“It will be a surprise for you, my love. Many surprises, and you’ll enjoy every one. I promise you.” Harry gently pushed her off him, spooned against her, tucked her head under his chin and hugged her tightly. “We’ve our wedding tomorrow. And two hours left before dawn. We need our sleep.”
Rowena felt his lips graze her ear. Heard him whisper, “I love you, Rowena.”
“I love you too, Harry.”
is hand moved back over her hip and found the nub resting
They woke after Trevan’s knock on the door. They left the bed some ten minutes later after a very quick and fevered bout of love making which began when Rowena bent over the bed to reach for her robe tangled in the bedcovers, while Harry happened to be standing behind her.
Now dressed, Harry walked toward the door, burnishing a wide grin. He stopped, turned to her as he remembered something. “Oh, Rowena love, what was the name of the man who was meeting with Percy Davitt that day we were at the George and Pilgrim?”
“Oh, George Whitely.”
“Then Davitt and Whitely are two of our men. For the man who shot Lyon mentioned a few names.” He would not mention Dalworth’s name to his wife on her wedding day. “He said it was definitely a George with the last name of White-something or another.”
“Oh?” Rowena frowned. “George Whitely is our nearest neighbor. How frightening.” Her bright smile faded.
Harry returned to his Angel. Gently caressed her face. “Do not worry about any of this today, love. I’ll see you at the altar soon.” He smiled, placed a quick, noisy kiss to her lips.
“Yes. You will.” Rowena smiled after him. It was her wedding day. She and Harry were getting married!
It was fortunate that Trevan Chynoweth’s third cousin on his mother’s side, Reverend Jonas Lanfear, was a registered clergyman of the Anglican Church. For the aging Reverend Nicholas Thomas of St. Benedict’s fell and broke his arm that very morning. The Reverend Lanfear helped himself to Reverend Thomas’s registry, vestments and everything else he needed to perform the ceremony at the Stonedown Manor Chapel.
Being small, the Norman chapel was nearly filled from the few family members and the larger number of Harry’s friends in attendance. Those relatives of Trevan’s who did not know Harry before arriving at Stonedown remained at the Manor on guard duty. All others were seated or standing in the chapel awaiting the arrival of the bride.
Micah stood with Harry near the altar.
Trevan and his brothers and cousins, along with Wyldhurst, escorted the carriage which contained Rowena, Sir John and Harry’s sister, Caroline, who was to stand up with her.
Rowena wore a gown she had never before worn, a pale silvery-blue satin trimmed with airy silver gauze and lace. She wore long white gloves. The gown was purchased in Paris, and she saved it for a special occasion. Her wedding day was definitely that. Her hair was arranged in a top knot, with her natural curls framing her face and a few wispy curls trailing at her nape. Small bunches of tiny white narcissus, tied with sparkling silver ribbon laced with tiny pearls were tucked into the thick strands around the top knot. The sapphire and diamond sword of St. Michael glittered on its fine chain at her neck. Her bouquet consisted of white narcissus from Stonedown’s garden, and white gardenias along with white lilies of the valley from the hothouse and garden at the Grange.
“There now, my dear.” Sir John turned after he descended the carriage and helped her to step down.
Trevan and the rest of the men who escorted them, dressed in their handsome finery, stood on either side of the chapel entrance, as they waited for Sir John to help twenty year old Caroline from the carriage. Caroline was dressed in a demure white satin gown, trimmed with white lace and tied with a blue ribbon matching the color of Rowena’s gown. Her dark brown hair, the same shade as her brother Harry’s was arranged similar to Rowena’s without the flowers.
Rowena slid her hand onto Sir John’s arm and took a deep breath. “We’re ready, Caroline.”
Caroline paused to kiss Rowena’s cheek then entered the chapel.
Sir John led Rowena toward the door, held open by Trevan Chynoweth.
Rowena smiled as Trevan gave her a broad grin and a wink as she passed him.
