The Rake's Redemption

by Sherrill Bodine

  Was there ever a merrier look than the one the marquis flashed at her before bowing with a deep flourish and following Mrs. Forbes back into the kitchen.

  The inn’s kitchen was large. Fires blazed in enormous fireplaces at each end of the room, but the air was surprisingly fresh and cool, for a breeze worried the crisp curtains at huge windows on opposite walls. Rows of wooden shelves laden with jars of all sizes lined the stone walls and a long, polished oak table dominated the room. Aunt Sophia stood over a small black kettle slowly adding herbs to a boiling mixture while Freddie, coatless and with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stirred with a long-handled wooden spoon.

  So intent were they on their duties that they didn’t notice Mrs. Forbes’s entrance until she went to the pot to carefully examine the contents. She sniffed the steam. “Ah, yes. More mandrake root. Juliana, fetch that small jar of brown powder on the low shelf next to the window. Here, my lord marquis, chop these leaves.”

  Juliana watched Dominic shrug out of his coat, paying earnest attention to Mrs. Forbes’s instruction of the precise method to chop herbs. Smiling, Juliana crossed toward the shelves. At the window she noticed white and red cloth balls hanging. She expected to find the scent of cloves and cinnamon, but moving closer discovered the balls scentless.

  Frowning, she carried the small jar back to the table. “That is odd, Mrs. Forbes, your pomanders have no scent.”

  “Not pomanders, young lady. It is my herb potion to keep out insects.”

  Brushing a droopy brown curl from her forehead, Aunt Sophia turned from her pot. “Ingenious! I noticed that the kitchen was free of such troublesome creatures.”

  “But the bags have no scent. What keeps them out?” Juliana asked, fascinated by odd-shaped roots and strangely colored powders and fluids placed neatly about the room.

  “Scentless to you, young lady. But not to insects. Works nearly as well as my potions to keep out field mice.”

  “I say, Mrs. Forbes, wherever did you learn about herbs and potions and the like?” Freddie asked, his face red and glowing from the heat, his neck cloth twisted under his left ear.

  Lifting her head to a proud tilt, Mrs. Forbes’s eyes touched them all one by one. “My grandmother was a Romany princess. She taught my mother and then me all the old ways.”

  “A gypsy princess! Did she teach you to read palms? Always wanted my palm read,” Freddie declared with a wide grin.

  “Palm reading is for gorgios at the fairs,” scoffed Mrs. Forbes. “To tell the future … yes … sometimes. My grandmother had the eye. But not my mother.”

  Juliana glanced at Dominic and found him smiling that wonderful heart-stopping smile. “A tribe of gypsies camps on my grandfather’s lands in Kent every spring. When I was young, I climbed down the creeper outside my bedroom window and went to the woods to listen to their music.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Forbes nodded slowly, her eyes resting thoughtfully upon Dominic. “Music is the gift of God to the gypsies. Robbie has the gift. After dinner tonight perhaps he will play for you in the garden.”

  “That sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Juliana. She had a long-standing fascination with gypsies after once sneaking off to a local fair with George and Will. They had proven unsatisfactory companions, however, for when she had wanted to enter the colorful tent where an old gypsy woman sat gazing into a crystal ball, they had dragged her back to the pony cart and driven home. “I look forward to hearing Robbie play,” Juliana continued wistfully.

  “There are dark circles under your eyes, miss,” replied Mrs. Forbes. “I have brewed a new elixir for you, so you must rest today. That is what you need, rest and quiet, and that you shall have. Then tonight we shall see.”

  Fully rested after a long dreamless sleep in her bedroom, no doubt brought about by Mrs. Forbes’s marvelous potion, Juliana sat at the window under the dormer. She looked out into the garden through which Lord Liscombe and the marquis were returning from their ride. They were apparently sharing a jest. When the marquis flung back his head, his thick golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, and Juliana thought him a handsome sight indeed. Laughter made him almost approachable. It was difficult to believe that he was the same autocratic lord who had tried to order young Ben and gone so far as to take over the fixing of her coach. She preferred him the way he had been today in Mrs. Forbes’s kitchen and now, his face full of delight. Bringing the pink rose to her lips, she reveled again in its sweet scent. It was impossible not to feel the marquis’s charm even though she had no personal interest in him whatsoever. When Sophia joined her at the window, she quickly concealed the rose.

