by Carol Arens
‘It has to do with bread.’
‘You’re hungry?’
She shook her head, cupping his whiskered face in her fingertips. ‘With leaven more than bread.’
‘So you want to bake?’
Yes, bake in his arms, simmer under his kiss.
‘I’m using it to illustrate love. How quickly it can happen. Yeast is the same ingredient no matter if it has only begun to ferment or has risen fully.’
‘Are you saying you are fermenting for me?’
She shook his chin in the negative. His mouth ticked up on one side. Whatever had caused his good humour to fade was now gone.
‘I love you, Rees Dalton. It does not matter how short a time it has been. Love is love and I love you.’
He lowered his mouth to hers. She slid her fingers from his cheeks to his neck, tangling her hand in the red bandana he wore.
She felt his breath feather across her lips, so warm and moist. ‘I love you, too, my wife. Did you know you are my angel?’ He hugged her tight. She felt the solid thud of his heart. ‘I need to tell you why.’
A whistle blew, the sound so deep it reverberated throughout the ship.
‘I think we have arrived!’ She pushed out of his—grip? Odd that what had begun as a sweet embrace now felt as though he was trying to prevent her from stepping away from him. ‘Life is going to be grand, Rees. Let’s get to it!’
Freeing herself, she snatched up the bag of clothing and other belongings she had packed. She stepped towards the door, but he caught her elbow.
‘Madeline, wait!’ He took the satchel from her and slung it over his shoulder. ‘There are things about me that you do not know.’
‘Well, naturally, the same as there are things you do not know about me.’
‘They are not the same.’ He caught her arm, gently drew her away from the door. Why did he look so distraught? Whatever his expression was, and she could not quite read it, it broke her heart.
‘Life is going to be grand.’ She slipped free of him and walked out the door. When he did not follow, she peeked her head around the doorframe. ‘Let’s get to it! We will learn every little thing there is to know about one another once we get home.’
Chapter Eight
Rees rushed out of the cabin after Madeline. She kept several paces ahead of him as she hurried across the deck.
With one word—home—she had sliced his heart wide open.
She had to imagine they were going to a sweet little cottage where flowers and children grew. Unless he could catch up with her and finish his confession, there was a very good chance they would never share a home, be it cottage or manor.
He lunged forward to close the distance, but a woman leading a small child stepped in front, blocking his advance.
At the flight of stairs, he nearly caught her, but once again someone stepped between.
It was all he could do not to curse. This felt like some bizarre nightmare where he was prevented from reaching his goal by waist-deep mud.
The air began to feel damp. A swathe of clouds crept over the harbour. He smelled rain coming even over the scents of smoke and fish.
There! He spotted her with her blue shawl drawn over her hair. She waited for him at the gangplank, waving and smiling.
He did curse then, cursed time, cursed himself.
‘It’s not so different here than in New York,’ Madeline said when he reached her. ‘Is your home far away? Will we walk or summon a hackney?’
Not forty feet from where the gangplank touched the shore his coach waited, the family crest seeming to pulse on the door in rhythm to his heartbeat.
Spinning her away from the carriage, he dropped the bundle and clamped his hands on her shoulders, trying without success to keep his fingers from trembling. ‘Madeline, I—’
He heard the click of the carriage door opening, the creak of springs when someone stepped out.
His valet would descend upon them before he had a chance to explain.
‘Whatever happens right now, I love you and that’s heaven’s own truth.’
She reached up, frowning while she touched his fingers, stroked them comfortingly. ‘Yes, and I love—’
‘Lord Glenbrook?’
Bethany’s voice hit him like a blow. What the blazes was she doing here?
He looked over Madeline’s shoulder, felt it when her hands fell away from him. He spotted his valet, Hendrick, following close behind Miss Mosemore’s swaying skirt.
‘Oh, good gracious!’ Hendrick exclaimed, casting a critical eye over his appearance. ‘What has become of you, Lord Glenbrook? I never should have allowed you to travel without me.’
Trapped, he returned his gaze to Madeline, fastening it on her face to try to read what she was thinking.
It sliced to the bone when her blue eyes widened in dismay, when she bit down on her lower lip.
Quite desperately, he wanted to go back to being a fireman aboard the Edwina.
Bethany caught his elbow in her gloved hand. ‘I hope you do not mind that I’ve come to greet you, Lord Glenbrook, but there is something...’ Her voice trailed off when her gaze settled upon Madeline, who stood so close to him that his ankle was wrapped in the hem of her skirt.
‘Rees...’ Madeline said, her voice sounding uncertain. ‘Who are these people?’
‘And who are you to speak to the Viscount with such familiarity?’ Bethany arched a fine, upper-class brow at Madeline.
He heard his wife’s sudden gasp. Slowly, she slid her gaze from Bethany to him. ‘Viscount?’
A response would be appropriate, but if he opened his mouth he did not know what would come out—gibberish, he imagined.
‘He doesn’t look it at the moment, but, yes, he is. And I am Miss Mosemore, the Viscount’s fiancée.’ Bethany tipped her rather sharp nose in the air, as if it did not look haughty enough without the gesture. ‘And who are you?’