She looked lovingly at Sir John, could not imagine any other escorting her to Harry on her wedding day. Sir John was more of a father to her than her own had ever been.
Rowena’s heart jumped in her chest when she saw Harry, so handsome, waiting for her at the altar. He looked dashing in a fine blue coat, pristine white waistcoat and cravat and buff trousers. In his lapel was a white narcissus with a small white feather tucked behind it. Harry smiled happily at her. He watched every step she made toward him.
Micah having traded his traditional black coat for a blue one, was dressed similarly to Harry and also wore a white narcissus and a white feather. Rowena realized then the white feathers were from the day she called the Archangel at the tower of St. Michael. She was so pleased. Felt her eyes mist slightly. Feathers from Archangel Michael on her wedding day! How wonderful. She was so happy. The church was decorated with festoons of white and yellow daffodils, ivy and fern fronds. She thought the Stonedown chapel had never looked lovelier.
Harry beamed as she reached him. Took her hand as Sir John handed her over.
Reverend Lanfear performed a beautiful ceremony. The ring Harry slipped onto Rowena’s finger was a large dark blue sapphire set in dainty gold filigree. It was lovely.
Not lasting more than a quarter of an hour, the wedding ceremony ended. Harry kissed his lovely bride. Then he, Rowena and their witnesses signed the register. And it was done. Harry Bellingham, Earl of Glaston was married, and his new Countess was Rowena Bellingham nee Locke, Lady Glaston.
Laughing and smiling, they were ushered back into the carriage. Loud cheers greeted them as the carriage rolled off. Still surrounded by their heavily armed escort, they were driven the short distance back to the Manor.
The newlyweds kissed for most of the short drive back to the Manor. Rowena was admiring her wedding ring as the carriage came to a halt.
“Do you like it, love? It was my grandmother’s. Mother and I wished you to use it as your wedding ring, and I thought you would like it because it is a very fine sapphire.”
“I love it, Harry. It’s beautiful. And it fits perfectly.” She placed her hand on his cheek, leaned in to kiss him. “Thank you.”
He exited the carriage and handed his wife down, acknowledging the cheers from the gathered staff from both households, and their Cornish watchmen. Grinning broadly, Harry led his new wife up the steps lined with well-wishers and into the entry hall of the Manor where some waited, having already returned from the chapel.
Micah handed Caroline down from their carriage, and was escorting her up the steps toward the main entry door when the boom of a gunshot rang out.
Micah looked down to see Lady Caroline place her hand on her blood-stained white sleeve. Her brown eyes grew wide, her face suddenly paled as she looked to him. “Micah?”
Micah reached out to catch Harry’s sister as she fainted when another shot sounded and he felt pain in his left thigh.
Newt still sat his horse. He turned his chestnut gelding and headed toward the Tudor gate, rifle in hand. He was followed by Charlie, the Trevelyan’s and Tremayne Chynoweth, all still mounted and armed. They raced down the drive and through the Manor Gate onto Stonedown Lane.
Trevan’s brother, Tristan, was closest to Micah and Caroline. He gently eased Lady Caroline from the wounded Micah’s arms and lifting her into his, took the remaining steps two at a time to get her inside the Manor quickly. Trevan and Elveston herded the panicked staff inside, while Wyldhurst threw Micah’s arm about his shoulder giving him enough support to make it up the stone steps.
Three of Trevan’s relatives were dispatched to fetch the doctor, the apothecary and the Constable.
Rowena was near to tears watching Harry lead Tristan, who still carried Caroline in his arms, up the
stairs. A hysterical Lady Glaston, Lady Amesbury and Lady Sarah followed them.
Rowena followed Wyldhurst who still supported the weight of the wounded Micah to Lyon’s sickroom. Aunt Frances sent the servants for supplies needed to treat the wounded until the doctor arrived.
Rowena laid an extra quilt meant for Lyon’s bed over the chaise before Wyldhurst sat Micah upon it.
