In the Wake of the Wind
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1996 by Julia Jay Kendall
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email
[email protected]
.
First Diversion Books edition October 2013
ISBN:
978-1-62681-139-3
To Joel May,
Friend, Visionary, Journeyer
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination.
—John Keats
February 6, 1808
Bowhill House, Leicestershire
S
erafina pressed back against the wall, her small, thin body huddled into itself as she watched the doctor leave her father’s bedroom. The fall of the draperies at the window created a safe haven where he couldn’t see her, but she could see him well enough, and she instantly knew by his grim expression that all of her prayers were for naught. Her father would not last the night.
She numbly turned her face against the windowpane, the glass cool and hard beneath her cheek. Aunt Elspeth stood in the courtyard below, speaking with an older gentleman who had arrived in a carriage not ten minutes before. Her aunt was crying into a handkerchief.
She could imagine why. Aunt Elspeth, whom she hardly knew at all, was going to be forced to take her away to a place called Wales, and she wasn’t to be allowed to live at beautiful Bowhill anymore. Horrible Cousin Edmund and his equally horrible mother were to live here now. That much Aunt Elspeth had told her, even though no one was telling her much of anything else, which was why she’d taken to skulking behind curtains and listening through keyholes.
Serafina despised Edmund. He’d arrived with his mother two days before, the two of them circling around Bowhill like a pair of hawks, just waiting for her papa to die, only pretending grief. Serafina knew. She’d heard them talking after dinner in the library that first night.
“Don’t worry, darling, it will all soon be ours,” Mrs. Segrave had said, her voice only slightly muffled by the priest’s hole in which Serafina hid. “That nasty little girl will be out of here the moment her father’s body is laid to rest, and by the look of things, it won’t be long now.”
“I can’t bear her, Mama,” Edmund said petulantly, his voice strung with the jarring, uneven notes of adolescence. “She looks at us as if we have no right to be here, and we have far more right than she.
I’m
to be the baron now, and she’s nothing more than a piece of riffraff. Anyway, she’s ugly.”
Inside the priest’s hole, Serafina had colored hotly, even though she knew it was true. And she probably was a piece of riffraff too, now that she was being orphaned and turned out of house and home. Edmund put her in mind of a weasel and his mother a jackal. They both shared the same long, narrow face, the same sharp, beady eyes. The idea that they would live in her beloved house made her sick.
“Exactly, my darling, exactly,” Mrs. Segrave said. “Just you wait; along with your Uncle John’s title comes his fortune, his house, and all the social position I ever dreamed of. This is everything we’ve been waiting for.”
“You’re sure it’s not a false alarm?” Edmund asked anxiously. “I don’t think I could bear to go back to our horrid little house in Reading if Uncle John recovers.”
“No, dearest,” his mother cooed. “Those days are gone forever. Your Uncle John is on his last legs, that’s a certainty—he won’t last much longer. We will live in grand style, and you shall have everything you ever wanted. It’s only what you deserve, my pet.”
Serafina’s fists knotted into tight balls and she wanted to smash them into the wall, but she knew that would be illadvised. Her stomach twisted with loathing. How could two people be so callous, so uncaring of her poor papa’s suffering?
But at least her papa would be out of pain, she thought, and she could only be thankful for that, for she knew how difficult it had been for him to be brave these last three months as the sickness in his lungs had taken its toll. And she knew how deeply he had missed her mama these last four years, so all in all he’d be happier in heaven.
She, on the other hand, faced nothing but emptiness. Her Aunt Elspeth was kind enough, but she knew her father was worried that her aunt would not be “a suitable influence.” Serafina wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but she knew her father wasn’t happy about Serafina going to live with her in her crumbling castle, as he’d called it. She’d heard part of that conversation as well through the half-open door soon after her aunt had arrived.
“I realize that my wife loved you dearly, Elspeth,” he’d said in his weak voice. “And although she tolerated your unorthodox behavior and beliefs, I don’t think she ever thought you would be in a position to bring up her only child.”
“I don’t see what other choice you have but to hand your daughter over to me,” Elspeth said. “There’s no one else, and you can’t
possibly
send her to a convent. She’s not even Catholic, and the nuns would be a far worse influence on her than I could ever be. Give her to me, John, and I will look after her with great care and honor your wishes as to her religious upbringing, regardless of what I think of it. By the time Serafina is eighteen she’ll be perfectly prepared for the future we discussed. All you have to do now is bring Delaware into agreement…”
To Serafina’s chagrin, Aunt Elspeth had closed the door at that point, almost as if she knew Serafina was listening outside, and Serafina heard no more. She’d been wondering ever since who or what Delaware was.
