Gerard returned the bow. “I am one amongst many now. I have been given back life and found love.” He turned slowly, his hand still clasping Faith’s, to confront his father. “Why? Why did you allow me to believe I was dying?”
“Because I wanted you to die,” came the steady reply.
Chapter Sixteen
Gerard knew the power of silence. He waited for his father’s explanation. He felt strangely impassive, as though his emotions had drained out of him. But, familiar with fatigue, he recognized it as simple tiredness. A man could only cope with so much at once.
While he had suspected his father of wishing for his death, he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He believed it now. His father left him no choice.
Boscobel appeared soulless, his gaze calm, his demeanour impassive. “You were a disappointment to me,” he said casually, as though discussing politics or estate management. “I wanted a son who would rule the world at my side and provide me with support. Your senses are too nice, too particular for me to use you. So I decided to keep you trapped in a crippled body.” So calmly he said it. That he could do that to his son. He sighed and crossed the room, picking a glass from the tray on the elaborate sideboard. “I thought to allow you to die by making you believe you would kill any woman you slept with. I knew you were too kind-hearted for your own good, and if you thought you’d kill your bride, then you would refrain until I was ready for you. I had arranged for you to sire an heir before you went.” Gerard heard Faith’s indrawn breath behind him. It was so cold, so calculated.
Boscobel went on as though he’d heard nothing. “That, I’m afraid, was a failure. However, we can still arrange something.” He lifted the empty glass. “I want you to take the test. Now.”
Someone moved forward. Stretton. “It is usual after a binding to take the test. However, it must be their choice. It has always been their choice.”
Gerard turned to Faith, ignoring everyone else in the room. “Do you want to?”
“What test?”
Gerard knew she was tired, mentally exhausted. She needed to lie down, preferably in his arms. He wanted to get this over with, wanted her rested before she made her first appearance this evening. The best way to do that, he thought, was to get this idiot test over with. “We mingle drops of our blood in a glass to see if they blend together. If you and I have blood that isn’t compatible, we’ve lost nothing. Nothing, Faith. We will have children with red blood who we will love, and we will die together, as I wanted all along. If not, we’ll cope. It doesn’t matter to us, love.”
“It matters to us,” Stretton said. “The Olympians.”
Faith gazed at Gerard with total trust that melted his heart. “I’ll let you make this decision, my love.”
He swallowed. Her trust humbled him. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Then let’s finish this.”
Before he could move forward, Stretton forestalled him. He stepped forward and drew a wicked looking knife from his pocket. At Gerard’s raised eyebrow, he merely smiled. “Since we have our physician with us, we might choose to use his services.” He presented the knife on the back of his arm to d’Argento in an exaggerated gesture of courtesy.
D’Argento bowed as he took it. Gerard appreciated their attempts to lighten the occasion, but since he’d pledged to hold no secrets from Faith, he couldn’t send them a message. He made a smile and a bow suffice. Gerard took the knife. “Sweetheart, if you’re sure?”
Wordlessly, Faith nodded. Gerard felt for her mind, knew she agreed, but only he would make the cut.
Stretton took the glass and poured water into it.
He took her hand and kissed the palm. Ignoring everything else, he held the knife poised above her hand. It seemed wrong that his first act as a husband would be to mark her, but she held her mind open for him now and showed him her total faith in him. Through her eyes he saw the ivory haft, carved in scenes he chose not to examine further. He touched the blade, tested the sharpness, assessing how much pressure to apply.
He applied the blade across the ball of her thumb. It cut through the outer layer of her skin without effort.
Blood flowed. When he felt the cold glass against his other hand, he gripped it, thrust it under her hand. It seemed like ages, but her blood hardly covered the base of the water-filled vessel before d’Argento said, “Enough. Now you, Ellesmere. You must do this quickly, before the blood clots.”
He took the knife and kept his eyes on hers when he applied it to his own skin. His ichor might be poisonous to her, but hers couldn’t harm him. He wanted the contact, wanted the touch of her blood in his, even if it might never happen the other way around. He deliberately made the same cut in his own skin as he had in hers. They mirrored each other.
