Once Again a Bride (28 page)

“Yes, miss.”

They gazed at each other with identical bereft expressions, then simultaneously looked away.

***

Alec sat on in the empty library, brooding. There was nothing else to call it, but he was too keyed up for sleep, too worn out for anything else. He’d sent all the servants to bed; the candles were burning down; and still he sat, thinking about Charlotte. She filled his mind and all his senses. When he’d held her in his arms in the dimness of her bedchamber, had his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, it had been all a man could want in this world. When he’d thought her in danger, perhaps injured or lost, he’d realized he couldn’t live without her. That moment, at least, had been sharp and certain; he would have done anything to get her back. Then, he hadn’t been needed to save her. That rankled, though it shouldn’t, he supposed. Listening to her tell the story of what his aunt had done, he’d resented his absence from the tale. He had, he admitted, though it was petty and ridiculous. He’d wished… yes, that was it. He’d wished to show her that some member of his family could act… virtuously, for
her
rather than themselves. Instead, Charlotte had had a frightening demonstration of the legacy of… not instability perhaps, but… unhappiness handed down the generations of Wyldes.
Another
demonstration, he amended; she’d already had a strong dose from his reprehensible Uncle Henry. How could she wish to form a closer connection with such a family? For that was what he wanted, Alec realized. He wanted her as his wife. Nothing less, and no other woman, would do.

He rose and paced the Turkish carpet. She’d come to his arms so ardently, back in London, surely she wanted the same? Or had, before Aunt Bella drugged her and threatened her. She’d joined their conference here in the library as if she belonged, without recrimination. And she’d sworn she would never be called “Mrs. Wylde” again. Alec rubbed his forehead as if that could order his whirling thoughts.

Charlotte wanted to go back to town. He couldn’t bear to let her go, and yet… perhaps that might be best? She could go, and he would see her later there and tell her…? Coward, said a mocking inner voice.

Though he knew it was a mistake, Alec went over and poured another brandy. The drink made his head even fuzzier, which was good… and bad. One more, and he might not be able to think at all. No, that was a bad idea. Feeling slightly ill, he decided to step out for a breath of air. He’d check on Blaze. Poor old Blaze. A fine mount, he’d pushed him too hard, and all for naught. Nobody had needed him. Nobody at all.

The stables were dark and quiet, pleasant with the familiar smells of hay and manure. Clumsily, Alec lit a lantern and carried it along the aisle toward Blaze’s stall. His pulse jumped when a dark figure rose from a stack of hay bales “Who’s that?” He raised the lantern high to show the man’s face. “Ethan?”

“Yes, sir,” came the heavy answer.

“What are you doing out here at this hour?”

“Nothing, sir. Just… thinking, like.” His luck was right out tonight, Ethan thought. He’d been sure no one would look for him here, it being his father’s domain and everyone knowing their history. Now, unbelievably, here was the master himself, and he was in trouble. He held the evidence behind his back, and of course the thrice-damned bottle clinked on a button on his coat. Now he was for it. First Lucy; and maybe he would lose everything else, too.

“What have you got there?”

Half blinded by the lantern light, Ethan just gave up. “It’s a… a bottle of rum my cousin Jack brought me, from Ja… Jam… someplace in the Indies.” Not wanting to ask in the kitchen for a drink, and be told no anyhow, he’d fetched the bottle from his attic room. First time he’d even opened the cursed thing! He’d wanted just one quiet drink. All right, maybe he’d had two. But he wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t on the job, anyway. Not that that’d matter if Sir Alexander chose to object. Ethan saw his dreams keeling over like a felled tree.

Alec’s heart had slowed down again. He lowered the lantern. “Jamaican rum, eh? Can I try a taste?”

Startled, and almost hopeful, Ethan drew the dark bottle from behind him. “O’ course, sir.” He wiped the mouth on his sleeve and held it out.

Alec set the lantern carefully on the dirt floor, well away from the hay. He took the rum and tilted down a healthy swallow. Raw fire lit his throat and roiled in his already uncertain stomach. “Ah, that’s… hah… that’s done it.” He had to sit. He moved to the stack of bales next to his footman and hit it with a thump. The stable wheeled about him for a moment. “Oh, Lord.” Definitely an error of judgment.

