After that he had been besieged by ton members. Some had greeted him with ease, chattering and laughing as if they had seen him just the day before, seemingly having forgotten his disgrace. Others had approached him with caution, their smiles taut and their manner tentative, as if they were as uncertain of him as he was of them. Still others had gazed at him with shamed apology, their eyes mutely begging his forgiveness as they humbly congratulated him on his beautiful wife and babes, and tendered wishes for many happy returns on his birthday.
His forgiveness he gave freely, gladly. How could he not? Had these people not driven him from the ton, he most probably would never have wed Emily and his life would have been so much the poorer for it.
As always happened when Michael thought of Emily, he smiled, his gaze hungrily seeking her in the aristocratic mob. Though she had remained by his side while he had greeted their guests, every inch a duchess in both beauty and poise as she had graciously acknowledged his introductions to his elegant acquaintances, they had been separated shortly thereafter. Since then they had been unable to steal more than a moment or two together, so in demand were they by their guests.
Hoping to steal another moment now, he continued to comb the crowd, his smile broadening when he at last found her at one of the buffet tables, directing the footmen as they replenished the feast. His pulse racing and his gaze adoring, he savored the picture she made, reverently admiring everything from the flattering fit of her lilac and green diamond patterned gown to the way her modish cottage bonnet with its green gauze puffs and silk lilacs framed her prettily flushed face. He was about to go to her, determined to spirit her off and kiss her breathless, when she looked up and caught him smiling at her.
Smiling back, she said something to Henry, the fifth footman, who nodded, then she started toward him.
Michael watched her approach, his heart swelling with pride. He must have done something very good indeed at some time in his life to have been blessed with such a glorious wife. With Aurora now tucked firmly in his right arm, he held out his left one to receive Emily, wrapping it around her shoulders to draw her near when she walked into it. Hugging her close, he pressed a kiss to her smiling lips, murmuring, “Thank you for the wonderful surprise, love. I could not have asked for a better birthday.”
“Much of the credit belongs to our grandmothers,” she replied, kissing him back. “It was they who lured the ton here. I merely planned the feast.”
“Ah, but it is you who gave me the strength to face the ton. Without your love, I could never have—”
“Well, well, Emily, my gel. It seems that you have taken the ton quite by storm,” interrupted Adeline’s voice.
Michael and Emily reluctantly tore their gazes from each other to look at her.
She nodded and added, “Ladys Buxton and Hawkshaw, whom I might add are two of London’s most discriminating hostesses, have both promised to hold soirees in your honor once the Season is in swing.”
“Yes, and Lady Kilvington has invited you both to her picnic next month,” chimed in Euphemia, “though I am certain that everyone will understand if Michael would prefer to decline that particular invitation.”
Michael shrugged, pleased to find himself unperturbed by the prospect of visiting the site of his final disgrace. A year ago the very notion of doing so would have been unthinkable. Well aware of why he now felt as he did, he smiled tenderly down at Emily, replying, “I shall leave that decision up to my wife, just as it is for her to decide whether or not we will attend the Season this year.”
“Pish! Of course you will attend,” his grandmother retorted. “After the pains Effie and I took to ensure your welcome back into the ton, it would be exceedingly rude, not to mention ungrateful, of you to stay away.”
“Ah, yes. My welcome. I have been meaning to ask how you managed the Herculean feat of securing it,” he countered, arching one eyebrow in sardonic query.
The women exchanged a rather guilty look. After several beats, during which they remained in silent communication, Euphemia sighed and explained, “It was quite simple, really. We merely put it about that you had married and that your wife had restored you to health. When the ton heard of your improvement, they were more than eager to welcome you back into the fold. As so many people here today have remarked, your charm and wit have been sorely missed.”
“Just like that, eh? Easy as crossing the road?” he quizzed, wondering if they truly thought him so very gullible.
Apparently they did, because they bobbed their heads in unison.
He snorted. “I think not. I know the ton far too well to believe that the matter was so easily settled. Do try again.”
“Well, the babes did have something to do with the ton’s decision,” Euphemia slowly conceded, trading another glance with Adeline.
Adeline nodded and confirmed, “Yes. After that business with—a-hem!—well, you know”—she shot Emily an apologetic look—“the news that you had fathered twins did much to give validity to our claims of your improvement.”
“Indeed?” he drawled.
Another nod from his grandmother. “Yes.”
“And?” he prodded, certain that there was more to the tale. There had to be.
“And what, dear?” Euphemia inquired, her face the picture of perplexed innocence.
Michael made a derisive noise. “Come, come. Surely you do not think me so very obtuse?”
Euphemia sniffed. “I cannot even begin to imagine what you mean by that remark.”
“You know exactly what I mean, and do not imagine that you can convince me otherwise. Now please do me the favor of crediting me with some wits and tell me how you accomplished all of this.” He gestured to the crowd around him.
