An Angel for the Earl (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“What do you mean, barging into Fairview Manor like this? I won't have any havey-cavey doings, even if you brought along a man of the cloth. Our own vicar's already come and gone.”

“Gone?” Lord Stanford cried out. “Lucy's not…? She couldn't be, I would have known somehow.”

“Lucy?” Sir Malcolm Faire demanded. “Do you mean my daughter Lucinda, sirrah?”

“She lives?” It was all he could do not to take the older man's scrawny neck between his hands and shake him until his teeth rattled. “Tell me she lives!”

Sir Malcolm sneered. “She lives. Though how it concerns a here-and-thereian like yourself is beyond reason.” He surveyed his caller's gleaming Hessians, the high shirt collar, and embroidered waistcoat. “What could a London fribble”—he consulted the calling card still in his hand—“like the Earl of Stanford, have to do with that miserable wench upstairs who refuses to let go her hold on the thinnest thread of life?”

At the shocked inhalation of the vicar at Kerry's side, Sir Malcolm ground out: “Oh, I make no bones about it. Why wear the cloak of hypocrisy when everyone in the country knows the girl's a wanton, and a murderess besides? The London papers must have given you every sordid detail of my disgrace, so you'd do better to wonder why I even bother with the trappings of mourning.” He waved at the crepe-hung mirrors, the black clothes he wore. “It's so the prying neighbors leave me alone in my supposed grief! People with more courtesy than you stay away.” He turned to ring for a footman to show them the door. “I say the sooner the girl is in the ground, the sooner my shame can be put behind me.”

“But, sir, she is your daughter!”

“She is no get of mine!” Sir Malcolm thundered.

The urge to murder the man grew even stronger in Kerry's breast. Only the knowledge that time was running out, that it had taken too long to get to Derby, the roads were so bad, made him refrain. He took a deep breath. Nodding toward the card Sir Malcolm had tossed aside, he reiterated: “I am Kieren Somerfield, Earl of Stanford. I have brought a vicar and a special license, and I have come to marry your daughter.”

“What?” Sir Malcolm gasped, growing red of face. “That's outrageous! What perversion is this, with the girl at death's door? And you”—he turned to the vicar—“how could you be part of this blasphemy?”

Kerry answered. “There is no blasphemy, Sir Malcolm, no vile motives. My word as a gentleman.”

“Your word? Why should I accept your word, my fancy lord? Oh, yes, I know you by reputation. I wouldn't have let a rakehell like you near Lucinda in the best of times.”

“But you'd let that old nipcheese Halbersham near her?” Kerry spat out.

“How did you know about that? It wasn't in any of the London scandal sheets.”

“I know. I cannot explain how, but I know it all. Do I have your permission?”

“No, blast you! I know your sort, gamesters and wastrels all. Here you are, dressed to the nines, your nose in the air, and run off your feet. You saw your salvation in the gossip columns and you've come to make a deathbed marriage to a poor, unfortunate heiress. Well, you shan't have the wench, nor a shilling of my money!”

Kerry clenched his fists so tightly, his nails cut through his palms. “If you know my sort, you know I am arrogant and overbearing and used to getting my own way. Pigheaded to a fault. And I wish to marry your daughter for reasons I could never explain and you could never understand. But none of them have to do with your blunt.”

Sir Malcolm snorted, unconvinced.

“What did your wealth ever give to Lucy when she was alive and well? Did it buy her pretty dresses and gay parties? Friends her own age or lovesick mooncalfs writing odes to her eyebrows? No. You were so afraid of fortune hunters you kept her from having any of the pleasures a young girl deserves!”

Sir Malcolm looked away, but Kerry persisted: “Your money never made her happy, so keep it now, old man. I do not want a groat from you, only Lucy.”

“A wager, that's it, isn't it? It's not my brass you want, it's some other scapegrace's fortune you hope to win. That's why a rackety London buck like you is here offering for a dying girl with no reputation.” He nodded to himself, like a vulture bobbing over a carcass.

“If there was a wager, it wasn't mine. Can't you believe I have nothing to gain, except Lucy as my wife? If you have any human feeling at all, let me give her my name. Let me restore her honor in the only way I can.”

“Honor, what honor? She has none.”

Kerry ignored the other's outburst. “I cannot kill that makebait who ran off with her, for he's already got his just desserts. And I shall not call out a man old enough to be my father, although you tempt me, Sir Malcolm, you really do.”

Lucy's father took a step closer to the bellpull. The vicar clucked his teeth.

“Stop, Sir Malcolm,” Kerry ordered. “Stop and listen. You know marriage to a peer, any peer, even one below the hatches, restores a girl's reputation. Let me give her my name while there is still time. You don't even want her. You've practically disowned her. So let her come with me. She'll lie with my family in Wiltshire; you won't even have a foot-stone to remind you that you ever had a daughter.”

“And you say you won't make any claim on her portion?”

“If she lives, sign it over to our children.”

“Lives? My word, the man is madder than I thought! The physician says it's a miracle she's held on so long. He swears she won't last till dawn.”

“Let it be on your head if she dies disgraced. I'll worry about her living.”

* * *

Kerry had another skirmish on his hands, this time with Lucinda's old nanny, whose gaunt frame blocked the door.

“You cannot come in here. This is a sacrilege, wedding with a woman you never even met.”

“But I do know her, ma'am, maybe the way one knows a dream or a figure from a novel, or…or a vision. I have no explanation to give you, just that I do know her. I know she is the sweetest, most loving person on earth, and she is being killed by unkindness. And the world would be a poorer place without her in it.”