The man who had been down in the courtyard now appeared in the hallway, her aunt at his side, and Serafina watched him curiously, taking in the graying hair at the temples, the ruddy cheeks, the bright blue eyes. Together they went into her father’s bedroom, and Serafina slipped out from her hiding place. But although she pressed her ear hard against the heavy door, she could only hear the faint murmur of voices coming from behind the wood. She anxiously wondered if the stranger inside was the mysterious Delaware, and if so, what sort of agreement her papa was making with him.
A minute later Serafina had her answer as the door suddenly opened and she stumbled back, her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with fear at the consequences of being caught eavesdropping.
But surprisingly her aunt didn’t seem the least perturbed. “Oh, good, here you are, dearest. How timely. Do make your curtsy to Lord Delaware,” she said, nodding her head vigorously in encouragement, her hairpins threatening to go flying at any moment.
The man standing behind her aunt stepped forward, his beaver hat held loosely in one hand as he looked down at her, regarding her with an odd expression. Serafina met his gaze evenly and silently, wondering what this Lord Delaware had to do with her future.
Lord Delaware reached out a hand and touched her cheek. “She’s an odd-looking thing, isn’t she?” he said. “Nothing at all like her mother, God rest her soul. An angel, a pure angel, that one. The heavens must be celebrating to have her among their own.”
“She’s more like my sister than you realize,” Elspeth said tartly. “And as the only person to whom Serafina’s looks are going to matter is your son, I suggest you keep your opinion to yourself.”
“Indeed I will,” Lord Delaware said fervently. “Indeed I will. Well. At least I can feel that John’s mind has been put at ease.”
Elspeth regarded him sharply. “You gave your word, Delaware. I trust you will keep it.”
“Naturally. Naturally,” he repeated, shifting his hat to his other hand. “Of course, one can never tell what the future holds.”
“Perhaps not,” Elspeth replied, her mouth pursing. “But one thing is certain, and that is that the future very often imitates the past. I, for one, have no intention of seeing that come to pass.”
“I can’t think what you mean,” Lord Delaware said, looking as baffled as Serafina felt.
“Never you mind that now. You just see that you keep to your end of the agreement. My niece is only nine, which gives you another nine years to put everything in place, plenty of time to my way of thinking.” Elspeth suddenly seemed to remember Serafina’s presence. “Oh, my dear child,” she said, patting her back, “forgive me. Your father wishes to see you. He has something to tell you, and you must be strong, dearest, for I believe his time is near. Try not to let him tax his strength overmuch, and listen to what he has to say in good faith that all will be well.”
Serafina nodded bravely, choking back tears. She squared her small shoulders and went to receive her father’s final words, for his sake trying not to let her heartbreak show.
January 12,1819
Clwydd Castle, Wales
S
erafina closed her eyes as the world spun before her, her head thrown back, her hair falling down her back, her arms raised to the sky in invocation as she sang her song. It was set to the melody of “Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love.”
Serafina had changed the lyrics to suit herself, which she knew would make the vicar’s eyes roll up in his head and induce a slow faint behind the pulpit, but she hardly cared about that. And anyway, since God
was
the Lord of love, she didn’t think He’d mind.
“Bring him to me, bring him to me, I’ve been waiting for so long. Blessed be the god and goddess, and I pray that they hear my song…”
Her voice rang high and pure as she swept the last of the circles, her feet dancing so swiftly they felt as if they might lift her from the ground altogether and catapult her into flight. Serafina would have liked nothing better, but as all her childhood attempts at discovering the secret of flight had left her bruised and sore for days, she had given up that particular pursuit.
She laughed aloud in pleasure as a sudden gust of wind picked up the fragments of her song and swept it over the edge of the cliff, lifting it up to heaven like a bird on the wing. It would be heard, she was sure of that, but it never hurt to offer a daily reminder that she was patiently waiting.
Very
patiently waiting.
She lowered her arms and dropped to the frozen ground, pulling her worn cloak more tightly about her and tucking her legs up under it, suppressing a shiver as the cold wind cut across her back.
When it came down to it, she thought, she’d been waiting most of her life. First she’d waited nearly three months for her mother to return from London, a promise made as she’d left for the season in a swirl of skirts and perfume. But instead of her mother, a carriage had arrived swathed in black, carrying a coffin and her distraught father. His grief-stricken explanations of a runaway horse and a terrible fall had been hard for a child of five to understand, as hard as trying to grasp why her mother was locked away in a box and couldn’t ever come out again.
And she had waited four years later as the doctors came and went for weeks from her father’s room, until one day they didn’t come at all and her beloved father was laid in the ground next to her mother. By then Serafina was old enough to understand the grim finality of death. She knew that no matter how many tears she cried, they wouldn’t bring her father back.
But her father had left her with a promise before he’d gone, and it was the fulfillment of that promise that Serafina waited for now.
Aiden will be your husband when the time comes, Serafina, and he will love you with all his heart and look after you just as I would do. You won’t be alone, child, I swear
it to you. And his
father has sworn the same to me this very day.
