by Nicole Byrd
“What’s wrong?” Adrian said sharply.
“I think—I think a bee has stung me,” Maddie said, still holding her neck.
“Oh, ’ere, miss. Let me get you some cool water. You’ll need to take out the stinger,” the housekeeper said. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen?”
While the viscount waited in the sitting room, Maddie, with Felicity and the housekeeper, went back to the kitchen. The housekeeper set about fetching what they would need, and after Maddie took off her bonnet, Felicity examined her neck.
“Madeline, this does not look like a bee sting,” her friend said slowly, “and there is certainly no stinger.”
Maddie looked into a small looking glass that the housekeeper had brought out for her use. She held it up by the handle and examined the streak of reddened flesh on the side of her neck. “No,” she said slowly, glancing toward the housekeeper, who had gone to prepare a basin of water and clean cloths. “I believe you are right. Perhaps a wasp.”
“But”—Felicity began—“I don’t think—”
Maddie sent her a warning glance. She took the cloth that the housekeeper held out and bathed the reddened skin, wincing at she touched it. “Thank you.”
She put a small pad of cloth over it and arranged her bonnet so that when she tied the ribbon, the wound would be hidden. “This will do, I think. No need to make a big fuss.”
When they had turned down, with thanks, the housekeeper’s offer of tea and were ready to leave, she muttered to Felicity. “I don’t wish it commented on.”
“But don’t you wish to tell the viscount?” her friend asked.
“Especially not the viscount!” Maddie raised her brows in emphasis.
The widow looked concerned, but she nodded.
All three of them were quiet as they walked home. Maddie noticed that they set a smart pace as they hurried through the trees toward the Applegate residence, and none of them inquired as to why they walked so quickly.
When they reached the house, Felicity went up to put her purchases away. Maddie went to help Bess with dinner, as she usually did, but presently she found that Felicity came to take her place, and Bess and the widow seemed united in shooing her out of the kitchen.
“Go and spend time with your fiancé,” Felicity suggested. “Don’t waste a minute.”
“He’s likely chatting with my father,” Maddie argued.
“No, indeed, your father is taking an afternoon rest,” Bess said.
“And I’m sure the viscount would rather have you to visit with than me,” the widow said, dimpling. “So out with you!”
Maddie untied the apron she had put on to protect her dress and hurried down the hallway. It was true; time was flying by, and there was so little of it left. How had their three weeks, which had seemed like such a relatively long time, in the beginning, gone by so fast?
She found the viscount in the sitting room, but he looked up at once when she came in the door.
“There you are. Would you like to take a stroll around the garden before dinner?” His smile was mischievous, and remembering what they had done during their last stroll in the garden, she blushed.
But the garden gave them more privacy than the small sitting room, so she nodded and they headed out of doors.
“I cannot believe it is already another week gone by,” she said as they entered through the gap in the tall hedge.
He put his hands on her waist and swung her lightly around, then stopped and put his arms about her. “No, nor I,” he admitted. “My darling Miss Applegate…”
Bending his head to kiss her, he pushed her bonnet back, reaching down to untie the ribbon and free her of the tight-fitting headgear.
At first she lifted her face eagerly, anticipating the delight of his kiss. Then, remembering the reddened strip of skin on her neck that she had not wanted him to see, Maddie paused. “Wait!”
He stopped at once. “What is it, Madeline? Or should I say Miss Applegate in truth?”
She flushed, not sure how to explain her change of heart. But if he saw the marks and understood what had happened, she would lose all hope of persuading him to stay.
His eyes had narrowed, and he gazed at her. “Have I offended you?”
“No, no, it’s not…” Her voice faded. She could not think what to say.
“Are you feeling guilty? If I have pushed you too far, too fast, then I am most sorry, my dear,” he told her, his tone serious. He allowed his hands to drop, and he stepped back a pace.
It was as if a great gulf suddenly yawned between them.
Maddie wanted to weep. “There is nothing I have done with you that I regret,” she whispered, “please believe that.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“Adrian.” She paused again, not knowing how to explain.
The day was fading into twilight, and candles were being lit inside. She could see the soft glow behind the curtains. When the silence stretched, he spoke. “Perhaps we should go back to the house. But, Madeline…”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“Do you still wish the banns to be read tomorrow?”
Unshed tears made her throat ache and stopped her voice. She swallowed hard; all she could do was nod her head.
“Very well,” he said, and offered his arm as they turned to walk back across the uneven path toward the house.
It was just as well that the sunlight was fading; perhaps he would not see the teardrops on her cheeks.
Thirteen
That night Maddie slept very ill, and when Bess brought a cup of tea before she had to rise and dress for church, she saw a pale face staring back at her from the small looking glass above her dressing table. The other parishioners would think that she was dreading her own wedding, she thought, sighing as she picked up her cup.
In a way, she was, since the ceremony would release Adrian from his self-imposed promise. Once the propriety of her social status was assured, he would be free to leave.
She could not bear it if he walked out of her life!
