Abby shuddered as her gaze went involuntarily to the bloodstained area concealed by the blanket. “Please do.”
She left the room, feeling curiously empty. She had done her wizardly duty. Jack was healed in all ways and no longer needed her. His sister was happy and bearing a child for the man she loved. Helen was free from a hideous enslavement, and the dark magician who had caused it was dead by his own hand. What more was there for her?
Suddenly needing fresh air, she headed for the outdoors. Maybe that would salve her feelings of emptiness.
She paused a moment, startled, then continued on her way, her lips curving in a faint smile. Perhaps she wasn’t entirely empty after all.
Chapter XXXIV
“There you are!” Jack strode along the path that led to the old gazebo. The structure was shabby, like so much of Langdale, but spring flowers bloomed exuberantly around the foundation and the little building commanded a glorious view of the dale.
Abby sat inside on the stone bench that circled the inner wall, Cleocatra on her lap and a damp but clean Maxie sprawled across her feet. There were circles under her eyes, and she looked ready to fall asleep where she was. A nod acknowledged him, but she didn’t speak.
“It took time for me to remember that I could find you mentally,” he explained as he settled on the bench beside her.
Her hand stroked the cat’s black fur. “How is your mother?”
“Sleeping peacefully.” Jack bent to scratch Maxie’s neck. The dog looked up at him adoringly. “She woke briefly when I laid her on the bed. She says she is Scranton’s sole heir, so she has inherited his property and fortune.” His mouth twisted. “She is now a considerable heiress. It remains to be seen if she’ll want to live in his house.”
“Mr. Willard had best take care that this time another man doesn’t steal her away before he can propose,” Abby remarked.
“He won’t make that mistake again. He’s with her now. They’ve been friends for many years. I think they would suit admirably. He understands her, she respects him, and they’re very fond of each other.” Jack chuckled. “I wouldn’t even mind admitting that he’s my stepfather.”
“So all is well.” Instead of victorious, Abby looked sad.
“Except you. You look exhausted. Here, I stopped by the kitchen for food.” He opened the canvas bag he’d brought and pulled out a meat pie. “After so much healing, you must be starved. This one is beef and mushroom, I think.”
“I am hungry, actually.” Abby bit into the pie, pastry crumbling onto her lap. “When I’m this tired, I don’t even remember to eat.”
Jack broke another pie into two pieces, using the smaller to lure Cleo from Abby’s lap and the larger for Maxie. Then he bit into one himself. The pastries were warm and delicious. Mrs. Watson had recovered her skill along with her optimism.
He’d finished his meat pie before he noticed that Abby was still looking sad. “What’s wrong, lass? It has been a terrifying day, and watching a man kill himself is disturbing, to say the least. But Scranton is no loss to the world, and together we have triumphed. Langdale is restored, and it couldn’t have been done without you.”
“Or without you. I’ve never been so frightened in my life as when he fired his shotgun at you.” She stared down, crumbling the last edge of pie pastry. “When we agreed to wed, I said that I wanted children, but other than that, you needn’t stay with me. I…I think I conceived today by the holy well.”
“We’re going to have a baby?” he exclaimed, stunned but delighted. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Celeste said that she felt sure that she was with child as soon as it happened. Now I know what she meant. The lad will be a strong wizard and a worthy heir to Langdale. I can return to Melton to bear the child. You are free to go back to the army if you wish now that the succession has been secured.”
Jack was so shocked that he choked on his last bite of pie and began coughing. When he could speak again, he exclaimed, “What the devil are you talking about? I thought we were getting on rather well. Do you really want to leave me?”
“No,” she said quietly, still not looking at him. “But we made a bargain when we married. It is not for me to change your terms.”
This time he remembered to use magic much more quickly. Mentally he reached out to touch her emotions so he could understand her mood.
It was a shock to realize how she saw herself: as too large and plain and a wizard who was less than welcome except when her talents were required. “You really see yourself as undesirable? Despite all I have done to demonstrate otherwise?”
