Amanda L.V. Shalaby Read online

  Rhianna

  Amanda L. V. Shalaby

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Amanda L. V. Shalaby

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5153-7

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5153-6

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5133-2

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5133-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art ©123rf.com

  For my grandmother, Catherine M. Fisher, without whose vision of a red-headed English girl standing before a fireplace in a white, satin gown and satin slippers this story would not exist.

  For my mother, Deborah L. Vaiden, whose wealth of knowledge of all things English and love of reading proved invaluable.

  For Berry, who sat devotedly at my side.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Prologue

  Thornton, England 1813

  The sound of pounding horse hooves brought Mauvreen from her midwife duties, down to the first floor of the hunting lodge. She quickly answered a frantic knock at the door, where she met familiar, anxious eyes.

  “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs,” Mauvreen said, urging him inside and closing the door behind him.

  “I got here as fast as I could from London. How — ?”

  “She has been thirty-eight hours in labor.”

  His hurried breathing stopped. Thirty-eight?

  “And?”

  Mauvreen shook her head. “Soon. Come with me.”

  She led him quickly up the wooden stairs and down the hall that led to Hallie’s bedroom. Mauvreen clutched her chest as a scream echoed through the cabin — the bone-piercing cry of a woman in the final stages of a difficult childbirth.

  “My God, Hallie …”

  Pushing past Mauvreen, the father-to-be bounded toward the bedroom. He was on his knees beside the bed before Mauvreen reached the threshold, one hand cupping the crown of Hallie’s head, the other clutching her hand. He appeared oblivious — or willfully blind — to the blood-soaked sheets beneath her.

  Hallie turned her face to him and attempted a smile through the pain. She was too drained.

  “My love.”

  “I’m here.”

  She drew a shallow breath. “It won’t be long now. I can feel it.”

  Brushing away the sweat of her forehead, he nodded reassuringly.

  “Yes, it shall all be over soon, darling.” Turning abruptly to Mauvreen, he asked, “Do we not have forceps?”

  Mauvreen, fighting her greatest fears to remain outwardly calm, examined Hallie’s progress with steady hands.

  “No, but we are close. Focus, Hallie.”

  The lovers’ eyes met again.

  “I wanted to be here sooner. There was no carriage or beast that could move quickly enough.”

  “Hush, my love,” she said. “The baby has waited for you.”

  Another contraction brought a powerful cry. Hallie threw her head back into her pillow as she arched her spine. Her fingers turned white around her lover’s hand, matching the shade of her cheeks, the color drained from her sweet, young face many hours since.

  “Push, Hallie.”

  The contraction passed. Mauvreen ran a wet cloth along the insides of Hallie’s legs. It was a fruitless effort. The blood continued all the more as the baby drew closer.

  “Come along now, little one,” Mauvreen said, as another contraction kicked in. “Ah! There you are.”

  A head appeared. A continuous, blood-curdling scream sounded. And then, moments later, the softer cry of a newborn infant filled the air.

  “A girl,” Mauvreen announced.

  Hallie, who had fallen limp into the folds of bedsheets around her, forced her eyes open at this announcement and locked them on the baby as she caught her breath. Even as her lover kept his eyes on her, from that moment on it was clear Hallie saw only her daughter.

  Mauvreen worked furiously to cut the cord, rinse the baby, and hand her to her mother. Wrapped in a blanket crocheted for her by Hallie, the little girl was placed swiftly beside her.

  “Oh! She’s lovely,” Hallie said, her voice barely a whisper. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld.”

  Her lover helped position the baby more securely in her exhausted arms.

  “Beautiful,” he said, “like her mother.”

  Meanwhile, Mauvreen collapsed into a scroll-backed leather chair in the corner of the room. Its angle was blessedly away from Hallie’s line of vision and it was there Mauvreen fought her tears.

  She allowed the small family a quiet moment together before catching the father’s eyes. “May I see you a moment?”

  Her look conveyed the urgency of this request. Kissing both his girls on their foreheads, he prepared to oblige.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and rose to follow Mauvreen into the hallway.

  Hallie seemed hardly to notice. She never lifted her gaze from the new life she held beside her.

  Closing the door softly behind them, Mauvreen rested her hand on the father’s arm. “Do you understand,” she began gently, “Hallie is hemorrhaging?”

  He met her gaze with a blank stare, followed by a look of sudden understanding. “Dear God — what are you saying?”

  Mauvreen spoke slowly and deliberately. “There isn’t much time left.”

  She worked hard to compose herself, wiping away tears and resisting their multiplication, while he braced himself against the wall with an extended hand.

  “How much?” he pressed.

  “There is no saying.” She added delicately, “Make the most of what you have.”

  He raised his fingers to his temple, as if it would force her words to sink in. “I should not have left her during this time.”

  She tightened her grip on him. “Whether you were here or there would not have made any difference.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever accept that.” His eyes widened suddenly. “And the child?”

