by Jamie Carie
“But I have nothing for you!” She couldn’t help feeling devastated at both his generosity and her lack. He smiled, pulling a simple silver band from his pocket and handing it to her. As she studied it she realized it wasn’t really simple at all.
This was her father’s work.
Burnished silver with an elegant edging, perfect in its simplicity, perfect in strength. She stole a look across her shoulder to her father, who was beaming, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he gave her a quick nod.
He was giving them his blessing. His blessing. Something she’d doubted until now.
At the ceremony’s end, Daniel clapped Drake on the shoulder and gave Serena a big kiss square on the mouth, causing her sisters to giggle, wide-eyed, behind their hands. Her parents hung back at first, and then her mother rushed forward to hug them both. Eyes twinkling, MaryAnn slid a paper-wrapped package into Serena’s hand and whispered into her ear, “For tonight.” At the same time, Serena heard the clinking of coins and saw out of the corner of her eye as her father pressed a heavy leather bag and a folded paper into Drake’s hands. “Don’t argue—a wedding gift.”
It was done. She was now Serena Winslow. Everyone filed out of the church, leaving her and Drake alone together. They rushed out into the cold New England day—and the beginning of their lives. They stood, just outside the doors of the church, hands clasped tightly, and looked up toward the sky as the wind blew against them.
“We should hurry. A storm gathers.”
Serena laughed up into her husband’s—her husband!—face. “Is it not wonderful?”
Drake shook his head, smiling, the wind tearing at his hat. “The gathering storm?”
She made a great sweep of her arm, giddy in her happiness. “Everything. The storm . . . the night . . . the power of it all.” They watched as the web-like clouds, thin, wispy and dark, raced across the lighter gray sky behind them. Suddenly sleet fell from the sky, thunder rolling in the distance. Drake took hold of her hand and they raced to the inn.
”Heaven help me,” Drake shouted above the noise, “I have married a thunderstorm lover!”
She laughed in glee as they ran to the music of the thunder, the flashing of the lightning igniting the sky as if in celebration.
The inn was cozy, well warmed, and thankfully, close to the church. They were shown immediately to the private upper room reserved for them. Serena ran, laughing, to the fire, shaking the rain off her cloak before draping it over the back of a nearby chair where it lay dripping, making a puddle on the hardwood floor. She looked up at him, knowing her face was wet and rosy from their flight.
Drake was busy giving instructions to the serving woman and shaking out his overcoat, but his eyes never left his bride’s face. He kissed her lightly on the lips as he passed her on the way to hang up his wrap on a peg on the wall. “Let’s see about some food, shall we?”
Dinner was soon brought up. Drake directed the placement of the meal and ordered the wine poured with an authority Serena was fast becoming accustomed to and knew was as natural to him as breathing. She leaned her chin onto her palm, watching him from the small table set up for them, their faces reflected in the flickering firelight, hers in grinning fascination as the serving woman curtsied her way out of the room in apparent awe.
“How dost thou do it?”
“Do what, my love?”
“Command such fearsome respect in others.”
Drake motioned toward the food and grinned back at her. “If you will sup, madam, I shall tell you all of my secrets.”
The heated timbre of his words caused her to shiver. “Secrets, my lord?”
He seemed not to notice her flirtatious tone, and Serena had to wonder if that, too, was as natural to his ears as the trickling of water is to river rock.
He handed her a glass of wine. “Drink. It will relax you.”
She took a sip. “Tell me, why do they all bow and scrape in thy presence?”
Drake shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it on the bed as he sat down across from her. He loosened his cravat, a picture of an elegant gentleman at ease. “I have found that if you expect certain standards and speak with the authority of one who is used to expecting those standards, people generally—” he shrugged—“do what is expected.” He smiled, one side of his mouth quirking in a way that left Serena a little breathless.
“Very philosophic of thee. May we eat, my lord? I am famished.”
Drake frowned, but the smile stayed in his eyes. “You tease me, I know, but . . . call me anything but that.”
A glimpse of pain, quickly extinguished, gave her heart a pang. Determined to banish it, she said playfully, “Anything? How about Kitten? Or Peaches?” She laughed as he came around the table and pulled her into his arms.
Kissing her quiet, he murmured. “How about husband. I think I might like the sound of that.”
“Hmmm, husband. It fits thee.” She leaned back, his strong arm supporting her waist. “I like it that I am the only one who may call thee that.”
“Let me take your hair down.” His fingers dug into the coif, finding pins and tossing them on the table before she could protest.
“Should we not eat first, husband . . . while it is still hot?”
Drake ran his fingers through the long tresses, freeing them from their braids. “I want to sit across from you thus. It is a glorious thing, your hair.”
“Vainglorious, dost thou think?” Mock concern filled her voice.
Drake laughed. “I doubt you have a vain bone in your body, but if you did, no doubt your hair would be the femur.”
“Femur? What is that?”
“The largest bone in the body.” His hand glided down the side of her body to her thigh. “Here.” He leaned her back against his ready arm and then kissed a trail of sweetness from the slim column of her neck up to her chin, then her lips.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “What wilt thou do with me tonight?”