He held his hand over the glass. He watched her eyes as his blood dripped. She showed no fear, no pity, although his blood flowed clear as water. He saw his ichor through her eyes. It glittered, shimmered when the spring sunlight caught it. At that moment he didn’t care about the result. Only her.
Gerard held out his hand and felt the application of cloth. He held steady until his hand was covered and secured so that no more ichor would escape. There was danger to the most important person in the room here, and he refused to take any chances.
Before taking her hand, he examined his own, to make sure none of his blood had seeped through the bandage. She had bound her own wound herself. Pity. He wanted to do it.
“Ready?”
At her nod, he secured her hand in his and together, they turned their heads to view the glass.
Globules of red floated in the iridescent mass. There was no blending. The blobs appeared strange, floating up and down, as though gravity didn’t exist in the vicinity of the glass, but somewhere else in space. Gerard felt nothing. No disappointment. Perhaps a tinge of relief.
He turned back. “It seems we’re fated to live as normal people, Faith.”
Her smile was warm and welcoming, a smile he would willingly drown in. “I never thought of myself as anything else.”
He caught a shrug, exchanged between Stretton and d’Argento, but he didn’t care. They would have to find themselves another Jupiter before too long.
Stretton drew breath. “Your decision?”
“I’ve been given more years than I hoped for. I’m happy with the allotted threescore years and ten. I’ll die when Faith does.”
Faith shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it now.”
“No indeed,” Stretton said. “I won’t attempt to dissuade you, Ellesmere. There is great unhappiness in outliving a love.”
“Or two,” d’Argento added from behind him.
“As you say.”
As one man, they confronted the duke. “Old man, you know the rules.” It was d’Argento. “You will be tried and punished according to your crime.”
“I know no crime.” The duke’s voice was low but penetrating.
“That’s why there is to be a trial.” Stretton, the joy in his voice entirely gone, now only sounded dark. “You will be heard and accused. For the record, I accuse you, Kronos, of attempting to control and use mankind for your own purposes, for your own ends. This is against what we have decided and agreed on. You will stand trial.”
D’Argento’s voice sounded behind him in light counterpoint, brightness shimmering through his words. “Until then, your powers will be as nothing.”
“You can’t do that to me.”
“There are three of us. We can.”
Gerard opened his mouth to protest, but Stretton said quietly, “Just lend your powers to us. Close your mind to your wife and allow us to direct you. We will do nothing other than close his powers down. We can’t do it for good, not until the decision is made, but we can do it temporarily.”
Gerard glanced at Faith, who nodded her agreement. She felt his mind close, and a bleak loneliness she had never been aware of before swept over her. He’d left her. The constant presence she’d accustomed herself to had gone. She stepped bac
k.
Although she had no connection to the three men standing confronting her new fatherin-law, Faith felt the tension draw tight between them. No one moved. Not a muscle, not an inch, but their eyes fixed on the proud, upright figure of the Duke of Boscobel. Speaking would have been sacrilege.
“Damn you!” Boscobel spat.
“It is done,” d’Argento said quietly. “The duke will be harmless for a day or two. Or as harmless as any other human being.”
“Which isn’t saying much,” Stretton added wryly. “I’ll stay here, with your permission, to keep an eye on him.”
“Granted gratefully,” Gerard said.
Faith felt a flood of love when he opened his mind once more and welcomed him back. With their connection so fresh, separation hurt her, actually created a pain much like a headache when he left her mind. She wouldn’t tell him for the world, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it would always be that way.
Faith moved forward to take Gerard’s hand, stretched towards her. “Come, love. We have a ball to prepare for.”
Unsurprisingly, Faith had completely forgotten the ball.
Two hours later, Faith, arrayed in blue and silver, felt more like a doll than a human being. She vaguely wondered how she would ever get out of this outfit, as she had been sewn into some parts of it. The bodice fitted her like a second skin, the sleeves clung tightly to her upper arms to explode in a froth of Méchlin lace at her elbows.