Serafina knew her father would never lie to her. And she knew that the man who had come that last day of her father’s life, kindly Lord Delaware who had bent down and touched her face, pinched with misery and grief, would keep his word too. So now it was just a matter of time before Aiden arrived to sweep her off on the shining wings of love.
The only comfort she had while she waited was what she’d come to think of as the Dream. It had started in the summer of her fourteenth year and reoccurred with reassuring frequency. It was always the same: she rode on horseback toward a small city, a company of people with her, their richly colored costumes different from anything she’d seen in England and yet somehow perfectly familiar to her, as familiar as the man who stood on the hill, his golden hair blowing in the wind, his hand shading his eyes as he scanned the distance.
He too wore one of those costumes—his a white tunic with a blue embroidered cloak clasped by a brooch at his right shoulder. A calm, azure sea glittered far off to the south and the city climbed up the lushly vegetated hillside behind him, crowned by a castle that made her think of the Crusades.
Her heart burst with joy at the sight of him, and she couldn’t wait another minute to be in his arms. She kicked her horse into a gallop and moved ahead of the company, calling and waving, and he suddenly saw her and called back to her, his voice filled with glad welcome. Only instead of calling her Serafina, he called her Sarah. And she called him Adam.
“Sarah, my love—praise God you’re finally home!” He started down the hill at a run, and Sarah slipped off her horse and tore toward him, her arms outstretched.
“Adam! Oh, Adam, I can’t believe it—it seemed like forever!”
He caught her up and spun her around in a wide circle before he pulled her close and kissed her hard.
“Don’t ever leave me again, beloved,” he whispered. “I can’t live without you for more than a day, as these last four weeks have proved—I’ve wasted away from longing.”
“That’s odd; you look exactly like the magnificent husband I left,” she teased him, running her fingers through his hair, gazing into his dark eyes, eyes that were filled with love for her. “Dear God in heaven, how I missed you.” She buried her head in the crook of his shoulder and held him tightly to her, drinking in his warm, beloved scent.
“Swear you’ll love me forever?” he said in a litany that had been repeated between them time and again.
“I swear it,” she answered fervently, wrapping her arms even more tightly around his strong back. “I swear it. Forever and beyond.”
“I’ll hold you to your vow,” he said, kissing her again until her senses swam and her knees turned to water. “And I’ll renew my own pledge in the flesh the minute I have you to myself. Unfortunately my parents insist on seeing you immediately. I think I really might expire with longing.” He nipped her ear with his teeth, his soft laugh filled with intimate promise as she shivered and raised her mouth to his again.
Sadly, Serafina always woke up at that point. It was terribly frustrating, since she longed to know just how one pledged one’s vow in the flesh. Every sense told her it was a magnificent process, but she couldn’t exactly ask her aunt. Aunt Elspeth had very firm ideas about propriety, to the point of forbidding Serafina any contact with men of her own age, citing the deep dark impulses to which they were prone.
Serafina suspected she might like those impulses, which was why she kept her dream to herself. Aunt Elspeth would never approve.
She couldn’t explain it, or even how she knew without a doubt the two people were herself and Aiden in another time and place. But she knew. Oh, she knew it with every fiber of her being. And she knew that their vow had been truly made, that they belonged together through time and beyond.
“‘Ere, Miss Serafina, have you been out there freezing yourself to pieces again?” Tinkerby turned from the stove and surveyed her with concern. “I was just making a nice hot pot of tea, and you look to me as if you’re needing a cup. I don’t know what foolishness it is that takes you out to that cliff every single day to go singing to the wind about some daydream yer auntie’s put in your head.” He reached stiffly for another cup and saucer and put them on the tray.
“It’s not foolishness,” Serafina said, rubbing her frozen hands together over the blazing kitchen fire. “It’s simple practicality, Tinkerby. If you don’t ask, how are you supposed to receive?”
Tinkerby shook his balding head as he filled the pot with water just off the boil. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d learned that pretty sentiment in church. But you can’t fool an old dog like me, missie. I know all about the heathen notions Miss Elspeth’s brought you up with, and your poor father would be rolling in his grave if he had any idea.” He placed the tray down on the kitchen table and pulled out a chair, gingerly settling himself into it.
Serafina turned from the fire with a smile. Tinkerby had been in the family for as long as she could remember, loyally accompanying her to Clwydd after her father had died. And although he expressed intolerance for her Aunt Elspeth’s notions, she knew he was as fond of Elspeth as she was.
“Oh, I don’t know, Tinkerby. I think Papa knew all about Auntie’s ways, and he still let me come to live with her. And you know yourself that there’s no harm in what she does.”
