The Abandoned Bride (28 page)

A moment before, his angry reaction to her question had caused Julia to fear that her greed for reassurance had mined her future. But now she saw that his guilt might do the same. And now, suddenly, she saw how easily joy could still be snatched from her grasp. Then she knew that she was done with trusting the outcome of her life to the vagaries of fate, and that if she were to win happiness, she must seize it in her own hands. So she thought quickly even as she continued to lean her head against his shoulder, her two hands limp against his chest.

“Ah no, Nicholas,” she whispered at last, “I do not forget it. How can I when you cannot? But I shall not let it come between us. I promise. You will not need to erase it from my mind or my heart, my love.”

At her words, his eyes widened and then he gazed searchingly into her uplifted face. What he saw there, the radiant mixture of love and yearning and laughter, and something else, something delightful and roguish in her smile that he could not define, caused him to take in his breath with wonder.

Which was just as well in view of what happened next.

For in a moment the spellbound sailors saw the expensively styled gentleman plummet backward into the murky waters. What they had not seen was the beautiful lady’s two white and dovelike hands straighten themselves against the gentleman’s broad chest and deliver him a capable push when he was off guard, strong enough to topple him over the brink.

The sailors lowered ropes and grappling hooks immediately to save the gentleman, for no one of them wished to plunge into the bilge-encrusted waters unless they must. Then they noted that though he stayed afloat he seemed to be coughing and spluttering a great deal. A few brave seamen had resigned themselves to plunging into the noisome waters to assist him when they realized that he was not drowning so much as whooping with laughter.

When he had been safely pulled to the dock by ropes, and a servant who was clearly his valet had snatched a blanket from a surprised carriage horse to toss about his drenched shoulders, he continued to stagger with laughter. And then, when the sodden gentleman went up to the beautiful lady and laid his streaming arms about her shoulders and
sh
e did not even pull away despite the ruination of her fashionable gown, the English sailors fell to collecting their debts. For it was clear, the French sailors sighed, that no one of their countrywomen would allow such treatment to a frock of such high fashion, and certainly, no one of their men would lack so much savoir faire as to come, dripping and sputtering, to his love. The two were English, they concluded, and in the saying of their own tongue, drunk as a pair of lords.

“Wretch,” the baron breathed at last, when he could, gazing into Julia’s apprehensive eyes. “But thank you. Now, indeed, we are even.
Now
will you have me?”

“Now,” sighed Julia with content, snuggling close into his reeking, streaming clasp, “yes.”

October 1815

_1
7

The
wind outside the bedroom window was
t
hrowing itself against the panes with such force as to cause them to rattle in their casements. Makepiece sniffed. It wasn’t just the cold of the October day which made him deliver himself of such an ill-bred sound, although the chill of this autumn was enough to creep into any man’s bones. It was instead the thoughts of the increasingly difficult position he found himself in.

He could understand, not condone necessarily, but understand, he thought, for he was a fair-minded man, that a gentleman might not wish to take his valet with him on his honeymoon. So he hadn’t said a word on that head when he had been left behind at Greenbriar House after his master had been married last month. But now that the Baron Stafford had returned he had been ordered to remove all of his master’s clothes and personal possessions from his own chamber and install them in the Queen Anne bedroom. For his master was, incredibly enough, going to share his bedroom quarters with his new bride!

It wasn’t done, Makepiece thought morosely. It was not at all the thing. It would be remarked upon by any visiting gentleman’s gentleman. But he continued to pack the remainder of his master’s clothes even as he rued his actions. For all in all, the baron was a fair employer and a pleasure to dress, since a valet’s efforts could not go unremarked when displayed upon such a fine figure of a man. And then, too, there was the lady Julia’s maidservant to consider. Celeste was a level-headed female and it would be difficult to continue an increasingly interesting relationship if he were to leave the baron’s employ.

Makepiece had been as full of sighs as a fireside bellows since he had begun his chores, but when he chanced to take a certain object from his master’s chest of drawers, he recoiled as though he had uncovered a cobra. So when the baron came into his one-time quarters to find a cape that had not yet been transferred to his new rooms, he saw his valet standing holding an object over a waste basket, an expression of deepest sorrow upon his face.

What ails the fellow now? the baron wondered. He knew his man had been very miffed at having been left behind for the past month. But he refused to explain to his valet that he had been delighted beyond words to discover that a fellow didn’t need clothes on his honeymoon, even at a fashionable spa. Or at least not when he was fortunate enough to be wedded to an adored and adoring, increasingly abandoned bride. Still, he had to say something to Makepiece now at any rate, since the fellow looked as though his heart were breaking.

“Whatever have you got there?” the baron asked quickly, snatching up his cape from out of his wardrobe and tossing it over his arm.

“It is, though it is horrible to contemplate, my lord, none other than Monsieur LeMay’s exquisite jacket. Though you would not know it now. I have washed it, I have ironed it, I have scented it with herbs, I have done all but beat it upon the rocks,” Makepiece said on a rising note of distress, “but it is unsalvageable. It is ruined, my lord. It reeks of the sea and less seemly things. Its fabric is dulled, its shape is forgotten. It is worth nothing now,
”
the valet said with something very much like a muted sob, as he dropped the parcel into the trash.

“Ah no,” the baron said quickly as he bent to retrieve the limp bundle. “It is worth a great deal to me, at least. Don’t toss it out, Makepiece. Rather, parcel it up well so it doesn’t make
the place redolent of fish, and label it and store it in the attic somewhere.”

A blast against the windows that set the shutters to shuddering made the baron start and reminded him of the oncoming storm again. Suddenly he was all haste to be gone to rejoin his waiting wife. For they had decided to ride out to greet the storm, and race their horses with the winds until the rains came. But still he delayed a moment more. He stood holding the ruined jacket and thought of the festivities they would have after their wild ride, the warming, the comforting, and then the lying easily snug within their bed while the wind raged without. This stormy October night, he vowed, with a smile playing about his lips, would be the one she would remember long after details of the other had been forgotten.

Makepiece’s incredulous stare recalled him to the present and the baron tossed the bundle to his man.

“Yes. Wrap it and tag it,” he said merrily, “so that I can always have it as a reminder of a debt paid. With interest.” He laughed before he turned and left his wondering servant to do his bidding.

Then he made his way quickly downstairs, for the wind was rising and he had been absent from his bride for a full five minutes, and he could not let her feel neglected. Or even
half so lonely as he did now, without her at his side.