A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  He kissed her. Not sweetly, not gently, but with all the blazing passion of a man well and truly enchanted with his wife.

  And Splendor returned the kiss with equal fervor, her every suspicion concerning Jourdian and Marianna melting away in the warm knowledge that her husband was hers alone.

  Suddenly, she didn’t want to be at the ball any longer. She had the information she’d come for, and now she wanted to be alone with her husband. “Let’s go home, Jourdian,” she whispered upon his lips.

  He gave her one last, lingering kiss, then straightened to study the reactions his display of passion had created.

  One glance at the sea of faces told him he had succeeded in his endeavors. The men were looking at him with a mixture of understanding and envy. And although the women pretended to be shocked, he could tell by the sparkle in their eyes that they thought the kiss terribly romantic.

  As he had years before for Emil, he would now make it known to one and all that Splendor was to be welcomed into society’s tight circle.

  And deep in his heart, he knew that one day soon she would not only be accepted by the majority of the ton but that she would also be well liked. Very few people would be able to resist her genuine sweetness for long.

  “My lady wife is weary,” he said loudly enough for all to hear him. “But before we leave this charming affair, I should like to thank each of you for so kindly welcoming Lady Amberville into your midst. I shall not forget the actions I have witnessed here tonight, and I do assure you that my duchess and I anticipate other social assemblies and look forward to receiving all of you at future gatherings at Heathcourte.”

  Not a soul in the room missed his warning. He would tolerate not another malicious word about his bride. Splendor had his name, and she also had his protection.

  The crowd parted as Jourdian led Splendor toward the doors that led out of the ballroom. “Get us home quickly before anyone notices we didn’t arrive in a coach,” he whispered.

  “I cannot. There are people loitering in the foyer, and a myriad of servants outside.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “I shall create a diversion.” She curled her arm around her back, spread her fingers, and sent a spray of silver lights toward Percival Brackett.

  A moment later, the man’s turban fell to the floor. “Oh, dear God!” he shouted.

  One collective gasp filled the ballroom as all eyes moved from the Ambervilles to Percival Brackett’s hairless head.

  “Percival!” Marianna shouted. “You’ve gone totally bald!”

  Frantically, he tried to put the turban back on, but the headpiece had unraveled into one long piece of black silk. “Marianna, my love, I—”

  “Your love?” Marianna shrieked. “I am not your love, nor am I your betrothed any longer! I wouldn’t marry you now if my very life depended upon it!”

  Percival reached for her and started to beg her to reconsider, but he stopped abruptly when he saw her face begin to change color. Bright red blotches crept over her cheeks, nose, and chin, the crimson stains a horrible contrast upon her porcelain skin. “Marianna, what has happened to your face? Dear God, I wouldn’t marry you either!”

  “My face? What’s wrong with my face? Why is everyone staring at me? Mother? Mother?” Marianna screamed.

  Lady Chesterton took one look at her daughter and swooned straight down to the marble floor.

  “Splendor,” Jourdian said, “now. Get us home now!”

  “Aye.” She threw a bit of silver into the air, and as she and Jourdian disappeared, she reflected on the fact that Tessie’s face would no longer be stained with the red marks that had so embarrassed her.

  And there was one vain noblewoman in England who would never show her face again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Jourdian didn’t bat an eye when he found himself in his bed, naked. The Chesterton ball, where he’d been only two seconds before, was now but a memory.

  He turned to his side, fully expecting to see an equally naked Splendor beside him, but found her place in the bed cold and empty.

  The room was almost totally dark, making it impossible to see. Jourdian rose, threw two logs onto the dying flames in the fireplace, and lit three lamps. When light flooded the bedchamber, he spotted a woman standing in a spill of moonlight near the window.

  But it wasn’t Splendor. The woman had dark brown hair that fell just beyond her shoulders. A multitude of jewels glittered on her fingers, her wrists, her ears, and throat. Sapphires, emeralds, rubies, diamonds, amethysts…every gemstone he could think of.

