“A boy, my lord,” she announced, obviously pleased to be given the honor of introducing the heir.
Drake studied the red-faced, squalling, kicking creature who would bear the title of earl once christened, and then he met the splendid silver eyes of his wife. “Richard?” he inquired softly. At the tears moistening her lashes, he knew he had chosen rightly. “Richard, Lord Neville, he shall be.”
“He will look like his father,” Eileen proclaimed, leaving no room for doubt.
When she closed her eyes and seemed to sleep, Drake lifted his son from the covers and rose to his full height. Catching both Lady de Lacy and the physician with his glare, he demanded, “When may I take them home?”
Lady de Lacy pursed her lips in contemplation of this question, but the doctor grunted in relief.
“When she says she feels well enough to travel, take her home. She won’t rest here with all this racket, and you’ll not find a nurse willing to live like this. Take her home, by all means.” The physician shrugged on his coat and stomped out.
Elizabeth de Lacy watched him cuddling his son and nodded. “You have won this round, my lord. She is yours. Take care of her.”
Drake relaxed. “You will come with her?”
Elizabeth considered this proposal. “For a time, perhaps. The babies will cause an uproar for a while. But there are other matters I must see to when everything calms down.”
“You know you can call on me for anything you need,” Drake reminded her.
She nodded acknowledgment, but her eyes were on her sleeping daughter. “Let her sleep while she can. There will be no peace once the babes grow hungry.”
Taking this as dismissal, Drake returned to the outer room to introduce his heir to the world. The resounding cheer disturbed the infant into cries of protest.
Within days, Eileen was ensconced among fur rugs and pillows in a carriage traveling slowly along the road to Sherburne. In the seat across from her, Drake watched her for any sign that she tired. The nurse held Richard and her mother held Isabel. Occasionally Drake turned a proud glance to the sleeping infants, but mostly he watched her.
Nervous under Drake’s steady regard, Eileen watched out the window for a sight of the cottage he had promised her. She had never learned to manage servants, knew little about planning proper meals, and knew less about entertaining society. She could never manage the elegant halls of Sherburne, but a cottage would be just her size. Many wives lived apart from their husbands. It would not be any more shameful than his original proposal when he was still affianced to Pamela.
That thought made her restless, and Eileen threw her husband a quick look. If he did not intend to be faithful to Pamela, he certainly would not consider keeping his vows to her. The cottage was the best solution. She could cling to some small part of her pride, and he could go about his life much as before.
Drake gestured toward the village street they now traversed. “It is just ahead, set back from the road. You should see it in a moment.”
Eileen nodded and hid her pain. He had played the part of attentive husband these past days, but the casual deliberateness of his tone now suggested he had tired of it.
She watched with curiosity as a brick wall half hidden under sheltering trees appeared in view. The carriage slowed, and she glimpsed the timbered gables of a tiled roof behind the trees. Her eyes widened as the brick wall opened out on an iron carriage gate, and she could glance up the drive to the towering Tudor mansion set amongst a jungle of trees and overgrown shrubs. The house appeared empty and neglected, but seemed to beg for occupancy. It was magnificent. And enormous.
She turned an incredulous stare to her husband. “That is not a cottage. Is there some smaller building behind that I cannot see?”
“No, this is the place. Don’t you like it?”
As the carriage passed the drive, Eileen craned her neck to look behind her. “The trees are magnificent, but it is a mansion, Drake! I did not mean for you to spend so much money.” Realizing the carriage had passed all possible entrances, she turned to him in puzzlement. “Why are we not stopping?”
“The cost was negligible, but considerable repairs are needed. I have started workmen on it, and when you are well enough, you can oversee what you want done.”
Eileen stiffened. They would be going to Sherburne. “You do not play fair, my lord,” she informed him.
“I do not play at all, my love. The house is yours, as are all my others. For now, Sherburne will be most comfortable.” Drake crossed his arms.
