by Cheryl Bolen
Could it be that he offered for her because he was so moved by the sight of her emaciated mother lying on her deathbed? But surely a man would not throw away his future to comfort a dying stranger.
Whatever his motivation, she could not allow him to make so noble a sacrifice.
Mrs. Allan’s rumbling cough commenced again, but this time lasted longer than the previous bouts, upsetting Bonny.
“You’re talking too much,” Bonny said when her weakened and shaking mother finally stopped coughing. “I’ve tired you.”
The old woman’s heavy lids began to fall. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Bonny did not know what to think. First, Emily foolishly supposed Radcliff in love with her. Now, her mother surmised she was in love with Radcliff. She froze. Her mother had never once misjudged her feelings.
She looked into her mother’s expectant face. “I’m desperately fighting it, Mama,” she admitted. Her mother’s face softened, and she nodded off.
When Bonny left the sickroom, she found Emily and Radcliff in the parlor sitting before the fire, with Emily serving tea.
“Are you finally warm?” Bonny asked her cousin.
“Finally.”
“I know the trip’s been hard on you,” Bonny said in a tender voice, much as if she were addressing a child. “After your tea you need to get under your counterpane and take a long nap. I’ve instructed Mrs. Melville to see there’s a fire in your room at all times.”
“I wish you wouldn’t worry so about me.”
“It seems to be Miss Allan’s pleasure to carry the burdens of the world on her very lovely shoulders,” Radcliff said.
Color flooded Bonny’s face. No man had ever remarked about a part of her body before.
“Your grace, I thought perhaps we could bundle up and walk among the moors for that private conversation you sought.”
Radcliff got to his feet. “I am at your service, Miss Allan.”
As Bonny went to get her merino cloak and gloves, she caught sight of Emily’s smiling face.
The vision of Bonny in the hooded blue wool cape with its white fur trim framing her beautiful face made Radcliff catch his breath. Today her eyes matched the lapis blue of the cloak, and the white of the fur matched her perfect teeth. He offered her his arm and led her outside beneath the gray sky. “Your mother is resting?” he inquired.
“Yes, your grace.” She wrapped the cloak tighter around her. “I fear my visit was very hard on her.”
“Stop blaming everything on yourself. Did it not occur to you that your mother would prefer to expend the little breath she has left on you rather than expel it into a lonely sickroom?”
“I had not thought of it that way, your grace.”
“Please call me Richard, Barbara.” As surely as the wind pierced his chilled bones, he knew she would try to decline his offer. And just as surely, he knew he would do everything in his power to make her agree to become his wife. If he could but make her marry him, he would wrap her in so much love she would have to love him one day. And he could wait. As long as he could be with her.
“When I said you were gallant last night, I had no idea the extent of your gallantry. To offer for me to please my dying mother was—was wonderful of you. But, of course, I cannot accept.”
Had she kicked him in the pit of his stomach, he could not have felt worse. “You make a grave mistake if you think I offered for you because of your mother. Did it never occur to you that I want you for my wife?”
“Quite honestly, no, your grace. Before this journey, we had scarcely spoken to one another. I could hardly expect that you could want to spend your life with me.”
“But I assure you I do. Perhaps we did not know each other well before traveling north together, but you cannot deny that we have come to know each other during the journey. I realize there is much more to you than a beautiful face. You are extremely well read and have a keen mind. You worry excessively over those you love. And you don’t like marmalade.”
She ignored his amused expression and pressed on with more serious matters. “We spoke to each other across tavern tables. That is quite a different setting than a duke’s drawing room. I am ill prepared to be a duchess.”
“You’re the granddaughter of a viscount, Barbara.” He covered her gloved hand with his own. “I’ve seen you grace ballrooms of the best houses, and none could compare with you. I would very much like to behold your lovely face across the breakfast table for the rest of my days.”
“That is hardly a reason to propose marriage, your grace. You have seen my mother. The fact that she was a noted beauty does little for her appearance now. A face does not stay flawless as the decades advance.”
“I have other reasons to seek a wife,” he said in a more formal tone. “I have a very strong desire to settle down. I am four and thirty years. If I don’t start a family soon, I will be as old as my parents were when I was born. And I shouldn’t like that at all.”
Bonny watched a stunted fir tree that had permanently bent with the winds, and she tried to speak casually. “Then you have been considering marriage for some time, your grace?”
“Blast it all, Barbara, stop calling me your grace!”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Yes, Richard.”
“I’m not proud of the way I’ve lived for the past ten years.” Avoiding her gaze, he kicked at the ground. “I admit I gave no thought to marriage. But as of late, I have decided I very much desire to marry and have children and live at Hedley Hall, to enhance the lands that have prospered under my family for generations. And besides, I want to keep my cousin, Stanley Moncrief, from getting his hands on my estates. He would but lose them at the gaming tables or use them to keep himself in the latest dandified apparel.”
What the duke had told her put a different complexion on his offer, she thought hopefully. If he, indeed, had determined to take a bride, she had to accept before he offered for someone else. But the thought of being a duchess scared her. She feared she would be an embarrassment to Radcliff.
