by Devon, Eva
He loved his father dearly.
Once, he had been the greatest of men.
He could still remember the good times. When the illness had not entirely controlled his papa. His father had taken him all over the land. They had ridden wild together across the fields.
When there had been more bad days and they had stayed within the walls of the castle, his father had told him many wonderful stories and taught him to play chess. They’d read Chaucer, and together, they had planned a bright future for the estates of the Duke of Royland.
Could he do as Penelope said? Could he make some sort of plan which would assure him that all would be well, no matter what happened?
He drew in a long breath, turned from the parapets and battlements, and realized that he could no longer spend so much time in self-reflection.
It wasn’t helpful, for he simply thought the same thoughts again and again. No, the best thing that he could do was turn to his wife and choose action.
So, he turned down to the circular stair and made his way along steps that had been worn smooth by the tread of more than a thousand feet.
He stopped at the door that would lead to his father’s rooms. First, he would say hello there, and then he would go down and check on Penelope’s father.
No doubt his soon-to-be father-in-law and his soon-to-be wife were together, planning some vast literary conspiracy to sway governments and people into action.
It had delighted him to realize that Penelope cared as much about politics as he did. And she loved to write about it as he did.
In conversation, it had become very clear that that had originated with her father. Finley had immediately gone into the library and read almost every unfamiliar tome. He’d then written up copious amounts of notes about the subjects.
Finley, his daughter, and Rafe had spent every evening for the last week, reading, writing, and discussing the various possible treaties and ideas that could be put together to change the country’s ideas about slavery and the treatment of freed people in the world, and how they might be protected.
Rafe started to knock on the old oak door with the heavy iron hinges leading into his father’s sanctuary, but then he heard voices inside. He expected to hear his mother’s voice, but then he realized it was two men.
He froze, his breath caught in his throat.
He couldn’t be hearing correctly.
Even servants generally did not come into his father’s room.
There were just a few that they trusted well enough to do that.
What the devil was going on?
Ever so slowly, he opened the door and gazed inside.
The rooms were rich and comforting.
His father had done well over the years, making sure that he had an almost cocoon-like atmosphere of tapestries hanging from the walls, of Persian rugs upon the floor, of soft leather couches and Damasked chairs about him. A fire almost always crackled in the cool hours of the evening or morning.
A grog tray sat in the corner with several decanters of brandy and wine, their matching crystal goblets awaiting to be used. A teakettle hung over the fireplace so that his father could make himself a repast anytime that he wished and not have to worry about servants trooping up and down the many flights of stairs it would take to be waited upon.
And there, before the fire, a table between them, two men sat talking. Each held a few books.
The two were discussing some topic as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and as he studied them, Rafe realized it was.
His father and Mr. Finley were chatting as if they had been doing it for years. For the first time in a very long time, his father looked absolutely and positively delighted.
Mr. Finley too, seemed relaxed, leaning back in his chair.
Rafe swallowed a well of emotion.
“Come in, my boy,” his father suddenly called. “Come in.”
Rafe jolted at being caught, but then did so, taking careful steps into the room. What the devil should he say?
Had Penelope told her father? The thought was a painful one.
That did not bode well.
He had asked her to keep the secret.
He understood it would be difficult to keep something like that from her family, but. . .
“Now, now, now,” Mr. Finley said, looking at him. “I can see the look upon your face, dear boy. You think that my daughter has told your secret, no?”
Had he truly just been called dear boy by Penelope’s father?
He still allowed his father to do it because he was, well, his father, but Mr. Finley, an older and obviously intelligent gentleman, had just called him such an endearment. It seemed astonishing to him.
He found he rather liked it.
“Did she not tell you?” Rafe asked.
“No,” Finley pronounced, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You will have to understand, you see, I’m a bit of an adventurer, and I don’t always sleep well anymore. Old age and the worries I have from the actions that I may or may not have done over the years do come upon me in the middle of the night.” He cleared his throat and folded his hands, as if preparing for a grand tale. “And I’m not one to lay in bed and think about my troubles. You see, I get up and I have a wander. Last night was such a night. I thought it would be quite delightful to go up and see the top of the castle by moonlight. Instead, I discovered your father.”
“Did you, by God?” Rafe whispered, shocked.
His father laughed, a sound that Rafe was beginning to grow accustomed to and was slightly shocked by. He couldn’t recall his father laughing so often as he had since he met Penelope.
Suddenly, Rafe felt a rush of joy.
Perhaps his father’s existence, even if limited, was not such a very sad one.
Mr. Finley nodded. “Yes. You see, and your father was kind enough to invite me in for a glass of port. We began discussing literature as one does, and it turns out that we have quite similar tastes, though we disagree on the way that the country should be run.” Mr. Finley shook his head and tsked. “He seems to still be a monarchist.”
Rafe laughed. “Well, he is a duke.”
“Fair point,” Mr. Finley said. “Still, I’m not the greatest believer in the greatness of kings.