Ethan watched the master slump on the hay and wondered what to do. Should he call someone to help get him to bed? He didn’t want to be caught here with the bottle. Sir Alexander thrust it at him. “You’d better take this.” Ethan took it. “Sit, sit,” he added. Uneasily, Ethan sank down beside him. This was a wonder, and no mistake, side by side with the master on a hay bale, and him deeper in his cups than Ethan could ever remember. “What were you out here thinking about?” he asked.

Why had he said that? Why had he been such a fool as to come out here in the first place? He tried to think of a safe answer, but his brain didn’t seem to be working. The unvarnished truth popped out of his mouth. “Love.”

“You too? Is it contagious?”

Ethan kept his mouth shut this time. He didn’t want to be asked about Lucy.

“Do you believe in love then, Ethan? Do you believe one can marry for love and not face disaster?” Alec heard himself slur a word or two and found he couldn’t care.

Had he learned about him and Lucy somehow? But no, he couldn’t have. “I’ve seen it in my own parents, sir. They’re right happy together, after thirty years.”

“Are they? And how do they manage that?”

“Well…” He didn’t know what to say. He’d never considered the matter. They just were. “I… I reckon they respect each other, sir.” The thoughts came to him as he voiced them, surprising him, from some unsuspected store of experience. “And they… it seems to me they like each other as well as loving. Uh, friendly, I mean. They’re not much alike, maybe, but… at bottom they… they agree on really important things.”

“Hah.” This sounded rather sensible, not the airy-fairy nonsense people often talked about love.

Ethan, heart in his mouth, his own happiness in the balance, dared everything. “Was… were you thinking of Miss Charlotte, sir?”

“Miss…? Ah, her maid still calls her that, doesn’t she? It’s rather endearing.” There was a word he never used, observed some distant part of Alec—the part that kept informing him he was drunk and should get himself inside and to bed. He continued to ignore it. “I was thinking of her. Yes. Do you remember my grandparents at all, Ethan?”

He blinked at this change of subject. “No, sir. Not really. I’ve heard… that is…”

“I can imagine. They were a love match, you know. And it went very bad.”

“Well, my mum says…” Ethan lost his nerve for a moment. Would Sir Alexander reprimand him—or worse, his mother—for gossiping about the family? All the servants did, of course.

“Yes? Tell me what she said.”

He didn’t sound angry. “Well… Mum says it never was a love match, just some kind of… of brainstorm. Seeing as how they only knew each other a matter of weeks and never… endured anything together.” Ethan had always admired the way his mother could speak so clearly and get to the heart of a matter. There was no one whose opinions he valued more. “Mum says a real love match is when you’ve seen how the other person acts when things are tough, like. And even if maybe you don’t agree with them about… whatever it was, you understand, and you still feel certain how you feel.” That last hadn’t come out quite right. Ethan realized that the master was staring at him, openmouthed. He closed his own.

Silence enveloped the stable. Ethan shifted nervously. He’d forgotten his place in a big way. His mother would have boxed his ears if she’d heard all that. And he didn’t know if it had been helpful, or just bone stupid.

After what seemed forever, Sir Alexander spoke. “It seems a night for home truths.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Nothing. It appears she’s a very wise woman, your mother.”

Limp with relief, Ethan nodded. “She is that.”

Sir Alexander leaned back against the pile of hay bales. He began muttering to himself, almost as if he was having a conversation with someone unseen. Ethan grew uneasy. He could do no more; he’d dared as far as he was able. “I should fetch somebody to help you inside.” The master was too big a man to handle by himself in this state.

“No, no, I don’t want that. I’ve sent everyone to bed. I’ll just rest here a bit longer. You can go if you like.”

As if he’d leave him here alone in the stables; Ethan leaned back as well, waiting. Minutes passed. The master stopped muttering. Gradually, Ethan realized that he’d fallen asleep. Now, what should he do? He’d been told not to wake anybody, and he was that worn out himself he couldn’t hardly keep his eyes open. In fact… In another moment, Ethan was sleeping, too.

Neither Charlotte nor Lucy slept well. Lucy hadn’t had the heart to go to the servants’ quarters and face the curiosity of that Alice, and the others. She’d taken the chaise once again. It was broad and comfortable, but she tossed and turned nonetheless. The first light of dawn was pinking the sky, and the birds were just beginning to sing, when they rose and dressed. Lucy packed the small valise. “Stableboys rise very early, I believe,” Miss Charlotte said. “We will go out and find someone to drive us to the stagecoach stop.” Lucy didn’t think they’d be about quite so early as this, but she didn’t argue. It was best that they go. She’d come for Miss Charlotte, and she’d gotten her, and that was the end of the matter. Ethan… what if he’d spoken to his mother already? What if she was just waiting for morning to come and give Lucy the once-over and tell her she wasn’t near good enough for her precious son? Maybe she wasn’t… wouldn’t, but… she just hadn’t thought it through, Lucy admitted. She’d dreamed of coming to Derbyshire with Ethan, of settling here as his wife. She hadn’t considered the sort of introduction this impulsive journey would provide. Could be she was making too much of it, as Ethan seemed to believe. She understood now, though, just how much she valued the respect she’d earned in other households.

