Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  Verbena felt her spine stiffen. She opened her mouth to rush to Edeline’s defense, but he raised a cautionary hand. “I will leave your father out of our marriage, and you will leave my family out. Our marriage will be between the two of us. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t take orders well,” she snapped.

  He smiled, and the amusement reached his eyes. “I have figured that out already. I will not be an unreasonable husband.”

  She thought back to the summer, all the kindnesses Damon had showered her and the children with. What had she given in return? Just Edeline’s angry words. Just Edeline’s accusations.

  Maybe Damon was right, maybe Edeline had burdened her unfairly. Goodness only knew, holding Edeline’s secret all these months had nearly broken her. How many times had she wanted to have someone, no, not someone, wanted Damon there to help her? When she was injured, despite his own grief he had found time to visit, and when he could not he had hired people who could.

  But that did not change Edeline’s situation. Verbena did not doubt her sister’s story. There had been too much pain in Edeline’s eyes. Whatever she had suffered had been real, and had come from Damon’s family. The line between the classes was harsh and vigorously enforced, she knew that. If Damon, or his family, wanted to take Roderick, there was nothing she could do to stop them.

  Verbena shivered.

  His hands came down on her shoulders, and she could not make herself step away. “I think part of your sister’s problem was that my brother lived in his own world. I do not. He probably was unaware of Edeline’s unhappiness. I will make certain you are accepted.” He sounded so confident.

  He looked it, standing there with his dark head held high, so tall, so completely assured of his ability, as if his wounded leg mattered not a whit. “You need not fear sharing a home with my family. I have my own house, my own servants, my own income. I depend on my family for nothing, they have no monetary hold on me. And while you will have to take my word on all of this, you will also have to take my word that my family will love this child.”

  He always had been something far beyond any male in the village, with his height that always stood above most of the other men, his piercing dark eyes that compelled attention and made her shiver. She knew now that those eyes could dance with humor or ache with sadness.

  And he wanted her to marry him. Verbena’s heart fluttered in her chest, but she did not dare put her hand over it to steady it. She had to remember it was not safe to love a Thern. Edeline had, and look where it had gotten her, hated and scorned and driven out, and now dead.

  But Damon was right, she was not her sister. What Edeline had suffered in silence, she herself would fight back. Verbena knew she had to make this decision with her head, and then keep her wits about her.

  It was hardly the way she had dreamed of marriage. Her heart longed for those youthful dreams. Her head said her brothers and sisters would be secure. They would be warm, well-fed, well-dressed. Julius would have schooling, Matthew – well, Matthew would be able to find his way. They would have servants and she could finally rest.

  Oddly she knew she could trust him in that. If Damon said the children would have schooling, they would have schooling. The girls would have a governess, and learn to paint. How they would love that!

  And Damon would have Roderick. But she would have him, too. Our marriage will be between the two of us. I will make certain you are accepted.

  Verbena fought back the panic that rushed at her. Her mouth dried. She ran her tongue across her lips, but it did no good. No one would dare take a child away from my wife.

  His eyes gleamed as they focused on her mouth, then he met her gaze. “Well?”

  She had one more question, hard to ask. “What kind of marriage would you expect?”

  “What kind of marria – Oh. I see.” His eyes actually twinkled. “Do you mean, will we share a bed?”

  Heat rushed up into her cheeks. She must be as red as an apple. “Yes.”

  The twinkle faded from his eyes. He picked up her hands again, and pressed them between his own. “Verbena, I would never marry a woman in name only, however good the reason. I have always wanted a marriage with a woman I could respect. I certainly . . . respect you, and I hope you hold me in at least some esteem. So yes. This will be a real marriage, and I look forward to having more children of our own.”

  Oh, Edeline, I promised, but what else can I do? Her heart raced as if she had been running hard, and maybe she had been. Running from hunger, from cold, from a house that threatened to fall down on her head. From the crushing weight of poverty and the constant threat that her father would some horrible day lose everything because of his weakness for drink, and they would have nothing left, truly nothing at all.

  “Very well.” Her chest was tight, the words sounded weak. Verbena cleared her throat and said, “I will have to marry you.”

  *

  I will have to marry you. As acceptances went, that must surely rank as one of the least enthusiastic, Damon thought as he rode down the street in Bath. He wished he could give Verbena a few weeks to get used to the idea, and to rekindle the friendship they had begun last summer. Not having met the aunt, who it turned out had been meeting with the local vicar planning the funeral when he was busy proposing, he had no idea what her reaction would be. Many the widow who, having got her freedom, chose never to remarry.

  There was another reason to get the wedding done quickly. His own family, particularly his father. Verbena was not far wrong about the enmity. He remembered his father’s biting words, and there were plenty to choose from. They are all greedy, grasping, moneygrubbers, and the father is no more than a drunken sot. I did not approve of Andrew’s choice of a wife. I never will consider her to have been his equal. If only she had contracted the fever and died instead of Andrew.

  No, best to present it as a fait accompli.