  “She will be fine, I’m certain of it.”

  The shadows that fell over his face could not hide its severe expression. “She can never know the truth — it would ruin her. I need to know I can trust you on that.”

  “Hallie is as much family to me as she is to you. Whatever you decide to do with the baby, you can trust me to help in any way I can. You have my word.”

  Taking a deep breath, he attempted to collect himself. As he prepared to reenter the bedroom, he took her hand in his. “Mauvreen, I know you have done more for Hallie than any doctor ever could. And I thank you.”

  Mauvreen shot him an appreciative gaze before he returned to his place beside the bed. She followed silently behind him, pulling fresh bedsheets and blankets from a corner dresser and placing them beside the bed.

  The new mother appeared deliriously happy, her eyes and her smile bright as he leaned over her.

  “Hallie.”

  “My love,” she said, her daughter grasping her foref
inger with all five of her own.

  “I love you.”

  Her eyes flickered to his. It was clear that there was nothing he knew that she did not.

  “And I you.” Resting her hand on his, she said, “You must do something for me.”

  Holding a damp cloth to her forehead and wiping away a few stray hairs, he promised, “Anything.”

  Her smile widened. “I have a name for her.”

  Chapter One

  Manoir Vallière, France, 1832

  Ordinarily, it would have been a predictable morning at the estate. The autumn air was crisp and the sky cloudless as the girls and their horses enjoyed an early trot along the property’s meadows and grassland. Neither could have had any knowledge of the peculiar guest who was shortly to arrive at the manoir, nor of the events that his visit would inspire.

  On this morning, Rhianna Braden reflected on her life as she rode through the fields alongside her companion, Soleil Vallière. Perhaps it was the want of conversation between them that led to this rapt musing, though such thoughts had been a frequent pastime as of late. Still, she was surprised when a vivid girlhood memory came suddenly upon her.

  “They mean to send me away!” she heard her young voice exclaim.

  It was now ten years since she had been sent to Madame Chandelle’s School for Girls at the tender age of nine, but she recalled her cries as clearly as when she first spoke them.

  “Who means to send you away?”

  The voice was soothing, its owner affectionate. Rhianna often still thought of her — her only friend in England. The person whose acquaintance she could never admit to having, their precious few visits shrouded in secrecy. Worst of all, it was impossible to write to this person, hence, all communication had long since been cut off.

  “Father and mother.”

  The words still stung after all these years. At the time she spoke them, her cheeks were moist and her eyes misty — Rhianna could almost feel the dampness on her skin now, before she pushed the memory away.

  Of course, if she had only known then what a positive change her move to France would be, she would have spared herself the hot tears that soaked her childhood pillow. Now, skilled in all the accomplishments of young womanhood and residing in the Vallière home as one of the family, Rhianna wondered at this decade of transition from an English curate’s daughter to a teacher at Madame Chandelle’s to working as a companion to Soleil.

  Indeed, at nineteen, her days were consumed with the Vallières and their activities. The bond that developed among them was, from the beginning, immediate and mutual — a bond Rhianna did not think possible to exist in a family. She recalled the first time her own parents had rejected a visit from her how the Vallières demonstrated their kindness by taking her into their home; Rhianna hoped always to reflect the generosity they continued to show throughout her years of acquaintance with them.

  Their silence continued until the girls reached the easternmost plateau of the grounds. It was a favorite lookout place of theirs and, as on all mornings in this particular spot, a breathtaking scene lay before them. All the valleys of the neighboring properties came into view, draped in golden sunlight. Acres upon acres of flourishing, untamed land met them, accented in beaming rays of early morning light and outlined by sharply peaked mountains against the distant horizon. Never was there a more splendid place to fully immerse oneself in the deepest of contemplation, and it was here that the two girls reined in their horses.

  After a moment’s pause, Soleil’s meditations were broken and she turned to Rhianna with an anxious look.

  “What were your impressions of Count Armand Deveraux last night, Rhianna? You know how I trust your judgment and I am positively desperate for your opinion. I seem to be remarkably well aware of what my own is, but I fear my mind is clouded.”

  Rhianna tugged on the reins to ease her steed that, at the sight of a rabbit, had become restless. She could not suppress a smile.

  “Certainly, his good qualities cannot be doubted,” Rhianna observed. “From what time we spent with him — though not opportunity enough to perceive the most intimate details of his character — I managed to form a very high opinion of him. And he seemed very much to fancy you.”

  Soleil’s dimples deepened in her cheeks. “We may have an opportunity of being in his acquaintance again in a few days’ time. Will you do me the favor of paying particular attention to his disposition? I am certain to be blinded the moment I am in his presence!”