She bit her lip and didn’t reply.
An insight struck him. “Lack of confidence runs deep, built up over many years. My being unable to keep my hands off you”—he took her hand—“is new. I suppose it takes a long time for doubts to fade.”
Though she still gazed away, her fingers tightened around his.
He continued, his voice soft. “It’s been such a busy day that I forgot to mention something rather significant that happened by the pool.”
She glanced up at that, brief amusement in her eyes. “Creating a child together is certainly significant, but I haven’t forgotten how it happened.”
“Hush, lass, this happened earlier.” He leaned over and scooped his large, lovely wife onto his lap. Caressing her hair, he said, “When I thought you were dead—the world stopped. I couldn’t imagine living without you. I was devilish slow to realize it, but I love you, Abby. Now and forever, world without end, amen. Do you love me enough to stay with me? No man can hold a wizardly wife against her will, so I surely hope that you want to stay.”
She began to sob uncontrollably. His first alarmed reaction lasted only a moment. She was increasing, all right. Even he knew that emotions ran high in a woman who was with child. Apparently that was true even if only a few hours had passed. “Are you going to tell me that you married me only for my title and entrée into London society?” he asked. “If so, I won’t believe it. I’ve learned a thing or two from you, my lady.”
She laughed a little through her tears. “It was never about your title, Jack. But I’ve suffered agonies of guilt about how I coerced you into marriage. Even though I gave you the opportunity to cry off, I’ve wondered ever since if you would have married me if you hadn’t felt obligated.”
He thought back to his chaotic emotions after his fatal accident. “Probably not,” he admitted. “A wizard wife would have been unthinkable then.”
“I knew I should let you go,” she said with a hiccup. “But I’d been in love with you for so long that I didn’t want to do the right thing. So I was selfish and let you be noble and marry me.”
“You were in love with me?” he said, startled.
She nodded. “The first time I saw you in Melton Mowbray, I was just a schoolgirl. I was so struck by the sight of you that I followed you down the High Street. It was like being ensorcelled. Every hunting season, I prayed you would be back so I might see you again.”
He caught her gaze, shocked. “Good God, lass, why? Surely not because I was so handsome!”
“No, most of your friends were more handsome,” she agreed.
His mouth curved. “You didn’t have to agree so quickly.”
She laughed. “You were certainly well built and athletic and you drew the eye, but even more, you looked so very—agreeable. Like someone I would enjoy knowing.” She ducked her head, but he could see her blush. “Like someone I would like to share my bed with.”
“That’s even better than if you considered me handsome.” He thought of Lady Cynthia Devereaux and other petite, fluttering blondes he had admired. They were mere daydreams, with no more substance than a cloud.
The lush, sensual, wise woman in his arms was his reality. This amazing creature who was carrying his child. His heart full to overflowing, he said, “I didn’t know what I wanted for a wife, so isn’t it fortunate that you decided you wanted me? You really do have some ability to see the future,
I think.”
“I don’t want you to regret what I did someday,” she said seriously. “What if things work out badly between us?”
He kissed her hard, leaving no doubt what he thought about her desirability. “No regrets ever, Abby.” He grinned. “And of course things will work out. It’s not for nothing they call me Lucky Jack!”
Epilogue
LANGDALE HALL
SEPTEMBER 1813
Langdale was having its first harvest festival since the death of Jack’s father, and a roaring success it was, too. Once Jack had done his duty in opening the festivities and greeting his guests, he went in search of his wife. She was easy to find. One of the first skills he’d mastered in his magical studies was how to locate Abby wherever she was.
He found her in the food pavilion, among tables piled high with made dishes and breads and jellies and sweets. When the sun reached its zenith and the whole pig and the side of beef now roasting over a fire pit were ready, the sides of the tent would be rolled up so guests could enter and feast.