  Thank goodness there were other things to keep his mind occupied. Right now, he had several things to purchase. She simply could not wear her mourning dress at the wedding, it just was not done, but he knew without asking that she had nothing worthy with which to replace it.

  It was a good thing her aunt lived in Bath. Anything he wanted could be found here just as easily as in London. And thinking of London brought him to the furor this marriage would cause among all who knew him.

  He could just imagine how hard his friends would laugh. He could hear them now. You have how many children! You, Damon, a family man? Did you injure your leg in the war or your head?

  Perhaps it was time to find a new group of friends.

  Shops slipped past, a tailor, a stationery shop – that one he intended to avoid at all costs, he had no intention of informing anyone by mail – an upholsterer, a cobbler, another thing to add to the list of things she needed. And at last, a modiste. Complete with premade gowns in the window.

  He turned his horse and dismounted, scanning the gowns set out in the window display with a careful eye, one navy, the other green. The green one on the right was definitely too large, not to mention it was too bright and there was too much shine. If he knew Verbena – and he thought he did – she would stick to convention as much as possible, which meant dark and subdued. Respectful.

  So the navy one it was. He gave it a more detailed perusal, and something else caught his eye, an attached cape that draped from the shoulders all the way to the floor, over the gown’s full back gathers. He could not wait to see her in it.

  He walked up to the door, but just before he pulled it open, he spotted a silvery fur cloak that looked so thick he thought Verbena might get lost in it, draped over a chair on the far side of the window display. Perhaps there was enough fur left over to make a muff.

  While he was thinking about it, Damon added gloves to the list of wedding presents.

  At least she would be warm for the return trip. If he was very lucky, and very crafty, he might be able to convince her to share the carriage blanket with him in his far less
adequate coat. Of course, if she was warm enough, she might push the entire blanket over to him and sit there in her bundled splendor.

  He looked at the cloak again.

  Damon smiled and pulled open the door.

  *

  Aunt Mabel bustled into the room. Her grey curls bobbed under her cap. Her gown was rich velvet, done in a purple so dark at first glance Verbena thought it was black. Only when she moved did the true color show, and she was moving a lot, fluttering around as if about to take wing.

  “Come, come, my dear. Your groom will be here soon. You certainly don’t want to be late for your own wedding.” Aunt Mabel picked up the hat the modiste had whipped up, a confection of navy blue velvet and net and the most cunning pleated crown and small brim. A subtle, bow decorated the back of the bonnet, complete with two long tails that could drape down her back or be pulled to the front as she chose. He made sure she knew that it was designed specifically to go with the gown at his request.

  She adored it instantly. The man knew women’s fashion. She did not know what to make of that bit of knowledge.

  Accepting clothing from him had given her a moment of embarrassment. The step she was about to take had been brought home by those carefully wrapped packages. Two dresses, one black in honor of her mourning, the other a blue as dark as the purple hue in Aunt Mabel’s, and of velvet as well.

  Both gowns fit perfectly, another bit of unnerving intelligence.

  “You look beautiful.” Aunt Mabel stopped her fluttering when the maid finished tying the last bow on the back and turned Verbena around.

  “You can look now,” she said, and stepped away. Verbena turned around to the mirror, something the maid had forbidden until she was done.

  She went as still as her aunt had. The blue gown was beautiful, starkly simple with its high waist and low neck unembellished by any unnecessary ruffles or gathers. That had been saved for the long sleeves that rose at her shoulders to narrow near the elbow, and the gown’s back. Verbena felt the weight of the fabric draping off her shoulders, and saw the wide ruffled bottom peeking out the skirt’s side.

  For the first time since she had given her agreement, she felt like a bride.

  In the mirror’s reflection, she saw her aunt fish a lace handkerchief out of her own sleeve. “I wish your mother could have lived to see you like this.”

  Verbena felt her mother’s loss as well, someone to hold her hand and hug her and promise it would be fine. She took a deep breath, hoping it would slow her heartbeat, which until that first look in the mirror had been only mildly fast.

  Now her heart beat in her ears like a racing horse.

  The heavy knocker sounded through the house, a deep knell, startling all three of them.

  Aunt Mabel began fluttering again. “Oh! He is here, he is here. Oh my! He has come!’ Relief drenched her voice, as if until he actually arrived, there might be some doubt he would go through with it.

  “Quick, put on your bonnet. Mary, where is the cloak? And the muff? Oh, my goodness,” she stopped to clap her hands over her flushed cheeks. “Oh, my goodness, how exciting this is! How fortunate that you had been here just long enough to make this simple. The bishop was very agreeable to give the license. If your young man had had to go all the way back to London for a special license, just think how much more time it would have taken.”

  That did not sound like such a problem to Verbena at the moment. She would not mind at all another few day’s respite.

  Aunt Mabel turned to look at Verbena. “What are you waiting for, my dear? Come, come, get your cloak on! And your bonnet, but don’t muss your hair. You look absolutely beautiful. Pinch your cheeks, dear, so you don’t look quite so pale. Why, I remember the day I was wed. My own dear mother – your grandmother, you know – made my brother walk beside me all the way to the vicar’s just to make sure I was not going to fall down, I was that pale.”

