The Bride's Secret

by Cheryl Bolen

  He was to blame for these men's deaths. He had cockily thought his improvements had rendered his mine completely safe. He had given his men false confidence. He should have closed down the rickety mine when he came here last year. He'd been reluctant to do so and deprive the men of their livelihoods. Now he had deprived them of their lives.

  He heard the cable being lowered and held up his lantern to see who was approaching. At first all he saw was purple velvet. Then he smelled lavender. Carlotta's scent. His heart began to race.

  It could not be his wife. She was deathly afraid of the mines. She would never allow herself to be lowered down here. And, truth be told, he did not want her here. Especially not after what had happened here today.

  He held his lantern higher and squinted into the darkness. By God, it was Carlotta! An inexplicable fear tore through him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I've come to beg that you come out.”

  His Carlotta, who had vowed never to enter a mine, had lowered herself into this one for the sole reason of persuading him to leave. He was deeply moved by her concern for him. As she came to stand beside him, he went to stroke her beautiful face with his black hand, then stopped. He had never been more proud in his life.

  Nor had he ever been more in love.

  “I can't,” he said. “I've got to try and get these men out.”

  “James,” she said in a gentle voice, moving closer to him and setting a gentle hand on his arm, “you know there's no hope. Mr. Hastings even admitted as much to me. Please, will you not come back tomorrow when it will be safer and you can be more refreshed?”

  Though he could only barely see her face now, he knew she was crying. Was his beloved sobbing because she was so terrified down here? Or was she gripped with fear for him? Either way, she obviously had come to care deeply for him. For the first time in hours, his heart felt almost light.

  “Stevie and I need you. I . . . we couldn't bear it if anything happened to you.” She reached up and set a lily white hand at each side of his black face. “Please, my love, come up. Mrs. MacGinnis has brought food.”

  He set down the lantern and drew her into his arms. Never mind that his blackness would rub off on her dress. His desire to kiss her was more powerful than was his fear of a cave-in. He greedily lowered his lips to hers for a swirling, open, hungry kiss.

  Though she was receptive at first, she soon drew back. “Please, love, let's go up.”

  Her need for him, indeed her deep affection for him, moved him to where he felt there was nothing he could not do. He felt as if he could single-handedly raise the roof of the entire mine. But he had to get his beloved wife out of here. And he knew the only way she would leave was with him.

  “I'll follow you,” he said curtly. He knew when he came up, the others would lose all hope. Even more difficult than facing the hopeless miners, though, would be facing the dead men's families.

  With his hand set about his wife's waist, they came out of the shaft and into the dark night. He saw by now that grim-faced family members had gathered around. His thoughts flashed to Waterloo and his men who were slain there. Men whose families he had to notify. Only writing a letter, as painful as it had been, was easier than coming face to face with a bereaving widow and fatherless children.

  Hastings came up and set a hand on his shoulders—his mute attempt to express the comfort he was unable to convey with words.

  “We've done all we can,” James finally said. “I've decided not to risk any more loss of life. The men need to go home to their families tonight,” he told Hastings. He cleared his throat. “And I need to console the two families.”

  “I'll go with you,” Hastings said.

  James's nodded.

  Carlotta stepped forward. “I'm going, too.”

  He was curiously torn between conflicting emotions of utter grief over the loss of life and elation over his wife's courage and devotion.

  He nodded and moved closer to the assembled families. “There's nothing more we can do tonight,” James began.

  A woman's low, mournful wail cut into his speech and sent his stomach plummeting. It was too dark to see faces, but he knew at least one of the widows was assembled here.

  “We'll gather back here tomorrow morning and try to bring the bodies up.”

  Silence fell over the group. Even the children were stone silent.

  He couldn't tell them now what was in his heart. That he would have to close the mine. It was too much for them to take in the span of one day.

  He stepped back and whispered to Hastings. “The widows are here?”

  “I'm told that Linderman's family is here. I don't know about Covington's.”

  Another woman shrieked, and James turned to see that it was his own wife.

  “Douglas Covington?” she asked hopelessly.

  He nodded.

  “His poor wife . . .” Tears began to glisten on Carlotta's face.

  He moved to her and closed an arm around her waist.

  “I must go to Mrs. Covington,” Carlotta said, sniffing and brushing tears from her wet cheeks.

  “We'll go together.”

  First, James and all the miners' families present gathered around Mrs. Linderman, who clutched a handkerchief to her swollen eyes as she softly sobbed. “My Harry. Why my Harry?”

  James dropped to one knee before her and spoke softly. “I know, Mrs. Linderman, there's nothing I can say that will bring your husband back. I want you to know how highly I thought of him, what a dedicated worker he was--”

  “For all the good it did him!” she wailed.

  James nodded. “Please know that your family will never be in need. I will see that you never want for anything.”

  She broke into a sob. “Thank you, my lord.” Then she began to wail, and several women collapsed around her.

  James got to his feet and turned back to his wife, holding out his hand to her. “We'll go now to the Covington's.”

