by Rebecca King
He ached to sweep her into his arms and hold her, but she looked as though she would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if anyone touched her. He wondered if the events on the cliffs had proven too much for her.
“Tell me something,” Jemima whispered, her voice so thin that at first he thought he had imagined her request.
“I lied; you have to know that,” he replied gently, anticipating her question. The betrayal in her eyes cut him deeply and he hastened to undo the damage he had done.
“I adore you. I have from the very first moment I set eyes on you in the dining room in Devon, my darling. You stole my heart. I am not usually the kind of man who shows interest in servants; even one as beautiful as you. But I knew from the first moment I saw you that you were different. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You were like a drug to me. The more I saw you; the more I wanted to see you, and get to know everything about you. I was glad you came to me and asked for my help; if only for the opportunity to be able to spend time with you. It was inevitable that I would fall in love with you as deeply as I have. That is the only reason I came after you. That is the reason why I was so deeply distressed in Derby at the thought of you being in gaol, let alone being killed. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have raced across the country to try to save you from being executed.”
Jemima didn’t move, just sat staring at him, that same lost look on her face.
Peter eased forward in his seat, leaning toward her until they were face to face, his nose inches from hers. He captured the delicate oval of her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him as gently as possible.
“I promise you here and now that you may have got rid of Scraggan, but you haven’t got rid of me. I will remain a part of your life, whether you like it or not. I will plague your every footstep, haunt your every dream, and be a part of your every waking moment. I have spent too many months, spent many hundreds of pounds, in search of you. My life in Willowbrook has been on hold while I try to find the woman who captured my heart and took it with her when she ran from me. Now that I have you, I have no intention of ever letting you go again,” Peter whispered, trying to convey the depth of his sincerity.
“Do you realise just what it was like for me to have to return your body to Willowbrook?” His voice grew husky with grief that refused to relinquish its hold on him. “Do you realise what it was like to stand beside you, knowing I would never see your beautiful eyes stare at me again? Never see your wonderful lips smile? I would have been happy to have been struck down and allowed to join you.”
A sob escaped her.
Peter immediately took her into his arms, murmuring soft reassurances to her over and over in the hope that some, if not all, of his words were heard and believed.
“I adore you, Jemima. My life belongs with you,” Peter whispered feeling old and weary, his voice choked with emotion. “I’d like to say, let’s go home, but at the moment we have no way out of here unless it is on foot, and I don’t know about you but I have had enough of traipsing around the countryside for the time being. Right now I want a nice warm bed, so I can get some sleep.”
“I’ve agreed to stay here with Harriett tonight,” Jemima murmured, not wanting to offend her friend’s generosity by expecting Peter to stay too.
“We have got some rooms at the inn,” he informed her, smiling gently. “It seems that the villagers are delighted we have rid them of Scraggan.”
“Are the Redcoats still in the village?” It was good to think of something else for a change. Anything to help reduce the strange numb feeling that she didn’t seem able to shake off.
“Yes, they have finished their search, and are now camped out in the harbour, in plain sight of everyone. The officers have gone round to the women whose husbands were conscripted by Scraggan to reassure them that their husbands will return soon.”
Jemima began to cry, remembering the sobs of the children and babies, and the wailing of the wives who were helpless to stop their husbands, their only source of income, being dragged away.
“Come here.” Peter tightened his arms, giving her a shoulder to cry on. He cupped the back of her head in one palm, muttering soothing sounds and kissing her forehead over and over as she cried as though the world had ended.
“Bring her in here,” Harriett said, holding a side door open to what appeared to be a bedroom. Peter nodded and picked Jemima up, carrying his precious burden carefully through the doorway and depositing her gently upon the bed. He wasn’t going to leave her in such a distressed state, no matter what Harriett wanted.
“Do you mind staying tonight with her?” Harriett’s guess that the couple were intimate was correct, and she knew from the grateful look Peter threw her that she hadn’t offended him by her suggestion. “She needs you,” she nodded toward Jemima, and gently moved toward her friend to kiss her gently on her cheek.
“Edward and Eliza are spending the night at the inn and say ‘goodnight’ to you,” she informed him as she closed the door.
Once alone, Peter wasted no time in helping a now quiet Jemima between the sheets, sliding in, fully clothed, beside her and gathering her into his arms.
“I’m so tired,” Jemima whispered.
“It has been one hell of a day,” Peter said. “Are you alright now?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
“It is just the sights and sounds of the families the men left behind when they were dragged off to gaol. Some of them might never return, and that will be devastating for the wives and children left behind,” she whispered, the sounds of wailing babies still echoing in her ears.
“Only the ones whose husbands were hardened criminals,” Peter reasoned. “I know there will be some casualties from today, and some of them will be innocent. A lot of innocent families will not be driven out of their homes, and a lot of children will have their fathers return home to provide for them. They will be pardoned for their cooperation in answering the questions put to them. They will be freed on a promise that they will be expected to keep out of crime, so at least they can provide for their wives and children.” Peter tried to keep his voice soft, but could find no sympathy for any man who had chosen to work for Scraggan.