The duke rolled his eyes, his lips parting in a delighted grin at the rich conversation. “How can you call yourself an Englishman, good sir? Can you not love your country and your king? Look at what those idiots did during the Civil War.”
“Oh, I agree with you. I would not welcome back the Puritans for anything,” Finley agreed emphatically. “They had a few good ideas, but largely, they were a terrible lot. No, no. I’m a much bigger fan of the fellows off in the United States of America.”
“Do not say it,” Rafe’s father drawled. “Those upstarts? Good writers, though, I agree. Had a great deal of fun reading all the Federalist Papers and those sort of things, and that Thomas Jefferson fellow, he really does know how to write.”
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him, you know?” Mr. Finley said.
Rafe’s father sat up a little straighter and blinked. “Have you, by God?”
“Yes,” Finley said, then took a drink of port. “I met him when I was in Paris.”
The duke nodded. “Interesting, interesting. It’s one of the great disadvantages of my condition. I never get to meet very many interesting people. I’m very glad to meet you, sir.”
Rafe looked from one older gentleman to the next, and was fairly gobsmacked that the two were taking this in such stride.
After all, his father had met no new people in the last almost five years, and here he was, having met two new people in as many weeks.
Rafe was suddenly flooded with hope as he realized that meeting Penelope had proven to be the greatest fortune of his life.
Chapter 24
The wedding took place at nighttime in the small chapel off the side of the house.
The chapel was as old as almost any in England with s
mall, beautiful stained-glass windows.
Penelope stood, looking at her soon-to-be husband, amazed.
She’d gone to London but weeks before, thinking to find a husband who would merely secure her in her dotage, and then she’d realized that was the last thing she could possibly want. And most stunning of all, she had found a duke to be her mate.
He gazed down upon her as if she was the most beautiful thing in the world, and she could scarce believe it.
When the doddering, old Bishop looked down upon his prayer book through his thick spectacles and pronounced them man and wife, she happily stepped into Rafe’s arms and took his kiss.
This was the first moment of a wonderful future together, and she could not wait. He pulled her tightly to him then led her down the aisle.
Up above, she caught a glimpse of two gentlemen, spying down from the shadows of the choral area. The only persons who had been in attendance were his mother and the butler. They had been their witnesses.
But her father and his father had quite happily sat up above, watching them wed, and it had been perfect. It had been almost unfathomable, the fact that his father had left the castle. But he had gritted his teeth and walked the short way, in the dark to the chapel, his knuckles white all the way. But he had come. And she could not be prouder of the man who was now her family.
She could not have wished it any other way.
As they went out into the dark night, lit only by torch light, she squeezed his hand.
“You’ve given me so much,” he said, his voice a bare trace in the night. “You’ve given my father so much.”
“Do not love me for what I’ve given your father,” she teased.
“How can I not?” he challenged lightly as he stopped their pace and cupped her cheek with his palm. “You’ve returned a smile to his face. He’s laughed more than I’ve heard in years, and even your father has proved a wonderful companion in our house. My mother also has not been so happy for years.”
“And you?” she prompted. “Have I done anything for you?”
He pulled her towards him, tilted her head back, and took her mouth in a searing kiss.
“Penelope,” he said. “You have given me everything, and I adore you for it.”
“And you,” she whispered back, “have given me such a great gift as well. Love. Wonderful. Beautiful. Love.”
Together they walked up to the castle, his mother not far behind, giving them the distance that a new couple needed.
He swept his new wife up into his arms and carried her up the steps.
She tapped his shoulder. “You cannot possibly mean to carry me to your chamber. It is quite the distance.”
“Do you think so little of me?” he quipped. “I have been a soldier amongst men, an officer, a gentleman, a boxer in the arena, a politician.”
“Yes, and very proud of yourself, too,” she teased, unable to hide her joyful smile. “I can see.”
He laughed. “Well, would you have me change? It is how we met, my arrogance, after all.”
“No, I would not change that about you, my love. I adore it,” she admitted as she linked her arms about his neck. “Your arrogance is charming in its own way, as long as you don’t mind me giving you trouble about it every now and then.”
“I cannot imagine my life without you giving me a bit of trouble, Penelope.” He stole another hot kiss before resting his forehead against hers. “It is the zest which makes life worth living.”
She swallowed, overcome with emotion and so light, “I’m glad you think so. Otherwise, we should have to part quite quickly.”
He shook his head. “We will never part, my love. You are like the ivy,” he began.
She arched a brow. “Oh, and that makes you the oak, I suppose?”
“What, would you prefer to be the oak?” he asked, his voice a rumble of amusement. “Shall I be the ivy?”
“Don’t be silly,” she tsked. “I should make a very poor oak tree, indeed. You are the one with legs as large as lumber.”
He rolled his eyes, his lips twitching. “That is a very strange metaphor, my dear.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, I must admit that carrying a babe has made my brain quite dull. It is no longer as sharp as I’d like.”