“Hello, lass.” He paused after the tent flap dropped behind him to admire his wife’s splendor. She wore a fashionable blue morning gown, her height minimizing the effect of her pregnancy, even though she was seven months along. Abby was the kind of woman who became radiant when with child. Her skin was creamily perfect and her hair shone even in the dim light.
“Is all well?” She gave the special smile that was just for him, and stole a tart.
“Aha!” he said triumphantly. “Caught in the act. Mrs. Watson will be most displeased. She’s very hard on food thieves.” He used magic to tug at the pastry.
Abby resisted the tug and popped the rest of the tart in her mouth. “She gave me permission to indulge since I’m increasing,” she said with a dignity that was undercut by the smear of gooseberry preserves on her chin.
“Increasing in wonderful ways.” He stepped forward and kissed the gooseberry sweetness away while cupping her breasts. Pregnancy had made them even more magnificent than usual.
She purred and pressed against him. Desire flared like lightning. They were halfway to the point of no return when a child shouted just outside the tent. Blinking, Abby pulled away, saying huskily, “Later.” She took two more tarts, giving one to him and biting into the other herself.
“Later,” he agreed with a sigh. “I’m glad that you aren’t letting the son and heir go hungry.” It took major willpower to look away from the sensual sight of her teeth sinking into the flaky pastry.
“The daughter and heiress likes to eat,” Abby said, expression grave but eyes dancing.
He gently spread his hand over the curve of her belly and felt a kick. There was a lot of activity there today. It awed him that this precious, energetic life had been created from their love and passion. “You still won’t tell me if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“It’s good practice for you to learn on your own,” she said with her best schoolteacher manner.
He closed his eyes and tried to discern the gender of that glowing, growing white light, but without success. Surely that reckless energy indicated a boy? Yet he sensed a sweetness that was so much like Abby that the baby must be a girl. He shook his head. “The only thing I’m sure of is magic. This will be quite a little wizard.”
“And he or she will be raised to value that gift,” Abby said seriously.
Jack couldn’t agree more. No child of his would be beaten for showing too much interest in wizardry. Nor would any son be sent to Stonebridge Academy.
His gaze fell to her gown’s fashionable décolletage, which was enough to rivet even a stone saint. “I will not be responsible for my actions if we don’t go into a more public place.” He offered his arm. “Will you join me as I stroll about in the role of gracious host? It will be even better if you’re present as the gracious hostess.”
“With pleasure, my lord.” Abby took Jack’s arm and they returned to the festival, which sprawled beside and behind the manor house. Children played games, adults waited their turn to view a peep show of the Battle of Trafalgar, and strolling players and puppeteers performed. Every few steps Jack and Abby stopped to exchange pleasantries.
As they moved away from the puppet show, Jack murmured, “You know almost as many people here as I do, and they all adore you.”
She smiled, but shook her head in disagreement. “They’re just glad to be part of a happy, healthy community again.”
“They adore you,” he said firmly. “As well they should. After all, I adore you, and I have impeccable judgment in this matter.”
She blushed. Adorably. He loved watching the play of emotion in her expressive eyes. Every day she grew more beautiful.
Mrs. Watson, who had regained her good nature and her roundness, turned from the fire pit and announced in a carrying voice that it was time to eat. As she spoke, her minions rolled up the canvas walls of the pavilion and guests surged forward.
As Jack drew Abby away from the rush, a dusty but grand coach swept around the house and halted in front of the stables. Abby shaded her eyes. “Who can that be? I don’t recognize the carriage, and all the local gentry are here already.”
Jack narrowed his eyes, then set off toward the carriage, guiding Abby. “That’s the Duke of Alderton’s travel coach. Do you suppose my mother decided to return for the festival? I wrote her about it.” After Scranton’s death, his mother had gone to stay with Celeste, and the visit had been extended for almost six months.
“Oh, I hope she’s back,” Abby said, her step quickening. “Her letters are cheerful enough, but I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”
His wife was ever the healer, Jack thought affectionately. He wouldn’t have her any other way.