  * * *

  Hastings accompanied them on the ten-minute walk to the Covington cottage, but before they reached it, they came face to face with the entire Covington clan walking two abreast across the moors.

  As soon as Mrs. Covington saw Lord and Lady Rutledge, she stiffened, and James knew that she knew.

  “My Dooglas is dead,” she said morosely.

  Carlotta and her husband came to a stop, and Carlotta nodded. “How did you know?”

  There was an emptiness in the widow's voice when she answered. “One of the lads what was at the mine, came here to tell us our Dooglas was trapped down under. I never even thought about harm coming to him tonight since he said he'd be home late because of helping Mr. Hastings with some extra duties after work.” Mrs. Covington broke into anguished cries.

  Carlotta settled a gentle hand about the woman's shoulder. “Let's go back to your cottage. You all will be warm there.”

  'Twas the longest walk Carlotta had ever taken. The two Covington daughters cried hysterically, and even the lads were unable to hide their tears. James offered to hold the babe, who was being held by the eldest girl, and Hastings lifted up a little boy who could not have been more than two years of age.

  At the cottage, Carlotta settled the widow into her dreary sopha, and the woman's children gathered around her.

  “Mrs. Covington,” Carlotta said, “I cannot tell you how terribly sorry I am for you.”

  James stepped forward. “Douglas Covington was one of the finest men I've ever known.”

  Mrs. Covington nodded. “He was the finest man, the best hoosband and the greatest father there ever was.”

  “Indeed he was,” Carlotta whispered, clasping the widow's hand. Carlotta still could picture the pride that came over the man when he spoke so affectionately of his family. With a stab of pain, she remembered, too, the words his wife had so recently uttered. I don't know what I'd do if something ever happened to me Dooglas.

  How well Carlotta understood the emotions which were tearing at the
woman right now. Until just minutes before Carlotta had been crippled with the same fear, fear that she would be deprived of her own beloved husband.

  “You are blessed that your Douglas left you such wonderful children,” Carlotta said in a feeble effort at consolation. “As time passes, your fine sons will help to fill the emptiness and will serve to remind you of your husband.”

  Instead of their desired effect, Carlotta's words caused fresh waves of tears to burst forth from Mrs. Covington.

  A knock sounded at the door. Hastings opened it, and a half dozen miners' wives rushed into the room and threw their arms around the grieving widow.

  Carlotta had thought to stay with Mrs. Covington this first night, but after the other wives came, Carlotta realized the widow would be more comfortable with these women of her own class.

  Before they left James told Mrs. Covington he would make provisions for her to assure that neither she nor her children would ever go without.

  Outside, Carlotta and James separated from Hastings, and Carlotta and James began the lonely trip home.

  Chapter 26

  The moors took on a macabre aura that moonless night as Carlotta and her brooding husband trod over the tussocks on their journey home to Yarmouth Hall. The only sound in the eerie silence was the fall of their footsteps. Blackness blanketed everything, including Carlotta's somber thoughts. She could not rid her mind of the gruesome vision of Douglas Covington's black body buried beneath the cold stone mine.

  “I know you have to be completely exhausted,” she said at length. “You left the house early this morning.”

  He sighed. “That I am.”

  Carlotta's thoughts settled on Douglas Covington's poor widow. It had just been a matter of days since she had told Carlotta how dear her husband was to her, how highly she regarded him. Carlotta remembered how the woman's face had brightened when she spoke of him. No more wistful smiles for the poor widow now, Carlotta thought morosely.

  Her heart went out, too, to the unfortunate lads who would miss having a father to teach them about becoming a man. Her thoughts flitted to Stevie and how fortunate he was to have James.

  Her heart sped up. How fortunate she was, too.

  By the time Carlotta and James arrived at Yarmouth, Mrs. MacGinnis and her staff had already returned.

  “Mrs. MacGinnis,” Carlotta called to the housekeeper, “I must thank you for having the presence of mind to bring food to the miners. Your thoughtfulness was much appreciated.”

  James stepped forward and spoke to the woman. “You are much appreciated.”

  Mrs. MacGinnis smiled shyly.

  Carlotta came closer and spoke with command tempered with sweetness. “I should like for you to have Cook prepare feasts to take to the homes of the dead miners tomorrow. Would it also be possible for you to arrange to bring refreshments to the mines in the afternoon?” Carlotta glanced at her husband, wordlessly seeking his approval.

  He nodded as Mrs. MacGinnis said, “We should be happy to help in any way we can.”

  “Now, if you please,” Carlotta said, as she began to follow her weary husband up the stairs, “have hot water brought to my husband's chamber.”

  * * *

  While waiting for James's tub to fill, Carlotta knelt at his feet and assisted him in removing his muddied boots.

  “Never mind me,” he said. “I daresay Mannington can manage. You'll need to remove the soot and mud from your own self.”

  She met his gaze and spoke throatily. “I wish to send Mannington away.”

