All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  Edmond looked at the slender boy in sky-blue velvet and exquisitely done lace. His features were incredibly beautiful, if slightly arrogant. The boy had dark blond hair and unusual lime-green eyes. He was obviously his father’s son. “My lord Earl,” Edmond de Beaumont said politely, and then turned to Skye. “You have fine children, madam, if these three are an example. I only wish my uncle could see them.”

  “Should our mother’s marriage to your uncle prove a felicitous union,” Murrough O’Flaherty said, “then your uncle will meet us all, m’sieur. Our duties here in England can spare us for a short time.”

  Edmond de Beaumont was amused. The older boy was obviously spokesman for his younger brother and sister, despite the disparity in their ranks. The children were obviously disapproving of their mother’s marriage, and who could blame them. “I hope you will come to Beaumont de Jaspre soon,” he said. “You will like our small country. The weather is like summer most of the year round, and the sea bathing most delightful.”

  “I have never bathed in the sea,” Willow said.

  “Ah, mademoiselle,” said Edmond de Beaumont, looking up at her, “I shall take you myself when you come. Our sea is the blue of your English sky, and as clear as crystal. The water is warm, and the sea bottom golden sand. Can you swim?”

  Willow shook her head.

  “Then I shall teach you, mademoiselle! Would you like that?”

  “Oh, yes, m’sieur!” Willow’s face was pink with pleasure, and Edmond noted to himself that she, too, must favor her father.

  “Will you teach me to swim, too?” Robin asked.

  “Indeed, my lord, it would be my pleasure,” Edmond replied.

  “I know how,” Murrough said loftily. “My brother and I learned early. We are a seafaring family, m’sieur.”

  “Can you sail, sir?” Edmond de Beaumont demanded.

  “I can.”

  “Then you, also, will enjoy Beaumont de Jaspre. The sea about us makes for excellent sailing.”

  “Perhaps, m’sieur, but I doubt that your waters can equal our fine Irish seas.”

  “Murrough!” Skye was somewhat shocked by her elder son’s intractable attitude. “Please tender your apologies to M’sieur de Beaumont.”

  “For what?” The boy looked surprised. “Our Irish seas are true seas, worthy of our seafaring talents. I have been told that the Mediterranean is naught but a placid Turkish lake.”

  Edmond de Beaumont laughed heartily. “Indeed the Turks seem to think so, young Murrough O’Flaherty; but would you not enjoy going Turk-hunting in your own ship someday?”

  Murrough’s face lit up with a smile. “Indeed, m’sieur, I would!”

  “Then perhaps you will use Beaumont de Jaspre’s fine harbor facilities for your home base. After all, young Murrough, your mother will be our duchesse.”

  The boy nodded. “It is a good deep-water harbor, m’sieur?”

  “It is.”

  Murrough smiled again. “Then perhaps I shall not find your Beaumont de Jaspre such a dull place after all, m’sieur.”

  Skye looked in annoyance at her elder son. “I don’t know what has gotten into him,” she said to Edmond.

  “Growing pains, I suspect, plus the fact that he really doesn’t like to see you leave England,” Edmond remarked.

  “He is very protective of me,” she said softly. “How funny it is that my son should be so.”

  Murrough had moved away from them now, settling himself with his younger siblings. Robbie and Dame Cecily were having a cozy chat by the fireplace. Skye sat herself down in a black oak chair with a tapestried seat and back. Edmond de Beaumont sat by her side.

  “I do not think it strange that your son is protective of you,” he said. “I find it charming and very touching.”

  “I am going to miss my children, Edmond. This is what makes it hard for me to go willingly to your uncle.”

  “It will only be for a short while,” he reassured her. “You have been separated from them before. My uncle loves children, and will welcome yours. You will give him children of his own, too. You are a healthy, beautiful woman, and he needs you very much. Let me take you to Beaumont de Jaspre, to a man who will love and cherish you. My Uncle Fabron needs you, Skye. He truly needs you!”

  She sighed. “We will travel on my own ship,” she said, “and the Queen must give us an escort to get us safely past the Barbary pirates.”

