“Aye.”
He gave her a smile and angled toward the path that would lead to the side lawn. “But only a third of the angels fell—what of the others? They are conspicuously absent from the legends.”
She had meant to walk with him a ways, but her feet came to a halt. “Aye.”
“There’s much I don’t understand about it all, and much I probably never will. But this I know, Your Grace.” He pointed heavenward. “All authority rests with Him. Aye?”
He tried to say it as a Scot and failed miserably. But it made her smile. His words made her nod. And their meaning rooted her to the place long after he had strode away.
He didn’t have to throw her own words back at her—that one couldn’t believe in either darkness or light without granting the other. But was that not what she had done as surely as him, just in reverse? Feared the darkness, the curse, the evil . . . without granting that there was One strong enough to overcome it.
That, in fact, such darkness was still like all other darkness—an absence of light. Of Him. But the Lord hadn’t abandoned His children to the darkness. Much as she might have thought so for those cold, empty years, and especially those weeks between Malcolm’s attack and Brice’s arrival.
But He had been there still. Working even then for her good. Preparing a place. One full to overflowing with family and promise and security and . . . and love, if she were brave enough to claim it.
Was she? Striding past Lilias and Mr. Child, she pressed a hand to her stomach. Over the past twenty-four hours, that truth Lilias had spoken had become sure in her heart. She was with child, and she would love her bairn. She would—despite its father.
Then there was Brice. He wasn’t like other men. He had promised impossible acceptance, he had promised love. Promise—wasn’t that as strong as a spoken blessing, opposite a curse? He had spoken words that proved he was far more than just a charming face.
But he couldn’t do it all on his own. She had to rise to the occasion too. She had to love him.
Her fingers clung to the stone in her pocket. He wouldn’t be like Malcolm. And more, he wouldn’t be like Father.
She wouldn’t let the fear and pain ruin it. She wouldn’t. Hurrying over the distance between her and the house, she barely noted Lilias and Mr. Child calling to her to hold up. She would find Brice. Now. This very minute. She would throw her arms around him and hold tight. She would swear to him that no curse—be it the tiger’s or from her own fear—would defeat them. They would cling, together, to the Lord. And surely, surely if they clung to Him, He would knit them tight as a family too. They could choose to love.
A gunshot made her jump. She splayed a hand over her heart but relaxed when she heard the laughter coming from the side lawn. Just Ella and the Abbotts. Within a few more steps they were visible, the siblings laughing and Ella with a pistol in her hand.
Miss Abbott looked about to fall over with mirth. “You hit that poor tree! Did you see the bark fly? It’s a full five feet from the target, Ella!”
Apparently Ella’s aim was as bad as her sense of direction.
The redhead huffed and handed the pistol to Mr. Abbott. “We can’t all be as natural as the two of you. Blame it on my peace-loving family—it must be in our very blood. I’ve never even seen Brice go on a hunt.”
Mr. Abbott checked something on the weapon and set it down on a table that they must have brought out. “He at least knows how to hit a target—though you’d be hard-pressed to make him aim at anything living, be it a grouse or a villain.”
“Oh, I know. I daresay even if he’d had a gun in hand last year, he’d have let Pratt shoot him before he’d have defended himself.” Ella turned, as if to see her brother through the white stone walls of the house. Instead, she spotted Rowena and squealed with joy.
A moment later, arms were about her, a mass of red curls tickling her nose. “You’re out! You’re up! Are you well? You must be, to have ventured from your room. I was beginning to think you’d run away and no one told me—except that Brice was nearly as absent, but always had your greetings when he returned.”
Rowena smiled at her sister-in-law and gripped her arms—largely to keep them from squeezing the life out of her again. “I am . . . not so terrible. Still a bit uneasy in the stomach, but I daresay it’s not catching at this point.”
