“Carriage!” Dobson yelled.
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Markus released Phoebe and called up to the driver. “Who is it?”
“Not sure, but they’re coming up fast. Shall I try to outrun them, Sir?”
Calm rationale was what he’d been known for when he was in service. His training kicked in. He put a knee on the bench next to Honoria, who was now fully awake. The small back window offered him only the confirmation that someone was indeed gaining on them. All the dust churning in the road left him without the ability to see who.
“Markus, we should try to get away. Ford will hurt you if he must and what if it’s soldiers?” Panic rose in Phoebe’s voice.
He looked again. He saw no red coats or men on horseback. “I don’t think it’s soldiers. There is no sense in getting ourselves killed.” He went back to his seat. “Pull over, Dobson.”
Despite his calm, he couldn’t know what he’d do once the other carriage reached them. If they were lucky, it would just be someone in a hurry and they would pass. The waiting was always the hardest part. Tension emanating from Phoebe and Honoria was palatable. Phoebe’s eyes filled with fear and fury. Lord, how he adored her temper. So much passion wrapped up in one woman. He couldn’t wait to unleash every last bit of it.
In the meantime, the pursuing carriage drew closer and slowed. No such luck that it would pass them by. “Stay in the carriage, ladies. This could just be someone wanting to see who stopped. No need to panic.”
Phoebe grabbed his coat sleeve. “Don’t do anything ridiculous. I would never forgive myself if Ford hurt you.”
He tucked a lock of ruby hair behind her ear. It had come loose while they kissed. “I can manage your brother. Be calm, sweetheart.”
He took his pistol from its hiding place under the cushion. Stepping out in the road, Markus hoped he had not lied. A man was as dangerous as what he was willing to risk. He assumed Ford was not willing to risk much while Markus would risk everything for Phoebe.
He took a stance leaning against the side of the carriage and crossed his arms over his chest. As the carriage drew closer, he noted there was no Hallsmith crest on the side. He relaxed just enough to cross one leg over the other, and in case it was bandits he eased a pistol’s hammer back.
The familiar halloo of Miles Hallsmith set his nerves to rest and he let the hammer ease back to safety and let out the breath he’d been holding. “You might have followed a bit slower, Hallsmith. We thought you were brigands.”
“Or worse, Ford.” Phoebe poked her head out the window and laughed.
“Ha! No, it’s just Mother and me. We got a late start and have been riding like to devil to catch up to you.” Miles stepped into the road.
Lucretia waved from the window. “That stupid son of mine was intent on following you with the militia. It was all Miles and Aaron could do to talk him out of it.”
“Has Aaron gotten involved in this too?” Phoebe pulled her eyebrows together. “I hate that he is distressed.”
Miles said, “He was happy to help. He even went with Ford to Gretna Green to retrieve you. They will be halfway there by now and by the time Ford realizes he’s in the wrong place, it will be too late.”
Markus could have hugged Miles. Instead he slapped him on the back. “Good work. Here I was planning how to out maneuver Ford and you have him chasing his own tail. Well done!”
Miles laughed. “We have a long way to go yet. I say we’d better get moving.”
“Agreed.” Markus climbed back into the carriage and stored his pistol. He hoped his soon-to-be bride didn’t know how worried he’d been. There were still things that could go wrong.
The carriage pulled back into the road with Miles’s carriage following behind. They kept a good pace, stopping only for necessary rest and to change horses.
* * * *
Phoebe stood at the small chapel’s altar facing the rest of her life. Markus was still in his traveling clothes, but she had washed and changed into a light blue wisp of a dress.
The worry that had creased his brow throughout the long ride to Scotland remained. He might have changed his mind. She couldn’t blame him if he had. All this trouble to wed a girl of no standing and no dowry. As beastly as Ford had been, Markus remained steadfast in his desire to marry her. He’d kissed her whenever Honoria faked a nap. While they had spent each night at inns separated by walls, Mother, and Honoria, she’d invited him to stay with her and desire had burned in his eyes.
She wanted to throw her arms around him, but doubted the clergy would approve.
Honoria sniffed from the front row.
“If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” The minister’s words echoed in the stone chapel.
Every breath in the place held.
Phoebe nearly laughed at the silence and had to pinch her leg to keep from becoming hysterical from the building tension.
No one spoke, and everyone let out their breath as one sigh.
Markus promised to love her until death, and his gaze met hers. Joy sparkled behind his eyes.
The minister put the question to her. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” No one had ever been this happy. She was sure of it. Phoebe Hallsmith was in love with a man who would always love her in return. She felt she might jump out of her skin while the minister droned on.
The minister pronounced them man and wife and suddenly she was Lady Devonrose. Nothing could have prepared her for that idea. Throat clogged with love she clung to Markus’s hand as he led her from the chapel.
Michael, Duke of Kerburgh, slapped Markus on the back. “I think all my friends should run away to Scotland and be married at my home.”
“It does seem to have become a tradition.” Markus laughed.
Phoebe tried to keep her elation in check.
