The Wedding Affair (20 page)

Kate looked at her for a long moment and then shook her head and led the way on through the ruins. At the moment, not a bridesmaid was within sight, but somewhere in front of them Olivia could hear a pair of girlish voices. She couldn’t quite distinguish the words, but something in the tone of voice warned her there might be mischief afoot.

As they drew closer, she could make out the words. “Didn’t the duke come this way?” one of the bridesmaids asked.

The other said, “Perhaps we missed the turning and ended up in the wrong corridor. I wonder…”

“I meant to ask you, Horatia, what did the earl mean this morning about accidents?”

The other laughed. “Don’t be simple, Emily. Of course he can’t allow anything to happen to Penny Wise. Not until she inherits from her father, at least.”

“
Penny Wise
?” Olivia asked softly as they came up to a turn in the walkway. “Is that—”

Before her eyes, the wall seemed to bend, creaking and groaning. Falling stones rattled down and dust billowed as the ancient structure collapsed. Kate’s eyes widened, and her fingers clenched tight on Olivia’s arm.

They rounded a corner as one of the bridesmaids hurried toward them. “Emily’s hurt,” Horatia gasped. “Oh, do come quickly. She’s on the ground—and she’s lying awfully still!”

***

The earl did not regale Penelope with memories of the days when Stoneyford had been a home, but he did at least answer when she asked a question. Sometimes the answer was very brief, and she learned as much from what he didn’t say, or even simply from the tone of his voice, as from what he told her. After a while, she began to keep a sort of mental tally. Old servants, rain on the roof, a particular pony, sledding down the long hill from the house to the river’s edge—those seemed to be his best memories from Stoneyford.

After a while, however, he said, “You’ve gone quiet. You must be quite tired of the sound of my voice after five miles of hearing nothing else.”

“Not at all,” she said honestly. “But I must own to being hungry, for I missed breakfast. How far are we from Halstead, my lord?”

“Another five miles at least.”

“Then we can’t possibly reach the abbey in time for Lady Daphne’s picnic, either.”

“A village lies not far off our path, with an inn where we can bespeak a meal.”

The coaching inn where they stopped was small but neatly kept, with pale pink flowers spilling from wooden boxes under each window. The earl lifted Penelope down from her sidesaddle, and she would have been relieved to be on firm ground again had she not been so stiff she could barely walk. She managed just two steps before she staggered and almost fell in the middle of the yard.

The earl swept her up in his arms, and suddenly stiff muscles were the least of Penelope’s concerns. She’d had no difficulty with breathing until he picked her up, but suddenly her chest was tight and every inhalation took so much effort she simply wanted to lay her head on his shoulder.

Before she could make up her mind to experiment, he’d carried her inside the inn. The landlord rushed to open the door of a private parlor, and the earl laid Penelope down on the sofa. “My apologies,” he said. “You are not accustomed to days spent entirely in the saddle.”

I could
become
accustomed to it
, Penelope thought,
if this was the result!

But the earl moved away to discuss their meal with the landlord, and Penelope forced herself to sit up and wiggle her feet. By the time the landlord had brought a bottle of Bordeaux, the stiffness had eased and she could walk across the room.

The earl poured a glass and held it out. “This may be stronger than you’re accustomed to, but it will help to restore you.”

Penelope accepted the goblet and sipped warily. The wine’s bouquet was rich and fruity, and the liquid warmed her as she swallowed. The parlor was quiet except for the crackle of a small, neat fire.

“Perhaps you would like to take off your hat,” he suggested.

Penelope shook her head, remembering the hasty way she had rolled her hair up that morning and shoved the loose ends under her bonnet. She swallowed another mouthful of the sweet wine and felt relaxation course through her veins.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself on the hillside, looking across the long green valley to where Stoneyford stood, looking lonely and abandoned. It was wrong, she thought, for a house like that one—once a home—to be left to sink quietly into ruin.

“You would like to see Stoneyford restored, my lord,” she said finally.

“I have accepted the facts. Seeing the house again as it stands today, I know it is not to be.”

“It’s damaged. But I don’t see why it couldn’t be saved.”

The earl refilled his glass. “Beware of being overcome by romantic notions. Strange though it may sound, I assure you that today we saw the house at its best. If you had been introduced to it on a December day with a gale whipping down the valley, I hardly think you would be dreaming of rescuing it.”

Penelope had no difficulty drawing the picture he had evoked. Icicles dangled threateningly from every eave and overhang. A sharp-edged wet wind swirled down the cold, bleak chimneys. Snow crystals piled on the window ledges and seeped in around ill-fitting panes to drift inside the rooms.

Distressed, she blinked and the picture faded. Perhaps he was right, she thought reluctantly. Sometimes things
were
past saving.

The landlord returned with a maid and a pair of loaded trays.

The food smelled wonderful, though it was very simple—dark bread and sharp cheese, a plain roasted chicken, baked apples strong with cinnamon and wrapped in a flaky crust. But the fare reminded her of the simpler days of her childhood, before her father had made up his mind to marry her to a title. Or perhaps, she admitted honestly, she couldn’t really remember a time before Ivan Weiss’s dream had taken shape. She suspected he had begun to plan on the day she was born; he just hadn’t spoken of the idea to her until far later.

Plain food for a plain woman… the two things were well suited. And, Penelope thought, Stoneyford fit into that pattern as well.

Suddenly the picture in her mind reformed—but it had shifted. Snow and wind still rattled outside the house, but she was inside where the rooms were warm and bright, fragrant with wood smoke and warm wax and pine boughs. She could see the glint of candlelight against the shiny green of holly wreaths and the white berries of mistletoe, and she was surrounded by people. Laughing, happy people.