Studying Drake’s firm expression, Eileen lifted a whimpering Isabel from her mother’s arms. She did not understand Drake’s reasoning, but her heart pounded with renewed hope. She could not put her hopes to words. Too many times they had been dashed. She would play his game and wait and see.
Several days later, Eileen was ensconced in the master bedroom at Sherburne. The towering, velvet-curtained bed held the warmth of the crackling fire from the grate, and weak December sunlight crept through the wall of mullioned windows. Heavy, masculine furniture dominated the chamber, but she’d left traces of femininity already. A lacy night shift waited upon the bachelor’s chest in preparation for the night’s ablutions. A pale yellow dressing gown rested over the back of one of the wing chairs. Eileen’s ivory combs and brushes lay upon the dresser, and gift boxes of perfumes, fans, parasols, and other nonsense spilled across the chaise longue beneath the windows. Drake had lost no time in indulging his desire to provide her with everything she could ever need.
Eileen smiled at the other stack of boxes spilling over with pairs of christening gowns, tiny slippers, frilled caps, brightly colored wood beads, and anything else that had caught the eyes of the entire household these last days. Even the maids had brought a pair of toys that vaguely resembled ridiculous stocking monkeys, which they had obviously spent a night stuffing and sewing themselves. The twins would be spoiled beyond redemption before their first birthday.
Propping herself on one elbow, she gazed adoringly at their angelic faces as they lay sleeping among the pillows. Isabel’s sparse auburn curls lay plastered against her cheek, while Richard’s golden locks stood on end in the single curl she had teased it into. She could see evidence of Drake in Richard’s wide brow and square jaw and the dimple in Isabel’s chin. Drake’s children could never be less than beautiful.
“They have grown at least a foot this past week,” Drake observed proudly, entering on silent feet.
“And be full grown by next, or at least walking,” Eileen scoffed. “Your tales grow more farfetched with each telling. You should write them down for your children to read, say, by the week after next. They are slow learners.”
Drake chortled, taking his daughter’s fist in his large hand. “This one looks as if she could write her own. Why should I spoil her fun?”
Eileen studied the strong lines of his face, noting some of the tension had faded, though not all. She wished he would share his thoughts with her, but their separation had been too long.
“Diane says you have never written down your children’s tales. I wish you would. I’d like to hear the one about the leprechaun army.”
Amusement played about Drake’s lips. “You would have me writing nursery tales instead of tending to business?”
“I would have writing tales be your business,” Eileen said vehemently, surprising even herself. “Every time you receive one of those letters from London, your face crinkles up in a frown and you get all grumpy and slam doors. There is no chance they will return you to the Tower, is there?”
Drake caressed her cheek. “No, princess, I have sworn my loyalty and been released on my own name, such as it is. The trial should be cut and dried. But sooner or later I shall have to go up to London, and that is why I frown.”
The knock of the children’s nurse interrupted any further discussion. A footman with a message for Drake was followed by the Monsard brothers eager for a lark. The chance for further privacy was lost. Gradually Eileen was
learning the price she must pay for gaining the man she wanted.
By Christmas Eve the physician agreed Eileen might be allowed from her bed for Sherburne’s traditional gathering if she did not exert herself. Drake took this to mean he might carry her downstairs for the evening’s celebration, and despite Eileen’s protests that she could very well walk on her own, Drake scooped her up and carried her out.
The entire family had gathered before the yule log, and the chorus of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” grew louder at their appearance. Diane struck the last few chords of the song on the harpsichord with a trill of laughter.
Drake found Eileen a seat by the fire, and everyone began talking at once, making it difficult to follow their chatter. Tears sprang to her eyes as Drake’s warm hand squeezed her shoulder in the way a truly loving husband might do. Outside the heavy curtains a light snow fell; inside, the firelight and candle glow illuminated the faces of all those she knew and loved. If she could allow this fantasy of happiness to seem real, she would—at long last—be home.