He chuckled, deep and mischievous in response. “You will see.” Abruptly, he righted her and then sat her in her chair. “Eat, madam.”
They ate in silence, each anticipating the advancing darkness of night, their eyes catching and holding over the flame of the candle slowly dripping in the center of the table, seeming to Serena like an hourglass counting down the minutes.
Serena finished first and took a long, slow drink from the wine, tasting it on her lips with the tip of her tongue. She watched Drake through lowered lids, the air humming with the tension of tightly coiled springs.
“I never tire of looking at thee.” What freedom, to speak her thoughts aloud.
A flare ignited in his eyes, telling her he liked hearing such things. She gave a little jump when he suddenly stood. Swallowing, she watched him toss back the remainder of his wine and come around to her side of the table. Her heart was pounding as he reached for her arm. It rose of its own accord to drape about his shoulders and held onto him as he lifted her.
“Hast thou had much experience in these matters?” she whispered against his chest.
“Enough to know what you might like. But you will not appreciate that yet.”
“What does that mean?”
Drake sighed in mock exasperation. “Do you want me to talk to you or kiss you?”
Serena shrugged a shoulder and gasped as her sleeve slid half way down her arm. Looking down she saw that he had undone the ribbons on the front of her gown. “However didst thou do that?”
He answering grin was wicked. “My vast experience.”
The next hour was a haze of pleasure to Serena. She had not understood how two could become one, until he made sense of it. Their breaths intermingled, their hearts pounding in urgent accord. Sensation became a new kind of direction, with touch its map. Before, she had only been able to look at him and she had thought that wondrous. Now, she used all her senses to explore him. She reveled in the essence that was Drake, the taste of his mouth, warm and rich with the wine. His scent, a mix of her mother’s
soap from his wedding bath and his own unique fragrance, delighting her. She breathed him and knew him and lost herself in the world that he showed her. She gave all that she had, her trust complete.
It was nearly painful, loving him thus.
ASTONISHING.
Drake had thought himself experienced. How humbling to learn he had only known the physical, never this joining of souls that had somehow, miraculously happened with Serena. What magic did she possess?
In the face of her sweet generosity, he felt the hard edges of his self-possession crumble. There was no room for the shroud of protection he had worn as effortlessly as his own skin for as long as he could remember. In the face of her love it melted, giving way to flesh and flesh, blood and blood. Left in its place was a sense of awe that this act of loving could be so humble—and yet so core deep.
He would never look at marriage the same way. Those few he’d seen that had seemed so connected . . . now he knew. Now he knew love. And nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter Fifteen
A week had passed since their wedding. A week of dreamlike floating where nothing seemed very real. They’d moved in with her parents, taking up residence in Drake’s bedroom until they could save enough to start out on their own. But now, as Serena gazed out the thin-paned window, clinging to the frame, watching her family drive off to meeting, she felt a pang of sadness. It was the first meeting she had ever missed except for sickness.
Drake stood behind her, his hands at her waist. “Are you sorry?” he murmured into her hair.
She leaned back against his chest and shook her head. “It feels strange though . . . like I have grown up and started my own life. And yet . . . I do not feel that different.”
“You are afraid?”
She nodded, unable to speak. He rubbed her upper arms with his hands and then turned her around to face him. “I have asked much of you. I am sorry for that.” He smiled. “Come, let us think happy thoughts. I have a surprise for you.”
Looking at the gentle smile he gave her, she felt the weight lift and smiled up at him. In his arms, everything felt right. “What is it?”
Drake led her into what was now their bedroom and over to his trunk.
“Daniel retrieved this for me.” Taking out a velvet pouch Drake pulled the drawstring open, reached for her hand, and shook a massive ring into her palm.
“If I sell this ring, I may have enough to buy us our first home.”
Serena picked up the ring and studied it. Heavy, of shining gold, she stared at the insignia in Latin and above it, a fire-breathing dragon, the fire represented by brilliant rubies inlaid in front of the dragon’s open mouth. A shiver went down her back as she looked up into his eyes, the solid weight of it in her palm feeling like an inescapable trap. “It is thine?”
Drake’s nod was brief and unquestionable, his eyes shuttered. “My father gave it to me.”
Serena reached out and took his hand. Slowly she slid it on his finger, marveling at how fitting it looked. “Thou art of noble birth, then. Tell me.”
He took the ring off, unknotted the black silk cord that drew the velvet bag together and pulled the cord out of the seam. Taking the ring he slid it onto the cord and then tied it around Serena’s throat, making a long necklace. “I was lied to, Serena. And now this ring is mine to do with as I please. I am not an aristocrat. Believe me when I say I am as common as you. More so, even.”
Serena shook her head vehemently, feeling the heaviness of it lie against her breastbone. “Thou must not sell it. It is thy heritage, from thy father.”
He tossed the velvet bag back into the trunk and turned, studying her, then took her by the shoulders. “It represents a promise broken, nothing more. You, a home for us, that is the future. I want to provide for you. With this ring we can begin to make our way in the world, on our own.” He tucked it securely inside her bodice, his flat palm resting on her heart. “You are my future.”
