The Perfect Bride (36 page)

His gaze widened. “Go on.”

“The mob was violent. They carried knives, pikes and pitchforks.” She tensed, recalling the men as they swarmed the Harrington coach, recalling her fear and her mother's pinched, white face. Her temples throbbed; she feared a spiraling descent into the past now. She whispered, “They accosted our carriage, cut the horse loose, beat it to death. They dragged Mama out—and then me.” Sir Rex grasped her hand. “Mama screamed and screamed, but I couldn't see her—they murdered her.” The aching intensified, but not in her temples, in her chest. She looked into Sir Rex's steady gaze. He was anguished, but he did not move away. Blanche realized she was clinging to his hand as if it were a lifeline. It felt as if it had become one.

“Her screams were screams of terror—and pain. They stabbed her to death, Sir Rex. With knives and pitchforks.”

“My God.”

“And the screams stopped.” Blanche stared at their locked hands through blurred vision. Knives were going through her heart now. “I escaped the monster that held me and crawled through the mob to her. I will never forget how she looked.” She had been a bloody mangled mess. Blanche looked up, waiting for the room to tilt and spin.

Instead, she found herself in Sir Rex's powerful embrace. He whispered, “I understand,” which confused her, because he couldn't possibly understand. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, relishing his muscular strength, fighting the dizziness, the bloody images. A knife stabbed through her temples and Blanche felt the room spinning at last. She tensed, awaiting her mother's screams.

“Don't leave me.”

Blanche jerked, eyes opening, looking up. Sir Rex's dark gaze held hers and he smiled grimly at her. “I have to tell you something.”

The knives slid out of her skull. The memory of Mama's mangled body receded, but it did not vanish. What could he possibly say? she wondered.

He smiled again, caressing her face. “When I came back from the war, I would awake in the middle of the night—or the day—and I would be clawing bloody dirt, lying on a hard plain in the burning Spanish sun. Men were screaming in pain, sabers were ringing and cannons boomed. I could smell the gunpowder, charred flesh, blood, death.”

Blanche sat up straighter. “What?”

“And then suddenly I'd realize I was in my bed, or on the sofa. I was in Harmon House—or Bodenick—not Spain.”

Blanche was astonished.

“It was so real,” he said thickly. “A few times, I would be having a conversation, with my brothers, or with a servant—and everyone would vanish. I'd be back on that battlefield, lying there wounded, my leg blasted apart, hearing the men, the battle, smelling it, feverish and thirsty. And then I'd be standing in a salon again, realizing I wasn't still in the war and that I was having a terrible memory, but one as real as a dream.”

Blanche began to tremble wildly. “What happened? Do you still have these dreamlike memories?”

“No. They lasted six months, maybe a year. Day by day, they occurred less frequently, until it was once a week, once a month, and then not at all.”

Blanche cried out. “What are you trying to say?”

“Blanche, I am not the only one. Many soldiers have suffered with ‘fits,' if you will, after the war. I have friends who had the same fits I had. I know other soldiers who never were afflicted, but we all know some of us suffered so badly in the war, we brought those memories home with us. The war was violent and traumatic. That riot was as violent and as traumatic as any battle. I now believe your illness is the same condition I suffered and that other soldiers have suffered, as well.”

Blanche whispered, still stunned, “But my fits are worse—and more frequent.”

Rex stared at her. “The first time this happened to me, I was shocked and afraid. And these ‘fits' started occurring frequently. But then, as my life returned back to normal, they tapered off. Bess said this all began at Land's End. That is very recently, considering the riot was over twenty years ago.” He touched her face again reassuringly.

Blanche seized his hand. “It does sound like I am having the same ailment,” she whispered.

“There is one doctor in London who has made it his life to care for these afflicted soldiers. He has even named this ailment, but I cannot recall what he calls it. In any case, you must see him. We will go together.”

Blanche realized they were holding hands so tightly that their knuckles were white. She stared at Sir Rex and he stared back.

She might not be mad after all.

There was hope.

“Thank you,” she gasped.

He pulled her close.

R
EX FOUND
C
LIFF UPSTAIRS
in the suite of rooms he shared with his wife and two children. Alexi was seated at the secretaire, industriously penning an apology to Lady Barrow, his father standing over him, arms sternly folded. Ariella was curled up on a chaise before the fireplace, reading, as usual, but when he paused in the open doorway, she looked up at him, smiling. Amanda stepped out of the bedroom, also smiling. Her green eyes sparkled with delight. “How is Blanche?” she asked.

He hesitated. He had insisted Blanche retire to a guest room, for she was clearly under a terrible strain and exhaustion was mirrored in her expression and her eyes. And the fact that she had agreed, collapsing in bed when he escorted her there, had been proof that he was right. But now he knew she wasn't insane. Time would cure her illness. And she was carrying his child—she was to be his wife.

He was so worried about her, so much so that he couldn't really consider the future they would share—and the child they would have. His immediate concern was that she rest. His second concern was that she recover from the trauma of the riot—and he wished he could speed that recovery along, but he was fairly certain he could not. However, because of the child, they must marry as soon as humanly possible. And that was where his brother, Cliff, came into play.