  Verbena looked back to the mirror. Aunt Mabel was right. The color had leached from her face, leaving her looking like she was indeed about to faint.

  She was marrying Damon Thern. Today. Now.

  Where is your courage, she asked the white-faced reflection staring back at her. Think of the children. Think of Roderick.

  Mary came up from behind and slipped the rich fur cloak over her shoulders. The warmth was welcome. “Here you go, miss. Don’t forget your muff.”

  Verbena took one last look at the face in the mirror, and turned her back on it. She needed all the strength she could muster, and that wide-eyed, shocked reflection did not help.

  Not at all.

  *

  Damon tapped his hat against his leg as he waited. Servants scurried back and forth across the open space at the top of the stairs. Now and again, one would smile down at him with an air of suppressed excitement as they hurried past.

  She was not going to back out, was she? It must be a sign of his own nerves that he even wondered. Verbena was not that type. If she had decided she could not go through with it, she would have told him to his face last night when he came to work out the final arrangements. Ten o’clock in the morning at the church. The vicar promised to be waiting.

  Damon patted his vest pocket to ensure the license was still there. It was, of course, as it had been the other five or six times he had checked. The delay that had so worried Julius plus the time it took for him to get to Bath worked to his own advantage. It put Verbena easily over the fifteen day residence limit to qualify for a common marriage license and spared him a jaunt back to London for a special one.

  Testing her resolve that long would have been a very bad idea.

  Measured steps and the rustle of heavy skirts pulled his attention back up. The aunt came first in a purple gown so rich it surprised him, her face beaming.

  “You are here! How glad I am to see you. What a happy, happy day this is.” She did not come down the stairs, just stood there smiling between him and something beyond the wall, just out of view.

  Irresistible compulsion drew his own gaze after the aunt’s. She had the advantage of knowing what was coming. Verbena seemed to float past the wall’s barrier, and his breath caught. She was a vision, her beauty set free. The gown had been an inspired choice, accenting her slenderness, making her look taller than she was.

  Someone had put her hair up in curls that cascaded down the back of her head beneath the blue bonnet. Smaller curls brushed her cheeks, accenting her dainty features, her delicate nose, her high cheekbones, her wide eyes.

  Her face was whiter even than it had been the first day he arrived, when Edeline’s death had shocked all color from her skin. She looked down at him. For the first time, he saw real panic in her eyes.

  In two great steps, Damon reached the bottom of the stairs, ready to catch her if she collapsed on the way down. It would not be the first time he had rescued her on these very stairs.

  But this time she made it on her own. Her eyes got larger with every step until they seemed to fill her whole face, her steps slowed, but the aunt kept hard on her heels. To ensure Verbena would not break and run back up?

  He did not want to chance it, so held out his hand. And hoped she would take it. Once he had her hand in his, he had no intention of letting it go.

  Letting her go.

  CHAPTER 17

  Damon wore a black coat and blue trousers, white shirt and cravat. He was always handsome, but today looked so magnificent she could hardly believe she had had the courage to turn his first proposal down. And with such fervor!

  He would never be washed out wearing dark clothes, not with his warm skin and black eyes. He had even made an effort to tame his curly hair, brushing the thick waves back from his forehead. He was so tall! She had walked beside him previously, had sat beside him, and never before had his height intimidated her.

  But those other times, she had not been tying herself to him for life. Verbena tried not to shiver during the brief and sadly impersonal ceremony.

  Impersonal except for Damon’s hand
gripping hers so tightly she could not move her fingers in his grasp, so tightly she almost thought he truly wanted this and was afraid she would run away if he let go.

  Aunt Mabel stood behind them, her relief a visible and uninvited guest. ‘A good match,’ she had crowed almost like a chant ever since Damon had told her their news. At least one of them was happy.

  What was he thinking? Words came at them, love, obedience, fidelity, children. Twice she saw Damon give a quick nod, but she could not tell to what.

  When he said his vows, his eyes fixed on hers with almost frightening intensity.“I, Damon, take thee, Verbena, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘til death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight my troth.”

  Then it was her turn. She tried to clear her throat but something seemed stuck there. “I, Verbena, take thee, Damon, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better for worse.” Her throat closed.

  The vicar gave her a stern glance. “For richer for poorer,” he prompted.

  She had to take a deep breath before she could begin again. “For richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey.” Once again her throat went tight. Obey. What a frightening thought. Her life would never be her own.

  “Til death…” The vicar seemed to be losing his patience.

  Then the strangest thing happened. Damon lifted her hand to his mouth and placed the smallest of kisses there, his eyes holding her as warm as an embrace. The vicar cleared his throat in sharp reproof.

  Damon’s eyes twinkled, his mouth crooked upward in a mischievous smile and the tightness that had been near to choking her released. The words came out strong at last, “’til death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight my troth.”