Imagine the house in December
, the earl had suggested, and she had done so. But she had pictured Christmas at Stoneyford.

She tore more bread from the loaf and rolled it between her fingers just to keep her hands occupied. “How much money would be required?” Her voice felt a little husky.

“Stoneyford?” He sounded wary. “Why are you lingering on the question?”

Penelope shrugged. “Because I like the house.”

“Your father has made his position clear. I will not go back to him to beg for funds.” He drained his wineglass and reached for the bottle. “Nor will you, for I will not allow it.”

He wouldn’t
allow
her to ask her father for money? Penelope bristled for an instant. But she had no intention of asking Ivan Weiss for money or permission, so there was no point in getting upset with the earl for telling her she couldn’t.

“I’m not talking about my father’s fortune.” She held out her goblet to be refilled. “I have some money of my own.”

He looked from the wine bottle to her face and filled her glass only halfway. “Your pin money, you mean? I hardly think—”

“No, though I seldom spend all my allowance. But to be accurate, I should have said I have things of value. Remember the brooch my father brought me this week, the one with the big yellow diamond?”

“I’ve found it difficult to forget that ornament.”

“The setting is unfortunate, but the stone is good—and since it was a gift, I can do as I like with it. If I would rather have Stoneyford rebuilt than own a yellow diamond that I will never wear, then it’s my business, not my father’s.”

She thought the silence in the parlor would go on forever, interrupted only by the snap of a log in the fireplace and the gurgle of wine as the earl refilled his goblet. He looked down into the glass as if it were a crystal ball and he was looking at the future.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “What do you want in return?”

Penelope realized she should have anticipated the question. Their entire marriage was a bargain, and she knew it had been so from the first time Ivan Weiss had approached the Earl of Townsend. Why should her husband view this discussion as anything else?

In any case, she wasn’t truly upset by the idea of bartering; perhaps some of her father’s business instinct had passed on to her after all.
What do you want, Penny Wise?
she asked herself.

If she demanded too much, he would walk away. If she asked for too little, he might laugh at her…

I want you to talk to me every day the way you have talked to me today.

She opened her mouth, but what came out was not what she had intended to say. “Just once, I want to know how it feels to be a wife.”

The earl went as still as a frozen lake.

Penelope could have cheerfully swallowed her tongue, but whatever had made her utter that incredible sentence was still in charge, for she couldn’t stop. “Only once,” she whispered.

When he neither moved nor looked at her, she turned her back and tried to fight off tears. She would not cry; Penny Wise had not cried when the girls at school had ridiculed her, and she would not give in to weakness now.

The earl set down his goblet with a thump that seemed to Penelope’s heightened senses to shake the table. He strode across the room and reached for the bell pull.

He’ll send for the reckoning
, she thought. And then they would ride back to Halstead in silence.
Why did I have to ruin things?

She reminded herself that at least she would have the memory of today—of Stoneyford and of riding along beside him as if she belonged there and of talking together like a real couple… She reached for her gloves and riding crop.

The landlord reappeared. “What can I do for you, sir?”

The earl said softly, “Show us to your best bedchamber.”

Nine

Stones still clattered to the ground, the rattle echoing in the narrow, twisting passageway as Kate sent Horatia off to fetch help and then hurried toward the spot where the wall had fallen in. Afraid of what would be waiting for her, she felt as if her feet were lead weights.

They rounded the corner and Kate’s heart jolted. Hearing that one of her charges was laid out senseless was one thing; seeing the accident victim motionless on the moss-covered flagstones was quite another. Was it her imagination, or was dust still puffing up from the heap of rocks that had fallen?

But as she came closer, she realized the situation was not as dire as it had seemed. Emily’s eyes were open, and though she was stretched out on the ground, she was moving. All down one side, her pale blue habit was smeared with slick green moss. Her hat had fallen off, and she was covered with dust from head to foot.

Kate knelt beside her. “Be still a moment. Where are you hurt?”

“My shoulder,” Emily whimpered. “I think it’s bruised.”

Kate wanted to tell the girl she’d be lucky indeed if nothing was broken, but she bit back the words, unwilling to cause Emily any more fright than she was already feeling.

And, Kate admitted, since she herself didn’t feel up to dealing with a hysterical maiden, she’d best not do anything that would make an outburst more likely.

Behind her, she heard the skitter of boots against stone—a tread too measured and heavy to be the bridesmaid who had run to fetch more help.

Emily squealed like a terrified rabbit.

Kate looked around to see the duke and Andrew approaching. Relief swept over her. “Mr. Carlisle, let me make way for you.” She started to get to her feet.

Emily seized her skirt in a surprisingly strong fist. “Don’t leave me, Miss Blakely.”

“Nonsense, my dear. The gentlemen can assist you better than I.”

“But it’s the duke, and I look a fright,” Emily breathed.

Kate unclenched Emily’s fingers from the twill of her skirt and stood up. “The rocks seem to have struck her shoulder, Mr. Carlisle,” she said crisply, “but I think you will find she is not seriously injured.” She moved away to join Olivia at a discreet distance.

Andrew and the duke exchanged a long glance. Then Andrew bent over the patient and took hold of her wrist. “Are you able to move your arm, Miss Emily?”

Emily cried out, and a shiver ran up Kate’s spine. But slowly, under Andrew’s guidance, Emily was able to flex her arm with no more than a whimper.

“I think nothing is broken,” Andrew said. “But she won’t be able to ride, Simon.”