“She hasn't been feeling well for some time now, and she is resting in one of the guest suites,” he said. “I was hoping to steal your husband away for a moment.”

Amanda looked closely at him and he saw that she was trying to control her curiosity. “As long as you return him,” she said lightly. Then, “Will Blanche join the family for supper?”

“No.” He did not want her to endure any additional strain. He knew she feared an episode and he also knew she was ashamed to be thought mad by the ton, much less his family.

He could not wait to take her far away from London, he thought. He could not wait to have the right and the privilege to hold her in his arms and comfort her, care for her, provide for her and protect her, from everything and everyone.

He could not wait to tell her about Stephen.

Cliff strolled over, his blue eyes sharp with interest. Rex gestured at the hallway and they stepped into the corridor, Cliff closing the suite door behind them. Rex said bluntly, “I need a favor.” For once, he was glad his brother was so unconventional and eccentric.

“And you shall have it.”

Rex had not expected to be denied. “Before I make my request, you must swear to me that what happens next is between us and only us—no one must know—not even your wife.”

Cliff's eyes widened. “I am intrigued. But I do not like keeping secrets from my wife. In fact, I have never done so and I do not wish to start now.”

“The secret will be a temporary one—and only because Blanche is ill.”

Cliff became grim. He touched Rex's arm. “What can I do to help you, Rex—and to help her? And of course, you have my vow of silence.”

“I wish for you to marry us,” Rex said.

Cliff seemed dazed. Comprehension began. “So the two of you will wed after all—but you wish to elope?”

“Can you keep your voice down?”

Cliff became incredulous. “And you want me to marry you on my ship?”

“Cliff, Blanche is ill. She cannot withstand the strain of a formal wedding and a reception. We are eloping, one way or another. It will be easier on Blanche if we can do so right here in the harbor. I was hoping to be wed within the week.” He stared.

Cliff stared back. “How ill is she?”

Rex hesitated. “She has yet to see a physician, but she is not mad, Cliff. She is suffering from the same illness that I was afflicted with after the war and that many soldiers bear. I am certain you do not know, but her mother was violently murdered when she was a child, and she witnessed the event. She is only recalling that murder now, very much the way I relived my last days of battle when I first came home from the Peninsula. Time will heal her, I am certain, as it healed almost everyone I know.”

“I had no idea and I am sorry,” Cliff said seriously. Then, “Is there a reason for such haste, Rex?”

“It appears so.” The brothers shared a knowing look.

Cliff smiled and clasped his shoulder. “I am very happy for you—for you both. Of course I will marry you. However, you do realize how disappointed the women in this family will be when they learn you have eloped?”

“I do, but Blanche's welfare comes first.”

“Spoken like a man in love.” Cliff grinned. “In the end, everyone, even Mother, will be thrilled, except for Eleanor. She may never forgive you,” he warned.

“I will worry about our determined sister another time.” Rex finally relaxed. He hadn't expected an argument, but now he began to feel a terrible relief. In a few days, perhaps a week, he and Blanche would be wed. And then he would take her away to Land's End—or Ireland. As long as it was the country, where there was peace and quiet so she could rest, he did not care where they went.

Soon after they were married, they would be on their honeymoon. He tensed. Newly wedded bliss would have to wait. He doubted desire was on Blanche's mind. It wasn't really on his mind now, either. He wanted her well.

“Let me know when you wish to do the deed,” Cliff said. He clasped his brother's shoulder again.

“Thank you,” Rex said.

 

B
LANCHE AWOKE SLOWLY
, in stages, as if she had been severely dosed with laudanum. She floated as if on soft, fluffy down clouds, aware of a huge sense of relief and even, oddly, of peace. After the past months, it was blissful to have such feelings. She realized she was smiling as she opened her eyes…and she found herself in a strange bedroom.

She stared at the ivory, mauve and pink starburst molded on the ceiling above the four-poster bed and instantly recalled that she was at Harmon House—and she and Sir Rex were to be married. Dusk had fallen and the room was filled with shadow, but a fire blazed in the sculpted plaster hearth. Her gaze moved to the pale chaise facing it and met Sir Rex's direct stare. He sat up.

She slowly sat up, as well. He had escorted her to the bedroom, and she vaguely recalled leaning heavily on him as they came inside. She had been sleeping on top of the covers, but beneath an ivory wool throw. She realized she had collapsed on the bed and fallen instantly asleep. Sir Rex had obviously covered her with the blanket; she was pleased he had cared enough to do so.

She smiled, her heart skipping with an excitement and delight she could not deny. “How long have you been sitting there?”

He limped over. “Two hours, I think.”

He had been watching over her while she slept. Blanche had never felt so safe—and she felt cared for and cherished, too. “You didn't have to stay,” she said softly.

He hesitated. “May I?”

She understood and nodded; he sat down on the edge of the bed, by her hip. “I wanted to sit with you while you slept,” he said quietly. “I am concerned for you, but that is not why. I have missed you.”

Blanche thrilled entirely and impulsively reached for his hand. “I have missed you, too—so much.”