They reached the carriage as his mother was being handed out. “Jack, Abby!” she cried as she skipped toward them. “Oh, come here so I can hug you both at once!”
The affection in her embrace made up for her coldness when Jack had returned to Langdale after his years away. After sweeping her from her feet with his embrace, he set her back on the ground and studied her critically as she hugged Abby. This was the laughing, sweet-natured mother he remembered.
Interestingly, she looked her age now. Beautiful, but as a mature woman, not as a girl. She had grown more thoughtful since Scranton’s death.
“Don’t I get a hug?”
Jack turned to see his sister stepping carefully from the carriage. Though she was only slightly further along in her pregnancy than Abby, her petite frame made it much more visible.
“Celeste, how wonderful that you came!” He hugged her, too, but more carefully than with his mother.
“Am I forgiven past transgressions, Frayne?”
Jack turned, and was startled to see that it wasn’t a footman who had handed his mother and sister from the coach, but the Duke of Alderton himself. The duke looked a little wary, as if not entirely sure of his welcome after the unpleasantness in London.
“Piers! I’m glad you’re here to see how much better everything is.” He shook his brother-in-law’s hand enthusiastically.
“We’ve brought you a present.” The duke gestured behind the coach. Pulling to a stop in front of the stables was a large farm wagon filled with jumbled household goods and a family of five. Behind trotted several dusty herd dogs.
Not quite believing his eyes, Jack crossed to the wagon. That weathered face looked familiar. “Mr. Maxon, is that you?”
“Aye.” The shepherd sucked on a blade of long grass, striving to conceal his nerves. “The duchess came to call and said that all was well at Langdale. That you’d settled in the hall and you wanted folk to come home.”
Mrs. Maxon, the quiet woman sitting next to the shepherd, said softly, “It’s true, isn’t it? It…it has to be true.”
Abby came forward and caught Mrs. Maxon’s hand. “Bless the duchess for finding you! We have been looking for your family, but had not been successful. Welcome back to the dale, Mrs. Maxon. I’m Lady Fray
ne, and my husband has mourned your absence. He says that Mr. Maxon breeds the best sheepherding dogs in Britain.”
The shepherd’s face split in an unexpected grin. “Aye, that I do.”
Maxie, who had been successfully begging for treats and attention all over the festival, trotted forward and began touching noses with newly arrived dogs. Jack smiled. “I repaired your old cottage, hoping you’d come back, and even added two more rooms. You’ll be chief shepherd, but one thing you can’t have is this dog. She’s mine now.”
One of the children, a boy of about ten, scrambled down from the wagon. “Our Lulu is alive!” He hugged the dog happily. “She’d gone missing, she had. Just before we moved. ’Tis good to see her, my lord.”
“You must be hungry. Come and join the harvest feast,” Abby suggested. “Your old friends and neighbors will be glad to see you again.”
The Maxons climbed down from the wagon, the children tumbling headlong in their excitement. As the family moved off, Mr. Willard appeared, his expression blazing with happiness. “Helen!”
She caught the vicar’s hands and looked up into his face, beaming. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. Even with a letter a day from you, it wasn’t enough.”
“We’ll have to wait six more months,” he said softly. “Till you are out of mourning. If you’re sure that you want to live in a vicarage…”
“I’m sure.” She tightened her hold on his hands. “I was raised in one, and very happy I was. I’ll be happy in any vicarage that has you in it.”
Jack turned away, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. His mother would be in good hands with the vicar. He knew from Celeste that the two had been corresponding intensely while Helen was staying with her daughter, and he guessed that letters had brought them to a deeper level of understanding.
He and Abby escorted their guests to the house so they could freshen up. On the way out, he coaxed Abby into the alcove below the stairs for a bit of privacy. “It’s a perfect day, lass,” he said as he hugged her. “Did you know Celeste had found the Maxons?”
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