“I know, and I don’t know why affected me so badly,” Jemima sighed, wishing she could make sense of it all.
“You have been through so much, such harrowing ordeals that most people would have been unable to cope with one at a time, let alone all together like you have had to endure. I am not surprised you are exhausted and overwhelmed. Just rest if you need to rest, sleep if you need to sleep, and cry on my shoulder if you need to cry.”
Peter rolled over until they were lying face to face so he could look into her eyes. “I promise you I will be here, waiting. I will wait for you for the rest of my life if I have to,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning her cheeks. “I love you Jemima Trevelisk. You are my heart, my soul. I will wait for you until my dying day.”
Jemima read the sincerity in his eyes and the pure emotion that turned his voice husky and knew they were words spoken from the heart.
“I love you so much,” Jemima said, gently kissing the various cuts and bruises marring his handsome face. “You have given me so much while asking for so little in return, I don’t know how to thank you; to convey to you just how important you are in my life. When life was bad in Derby, you were my reason to keep going. You were my ray of hope in a world of despondency. I adore you.”
“You want to thank me?” Peter murmured, trailing a gentle finger along the curve of her bottom lip. His eyes were challenging when they finally met hers. “Marry me? Make me the happiest man in the world, and agree to spend the rest of your life sleeping beside me, sharing your days with me, being happy with me.”
Jemima smiled at him, her answer already in her shimmering eyes. “Of course I will.” She was about to lean forward for a kiss when he abruptly pulled back and studied her carefully with mock suspicion.
“Of course, I do expect you t
o work for your keep,” he added sneakily, pleased that her eyes had lost some of the dark shadows. “I don’t want you getting bored with life as a wife of a titled man. I expect you to write my letters, help with the estate accounts, run the house, do the menus,” he continued listing jobs until Jemima whacked him gently on the shoulder. He smiled gently at her. “I have sent word to Willowbrook that they are to place a second desk in the study for the lady of the house, soon to arrive to take her position as my wife.”
Jemima frowned at him. “What would you have done if I had said no to you just now, and told you that I couldn’t marry anyone who had chased me across the country simply for the information I held?”
“I’d just toss you over my shoulder, and carry you off to the church screaming and kicking if I had to. The upshot of it is that you would be my wife.”
He said it with such certainty that Jemima knew he most probably would carry out his threat.
“It’s a good thing I said yes then, isn’t it?” she whispered, dragging his head down for a thorough kiss.
Within minutes, they were fast asleep.
EPILOGUE
He stood beneath the overhanging branches of a large oak tree in the far corner of the graveyard, protected from the curious gazes of the milling crowd. Leaning against the rough bark, he stood in the shadows and watched the guests arrive. He was only interested in one.
After several moments he shifted slightly and pushed away from the tree, his gaze locked on the open-topped carriage that rumbled to a stop at the gate. His eyes were locked on the red- haired beauty who stepped down from a carriage and smiled at Sir Hugo Dunniclifffe.
Her wild tangle of hair had been coiled into a fashionable style that made her look graceful and elegant. The pale muslin dress had clearly been purchased for the occasion, and fitted her perfectly. His chest puffed out in pride as he watched the elegant way she glided up the path on Sir Dunnicliffe’s arm as though she belonged there. He watched as she smiled up at something Sir Dunnicliffe said, her face alight with such joy that she turned from pretty to beautiful in an instant.
The man longed to be able to walk over to her and for her to smile at him in the same way, but he knew it wasn’t possible. Not now. Over the past few weeks he had done what he had been forced to do in an attempt to stop them from putting her at risk, and it had all nearly gone so horribly wrong. She didn’t know how much he had been involved - and must never know.
He watched with a sense of loss as she disappeared into the church. Even if he could get her to talk to him, he knew what she would say and he couldn’t blame her. He had made such a horrible mess of things, and had left it too late to put matters right. The distance between them couldn’t be bridged. But it didn’t stop him loving her.
With a regretful glance at the church door, he didn’t wait to watch the arrival of the brides, and simply melted into the shadows.
People from far and wide had travelled to watch the spectacle that was about to take place in the small church nestled in the peaceful tranquillity of the Willowbrook estate in rural Oxfordshire. The excited chatter of the large crowd gathered outside grew as a highly polished black carriage, with a large gold crest emblazoned on its side, pulled by four perfectly matching grey horses, rumbled to a stop outside the small wooden gate.
Anticipation settled over the crowd as they silently watched two liveried footmen jump down from the carriage, drop the step and open the door. The crowd waited for their first sight of the brides.
Although the church was too small to accommodate all the servants, friends, relations and acquaintances who wanted to attend the weddings of the year, those who couldn’t fit into the church didn’t mind waiting outside, as long as they got to see the brides and grooms later.
There had been a lot of rumours and gossip since the broadsheets had covered the story announcing the capture and sentencing of Rogan Scraggan Junior and Rogan Scraggan Senior, two of Cornwall’s most notorious and ruthless smugglers. Their capture had been attributed to the extraordinarily brave efforts, and sacrifice, of Jemima and Eliza Trevelisk, whose father, the magistrate, had been brutally slain by the Rogan men. They had kept vital information out of Rogan’s hands long enough to get it to the authorities, who had been able to not only disband the smuggling operation, but capture several French spies hidden in the country, as well as the network of people who had been employed to house them.