Madeline’s expression speared him.
‘Viscount? Are these people telling the truth, Rees?’
‘Good gracious! Even for an American you are brash. No one addresses Lord Glenbrook like that.’
‘Madeline does.’
Bethany did not appear to hear what he said, so incensed was she by the perceived disrespect to his title.
Rees noticed his valet cover his mouth and look down, no doubt hiding a grin. Hendrick had never been pleased with his engagement to Miss Mosemore.
The cobbles began to smell damp with drizzle.
Madeline turned her gaze back to Bethany. Instantly, her expression softened. With her kind heart, she no doubt felt pity for the woman who was about to discover she had been jilted.
‘If it’s true that this man is who you say he is, then I suppose I must be Viscountess Glenbrook.’
She backed away when he reached for her, shaking her head to warn him off. He had an ugly feeling that Bertrand Fenster might look appealing by comparison to him.
‘You needn’t worry, Miss Mosemore. It’s only for a short time. You may proceed with your wedding plans and no one will be the wiser.’ Madeline dashed the back of her hand across her eye. ‘I don’t understand any of this, Lord Glenbrook.’
All he’d ever meant to do was protect his family. But now, looking at two women with dampness sparking in their eyes, he believed the word cad did not do him justice.
Silence fell upon them, broken only by the steady tap of drizzle on the dock.
Madeline broke it when she said, ‘A man of your position ought to be easy to locate. I will advise you where to find me when our time is up.’
She spun about and ran, disappearing into the crowd while Bethany clutched his sleeve, demanding an explanation.
‘Madeline!’ he shouted, shaking free and running after her. ‘Wait!’
But she didn’t wait and the crowd close
d around her.
He zigged this way and zagged that, calling, shouting and looking quite mad, no doubt.
Heavy rain came down suddenly, so hard and cold it felt as though it was being poured from a bucket.
His clothing soaked through in an instant. If his was, Madeline’s would be, as well.
Last time, she had nearly died from such exposure. Now, like then, she had no place to go, no roof to shelter her.
He stood still, turning in a circle while people dashed about trying to get out of the storm.
Perhaps he ought to go back and tend to his jilted fiancée. Explain that while she would face shame for a time, in the end she would have a lifetime to love his brother.
Honour demanded he do so, yet it also demanded he find his wife.
‘Madeline!’ he called, ignoring the sound of Bethany Mosemore’s voice calling stridently after him.
There would be time for her later, but now he would find his bride and plead his case.
If pleading did not work, he would pick her up, toss her over his shoulder and carry her home.
Three months had been his promise. He would honour it. But, damn it, she was going to spend those months with him!
Another curse stung his tongue. He let it loose.
What chance did an innocent like her have on the mean streets of Liverpool? With no one to turn to, this town would break her.
‘Madeline!’ His shout made heads turn, but he did not see the face he sought.
‘Madeline!’
* * *
‘Lady Glenbrook,’ Madeline grumbled, winding her way quickly through the throng of people at the docks. ‘Viscountess!’
Oh, she heard Rees calling her name clearly enough. Not that she was going to respond to it.
No, rather she would use it as a guide to tell her where he was and judge which way to best avoid him. She was no novice at eluding men, after all.
Quickening her pace, she made a sudden turn down a charming cobbled street. Rees might be a trickster, same as Bertrand, but her husband was no fool. It might take more skill to outwit Lord Glenbrook.
Just the name made her temper flare. Anger was a rare emotion for her and she did not care one whit for it.
If only she was not wet, shivering to the bone.
Memories of nearly dying of the cold made her shake all the harder. At least this time she was on land, a circumstance which she was immensely grateful for.
She glanced about at the brick buildings on both sides of her, thinking that it was awfully dark for midday. No doubt it had to do with the storm and with the way the lanes were so narrow as to keep the light out.
For all that the street she dashed down was quaint, with hat shops and bakeries flanking pretty little homes, she longed for the wide, open spaces of Los Angeles. For sunshine and—and Grandfather. In the moment she longed for him most desperately.
What a great fool she had been to leave him. No matter what, she was going to find him. It might take longer without Rees to help her, but she would do it.
For now, what she needed was shelter—a few moments to dry by a warm fire.
She ducked under the porch of a dress shop. Even though rain no longer fell upon her head, cold leached out of the bricks.
Through the shop window she spotted a stove. A warm orange glow surrounded a woman standing on a dais while having a hem fitted.
There had been a time when she was the pampered one, warm, dry and standing on the dais being fawned over by the dressmaker. If she walked inside the shop now, she would be turned out straight away. No one wanted a dripping waif ruining their polished floors.
She thought she saw an auburn-haired man rush past the lane she’d turned on to. Pressing back against the stones, she wanted to weep.
Could it only have been an hour ago that she had been looking forward to living with Rees in a sweet little house like the one across the lane from her?
A woman stood at the window, rocking a baby on her hip. She peered out through the glass, looking worried.
It just went to show that trouble was all around. Being warm and dry did not keep it at bay.
