Treasured Vows (28 page)

1815

“S
omeone told me, Sir Cecil, that you knew Morgan well when he worked for the Bank of England.”

Sir Cecil looked up from the contemplation of his thumbnail and frowned at the member of the Royal Geographic Society, Mr. Marpledon, sitting in the coach seat opposite him. He didn’t like being reminded of those days. No man wanted to be reminded of how opportunity had slipped through his fingers.

“He did some work for me,” he muttered noncommittally, and then for some perverse reason added, “My daughter was engaged to him for a time.” What he wouldn’t give to go back to that moment in time! He’d finally been able to buy a husband for Miranda, but the bastard had, after only four months of marriage, sent her home to her parents, threatening to horsewhip her if she ever darkened his door again.

Between Miranda and his wife, his life was a living
hell. Even his mistress was starting to sound like a shrew.

“Was he as wealthy then as he is now?” the second gentleman, Sir Lloyd, asked with undisguised curiosity.

Sir Cecil frowned. “I certainly don’t know.”

The men’s speculation was undeterred. Sir Lloyd turned to his companion. “I overheard in my club last week that the prime minister offered Morgan a title and the man refused it.”

“Refused a knighthood?” Marpledon repeated incredulously.

“No,” Sir Lloyd said. “He offered Morgan a peerage for his service to the government. Morgan said that he deeply appreciated the honor but did not want or expect anything for his service to his country.”

“Amazing,” Marpledon said. “Can you imagine any man in England not willing to sell his soul for a peerage?”

“I suppose it depends on the man and what he values most,” Sir Lloyd answered.

“Amazing,” Marpledon said again, and Sir Cecil echoed the same sentiment in his thoughts.

Suddenly their conversation stopped as each man looked at their companion, Sir Julius Abbott, sitting next to Sir Cecil. Sir Cecil shifted uncomfortably. “Doesn’t he ever say anything?”

Sir Lloyd shook his head. “Not that anyone’s heard, not since we met him at the pier in Portsmouth. The lads who found Sir Julius in that Berber village said the same. All he does is stare off into space. Fever can do that to a man. The lads didn’t even realize he was a white man until they’d been in the village several weeks.”

Sir Cecil frowned. He’d been hoping that by worming his way into this midmorning expedition to deliver Sir Julius Abbott to his son-in-law, Grant Morgan could be convinced to help him handle some present difficulties he was suffering. Looking at Sir Julius sitting next to him staring off into space, he doubted Morgan would be pleased at all. First, Sir Julius didn’t look anything like his former robust self, and second, there was no treasure. Mayhap there never had been a treasure. The thought made Sir Cecil sad.

At that moment the coach turned off the road, its wheels rumbling along the fine cobblestones of the drive. Sir Lloyd sat up. “We must be here.” He rolled up the coach’s window flap and craned his neck. “I’m anxious to see Morgan’s estate, Bell Haven. They say the design is very original.”

“So I’ve heard,” Mr. Marpledon agreed. “I also heard it was designed by his wife. Can you imagine letting your wife design a house, let alone an estate of this magnitude?”

“I’ve met Mrs. Morgan,” Sir Lloyd said. “She’s a very unconventional woman but completely charming. I admire her work on behalf of several social causes. She and a cousin of mine are very actively working to improve the conditions at several London hospitals, and when you hear them talk about it, they make sense, too.”

Sir Cecil found himself searching the woods for his first glimpse of Bell Haven. All this could have been his if only he hadn’t listened to his wife and acted so hastily in marrying Phadra Abbott off to Morgan that day in the inn. Even Beatrice agreed now, especially
when Miranda was having an unusually bad day. Morgan wouldn’t have sent her packing. He was a man who understood his responsibilities. Sir Cecil’s thoughts turned to what he had just heard from Sir Lloyd. Imagine not accepting a peerage.

Through the autumn foliage they caught their first look at the estate. It was unusual, completely done in white marble and looking as lovely as a fairy castle. Two huge, graceful fountains with sparkling waters greeted the visitors as the coachman maneuvered the coach along the circular driveway in front of the house. Liveried servants snapped smartly to attention and rushed down the steps to greet them.

A servant opened the door, and Sir Cecil started to climb out. Then he saw Morgan’s butler waiting at the top of the steps. Wallace, his name was. The two of them had tangled once when Sir Cecil had tried to push his way into Morgan’s London house.

He sat back down on the upholstered seat and turned to the two men from the Geographic Society. “Maybe you should go in without me.”

They looked surprised, especially in light of all the favors he’d had to call in for permission to accompany them, but honored his request. Gingerly they helped Sir Julius out of the coach, talking to him as if he were a three-year-old instead of a man.

Sir Cecil sat back in the coach. Yes, he’d made the right decision. Morgan wasn’t going to be happy with anyone who brought such an unwelcome burden as an addle pated father-in-law into his life. Perhaps later, in town, he would be able to speak to Morgan and beg his assistance before Sir Robert insisted that he resign his position on the Court.

Inside the grand foyer of the house, Phadra shifted restlessly beside Grant. He reached down and took her hand. “Are you all right?”

She drew in a deep breath and released it. “I don’t know. See, my hand is shaking.”