  “And we leave?” He cocked his handsome head to one side.

  “Will the beginning of May suit, m’sieur?” There was a small smile upon her beautiful face.

  “You will not regret your decision to come to Beaumont de Jaspre, Skye!” he said fervently.

  “I hope not, Edmond,” she said quietly. “I hope not.”

  Chapter 3

  ADAM de Marisco had read Skye’s message, and his first thought was to refuse her. Another meeting between them was sure to result in one of their passionate couplings. He had never known a woman who was so sexually attuned to him. To even think about her was to want her unbearably.

  “Damn!” he growled softly. He loved her so terribly, but he had always known that he would never have her permanently. His small kingdom, this island of Lundy, was all he had ever really claimed. Oh, he had had his time in the outside world. His lovely mother was a Frenchwoman, and he had spent many years at the elegant French court, but in the end he had returned to this small, lonely rock that was his heritage, and his inheritance.

  He had known for many years that his seed was barren, the result of a childhood fever, and so he had never married. He enjoyed women, but until he had met Skye O’Malley there had never been one he wanted to keep; but he wasn’t enough for her. Oh, sexually he was more than her equal, and his family tree was as noble as hers, but he was a simple man, an island lord, a man of no power or influence. He might have been. He had the wealth necessary for both power and influence; but he had chosen to avoid such responsibilities. Court intrigues were simply not in his nature; not that they were in hers, but she was a beautiful woman, a woman who had had several husbands of wealth and stature. That was her right. It never occurred to Adam de Marisco that Skye would have been happier living a quiet life. He loved her too deeply to see clearly.

  In the end, however, his great love for her won out over his common sense. He traveled to London to bid her farewell. It was very likely that they would never see each other again. He would return to Lundy, and she would travel on to a small Mediterranean duchy where she would undoubtedly live out her life, the wife of a wealthy lordling who would be welcome at both the French and the English courts. His big heart leapt in his chest as he entered Greenwood and she flung herself into his arms in greeting. With a helpless groan he buried his face in her hair, her glorious perfumed hair.

  “Adam! Oh, my darling Adam! I knew that you would come. I told Robbie that you would!” She snuggled into his arms.

  “When do you leave?” he asked her, dreading the answer.

  “A few days.” She squirmed from his bearlike grasp and looked up at him. “Don’t I get a kiss?” she demanded.

  “Yes,” he said slowly as all his good intentions and his willpower disappeared. “Yes, I think you most certainly do get a kiss,” and then his shaggy head dipped downward, his mouth found hers, and he mercilessly took possession of it. Her lips softened beneath his, parting just slightly, enough to pleasure, enough to tempt him onward. “Witch,” he muttered against her mouth. “How is it you can wreak this mayhem with me?” His big hand gently caressed her upturned face.

  “I’m so glad that you came,” she answered him. “I don’t think I could have borne to go away and never see you again.” Then quick tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Adam! Why are you so stubborn? I have been bartered into a marriage with a stranger! If only you had married me I should not be forced from my homeland and my children!”

  “What could I offer you, Skye? Lundy?” He laughed harshly. “I once told you that I was not a star catcher, and you were a brig
ht and brilliant star. How could I pen up a star, Skye? You have always deserved more than I could give you.”

  “I don’t need things, Adam. You could have given me the one thing in this world that I need. You could have given me love, my darling.”

  “But you could not have given me the same in return, Skye,” he said seriously. “We have been over this a hundred times, and it always comes to the same thing. I love you as I have never loved another woman in my life, and you love me. You do not, however, love me as a woman should love a man. You love me as a friend, and that is not enough, little girl! I have my pride too, Skye O’Malley.”

  “You’re too much of a romantic, Adam. You will not have me because I love you as a friend, but you will stand by while I am sent away to marry a virtual stranger who from the looks of him never loved anyone! Somehow your logic escapes me, Adam.”

  He chuckled. “If this duc of yours turns out to be the great love of your life, Skye, you will thank me.”