His gaze darkened.

Blanche hesitated. She thought he wanted to embrace her and perhaps even kiss her—and she had never wanted anything more. But he only smiled at her. Then Blanche decided she was a fool. She was gaunt and thin, he had seen her behaving like a mad woman, never mind the explanation, and Sir Rex might want to marry her and take care of her, but he couldn't possibly find her desirable now. The woman he desired had been dignified, graceful and elegant—a perfect lady—not an imperfect bride.

“Cliff has agreed to marry us,” he said softly.

Blanche started. It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “He is a ship's captain—he can marry us on his ship!”

“Yes.” He smiled. “I felt certain you would not wish for a formal ceremony, not even a small one with my rather large family. We only need two witnesses.”

Blanche nodded breathlessly. “Bess and Meg. I must have them both present.”

“As you wish.” He hesitated. “I do not want to press you,” he began, then stopped.

Blanche shook her head. “I would marry you tonight if you wished me to.”

His eyes widened.

Blanche realized she wanted to marry him as soon as possible. She felt herself blush. “I know this is an odd situation and I do not mean to push,” she whispered, glancing aside.

He seized both of her hands. “Blanche, you cannot push. There is a reason for haste. Besides, I would like nothing more than to be wed tonight, if you are serious.”

Blanche stared. “Do you think we dare try?” And a profound excitement began.

“I'll speak to Cliff,” he said, standing. He smiled, pleased. “But I see no reason why we can't elope after supper.”

 

A
LL SAILS TIGHTLY FURLED
, masts and rigging touching the star-studded sky, the frigate drifted at anchor against the gleaming ebony water. The moon was incandescent and full. Blanche paused on the dock beside Sir Rex, a soft breeze caressing her cheeks, incredulous. She had gone to Sir Rex that afternoon to tell him about her child and make the ultimate sacrifice possible for a woman. Instead, they were getting married.

Blanche noticed a few ghostly figures on the main deck. She turned to Sir Rex. “If I pinch myself, I wonder if I will wake up?” she whispered.

He smiled. “I have been thinking the very same thing. Come. Everyone is already here.”

Blanche nodded, trembling, and they started up the walkway. She recognized Cliff de Warenne as they crossed the gangplank, as he made a formidable figure, and even in a dark suit, no one could mistake him for anything but the ship's master. The other men were clearly sailors, lighting the great ship's lanterns. Blanche prayed she was not in the midst of a wonderful dream.

Bess waved at her, urging her to hurry, and beside her was Meg, who even from a distance, was clearly a bundle of excitement. Blanche now realized that the third woman was Eleanor de Warenne. A huge smile wreathed her face.

Rex said softly, “I needed rings. It was an excuse to bring my indomitable sister into the loop.”

“I have always liked Eleanor and I am glad she is here,” Blanche said as softly, her heart racing so wildly it was impossible to breathe. Rex helped her step onto the ship's main deck. His grasp was sure and strong and steady, just like the man.
I am so fortunate,
Blanche thought, very close to becoming overcome by the moment.

Instantly, Bess was upon her, her eyes wide and incredulous. “When I received your note that I must meet you at Captain de Warenne's ship, I thought, Blanche is truly out of her mind tonight! And then Meg arrived and told me you are really marrying Sir Rex!” Bess was already embracing her. “And then Eleanor showed me the rings and Captain de Warenne confirmed it. I am so pleased!”

Blanche laughed and hugged her back. “I am pleased you are pleased,” she teased.

Bess started.

Blanche realized she hadn't laughed in months—nor had she had the inkling to be playful, either. She sobered. “Wish us good fortune,” she said, her voice low.

“Of course I wish you the
best
fortune,” Bess cried, her gaze searching.

Blanche glanced around and saw Sir Rex and Cliff quietly conversing. “Sir Rex knows
everything,
” she whispered. “He is the kindest man you or I will ever meet and more importantly, he is familiar with my illness, as it is common among war veterans. I am hardly mad, Bess.”

Bess gasped. “Is there a cure?”

“Time seems to heal everyone from this brutal affliction.” Blanche smiled at her and turned to hug Meg. “I am so glad you are here.”

“My lady, this is a great day—evening!” the redhead cried. “I am so happy for you. I knew you loved him and I knew he loved you, too!”

Blanche heard herself laugh again. She wasn't sure love had been a factor in Sir Rex's decision, but it didn't matter. He was her anchor and she was happy—and she couldn't recall when she had been as happy, not since leaving Land's End.

Eleanor strode forward. “I have been waiting for this moment,” she grinned. “You and my brother are perfect together. I knew the two of you would find your way back to one another!”

Blanche blushed. She wanted to deny it, but in that moment, she believed Eleanor de Warenne. Sir Rex was so perfect for her. She couldn't recall why there had ever been any doubt. She wanted to be perfect for him, and maybe, once cured, she could become the perfect wife. She turned her gaze upon him and found him watching her, almost protectively, but he was smiling, too. She smiled back instantly. He seemed happy.

He thudded forward. “Shall we commence? Cliff is ready if you are.”

Her heart thundered. “I am so very ready.”