Mother and Miles hugged and congratulated her. Everything sped by in a fog.
Honoria dabbed the corners of her eyes with a square of lace. “Oh my, that was the most beautiful ceremony.” She pulled Phoebe into a hug. “I’m so happy for you. I knew it would all turn out right.”
“You did, didn’t you?” Phoebe said.
“I shall miss you at the Everton Domestic Society. You were always my favorite. But this is a fine start for your real life, sweet Phoebe. Time for you to be taken care of instead of you taking care of everyone else.”
Phoebe looked at Markus.
His smile was all she would ever need.
“I will miss you too, Honoria. If you wanted to come and stay with us, we would be quite happy to have you.” Phoebe grasped her hands.
“Oh, you are too kind. I shall come and visit, but I love traipsing around the country with Everton ladies. I shall not give it up. Not yet.”
“I will hold you to your promise to visit,” Phoebe said.
“You can keep a room made up for me.” Honoria patted Phoebe’s cheek and danced off to talk to Lucretia.
Markus took her hand. “She may change her mind and want to stay.”
“Maybe.” Phoebe shook off her disappointment. The days of travel were catching up with her and she stifled a yawn. “Shall we thank our hosts?”
Her Grace insisted on being called Elinor. She clapped and grinned. “I love these impromptu visits and weddings. All we need is an anvil and this could be the new Gretna. Shall we celebrate your marriage in the morning, Markus? It is very late, and your wife looks ready to drop.”
Markus stared at Phoebe for a long moment before turning back to their hostes
s. “A wedding breakfast would be excellent, Elinor. Thank you.”
With a nod, Elinor said, “All your rooms have been prepared while we were in the chapel. If you need anything at all, just ask.”
Two maids rushed in to lead the newlyweds, Lucretia, Honoria, and Miles to rooms above stairs.
Once inside a lush bedchamber, Markus told Arwen that he would assist her lady and bolted the door. “Are you all right, Phoebe?”
Numb, she sat on the edge of the bed. “I suppose I am a bit overwhelmed.”
Markus sat next to her and pulled her into his lap. “Most people get months to prepare for their wedding. I wish you could have had that and hope you are not regretting our haste.”
“No. It’s just…”
“What?” One word, but laced with worry as he tipped her chin up.
Here was a man who had put himself back together for the sake of his daughter. Somehow, he had fallen in love with her. It was all so improbable, she struggled to grasp it. “I was prepared to be an old maid. When I went to care for my grandmother I knew I was throwing away my best chance at marriage. Then Gavin Durnst courted me and I resolved that even though I did not and could not love him, at least I would have a home and family of my own. He embarrassed and hurt me when he broke the engagement, but it was also a relief. Everton became my home and my family. It was comfortable and perhaps safe. Never in a million years did I expect to fall in love or to be loved in return. Now I have a beautiful family of my own. Today is the happiest day of my life, but I am afraid I will wake up tomorrow and it will all be a dream.”
He kissed the top of her head. “It is a dream. The most wonderful dream and we get to live it for many years to come. You, Elizabeth, and I will make a life in Rosefield and should you honor me with more children, they too will grow up happy and loved.”
“And no one will force them to marry where they do not wish?” Phoebe’s heart grew too big and her breath caught.
“Never.”
“I truly love you Markus Flammel.”
His eyes smiled before those beautiful lips tilted wickedly. “And I love you, Everton Lady.”
Epilogue
“You realize this is ridiculous?” Phoebe’s neck and shoulders ached from sitting still while Maestro Capelli dabbed his brush on the pallet, then the canvas. A large chair had been brought into the front parlor where the light was best. Her nose itched from the freshly stuffed pillows.
“Madam, please, do not move.” His long black robe and white hair sticking straight up from his head was enough to make her laugh for the first thirty minutes, but three hours later, she’d had enough.
Markus laughed. “Sit still, Phoebe. It will be well worth it when it’s done.”
“To whom? I have no desire to see it.” The itch was intolerable, and her lower back ached. The sun glinted off the windows and hit her directly in the eye. She squinted against the glare.
“Then do it for me. Is it so much to ask that your portrait hang beside mine in the gallery?” It was near to a whine.
“Emma hangs beside you, and your Uncle Ebert is on the other side. Is that not sufficient?” She stretched her neck, which gained a groan from Capelli.
Barely containing his mirth behind a cough, Markus said, “My dear uncle has been moved to the opposite wall near my parents, and you will occupy that space, my love.”
“Mama Fee!” Elizabeth ran into the parlor with Miss Cavot trailing behind.
Maestro threw his hands up. “Impossible. The light has gone anyway. We shall continue tomorrow.” He drew a cover over the painting and tossed the brush into the cup before quitting the room.
Everything she could ever want was inside the parlor. It was impossible that things had turned out so well, but here she was. Ecstatic to move, Phoebe reached down and lifted Elizabeth into her arms. “How was your day, dearest?”
“Winny plays. Horsy, doggie.” She whacked the overstuffed pillow with one chubby hand.
