The Girl in the Gatehouse (53 page)

When Dixon set Maggie down, the little girl took Martin’s new hand in hers, regarding it with smiles of surprise and delight.

Martin teased, “I asked for Miss Dixon’s hand, and instead she gave me this one.”

Dixon shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Oh, go on with you.”

Mariah could feel Captain Bryant’s eyes on her but, doubts and insecurities rising, avoided his gaze. She was afraid of what she might see in his dear brown eyes. Would there be cool distance there, where once had been warm intimacy? She had experienced such a startling reversal once before. But Captain Bryant was not James Crawford, she reminded herself.

The carriage pulled up, and Lizzy, George, and Mr. Hart waved to her from its window. How surprising that they should return at the same time as Captain Bryant.

As the three stepped down from the carriage, Mariah walked over and hugged Lizzy and asked about their trip. From Lizzy’s blushing, happy face, it appeared the visit to Mrs. Hart had gone very well, a fact Mr. Hart was quick to confirm.

“Mother adores her.”

“And I her.” Lizzy glowed. “She’s such a dear.”

Captain Bryant walked over to join them, but Mariah excused herself to welcome Maggie home. She squeezed the little girl’s hand and smiled into her cherubic face, hoping the few weeks of loneliness and deprivation would not leave their mark.

Behind Maggie, the horse she had ridden bent its head to nibble at the lawn. Startled, Mariah stared. The bay mare, her lithe chestnut body marked with black mane, tail, ears, and socks, was not only similar to Mariah’s horse, it
was
her horse. Mariah’s own beloved Lady.
How
in the world . . . ?
Lady, released from her rider, ambled across the drive in search of taller grass or freedom.

Mariah followed her, calling softly and stretching out her hand.

The mare’s ears tipped back, cautious, wary. Had she forgotten Mariah’s voice after a year’s absence? But then the graceful neck turned and the big long-lashed eyes regarded her. She snorted and sniffed as Mariah walked slowly forward, speaking in quiet, gentle tones. “Hello, my dear girl. How I have missed you. Will you come to me?”

Lady whinnied and tossed her head. She took a few steps toward Mariah, and Mariah’s heart lifted in satisfaction. When the velvety whiskered muzzle whispered into her palm, Mariah smiled. With her other hand, she began stroking the sleek reddish-brown neck.

Matthew appeared on the other side of the horse, his eyes bright yet watchful, studying her reaction.

Mariah was glad to have Lady as a buffer between them. “How did you come by her?”

“Maggie, or your horse?” He gave a small grin.

“Both. I am overcome with curiosity.”

“Martin discovered Maggie had been sent to the workhouse in Highworth.”

“How did he learn that?”

Captain Bryant stroked the mare’s forelock. “Captain Prince helped himself to Mrs. Pitt’s records, I understand. We thought it best not to tell you and Miss Dixon in case nothing could be done.”

She was too relieved to have Maggie back to argue this point. “They just gave her to you?”

“No, not initially. But my sister’s husband, you see, is curate in Highworth. He is friendly with several members of that institution’s board of governors. He arranged Maggie’s release. Still, he warned it would take time. Meanwhile, I visited my parents and wrote to Hart, thinking if Miss Barnes joined us, Maggie might feel more at ease.”

Their returning together had been no accident. “Very wise. But what must your parents have thought of all that coming and going?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “It is ironic. Nothing I have done or accomplished in my career has impressed my father. But for some reason, my mission to find and restore one little girl has.” His voice thickened. “Even told me he was proud of me.”

Mariah pressed a hand to her chest, wishing she might lay a hand on his arm instead. “Oh, Matthew. How wonderful.”

Holding her gaze, he stepped around the horse. “As happy as I was to help Maggie, and of course Martin and Miss Dixon, I confess I did it for you.”

Mariah drew in a painful breath.

He continued. “While I was waiting for Hart and Miss Barnes to join me, I traveled to Milton to see if I might purchase your horse.”

“My father sold her to you?”