  Staring down at the two young men, Sophia sighed, “Do you suppose, Juliana, that the marquis might be what you are looking for?”

  “Aunt Sophia!” Juliana cried, nearly tumbling off the window seat so great was her agitation. “Of course he doesn’t fill my needs! He is neither middle-aged, nor I am sure, is he lonely and lacking female companionship.”

  Sophia smiled mischievously. “I am quite sure he does not!”

  “Also, dear Aunt, he may very well already possess a marchioness.”

  “I had forgotten about that,” replied her aunt, looking a little guilty, but she immediately brightened. “He doesn’t behave like a married man. But we must discover his matrimonial status as soon as possible.”

  “Aunt Sophia, what has come over you!” Juliana felt curiously anxious about Sophia’s newfound gaiety. Somehow Sophia appeared to be getting younger the farther away from Wentworth Park they traveled. She is only thirty-nine, Juliana suddenly remembered, not really old at all.

  “Have I grown an extra nose, dear?” Sophia asked pleasantly, her special smile making her truly lovely.

  “Oh, Aunt!” Juliana laughed, launching herself from the window seat to take Sophia’s hands and plant a cheerful kiss on her cool cheek. “I was just realizing how young you really are. We should be looking for a husband for you.”

  Sophia smothered a smile. “Such nonsense. The marquis would not suit me at all.” A strange look came over her features. “I am very pleased we decided to go to London. We must make the best of it.” She slipped an arm around Juliana’s shoulders, giving her a quick hug. “I’m famished. I can hardly wait to see what Mrs. Forbes has in store for us tonight.”

  Dinner, Aunt Sophia would have said, was an interesting combination of unexpected dishes. Certainly it was a vast improvement over parties at The Willows. When one dined with Sir Alfred and Lady Grenville, one always dined on mutton. Monotonous as it might be, it was often the only source of entertainment.

  Juliana felt Aunt Sophia’s burst of gaiety was catching. The air of excitement was so strong in the small parlor she could almost touch it. Freddie, seated to her left, took great pains to entertain and, indeed, his stories, no doubt carefully edited, about life in London caused both Juliana and her aunt to smile.

  At just the right instant Dominic entered the conversation with a witty aside that enhanced the tale and brought them all to laughter. He spoke with ease and knowledge on any number of subjects, encompassing politics, the late French wars, literature, and humorous on-dits concerning the beau monde.

  Juliana studied him carefully, for although she tried not to admit it, he held an odd fascination for her. It was not only his arresting face and his athletic body, but his mind was a storehouse of delight that she was beginning to have an alarming eagerness to explore.

  As though he felt her regard, Dominic turned to her, smiling, and Juliana’s heart quickened. His fingers touched her hand. “Come, Juliana,” he murmured softly, drawing her to her feet. “I believe your wish is about to be granted.”

  Startled and a little frightened that he could have read her thoughts, she stared at him for an instant before following his gaze to the doorway where Mrs. Forbes stood with Robbie, who held an ancient violin.

  The
night sky blazed with stars and the air was unseasonably warm for May. By moonlight Mrs. Forbes’s garden was a fairyland of shadows and scents.

  Sophia eschewed the heavy lavender-scented quilts Robbie spread upon the ground and sat on the stone bench beside Juliana. It seemed natural for Dominic to sit on the grass at Juliana’s feet, his thick golden hair so close she would have only to reach out her hand to run her fingers through the curls.

  Goodness, the lump on my head must have addled my brains, she told herself sternly. Folding her fingers tightly together, she looked up to where Robbie ran his bow tentatively over the strings of the violin. Soft notes filled the garden weaving a gentle serenity. She could hear Sophia sigh softly beside her, and Dominic leaned his head back against the edge of her bench. Suddenly the mood changed, great trills of notes enticed them to keep time to the lively music while Mrs. Forbes tapped her tambourine. Juliana could envision bare feet stamping and bright skirts twirling to the sparkling tune.