  She was naked, and Jourdian had never seen a woman with a bosom as large as hers. When she walked toward him, those heavy breasts swung from her chest like two large water-filled pouches.

  She reached him swiftly and threw herself straight at him. Kissing him, she began to grind her hips into his.

  “Bloody hell!” With one quick motion, Jourdian pushed her away. “Who are you?” he shouted.

  “I am your wife.”

  Jourdian frowned. Her voice sounded just like Splendor’s, but the hair, the huge breasts, all the hundreds of jewels…

  How could this woman be Splendor?

  How?

  Magic, that was how.

  “What the blazes have you done to your hair? And what the bloody hell are these?” He flicked a finger across each of her mammoth breasts.

  “They are breasts.”

  “I know that, but whose are they?”

  “They are mine.”

  He could not stop frowning. “They are not yours, and I want you to get rid of them this very instant!”

  “Nay.”

  “Nay? What do you mean nay?” he roared.

  “Nay means nay, and ’tis what I mean. Nay, I will not get rid of my new breasts.”

  “Damn it all, Splendor, I am your husband, and I am ordering you to put your other breasts back on!” God, he thought. Put her other breasts on? That sounded as if she had a whole closetful of breasts to pick and choose from, and it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard himself say!

  “Jourdian—”

  “And get your red hair back, too. Your long red hair, the same hair you’ve had since I met you. And for your information, you look like an overly decorated Christmas tree with all that glitter hanging all over you!”

  Splendor felt a few tears trickle down her cheeks. The tiny diamonds made pinging sounds when they fell over the sapphires of her necklace. “I—I thought you liked brown hair, big breasts, and lots of jewelry.”

  As soon as her words floated into his ears, he realized why she’d changed her appearance.

  “Marianna Chesterton,” he whispered.

  “You liked her. You courted her. Once upon a time, you considered wedding her. ’Tis why I wanted to attend the ball tonight, Jourdian. To see her. To find out what it was about her that—”

  “I kissed you at the ball to show you that I didn’t care about any other woman but you.”

  “Aye, that is what you did, husband, and you succeeded. I truly believe that you no longer have any feelings for Marianna. But the fact remains that you do not love me. I thought that if I could somehow please you more… If I could become better…When I saw Marianna’s dark hair, her enormous breasts, and all her jewelry, I thought those things were what you liked. And I thought that if you were more satisfied with the way I looked, you…would be more inclined to love me.”

  Talking about love was the last thing in the world Jourdian wanted to do. “I was more than satisfied with the way you were, Splendor. Now put yourself right. Back the way you used to be before knowing Marianna.”

  Her silver stars of magic glittered as brightly as her tears as she changed herself into her original form. “Why can you not love me? What is it about me that keeps you from feeling the emotion for me?”

  He hated the misery in her voice, hated her tears, and he hated himself for causing her such sorrow. Turning on his heel, he crossed to a small cabinet across t
he room and retrieved a full bottle of brandy.

  He splashed a generous portion into a glass and drank the entire amount in one swallow. “I have given you everything I am willing to give, Splendor. You have my name, my wealth, my home… Isn’t it enough that I care about you? That I’ll protect you and see that no harm ever comes to you? Why must you have love, the one thing you cannot have?”

  She turned toward the fire, watching the blaze twist and leap, and pondering the fact that Jourdian’s love was the sole thing that could keep her with him forever. “Your love is far more valuable to me than anything else you have given me or ever could give to me, Jourdian,” she murmured, still gazing into the fire. “I care naught about your esteemed title. Indeed, I would love you were you the poorest, most insignificant man in the world. And I do not care for your wealth or the magnificence of your home, nor do I need your protection. And although I am glad that you care about me, ’tis nay enough. I want your love, and can settle for nothing less.”

