“Physically, yes. Spiritually, well, that is another story. I have come to pry into your story. Do you like it here?”
“Very much,” Eileen replied, remembering the larkspur in the cloister garden. She very much needed her roots in the ground for a while.
The priest appeared surprised but pleased. “Most young people would find the silence unbearable. But you are an unusual case, I understand.”
Eileen crossed her hands in her lap and stared at them. “Perhaps, Father. I am much accustomed to being alone, if that is what you mean.”
“Ahh, your young man does know you well. Then let me ask you this, and please feel free to be honest in your answer, would you care to stay with us for a while?”
His voice was kind, but the question caught Eileen by surprise. She had just been thinking in those terms. Did the man read minds? She responded without thought, “I would like that, yes, but. . .”
The priest waved his hand for silence. “First, let me tell you I have had a long talk with Lord Sherburne. He tells me you have saved his life, and in turn, he fears yours may be in jeopardy. Is there some truth to this?”
Puzzled, Eileen met the man’s gaze. “Yes, I suppose, but I had not. . .”
He shook his head. “You will notice I come here without him, to allow you to speak freely. Lord Sherburne is a kind gentleman, but he has a tendency to be. . . how do you say it?”
“Forceful,” she said wryly. “To the point of autocratic. But if it is his idea that he might leave me in safety here, then, yes, I agree with him. My only fear is that his forcefulness may persuade you to do what you will regret later. I am no nun.”
The old priest chuckled. “You and your Lord Sherburne are well matched. I enjoy your honesty. Do not concern yourself over worldliness corrupting the sisters. We will welcome the chance to teach you what your neglected childhood has not, but I promise not to preach. I think the opportunity is well met. Elizabeth must make some decision soon. Your presence here should aid in that decision.”
Eileen was alarmed at the swiftness of events. Agreeing she would enjoy this respite was not the same as actually staying. There were other things to consider, things Drake knew nothing about. And now to consider her mother, too. . .
She shook her head in dismay. “Father, I do not know. I do not want to be anyone’s burden. I do not want to be responsible for anyone’s decision. I cannot even make my own right now. Has Drake already gone?” Panic-stricken at this idea, she clasped the priest’s hand desperately.
He patted her hand. “No, of course not, child. I simply wished to talk with you alone awhile. He is being very hard on himself, and I wished to be certain we were doing the right thing. I think we are. You will be free to come and go from here as you please, paint as you wish. But if it is rest and safety you desire, we offer that, too.”
Eileen relaxed and leaned against the ladder-backed chair. How much had Drake told this man? How much did she dare say? It would be easier to risk this one man’s horror and disgust than to suffer it later from the convent’s entire population. She could not hide her burden for long.
“I do not know how much Lord Sherburne has told you, Father, but there are some things even he does not know. If I stay here for any length of time, the services of a midwife will be required. Are you certain you can tolerate that much corruption?”
A worried frown appeared between the old man’s eyes. “I think that Lord Sherburne’s suggestion is an excellent one in that case, my dear. No one will have to know the exact date of your wedding vows and the child will be born into secure respectability.”
Eileen’s eyes shot open. “Wedding vows?”
“Of course,” the priest replied, rising from his chair. “Lord Sherburne has asked me to perform the ceremony on the morrow. I will leave it to you to break the news of his heir. He should be quite pleased.”
Stunned beyond comprehension, Eileen remained where she was as the priest hurried to fetch the bridegroom. She had never contemplated marriage. Had Drake given up all thought of returning to England, then? It had not sounded so earlier. Why, then, would he want to marry her? He had a fiancée waiting for him, one who would make a much more respectable marchioness than she. Whatever on earth could he be thinking of?
From the doorway Drake could see Eileen’s frozen features and his heart lurched. She meant to say him nay. How could he force her to his will? The old priest had seemed confident that all was well, but he did not know Eileen as Drake did. He could read the stubborn tilt of her chin now, see the storm warnings in her eyes, taste the sweetness of those parted lips. On that final thought he entered the room.