She dressed quickly, but was human enough, or female enough, to try to make herself look as nice as she could, though there was little she could do about the dark circles under her eyes. As a result, she barely made it down the stairs before Thomas brought the carriage around.
She and her papa and Felicity crowded into the small vehicle, and Adrian rode his own steed the short distance to the church. Thomas and the viscount saw her father safely down and into his wheeled chair and they went into the building and found their usual pew.
Adrian excused himself for a few minutes before the service began. She opened the prayer book and tried to read from it, but she could not bring her thoughts under control. They darted here and there like the bees outside that hovered over the late-flowering autumn shrubs.
Even when the viscount slipped back into his seat just as the vicar began to speak, Maddie found that she could not focus on any of the readings or the hymns. But the reading of the banns made her sit up straighter. She glanced at Adrian from the corner of her eye, especially when the vicar repeated the viscount’s invitation to the parishioners to come and witness the “happy event.”
Did his expression appear somewhat grim today? What would the rest of the people in church be thinking—the future bride looked as if she were troubled, and the groom looked severe. The villagers would suspect they had been quarreling. They were almost correct, Maddie thought, miserable that she could not explain to Adrian her confused emotions. She simply wanted him to stay, but she had told him that, and it had done no good. He was so sure he knew what was best, but it did not mean it was best for her, for pity’s sake!
Was it more than that? He did seem very reserved today, and he’d hardly glanced her way the whole morning. He held his prayer book out now, but did not stand as close to her as he usually did.
Did he regret having pledged himself to her? If he was sorry that he had proposed too quickly, too rashly, that would break her heart. She wa
s probably imagining things.
She had to talk to him, Maddie decided. This guessing game would drive her mad. But what could she say? The service seemed to last forever. At last the final prayer was said, and they were able to slowly make their way toward the front of the church and speak politely to the vicar, who spoke jovially of the coming ceremony.
“This will be a memorable week for the two lovebirds, eh, Mr. Applegate?” the churchman commented as he leaned over to shake hands.
“Yes, indeed,” her father said, with a polite smile. But he, too, glanced at her with concern in his eyes.
She tried to smile naturally, but she said nothing. When at most other times she would have regretted the viscount’s absence from the carriage, today she was glad he was riding. She gave a pleading glance toward Felicity, and her friend, interpreting it correctly, at once begin to talk about the trim on her wedding dress and how it must be carefully pressed before Wednesday.
“Because it would never do to walk down the aisle with wrinkled lace, of course,” she said cheerfully. “I would be happy to help. I have a steady hand with a flatiron, if I do say so.”
“You’re very kind,” Maddie told her, and she meant her thanks for more than just chores with her new clothes, as she was sure Felicity was aware.
They were able to keep up the innocuous chatter until they reached the Applegate residence and were out of the carriage and had gone inside for Sunday dinner.
The viscount was quieter than usual even during the meal. Although he kept up a polite conversation with them all, she could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere.
When her father had retired to his room for his usual afternoon nap, she found her courage had sunk to a new low, and she could not face a private chat. She decided to stick close to Felicity, but that strategy was doomed to failure as Adrian quickly separately the two of them. If he had been this skillful in his maneuvers on the battlefield, she thought wildly, he must have been much feared by his foes.
“Perhaps we could take a stroll outside, Miss Applegate?” he asked her, with great formality.
“Ah—I should help Bess with the clearing away, first,” she faltered.
“I’m sure Mrs. Barlow would not mind helping out,” he said firmly. “And I do need a word.”
Maddie gave Felicity a stricken look, but could hardly protest.
“Of course, I will,” the widow said. “I had meant to, anyhow.”
So Maddie had no excuse but to take the viscount’s arm and accompany him out once more to the garden at the side of the house, where they had their best chance for privacy. This time, she did not think it would be for a brief bit of illicit lovemaking. His forearm felt tense beneath her hand, and the side of his face again looked more severe than usual.
Was he terribly angry at her?
She felt her stomach go hollow. Maddie never did well when people acted wrathful. She felt the telltale tension in her temple that preceded her sick headaches, and thought, No, no, not now. That was the last thing she needed!
Without speaking a word, they walked side by side to the bench at the side of the garden. Then he stopped, and Maddie sat, a bit abruptly. She thought he would sit, too, but to her surprise, after a careful survey of the surrounding trees and shrubbery, he stood before her instead. His hand went inside his jacket.
“I have recovered your ‘bee,’” he told her as he withdrew his hand.
“What?” For an instant, she was quite bewildered. Then she stared at the small metal object he held inside his palm, and she felt her cheeks go first hot and then cold.
It was a bullet, slightly flattened on one side where it must have hit the stone wall of the building.
Was that what had struck her neck yesterday at the vicarage? While she stared in horror at the bullet, he spoke again.
“This is why you did not want me to take off your bonnet, was it not, Madeline? Or should I say, Miss Applegate?”
“Oh, my lord, do not be angry!” she pleaded. “I wasn’t sure!” Without thinking, she put her hands to her face. Then, afraid he would think that she was dissembling once more, she hastily lowered them back to her lap.