“I should think not, or Brice would have been felled by now.” Ella gave a happy little sigh, looking contented as a cat napping in the sun. “We were just having target practice—we’d grown bored with archery, and I can never convince Stella to play me at tennis, so it’s our newest sport. Perhaps we’ll join the gentlemen next time on their hunting adventures. Wouldn’t that spoil it for the lot of them?”
With a laugh, she spun back to the Abbotts, though she kept hold of Rowena’s arm. “Would you like to learn? Brice said we may.”
Rowena shook her head. “I learned years ago, but it ne’er much interested me. I was just going to—”
“Walk? I’ll walk with you, then. Stella, you’ve frightened me off! I’m taking a promenade with Rowena!”
The Abbotts smiled and waved them on.
Apparently her seeking of Brice would have to wait a bit. A delay she didn’t entirely mind, given how long it had been since she had taken a stroll with her friend. They said nothing until they’d rounded another corner and the lawn gave way to a copse of trees that would lead the way to the River Ouse, if one followed them far enough. Weeks ago Ella had shown her their favorite spot under the boughs, where a bench had been situated to give an advantageous view of both the house and the countryside. Near it was the miniature house that the former duke had commissioned for Brice and Ella to play in as children. Unused now, but it always made Rowena smile to see it. To see how their father had thought of them.
She turned back to Ella and wished the tree limbs didn’t block the sun. “Sorry I didn’t let you visit. I was so afraid of bringing the entire house down with the same thing.”
Ella laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time any of us had got sick. But no matter—we all rather began to think Brice was making the whole thing up just to keep you to himself for a few days. Which made us realize you’d not had a proper honeymoon. You ought to plan a trip, you know. Somewhere grand and romantic. France or Italy or the Alps.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled at the mention of the trip Brice had wagered her . . . then let it drift away. That was contingent upon him falling in love with her before she did him. And given the blow she’d dealt him yesterday, she wasn’t so sure that was possible. He had promised to love her, yes—but it would take time. She knew that better than anyone. “Though Annie will be here soon, and hopefully we’ll get to keep her with us for a good while.”
“And no doubt we’ll all adore her just as much as you, so it’s no great thing to leave her in our charge for a fortnight. Although . . . Mother had another theory about your illness.” Ella grinned and flounced onto the cold wooden bench as if it were plush with upholstery. “One that might make travel a bit difficult in a few months.”
“Oh.” Perhaps she didn’t need the sun after all—she now felt quite warm. What was she to say? What would Brice want her to say?
Ella’s head fell back with laughter. “Mother cautioned me not to say a word to you—she said you two ought to realize it for yourselves, and decide for yourselves when to share, if it’s in fact true. But I couldn’t help myself—the look on your face! It hardly matters whether it’s true just now or not—that look . . .”
Rowena sat beside her friend and pulled out a smile. Perhaps a bit self-deprecating, but a smile nonetheless. And then she said, with the utmost determination, “What a curious bird that is—I’ve never seen the like. Do you know what it’s called?”
Rowena waited for an hour. She had changed into her nightclothes, had lost her dinner—which she’d taken with the family—and moaned out the misery of it. She’d dismissed Lilias for the night, assuring her she was well and that her husban
d would be in momentarily. But again, Brice didn’t come. She’d heard his steps in the hall, the low rumble of voices from his suite . . . which, granted, she could only hear because she’d pressed her ear to the door.
But her husband didn’t come. And didn’t come. And didn’t come.
She had tried to find him earlier in the day, but he had apparently gone somewhere with Old Abbott. And now . . .
She understood why he remained away. But that didn’t stop the tears from burning as she sank onto the chair facing their adjoining door.
She had hoped he would save her the need to reach out, she admitted it. She had hoped and prayed all afternoon that he would simply slip in, as if last night’s lonely hours had never happened.
But he didn’t come, and it was far too easy to think that perhaps she ought to just give him time. Time to digest it, to pray his way through it. Time to reconcile a lifetime of hopes and assumptions with a hard truth. Time, just like she had been demanding since they married.
