by Carol Arens
She took a sip, turning to him with a smile.
‘You’re back.’ She set the cup on a side table, then crossed the room, wrapping her arms around his ribs in a hug. ‘I missed you.’
‘What were you thinking about just now? You seemed lost in whatever it was.’
‘Christmas. Since tomorrow is Christmas I wanted to spend time with the tree. I love everything about them, don’t you? The way they are so lovely and green. And the scent? It makes one feel happy inside. Excited and peaceful all at once.’
‘Yet you looked rather sad.’
‘Not sad. Wistful is all.’ She lifted to her toes and kissed him. ‘I’ve so much to be grateful for—you, the children and the rest of the family. I feel so at home here. But the thing is, even though I feel as though this is where I belong, I miss—’ She bit her bottom lip and glanced away.
‘Your grandfather and your cousin?’
She nodded.
Rees had been to Fencroft Manor only a short time ago and found no sign of Madeline’s kin.
He would go again, this afternoon. If the family was in residence, and the Macooishes among them, he would make this a Christmas gift rather than a wedding gift. He would take Madeline with him. There was no need to make her wait longer than necessary.
Madeline’s heartache was his own.
‘Are you going to make me wait for ever?’
‘What?’ he asked, a bit startled. She was clever, but was she a mind reader, as well? Had she caught him out?
‘Are you going to tell me how Wilson took the news?’
‘He’s got mayhem on his mind, as you can imagine. Where is everyone? The house seems quiet for this time of day.’
‘I’m sure someone will make an appearance soon.’
He took her hand and led her to the couch. The pressure of her sweet body snuggling against him felt the most natural thing in the world. It was as if she had been here for ever. God willing, she would remain so.
‘Your hair smells good.’
‘I’ve been in the kitchen with Cook, making mince pies. It must be cinnamon you smell. Did you find anything out?’
He kissed her nose because it was so close and exceedingly cute.
‘There is something that would mean the world to me.’
‘What is it, my angel?’
‘A real wedding. Not a lot of guests—only a vicar and our loved ones. Once we find my family, I would like to marry you again, but properly with flowers, and a beautiful gown having yards of satin and lace. Even pearls and rhinestones would not be amiss.’
‘And you shall have it.’ He kissed her bright smile. ‘Put on a warm coat, my angel. We are going for a carriage ride. It’s time you met the neighbours.’
* * *
Madeline climbed into the carriage, keeping a close eye on the sky while she did. It was cold and, with the clouds so heavy and grey—well, one never knew.
Perhaps on the way to meet her new neighbours she would encounter the great wonder of falling snow. If she did, she was going to stick her head out the window and catch a flake on her tongue, or capture enough snow in her hands to make a snowball and toss it at Rees.
The carriage shifted when he stepped in behind her. He lifted his hand to tap on the roof, the signal he used to let the driver know they were ready to depart.
A flash of movement from the porch caught her eye. The housekeeper ran down the steps, waving her arms.
Frowning, Rees got out of the carriage.
‘What is it, Mrs Warren?’
‘Your mother says to go for the doctor. The wee lassies have taken ill.’
Madeline hurried down the carriage steps after him.
‘With a fever, my lord. She says to go at once.’
‘Go, Rees. I’ll see to the twins,’ Madeline urged.
‘Ask the groom to saddle Darvey,’ he called up to the driver.
Madeline ran close behind Mrs Warren, up the steps and into the mansion. She heard Rees’s footsteps pounding on the marble floor behind them.
He passed them on the stairs and entered the nursery first.
By the time Madeline and the housekeeper rushed into the room, he was holding Emily Lark in his arms, rocking her and crooning soft loving words against her red curls.
Lady Glenbrook cradled Victoria Rose.
For all that Rees sounded composed and in control, he looked pale and stricken with fear.
Mrs Warren must have thought the same, for she gently took Emily Lark from him. ‘Go for the doctor, my lord. No one will be quicker at it than you are.’
He nodded. Madeline followed him to the door, touched his sleeve as he was going out. He glanced down at her, fear marking his features.
‘Children are strong.’ She patted his arm. ‘They recover from fevers all the time.’
‘Emily Lark feels so hot and her skin—it is too dry. It’s—’ He glanced over his shoulder, back at the room. ‘It’s the way their mother looked when—and I could not help her.’
‘But you can help the twins.’ She urged him towards the staircase. ‘Go get the physician.’
When he was halfway down the steps she went back into the nursery.
‘I’m here now, Mrs Warren.’ She eased Emily Lark out of her arms and into her own. ‘Will you make us some tea while we wait for the doctor to come? It would be most welcome.’
Or, if not welcome, at least a distraction.
‘Certainly, my lady,’ she answered, then hustled out of the room.
It was difficult holding a fevered child. Madeline had not done it before. It seemed an endless ordeal, feeling hot cheeks and foreheads, imagining they were cooling them, fearing they were growing hotter. Oh, but the waiting, waiting, waiting was the worst.
* * *
It seemed forever, but Rees returned with the doctor in under two hours.
