Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  For the first time in her life, Verbena found herself feeling awkward sitting in this so-familiar room. She tried to orient herself with the mundane.

  Books lay scattered about. Hopefully that meant the children had managed to go to the village school per her instructions before she left. What looked like a pair of breeches liberally dusted with straw was draped over the back of a chair, probably from the last visit to the sheds for the eggs. That had probably been done recently, since she could not imagine Mrs. Downs with all her energy leaving dirty clothes sitting about very long.

  “Is Edeline really dead? Just like Mother?” Annabelle crowded by Verbena’s knee. Were it not for Roderick, Verbena thought her little sister would have climbed onto her lap for comfort. How she had missed them all!

  Drawing her youngest sister as close as she could with Roderick in her other arm, Verbena murmured, “She left us the baby to remember her, dear. It is right to feel sad, but we want her baby to be happy, so we will all learn to laugh again.” Tears crowded her throat, but she swallowed them back.

  Roderick was wonderful distraction.

  Julius cleared his throat and surprised her by saying, after that awful pause when everyone pretended he was not fighting his own tears, “I don’t think she wanted to live without Andrew, anyway.”

  Matthew came back down, his face marred with red patches, his shoulders unnaturally stiff. He said nothing.

  Damon did not attempt to draw him into the conversation, just let him blend into the group with his dignity intact. “We do have some good news.”

  “I think I can guess.” Julius managed a smile.

  “You are probably right.” The two exchanged a manly look, then Damon looked around to the other children. “Verbena and I are wed. We would have liked all of you there, but there was not time.”

  “Yes!” Annabelle shrieked, and with the resiliency of childhood began jumping up and down. “I knew you would!”

  Matthew perked up. “Really?”

  “Do we get to keep the baby?” Trust Lizabeth to put her finger on the very reason for the marriage.

  Damon smiled at her. “Yes, Lizabeth, we get to keep the baby. No one will ever take him away from us.”

  “Good.” The single word had so much conviction in it that Verbena had to bite her lip not to smile. “I like babies.”

  She looked around the room at the four children. Where did Damon mean to put them? He had made such promises when he pushed her into the marriage, schooling for the boys, good marriages for the girls, but he had never mentioned exactly where the children would live. Or had he? So much of that day was a blur. So many questions she should have asked then but was so sad and overwhelmed that she did not. Would he hire tutors to come here to this little house? Would he pay governesses to live nearby for the girls?

  Our marriage will be between the two of us. Those words she remembered clearly. Damon could clothe the children and find tutors and still leave them here, in this tiny village.

  Julius was almost grown. He belonged in school, not trapped raising the other children, picking up after the others, sweeping the floors or helping wash clothes. If he got too far behind in his studies, burdened with the weight of new responsibilities, Verbena did not know where he would end up.

  Matthew with his constant restless energy, Lizabeth and Annabelle with their bickering. They all needed her. If Damon removed her to London and told her to leave them behind . . . the thought was terrifying.

  Who knew when their father would be back? She thought of what he would say or do if he came and found a tutor or governess in residence, and shuddered.

  Damon turned to Julius, and said, “I think it best this house be closed. Do you think you can help the other children pack whatever they want to keep? I know this will come as a shock, but I am going to bring all of you with me to London.”

  Relief rushed through her. Her arms shook as they held Roderick, her lungs exhaled an audible breath as she looked around at her brothers and sisters. Four pairs of eyes were not looking at her at all, they were staring at her husband.

  Lizabeth, not surprisingly, was the first one to find her voice. “London? Why do we want to go there?”

  Damon smiled down at her. “That is where I live. Now that your sister and I are married, we will be living in the same house, and I want you to live with us. It is a nice house, and there are lots of things to do in London. There are museums and parks. You girls will have a governess, and she will teach you painting and languages and all manner of things.”

  He turned to the boys. “I need to assess your schooling, both you and Matthew. I have plans for the both of you, but first things first. Start sorting what things you do not want to leave behind before you go to bed. You can spend tonight here. I will leave Mrs. Downs to help the girls. She can stay for the night. Tomorrow the servants will come over and help you take whatever you have set aside to Thernwood so it can be packed up with the rest of what we need to carry. I plan to stay a day or two there while we let poor Roderick recover before he gets loaded for another journey.”

  Roderick was not the only one who needed to recover from the trip, Verbena thought, and watched Damon with narrowed eyes. How like a man not to want to show weakness. If not for those white knuckles, she might not have noticed herself.

  She would pay more attention from now on.

  “Pack and get the house ready to close up.” Damon shared his smile equally with all the eyes staring at him. “In a few days we will be off for London.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “This is your room. That door,”’ Damon pointed to a dark wooden door in the middle of the wall that also held the fireplace, “leads to my room. I will let you get ready, and then I will come visit you.” He gave a bow, slipped out and shut the door behind himself.

  Verbena stood unmoving in the massive bedroom. The fireplace warmed her back, and candles stood on the two small night tables, one on either side of the bed. She could never have imagined being in a bedroom big enough for two chairs, three tables, an armoire and a bed the size of her kitchen. It was not just the size that was imposing. The wood it was made of caught the eye as well, a heavy dark wood, four poles so big around she could not circle them with her two hands, going up to form an open rectangle. At one time it might have been draped with a canopy, but the frame overhead was empty, which struck her as rather strange.