  Rhianna promised to do as much, and added, “From his sweetness alone, one would imagine his person could only improve upon further acquaintance.” Brushing the horse’s mane with her fingers to further calm him, Rhianna concluded, “I confess, too, his appearance was very agreeable, very striking. His voice, expression, countenance — I cannot say I have before met a man whom I would deem so worthy of consideration for my dearest friend.” Soleil smiled broadly, and Rhianna added, “Of course, if you were to marry, I don’t know what I would do with myself!”

  “Rhianna,” Soleil quickly reflected, “you must know I am not the only one with such possibilities in my future. Each passing day I anticipate a confession from you.” When Rhianna offered a perplexed look, Soleil more daringly questioned, “Has he not yet expressed his feelings?”

  Rhianna was left no choice but to affirm her puzzlement. “I cannot think who you mean, Soleil.”

  Leaning closer, as though she might be overheard, Soleil hinted, “Someone with whom we are both most intimately acquainted.”

  Rhianna spoke the thoughts that came to her mind. “Surely, you cannot mean Philippe.”

  Her friend’s sudden blush betrayed her thoughts.

  “Soleil, you are quite imaginative, I declare!” Rhianna cried. “He views me in the same manner in which he views you, as his sister. There can be no deeper feelings on his account.”

  Soleil insisted otherwise. “On my word, Rhianna, Philippe is quite in love with you and has been, you may be assured, since the day you entered into our very house.”

  “I cannot believe so positively absurd a notion!”

  “And, pray, where is the absurdity in it? Do you find my brother so lacking in sense as to not fall in love with a girl so learned and handsome as the one I see before me?”

  Rhianna could barely find words, as Soleil insisted her red curls and green eyes had quite done him in.

  “In all seriousness, Soleil, why would a man who could have his pick of all the loveliest and wealthiest women in France ever consider the daughter of an English curate? It’s preposterous!”

  “Did you not see his expression as he danced with you last night? Mind you, it is the same expression he always has when he dances with you. You put him into quite a stupor!”

  “If Philippe had any such expression, it was most certainly due to the wine,” she returned, with a laugh.

  Thus, Rhianna made it apparent that no persuasion, no matter how convincing, could influence her to believe that Philippe Vallière was in love with her and Soleil pursued it little further.

  With these final reflections, the girls returned their attention to the landscape before making their way back toward the stables.

  • • •

  Had Soleil not been so excessively tired from the previous night’s dance — not to mention the sleeplessness that resulted from meeting a handsome gentleman — she would have accompanied Rhianna on her walk through the garden. As it was, Soleil bid adieu to her companion at the stables and entered the manor house.

  Rhianna, resolved to enjoy the morning air a while longer, wandered along under sapphire skies in peaceful intimacy with the nature surrounding her. Leisurely, she strolled among the flowers, breathing in their pleasant fragrances. There was evidence of perfection in every turn and Rhianna felt, as she often did, that walking through this garden was much like walking through a painting — a painting where no leaf had gone astray and no flower wanted a petal. Perhaps, she mused, the gardens of Kingsley Manor imitated a s
imilar design …

  As she twirled the leaf of a rhododendron bush between her fingers, a mental image of the house brought a smile to her face. Kingsley Manor, the great manor house that sat atop the hill beside her old English cottage, the very staple of her girlhood dreams of petticoats and pearls. She had dreams of it still.

  Thus transported, Rhianna recalled a girlhood conversation with a young neighbor, Brenna:

  “Just once, Brenna, I would like to walk up a Kingsley Manor staircase or to dance in its ballroom. Just once, I would like to have a necklace with matching earrings and gloves for my gown.”

  “That would be lovely,” Brenna replied, wistfully. “And perhaps, too, some handsome fellow would ask you to dance.”

  When she caught sight of Philippe Vallière entering the garden from the opposite side, her reminiscences came to an end.

  “Philippe.” She smiled widely at the sight of him. “What brings you to the garden this morning?”

  His lips curled in response. “I cannot see how it was to be avoided, on such a day.”

  “Well, you must have read my thoughts,” she declared, as Philippe approached her. “I was only just this moment feeling the ache of having no one to share this inspiration with. The garden is so enchanting.”

  “Unquestionably, it is that,” he asserted, his manner distracted. “There is something about it today that makes it more so than usual.”

  Unaware of any hidden implications, Rhianna readily agreed.

  Seeming at once to forget the garden, Philippe went on, “I am glad of finding you. Indeed, I have searched for you all morning.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes. Rhianna, I must speak with you on a subject that has consumed me as of late.”

  Not his words only, but also the manner in which he spoke them caught her attention acutely. All fascination with the garden was lost as her eyes met his and she beheld in them the agitation of his emotions. Philippe appeared to be in a state so ill at ease that she was certain she had never seen him thus in their ten years’ acquaintance.

  “It is of the utmost importance,” he added.

  Rhianna recalled her earlier conversation with Soleil, but dismissed it at once, unable to conceive he was, in fact, or would ever, head toward the delicate subject of love.