“Gave her.”

Joy and incredulity warred within her. “I cannot believe it. Father agreed?”

“Yes, he gave his permission.”

Permission
. The word reminded her of Captain Bryant’s long quest. “Did you . . . happen to call on the Forsythes while you were in Highworth?”

Tilting his head, he regarded her cautiously. “No, why should I?” He grimaced. “Did not Martin give you my message?”

“Yes, but only that you were gone on some manner of business to Highworth. Where the Forsythes’ estate lies.”

“Mariah, you did not think . . . ?”

“I tried not to. I was even successful at it. Most of the time.”

He took Mariah’s hand in both of his. “I went to Highworth only to find and return Maggie. The only lady’s father I consulted was your own. His, the only permission I sought.” He lifted her hand and pressed warm lips to her fingers. “And not only permission to restore Lady to you.”

Mariah’s heart bumped hard against her breast.

“Ahoy there, Captain Bryant!” Captain Prince hailed, waving from the portico.

Mariah felt awkward, realizing they had been about to visit the house Captain Bryant was still paying for and without his permission. She explained quickly, “Captain Prince hoped to tour the house after so many years away, but – ”

“Of course,” Matthew said easily.

“You do not mind?”

“Not at all.”

Captain Prince came trotting down the steps, and the two men shook hands. “Captain Bryant. Never fear. Mr. Martin has told me of your lease. I will, of course, honor it. The place is yours until, what, the end of September?”

Mariah and Matthew exchanged a poignant, knowing look. They would have to tell the man about his scoundrel of a nephew. But not today.

After Hart and Lizzy stepped forward to greet the captain and Miss Merryweather, Matthew suggested genially, “Why do we not all tour the house together?”

Everyone agreed.

They strolled through the soaring entry hall, little Maggie and George gazing up in wonder at the ornate ceiling and glittering chandelier. At the bottom of the grand staircase, Agnes Merryweather looked up and gasped, stopping where she stood. The others followed her gaze.

Mariah felt her own mouth gape. There at the first landing, where once had hung two portraits of Prin-Hallsey men, now hung three: Frederick, Hugh, and Percival.

She glanced at Martin, who gave her a knowing wink.

Silently, Agnes gripped the railing and slowly mounted the stairs. Standing on the landing, she studied the portrait of Captain Prince as a younger man. “Amy spoke often of how handsome you were,” she said. “She was right.”

The captain stepped up and stood beside her, while the others stayed below. He said, “I am very sorry Amy did not live to see this day. We might have all shared this occasion, even this house, had you liked.”

Agnes dragged her gaze from the portrait. “Take no offense, Captain. But Amy has a far finer mansion now.”

“I believe you are right.” He smiled at her, his attention snagged by her red scarf. “I say, I like that muffler. Is it not very like the ones Miss Amy made?”

Agnes looked down at Mariah and their eyes locked. “Yes. Very like.”

The captain offered Agnes his arm once more, and they companionably mounted the remaining stairs. With Lizzy, Mr. Hart, Martin, Dixon, and George, plus Maggie skipping alongside, they toured the boyhood and future home of Percival “Prince” Prin-Hallsey.

Mariah and Matthew brought up the rear of the party. They walked side by side, arms behind their respective backs, listening to the exclamations of Captain Prince as he extolled favorite rooms and recollected boyhood pranks within them.

Mariah tilted her head nearer Captain Bryant and whispered, “It was very kind of you, but I cannot accept Lady. I cannot afford to keep a horse.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I can still manage that expense.”

“But I cannot allow you to do so.”

“Can you not consider it a wedding present?”

She stopped where she was and stared up at him, throat tight.

Glancing ahead at the others, Matthew took her arm and propelled her into the empty salon. “I love you, Mariah,” he whispered. “Surely you know that.”

A sprig of hope blossomed within her, but she remained silent. She waited as Matthew paused, thinking carefully before speaking. Outside, thunder grumbled. Rain began to
peck-peck
against the windowpanes.

