His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) (25 page)

Don’t die, grandpapa, she thought. Please don’t die. I’m coming.

She pulled on her boots while Lucius reached for his. He pushed his still wet feet into his top boots, caught Onyx’s reins and vaulted into the saddle. He held out his hand to Emmaline, hoisted her up behind him and turned the horse’s head towards home. Onyx needed no spurring as they sped along the path to where Partridge was waiting, winded, at the edge of the covert.

“Peggy sent for both the doctor and the vicar,” he gasped, holding his side and leaning against the trunk of the nearest tree. “You go on.”

Lucius nodded and urged the horse into a gallop. Its hooves sounded hollow on the dry, hard path and kicked up a cloud of dust that hung in its wake. Emmaline pointed at a gate off to the side of the field and he headed for it. She slipped from the saddle before Onyx came to a halt, jerked open the gate and let it swing crazily on its hinges. Not waiting for Lucius, she dashed straight to the house.

She found Peggy at Sir Miles’ bedside, bathing his forehead. H
is head turned from side to side on the pillow, his hands flapped against the bedcovers like a trapped bird’s wings against a window pane and Emmaline instantly knew from his flushed face that he had a fever.

“There’s nothing else we can do for now,” Peggy said, dipping the towel into the bowl of water on the night stand.

Emmaline stepped up to the bed and caught her grandfather’s flailing hand. His skin burned hers where she clasped it.

“Grandpapa, I’m here and beg that you be still.”

She laid her hand on his forehead. The sound of her voice and the touch of her hand appeared to calm him somewhat. His eyelids flickered but did not open. Her heart constricted at the sight. Having witnessed many a soldier’s final battle, she knew her grandfather now faced his.

Lucius padded in behind her, pulled up a chair for her and eased her into it. He looked down on Sir Miles with alarm, having never before seen anyone so close to death.
Both his parents had sickened and died, each in a matter of days and on neither occasion had Lucius or his sisters been allowed to sit at their bedsides.

He hid his fears as best he could. All that mattered now was for him to do what he could for Emmaline and her grandfather.

“Tell me what you need,” he said quietly.

“Nothing, for now,” she replied, her gaze fastened on her grandfather, her free hand smoothing the hair back from his forehead.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

She nodded that she heard him. Lucius dropped his hand on her shoulder and gave it a sympathetic squeeze
. He went down to the kitchen where he joined Peggy and Partridge.. Both heads swivelled as one when he walked in.

“Mrs. Partridge,” he said, “I need your help.”

Peggy nodded. “What can I do for you, my Lord?”

“You know that Sir Miles gave his consent to my suit.” Lucius paused as Peggy nodded again. “I have a special license for the ceremony. As soon as the vicar arrives it must be done. Do you have anything that might make a suitable headdress, or posy, or something
bride like for Emmaline?”

“Leave it to me.” Peggy’s serious expression softened into a shy smile. “
Her mother’s trunk is still here. I might find just the thing.”

“Do you have a ring, milord?” Partridge asked.

Lucius nodded. “In my pocket along with the licence. Now, where’s that damned vicar?”

Going
to the door and down the steps into the yard, impatient for the vicar to arrive, he hoped that Sir Miles would cling to life long enough to see his wish fulfilled. Hearing the click and scuffle of hooves and the trundle of wheels in the lane, he hurried to the gate and opened it.

“Doctor or vicar?” Lucius asked tersely as a gig drove into the yard.

“Doctor.” The reply was just as terse, accompanied by a sideways glance full of curiosity. “The vicar, I suspect, will be here shortly.”

Reuben appeared and took charge of the gig while Lucius
strode about the yard, his patience thinning with every step he took. How long did it take to get from the village to Baymoor? Would the vicar be riding or driving? Was this the only way in to Baymoor? He thought it was, but turned towards the cattle shed and barn to make sure he had not missed another track.