Madeline stood back with him, gripping his hand tight while the doctor bent over the girls and examined them, first Victoria Rose and then Emily Lark.
It seemed a dreadful eternity before he straightened up, turned to look at them.
‘Influenza,’ he stated. ‘Many children in the village are coming down with it. Most of them will recover if due diligence is given to their recovery. And these two little girls are strong. I have reason to believe they will, as well. But they must not be left alone. They will need lots of water, clean water, boiled, or willow bark tea if they can manage. It helps with the fever.’
‘They are not in danger?’ Rees asked.
Please, oh, please let the doctor say they were not.
‘No one can tell how this will go. Some influenza outbreaks are worse than others. But your children are strong, Lord Glenbrook, and that will go in their favour. And so far I have not lost one of the village children, no adults either. Take heart and do not wear yourself down. If the twins are not improving within a few days, summon me. I will return straight away.’
With a nod and a reassuring smile the doctor went on his way.
‘You see, Rees?’ she said. ‘All will be well. We just need to do the things he told us and take care of ourselves at the same time.’
She told him this, but would have been more confident in what she said had she not known influenza outbreaks which resulted in tragic ends.
* * *
On Christmas morning, Victoria Rose was well enough to come downstairs and open her gifts. While the fever had broken, she was still weak, and Rees carried her up to bed as soon as the ribbon and paper settled.
‘Want to play, Faddie.’ She touched his cheek, turning his face so that he had no place to look but at her pleading expression.
‘You may play in your bed and tomorrow you may come downstairs.’
Entering the nursery, he kissed the top of her head, set her on her bed, then went to Emily Lark.
His sweet baby l
ay listless in Madeline’s arms. Her fever had grown no better. Sometimes it was worse.
‘I’ll take her. You get some rest.’ Rees glanced at the pallet of blankets on the floor that they took turns using as a bed.
‘Being a parent is not an easy thing.’ She stood up and handed off Emily Lark. She had not weighed much to start with, but now she felt like a feather in his arms. ‘I did not expect to feel like a mother so quickly, but here I am worried to death. I don’t know how I will sleep.’
‘You fall in love very quickly. I suppose that must be why you take to motherhood so easily.’
She lay down on her side and tucked her hand under her cheek. ‘You must be right. I fell in love with you in a heartbeat, after all.’
And she deserved the best Christmas gift he could give. He’d hoped to have her reunited with her family by now, but it was not to be.
The moment the children were well enough, he would take Madeline to Fencroft and hope that the family was home and Macooish among them. At the very least they might know something.
Even though she claimed she would not sleep, Madeline’s eyes closed.
A moment later his mother tiptoed in. She stopped to ruffle Victoria Rose’s hair before coming to where he sat beside the window.
‘How is she doing?’ she whispered.
He shook his head.
‘Perhaps I will postpone the ball.’ She crouched down beside him and trailed her fingers across Emily Lark’s forehead. ‘We can dance when she is well.’
‘No, Mother. Carry on as planned.’ She would be better by then. He would not act as though she would not. ‘She will come around by tomorrow.’
With a sigh, his mother stood again, ruffled his hair the way she had Victoria Rose’s. ‘I’ll send a note to the doctor, ask if we ought to do anything differently.’
Passing by Madeline asleep on the floor, she paused to gaze down at her. A softly affectionate smile curved her lips. ‘You picked well, my son, although you did not have a choice in it.’
‘I was lucky,’ he said.
Although the word lucky was not quite right. Blessed seemed a better assessment.
‘Faddie...?’ Emily Lark looked up at him, her eyes red and unfocused.
He wished he could make the day move faster. This time of watching and waiting was slow agony.
But it was as he told his mother—tomorrow would see her health restored.
* * *
Madeline sat up from the pallet on the floor with a start. She had slept far too deeply and for much too long. Rees ought to have awoken her by now.
She glanced at his chair. He was not in it. Neither was Emily Lark.
And where was Victoria Rose? Not in her bed.
She had no idea what time it was, but the house was still, the night beyond the window deep black.
What had happened? Rising, she hurried out of the room, then rushed down the stairs and across the hall.
Coming to the parlour door, she stopped, simply staring while her heart rolled over on itself.
Rees stood on a stool, lighting the candles on the Christmas tree.
Emily Lark and Victoria Rose sat on the rug, staring up, their faces reflecting wonder.
A pile of unwrapped gifts surrounded Emily Lark.
Madeline came into the room slowly, quietly, loath to spoil the magic of the moment.
‘I is all better now, Mama.’ The pallor of Emily Lark’s face said she was not completely well, but she did not appear to be flushed with fever.
Victoria Rose hopped up, dashed to Madeline and wrapped her thin arms about her skirt. ‘Father Christmas bringed presents.’
‘We were waiting for you. We could not open them without you.’ Rees blew out the large candle he had used to light the smaller ones, then stepped down from the stool.
He crossed the room, took her by the hand, then kissed her cheek. ‘Emily Lark is on the mend, praise the good Lord.’
