With George everything had changed, and suddenly she’d been able to hope for a truly happy and passionate future.
But now George had vanished, and taken that hope with him.
“Kent, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you are at home. I thought you might be on one of your rose visits to the Continent.”
Valentine returned the brisk handshake. “Jasper. What brings you here?”
Lord Jasper
was dressed as neatly as a pin, and when he lifted his hat his scalp glowed through the remaining strands of copper hair as if it had been polished. Bright and watchful hazel eyes and a thin-lipped mouth completed the picture of a man not given to impetuous behavior. His next words explained everything to Valentine.
“Did you know that Von Hautt was in England?”
Valentine’s brows snapped down.
Jasper gave his cautious smile. “I thought not, my friend. Well he is. And I have heard that he is hot on the trail of your rose.”
Valentine appeared startled. “The Crusader’s Rose? I have been looking for the Crusader’s Rose for twenty years, and my father was searching a lifetime before me, but we have found no trace. The trail has long gone cold. I thought I was the only one who still believes it exists…”
“Von Hautt is aware that if he found the Crusader’s Rose his name would be made. He would be famous. And it appears he’s now come into some information that may well give him what he wants.”
“What information?” Valentine scoffed.
“A list of names.”
Valentine fixed him with a piercing look. “Names?”
“The names of the men who traveled to the Crusades with your ancestor, Richard de Fevre.”
Long before Abbey Thorne Manor was the home of the Kent family, there had been a motte and bailey here, belonging to the de Fevres, an ancient family related to Valentine through his maternal side. By the twelfth century the wooden tower had been replaced by stone, and it was from here that Richard de Fevre had set off on his journey to the Crusades. Richard was a pious man who believed his fight to free Jerusalem from the Saracens was a just one, and before he went he took a vow of chastity, swearing it would not be broken until he returned home—Valentine had often wondered what de Fevre’s wife thought of that. Richard had traveled with some like-minded companions, neighbors of his, and by luck or miracle they had all survived and all returned.
Usually when crusaders returned from the Holy Land they brought back gold and jewels, rugs and tapestries, or even grisly souvenirs of the Saracen dead, but Richard brought back something else.
A rose.
It was said that this rose was far more beautiful than any other ever seen in England. It shone with all the colors of the sunset. De Fevre grew it in his garden and there it remained, regenerating through the ages, until last century when it was destroyed by one of Valentine’s ancestors. But legend had it that de Fevre didn’t bring just one rose back from the Crusades, he brought two, and he made a gift of the second plant to one of his companions as a reward for saving his life. It was possible—probable, Valentine liked to think, because of the rose’s ability to self-seed—that this second rose still existed in the garden of that unknown companion’s descendants.
Valentine had made it his life’s mission to find the Crusader’s Rose and restore it to his family.
And now Baron Von Hautt was on the same quest, but for far less altruistic reasons.
“Where could he have found such a list?” he said with quiet anger.
Jasper shook his head. “I don’t know, Kent. I thought you might. You have received nothing recently?”
“No. Only…” Valentine paused, remembering. “Wait a moment. I received two parcels this morning but I have only opened one.” Quickly he moved toward his desk, finding the object—a square brown paper package with his address written in a shaky hand on the front. The name on the back was unfamiliar to him.
Without hesitation he tore the package open. A bundle of moth-eaten looking papers spilled out and, fastened to the top, a single sheet covered in the same shaky writing as the address.
“Ah, now that is interesting.” Valentine scanned the sheet. “This is from a Seth Bonnie, who says he was my father’s orderly during his time with the regiment.” Valentine looked up at Jasper, as though suddenly struck. “I believe I do remember the name now I see it in its proper context.”
“Why is he writing to you after all this time? Your father died at Waterloo, didn’t he, Kent?”
“Yes, he did.” He continued to read. “Bonnie says he was in possession of some of my father’s papers and always meant to send them on, but he was badly wounded at Waterloo and by the time he’d recovered the papers were long forgotten. He only found them again very recently. He has been sorting through his belongings in preparation for ‘the final bugle call,’ as he calls it.” He read on. “Bonnie says that a man, a stranger, came to see him. A Prussian.” His voice grew sharp.
“Good God, Von Hautt!” Jasper cried.
“Yes. He asked Bonnie if he could see my father’s papers—that was when Bonnie remembered he had them. The Prussian examined them, but Bonnie made certain he did not leave the room. He says he didn’t trust the fellow. But Von Hautt made notes. Bonnie has been thinking it over and now he’s concerned he did the wrong thing in allowing a stranger to look at my father’s papers. So he’s sending them on to me.”