Love's Liberty Read online

  From Elsy she discovered that Simon had been asking Addy for information about her. What she learned he had been told by Addy was that she often cried herself to sleep, and that her gown for her birthday party had to be altered to allow for her weight loss. She could wish that the information he had been given had been more positive, but she could not deny its truth. Her hope burgeoned at the thought that he had asked.

  From Tiffany, Simon's youngest sister, she learned that he was abstracted but gaining in health. His appetite was good, his strength and balance improving. Tiffany was aware, though her parents were not, that Simon was practicing both riding and driving his team.

  Simon's younger brother, George, confided that Simon often spoke to him of his army career. Julia was certain this was because George would be most persistent in questioning. She prodded the lad to further confidences. George informed her that Simon was sadly disillusioned by the whole business of conflict, war and peace. That he felt himself not a hero, but a pawn of foreign policy. That he, as part of the British Army, had as often repressed freedom unfairly as aided its imposition for the improvement of mankind's lot. George said that Simon felt he would never be free of those memories.

  Her own visiting older sister Susannah told Julia that she saw Simon several times as she went about errands in the village. He always was entering or leaving St. Stephen's. Julia could only wonder if he needed the tranquillity of the old church as she had during his long absence.

  The evening of her party, Julia dressed with every care to capture Simon's attention and his honest response. Her gown was the shade of blue-green that he liked above all others, her golden hair was dressed in the soft ringlets that in a once unguarded moment he had admired. She clasped her pearls about her throat, remembering with hope the kisses that he had pressed there. There were flowers from his family in a silver holder; they were the white roses they both loved. She wondered what influence he had had in their selection.

  She descended the staircase to join her family and the Mancroft-Martleys for her birthday dinner. She was all too aware that this evening might prove to be the most important of her life. The pearl earrings her parents had given her for a birthday gift shivered with her tension. Simon stood with his family in the Great Hall of Edenton Park watching her descent with his gaze shuttered but, she was overjoyed to discern, far from cold.

  She smiled and talked, laughed and danced her way through the evening. Seemingly carefree and happy, she unobtrusively stalked Simon during the entirety of her birthday ball.

  She overheard him talk of his army career when he was asked. He told her older brother of having cheated the native Indians of their freedom at Travancore, reimposing British preeminence. He spoke with her father of aiding the British citizens of the Canadas to maintain their independence from the new and self-reliant United States. And he recounted to a circle of young men the struggle in the Peninsula where Wellington strove to free the Spanish and Portuguese from French domination. When pressed by the local squire, he told of the battle of Vittoria, though not of that portion of the action where he lost his arm.

  She mulled over the stories she heard as she smiled and danced with her family and her friends. As her father organized the guests to view the fireworks which marked every Clemence birthday, she went in search of Simon once more.

  Dusk had fallen when her carefully, casually, posed questions led her to discover Simon on the terrace where the rising moon etched him in silver.

  "I have been following you," she said to his averted profile after a fruitless wait for him to recognize her presence.

  "I know it." He seemed, at first, disinclined to add to the blunt words. Then, "Your scent has distracted me all the evening," he added with restrained ferocity. "You were behind me when I spoke of Travancore, and you stood the other side of that immense pot of greenery when I conversed with your father about the Canadas. You were accepting Laston's hand for 'The Lancers' when I spoke of the Peninsula, and I could feel your warmth when I talked of Vittoria."

  "You might have told me of all these things, weeks past, if you had not shut me away from you." Despite her best efforts, tears inched down her cheeks glittering in the moonlight.

  "No," he said. "I would not have spoken of politics with you. You I would have told of how I lost my arm--how the sword was so sharp, I did not know for a moment that it had gone. That I did not realize my life had been completely altered until the blood soaked my tunic and my men fell on me, determined to save my miserable life." He turned at last to face her, his expression sombre.

  "Your life need not be completely altered. What after all does the loss of your arm affect? Riding a little, driving a little, dressing--but you have a valet anyway--what else?" She stepped closer to him. "Ah yes, your pride--the loss of your arm damaged your pride, did it not? And destroyed your sense of worth?"

  She placed a hand on his chest, determined to carry her planned speech to the end, although her hand trembled and so did he. "Your manhood? Perhaps that is why you will not admit you love me--has your experience unmanned you?"

  With a low growl he swept her against him, and she felt through the thin muslin the lie of her words, as she had known she would. He bent to her lips like a man starved of love, and if his mouth was not gentle, it was ardent. She responded with a fervency that made him more and more bold. A dark corner of the terrace sheltered them as the fireworks began and the bursting shells echoed the passion that was scarcely contained.

  His hand still rested on the curve of her hip after he put her away from him.

  "No more..." he said hoarsely, flinching as a rocket exploded above them.

  "You had to prove nothing to me," she said. "But I had to make you kiss me again."

  He was silent.

  "You will not speak of love, even after your every kiss and caress have exposed it? Very well then, I shall tell you my plans. I am independent now; my inheritance from my grandmother is mine as of this day. I shall use it to build a house at Brighthelmstone, I think, on the seafront as once we discussed. But you shall not lie beside me in my new bed in my new bedchamber--not if you will not declare your love for me, not if you will not marry me."

  "I cannot," he snarled. "I will not. You deserve a whole young man, that has not changed. I have seen such things, Julia--done such things as you cannot imagine." Tears stood in his dark eyes now, reflecting the colours of the fireworks and the anguish within him. "Leave me, Julia. I am no longer independent, and I cannot be free of my memories. Leave me to myself."

  She stared at him, her bright hopes in ruins, her determination vanquished by his pain. She could do no more. And so she ran once again--into the night lit with gunpowder and colour, clamouring with a noise he knew all too well.