Only experience had taught her how illusory happiness could be.
The Summervilles joined them for the festivities, and Sir John sat with his brandy glass, listening to the old songs pouring from Diane’s talented fingers. Lady Summerville sat next to Eileen’s mother on the small sofa, both sisters with their heads together, gossiping. The Monsards had sipped more than their fair share of the wassail, and leaned over the harpsichord, encouraging Diane into more spirited tunes, while Michael sat at her side, turning the pages of the music and occasionally joining in the song with his booming baritone.
Whatever the future might bring, this was a far cry from that last unhappy Christmas when Lord de Lacy had appeared and all had gone awry. Eileen squeezed Drake’s hand and rubbed it against her cheek. He had fought long and hard to bring this about; she must find some way to thank him.
As the first haunting refrain of “Good King Wenceslaus” rang out, Drake whispered in Eileen’s ear, “Let me hear you sing something besides tavern songs, princess. I want to hear your voice.”
Eileen laughed as she glanced up to her handsome husband. The blue of his eyes reminded her of the occasion of which he spoke. Still, she was unaccustomed to singing, and she waited for him to join in the tune before making the first tentative notes.
As she grew more sure of herself, she sang stronger, and Drake’s hand squeezed hers in delight. Gradually the others in the room grew aware of her voice and its meaning, and their voices softened until Eileen’s clear, bell-like tones rang through the room. For the first time since childhood, she could join in and raise her voice in chorus with others, and by song’s end, tears blurred her eyes and everyone else’s.
That night, when Drake carried her to the bed she had slept in these last weeks, he did not leave her alone as he had in the past. After laying Eileen between the turned-down covers, he closed the chamber door, then snuffed out the candles.
Eileen watched as her husband discarded his long coat and began to unwrap his cravat. This was his bed and she could not deny it to him, but neither could she act as wife to him. It was much too soon; surely he knew that. She gulped as the last candle threw its shadows over the sculptured torso emerging from the folds of linen. She wished desperately to be held in those strong arms again, but would he be content with that?
Drake blew out the last candle before removing the remainder of his clothing. “It is Christmas,” he murmured, “And I wanted my wife in the bed beside me.” He slid between the covers and wrapped her in his arms. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and nothing more.
“You do accept that I have the right to share your bed, even if it is only to hold you?” he asked.
“I have never denied you that,” Eileen agreed with more than a little relief. After this beautiful evening she could not have denied him anything. Even though she knew she was out of place, Drake made her feel as if she had come home, at last, and she clung to her hopes. Perhaps she could still teach him love.
Drake chuckled. “I must admit, I have had no reason for complaint on that subject. You are a wanton creature, my love.”
Sleepily Eileen kissed his chest and snuggled closer. “If you think I’ll give you reason to return to your harlots in London, you have a maggot in your brain, my lord.”
Drake laughed, but once he felt her breathing even into that of sleep, he grew silent. He had no desire for any other woman. Only he could not risk her life or that of their children by staying here. Word had come that Edmund would be released from the Tower within the week.
Chapter 27
Christmas, 1746
Eileen woke to the tickle of warm kisses trailing down her throat and the wail of a hungry infant outside the door.
“Drake?” she murmured as a strong arm circled her, pulling her over so that his mouth could capture hers. Beneath the hungry pressure of his kiss, Eileen woke joyfully. A sharp rap at the door warned of the fleetingness of this moment. “I fear you will have to wait, my lord. Another’s demands must come first.”
Drake growled something irascible, then, caressing the swollen tip of her breast through the filmy material of her gown, he raised on one elbow. “My jealousy is such that I would keep you locked away from the sight of all others, but I bow to my son’s right to come first, for now. Merry Christmas, my love.” He pressed a kiss against her cheek.
Eileen caught her hands in his hair and persuaded a more satisfactory kiss from him before wiggling from his grasp and sitting up. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Drake went in search of a dressing gown.