Tinkerby snorted. “Not unless you count blowing up the cow shed. Then there was that little problem with the west wing, which I’ve spent most of this cold day trying to patch up. Then there was the time—”
“I know, I do know,” Serafina said, cutting him off. She joined him at the table and poured tea for them both. “But what I mean is that she doesn’t
intend
any harm, even if her spells sometimes go amiss. You have to admit, she can do quite a lot of good as well, especially when it comes to using her herbs for healing. Look at how much better your rheumatism is.”
“Aye, it’s a mite better,” he admitted grudgingly. “But what I’m talking about is putting ideas into your head about gods and goddesses and divine plans for husbands. And you know just what I mean, so don’t you try to deny it. It just don’t seem right, Miss Serafina.”
“But, Tinkerby, it’s not as if Papa didn’t make the arrangements himself.”
“That’s not what I mean, not that young Lord Aubrey shouldn’t have showed up on your eighteenth birthday when he was supposed to, instead of leaving you hanging for these nearly three years. I’m talking about this nonsense about living lives before, and all the rest of the claptrap I hear Miss Elspeth pouring into your ear.”
Serafina absently stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea, trying to think of yet another approach to explain to Tinkerby why Elspeth’s theory made all the sense in the world. “Look, Tinkerby,” she said after a long pause, “do you know the sea gulls that you like to watch off the cliff when the weather’s fine?”
He made a grudging little noise of assent in his throat. “It’s only because we didn’t have sea gulls in Leicestershire,” he said, as if embarrassed by this suggestion of sentimentality. “I like to observe the way they work the wind currents. It’s a scientific interest, you understand.”
“Yes, I know,” Serafina said, suppressing a smile. “But my point is that a sea gull doesn’t dive just once into the sea, does it, and then fly up into the sky and disappear forever? It dives over and over again.”
“And how else do you think it’s going to fill its belly?” Tinkerby asked sourly.
“That’s what I mean,” Serafina said, leaning forward to press her point. “Think of the sea as life, and the fish the sea gull feeds on as experience, and the sea gull itself as your soul. The only way your soul can fill itself with experience is to dive time and time again into life.”
Tinkerby stared at her, his cup frozen in midair. ‘You’ve lost your bloomin’ marbles, miss, begging your pardon. Yer auntie’s made even more of a mess of your noggin than I realized.”
Serafina laughed. “Don’t blame Aunt Elspeth. This is my own analogy.”
“Analogy, phooey,” Tinkerby added with a scowl. “No good God-fearing girl should be spouting nonsense about sea gulls and souls in the sea. You die, and if you’ve behaved yourself, you go to heaven to receive Our Lord’s reward, and that’s that.”
“But I’m not saying that you don’t go to heaven,” Serafina persisted. “I’m only saying that after a while you leave it to try again. Honestly, Tinkerby, how do you expect
not
to make a hash of life the first few times you try it? That would be like expecting a babe to learn how to run after taking only one step. Life takes a lot of practice to get right, just like walking.”
Tinkerby put his head in his hands. “Stark, raving mad,” he muttered.
“I think it’s a very sensible proposition,” Serafina said. “I don’t believe anything is a random accident, any more than the moon randomly completes its monthly cycle in the sky, or the earth randomly moves around the sun once a year, or the seasons randomly change. So why should my marriage to Aiden be random, either—why shouldn’t there be a divine plan for us too?”
He lifted his head slowly and gazed at her with weary eyes. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew you’d get around to him sooner or later. You always do.”
“It’s because I still believe he’s coming for me, even if you don’t,” she said, twisting her cup around in the saucer. “I don’t see why you have such a hard time trusting that he will.”
“Because the world don’t work like that,” he said with exasperation. “Aye, the sun might rise and set because God put it in the sky and wanted it that way, but people aren’t nearly so ordered. You haven’t heard a word from that family since the day your dear father died, and I say you’re not going to be hearing.” He reached for the pot and refilled his * cup. “Just because Miss Elspeth insists on filling your head with foolish dreams doesn’t mean they’re going to come true any more than I’m going to sprout wings and fly.”
“You’ll see, Tinkerby,” Serafina
said. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment.
Believe it, Serafina. You have to believe it with all of your heart and hold tight to your love for him. He’ll come. He
has
to come.
April 26, 1819
Townsend Hall, Rutland
“You did
what
?”
Aiden, staggered by his father’s announcement, took a furious step toward his father’s chair, and the marquess’s face, already pale, turned even whiter, two flaming spots of red the only color left in his cheeks.
“I did the only thing left to be done,” Lord Delaware stammered, recoiling against his son’s rage, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “The banks wouldn’t give me another loan—I’m already in debt up to my eyebrows.” He took a large swallow of wine from the ever-present glass at his side.
“So you now bother to inform me, although I had an inkling we might be in trouble when I was refused credit for the last load of goods I was supposed to ship home from Barbados. That only came as a bad shock. But now you tell me you’ve arranged my marriage to someone I’ve never even heard of—what in the name of God has gotten into you?”