He said, “My pursuit of Miss Forsythe did blind me for a time to my growing feelings for you. But my rogue heart decided you were the one it loved, despite my mind’s best efforts to stay the course.”

Gazing at her, his warm brown eyes lingered on her mouth. His voice took on the gentle urging tone Mariah had used with Lady. “How I have missed you, my dear girl. Will you forgive me for being such a fool?”

Throat too tight to speak, Mariah merely nodded.

The shadow left his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “ ‘I came here to win one woman, and instead am lost to another,’ ” he said, quoting a line from Simon Wells’s play. “I . . .” He hesitated, lips pursed. “Will you . . .” He broke off with a wince and a huff. “Not here. Come with me.”

He grasped her hand and pulled her to the door. Peeking out and seeing the touring party stepping into another chamber, Matthew tugged her arm.

“Matthew! What are you doing?” Mariah protested, but the truth was, she didn’t care. She would follow him anywhere.

Together they skimmed down the stairs, across the hall, and out the front door. Heedless of the steady rain now falling, they raced down the curved drive. Mariah laughed, running hard to match his longer strides, already guessing his intention.

He did not stop until they reached the gatehouse, dashed through it, and flung open the front door. There, finally, he stopped. Holding on to one another’s forearms, they stood, gasping, chests heaving, and tried to catch their breaths.

“I love you, Mariah Aubrey,” Matthew said between pants. He cradled her face in his hands, eyes roving her features with a fiery possessiveness that thrilled her. His breath tickled her upper lip, and then his mouth touched hers with a feathery kiss. “I wanted to ask you here, where we first met. Will you marry me? Stay with me, wherever I go?”

He angled his head and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her firmly, deeply, passionately. Her heart ached with pleasure. Her knees threatened to give way. He released her only long enough to wrap both arms around her and hold her tightly to his chest. “Say you will.”

For one uncertain moment, Mariah recalled her failures, and felt unworthy of such love. But then she thought once more of dear Amy Merryweather, fallen, yet redeemed at a great price by her “prince.” Is that not what God had done for her? He had given all He had; had forgiven and loved her. And He was waiting for her to love Him in return.

Tears once more filled her eyes. Mariah’s lip trembled, but she managed a wavering smile and breathless reply.

“I will.”

epilogue

Captain Matthew Bryant and Miss Mariah Aubrey were married on a crisp late-October morning in the Whitmore village church.

After the service, they rode back to Windrush Court in an open, ribbon-festooned barouche, while the guests followed on foot, walking back to the estate for the wedding breakfast.

Reaching the gatehouse first, Matthew hopped down from the carriage and threw wide the gate. Captain Prince, in his first act as master of Windrush Court, had already dispatched the lock. Then Matthew climbed up once more, urged the horse into motion, and he and Mariah passed through the gate. There, so near where they had first met, Captain and Mrs. Bryant shared a lingering kiss while they awaited their guests.

A few minutes later, the first of them appeared. At the beginning of the procession were residents of the poorhouse, who best knew the way, led by George and Sam. Tears stung Mariah’s eyes as she gazed in wonder at the cheerful parade. For each person from the poorhouse wore a bright red muffler – their sober church-going clothes transformed into cheerful garments by the colorful wraiths floating about their necks, made over the years by Amy Merryweather’s hands, and reminiscent of her spirit.

Matthew looked at her and their gazes caught and held. Mariah’s vision blurred with happy tears, but she blinked them away, not wanting to miss a single sight, a single face.

After a clutch of jovial poorhouse residents came two couples arm in arm – Lizzy and Mr. Hart, and Agnes Merryweather with Captain Prince. After them came John and Helen Bryant, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Strong, Mr. Phelps, and the vicar. And finally, Martin, Dixon, Maggie, and Mariah’s brother, Henry. What delight to see so many dear, smiling faces pass through the gate. Matthew’s sister and her husband had been prevented from coming because their child was due any day. Mariah would have loved for her own sister and parents to be there as well, but she refused to let their absence spoil her joy.