But she’d been wrong—she hadn’t needed time, she’d needed him. “Lord . . .” Her voice faded to nothing in the room, a dim echo under the crackling of the fire and the steady tap-tap of the newly come rain upon the windows. She hadn’t prayed much in recent years. Perhaps she had tried these last weeks, but it had been halfhearted.
Now she stared at that closed door and opened the one upon her heart. “Lord, I know I’ve been a negligent daughter to you. I’ve never . . . never really thought myself worthy to approach you. Mr. Abbott would say we’re all unworthy but that you love us anyway. Brice would say I’ve the kind of heart you love best—a broken one.”
She shuddered, and her lips quivered. Perhaps her heart had long been broken. But his oughtn’t to be. He’d always sought the Lord first, above all. He spoke of his faith as easily as Father did his clan. It was such a part of who he was, of all he did, and he should have been rewarded for that. Not punished with the likes of her.
“No. No, I must stop thinking that way, aye?” It rang of the heartbreak . . . but He could take away the sorrow and replace it with joy. Heal the broken places and make them stronger than before. “I am your child, not just my father’s. Loved by you if not by him. Shaped into your image, not his. I can love Brice as he needs to be loved. I can be what he needs. I can, if you’ll just show me how, Lord.”
The fire crackled. The rain tapped. And that door stayed shut.
She gripped the cushion beneath her as her throat went tight. The door had a handle on this side as surely as it did the other, didn’t it? What was stopping her from going through it just as Brice had done? When she’d needed him—even when she hadn’t realized she had done—he had come. Had comforted, had silently proven he was all he should be, all she could need.
Well, he needed her now, though he might not think so. He needed her to hold tight to the closeness they’d forged over the past days. To fight for him, for the right to be by his side. He needed her to prove that it wasn’t just the babe she wanted—it was him, too, and a promise wasn’t enough. They needed the now as well as the someday.
She stood on shaky legs, before the determination could fade. She took a deep breath, before the nausea could overtake her. She strode forward, before she could scurry back to her own bed, her own blankets.
The slab of wood stood sentry between them. She raised a hand but just pressed her palm to the smooth surface rather than knock. There would be no question who was at this door—if she asked leave to enter, he could just refuse to answer. And the thought of rejection . . .
But she had rejected him at every turn. He had the right to do the same. Even if she had every intention of ignoring him if he did, as he had done when she first felt the sickness.
With a bolstering breath, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.
A beat of silence, just long enough to make her wonder if he was nestled under his covers with his back to the door and his eyes squeezed shut, praying she’d go away. But then the door whooshed open and she was looking at his cotton-clad chest rather than the wood.
“Are you all right?” Concern laced his words even before her gaze traveled up to see it shining in the warm chocolate depths of his eyes. He cared. He might not have come to grips with it all yet, but he cared.
It emboldened her enough to duck under the arm he’d stretched out to hold the door open and step, for the first time, into his room.
“No. I missed you.” It was all deep woods in here, and jewel tones. Sapphires and emeralds, a splash of ruby. Elegant and in the best taste—perfectly suited to him. She turned her back to it all to face him though and summoned a smile. “And I got to thinking that it was glaikit to ignore it. I could go to sleep, but I’d only fall back into that nightmare—and then I’d be crying and ye’d come in anyway, aye? So we might as well save you a rude awakening.”
The corners of his lips tugged up. “Considerate of you.”
“Wasn’t it just?” She tried to summon some of Ella’s perpetual bounce as she made a show of striding to the bed that was turned down for him, settling herself comfortably into what must be his spot. “Ye know, I do believe I like your room even better than mine. Such rich colors.”
He shut the door with a soft click and sidled her way. “You could redecorate yours—I said as much when we arrived.”
Flashing a cheeky grin didn’t feel quite natural . . . but it felt right. “Or we could just spend our nights in here instead.”
Amusement twinkled in his eyes—praise be to heaven. “Are you wooing me, Duchess?”