‘You ought to have woken me.’
‘You were already stirring. I figured you would be down by the time I finished lighting the tree.’
Rees sat down on the rug beside the children. She settled hip to hip beside him.
Victoria Rose scrambled on to her lap while Emily Lark grinned at the treasure of packages with pretty bows set before her.
As frail as the child was, she managed to open them all within ten minutes.
She clutched her new doll to her chest. Her smile held no indication of how ill she had been only hours ago.
Even though it was the small hours of the morning on the day after Christmas, the magic of the day lingered.
‘Where’s your present, Mama?’ Victoria Rose asked, curling her arms about Madeline’s neck and squeezing.
The thought of exchanging gifts had not entered her mind over the past several days. She doubted it had crossed Rees’s either. Judging by the dolls, books, new dresses and games under the tree, it had occurred to someone. Their grandmother, no doubt.
‘Why, you are my gift, Victoria Rose.’ She kissed her cheek. Then she leaned across to kiss Emily Lark’s. ‘And so are you. I could not have a better present than the two of you. I love you both so very much.’
‘We loves you, too, Mama,’ Victoria Rose said.
Emily Lark, one arm still clutching her new doll, climbed on her lap. Victoria Rose moved over to make room.
How, Madeline thought in complete wonder, could one go from not knowing anything about motherhood to embracing it so thoroughly? All of a sudden, she had two precious little girls whom she had come to love—and in a shockingly short time.
She looked over at her husband, watching moisture well in his eyes at seeing his babies with the mother they had so wanted, and it was all so very clear.
Once again she knew that love was yeast. It started small and now it consumed her.
Completely and unalterably, it made her their mother.
* * *
Later the sun shone brightly. Madeline thought it would be a good time to let the girls come outside for the first time since their illness.
Mother Abigail and the rest of the household were rushing about like a hive of busy bees getting ready for the ball. It would do everyone a great deal of good to take the children on an outing, even if it was only for a short stroll in front of the house.
Madeline listened to the girls sweetly chattering while she pulled them down the drive in the wagon.
Life was quite lovely. So much had happened to her in a short period of time. She had run away from all she loved, then run away from a fortune-hunting cad, felt desperately guilty over all of it and then, of all things, to find love and a home again.
It was a miracle, clear and plain.
‘Horsey!’ Emily Lark laughed. Victoria Rose tried to climb out of the wagon.
‘No, sweetie, it is not safe to stand.’ That sounded very motherly. She thought she might be a success at this business in time.
In the distance she spotted a horse galloping towards the house.
The rider was too far off to recognise, but there was something in the way he sat in the saddle, the way his slim form leaned forward over the horse’s neck ever so slightly, that seemed familiar.
Naturally there was no way he could be familiar since she knew so few people in Derbyshire.
Whoever it was seemed to be in a great hurry. She turned about to roll the wagon to the side of the drive where the children would not breathe in the dust that the horse kicked up.
‘Madeline!’ She heard her name shouted over the thud of hooves hitting dirt.
Funny how her heart heard Grandfather’s voice. She had heard it many times since she ran away, but it was never real.
She could only be listening with her heart.
Even hearing her name called again, she did not turn about because this was o
nly one more instance where she imagined what she wanted to hear.
The hoofbeats stopped.
She turned to greet the rider and—Grandfather! Her mouth formed the word, but no sound emerged.
Surely she was dreaming, yet the sound his boots made crunching the dirt while he ran towards her was no dream.
‘Grandfather!’ she screeched while lifting her skirts and running towards him.
He caught her up in a great hug, rocking her, nearly crushing her in his embrace.
‘Madeline, oh, my girl.’ Then he held her away at arm’s length, looking her over closely. ‘Are you well? Nothing wicked has befallen you? If it has, I will carry you away this minute. You’ve only to say so.’
‘You are here—really here? I don’t understand.’
‘Do you not know I have been searching desperately for you all these months? I’ve hired countless Pinkerton fellows. It was as though you had vanished.’
‘I’m sorry—so very sorry for what I did to you,’ she cried into his coat, and not with pretty little sniffles, but with great racking sobs that surely garbled her words. ‘It was wicked and I beg you to forgive me.’
‘Ah, my darlin’, it’s not you who should beg—’tis me. I should have known better than to try to force my dream upon you. For all that it was a good dream, mind you, but I ought to have let you choose your own.’
‘Oh, Grandfather.’ She hugged him about the middle because any second she might blink and find this a dream, gone in a mist like so many others had done. ‘But I ought to have refused you face to face and not in such a heartless way. That man I left with, oh, he was not who I thought he was.’
Grandfather cupped her face, peering solemnly into her eyes.
‘No matter what may have happened to you, you are still my sweet girl. Even if the worst has befallen you, I stand by you.’
‘The worst?’ The worst might have befallen her had Rees not been there.
‘There is talk in the village that you married rather suddenly. It is believed that—well—I only pray you were not forced to wed where you did not wish. You will recall what I’ve told you about your great-grandmother.’