The Prince Regent had been so grateful for the part they had played that he had offered them a reward for their efforts, bestowing both women with a title and a small fortune to spend as they wished.
The noise from the crowd fell to a hush as the head of the Cavendish family left the church and moved to wait beside the open door, handing Jemima down the narrow steps as though she were a princess.
She was a vision in her pale blue dress, edged in delicate lace, the flowing silk of her skirts emphasising her slenderness and tiny waist. Her long hair had been arranged in a cascade of curls that highlighted her beautiful amber eyes and long elegant neck.
She smiled hesitantly at Dominic, who stood proud and tall as he held out his elbow.
“Ready?” he asked, trying hard not to fidget. He had known she was beautiful, but the woman before him was simply stunning, and he couldn’t wait to see Peter’s face when he first set eyes on her. He felt so proud that he almost felt he would burst out of his shirt. But he didn’t, merely squared his shoulders as far as they would go, and grinned at anyone and everyone.
They stood and waited as Eliza appeared in the doorway of the carriage, gracefully accepting the hand Sebastian offered. In a pale green silk gown, also edged in delicate lace, she was as stunning as her sister. Her hair had been styled more elaborately and elegantly. The small wild flowers liberally dotted throughout her curls gave a gypsy look that accentuated her gorgeous eyes.
Everyone smiled at the smattering of applause, accompanied by ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the crowd as they jostled for position to get a better look at the stunning brides. Children held out their hands, having never seen such beauty before, trying to touch the pretty ladies as they glided past, only to be held back and scolded by their mothers, who wiped tears from their eyes.
With broad grins, Dominic and Sebastian slowly escorted the ladies down the narrow pathway toward the door of the packed church, escorting their precious charges inside to their waiting grooms.
The church was so small that it didn’t have room for an organ, but that didn’t matter. The congregation fell into a stunned silence as they watched first Eliza, then Jemima, glide effortlessly down the aisle on the arms of two very proud men.
Jemima felt the sting of tears as she caught sight of Peter standing tall and resplendent in his elegant suit. His gaze was locked onto her as he watched her approach with nothing less than adoration in his eyes. He closed his mouth as she stopped beside him, and he raised her hand and kissed the back of it. The dark pools of his eyes held the wealth of emotion he couldn’t voice, and he had to cough to clear the lump in his throat.
Eliza drew to a halt beside Edward, who hastily wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and stared lovingly down at the woman beside him. He couldn’t believe this day had finally arrived, and the stunning vision beside him was going to be his wife. Love was such a small word to describe the depth of devotion he had in his heart.
“I love you,” he mouthed silently, watching as Eliza smiled mistily back at him.
Eliza smiled at the gusty wail of the tiny baby behind her, and turned to look at Isobel, proudly holding her son in her arms. Hugo Sebastian Edward Cameron Cavendish had been born two weeks ago, during a particularly heavy thunder storm that was being heralded as the storm of the year.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today -”
The words disappeared into the background as Peter stared at his future wife as she stood bathed in the multi coloured sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window at the far end of the church. To him she looked like
a golden angel as she stood and listened to the service.
Sensing his eyes upon her, Jemima turned and stared into the eyes of the man who held her heart. All the pain, fear, worry and doubt had been banished and replaced by the bright twinkle of absolute joy clearly evident in the loving gaze he made no attempt to break.
A discreet cough behind them was enough to bring them back to the vicar’s solemn words, and they waited for the moment when they would finally bind their lives together; forever.
Although May had been reasonably warm, in Bodmin, dark storm clouds gathered menacingly. The sea fog had rolled further inland than usual, leaving the air moist and humid.
In a solitary cell in the lower regions of the gaol, Rogan Scraggan stared blankly at the wall. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to lose control so quickly. His biggest mistake was in trusting his right-hand man to ensure that Jemima Trevelisk was hanged. He had stupidly remained in Cornwall to oversee his gang, and had waited anxiously for news of her fate. He had thought that, once convicted and condemned, the gaol would actually carry out the punishment meted out to her. He had never considered that he would be fooled so easily. He should have killed the bitch himself the moment he had laid eyes on her.
At first he had found it funny when she had run, and in her stupidity she had left a trail a mile wide for his men to follow. It hadn’t taken many resources to follow her to Derby, and set about his plans, although she did keep moving around, which was damned inconvenient. But his men did their job, kept an eye on her, kept breathing down her neck and making her unsettled, while they worked out their ultimate plans.
His thoughts immediately turned to his son, and he wondered if it was over yet.
Since his arrival at the gaol, he had been kept away from the other prisoners, mainly for his own safety. There was a lot of anger toward him from the other prisoners who had either been conscripted into joining Scraggan’s gang, or had relatives who had been victims of his ruthless regime. Not wanting to be cheated of the opportunity to carry out the execution, the gaol had kept him in a cell by himself.