However, it would make problems easier to confront if one was not shivering.
Certainly, she was far from the only one caught out in the miserable weather. Just there, turning on to the lane, was an older gentleman leaning on his cane and making slow progress to wherever he was going.
Perhaps he would want to share her shelter and wait for the rain to end before travelling on. His gait looked unsteady on the slippery stones.
She lifted her arm to invite him over, but he slipped.
‘Oh!’ she cried, making a dash towards him. Kneeling on the cobbles, she patted him on the back, looking him over for injury.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘Dead, maybe.’ He studied her face. ‘Are you an angel or just a pretty lady?’
‘Flesh and bone, same as you.’
‘Reckon I only hurt my bum, then.’ He tried to stand, but could not quite manage.
‘Let me help.’ She braced her shoulder under his arm and tried to lift him, but he was heftier than he seemed.
‘You sound like an American, but you look like an angel. You’re certain we’re on this side of the coil? Old man like me can take a fall and that’s the end of him.’
‘I can’t say for sure, but I think it is not as cold and wet in heaven.’
‘Grandfather!’ a woman screeched.
Madeline peered through the dim, watery light to see a woman racing towards them. As she came closer, Madeline recognised her as the one who had been watching out her window.
No wonder she’d looked worried.
Between the two of them they managed to lift the old man.
‘Haven’t I told you that you can’t go out all on a whim?’
‘Have you? I don’t recall, but look, I’ve met a heavenly being.’
‘I’m Madeline Dalton from Los Angeles, California.’ She surprised herself in using the name Dalton. For as angry as she was at her husband, she might have used Macooish instead.
There was no time to puzzle the reason for that now, because it took both women to make sure the elderly man made it down the lane and up the stairs without slipping again.
Thankfully, they made it into the house without mishap.
The woman did not complain about water soaking her floor, so Madeline judged her to be easy natured. Her only concern seemed to be getting her grandfather dry.
‘I don’t know how to thank you, miss,’ she said while rubbing the old fellow briskly with a towel. ‘He wanders lately, and with everything, I can’t keep up—oh, there is a dry gown in the back room.’ She indicated the direction by inclining her head. ‘I’d not want to see you catch your death from cold and I believe we are of a size.’
Those words rang closer to the recent truth than the woman knew. Madeline hurried to the back room and put on the gown with great gratitude. It was not as fine as the one Rees had given her, but it was dry and she was thankful beyond words.
By now she was indebted to so many kind people that she hardly knew how to keep count. But she did intend to show her gratitude once she found Grandfather.
The search might be a long one without Rees to help, but she would manage. Somehow, she always managed.
When she came back into the front room the woman was preparing tea. The baby she had seen earlier through the window was in the cradle and clearly not content to be. It flailed plump little arms and legs while making fussy sounds.
‘If you’ll pick him up, we’ll have tea sooner, Miss Dalton.’
‘That sounds like a bit of heaven, thank you, and I’m Mrs Dalton.’ Lady Glenbrook, to be exact, but she felt no need to be quite that forthcoming.
Madeline picked up the baby. It stopped fretting and smiled at he
r. She was not sure she had ever seen anyone quite so enchanting.
Surprisingly, it hurt to know how close she had come to being a mother. Given that she hadn’t paid a thought to motherhood before last week, she ought not to be this sad for losing the chance. Yet there it was, a great empty space in her heart.
‘Ach! Has something befallen your husband, then, for you to be wandering about in the storm? I’m Mrs Fitzmore, Mary. Not a widow, but you’d never know it by the way my husband is always away from home on business.’
‘I’ve run away from my husband,’ Madeline admitted because it was best to tell the truth when one could. Had Viscount Glenbrook been so inclined, she might not be sitting here now.
‘Was he a brute, then? Some men are.’
A brute? Not at all, but assertive as would be expected of a man of his station. She ought to have recognised him as a peer from the first.
‘Not a brute, Mary. Only dishonest.’
‘I’ve a discreet ear if you wish to speak of it. But don’t feel you need to. You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you need to.’
‘Our very own angel to live with us?’ The old fellow grinned.
‘She’s Madeline Dalton, from America. But, yes, she is welcome to our couch for as long as she needs.’
‘I’m more than grateful to you. I’ll make sure you are repaid for your kindness.’
‘Another pair of eyes to make sure my grandfather doesn’t wander is all the repayment I need. Besides, I think my baby, Stewart, is taken with you. But then, I suppose any man you’ve met is.’
It was true and more a curse than a blessing.
‘Tell me about America.’ Mary set down her teacup, leaned forward on her chair. ‘Are cowboys as gallant as they are in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show? My husband took me to see it in London when we were first wed.’
‘They work harder than the show might portray.’
And so the talk went for hours about life on both sides of the pond, as Mary called it.
In Madeline’s opinion, the Atlantic was a very large and perilous pond. One she did not wish to give much thought to.
Giving thought to anything at the moment was painful. She could hardly avoid it, though, when she lay down on the couch to sleep. Those hours she had spent at sea with Rees were among her happiest.