As soon as he turned his back he caught the sound of a horse picking its way down the lane. He turned again to see a portly bay cob coming through the gate.

“Reverend Tucker?”

“That I am, my son.” The reverend gentleman dismounted awkwardly, hooked the reins over the handle on the stable water pump and looked up at Lucius. “I take it from the nervous energy in the air that you are the groom?”

Lucius nodded. “So Sir Miles has explained our situation?”

“He has indeed.”

Wordlessly Lucius handed the special licence to the Reverend and together they made their way straight upstairs and into the bed chamber. Sir Miles, still flushed but with an unnerving twinkle in his eyes, was requesting the damn doctor to desist his ministrations.

With freshly brushed hair and a clean shirt and cravat, Peggy had succeeded in making Sir Miles look almost well again. Lucius went to the bedside.

“All is ready, Sir Miles.”

“And here is your bride.”

Lucius turned and his world stopped. Someone or something had reached for his heart and squeezed it tight. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel anything except an overwhelming sense of love.

Emmaline stood in the doorway
dressed in a froth of cream coloured muslin. His glance raked her from head to toe, ignoring the intricate embroidery on bodice and skirt and the trim of delicate Spanish lace about the neckline. A circlet of fresh daisies sat atop her black curls, her mother’s pearl earrings hung from her ears. She smiled shyly at him and his breath returned to his lungs with a whoosh, leaving him momentarily dizzy.

He stepped towards her, holding out his hand. She placed hers in it and he led her to the bedside.

A happy smile on his face, Sir Miles nodded to the vicar who had donned his cassock, surplice and stole and stood ready with his prayer book.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God,” he intoned.

The minutes flew by. Emmaline barely recognized her own voice as she spoke her responses and Lucius firmly stated his. He slid his family ring, a blood red ruby surrounded by pearls all set in a chased gold band, on her finger and the Reverend Tucker was pronouncing them man and wife.

“And you may now kiss your bride,” announced Sir Miles. Tears of happiness trickled from the corners of his eyes and a harsh cackle broke from his lips. “She’s a strong young filly, my boy. You need to ride her hard and often.”

His cackle turned into a fit of coughing and a painful gasp for air as he fell back on his pillows.

“Peggy, steaming hot water, if you please, as quickly as you can,” Doctor Ferryman ordered. “The rest of you, clear the room. All of you,” he looked pointedly at Emmaline. “You too, Lady Clifton.”

Emmaline raised her eyes in astonishment. Lady Clifton? But the ring on her finger reminded her that her life had changed irrevocably.

Downstairs she found Peggy had produced a wedding breakfast that covered the table in the parlour. Partridge had a happy smile on his face and Reuben grinned from ear to ear.

“I made that for you,” he said, pointing to the daisy headdress. “They all come out of the long meadow. No grass, only pretty white flowers. That’s what Aunty Peggy said.”

“It’s beautiful, Reuben.” Emmaline gave his arm a grateful squeeze. “I am very proud to wear it.”

And, she realized, proud of Lucius’ ring on her finger. Was it just a coincidence that it fit perfectly? Or could it be that this was meant to happen? That, after all her hopes and fears, she was meant to be Lady Clifton? Maybe her past really didn’t matter. Maybe she would one day tell Lucius the whole of it, but for now only one thing mattered.

Her grandfather.

None of them felt much like eating, but they were toasted with elderflower wine and the Reverend Tucker and Reuben helped themselves to enormous plates of food.

Lucius and Emmaline hovered close to the door, anxiously awaiting either Peggy or the doctor. They picked on the pastries and sweetmeats, trying to do justice to Peggy’s efforts but their mouths were dry and the food almost tasteless.

They both started at the footsteps descending the stairs. The doctor, grim faced, came in to the room.

At the sight of his expression Emmaline’s hands flew to her face.

“Is he..?” she gasped.