“I see. You went out to visit Mr. Duck?” Phoebe glanced at Miss Cavot for confirmation.
Nodding, Miss Cavot smiled. “He is very fond of Miss Elizabeth.”
“And why not?” Markus plucked Elizabeth from Phoebe and offered her a hand up. “I think we shall take a walk in the garden. Her ladyship is in need of the exercise and it is a nice day. You may take a break from your duties, Miss Cavot.”
“Oh, yes. A walk would be just the thing.” Every muscle in her body ached.
He kept her hand cradled in his and they stepped into the hallway. “First let me show you the spot where your portrait will hang, Viscountess.”
The entire notion of being painted was embarrassing. She was not the kind of woman men painted. She was just Phoebe Hallsmith. She shook her head and corrected herself. No. She was Phoebe Flammel, the viscountess of Devonrose, and she had been for nearly two months. It was time she started thinking like a viscountess and not an Everton lady. Though, perhaps there was some middle ground that could be found between the two.
Markus’s long legs ate the floor and Phoebe had to run to keep up with him lest she be dragged down the hallway.
“Markus, for heaven’s sake, slow down before you have to collect me off the carpet and carry me as you are Elizabeth.”
Giggling, Elizabeth clapped, evidently liking the idea very much.
They shared a smile and Markus slowed to a walk that Phoebe could keep up with. Phoebe had only been in the gallery one time with Elizabeth when they were talking about Emma. It was important that she knew who her mother was and how wonderful and beautiful she was. The experience had been so emotional for Phoebe, she had not returned.
They climbed the stairs and the floor changed from scarred wood to white marble as they crossed the threshold into the gallery. Light poured in from high windows but no direct light made its way to the priceless art. A bronze bust of Markus’s maternal grandfather stood proudly in the center of the room and around him several statues in the Greek and Roman style.
Still clinging to her hand, Markus led her to the west wall, where his portrait was the centerpiece. To his left, Emma smiled down on them. The space to the right was empty showing no trace of the uncle who had previously graced the location.
“I think once you see the portrait, you will prefer to put your uncle back in his spot.”
Elizabeth pointed to the bare wall. “Mama Fee.”
Kissing her cheek, Markus smiled. “Indeed. That is where Mama Fee will be placed. I think it is a fine and suitable placement for the viscountess.”
“I think you shall both be disappointed when the Maestro informs us that he can do nothing to make me look presentable for a portrait.” Phoebe tugged her hand away and walked to the other side of the room. She avoided the accusation gazing down from Markus’s ancestors and stared at the reproduction of Venus in the corner.
Little footsteps pattered across the room, accompanied by Elizabeth’s laughter.
Markus hugged Phoebe from behind. “Why do you say such things? You have every right to be on that wall and you are more beautiful than anyone else I know inside and out.”
“I suppose I still feel like an interloper in Emma’s life.” Her voice caught. Despite the happiness she’d found, she was terrified it would all end the moment Markus realized he’d made a terrible mistake.
He spun her to face him and gripped her shoulders. “Phoebe, I love you. Nothing will change that. Not even death. Emma would be happy we found each other. She loved you very much and often said you were the smartest, kindest and bravest woman she knew. Do you not think she would want you to be happy?”
“Of course, she would. Emma wanted everyone to be happy all the time. She hated to see anyone suffering or sad.” The memory of her friend crushed her heart.
Markus stared until she met his gaze. “Then is it that I do not make you happy?”
Sh
e launched against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh God, Markus. No. You have made me happier than I have ever been. You are the best and kindest husband.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Then why are you uncomfortable with this portrait?”
“While I am thrilled to be Mrs. Flammel, I am not quite ready to be the viscountess of Devonrose. Being remembered for one moment in time when someone commissioned a portrait is not exactly what I had expected from my life.”
“What then? You want me to send Maestro Capelli away?” His shoulders lifted and fell against her.
She was being silly. “No. I just want…”
“What?” He stepped away.
She immediately missed his embrace. “Maybe we could start a charity or I could go around to the farms with you and meet with the wives and see what they need.”
Elizabeth ran around and around Grandfather’s bust singing “Ring Around the Rosie.”
The lack of response from Markus forced her to turn and see if he had left her standing alone with her ridiculous notions of what a viscountess might do.
Still standing in the same spot, he stared at her with wide eyes. “You are bored.”
How could anyone be bored when they have what every debutante wanted? “Yes, horribly.”
His laugh echoed off the marble and plaster.
“Papa!” Elizabeth ran to him and he lifted her up.
“For goodness’ sake, Phoebe, why did you not say something? Here I thought you were sorry to have married me.”
Closing the gap between them, she fell into the family hug. “I’ve never been happier, Markus, or more useless. I hate sitting and making lace for no purpose. I do not paint or play well, though I am not opposed to learning both. How do women exist with nothing to do?”
“The question is, what would you like to do? Run an agency like the Everton Domestic Society?” He took her hand and led her out of the gallery and down the back stairs before they pulled on coats and exited into the gardens.
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