Another look passed between Euphemia and Adeline, this one lingering. At length, Adeline shrugged and shifted her gaze back to Michael. Picking up the gauntlet he had tossed with his words, she replied, “While it is true that most of the ton was willing to take you back on the strength of our report, we will admit that there were a few members who required a bit of—er—persuasion.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What sort of persuasion?”
“The sort that comes from the advantage of being in the ton for close to seventy years.” This was from Euphemia. “After such a lengthy time, one cannot help but to collect a few—ummm—choice bits about London’s finest families.”
Michael’s eyes were little more than slits now in his distaste for what he was hearing. “Are you saying that you blackmailed the ton into taking me back?” he ground out.
“Of course not,” his grandmother snapped, looking indignant at the mere suggestion that she would be privy to such underhanded methods. “What we did was remind the less forgiving ton members of their own transgressions, after which we pointed out how they had been pardoned and suggested that they show you the same charity.” A shrug. “When we then reminded them that your fits had come about through no fault of your own, thus illustrating the inequity of your expulsion from society, they all came around smartly enough. Most went on to express delight in welcoming you back, saying that they have sorely missed your presence. Indeed, by the time we left London the town was abuzz with excitement over the prospect of your return.”
Michael simply stared at her, rendered speechless by her words. That she and Euphemia would risk their own lofty positions in society to ensure that he was not only accepted, but eagerly welcomed back, into the ton spoke volumes about the depth of their love for him—not that he had ever doubted that they loved him. He hadn’t, not once. It was just that he had never before realized what a treasure their love was, at first taking it for granted, and then dismissing it in his selfish bitterness over his misfortune.
Now understanding the richness of their gift, yet another legacy of loving Emily, Michael slowly smiled and said, “Have I ever told you sly old dragons just how much I adore you?�
�
To his amusement they flushed like a pair of schoolgirls being flattered by their very first beaus. Looking suspiciously misty-eyed, his grandmother snorted and tartly returned, “If you care for us so very much, you will come to London so that all of our hard work shan’t be in vain.”
“As I said, I shall leave the decision to Emily.” He transferred his gaze to his beautiful wife, who smiled at the byplay between him and their grandmothers. “If she wishes to attend the Season, then I shall be glad to escort her.”
At that moment Aurora kicked and let out a screech, a precursor of louder squalls to come. Nodding to the twin’s nurses, who stood a watchful but discreet distance from their charges, indicating that they were to take the tired babes back to their nursery, Emily replied, “I think that we should go. Not only would the society do you good, I should like to see Mr. Eadon again and tour his new hospital.”
Eadon, who had left Windgate shortly after the birth of the twins, having deemed Michael cured, had just opened a small hospital in London, the purpose of which was to treat and study the sort of seizures that had once plagued Michael. According to the letters they had received from him since, the enterprise was thriving, thanks to recommendations from the venerable dowager duchess of Sherrington and her bosom-bow, the dowager viscountess Bunbury. He was also happily courting a young widow, whose daughter he was treating, and whom he hoped would accept his proposal when he tendered it in the summer. Being fond of Eadon, Emily secretly planned to do everything in her power to promote the match, wanting him to find the same sort of happiness she had found with Michael.
Slanting a flirtatious look at the man who had made all of her dreams of love and family come true, she sighed and added, “That is, if I can find time for such a visit. I daresay that I shall be kept beyond busy fighting off all of the women who will wish to steal you from me once they see how handsome you look.”
Michael kissed first Andrew and then Aurora, who were being claimed by their nurses, grinning as he bantered back, “I can assure you that I shall be far too busy fending off the hordes of men who will be trying to steal you from me to notice any other woman.”
“My word! Will you look at that?” Euphemia abruptly ejected, pointing to the sky in the distance. “What in the world is that doing here, do you suppose?”
Emily glanced in the direction her grandmother pointed, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a pale blue balloon with a passenger basket shaped like a Venetian gondola floating over the trees at the edge of the park. As it drifted nearer, she saw that the balloon was emblazoned with an angel. “Oh, Michael! Have you ever seen anything so very wonderful?” she exclaimed, filled with longing at the thought of soaring so high above the earth.
Michael chuckled. “After being married to me for almost two years, you should know the answer to that question: you, my dear, are more wonderful than anything else in creation. However, I must say that I am glad that you like the balloon, because it is my birthday gift to you. Your dream to fly is about to come true.”
“What?” She tore her gaze from the balloon to gaze at him in confusion. “But it is your birthday, so it is you who should be receiving the gifts.”
“I am receiving one, the one I desire most in the world.”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “I am afraid that I do not understand.”
“Having you by my side, knowing that you are mine and that you love me, is the greatest gift I can imagine.”
“Indeed?” she purred, twining her arms around his neck to draw his face to hers.
He nodded.
She sighed. “Then I suppose that I must resign myself to having an exceedingly spoiled husband, for it is a gift that I intend to give you every day for the rest of your life.” With that she kissed him, demonstrating the sweetness of her promise.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2001 by Heather Cullman
Cover design by Angela Goddard
978-1-5040-1005-4
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Bewitched Page 37