Doctor Ferryman shook his head. “Not yet, but it won’t be long. I am so sorry, my dear. This should be the happiest day of your life, yet I fear it may also be the saddest. I have given your grandfather a sleeping draught. It is the best I can do for him.”

While he was talking Peggy packed food into a basket.

“You take this, Doctor. I know your good lady will not let it go to waste.”

He took the basket and nodded his goodbye. Reuben had already left to prepare the gig and it was a sorry party that remained.

“I’ll go and sit with grandfather,” Emmaline said. “Is there anything I should do for him, Peggy?”

Peggy shook her head. “It’s just as the doctor said, my Lady. It’s just
a matter of time now.”

Tears pricked Emmaline’s eyes as she made her way upstairs. Brushing them away, she pulled up the chair and sat beside her grandfather’s bed. His skin was pale and waxy, as if he had already passed. It was a look she had seen so many times
during her time in the Peninsula. Taking his cool, frail hand she pressed it to her cheek and could now not stop the tears.

How much she had to be grateful for. How much he had loved her, indulged her, taught her. Yes, they had fought, argued, reconciled. But wasn’t that what all families did? She wasn’t sure, but suspected it must be so from having listened to Juliana and
Lucius talk about their family.

Emmaline was not sure how long she sat there cradling her grandfather’s hand. Talking to him in a low voice, not knowing if he could hear her, she could only hope that he did and would carry her love with him to wherever his soul journeyed.

The light in the room dimmed as afternoon bled into evening. Peggy came up with a branch of candles which she set at the back of the room to lessen the intrusion of its flickering glow.

“You go down, my Lady.” She said firmly. “There’s tea in the kitchen and some of the meats and pastries on a tray. You need to eat, get some fresh air and then go to your bed. I’ve prepared your mama and papa’s old room for you both.”

Shocked, Emmaline walked blindly from the room. Her parents’ bedroom? Why would she sleep there and not in her own room? She stood on the landing before descending the stairs, looking down at the unfamiliar gown, wondering for a moment why she was wearing something so totally unsuitable for the sick room.

Then it washed over her in a flood of scattered remembrances. She was married. To Lucius. Her cheeks flamed as she realized that Peggy expected her and Lucius to sleep together in her parents’ bed.

It couldn’t happen.

Not here, not tonight.

Hurrying along the landing to her own room she quickly removed her earrings and the now wilting daisy crown, slipped out of her mother’s wedding gown, and replaced it with a plain blue muslin and a paisley shawl thrown over her shoulders.

Gathering her courage she joined Lucius and Partridge in the kitchen. Lucius had a tankard of ale in his hand, but he put this down and stood up as soon as she appeared.

“I am going for a walk,” she said.

“Not on your own.” Lucius stood up.

Her chin tilted. “I know these fields and pathways like I do my own hand. Besides, there is a full moon tonight and that can light my way.”

“Can light our way,” Lucius insisted.

The light of dissension flared in her eyes, but the weariness in her body soon extinguished it.

“As you will, my Lord.” She dropped a curtsy.

“Oh, very well done,” Lucius murmured. “One would think you had been a wife for eons rather than hours.”

“And don’t expect such deference all the time,” Emmaline warned him as they walked out into the yard.

He assisted her over the stile and she waited until he joined her. The soft night air cloaked them like velvet. A whisper of a breeze rippled across the top of the long grass. Under the light of the moon it shone like liquid silver.

An owl hooted. A fox barked. The churring of a nightjar floated up from the abundant bracken growing on the slopes below the
covert. The murmur of the sea drifted up to them, an endless ebb and flow as quiet and steady as their own breathing.

“Come.” Emmaline dared to reach
for Lucius’ hand and tugged him beside her. How many times had she dreamed of being able to do just this? How many times had she imagined herself as his wife?

She looked up at him, let her glance linger over the flat planes of his lean features, the aquiline length of his nose. Reaching up, a smile on her face, she did what she had wanted to do from the first. She brushed the dark lock of hair back from his forehead.