  “I think instead I shall make you regret your foolishness,” she said ominously, her slender hands slipping beneath his doublet to rub against his silk-covered chest. “Shall I make you regret your decision, Adam?” He could feel the warmth of her palms through the fabric of his shirt. “Will you be my lover just this once more?” she whispered boldly, standing on her toes so she might kiss him in the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. She could feel his mighty heart pounding beneath her hands.

  “You’re a betrothed woman,” he protested faintly, but his hands were already pulling her closer to him.

  She nibbled upon his earlobe. “I may never see you again, my darling,” she said low, and then she ran her little pointed tongue around the inner shell of his ear.

  “Why are you doing this?” It was his last defense.

  “Because in four days I am sailing to a place I don’t know, I will marry a man I don’t know, and then I will get into bed with him and he will mate with me like some animal, for that is all he wants of me, Adam. Heirs! Heirs for his tiny duchy. And for my body, my healthy and proven fertile body, he will give England a safe harbor on the Mediterranean, and a listening post at France’s back door. For my part, I have the Queen of England’s word that she will not allow her Anglo-Irish lords—or anyone else, for that matter—to pillage my Burke son’s lands. This is not a love match, Adam. It is a business arrangement, and so before I leave all that is familiar and dear to me I want a little loving, a little tenderness, a little caring with someone that I care for, Adam de Marisco.”

  “Damn you, Skye,” he said softly, then enfolded her back into his arms. She sighed with such obvious relief that he laughed gently, and smoothed her dark hair. “I’ve never known such an honest woman as you are, my darling. Sometimes it can be a little bit frightening.”

  Edmond de Beaumont, watching all of this from behind the bannisters on the second-floor landing of Skye’s house, could not quite make out the words said between the two people below. What was obvious was that the giant of a man was deeply in love with Lady Burke, and she cared for him also. As the young Earl of Lynmouth came abreast of him Edmond asked the boy, “Who is that man with your mama, Robin?”

  Robin Southwood looked to the main floor of the house, and a smile lit his beautiful features. Ignoring the Petit Sieur de Beaumont, he ran downstairs, calling, “Uncle Adam! What are you doing in London?” Pure delight was written all over his young face.

  Edmond de Beaumont hurried after the boy in time to hear the giant reply in a thunder-deep voice as he swept the lad up into an embrace, “I have come to bid your mother a safe voyage, my lord Earl. Have you come from your duties at court to do the same?”

  “We have been here almost a whole month, Uncle Adam. Willow and Murrough and me! We have gone riding with Mother, and we have gone on picnics, and we have shopped and seen the dressmaker. Mother’s having all new gowns made, for the climate in Beaumont de Jaspre is warm almost year round. Edmond says so.”

  “And who is Edmond, my lord Earl?”

  “I am Edmond de Beaumont,” a voice replied, and Adam de Marisco looked about, puzzled. He could see no one.

  “I am down here, m’sieur,” the voice came again, and Adam de Marisco looked down. “I am Edmond de Beaumont, Petit Sieur de Beaumont,” he repeated.

  Adam was astounded. “Is this the man you are to marry?” he demanded, his voice tight.

  “No, Adam, this is his nephew, sent to escort me to Beaumont de Jaspre.”

  “Is the duc as he?” Adam was considering throttling William Cecil.

  “I, m’sieur, am an accident of birth,” Edmond said. “My uncle is quite as other people, I assure you.”

  “Edmond, this is Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island. Remember that I told you I had two best friends in this world? Well, this is the other.”

  Adam de Marisco looked down at Edmond de Beaumont, and then he bent and lifted the dwarf up, balancing him so that he sat in the curve of his muscled arm so that they were eye to eye. “This is how two men should speak, m’sieur,” he said.

  “Agreed, my lord giant! How tall are you?”

  “I stand six feet, six inches,” replied Adam.

  “Then you are nearly twice my size, for I stand but three feet four inches.”

  Skye stood amazed as Adam walked calmly off holding Edmond de Beaumont upon his arm, the two men now talking in earnest.

  “What an excellent way for them to speak,” Robin observed. “How clever of Uncle Adam to think of it!”