Serena saw his need to be the man, the provider and protector of her, and gave in. “Very well. But I do hope thou wilt not regret it someday.”
His answering smile lifted her spirits. He kissed her briefly. “Let us go for a walk and see if there are any houses for sale.”
Catching his excitement, she clasped his hand in hers. “We could stop at the post office to see if any notices have been placed.”
They walked the quiet side streets of Philadelphia in the overcast spring afternoon, hand in hand, laughing and happy. There were some buildings being raised in a business district, but seeing nothing for sale in the way of housing they wandered over to the post office.
“It is doubtful we can go in on a Sunday,” Serena said as they approached the door.
Just then, a thickly built man with round spectacles came out and turned to lock the door behind him.
“Good sir,” Drake called out. “Might we have a word before you leave?”
“Eh?”
Drake hurried them across the street toward him. “Good day, sir.” They shook hands. “I am Drake Winslow and this is my wife, Serena. We are recently married and looking for a house to buy. Might you have notices in the post office or a newspaper we could buy?”
Shrewd eyes assessed him and then Serena. “Winslow, you say. Come in, come in.” He turned the handle of the door and hurried them inside. As they walked back into the post office, the man turned suddenly. “Too bad the name is not Drake Weston. I have an important letter from England for a man by that name.” He raised his brows. “I have been searching for him. One doesn’t ignore a letter of such importance, and it is my job to see that it gets delivered, but no one seems to know of a Lord Weston of Northumberland.”
Looking suddenly at Serena, the man gestured to a back corner. “If you would be so kind, madam, there is a newspaper on that table. You may find an advertisement in it for a home to buy.”
While Serena went to fetch the paper, the man turned to Drake. “You wouldn’t know of a Drake Weston, Earl of Warwick, would you, sir?”
Before Drake could answer, Serena returned with the paper. She hesitated and then, with sudden purpose, pulled the necklace out of the bodice of her gown. Holding out the ring she became breathless. “Sir, I could not help hearing and . . . might thou knowest if this would be the Earl’s signet ring?”
Drake gritted his teeth as the man’s round face lit up. He waited in sinking resignation as the man studied the ring.
The man glanced up from his study of the ring, a frown between his eyes. “Where did you come by this, madam?”
“My husband gave it to me, just this morning.” She looked at Drake. “We were hoping to sell it to buy a house. Do you know the insignia, sir?”
The man shook his head and handed the ring back. “I am no expert in matters of insignia, but as postmaster here, I have had occasion to see several and would have to say that this ring belongs to a peer of the realm of His Royal Majesty, King George II.” He turned to Drake. “Sir, either this ring is ill-gotten gain or, indeed, I have your letter.”
Drake didn’t try to conceal his outrage at the man’s audacity as he bit out a reply. “The ring is mine.”
The postmaster nodded, a small smile on his lips. “I thought as much. Would you like your letter, my lord?” He reached behind him and pulled out a yellowed envelope.
Drake ignored the outstretched hand. Turning away, he strode out the door.
SERENA TOOK A long look at the letter and then snatched it from the man’s hand. “Thank thee,” she whispered, stuffing it safely in her cape pocket. Then she turned away before he could change his mind and left the room.
It was gray and turning cold, looking like it might rain, as they walked away from the post office. Serena hurried to keep up with Drake’s long, angry strides.
Touching him on the shoulder, she stopped him. “I am sorry. I had to know and thou wouldst not tell me.”
He didn’t answer, just walked away from her faster than before. She half ran to catch up to him. “Pl
ease understand, it might have been my only chance to know.”
He stopped and faced her, gripping her shoulders in the middle of the cold, wind-swept street. “You do not know what you have done! It is too soon! They will know I am here now. Word will get out and—” His hands tightened on her upper arms.
Stricken as much by his tone as his words, she pulled away. In a voice that shook with anger and fear, she demanded, “Know what? What art thou hiding?” She raised a hand to his chest and stepped closer. “How can I know when thou wilt not tell me?”
“Serena . . . do not make me tell you.” The anguish in his voice made his words thick. He took her elbow in a tight grip, urging her into the deep shadows of a tall building. Looking around to ascertain that no one was about, he cupped her face between his gloved hands. The wind had pulled loose tendrils of hair out of her knot and it danced across the backs of his hands. He pulled her to him, his actions fierce. “Don’t ask this of me. I can’t bear the thought of seeing regret in your eyes.”
Serena pulled back. His irises were so dark blue they seemed black—deep wells of pain and guilt. Dread snaked through her. “How can I help thee if thou wilt not trust me? Drake, I am thy wife. Thy pain is now my pain. Let me bear it with thee.”
“You do not know what you are asking.” He turned away from her, half facing the stone of the building they hugged.
Serena put her hand firmly on his arm and insisted. “I want to know.”
Drake swung around, his face ravaged, his voice menacing. “I killed a man, Serena. With my voice and size and power to intimidate, I as good as pushed him over the rail of a third-story balcony . . . and when he reached out his hand . . . I didn’t save him . . . I let him fall. I. Let. Him. Fall.”
Silence followed those bitter, pointed words. When he spoke again, he was quiet, terse. “And then I ran. Ran to the colonies as an indentured slave.”