Naked, he strode in masculine self-assurance across the room, and Eileen sighed in admiration. It had been months since he had held her like that, and it would be weeks more before she could entice him to her bed again. Her body already felt the effects of their separation, and she did not doubt he suffered similarly. Even the cold chill of dawn did not weaken the evidence of his ardor.
As Drake disappeared into the adjoining room, Eileen called out permission for the nursery maid to enter. Apparently her daughter still slept, so Eileen slipped aside her gown to feed their hungry son. Eileen winced as he found what he sought and pulled eagerly.
When Drake re-entered in his dressing gown, the maids scattered at once. Drake seated himself at the bed’s edge with a package in his hand and watched.
Engrossed in the bond that grows between mother and child at times like these, Eileen did not pay attention until Richard was nearly satisfied. Glancing up, she caught Drake’s look, and her heart leapt an extra beat. His slow smile sent warm shivers through her.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Drake asked, disentangling a strand of her hair from a little fist before taking the sleepy infant into his arms.
The words took Eileen’s breath away, and, flustered, she ducked her head as she arranged the square of soft linen over Drake’s dressing gown and beneath their son’s burbling hiccups. When Richard was well in hand, she adjusted her nightgown before glancing up to see if his words still hung in the air between them. Drake’s proud blue eyes questioned her silently.
“I have only hoped that what I felt was returned, my lord,” she answered, lacking the fancy words for speeches.
Holding his son, Drake pressed a kiss upon her forehead, and presented her with the elegantly wrapped package. “You will forgive my blindness in not seeing that love is more important than pride?”
So he did understand. Feeling completely at one with this man, Eileen smiled and began to unwrap her gift. Inside a velvet box, embedded in satin, lay a gold ring set with diamonds. Eileen gasped.
He removed the band from its box and slid it on her finger. “So all the world will know you’re mine.”
Rendered speechless, Eileen clenched the expensive gift with both hands, finally understanding the completeness of Drake’s possession. She was irrevocably his, as the world would soon know. Stunned, she tried to utter words of love and gratitude, but they did not come wit
h ease. So many things still stood in the way of happiness. How would she ever make him see them?
An interruption prevented any words at all.
Drake cursed at the knock. “What do we have to do to earn some privacy around this place?”
“It will be the maid with Isabel. I’ll send her back to the wet nurse,” Eileen assured him before calling permission to enter. The ring was a symbol she must learn to accept. She was no longer free of responsibilities, but neither was she alone.
A harassed-looking footman opened the door, visibly sighing with relief at discovering his lordship’s presence. “It’s Lord Westley, my lord. He is most insistent that he speak with you.”
Drake frowned. “Westley? I’d thought he’d gone to the Continent.” He glanced at Eileen, apparently torn between leaving her side and addressing business.
Resigned, Eileen didn’t have time to utter the words releasing him before Lord Westley pushed aside the footman. Grayer and thinner, with deep lines ravaging his jaw, the older man performed a quick bow.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sherburne, but I need to talk with both of you. This young cur wouldn’t listen.” He glared at the frightened footman.
Drake dismissed the servant and indicated one of the armchairs. By the time Westley had settled himself beside the fire, the nurse had removed the babe and a maid had helped Eileen into her dressing robe.
Westley gestured to be given a look at the new heir to Sherburne. Satisfied with the babe’s unmistakable Neville jaw, he nodded approval, and the nurse left.
“Fine lad, Drake. And a daughter, too, I hear.” Lord Westley leaned on his walking stick to study them.
Drake sat protectively on the bed’s edge, his arm behind Eileen. “Twins,” Drake agreed. “And Pamela?”
Eileen watched with sorrow as the old man seemed to turn in upon himself and wither before their eyes.
“Dead. Childbed fever. She did not last out the week.” Westley stared into the fire.
Eileen spoke before Drake could recover from his stunned silence. “And the child?”
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