“What in the hell?” Lyon asked as he watched the scene before him.
“A marksman was across the road in the damn trees, waiting for us as we returned from the chapel,” Wyldhurst informed him hurriedly.
“I thought I heard gunfire. Out front. And out back. Anyone else hurt?” Lyon tried to sit up, managed to only get halfway up and rested on his elbows.
“Lady Caroline.”
“Bloody Hell! Is she badly wounded?”
“I do not know,” Wyldhurst said gravely.
“There was blood on her arm,” Micah recalled weakly.
“Micah!” Tears rolled down Rowena’s cheeks. She bent and helped Wyldhurst swing Micah’s legs upon the chaise.
“I don’t think my wound is serious, Lady Row – er, Lady Glaston. Sorry, I must get used to your being married.” Micah apologized. He grimaced as Wyldhurst tore his trousers away to get a look at his thigh.
“Roll over on your side, a minute, would you Micah? I need to make certain the bullet exited,” Wyldhurst commanded.
Micah turned over onto his side. “Did it go through?”
“Yes. You were fortunate. It’s clean. I don’t think it hit any bone.”
Rowena realized it was not quite proper for her to be there with Micah’s bare thigh exposed, yet Micah was her dear friend. Hang propriety! She removed her white gloves and grabbed a stack of clean cloths on the table beside Lyon’s bed and held one to the wound on the front of Micah’s thigh, applying pressure. Wyldhurst took another cloth, pressing it to the back of Micah’s thigh.
Mrs. Brimble came in carrying a tray with a bowl of hot water, more towels, and a glass along with a full decanter of brandy. She set down the tray and poured a glass full of the fine brandy and handed it to Micah. “Here, my Lord. Drink this down, why don’t you, and we’ll get that cleaned up before the doctor arrives.”
Micah downed the entire glass.
“Rowena,” Micah placed his hand on her arm, “Please do me a favor and go check on Lady Caroline. Please come back and let us know how she fares. Mrs. Brimble can clean my wound.”
When Rowena entered Caroline’s chamber it was to see Harry bending over his sister. “Now, sweeting, this might hurt, but I’ve a need to tear your sleeve away.
Caroline had thankfully recovered from her faint but remained pale, her brown eyes wide and watery. She nodded, did not cry out. Only gasped slightly as the blood-soaked fabric of her white sleeve was ripped away. The hand of her good arm clung to Harry’s sleeve.
Rowena watched as Harry tenderly assessed the damage to her upper arm. “This is good, Caroline. The bullet went through the fleshy part of your arm. Though you’ll be sore, and must be careful for a time, I think you were very lucky.”
“Harry, why would someone want to hurt me, or Micah?” Caroline inquired fearfully.
Seeing sweet, young Caroline so filled with fear, angered Rowena. She knew what fear did to a young girl.
“I don’t know for certain, Caroline, but I shall find out. You’ll be safe here from now on. I promise.” Harry placed a cloth around Caroline’s upper arm and held it tightly to her wounds.
Betsey entered with a tray containing a bowl of hot water and cloths, and brandy as well as laudanum.
Tristan Chynoweth still stood against the wall, behind Harry and Lyon’s mothers and Lady Sarah. His shirt, waistcoat and jacket were blood stained. “Don’t you worry, Lady Caroline. No one will hurt you again. I’ll make certain of that.”
“Thank you, my Lord, for carrying me inside,” Caroline said softly, looking to the handsome Cornishman.
“No thanks are necessary, Lady Caroline. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go find out what happened to my brother and cousins. Last I knew they were giving chase to the shooter.”
“Let me know as soon as you know something, Tristan.” Harry turned to regard him.
“I will, Harry.” Tristan nodded to the ladies and left.
Rowena couldn’t help but notice how Caroline’s gaze followed the handsome young Viscount from the room. She smiled to herself.