  She could not take her eyes off that connecting door. His bedroom was just on the other side.

  The tapes of her cloak were stuck in a hopeless knot. Verbena fumbled with it, picking at the ribbon, fighting to get the knot to unravel. Each tug made it worse. Relax, she ordered herself, and took a deep breath somehow, past the constriction of her lungs.

  A knock at the hallway door startled her just as the cloak came free.

  Two burly male servants stood outside, identically dressed in the family uniforms she had spotted often from a distance, carrying a large round basin, bigger than any tub she had ever seen. “Sir Damon said to bring your bath,” one of them said, and they shuffled past her and into the room, setting the basin before the fireplace. A young maid followed them, carrying towels, a basket of small bottles that no doubt held perfumed oils, a small cloth that draped over the basket’s edge, and a pale pink silk robe over her arm that shimmered in the light.

  “Mr. Damon said this was for you, with his compliments.” The young woman laid her burdens on one of the tables, turned the covers down across the whole width of the bed, and curtseyed.

  A curtsey? For her?

  “I can help you get those clothes, ma’am.” The maid curtseyed again.

  “Oh!” Verbena looked again at the young woman. She was not just a maid, she was a lady’s maid.

  The idea of anyone else being here as she got ready for her actual wedding night was appalling. “Perhaps not tonight, thank you.” The girl’s face fell. “What is your name?”

  The maid’s face brightened. “Mary, ma’am.”

  “
Well, Mary, I’m certain I will be grateful for your help in the days ahead.” Just not tonight, Verbena thought. Tonight her blushes were just for herself, not for the staff.

  When the footmen left the tub full and steaming before the fireplace, Verbena hesitated, listening for any sounds from next door. She wanted that bath. It had been, oh goodness, how many days since she had been really clean? Her wedding day, maybe.

  The basket held a small dish with soap. She flung off her gown, and peeled off her corset and stockings, grabbed the soap, towels and that pink robe, setting them close, then slipped into the water. Oh, it felt good! Warm but not too warm, and the soap a soft cake, perfumed even, so unlike the harsh lye and ash-base stuff she had always used.

  Verbena lathered her hair first, rinsing it off in the tub, and smiled at the glistening suds that floated around her. She used the small washing cloth to smooth the bubbles over her skin, then slid down and leaned against the rim, letting the heat relax her muscles. A pail of water had been left for rinsing, and it must have been near boiling because it was still pleasantly warm when she stuck a finger in it to check.

  She wanted to luxuriate in the water longer but sounds suddenly slipped through from Damon’s room. Verbena froze, listening to two male voices and the tone of dismissal before the outer hallway door opened and shut. She stood quickly and poured the rinse water over her.

  His valet was leaving. Damon would be here in seconds! Skidding on the floor, she grabbed frantically for towels and the robe.

  No sooner had she wrapped the robe around herself and tied the belt, her hair wet down her back, when the door opened. Damon stood fully illuminated in candle and firelight, his features limned by the flickering flames. He crossed his arms and leaned on the jamb. He was a beautiful man, with his black hair and eyes as dark as the most moonless night. The long dressing robe covered his body, only his hands and forearms showing.

  “You knew I was coming – that this was coming,” he said softly, his deep mellow voice the first touch.

  “Yes,” she said just as softly, for really what else could she say? “Where is Roderick?” Anything, she thought, to change the subject, to delay what was coming.

  “He is with the maids. They are nearly fighting over who will watch him.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Come, come, my dear. You will not get rid of me that easily.” Then he sobered. “How much do you know about what happens between a man and a woman?”

  “Nothing,” she answered. Maybe if he knew how very ignorant she was, he would go slowly and let her get used to this awkward intimacy. It was bad enough having a man walk into her room, even after the past two nights. But those hardly counted, since they had been dressed for both of them.

  She knew he wore nothing under that dark brocade.

  Oh, she was not ready for this! She wished she could turn the clock ahead until tomorrow when this was done and she knew all there was. But the only way out was through.

  He crossed the room toward her. She wanted to stand still, to face him bravely, but she backed up despite her own wishes until her legs hit the edge of a chair close to the fireplace and she tottered.

  Damon caught her hands before she went down, only he did not let go once she was steady. Or was she steady? Maybe she would never be steady again.

  “Your hair is wet,” he said, and smiled. “Give me the towel and I will dry it for you.” He looked beyond her. “There must be a comb in that basket.”

  She did not know, she had looked for just the soap, but Damon was right. He shuffled through the bottles and came up with a silver comb.

  A silver comb. It would have bought them food for a whole week, maybe longer, and she was going to pull that through her hair!

  Only she did not use it. Damon did. He wrapped the towel around her hair and squeezed it section by section until she felt the cold wetness leave.

  No one had combed her hair since her mother died. The gentle scratching of the teeth against her scalp sent tingles down her arms. He worked through the snarls with care, and she shoved aside the question of how he had learned to comb a woman’s hair so gently. He was preparing her for what was to come, and she knew it.