Eileen watched him suspiciously as he crossed the room. Drake drew her from the chair, taking her in his arms. “Father Chardin tells me he has been precipitous in asking you what I should have asked long ago. I would hear your answer for myself. Eileen, will you marry me?”
She hid her face against his chest and shook her head in sorrow. “Don’t, Drake. We owe each other nothing. I do not require legalities for what we have been to each other. Thank you for bringing me here, but you may leave with clear conscience without marrying me.”
Drake slid his hand into the thick knot of hair at her nape and pried her head away from the pillow of his chest so he might see her eyes. “I won’t leave unless you marry me.”
A quirk of amusement turned the corners of her mouth. “Whatever would the poor sisters do with you lurking about? A man such as you would give the young ones second thoughts about a life of maidenhood. I think they would be forced to throw you out.”
A matching wry smile tilted Drake’s lips upward. “Then marry me and the only maidenhood spoiled will be your own.”
“Drake, I cannot. . .”
He crossed her lips with his fingers. “Do not tell me no, princess. My reasons are selfish as always. You are all that I have in this world now. If I should lose you, I would have no reason to return, no reason why they should not hang me by the neck if that is how the decision goes. Give me this one hope of the future I crave, princess.”
He meant to return to England and take up the fight in person. Eileen studied his lean, determined features in dismay, noting the new, harsh lines beside his mouth where once there had only been merriment. She touched his lips, smoothed a stray wisp of hair back from his temple, and still he waited, willing her to agree.
“You know I can never be a marchioness, Drake. If it is your wish, I will wait for you here. If you must return to France, I will marry you then. I need no more than a roof over my head. We can live in a cottage, and I will draw pictures for the stories you write. That’s all I want, Drake.” Tears rimmed her eyes as Eileen stared up into the deepening wells of Drake’s eyes, feeling his resistance. “Won’t my promise be enough?”
Drake’s grip on her waist tightened. “No, princess, I trust in the fates no longer. Marry me now and let me leave with some confidence that a future awaits me. I will not go without your solemn vow.”
What he asked was madness, every instinct cried alarm, but she could not deny him. He did not love her. He could not take her back to England and pretend she was a noble lady. But those were problems for the future. For now, she loved him too much to let him go without consenting to his one request. May the heavens forgive her, she belonged to him.
Eileen’s hands tightened behind his neck. “I should say ‘no’ and make you stay,” she whispered tauntingly.
A gleam of hope leapt to Drake’s eyes. “I will make your life a living hell,” he warned.
“I know.” Sighing, Eileen stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the corner of his hard lips. “For that reason alone I give my consent.”
“Witch,” he muttered before capturing her mouth with his, sealing the indictment.
Chapter 19
Excitement poured from the convent tucked among the hills, taking flight in exuberant song and winging through the air on laughter. Never before had a wedding been performed in the jewel-like chapel
; never before had two such handsome young people graced these walls. The charisma of love enveloped the cold stone walls and filled the cloister with warmth and sunshine.
That the bride was the daughter to one of the inhabitants had no small part in this miracle. Most of the sisters had dedicated their lives at a young age and knew nothing of the outside world. Sister Elizabeth carried with her an aura of mystique, and the marriage of her daughter in the chapel set her even further apart.
She appeared in Eileen’s small cell before the ceremony. The happy humming and twittering that had accompanied the impromptu fitting abruptly halted, and the two younger novitiates left mother and daughter alone.
Elizabeth caressed the mantilla of lace draped over Eileen’s flowing hair and smiled at the ivory satin retrieved from some long-locked trunk. The gown’s style was of another era, if it had ever possessed style at all. Heavy lace ruching filled the bodice and spilled over into wrist-length sleeves. The material itself clung to Eileen’s waist and fell in a waterfall of heavy satin. The hem had been hastily basted so she did not trip over the yards of material, but the long train behind her remained untouched. The ancient elegance suited the bride’s classic beauty, and her mother nodded her appreciation.
