Amanda Quick - Rendezvous

"And you are fiercely loyal to the members of your family, are you not?" He smiled slightly as he ran his fingers through her hair. "A little tigress."

"It is very good to have a family again, Harry."

"You told me just before I sent you out of London that you knew Meredith was my greatest weakness. But you were wrong. You are my greatest weakness. I love you, Augusta."

"And I love you, Harry. With all my heart."

Harry's hand wrapped around the back of her head. Augusta's hair tumbled over his arm as he dragged her mouth down to his once more.

Harry came awake abruptly the next morning as his wife leaped from the bed and grabbed the chamber pot.

"Excuse me," Augusta gasped as she bent over the pot. "I believe I am going to be very ill."

Harry got up and went to hold her head. "Nerves, no doubt," he announced as she finished being sick. "Too much excitement yesterday, I imagine. You must spend the day in bed, my dear."

" 'Tis not nerves." Augusta glowered at him as she used a damp cloth to wipe her face. "No Northumberland Ballinger was ever ill from nerves."

"Well, then," said Harry quite calmly, "in that case, you must be pregnant."

"Good Lord." Augusta sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. She stared at him in shock. "Do you really believe it possible?"

"I would say it was a distinct possibility," Harry assured her with satisfaction.

Augusta thought about that for a moment. And then she smiled gleefully. "I would think that the combination of the Northumberland Ballinger bloodlines and those of the earls of Graystone should prove very interesting. What do you think, my lord?"

Harry laughed. "Very interesting indeed, my love."

Three months later Augusta was entertaining Claudia, who had recently returned to Town after her wedding trip, when Harry stalked into the drawing room. She saw at once that he was scowling ferociously over a document he held in one hand.

Augusta arched a brow. "What on earth is the matter, my lord? Did your publisher reject your manuscript on Caesar's military campaigns?"

" 'Tis far worse news than that." Harry handed her the document. "That is from the solicitors who have just finished settling Sally's estate."

"Is something wrong with the way it was handled?" She scanned the legal paper quickly.

"You will notice," Harry said evenly, "that you are named in her will."

Augusta was delighted. "How thoughtful of Sally. I would so love to have something of hers as a keepsake. I wonder what she left me. One of the pictures in Pompeia's, perhaps? We could hang it in the schoolroom. Meredith and Clarissa would enjoy it."

"That is an excellent notion," Claudia agreed, eagerly looking over her cousin's shoulder. "I was wondering what would happen to all those wonderful paintings."

Harry's scowl deepened. "Sally did not leave you a painting, Augusta."

"No? Then what was it? A silver bowl or one of the statues, perhaps?"

"Not exactly," Harry said. He laced his fingers behind his back. "She has left you the whole damn club."

"What?" Augusta raised her head to stare at him in astonishment. "She left Pompeia's to me?"

"She has left you her entire town house to be run as a private club for the benefit of ladies such as yourself who share a certain similarity of outlook and temperament . I believe that is how it is expressed in the will. She hopes that your cousin will be one of the patronesses."

"Me?" Claudia appeared shocked and then she started to smile. "What a wonderful thought. We could turn it into the most fashionable salon in town again. I shall so enjoy that. Miss Fleming will love Pompeia's, too."

"Sir Thomas may have something to say about that, seeing as he intends to marry Clarissa next month," Harry warned.

"Oh, I am certain Papa will not mind." Claudia smiled. "Wait until I tell Peter."

"Yes, it will be interesting to see how Sheldrake reacts to the notion, will it not?" Harry observed grimly. "After all, he is now a married man and as such I believe he has recently discovered a whole new sense of the proprieties."

"Yes, he has become something of a prig lately, has he not?" Claudia shrugged. "But I expect I can convince him that reopening Pompeia's will be a wonderful notion."

Desperate now, Harry turned back to Augusta. "I do not care for the expression on your face, my dear. 'Tis obvious your brain is already churning forth ideas of how Pompeia's could be reopened immediately."

"Graystone, just think," Augusta said encouragingly. "It would not take long to get everything ready. We shall have to take on staff, of course, but many of the old servants may still be available. Clarissa can help us manage things. We can notify all the ladies who were once members and they can tell their friends. This is so exciting. I cannot wait to get started. Pompeia's will be bigger and better than ever."

Harry held up a hand and infused his voice with dark, masculine authority. "If there is to be a new Pompeia's, there will also be a few new rules."

"Now, Harry," Augusta began coaxingly. "You need not concern yourself with the petty details of Pompeia's management, my dear."

He ignored that. "First, there will not be any gaming allowed in the new version of Pompeia's."

"Graystone, really, you are much too straitlaced about some things."

"Second, the place shall be run strictly as a genteel salon for ladies, not as a parody of a gentlemen's club."

"Honestly, Harry, you are positively old-fashioned," Augusta muttered.

"Third, Pompeia's will not be reopened until after my son and heir is born. Is that quite clear?"

Augusta lowered her eyes, the very picture of the demure, virtuous wife. "Yes, my lord."

Harry groaned. "I am lost."

Harry's son, a healthy babe with a lusty wail that could only have come from the Northumberland Ballinger side of the family, was born five months later.

Harry took one look at the infant and then smiled at his tired but happy wife. He was almost as exhausted as she was this morning. Last night had been harrowing, although the midwife had assured him everything was proceeding quite routinely.

Harry had spent every moment at his wife's bedside during her labor. He had vowed eternal celibacy every time he had put a cool washcloth on Augusta's sweating brow or felt her nails dig into his palm. Now she was safe and he realized he had never been more grateful for anything in his life.

"I believe we shall call him Richard, if that suits you, Augusta."

She glowed up at him from the pillows. Harry thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"I should like that very much. Thank you, Harry."

"I have a small surprise for you." He sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the velvet pouch he had brought upstairs with him. "Your mother's necklace was returned from the jeweler's this morning. As you can see, the man did an excellent job of cleaning and polishing it. I, uh, thought you might like to see it for yourself."

"Oh, yes. I am glad it is back." Augusta watched as the ruby necklace spilled onto the quilt. The brilliant red stones burned with a fiery light in the morning sun. She smiled, clearly pleased. "They did an excellent job indeed. It looks lovely." Then she frowned.

"Is something wrong, sweetheart?"

Augusta picked up the gleaming necklace. "There is something different about my necklace, Harry." She sucked in her breath. "Good heavens, my lord, I believe we have been cheated."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Cheated?"

"Yes." Augusta cradled her son in one arm and examined the necklace very closely. "These are not my mother's rubies. They are darker. More brilliant." She looked up with a grim expression. "Harry, the jeweler has switched stones."

"Calm yourself, Augusta."