“How is Micah?” Harry turned to Rowena.
“Lord Wyldhurst says Micah is fortunate also. The bullet went through his thigh. He does not believe any bone was hit.”
“Good.” Harry nodded, a sigh of relief escaping him. He rose, allowing his mother and Betsey to take over with Caroline.
Harry came to stand beside Rowena, entwining his fingers in hers. “Come with me, my lovely wife.”
Rowena walked beside him into the hall. Harry stopped, placed his hands on her waist, and pulled her close. “How are you, love?”
“I’m fine, Harry. A little in shock perhaps. But I’m fine.” Rowena gave him a weak smile. “Why do you suppose someone shot at Micah and Caroline?”
“To frighten us. Throw us off. Cause confusion. Which is the reason I need to go down and check on everything. Like Tristan, I need to find Newt and the others who gave chase. Stay with Micah for me until the doctor comes? The ladies are with Caroline. I just don’t want Micah to feel that he’s alone.”
Rowena nodded.
Harry led her downstairs and gave her a quick peck on the lips before they entered Lyon and Micah’s sick room together. Harry left her after instructing Wyldhurst to not let his wife out of his sight until he returned.
The food for the wedding celebration was to be held until later to give the Manor and its occupants and guests the chance to calm down and regroup.
The Doctor proclaimed that both Lady Caroline and Lord Wincanton were fortunate indeed. He cleaned and stitched their wounds closed, left the women with strict instructions for them both. He was also very happy with Lyon’s progress. The apothecary appeared and left poultices and teas.
The Constable arrived just as Trevan Chynoweth met his brothers, his cousins, Harry, Newt and Charlie at the Tudor gate house. Charlie pulled a brown horse draped with a brown-coated body behind him. The man’s hands and feet were bound. Tremayne Chynoweth pulled a brown horse with the body of a brown-coated man thrown over it, the lifeless limbs dangling limply.
Newt, the marksman of the group, killed the shooter who was perched in a tree across the road. He and the rest of his party chased down the second man, and along with Harry and Tristan, very effectively extracted information from him before returning to Stonedown. They turned the bleeding and beaten man, along with the body, over to the Constable.
The Constable agreed to hold the man for several days for further questioning before putting him before a judge. Newt was the one to give him a full accounting of what had been going on at Stonedown, of course leaving out the part about the Abbey treasure. He stuck with the Society meeting and thieves trying to steal important documents that Wyldhurst gave the Constable on a previous occasion.
The gentlemen, save Micah, Lyon and those on guard, retreated to the library for a few minutes before the celebration was to begin.
Though it was suggested by the society members they cancel the celebration, Harry’s mother and Rowena’s aunt would not hear it. There was to be celebration for Harry and Rowena’s wedding, regardless of the shooting of Caroline and Micah. And that was quite simply that.
The Duke of Penrose began their meeting. “From what the buggar we caught said, I think the shooting was intended as a distraction to come in through the back of the house. My cousin, Jago, and his brother feel the same. They were at the back door leading from the garden into the drawing room. They were fired on at the same time we were in the front. However, some of my other cousins watching the side of the house came to their aid. They drove those two particular scoundrels
off,” Trevan recounted. “It’s just a pity the man we caught was a hired thug from London and didn’t know anymore. No one has named Davitt yet, but this man also named Whitely, as did the one who shot Lyon.”
“They wanted to come in and get at the treasure, no doubt,” Wyldhurst said with a grimace.
“Or your wife.” Newt looked to Harry.
Harry nodded grimly. “Dalworth is after Rowena. But, I feel Davitt and Whitely are after something more. With Caroline being shot, we must realize that none of the ladies are safe. It is imperative they are constantly watched and guarded well.”
“Yes, we realize that. Of course, we’ll regret it soon enough, for they’ll be kept virtual prisoners here inside the Manor,” Charlie mentioned as he rolled his eyes.
Lord of the Abbey Page 31