Marrying the duke, Bonny knew, would please her mother, now that she knew Bonny’s feelings for him. But above all, Bonny wanted to become his wife. If she could but marry him, and love him to completion, surely she could earn his love.
For she was convinced he did not love her. He had said he wanted to gaze upon her face. He had said he wanted to have a family. He had said he wanted to keep Stanley from inheriting his estates. But he had not said he loved her.
She tossed back her head, causing the hood to fall, and she smiled up into his face. “Do you think we could wed before Mama dies?”
Radcliff cupped her face in his hands.
She felt the scrutiny of his all-knowing eyes, and for the first time, she sensed a passion beneath his pensive countenance.
He lowered his head, and she smelled his Hungary water, felt his warm breath, then his lips crushing hers, He enfolded her in his strong embrace as the intensity of the kiss deepened.
Her arms reached for him, tentatively at first, then firmly as she prolonged the kiss.
When finally he did pull away, Bonny felt bereft. She had never been kissed before, and she was surprised at the power of one kiss. And now she knew the desire for something more than a kiss. Something even more intimate.
She lingered within his embrace and kept her arms about him. He freed one hand to brush away windblown strands of rich black hair from her cool face, then he lifted her chin. “I think a hasty wedding is an excellent idea, my love,” he said flatly. “Else I should ravage you here on the moors.”
She could have stood forever on the hazy moors within his arms. The wind stung her face, but she basked in the warmth of his body, dazed by the passion of his kiss. And to think she had thought he lacked passion! He had even called her “my love.”
He pulled away from her, took her hand in his and began to walk back to the house. “I shall ride to Lambeth Palace for a special license. I’ll leave immediately. It is m
y intent to have your vicar perform the ceremony at your mother’s bedside.”
Within the hour, she watched him ride off toward London.
Chapter Five
Radcliff sat m the sitting room adjacent to the countess’s sleeping chamber. He knew the news he was bringing Lady Heffington would be most unwelcome. She had made no secret of her desire to be his duchess.
“Mon chéri,” she greeted him, gliding into the room in a black lace negligee. Were it not for his Barbara, he would have thought the lascivious Lynda of the ivory skin and voluptuous body extraordinarily beautiful.
“You have been away far too long,” she said.
He stood up, and she swept over to him, linking her hands behind his neck. She tossed her head back to gaze at him.
“It has been three weeks since anyone has seen you, mon chéri. I’ve been most dreadfully worried about you. That odious Lady Landis said you had taken her daughter to Northumbria, but of course I knew that couldn’t be so. Why, her thin little daughter would no more turn your head than a charwoman.”
Removing her hands from his neck, Radcliff frowned. “But I regret to tell you another woman has, indeed, turned my head.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and her normally rich voice shook. “I knew it It is that cousin of Lady Emily’s, is it not?”
“It is. I have a special license in my pocket.”
She gasped but did not speak for a moment. When she did, her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You make a great mistake, Radcliff. You don’t know the girl. She’s but a child. She will never love you as I do. And she will never know how to please you as I do.”
“Nevertheless, she will be my duchess.” A grim set to his mouth, he picked up his gloves. “I wanted to tell you before you read it in the papers, Lynda.” His voice softened. “I owed you that.” He walked toward the door. “I bid you good-night, madam.”
“’Tis a beautiful bride ye’ll make,” said Polly, the maid, as she placed the last pin in the dress she was sewing for Bonny’s wedding.
Lifting the train of her gown, Bonny moved back to gaze into the mirror. The embroidered ivory muslin made a lovely dress for a country wedding, but of course it never would have done for marrying a duke, had they been back in London.
“Radcliff will love it,” said Emily, who had removed herself from a seat before the fireplace in Bonny’s room to circle around Bonny approvingly.
The ease with which her mother and Emily had accepted her forthcoming marriage to Radcliff surprised Bonny, since she herself was still plagued by fears that something would prevent so agreeable a union.
“While ye’ve got me sewin’, ye might as well have me make a mournin’ gown, Miss Bonny,” Polly said.
Bonny whirled round and snapped, “My mother is still very much alive.”
A dejected Polly, hanging her head like a scolded child, helped Bonny out of the gown.
After Polly assisted Bonny into a printed muslin day dress and left the room, Emily said, “I know it was a thoughtless thing for Polly to say, but she was right, you know.”
Bonny lowered her head and spoke softly. “I know. I’m just not myself lately.”
“You’ve had time to prepare for your mother’s loss. Aunt Cynthia would not want you to be melancholy. Think of your future with Richard and how happy you two will be.”
“You sound so confident of my happiness.”
“That I am. As I’ve said all along, he adores you.”
“I wish I had half so much assurance of his attachment.” Surely Emily was mistaking the generous man’s excessive kindness for love. Because he was so very good to her did not mean he was in love with her. After all, he had never said he loved her.
“You’re a goose if you can’t see what’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
“Then a goose I am.” Bonny’s eyes scanned her cousin. “But I’m happy to see the color coming back to your face, Em. I think these cold old moors must be just what you needed to get back your health.”
“More likely it’s the absence from my dear, well-meaning mother. Then, too, my body’s healing. It’s been ten weeks since my precious Harriet was born.”