  This will be a real marriage, and I look forward to having more children of our own. Children. Her breath came faster as memories returned, Edeline, screaming as she fought to push out the baby. And herself, watching her sister’s life drain away as she stood helpless, cradling the tiny newborn.

  Damon must have noticed the change. He turned her around. “What is the matter? What has happened?” His hands moved from her shoulders to her arms, holding her still as he scanned her face.

  “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying,” she gasped out.

  His fingers tightened. “Dying? There is nothing – Oh. I see.” His face softened. Pulling her gently against himself, Damon wrapped his arms around her. His voice crooned in her ear, “Oh, my dearest, I can only imagine what you went though.” His hands stroked up and down her back. “I did mention children. I cannot promise that I will not make you pregnant tonight, but I can promise that you will receive the best of medical care.”

  Then he smiled ruefully. “This is hardly the discussion for our wedding night. Before we get to pregnancy and birth, we need to consummate our union, and consummation is,” he gave her a roguish smile, “wonderful. So, if we can go back to where we were?” He did not give her a chance to answer, just leaned down and claimed her mouth.

  *

  “Augh!” The sudden bellow startled Verbena out of sleep. She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding, wondering what pulled her awake. Cold air bit at her skin. Her eyes would not open but, when she wrapped her arms around herself, she realized she was naked.

  The night came back in a rush, and heat, the only heat in the entire room apparently, flooded her cheeks. She flopped back down and tugged the covers over herself. Maybe sleep would claim her again, and she could dream about the night’s wonders. Her lips curved upward. Who could have known the sweetness in the marital bed? In spite of the other travails in this marriage, the smile did not go away.

  “Gaw!”

  Her eyes flew open.

  Damon rolled to his side, groaning with pain. Verbena recognized the sound of agony, and popped back upright. She watched in dismay as he lay taut, his hands tight fists holding the sheets like a lifeline, his jaw clenched so tightly she feared his teeth would crack.

  “Damon! What is the matter? What happened?” She reached out but, afraid to cause more pain, her hand hung suspended just above his shoulder. “Damon?”

  “Don’t look,” he begged past those clenched teeth, and turned his own head away as if humiliated.

  “Don’t be silly.” Verbena looked around for her robe. He remained turned away, still wrapped up in his pain. Her legs wobbled when she slid out of bed, another surprise. When she got the robe tied, she looked back at him.

  And caught her gasp.

  The covers around him had slipped away with his tortured thrashings. The leg was the worst, his poor, damaged leg, a deep gouge of torn muscle where a bullet must have traveled, several small holes where others had gone straight in, and a small puckered hole just above his hip, matching another ugly ring several inches away. She did not need to have been in battle to know what those two circles were, an in-and-out path from yet another bullet.

  Amazing that he could even walk. As he lay, fighting pain, his head still turned away, his eyes pressed tightly shut as if he could ease the pain if he could not see the wound, he held the leg stiff, the muscles pulling so tight she could see each one, thick uneven ropes, bumps of spasms standing out under the reddened skin.

  Someone had shot Damon when he was already wounded, she knew it with a rage that shook her own body. Had he rolled away to keep the bullet from hitting his heart? Is that why it had almost miraculously hit in such an innocuous part of his side?

  He would not want pity. He needed relief, and thanks to the bottles of lotions, and the time she had spent learning to
ease her dying mother’s pain, that Verbena knew she could provide. There would be time later to weep for the hurt he had endured.

  Compassion washed through her. Her poor, brave, wounded husband. She had wanted to learn more about him. It appeared she would get her wish and then some.

  They needed warmth. She replenished the fire and pulled the screen into place, then turned toward the basket still on the table by the fireplace. Good. The lotions would be warm.

  She lifted out the colorless one, and pulled out the stopper, to be knocked back by a wash of thick scent of flowers and femininity. Stoppering it as fast as she could, Verbena waved the fumes away from her nose and pulled out another, and another, each more flowery than the previous. The last one, a small pot, finally was what she needed, a smooth, thick white paste, and thankfully little smell.

  Verbena carried it to the bed and, gathering her courage, climbed up to kneel by his side. She scooped out a small palmful, rubbed her hands together to soften it and leaned over him. He jolted at her touch.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. “Just relax.” She slid her hands down over his knotted leg. He exhaled, and a shudder rippled along his skin.

  Verbena froze. Was that good, or bad? His jaw was not quite so tight, she thought, and it gave her heart. White paste melted into his skin as she worked down his thigh, calf, ankle, leaving them shiny.

  Shiny and smoother, the knots gradually released under the steady pressure of her rubbing. The clock ticked, and a log snapped apart in the fireplace. How long had she been at this? Her hands were aching. Funny, she had not felt it until now.

  Quiet, slow breaths told her Damon had fallen asleep. At last. Verbena rubbed away the last of her handful on her own skin, and grabbed the blankets from the bottom of the bed, pulling them over him to keep him warm.

  She climbed in with her robe pulled tightly around her, and huddled under the covers until the heat from his body warmed her.