“Just trying to win that bet.” She held out a hand and prayed he’d take it.
He did, and sat down beside her on the bed with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know I should have come last night, I just—”
“Shh.” Both her hands around his, she lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to the broad palm. “Ye needna explain it to me. I understand. And I want to give you space, as ye’ve given me. But . . . but we’ve made such progress this week. I dinna want to lose it.”
“I don’t either. I don’t.” He tugged his hand free but then wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, onto his lap. Rested his head against hers. She couldn’t remember when last she’d felt so safe. “I just didn’t want to come to you with such thoughts as I have ricocheting through my head. Worthless, all of them, and I know it. But I can’t silence them all.”
At least he was trying. And trying to protect her from them. It was more than she’d done for him, really. Much as she’d thought herself trying, she hadn’t gone about it the right way, had she? She had been just as guilty as he of not entertaining the possibility that she had been wrong. Of believing a curse was stronger than anything they could build together. “I’ve been so terrible to you. So quick to believe the worst, about you and us.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Well, I am so perfect it’s beyond reckoning.”
“And verra annoying.” She looped an arm around his neck and tugged his head down so she could press her lips to his. And, oh, how perfect it felt. “Brice . . . I still dinna ken which of us is right about Catherine. But I want to say here and now that, if it’s a choice between helping her and peace with you . . . I choose you.”
He went so stiff on the mention of her name that he needn’t even speak to convey his thoughts on that. But he held her close. And he sighed. “I don’t know either. Everything in me shouts that she is dangerous, every bit as much as her husband was, and as we both agree her brother likely is. But it occurs to me that I don’t know why she is the way she is. Yet I have been assuming her beyond redemption. That is surely wrong of me, regardless of which of us reads her aright. I ought to be praying for her. And . . . and I ought to be willing to grant that perhaps the Lord revealed something to you, so that you could help her. So that we could end this in a way I never anticipated.”
She tipped her head back so she could look into his face. “What are ye saying?”
Another sigh, and his eyes slid shut. “
If you feel you should go and visit her . . . if you are convinced that you must . . . then do. With my blessing.”
Relief swamped her, even as she wondered if she should turn down the offer on principle. But she couldn’t. She would always wonder, if she did, whether she could have helped. Whether she had turned her back on someone in need.
She pressed her hand to Brice’s cheek, savoring the feel of his stubble against her palm. Her husband. How had it come to be so? And how had she passed so many weeks at his side without giving in to the urge to lean over and feather a kiss onto his lips? “I do feel I must. But I swear to you, I’ll go in with my eyes open. After much prayer. And I’ll not go again, not unless the Lord makes it clear I should and providing you agree about that.”
His arms tightened around her. “I want at least two able-bodied men with you in the carriage or car. And someone to go in with you.”
At that, she shook her head. “The men, aye—but if anyone goes in with me, it’s certain she willna speak honestly.”
His jaw clenched. For a long moment, he made no other move. Then he swallowed. “All right. But position yourself before a window, and we’ll make sure one of the men can see you. If you are in distress at any time, you must make a signal.”
“I will. I promise.”
He stroked a hand through her hair . . . and down onto her back as she so loved. “I can’t lose you now, darling. I can’t. Tread carefully when you go, and know that I will be here praying from the moment you leave until the moment you return.”
“Ye willna lose me. Our life is only beginning.” She rested her head against his shoulder and looked to the rich tapestry above his bed. The soft pillow bidding her snuggle in. Her pulse kicked up a bit. It was different, somehow, planning to spend the night in his room. Different, but she wouldn’t relent from her course. She could trust him. She could rest with him.
She could love him.
“You must be exhausted. I heard you tossing and turning all last night. My fault, no doubt, and I am beyond sorry.” He shifted them, turned, and lowered them both together until the pillows welcomed her head. “Everyone was so glad to see you today.”
The Reluctant Duchess Page 28