, a young lady of fashion, likely with her own suitors paying call. He must remember to treat her with more ceremony. He felt a stab of disappointment that Eleanor was not with her sister, but she was only a few miles away -- he must act like a rational man, no matter how his blood warmed at the thought of touching Eleanor's hand, kissing those sweetly-curved lips. . .

"They didn't get Malbry's message, then?" With an effort, he pulled his thoughts back to the garden. He must have made almost as good time as the hired courier, Robert thought, he had been so impatient.

"The express came a short while ago, my lord. It's unopened, awaiting your mother's return. We didn't give it to your father; your mother doesn't like to excite him."

Robert frowned slightly.

"Forgive my ragged manners, Katryn. Perhaps I should call you Miss Worth? I was never 'my lord' to you before."

"I -- of course not." She didn't quite meet his eye. "I am only -- oh, so glad to see you, that's all."

"I know my return will be a shock to everyone," he told her. "I hope my appearance will not disturb my father's health. But it is a happy surprise, I hope."

"More than you know," she said, so low he almost did not catch the words.

"I hope my sisters will take it as calmly as you did," he said, thinking aloud. "Without shrieks or hysterics. How is my father, Katryn?"

"He is -- is well, my lord," Katryn said, then stopped. "Shall I be honest?"

"Of course." But he braced himself.

"I think you have come back just in time, my -- Robert," she said slowly. "Your cousin has been here twice in the last month, till your father forbade him the house." Katryn's cheeks flushed with emotion and her green eyes were dark with ire. This time, she spoke with her usual force. "Cavendish is insufferable, Robert! He pretends politeness, but he walks around looking over the house and grounds as if he is taking inventory -- waiting till your father is -- is gone, and he can turn your mother and sisters out. But you are home now, safe, and your cousin's hopes are dashed. And I am so glad!" She caught her breath, as if almost overcome with emotion.

He felt a stab of alarm, but pushed it down. Nodding, he repeated his earlier question. "And Eleanor -- Eleanor isn't here with you? She's at home with your parents?"

Katryn squared her shoulders beneath her simple muslin gown and lifted her chin. Her eyes, green and clear as a southern sea, met his gaze.

"She -- she is with our parents. That is why your mother and sisters are at Eastborne, to see Eleanor -- and her new baby."

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