There was so much Eileen needed to say, so much she wished to know, but no words came to her tongue as she met her mother’s gaze. She found approval there and acceptance. That would have to be enough.
“You have met Drake?” Eileen asked in hushed tones, as if she were the one who should not speak.
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes lighting with laughter as she gestured to indicate his height and broad shoulders.
Eileen understood this universal woman’s language and grinned her agreement. “Yes, he is very handsome. And strong. And when he laughs, bells ring and there is music everywhere. And when he scowls, clouds form in the distance. He is a man, for all that, and I love him.”
Elizabeth nodded approval and touched her daughter’s cheek. Upon discovering the trace of moisture there, she cried in distress and wrapped Eileen in her embrace. With a whispered “Your father would approve,” she fled the room.
That was all the reassurance Eileen needed to carry her to the lovely chapel, where an ancient organ rang welcome in mellow tones. A choir of angels accompanied it, and the perfume of dozens of roses permeated the coolness of the darkened walls as she entered. The sun glittered and danced through the breathtaking stains of indigo and crimson in the windows, and Eileen could barely turn her fascinated gaze from this display to the altar.
But when she found the man waiting at the end of the long aisle, Eileen could not turn her eyes away. All her life had led her to this moment and to this man. Whatever may come of the future, this moment was right.
The rich blue velvet of Drake’s coat had been brushed and pressed until it glowed much as the windows above, but no more so than his eyes when Eileen entered. He stood straight and tall as she approached, not moving, his gaze following her progress to the exclusion of all else. No smile bent his lips, but the admiration and joy in his eyes produced the same effect. A whisper of happiness rustled through the chapel.
When she reached the altar, he closed his hand around hers. A streak of light from the rose window over the nave glimmered gold in his queued hair. Eileen wished she could capture it on canvas, but already the priest had begun his prayers. They knelt on the velvet cushions, and the priest’s blessings fell upon their heads. Eileen knew only the strength of the man’s hand clasping hers, and the familiarity of the masculine arm rubbing against her shoulder. The ceremony became just a part of the spell that bound her to him.
When they rose to take their vows, Eileen’s gaze met Drake’s, and her heart leapt to her throat, making it almost impossible to speak. The blue of his eyes had darkened with some emotion that made it almost possible to believe he meant the promises he was speaking. In a low, nearly inaudible, voice Eileen repeated the vow to “love, honor, and obey,” and the spark of laughter that appeared in Drake’s eyes almost decimated what composure she still retained. He knew obey was not a word much used in her vocabulary.
Before she was even aware of what he was doing, Drake lifted her hand and slid his signet ring over her third finger. It hung loosely, and he closed her fingers into her palm to hold it in place. Hands clasped, they made their final promises, and the priest sealed their vows with the sign of the cross.
Gently Drake touched Eileen’s cheek, turning her gaze upward. His kiss was soft and tender, just brushing the edges of her lips, not daring more before this audience. Eileen could feel his breath upon her skin, and a tremor swept through her. Now his possession was complete.
The desire just this brief touch stirred bound them in a manner stronger than the words they had just uttered. Drake pulled her arm through the crook of his, keeping her close as he led her down the aisle. Aware of the way his long legs moved, of the strength of the arm holding her, of the way these things felt when he took her to his bed, Eileen could concentrate on nothing. She was his. Finally and irrevocably his.
It would not do to ponder the complexities of her new status. With a smile Eileen met the hugs and kisses and congratulations of these people she scarcely knew. Even when the priest brought her mother forward, she felt detached. Drake murmured praise and gratitude, bringing a touch of rose to her mother’s cheeks, but the confusion in Eileen’s mind prevented hearing their chatter.
As they strolled toward the dining hall to celebrate the occasion with feasting, Eileen’s head began to swim, and she clung to Drake’s coat sleeve, bringing the procession to a halt. Drake darted a quick look to her pale face and swept her up in his arms before she could fall.
