white in the moonlight. ‘I have so much to live for.’
He gave her one last, lingering kiss before putting her from him and mounting up. As he and his companion cantered out of the gates, he raised his hand for a final salute.
* * *
Dominique stood on the drive and watched until the riders were out of sight, then she made her way slowly to the drawing room to join her father-in-law. When he saw her he went over to the sideboard and poured her a glass of Madeira.
‘So you have made up your differences,’ he said. ‘I am glad.’
‘It all seemed so petty, once he had told me where he is going.’
He held out the glass to her. ‘Believe me, my dear, I would have stopped him if I could.’
‘I know, my lord, but he is determined, even if it should prove dangerous.’ Something in the old man’s look alerted her and she sank down on a sofa, saying quickly, ‘What is it, what should I know?’
‘It will be dangerous, my dear. Extremely so, because we are now at war with France again.’
Days turned into weeks. Dominique busied herself around the house and looked after her baby. She scoured the newspapers every day, but the reports only made her more anxious. Bonaparte’s fury at being forced into war before he was ready was manifesting itself in attacks and imprisonment of the English who had not managed to leave France in time. If that was the case for innocent travellers, how much worse would it be for Gideon, if he was caught?
Dominique took some comfort from the fact that Gwen and Anthony were now much closer—so much so that Ribbleston soon told Gwen of the duel Gideon had fought with Max and she promptly passed the news on. Dominique’s worst fears—that Max should die and Gideon would then be wanted for murder—were soon eased when the social pages reported that the earl had retired to Martlesham Abbey amid rumours that he was seriously in debt. Dominique could only be thankful that she and her mother no longer lived under his aegis.
There was a small diversion at the end of May when she travelled to London with her mother to see Mr Rogers and go with him to Coutts’ bank. The dowry her father had set aside for her was signed over and the remainder of the Rainault fortune was secured for her mother’s use, but the knowledge that Gideon had made this possible only added to Dominique’s unhappiness. She had not thanked him for his efforts and the fear deep in her heart was that now she would never have the chance to do so.
* * *
The atmosphere at Rotham became hushed, expectant, as if the house itself was waiting for news. Mrs Rainault spent so much time there with her daughter that the viscount suggested she should come and stay again until Gideon’s return.
‘And he will return,’ he assured Dominique. ‘The family has many friends in France, believe me.’
But as the summer wore on even the viscount’s confidence wavered.
‘I am sure that if it was not for our being here, and little James, Lord Rotham would return to his reclusive ways,’ Dominique told her mother, when they were strolling in the walled garden one afternoon. The July sun was beating down, filling the still air with the scent of roses.
‘He has told me how much you have changed his life,’ said Mrs Rainault. ‘Rotham had grown cold and silent before you came, but he says you brought it back to life—more than that, you restored his son to him.’
‘And I am the reason he has gone away, perhaps forever.’
‘You must not talk like that.’ Mrs Rainault gave her arm a little shake. ‘You must not give up hope, Dominique.’
‘But it has been ten weeks. It feels like a lifetime. You have been waiting for news of Papa for ten years—how, Maman? How have you lived with the pain, the uncertainty?’
Mrs Rainault smiled. ‘With love, my dear. And faith. I always believed Jerome would come back to me, one day.’
Dominique felt hot tears pricking at her eyes. If only she could be so certain, but she was afraid that she had not earned such happiness.
‘Oh, Maman, we have been so foolish, Gideon and I! We wasted so much time. If only—’ She broke off, her head going up as she heard the faint scrunch of gravel. ‘Is that a carriage?’ She shook her head. ‘No, no, it is the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. I vow, Maman, I am becoming quite a nervous being, jumping at shadows...’
But her mother was not listening. She was looking past Dominique towards the house, such a look of wonder on her face that Dominique found her breathing interrupted by the rapid thudding of her heart. Fearing disappointment, she forced her unwilling body to turn. The long windows leading into the house were thrown open and a tall man stood there, his thin frame slightly stooped. His white hair was brushed back from a pale brow and a pair of familiar dark eyes looked out from his gaunt face.
‘P-Papa?’
With a stifled cry her mother ran forwards.
‘Jerome? Oh, my love, is it really you?’
The old man stepped out on to the terrace, holding out his arms.
‘Mais oui, ma chère.’
Whatever else had changed, his voice had not. It was firm and warm and brought a host of memories flooding back. Her mother was already in his arms, weeping softly into his shoulder. Dominique followed more slowly, not sure of her welcome. Over her mother’s head Jerome smiled. He freed one hand and reached out for her.
‘Dominique. Daughter.’
She took his hand and for the first time in many months allowed the tears to spill over.
‘Welcome home, Papa.’ She moved closer, hugging both her parents before stepping away. However much she wanted to be part of it she realised this was their time, two lovers reunited. Lord Rotham was standing in the doorway, his head bowed. He had one hand over his face and his shoulders shaking. His image was blurred by her tears, but she was filled with dread. She had managed to keep her fears buried deep, except in the dark reaches of the night when the demons would taunt her with the thought that Gideon would never return. Now those fears leaped free and she found herself comparing her mother’s newfound happiness with her own bleak future.
But it was not only her unhappiness. She wiped away her tears and went to the viscount, laying a hand on his arm.
‘Oh, my lord—’ There was a movement in the shadowy room behind him and her heart stopped. ‘G-Gideon?’
‘Yes,’ said the viscount, his voice a little unsteady. ‘He is here. He is safe.’
He stepped aside and with a sob she flew across the room to the figure standing in the shadows. Gideon caught her in a fierce hug that lifted her off her feet. He was dusty from the road and smelled of dirt and horses, but she did not care, for when he sought her mouth and kissed her she lost herself in the taste and scent of her own dear husband.
When at last he released her she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder.