  “I think you can, Splendor. It’s but a matter of becoming accustomed—”

  “Nay!” She whirled away from the fire, her hair a blaze of shimmer as it swirled around her legs. “If I do not win your love, I shall be forced to return to Pillywiggin!”

  Fury hotter than the fire flames made him throw his glass across the room. It hit the far wall, shattering.

  He stalked to the fireplace and grabbed Splendor’s shoulders. “Don’t threaten me, Splendor, do you understand? You will not return to Pillywiggin. Not ever! You are my wife, the duchess of Heathcourte, and you will remain with me until one of us dies!”

  Die, she thought. If she remained with him one second past the stroke of midnight tomorrow, she would die. But what was the use of telling him that her time with him had come to an end? Either he loved her, or he didn’t. Telling him that she would be forced to leave him tomorrow night wouldn’t change his feelings.

  “I have failed,” she whispered. “I love you, but I have not succeeded in—” She stopped speaking, a sudden and vital thought widening her eyes. “You do not realize the depth of my love, do you, Jourdian?”

  “I—”

  “I have never really proved how much I love you, have I? Perhaps you hesitate to allow yourself to love me because you have no reason to believe that my love is true! You have no proof—”

  “Will you stop and listen to me?” Jourdian yelled. “You—”

  “I shall show you! I shall sacrifice what is precious to me so you will know how much you mean to me!” Wild with the desperation to demonstrate the strength of her feelings for him, she spun around and lunged toward the cluster of iron fire tools that leaned against the wall near the fireplace.

  Instantly realizing her intentions, Jourdian threw himself at her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her away only seconds before her fingers touched the mass of iron. “Are you crazy?” he shouted, giving her no quarter when she tried to squirm free. “What the bloody hell were you thinking, Splendor? If you had touched that iron you would have lost all your powers!”

  Better the loss of my powers than the loss of my husband.

  She went limp in his arms then, a sense of defeat draining her of all strength, all hope, all will.

  Quickly, Jourdian kissed her, knowing that if he did not she would dwindle. But while his kiss lent her the energy to remain human size, he saw immediately that her sorrow remained.

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “Go to sleep now, Splendor,” he whispered, laying her down on the mattress.

  “Stay with me,” she begged, her heart breaking at the knowledge that this would be her last night with him. “Here in our room. Please don’t go to the other room you’ve been sleeping in, Jourdian. Please stay—”

  “I will.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  She moved over to give him room.

  He shook his head. “I’ll join you in a while.”

  “But you promised—”

  “I’ll be right here, Splendor. I won’t leave the room. Now go to sleep.”

  He crossed the room, retrieved the bottle of brandy and another glass, and sat down in a chair near the fire. Before he’d finished his first portion of the liquor, he saw that Splendor had fallen asleep.

  He stared into the fire, knowing that if he watched the flames long enough he’d become mesmerized by them. He didn’t want to think about Splendor right now, nor did he want to think about love. He simply wanted to sit by the fire in a mindless state.

  But the swirling blazes in the hearth failed to entrance him the way they usually did. He could not keep himself from turning to gaze at the beautiful girl sleeping in his bed.

  He made himself look out the window. There, in the night sky, he saw millions of glittering stars, and he wondered which ones belonged to him. They all looked the same to him, and he couldn’t imagine which ones held his wishes.

  But he knew Splendor would know.

  Splendor. God, couldn’t he cease thinking about her for a moment?

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, he watched the fire again and forced himself to think about the work he would do tomorrow. He had to stay abreast of his investments if he was to maintain the power behind the name of Amberville.

  Tomorrow he would begin preparations to build a shipyard in East Riding. He would also look over reports concerning a copper mine in Cornwall and an iron factory in Northampton.

  Iron.

  The metal could divest a fairy of her powers.

  It was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking about Splendor, no matter how hard he tried.

  He returned to the bed.

  Splendor was naked and uncovered. He had a mind to draw the blankets over her, but paused for a moment to gaze down at the whole of her loveliness.