“But my lamb is going to die. I did all I could, spooning broth into her despite
his
orders, but she won't wake up.” Nanny brought her apron up to wipe her eyes. “The doctor says it's too late now. She never will.”

Kerry's eyes were damp, too. “Then at least I shall honor her memory by recalling all the good she has done, and placing flowers on her grave. She loves flowers, did you know?”

* * *

They held the wedding as soon as Nanny threaded some ribbon through Lucinda's shorn curls and got a footman to fetch a bouquet from the indoor gardener.

The Earl of Stanford took Miss Lucinda Faire to be his lawful wife, with two servants as witnesses, Sir Malcolm and his lady being otherwise engaged. Kerry stroked Lucy's limp, emaciated hand and Nanny made the bride's responses, until she got to the part about till death do us part. The vicar had to pause and wipe his spectacles while Nanny wept into her apron.

It was done.

Then Kerry sent Nanny off to bring hot soups, lemonade, sweetened tea. He climbed onto the bed beside Lucy's still form, gathered her frail body into his arms, and began the final battle.

“Hello, angel,” he murmured into her ear. “Do you remember me? I'm Kerry, the one who loves you. And you love me. You told me so, do you recall? Don't worry, I'll keep reminding you. I never did get the chance to tell you, my darling, because you left just when I was discovering that I had a heart after all.

“You thought I could live without you, didn't you? You said I'd be fine, but you were wrong. I won't be fine at all. Oh, I won't drink myself into oblivion more than two or three times a week, and I won't return to my licentious ways, because you showed me how empty those passing pleasures are. I won't even fall into mercenary habits, for you showed me things of infinite value, which will be as ashes without you. I'll live, Lucy, but I will not be fine, I will not be complete. If you left, I'd have only half a life, for I need you, sweetheart, to show me the good in everything, to show me the rainbows, to fill those aching voids. I cannot be happy without you, Lucy. And you do care about my happiness, I know you do, for it was you who taught me about caring.” He paused to kiss her reed-thin fingers.

“And you must love me very much, for you waited until I got here. Did you know I would come after you? I wish you'd done something about the wretched roads, then.” He tried to smile, and tried to get some broth into her. He was awkward, especially with her still in his hold, leaning back against his chest, but he would not put her down or let Nanny wield the spoon. He tucked another towel under Lucy's chin and kept speaking softly.

“Do you remember me now? I am Kerry, the one who loves you. Do you recall when we met and you told me you had no reason to live? Let me be the reason, angel. And our children and the life we can have together. We'll fix up the Abbey. It might take decades, but who knows, we might find another Diccon whose parents will help restore the old pile. And I'll show you all the good parts of London when Goldy and my mother aren't staying in Grosvenor Square. You'll make a splash in the ton, love, in your silks and satins, but I won't let that horde of beaus too near you. I mean to be a doting husband. Very well,” he said as though she made comment, “you can call it a jealous husband. Oh, did I tell you that we are married? I didn't even forget the ruby this time, but the ring is too big, so it's back in my pocket. We'll have to fatten you up like the piglets,
mon ange.
And we'll keep every one of the little oinkers if you want. I'll never eat bacon again, I swear.”

He fed her some more broth, massaging her throat while she swallowed.

“Do you remember now? No matter, you can hear me, I'm positive, so I'll just keep repeating it until you decide to wake up, my sleeping beauty.” But first he kissed her as softly as a butterfly on her dry lips, as if she really were a sleeping princess who could be awakened by a broken-nosed earl who needed a shave. Or as if he would share his very breath with her, the kiss of life.

Kerry talked all night until he was hoarse and after, spooning liquid into her when he could, gently rubbing warmth into her wraithlike limbs.

He told her about the devil's wager and the angel's bargain, about his wicked life and her innocence. He spoke of Demby's lottery and Lucky's near drowning, of the hidden paintings and hiding the fox up a tree. Begging her to remember, the earl related how she made him see the good in Goldy Flint, and the importance of love in Johnny and Felicia.

When he was finished, he started over, whispering of his great love for her, his desperate need of her. “I am Kerry, the one who loves you…”

* * *

Near dawn, Lucinda's eyes fluttered open. “Nanny?” she called in a voice that was raspy from disuse. She sipped from a glass held to her lips. “Nanny, I had the strangest dream about—why, you're not Nanny,” she croaked. “You…you're Kerry, aren't you?

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Kerry tried not to hug her delicate body. “Yes, angel, I am Kerry.”

“The one who loves me.” It was a fact, not a question.

He managed a shaky laugh. “More than life itself. And you love me, wife,” he stated just as firmly.

“More than my hope of heaven.” Her brows knit. “But I don't remember any wedding.”

“You slept through the first one, so we'll have another as soon as you are strong, darling. At the Abbey with all of our friends.”

“Yes, I would like that.” Her trembling hand was reaching out to touch his beloved face, his only slightly crooked nose. “Ah, I have been waiting a lifetime to do that. But, Kerry, you are not the man in my dreams.”

Kerry's arms stiffened and his jaw tightened. “I'm not?”

“No, he was a funny old man dressed for a masquerade in scarlet tights.”

The earl relaxed. “Oh, him. I forgot about the second earl. We'll invite him to the wedding, too, angel.”

“But he only wants to tell you about your treasure,” she insisted drowsily.

“I'm holding the only thing that is precious, dear heart, and I will cherish it forever.” He lowered her back to the pillows, but sat on the bed beside her. “You rest now and we'll talk later.”

“But you really have to know.”

“I do, I swear. I know all about my treasure, Lucy.”

“Oh, good, then you won't tear up the east wing until you find that sack of gold.”