“Now, don’t you start getting melancholy. Your baby’s in perfectly good hands with Mrs. Davies.”
“I know. It’s just that it seems so wrong that I must be ashamed of the only things in my life that have given me joy.”
“Harold and Harriet?”
“Yes. I love them both so much. And I could never be ashamed of loving Harold.” Emily retied the satin ribbon adorning her dress. “I’d do it all over again. Part of Harold lives on. I see him every time I look at Harriet’s sweet face.”
“I worry what life holds for little Harriet.”
“If only Aunt Camille had lived. After Harold got killed, she vowed to raise our child and say it was hers.”
“It’s not fair that society prevents you from raising her, but, alas, both of you would be horribly branded.”
Emily nodded.
“I want you to know you’ll always have a home with me and Richard. Harriet, too.”
Emily sighed. “Sooner or later I’ll have to return to Mama, and I do so long to see Harriet.”
Bonny, nodding sympathetically, heard the clopping of horse hooves from outside and ran toward her second-floor window. It was not the first time in the past several days she thought she had heard the sound of a lone rider and expected to see Radcliff, only to be disappointed. This time, her heart hammering ever faster, she wiped the pane clear and saw him seated on his stallion, galloping into the hollow where her house was located, the capes of his coat flapping behind him.
“It’s Richard,” Bonny happily announced, running to the stairs. She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him, but when she got to the front door, she held back.
He strode through the door, already divesting himself of his greatcoat, and her breath caught at the sight of him. He looked incredibly handsome dressed casually in his riding clothes, mud splattered on his Hessians. His rugged hand pushed stray strands of his toast-colored hair from his forehead as his warm green eyes flickered at the sight of her, the hint of a dimple in his cheek twitching.
All she could think to say was, “You have the license, your grace?”
He slammed the door behind him. “Confound it, Barbara! We’ll be married on this very day and still you cannot call me Richard.” He moved closer. “Could you at least welcome me back with a kiss, my dear?” He lowered his head to her.
Her heart fluttered as she brushed her lips across his, eyeing Emily and Mrs. Melville coming down the stairs.
“His grace is back,” Mrs. Melville said. “And he’ll be wantin’ a nice spot of hot tea.”
“What I desire first, madam,” Radcliff said kindly, “is for you to dispatch a messenger requesting the vicar’s attendance here today.”
The old woman’s face brightened. “I’ll do that as quick as a wink, your grace.”
Radcliff took Bonny’s hand in his, a gentleness coming over him. “Your mother?”
Bonny’s lashes lowered. “She lives still.” Biting her lip, she looked back at Radcliff. “You look so very cold, your—Richard. Come sit before the fire and have some tea.”
The crackling fire warmed the cozy morning room. Bonny took a seat on the sofa that faced the fireplace and motioned for Radcliff to sit beside her. She poured his tea and handed it to him, her hand shaking.
She noticed his hands cradled the cup for its warmth. “Three times while you were gone, we thought we had lost Mama, but each time, she rallied back.”
“So she could make it until today,” he said softly.
Bonny nodded, offering him a scone but taking none herself. The sad vigil at her mother’s side these past days had greatly reduced Bonny’s appetite. Radcliff’s nearness distracted her from all the things she had been thinking of to say to him.
“I confess I am very hungry.” He took a big bite out of the warm scone. “
I wanted to arrive in time to get the vicar and marry today and had to forgo my meal.”
Bonny jumped to her feet to summon Mrs. Melville to prepare his grace something more substantial.
“Quit worrying about me, Barbara,” Radcliff instructed. “I believe you should be dressing for your wedding, and I, my love, need to clean up.”
With Dr. Howard and Emily as witnesses, Bonny married Richard Moncrief, the fifth Duke of Radcliff, at her mother’s bedside. As Radcliff placed the emerald ring on her finger, Bonny looked into her mother’s faded face. Though tears raced down Mrs. Allan’s cheeks, the dying woman’s face was placid, only her lips touched by a wan smile.
When the ceremony was over, Mrs. Allan spoke not to her daughter but to her new son-in-law. “Take care of her,” she said weakly.
Radcliff drew his arm around Bonny and gave her a loving glance. “I will do everything within my power to make her happy, ma’am.”
A wide smile crossed the old woman’s face, a face still pretty despite networks of wrinkles and years of ill health.
And the breath Mrs. Allan had so painfully strived for these past few years finally came to an end.
The doctor felt for her pulse, then looked into Bonny’s pained face and nodded. “I regret to say the parson will have to perform two ceremonies today.”
Bonny gasped and started to sob. Radcliff s arms closed around her, pulling her against his chest. She found the steady thumping of his heart beneath her ear strangely comforting. She cried against his shirt for a long while.
Later, Emily coaxed Bonny upstairs to change clothes while Radcliff assured his bride he would see to all the arrangements.
When Bonny came back downstairs, her husband brought her wool cloak and gloves. “Come, my love, we’ll walk along the moors. They will suit your melancholy mood.” He gently placed her cloak around her, lifted the hood over her black ringlets, then outlined her face with his finger.