“May I?” He reached to untie, very gently and slowly, the plain bonnet she had donned before going out, and then pushed down the high neck of the dress she had chosen to wear this morning.
He touched the reddened streak on her neck, and she winced. The spot was still tender.
His expression made her flinch again.
“Madeline—if this had been an inch or two further to the left, we would planning your funeral service today, not your wedding!”
“But—we don’t know that it was your enemy—”
Again, the fierceness of his countenance made her shiver. “Madeline, you are being nonsensical! How many times have you been shot at before during a quiet walk through the village?”
They both knew the answer to that, so she had no easy reply.
She blinked hard against betraying tears, and at last, he sat down beside her. But he did not touch her, and the small distance between them seemed as wide as the length between York and London.
Just when she thought she must break into sobs, she must plead, she must beg—he spoke very quietly. “You must know that I do not want to leave you, Madeline. You have given me more reason to want to stay, to want to live, than I have had for years.”
Unbidden, hope sparked to life, only to sputter and die miserably when he spoke again.
“I cannot put you at risk.” His voice was husky. “You are too valuable to me, Madeline, my love.”
My love—he would call her that now, when he was preparing to leave her? Madeline bit her lip. “I cannot bear for you to go!” she exclaimed. “I think I have the right to decide if I wish to risk my life beside you!”
He gazed at her for a moment with what she thought must surely be admiration. But he shook his head. “My darling, now it is my turn to tell you I have not been honest.”
“What?” That was the last thing she had expected him to say.
“I have another foe who threatens my life, more dire than even my deranged cousin.”
She stared at him, afraid to hear what other threat could be out there.
He lifted her hand, which she had unknowingly clenched into a fist, smoothed out her fingers, and put it inside his jacket, inside his waistcoat, and allowed her to feel the beating of his heart. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fine linen of his shirt, and she leaned closer, wanting to press her cheek there, as well.
“This,” he said.
She blinked at him, not sure what he meant, then she realized what she was meant to feel—a fine line that seemed to lie very close to his heart. A scar? It was so thin that she had not even noticed it in the heat of passion the one night they had made love.
Not sure what to think, she looked up at him.
“It’s a fragment of the bullet from the duel,” he told her, his voice steady. “The surgeon tried to extract it, but decided it was impossible, as the shard lay too close to my heart.”
Something too studied about his tone warned her. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked.
For a moment he didn’t answer. “He said it would not be, immediately.”
“Immediately? What does that mean?” she prodded, when he seemed reluctant to finish.
“He said that the shard would eventually travel toward the heart and—and the result would be—ah—unfortunate.”
She gazed at him in horror.
“So—”
“Adrian!”
“So,” he went on, “I seem, one way or another, to be a poor bet for a husband, but I thought I could be of use to you at the moment, at least. When my attempt to aid you, that night in the woods, appeared to cause you even more distress, Madeline, it was the least I could do.”
Trying not to weep, she could not answer. She had thought he had only one slightly mad would-be assassin to outwit, not that his own body would eventually betray him.<
br />
“I have written to my man of business and my solicitor, sent a new will,” the viscount went on. “You will be well provided for, I give you my word. I have a handsome estate in Huntingtonshire—I wish I would have the opportunity to show it to you myself, but”—he hurried on, because she had made a small sound of distress deep in her throat—“the point is, you will have an ample income. You can stay here or move your father there, anything you choose, Madeline.”
She could no longer hold back the tears. “I choose—if I could choose,” she told him, “I choose for you to live, Adrian.”
He put his arms around her and gathered her close, and this time, neither spoke. He held her tight against him, and at least for this moment, she could hear his heart beating against her cheek, and know that he was alive, very much alive.
The autumn sunshine flowed in golden rays about them, and a few trills of birdsong sounded from the trees. Once more, she wished desperately for the power to stop the moment and hold it still in her hand.
After holding her in silence for a space, his cheek against her hair, Adrian straightened and asked, “Do you still wish to marry me, Madeline?”
She frowned at him, wanting to box his ears, wanting to hold him close and never let him go, and exclaimed, “Don’t speak nonsense, Adrian. And never, ever speak less than the full truth to me again!”
“Yes, my lady,” he answered, his tone meek.
Maddie wiped her cheeks and hoped she was reasonably composed before they went back inside. They could not speak of the subject inside the house, of course. Maddie was sure Felicity was brimful of curiosity, but this time, she could not indulge her good friend by telling her the topic they had discussed.
After a light supper, they played a few rounds of cards, then all went up to an early bedtime.
But that night Maddie could not sleep. Thinking of Adrian so near and yet so far, and soon about to slip away from her completely, she lay miserable and wakeful in her bed. She wrapped her arms about her sides, clutching herself tightly, wondering how she would ever go on without him.
It was only a short time ago that Adrian had ridden into her life, yet now he seemed so necessary to her comfort that she knew that she would feel as empty as a hollow rind when he had mounted his horse and ridden away. And to think of him in such danger twice over…