“Lucy?” Miss Charlotte was standing by the door.

“Yes, miss. I’m ready.”

They crept out like housebreakers into the cool fresh air of a June morning. Lucy breathed deep. They’d be back in the smelly city all too soon. Walking quietly, they went into the stables. As Lucy had feared, there was no one about, no sound but the soft stamps of horses’ hooves in their stalls. Except… there was something… not… snoring?

They rounded a stack of hay bales and came upon two large men sprawled untidily over them, sound asleep. There was a dark brown bottle on the dirt floor, alongside a lantern.

“Alec!” said Miss Charlotte.

“Ethan!” said Lucy at the same moment.

With a snort and a jerk, Ethan woke. He peered at them, bleary eyed, then sprang to his feet. His knee knocked into Sir Alexander’s on the way up, and he opened his eyes, too. Right away he closed them again, as if the light hurt him. Lucy couldn’t take it in. How could footman and master be lying out here like two tosspots after a rowdy night? It was unheard of; it was… unseemly.

Sir Alexander opened his eyes again. “Oh my God, you really are there, aren’t you?”

“We are not phantoms of a drink-addled brain,” replied Miss Charlotte sharply.

Sir Alexander threw up a hand. “Not so loud, if you please.”

Ethan stood there like he’d been stuffed. Well, what could he say, after all, the great lug? “And when I think how you told me off for a few glasses of champagne!” Miss Charlotte didn’t lower her voice the least bit.

Sir Alexander winced. “What?”

“What in the world are you doing out…? No. I don’t care. All I require is someone to drive me to the stagecoach stop.” She turned and looked around as if expecting a stableboy to have shown up. The same idea seemed to occur to the two men. Ethan looked anxious. Sir Alexander sat straighter, pale and pained. “You can’t go,” he said. “I must speak to you.”

“I am going, and you are obviously in no state for conversation.”

“I forbid you to go.”

“You… what?”

He’d made a mistake there, Lucy thought. That was no way to get ’round Miss Charlotte, never had been since she was a little girl. Her eyes had taken on that sparkle that meant she was mad as fire.

Sir Alexander struggled to his feet. He seemed steady once he got there. “You can’t go,” he said again. “Please… Ch…”

“You cannot stop me! You… you… drunkard!”

Oh, now she’d made him angry. Lucy could see it in his face. It was true that wasn’t quite fair. She’d never heard that he drank much. She looked to Ethan, but he wasn’t going to be any help. He was watching the stable door like the wrath of God might come roaring in any minute.

“I can tell my staff not to transport you,” said Sir Alexander through gritted teeth.

“How dare you? I will walk!” Yes, Miss Charlotte was right furious now.

“I will have you fetched back,” he snapped. “Carried, if necessary.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“This is not the moment to test what I would do, believe me. And please don’t shout.” Miss Charlotte clenched her fists at her sides and glared at him. Lucy heard stirrings above, where the stableboys slept.

“We… we should go in,” said Ethan. He was nearly as pale as his master.

“An excellent idea. We should
all
go in, take a little time to… freshen up, and then…”

Miss Charlotte whirled in a flurry of skirts and started marching back to the house. Lucy could do nothing but follow her. As she went, she heard Sir Alexander say, “Ethan, get someone to bring water and headache powders to my room, at once.”

An hour or so later, Ethan showed up at the door of Miss Charlotte’s bedchamber, which was improper, but Lucy was beyond caring by this time. Her mistress had sat fuming and muttering the whole time, and now she headed for the library with murder in her eye. It was all going from bad to worse.

“Come on,” said Ethan.

“Where?”

“Never mind, just come.”

“I don’t want to see anybody…”

“You won’t be seeing anyone but me.” Ethan practically dragged Lucy from the bedchamber, down the still mostly empty halls, and out to the rose garden. It was the best place he could think of; the sweet scents and rich color might soften her up. Also, no one was likely to be in this part of the garden so early in the morning.