Baker put the finishing touches to Faith’s hair and stepped back. “You’ll outshine everyone, my lady.”
Faith doubted that, but she hadn’t appeared so grand in her life before. She creaked when she moved, thanks to the bones in her new stays. That would wear off in a day or two. Either that or she’d revert to her old, comfortable pair.
When her husband entered the room after a soft knock, Faith stood and twirled, the better to show him her finery. His appreciative smile was all she needed, but she was to receive more. He came forward, a black jewellery box in his hands. “These are yours by right now. You won’t want to wear them much, the design is too old-fashioned, but it will demonstrate to the world that you are my wife better than any words.”
He put the box down on the dressing table and watched her open it.
Diamonds, pearls and sapphires. The diamonds gleamed more than glittered, their cut not the modern triple style, but the rose-cut favoured in the last century, a gentler glow. The sapphires were of a true blue, clear and flawless. Each large stone was edged with small pearls, and a large pearl drop hung from the centre of the necklace.
Faith reached out and touched the pearl. Cold and smooth. When Gerard lifted the necklace from the box, she stood, watching in the mirror, as he laid it gently around her neck and fastened it at the back. It felt heavy and chilled her skin.
She regained the power of speech. “Family jewels?”
“The best,” he said calmly. “Nobody has worn them since my mother died. They are only for the duchess or the heir’s bride. That, my sweet, is you.” He bent and dropped a gentle kiss on her shoulder.
“We’re really married? None of that seems real now.”
“Really married,” he said, a touch of smugness in his tone. “We must be, you’re wearing the Boscobel sapphires.”
He lifted one of the two bracelets and clasped it around her wrist. Faith sank into the nearest chair, and Gerard smiled as he watched Baker put the rest of the jewellery in place. A large brooch to fasten her corsage at the front. Another bracelet and several clips for her hair. She must be wearing a king’s ransom.
“Funny you should say that,” Gerard remarked. She hadn’t, and Baker glanced at him curiously but said nothing. “That pearl in the centre was given to an ancestor by Queen Elizabeth for some mysterious service. Ordinarily I’d suspect a personal service, but not from the Virgin Queen.” His silver eyes twinkled at her, and she laughed, feeling human once more. “The sapphires came from my great-grandfather, who invested a great deal of money in the East India Company. The diamonds, or so it’s said, were a ransom. A lady, betrothed to a Boscobel years ago, when the title was but an earldom, was taken by King Henry VIII as a mistress. In return, Henry bestowed the diamonds on the earl. He had them made into a necklace, the precursor of this one. My great-grandfather had the diamonds recut and the present design made to incorporate the grandest of the family jewels.” He reached out, as she had done, and touched the pearl. “Perhaps it’s time to have another remodelling. Diamond cutting is better these days.”
Faith put a protective hand to her chest. “I like them as they are. The diamonds look almost black in places. They have a mysterious air, something more romantic than today’s glitter.”
Gerard laughed, a joyful, unshadowed sound. “My romantic bride. It shall be as you wish. There is other jewellery, but it’s more modern. You can look at it another day. Most of it was my mother’s.”
“Deborah? Shouldn’t she have some?”
“She’s had a generous amount. My mother left her much of her personal jewellery.” He paused, his eyes dreamy. “She didn’t care much for jewellery, but my father made her wear it. Inappropriate to her station to appear in the simplicity she preferred.”
“You remember your mother?”
“Yes, but only a very little. She died giving birth to Deborah, so I was only five.”
She felt his melancholy, but recognized it as a familiar thing. Gerard would have liked a mother. Now that his father had been exposed as a blackguard, there was no parent left for him to trust. For the first time, Faith felt of some worth. She was here to care for him and give him all the family he wanted. She would make sure he never had a lonely moment.
He took her hand and slid a ring on the second finger, the final touch from the set. A large sapphire, surrounded by half pearls. When she moved it glittered icily in response. “We must go.”