  * * * *

  Five days later Julia sought tranquillity in St. Stephen's. Though her siblings, their spouses and children had returned to their various homes, and quiet once more reigned, Edenton Park was no longer a refuge. Her mother would discuss naught but commonplaces with her; her father was making plans for their return to London when Parliament opened its new session.

  She arrived at the ancient church, more desolate, more barren of hope than during the five years of Simon's absence. All her hopes and plans were in ruins. The sunny day, which held a breath of autumn to come, mocked her black mood. The heavy, iron-strapped door to the church was propped open by a broken bit of headstone, and she trailed down the centre aisle, scarcely aware of her surroundings. Her manipulation of Simon had been ill-conceived--had it been successful it would have shamed her. She recognized that now.

  Her heart ached, but nevertheless the peace of the sanctuary enwrapped her. She was at the rood screen before she realized that once again the chancel was occupied, and once again the occupier was Simon.

  She would have turned and walked away but he had lifted his head, had seen her, and had half extended his hand to her. She stared at it and then at him. He was so much improved over the day she had first discovered h
im here. His fine tailcoat molded proud shoulders once more, good food and rest had aided his recovery, and even the empty sleeve pinned neatly to his side could not mar the sense of well-being that he exuded.

  She did not leave. Rather, speech burst from her, almost against her will. "My parents will not allow me to build my house. I have not the strength to be estranged from them as well as you."

  Simon withdrew his empty hand to his side. A shaft of sunlight pooled at his feet, carrying the colours of the stained glass. "I dreamed of coming home to England and being free to live as I wished," he said, memory sharp in his voice. "I saw so much manipulation of other people's futures while in the army; I hoped never to consider questions of independence and freedom again."

  "Dreams--I, too, had dreams. They are dead," Julia said. "And I, too, have never before so much considered the ideas of freedom and independence. You are free--despite that your mother and father may attempt to limit your activities--you are still at liberty to do as you wish." Her words were full of bitterness. "You are a man, and you have experience of the world. I have nothing. My parents deny me the independence of my inheritance, and I have not the courage to make my own way alone."

  He flinched at her last words. "I may be free, but I have been nothing but dependent since the loss of my arm. I have taken your words to heart though, and I do think it more an inconvenience now than anything."

  "Do you love me?" Julia had not meant to speak the words, to betray her need yet again, but she could not prevent herself. "I could be free of hope if you do not. But you deny me freedom of choice by refusing to declare it if you do love me."

  "I am not free," he said, staring up at the glory of the stained glass before him and then turning his gaze to her. He seemed to have come to some decision within himself. "I am bound, most gladly, by my love for you." From his waistcoat pocket he withdrew an oval gold locket. "I have carried this every day for five years."

  With slowly dawning hope, Julia stared from the locket to his beloved face, open to her for the first time since his return. She took one step, and then another to stand close before him. She dropped her gaze to the locket in his strong, long-fingered hand.

  "You will have to open it," he said with a suspicion of an ironic chuckle.

  She did as he bid. Her own face--her youthful sixteen year old face--stared at her from the fine golden frame. Her throat constricted, her heart pounded at the revelation he was exposing.

  "Do you recall when I took your portrait to London for framing as a favour to your parents? I had the likeness copied then. I had already decided to buy my commission. I had recognized that I loved you when I was but seventeen. You were twelve--a child. I went to Oxford and every time I came home there you were, more lovely, more of everything I desired to have and hold for all my days, and you were still a child. I realized my love was premature; that you required freedom from it to develop and discover your own way in life. When I was one and twenty I decided to join the army--to give you liberty to grow up."

  "You gave me time to mature, but you might have been killed." She shook her head over the lunacy of it all. "And all I ever wanted was you. If you had not returned, all the freedom in the world would have meant nothing to me." The silence between them was profound, as was the realization of shared love. "But I still have the right to decide my future. If you do not wish to ask me to be your wife, I will accept your choice--your decision. But if you wish to ask me and do not, for whatever reason, you are making the decision for me. Rather like your army made decisions unasked for the peoples of far-flung nations."

  "You are right. I see it now. Honesty liberates." He sank to one knee before her before she knew what he was about. He took her hand and raised it to his lips for one fervent kiss. "I love you, Julia. I have always loved you, will always love you. Will you marry me? You know me better than anyone, better than I know myself--if you think I am worthy, will you be my wife?"

  Julia, with delight sweeping her sorrow and worries away, restrained her urge to bowl him over with a rapturous embrace and an ecstatic affirmative. She had still one thing to say. "I thank you for giving me the freedom of choice." She used their linked hands to urge him from his knee to stand before her. Her glance was serene and direct. "I will gladly exchange such independence as I have for inter-dependence--in marriage with you." She abandoned her formality and flung her arms about his neck. "I love you, oh, I love you always and forever." Their kisses were heartfelt and full of hope and elation.

  They were both trembling when his single, strong arm held her still for a moment. He met her questioning gaze with eyes full of love. "To freedom!" he whispered, before bending to kiss her again.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Lesley-Anne McLeod has loved all things British for longer than she can remember. So it was natural that when she turned to writing fiction she should write Regency romances, those uniquely English historical romances in the tradition of Jane Austen.

  Lesley-Anne has been writing for twenty-five years and has written five Regency romances and several Regency short stories. She has published articles on antiques and collectibles, and has also free-lanced in business writing. Book-selling was her career for nearly ten years; she owned her own bookstore for three of those enjoyable years. She belongs to the Saskatchewan Romance Writers and treasures the support and friendship that group offers.

  Lesley-Anne is married and has one daughter. She lives on the prairies of Canada which are distant from Regency England in time and thought, but which retain an echo of Great Britain in history and tradition.

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