White with fear, Drake demanded, “Where can I take her?”
In a flurry of consternation the older nun directed Drake to the gardener’s cottage that had been cleaned to welcome the bridal couple. In a few strides Drake was laying his bride on the sweet-smelling sheets that was to be their marriage bed, and the crowd was left outside. Only the priest and the nun and Elizabeth entered the room.
“Eileen?” Anxiously Drake knelt beside the bed, as he touched her cheek, searching for some sign of fever.
Dizzy, Eileen tried to sit, and Drake lifted her to arrange pillows behind her. She held her head, trying to shake away the unsteadiness. “I feel so foolish. I am sorry, Drake. Do not let the festivities stop because of me.”
“What is it, princess?” Drake’s voice was deep with concern as he poured a cup of wine from the bottle the priest produced and handed it to her. “Shall I send for a physician? You look so pale. . .”
Eileen sipped reluctantly at the wine. “I am fine. It’s just the crowd. . . I feel a little dizzy. Please, Drake, go on and do not let me keep everyone from their meal.”
Behind Drake, the priest frowned, but he laid a hand on Drake’s shoulder and urged, “I will send the apothecary to look after her. Perhaps it would be best if we left the women alone. It is not odd for a new bride to faint from emotion on her wedding day.”
Murmuring assurances, he led Drake from the cottage, leaving Sister Agnes Marie and Eileen’s mother behind. With a stern look of admonition the older nun commanded, “Your daughter will be in your charge while she is here, Elizabeth. I will leave it up to you to see to her now.”
With the stiff scrape of her coarse habit against the planked floor, she departed. Nervously her mother glanced to the closing door, then back again to her daughter upon the bed.
Feeling the mattress sag with her mother’s slight weight, Eileen opened her eyes again. The emerald eyes that met hers were clouded with indecision and uncertainty.
“Do not worry, Mother.” Eileen smiled at being in the position of reassuring her parent rather than the other way around. “I am not fevered, only enceinte, as the French say it.”
Elizabeth gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. And then a small light gleamed behind her eyes as she saw Eileen’s shy pride in the fact.
�
�It seems your husband follows in his father’s footsteps.” The words were whispered with a ripple of laughter. “If I remember rightly, Drake was born only five months after the wedding. I was still in the schoolroom then, but the scandal was fabulous.”
Eileen’s lips turned upward at this piece of gossip. “In that case, we are being quite discreet. A six-month baby is not entirely unheard of.”
Elizabeth’s laughter turned to anxiety. “You are so young. It seems so sudden. . .” Frowning, she finished, “You have not told your husband.”
Eileen sank back into the pillows. “Nor will I. He would not leave me if he knew.”
Elizabeth shook her head in puzzlement. “That is bad?”
“I don’t know,” Eileen whispered in distress. “If he stays, he will lose everything—his family, his home, his good name. If he returns to England, he may well lose his life. How can I make that decision for him?”
“Holy Mother of a merciful God.” Elizabeth clasped her daughter’s hands within her own, feeling the old pain return, seeping into her bones and filling her heart with anguish. For so many years she had questioned God and then accepted Him. Now he hurled thunderbolts again. Only this time, it was her daughter who suffered. To find peace, she would have to deny her love, and staring into Eileen’s anguished face, she could not do it.
Bowing her head in acceptance, Elizabeth spoke firmly. “You cannot. Your husband must fight for what he believes, just as your father did. To ask them to do less would be to ask them to be less than men. You have made the right choice.”
“Thank you.” Wearily Eileen closed her eyes and slept.
When she woke, the sun had shifted to the west, filling the cottage’s mullioned window with light, illuminating the dancing dust motes. With wonder and delight Eileen stared up into the streaming shards of light, until a movement diverted her attention.
“You look just like a fairy-tale princess come to life, my love.” Drake entered the stream of sunshine, catching the brilliant rays in his hair as he bent over her with an anxious gaze. “How do you feel?”
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