  The mellow firelight and soft candle glow played over her fragile body, making her skin look as though it were made of translucent pearls. Her thick copper curls appeared alive, seeming to move upon her pale flesh and the dark blue satin coverlet. Like flames, like happy, waltzing flames were those fiery red tresses, and Jourdian felt that if he reached out to touch them, their heat would sear his fingertips.

  He settled his gaze upon her eyes. They were closed now, her auburn lashes like tiny, upside down fans lying upon the crests of her exquisite cheekbones. But he saw those eyes clearly. In his mind, he did. Violets were what they looked like, and yet violets didn’t dance like Splendor’s eyes. Nor did they shine.

  How Splendor’s eyes shone. With her happiness, and with diamonds when she was sad.

  She moved her lips then, almost into a dainty smile, and a bit of breath whispered forth, and then another. Jourdian listened to the small sounds.

  And he remembered all the nights he’d felt those sleepy sighs warm his chest and shoulders while she’d slept beside him.

  God, she was so graceful—even while doing nothing but lying on the bed. She was fragile perfection, and for a moment he was certain that if he laid his hand upon her, she would splinter into millions of broken stars that could never be put back together again.

  But she was made of stronger stuff, he knew. Proof of that was that she’d survived three months of his temper. Of his cold and domineering demeanor.

  Guilt and regret weighed heavily upon his shoulders, and he felt suddenly weary. He lay down beside Splendor, gently, carefully, so as not to rouse her from whatever peace she’d found in her dreams, and he gathered her near, close to his chest, wondering if she could hear how hard his heart was beating.

  He buried his face in her hair. Her scent of wildflowers, fresh and too sweet to describe, soothed him and wrapped around him like an embrace. He memorized the fragrance, burned it into his memory so deeply that he would never forget it.

  Something hard and small pressed into his cheek. Lifting his face slightly, he saw diamonds scattered all over the mattress where he lay and realized she’d wept before falling asleep.

  He kissed her
neck, her throat, and finally her lips.

  Splendor, he told her without words.

  Splendor.

  And the beautiful softness of her name lulled him to sleep.

  When Jourdian left his chambers the next morning, he spied Mrs. Frawley a short way down the corridor. “Lady Amberville is still asleep,” he told the housekeeper, “and I do not want her disturbed.”

  “Is she ill, Your Grace?”

  The genuine expression of worry and concern in Mrs. Frawley’s eyes made Jourdian smile. “No, Mrs. Frawley, she’s not ill. She’s simply tired.”

  Downstairs, Jourdian declined breakfast and went straight to work in his office. He might not have been able to concentrate on business last night, but he wasn’t willing to allow the same thing to happen today. And without Splendor distracting him, he felt certain he could get much work done.

  He drew up plans to build the shipyard in East Riding and another in Northumberland. He also studied the reports concerning the copper mine in Cornwall, mulled over the possibility of acquiring a textile factory in Manchester, and then read the correspondence regarding the businesses and property he already owned.

  With the exception of Ulmstead’s arrival with a bit of lunch, he worked undisturbed. The afternoon wore on, turned into evening, and he didn’t realize how long he’d been laboring over his enterprises until a knock at his office door caused him to look up and glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel.

  It was half past nine.

  Immediately, he wondered where Splendor was and what she’d done all day. A vague sense of concern began to prick at him.

  The knock at the door sounded again.

  “Come!”

  Ulmstead entered with a beaver in his arms. The creature was gnawing happily upon a button on Ulmstead’s coat. “Forgive me for interrupting your work, Your Grace, but Lord Brackett has arrived demanding a meeting with you. He says he has urgent business to discuss and that it cannot wait. It concerns orchards in Gloucester.”

  “Where is Lady Amberville? I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

  Ulmstead raised an eyebrow and his chin. “You have given all of us strict instructions not to disturb you while you are working, Your Grace. The duchess has complied.”