He sighed. “Yes. We must. Are you ready?”
As ready as she could be.
The ballroom at the Earl of Buckfast’s London home was formed from a large salon at the front of the house, made larger by throwing open the gilded double doors into another salon beyond. Very few private houses had dedicated ballrooms, but the grander establishments had the means of creating one. London, at least the part of it that mattered, was filling fast in preparation for the Season. Families with important Parliamentary concerns had been here for a while, but now the families of young, nubile girls were added to them, and the Season would be in full swing in a week or two.
Into this Faith had to make her debut as the new Countess of Ellesmere, married to the heir of Boscobel, one of the premier peers of the realm. She climbed the stairs with Gerard, a stiff, formal figure beside her, one arm supporting her hand, the other loosely by his side. If it weren’t for the Boscobel jewels, he might have outshone her. Dressed in regal purple, he appeared dark and moody, with a white waistcoat rioting colour under the taffeta, but the huge amethyst on his finger was worth a king’s ransom, and the diamond gleaming in the folds of his neckcloth was worth another.
Her dress helped. The magnificent gown, the dazzling jewellery, all helped. Faith thought she could have sent the ensemble in on its own, and it might have received the same round of applause that greeted their appearance.
She stood with Gerard, perfectly still, and at the end bowed her head in acknowledgement. Gerard gave a perfectly executed, perfectly correct bow. Then he lifted her hand to his lips.
That was where correct behaviour deviated somewhat. The kiss he placed on the back of her hand was followed by a longer, more lingering kiss to her palm. Without a word, he had demonstrated his respect for her as his countess and his love for her as a woman. I want nobody to doubt it.
It’s dangerous, Gerard. What if you decide not to like me after a year or two?
It won’t happen. I love you, Faith.
I love you, Gerard.
It felt thrilling, declaring her love in front of all these people. To kiss him on the lips would h
ave been vulgar, wrong, but no one could fault a kiss on the hand or the smouldering glance that passed between them for a bare instant.
They were not left on their own for long. Lady Buckfast swept forward, her thin husband in her wake. “Such an honour to be the first to welcome you as earl and countess at my ball. I am exceedingly glad for you, my lord.” She gave Faith a gleaming look of appraisal. “My dear, I hope to see more of you this Season.”
Gerard made a small sound of demur. “I hoped to take her away for a while.”
“You cannot possibly deprive us of this treasure.” Faith recalled being called other than a treasure in the recent past. She expected worse, but Lady Buckfast had no unmarried daughters and could afford to be gracious. Faith had disappointed many hopeful mamas today.
“I will promise not to spirit her away immediately, ma’am,” Gerard replied with a smile. “We have a little business in town.”
Lady Buckfast curtseyed and moved on to Stretton, who escorted Deborah into the ballroom. Stretton was still a prospect. Faith felt Gerard wish him joy of it. You see, my love? You have saved me from a terrible fate. Faith took one look at the female staring at Gerard and giggled. The girl was beautiful, breathtakingly so, but her openly avaricious gaze marred that appearance. She gave Stretton a thorough inspection, then moved on to the couple behind them. D’Argento. Her eyes widened.
Who is this girl? D’Argento’s question broke into their minds.
If you want her, you’ll have to marry her. She’s the eldest daughter of the Duke of Icemere. She’ll be betrothed before the Season is a month old.
Not to me. D’Argento’s tone was amused.
The newlyweds led off the first minuet, the opening dance of the ball. They had not arrived early, and Faith strongly suspected the dancing was held back for them. She didn’t care. She was with Gerard and for tonight at least, nothing else mattered.
Gerard didn’t leave her side all night, except to relinquish her to the gentlemen who requested a dance with her. He took the floor with his sister, then one or two of the older ladies. The younger ones he left alone and they, after a few languishing glances, left him alone. If they had designs on him, they would wait until the honeymoon was over. Faith received a few notices of intent from some of the younger, married ladies. There was a new game afoot, and Gerard and she had just moved into a different room in society’s mansion.
Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1 Page 21