  Skye smiled to herself. It was clever of Adam, but then he had always had the knack of putting people at their ease. Elizabeth Tudor’s court had really lost a valuable courtier in him, though he preferred his island home to London, and she could not blame him at all.

  When Edmond de Beaumont had returned to Whitehall, Robbie gone off prowling the seamier sections of London, and Dame Cecily and the children settled themselves for the night; then and only then did Skye and Adam come together again. She had ordered her cook to prepare a supper for two, choosing the menu herself, for Adam was somewhat of a gourmet due to his days in France. They would begin with mussels in a white wine broth and thin-sliced Dover sole with carved lemon wedges; followed with a second course that was simplicity itself, boned breast of capon upon a bed of watercress with a delicate gravy of champignons and white wine, a salad of new lettuces and radishes, freshly baked bread and newly churned sweet butter; and, lastly, fresh strawberries with thick, clotted Devon cream. It was a plain meal, but one that Skye knew would delight Adam.

  Her mode of dress would also delight him, for she was wearing one of her Algerian caftans; a rose-colored silk garment with wide, long sleeves and an open neckline with tiny pearl buttons that moved downward from just below her breasts. Her slippers were delightful confections of matching silk, heel-less with turned-up toes. Her hair was loose, freshly washed, and sun-dried that afternoon. She wore no jewelry.

  “I don’t know why you didn’t marry the lord of Lundy,” Daisy remarked to her mistress.

  “Because he wouldn’t have me,” Skye replied.

  “Go on with yese, m’lady!” Daisy was astounded. “Ye’re funning with me.”

  “No, I’m not, Daisy. He thinks that I should have a great and powerful lord for a husband, not a simple island chieftain.”

  “Then he’s a fool,” Daisy said bluntly as a knock sounded at Skye’s bedchamber door.

  “Open the door, Daisy,” her mistress commanded, “and then you may retire for the evening. The supper is safe on the sideboard, and I’ll not need you for anything else tonight.”

  Daisy curtseyed and opened the door to admit Adam de Marisco. “Good evening, m’lord,” she said brightly, curtseying again, and then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, his smoky blue eyes devouring her with love.

  She smiled back at him. “I’ve had my cook prepare you a delicious gourmet meal.”

  “You’re the only thing I wan
t tonight, Skye.” He reached out for her, but she easily sidestepped him.

  “Would you offend my cook?” Her blue eyes were dancing with merriment. “If you leave this marvelous supper untouched you will cause a scandal, for my household will ask why, when I went to the trouble to have a supper prepared for us, we did not eat it.”

  “One kiss, you Irish witch,” he said.

  “One kiss and I am lost, you villain! I see I must treat you like my children. You cannot play, Adam, until you have eaten your supper.” She attempted to look stern, and he laughed.

  “Very well, I shall eat.”

  Settling himself in one of the two chairs that had been placed on either end of the small rectangular oak table, he waited as Skye served him a plate of steaming mussels and poured him a goblet of pale golden wine. She seated herself, and silently they ate the first course. Clearing the table, she offered the second and he hummed his approval.

  “Your cook had a French teacher, Skye lass. I’ve not tasted this dish since I was last in Paris. The mushrooms are exquisitely fresh, and the wine sauce as delicate as any I’ve ever tasted. I will tender my compliments in the morning.”

  She smiled at his pleasure, but ate little. They were going to make love soon, she knew, despite the fact that he had sworn never again to be her lover. As she absently nibbled on a radish, she wondered why it was she did not love him with the passionate and all-consuming love that she had felt for her last three husbands. They too had been her friends. They too had been as skilled and as tender as Adam was at lovemaking. Geoffrey and Niall and Khalid had all been vital, interesting, ambitious men. Adam was certainly vital and interesting. But he was not ambitious. He was content to sit upon his island, and that was not enough for her. For all her desire for a quiet life Skye knew that she was never happier than when she was in the midst of things. Adam, however, wanted peace, and if the price of his peace was to sit upon Lundy growing old, never having a true and abiding love, then he would pay that price. She wondered why he had insulated himself so. It was not the decision of an intelligent man, and Adam de Marisco was an extremely intelligent man.