“You don’t have to see him.”

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I must. I’ve waited too long.”

At that moment Wallace opened both sides of the double door. He shot his employer a speaking look. With a sense of foreboding, Grant pulled Phadra closer to him, wrapping his arm protectively around her back and resting his hand along the side of her body, which was heavy with child. This would be their second child, and it was due in two months’ time.

With each day of their marriage, she became more precious and important to him. He prayed that this moment would not hurt her.

As the visitors came up the steps, Grant tightened his hold on her. He immediately recognized the men from the Royal Geographic Society, and there was no mistaking which man was Sir Julius. His haggard, almost skeletal appearance was a complete shock. He looked so fragile, as if a good breeze could blow him away.

Phadra leaned away from her husband’s embrace and then started to move forward. Grant’s first instinct was to pull her back, to protect her—but he let her go, his body tense and ready for whatever happened.

Slowly Phadra approached the man. “Papa?” The soft yearning he heard in her voice wrenched Grant’s heart. He shouldn’t have done this. He should never have conducted this search for Sir Julius.

In response to her call, Sir Julius turned his head, the action stiff and mechanical. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to see who spoke to him.

Phadra stopped. She stood no more than a foot from him, waiting for him to make the first move.

Sir Julius frowned, as if perplexed by something, and then he whispered hoarsely, “My baby.”

“Oh, Papa,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, and then she reached out to him and cradled him protectively in her arms.

Grant met with the gentlemen from the Geographic Society and took full responsibility for Sir Julius, signing over a tidy donation to their organization at the same time. Henny reported that she, Wallace, and Jem had managed to see Sir Julius safely to his room after he had been thoroughly checked out by a doctor Grant had sent for from London. The man had lain down on his bed, fully clothed, and fallen asleep.

“He gives me the shivers,” Henny confessed with a shudder, “seeing him this way. Who would have thought that Phadra would be right all these years and that the man had been held in slavery by heathens, waiting for someone to rescue him?” She shook her head. “What does the doctor say?”

Accustomed by now to Henny’s motherly bossiness, Grant dutifully answered, “He believes that the man will recover with good food and a good home.”
And love,
he added silently. If anyone could bring her father back to life, it was Phadra.

He went to search for his wife. He found her where he thought she would be, in the music room. She sat at the pianoforte, staring out through the
floor-to-ceiling windows into the garden beyond. Still never one to bow to convention, she’d tied her wonderfully curling hair at the nape of her neck, the way he liked it.

He came up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Phadra gave a little start. “Oh, Grant.” She reached a hand up and pulled him down to sit next to her on the music bench. “I was so deep in thought, I didn’t realize you were there.”

She looked out the window again. With unconscious grace her hand rested on her belly. Grant placed his hand next to hers and suddenly felt the baby move. “This will be a strong one,” he said with a smile.

“Yes,” she agreed readily. “We do make beautiful babies.”

His eyes met hers. “We do.”

Smiling absently, she lightly touched an ivory piano key. Grant reached out and took her hand in his. “We don’t have to have him live with us. There are places for people when they become like him. I don’t want this to distress you.”

He didn’t have to say who “him” was.

She turned her head to him in surprise. “Oh, no, Grant. Is that what you think? That I’m upset we found him? I’m not, truly. In fact, I wish we could have found him sooner…before he became like this, though the doctor says he can fully recover.” She laced her fingers through his. “It’s just that I keep thinking about how he’s lost so much and about how I came so close to being just like him.”

“Phadra, you could never—”

“Yes, I could have. I mean, if you hadn’t chased after me that night I ran away from Evans House, none of this”—she looked around the room and then at him, her love for him brimming in her eyes—“would have happened. I probably never would have found Papa, and then who knows what might have become of me. But there never would have been
us.
Papa spent his life searching for treasure when everything that is valuable and important was right here, within his grasp.”

On her other hand the fake emerald caught the late-afternoon sunshine in its dark depths. Over the years he’d offered to replace it with a real one, but Phadra wouldn’t let him. She always said that it reminded her of what was important, of what was real.

He pulled her hand up to his lips and gave her fingertips a light kiss. “And I would have been hollow, too, Phadra. If we hadn’t met, I wouldn’t be complete.”

She smiled then, her eyes full of promise. “Yes, that’s what it is. Together we’re complete, like the circle of this ring.” She held up the emerald. “Remember what you said when we married, that it was good and solid? It has been, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. And it will be. We’re still beginning.”

At that moment they were interrupted. “Hug,” shouted a small, demanding voice. “Me want hug.”

Three-year-old Lizbeth Morgan, her wild, curly hair flowing down her back, hurled herself between her parents and scrambled up onto her father’s lap laughing. Grant settled her in place and wrapped his arms around daughter and wife.

Lizbeth snuggled in happily.

Over her head, her parents looked into each
other’s eyes and smiled. Phadra whispered, “Yes, together we’re a circle. A bright and shining circle.”

And as the sun shone down on them through the paned windows, they silently vowed that what God had joined together would remain so for eternity.

A man of sense can only love such a woman….

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman

M
ARY
W
OLLSTONECRAFT