“What are you doing? Let go of me, Ethan Trask!”

But she hadn’t said it until they’d made it to the roses, which he took as a good sign.

“And what on earth were you doing in the stables, drinking with Sir Alexander?”

“That was odd,” he admitted.

“Odd?” She glared at him out of those clear blue eyes he always got lost in.

“I’d gone off by myself, because you’d been so harsh with me, Lucy.”

She snorted.

“And I was having one drink to… console myself, like.” He responded to her expression. “It was just… well, all right, two drinks, Lucy. But no more than that, I swear.” When her face remained stony, he added, “Do I seem like I had too much?”

Lucy eyed him. He wasn’t pale anymore, like he had been in the stables. He looked like he always did, tall and handsome and nigh irresistible and… heaven help her.

Ethan nodded. “And the master comes in, soused already.”

“Ethan!”

“Well, he was. And then he had some of the rum Cousin Jack brought me and then he orders me not to fetch anyone to take him in. I couldn’t just leave him there!”

Lucy could see this.

“And I was that tired, I fell asleep. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” This was the moment. Ethan was stepping into unknown territory once again, and even more nervous than last night, if that was possible. “The thing is, Lucy, Sir Alexander’s in love with Miss Charlotte.”

“What?”

“He told me so.”

“Told
you
? Whyever would he tell you?”

“Well, he wasn’t himself, was he? I’d bet anything he’s offering for her in the library right now.” Before she could recover from this surprise, Ethan grabbed her hand and sank to one knee. “It makes everything right, don’t you see? Oh, Lucy, you will marry me, won’t you? I don’t see how I can live without you, and that’s a fact.”

She gazed down at him. His deep, dark eyes were utterly sincere. She felt like she could read his soul in them. His hand was strong and sure on hers. “You won’t be telling me any more lies?”

“Never!”

All the complications that’d been plaguing her seemed to fly away. Whatever people here thought of her, whatever was happening in the library, she didn’t think she could live without him either. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

Ethan surged to his feet and swept her into his arms. For the very first time, this place felt like home.

***

Charlotte sailed into the library on a wave of anger. Yet through it ran a thread of hope that she couldn’t suppress, even though she despised herself for it. He didn’t want her to go. He’d threatened extreme measures—outrageous, insulting measures—to keep her here. She wasn’t an unwelcome intruder in his house. Not that that meant he could order her about. “How dare you summon me as if I were your servant?” she demanded when the door had closed behind her.

“I didn’t. I merely invited you to my library for an important conversation.”

He looked almost back to his usual self—handsome and magnetic, and smug and incredibly irritating. Charlotte crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Yes?”

“Will you sit down?”

“No.” He raised his brows as if she were being stupidly unreasonable. She hated it when he did that!

“Then we will stand. Charlotte…”

He said her name in the way that made her breath catch, and then he said nothing more. He was looking at her as he had that night in her bed, a look to melt bones. Why didn’t he go on? “Yes?” she said, her voice a bit unsteady.

“When I thought that something might have happened to you, that I might have lost you… I realized…”

Charlotte had begun to tremble. This man who always had so much to say seemed suddenly stricken with a maddening inability to talk.

“That I can’t ever lose you. You must marry me.”

She blinked. “Must?”

“I meant…”

“You are to command, and I am to obey. Is that it?” So much of her cried—yes! But was this the way she was to be asked? Or, more like, not asked.

“I didn’t say it properly…”

“Say what, precisely?” If he could do no better than this… Charlotte nearly burst into tears from the turmoil within her.

He strode over and grasped her arms. “Say that I love you with all my heart. And I want you to be my wife more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

The tension went out of her on a long sigh. Her heart pounded with joy and relief. “I thought you had vowed never to make a love match?”

“The devil with what I said. I was an idiot.”

“You can be, but… yes. I am so in love with you, and yes.”

He pulled her into a kiss that drowned out everything but the feel of his hands on her, the taste of his lips, the glorious knowledge that this and so much more was her future. It was an endless time before they separated, and then only to sit close together on the sofa, his arm warm on her shoulders.

A thought suddenly occurred to Charlotte. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Wylde. I never wanted to hear that name again.”

“Well, you will be Lady Charlotte Wylde. Entirely different.”

“Umm.” She smiled impishly at him. “I suppose it’s all right then.” She raised her lips again, and he took them.