  Then suddenly Robbie was singing and the violin became sweet, haunting strings. The theme of the music was earthly passion. The songs sprang from every country and every age of Romany wanderings. Songs eerie with the yearnings of long-forgotten lovers, with lost tears and remembered laughter. Songs that spoke directly to the heart.

  She looked at Dominic. The moonlight defined his profile. Perhaps he felt her gaze, for he turned and rested his wide and solemn eyes upon her.

  Drugged with the beauty of the music, she did not look away when she should have, but instead let the sweetness of the moment fill her with a warmth that ran like fire through her blood.

  The last note faded into the darkness and Juliana, dragging her gaze from the marquis’s face, looked hazily around her. Tears stood in Aunt Sophia’s gray eyes. Freddie, looking very young, nibbled thoughtfully on a thumb while gazing at Robbie.

  Juliana caught Mrs. Forbes’s eyes from where she stood near her grandson’s shoulder and felt that for some minutes she had been watching her. Her browned and work-worn hand suddenly touched Robbie’s arm, and he lowered the violin to his side.

  They all sat silent, faintly dazed, until Mrs. Forbes spoke. “It is late. Robbie will see you to your rooms now.”

  They rose in silence, the magic of the haunting melodies having bewitched them, and Sophia placed her hand on Freddie’s arm, moving back into the inn.

  Juliana lingered in the midst of Mrs. Forbes’s garden, unwilling to let her feelings go. She felt as if she had just come awake after a long sleep. Life was different somehow. The world had moved forward without her. Taking this trip to London was the right choice. She’d lived in the past with memories and regrets for too long. It was time to begin anew.

  When she made no move to follow the others, Dominic stepped closer to her and they were breathing the same air, perfumed by an exotic mingle of flowers. Moonlight bathed his face with gilt, and Juliana felt her bones had turned to liquid and were flowing away leaving her weightless. All of her excitement, her emotional response to the music, had to come from her decision to go forward with her life. It couldn’t have anything to do with being alone in the moonlight with the marquis.

  “The music was … lovely, wasn’t it?” she breathed, forcing herself to speak.

  “Lovely … yes,” he whispered languorously, lifting her hand, turning it over to brush the inside of her wrist with his lips. He raised his eyes to her face and she met his look openly. What he saw there curled his mouth into a smile, and he twined their fingers together leading her deeper into the night garden.

  Willingly she followed him into the shadows, captivated by the tenderness in his voice, the softness of his lips on her wrist, the gypsy music lingering at the edge of her consciousness. She could touch now the excitement she had felt earlier. It was here at her fingertips.

  They turned a corner on the pathway and were before the brick wall that protected the little garden. Dominic stopped, turning her to him, his face starkly beautiful in the moonlight. Slowly he raised his hands, twining his fingers deeply into the curls resting on her shoulders, and whispered her name. “Juliana.”

  The rich timbre of his voice saying her name evoked a memory, a cherished memory of Will saying her name with that same longing. And with that memory came the desire to feel again those feelings that Will had awakened in her. But she knew these yearnings were different; she had changed and this man was not her beloved Will. The feelings he evoked were not of a comfortable secure love, but of a turbulent passion that could pull her over an edge into unknown depths of emotion. But it seemed right, a natural part of this night and this place to tilt her head back to gaze up at him. His eyes flashed sapphire lights, igniting the fires of excitement so they burned within her. A whisper of fear sent a chill down her arms. His hands settled on her shoulders, propelling her gently into the warmth of his embrace. Juliana knew she ought not to close her eyes, but she did anyway. She could feel his mouth hovering above hers, warming her lips, stroking them with his sweet, wine-scented breath before slowly they touched.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, her mind flashed a warning, but it had been too long since she had been kissed, so Juliana quieted that voice, pleading for just one more moment. One more moment to feel this strange delight. Her hands went up to his chest to feel the strong steady beat beneath his jacket. It quickened slightly when his lips pressed hers again, more urgently this time. Cool and dry, his searching lips taught her a lesson that had long been hidden from her.