“Your brain in this condition is sharper than most anyone’s in their best state,” he defended passionately.
She adored him for his comment, true or not. “That is the loveliest thing a lady could hear.”
“And that’s all I wish,” he said. “For you to feel as if I think you’re the loveliest thing in the world, both mind, body and soul, for you are, Penelope. You are.”
Chapter 25
Rafe studied the essay his wife had written that very morning.
It was a remarkable thing.
He had no idea how she did it so quickly or so easily. She put together words the way some people put together great works of art.
There was no question.
In but a few hours, he’d send this to the printers, and it would go out.
Surely, her more inspiring words would bolster some people into action. He too, would send it out with a letter to his fellow parliamentarians, hoping that they might be encouraged by her powerful statements even if they were penned by Anonymous.
Rafe drew in one of the clearest, most relieved breaths he’d taken in years.
With her passionate protestations of the necessity of dignity for all humans, no matter what continent they were born on, surely some would listen.
He had to believe it, or else he would give up entirely. No, that was not true. Penelope wouldn’t allow it.
They were both creatures born of fire, and he was delighted for it. He folded up the essay. Quickly, he heated wax, ready to send it to Fleet Street.
Just as he was about to press his seal into the melted mass, there was a frantic knock at his door.
It burst open.
Rafe stood frozen, staring at his groundskeeper.
Generally, the groundskeeper did not come to the house unless it was an appointed time.
The man’s face was flushed red, his hair wild about his head.
“What is it, James?” Rafe demanded.
“There’s a ruffian on the estate!”
“What do you mean?” Rafe asked with almost deadly calm.
“I saw him, a rough-looking fellow, Your Grace. He is clearly not meant to be here.” James gestured wildly towards the window. “I would have shot him myself, but I wasn’t entirely sure. You do have such kind ways, Your Grace, but he doesn’t seem as if he belongs here.”
Rafe’s blood ran cold.
Penelope.
She had gone on a walk this morning, determined to think of new things to say about the particular problems that were facing the country.
My God, what if she was. . .
“Come, James, we must go at once,” he said.
James nodded.
“Are you armed?” he asked.
James nodded again. “Yes, Your Grace. I always do carry about a pistol with me, just in case.”
“Give it to me,” he commanded.
James did as ordered.
Rafe took the weapon then bolted down the stairs at a pace so fast, he was astounded he didn’t trip and break his own neck. But something was driving him wild, a need to protect his child and to protect his new bride.
He was determined to save his wife, no matter the cost. He only hoped that he got there in time, or that the rough man going across the estate had nothing to do with his family.
But suddenly Heath’s words, of so many weeks ago, crept up on him, and he thought of his own arrogance and his own vanity.
Penelope had teased him about it, but now, now he felt a chill creep across his spine. Perhaps it had come back to haunt him, and it was going to be his downfall, after all.
Chapter 26
The last days of summer were absolutely beautiful.
She loved the feel of the warm summer glow upon her s
kin. It was just what she needed after weeks of nausea.
Finally, she was feeling herself, and it was absolutely wonderful to be out in the air. Soon the leaves would turn a beautiful autumn gold. They would fall to the ground, and her child would be born in the winter.
But what a wonderful thing it would be to be all nestled in the castle with her newborn and her husband.
As she sat with her traveling writing desk upon her lap, she considered how she might make the world a better place, not only for her child, but for so many others.
The last days had been wonderful. She wished everyone to know such happiness.
Each day, she and Rafe had taken to not worrying about anything else but what they could do in that moment. They loved each other deeply, and she was amazed to see that Rafe had somehow managed to let go of his fear, or if he did feel it, he was not speaking of it in the same way he had been before.
Just as she was about to start a new line, she heard a crack behind her.
She tensed, but then she laughed at herself. No doubt it was simply a fox or a deer in the woods.
The estate was rife with animals. After all, they were deep in the country.
But then there was another crack, and she tensed again because, this time, she was certain it was not an animal.
It sounded much more like footfall.
Very slowly, she tilted her head to the side. Certainly, it was some estate worker, a servant perhaps, or someone who was looking after the grounds.
But then her hair began to stand up at the nape of her neck, a sure indication of danger.
She truly believed in human instinct, and she seldom felt afraid. She felt afraid now. Penelope carefully placed her writing desk down, but not before she took up her letter opener, a beautiful silver thing embossed with roses.
It would do in a pinch, she had nothing else that she could protect herself with.
“Hello, Your Grace,” a voice said from behind her, and she turned, oh, so slowly.
“Hello to you too,” she said. “May I have the honor of knowing who you are? It is an acquaintance I have not made before, I believe.”
The man smiled a slow, thick grin, revealing yellow, half-broken teeth. “You’re right, Your Grace. You never have met me before. I don’t think you’ve ever met the likes of someone like me in your life. But here I am, and it’s about time you did because I hear you and yours are making trouble for me and mine.”