  “Juliana … so soft, so perfect,” that enchanting voice whispered. His finger gently caressed her cheek and she slowly opened her eyes.

  It was not like Will at all. It was like no feeling Will had ever evoked, not even during his careful, gentle lovemaking. This man took possession with one kiss as sweet, gentle Will never had in their month of marriage.

  The slamming of a door brought Juliana out of her daze. Light flashed along the path and a brisk step broke them apart.

  “Your lordship?” Mrs. Forbes’s voice shattered the spell. “Bring the young miss in. The night air will bring an inflammation of the lung. Hurry now.”

  Turning back the way they had come, Dominic’s arm encircled her waist and she leaned against him following Mrs. Forbes’s retreating back. The heady perfume of night-blooming jasmine overpowered all the other scents in the garden. The air was heavy with it, pressing against her. The path seemed uneven now, and she stumbled slightly, but was caught firmly in his strong arms.

  She needed to say something to him, needed to understand what was happening, but was unsure of what she wanted to know. Nevertheless she tilted her head against her shoulder, whispering, “Dominic…”

  He placed two fingers over her parted lips. “In the morning … Juliana. We will talk in the morning.”

  Chapter 3

  From her bedroom window Juliana saw the sun rise over Mrs. Forbes’s garden wall, now such an ordinary rose brick, so unlike the enchanted bower of the night before. She had not closed her eyes all night. At one point, in the dark, chill hours, she had lit her bedside candle to search through her luggage until she found her jewel case. Taking out the locket containing Will’s and Sir Timothy’s pictures, she had placed it under her pillow. She wasn’t quite sure why she had done that, perhaps because suddenly Wentworth Park and the life she had lived there seemed very far away.

  She tried to blame these feelings on the excitement of the trip to London and the anticipation she felt. She tried to blame her sudden eagerness for life on the romantic atmosphere created by Robbie’s violin. She tried to blame those moments of madness in the garden on the moonlight: any reason, any other reason than the marquis himself. But she could not deny that Dominic Crawford, Marquis of Aubrey, was the reason she had not slept. His fingers pressing hers, his arms enfolding her, his lips caressing hers, awakening a new joy, freeing a flood of emotion she had thought locked away forever. He had underst
ood, she had seen it in his eyes. And when he had said they would talk in the morning, she knew he, like she, was unable to break the spell around them. That he, like she, needed time to consider the strange affinity between them.

  Somewhere in the distance a cock crowed. Everyone would be awake soon. She would once again see the marquis. The thought both frightened and pleased her. Juliana was not sure which emotion was stronger.

  The cock crowed and Dominic stretched languidly under the down coverlet. Another sleepless night. But instead of the dreams of Culter Towers that left him drenched in sweat, or tossing in blinding fury, or full of painful longing for his father and what once had been, his dreams had brought a longing for her. At last a woman he might trust. A woman like the one woman he had carried in his soul since that night on the Peninsula when a soldier spent his dying moments painting word pictures of his young wife at home. In spite of the years of corruption or perhaps because of them, Dominic had cherished that vision and idealized that woman until she became the unattainable goddess all young men yearn for. But he was no longer a young man who believed in dreams. They had all died for him and Jules in one night at Culter Towers.

  Juliana had for a moment wiped away the pain of that night. And she had offered him hope for the future. He had seen it in her eyes, reflecting the brilliance of the moon, softening under his touch. He had felt it, when her hands so shyly had crept to his chest, no coyness, but instead a wonder of recognition in their touch. For the first time the wall he had built around himself had not protected him; Juliana had touched his heart.

  But the years of corruption had taught him to beware, and those years intervened now, warning him to go slow, to be sure. This morning he would see her again and perhaps the cold light of day would temper the hope coursing through him. Yes, carefulness was the tack.