  Now he understood. As exhausted as he was, he understood and his body feebly responded to the velvet tone of her seductive voice.

  Mannington stepped from the dressing room with clean clothing for his master.

  “I shan't need you any more tonight, Mannington,” James said, his eyes never leaving Carlotta's.

  “Very good, sir,” the valet answered flatly as he set the clothing on James's bed then turned on his heel and departed.

  With the firelight as a backdrop, James watched the footmen pour the last kettles of water into the tub, then leave the bed chamber.

  Watching her husband with smoldering eyes, Carlotta reached for his buttons. James drew in his breath. She began to unfasten them, one by one. When she was finished, she lay her hand over the hair that matted on his chest. “So white there compared to here,” she whispered as her hand reached to stroke his blackened face.

  His breathing grew more harsh, his mind and heart shaken to their depths by her gentleness—and his ever-swelling love for her.

  Slowly, she removed the shirt from him. “Shall we stand?” she whispered.

  James answered her without words, pulling her up with him. Her hands slipped to the bare skin beneath his breeches, and she gave them a tug. “I shall require your assistance in removing these, my darling.”

  My darling. Good God in heaven! He was beginning to believe his wife had, indeed, fallen in love with him. He jerked off his breeches and watched as her eyes flitted to the center of his body, then back to his face.

  “Get in the tub, love, and I shall wash you,” she said in a husky whisper.

  He obliged her.

  She dropped to her knees and stirred her hands in the water, then lathered the soap in them. “Scoot down, love, and I'll start with your hair.”

  He slipped completely beneath the water, then allowed just his head to come above the water line.

  Carlotta began to lather his wet hair, then moved her gentle hands to his face, avoiding his eyes. “There!” she said when she finished. “You may rinse yourself now.”

  He plunged once more below the water. When he came up, his wife was holding out a towel. He grabbed it and dried his eyes, then his hair, then tossed it back to Carlotta.

  Next, she began to wash his shoulders and his chest. Each gentle swirl of her magical hands sent his heart racing. With the firelight playing on her face, he smiled at the black smudges there.

  He thought of the rush of emotions that had filled him when he had pulled her into him as they stood in the dark mine shaft. She had not cared that he dirtied her dress. As, indeed, she seemed not to care now that she was most likely dirtier than she had ever been in her entire life.

  He loved her all the more for it. She had put him above herself. She loved him! He could storm from the room and shout his love for her from the rooftop!

  “We shall need to trade places, my love,” he said. “Next, it shall be my turn to wash you.”

  A smile slid across her face, and her eyes danced.

  He stood up, his feet planted in the metal tub.

  She offered her hand. “Come, allow me to dry you before the fire, love.”

  As she dried him, he began to unfasten her dress, despite that he was nearly debilitated by her seductive actions. Finally, she let the toweling drop from him and she stood before his naked body as he finished removing her dress, then he picked her up and carried her to the bathing tub and set her in the water so gently the water seemed to part to receive her ivory body.

  With erotic pleasure, he slowly wiped the black smudges from her delicate face. She slipped further into the tub, and her ebony tresses became submerged.

  Next, his soapy hands moved to her breasts with lingering circular motions.

  She gave him an imploring look with those great violet eyes of hers.

  “Is it time, love?” he asked, his voice heavy with his need.

  She nodded.

  He stood and lifted her from the tub, the toweling gathered in his hands. In front of the firelight, he tenderly patted her dry, then he swooped her up into his arms again, swathed her in the toweling, and carried her to his bed, where he lay her on the emerald velvet counterpane.

  By now he thought he would surely explode with his own need.

  Her hand reached to cup him where his need was greatest, and he flicked it away. “I can't wait, sweetheart.”

  He put one knee on the bed, then the other between her knees as the firs
t knee came to settle on the other side of her.

  She whimpered as her hands came up to stroke his inner thighs.

  He could wait no further. He drove himself into his wife's warm sheath with a ravaging, throbbing hunger. She, too, ground herself into him. 'Twas as if he could not plunge deep enough to fill her. She frantically pounded up into him until at last she shuddered uncontrollably beneath him and cried out his name.

  * * *

  Long after her exhausted husband had gone to sleep, Carlotta lay in the circle of his embrace. Despite the tragedy that had occurred this day and the grief they all had endured, she was the most fortunate woman alive. First, because her beloved husband had been spared. Second, because James, in the heat of their lovemaking, had said, “God, but I love you Carlotta!”

  Knowing little pride where her husband was concerned, Carlotta had answered, “And I love you, dearest, with all my heart.”

  Though their lovemaking had always been passionate, tonight's was the most exhilarating yet. She had never felt more content. More complete. She felt as if she could burst with her limitless love for this man she had married.

  Making the night even more special was the knowledge that this was the first time she had lain in her husband's bed. Now she was truly his countess. Her heart swelled when she wondered if the next Earl of Rutledge could have been conceived in this very bed.

  Tonight would be the first time they would stay together all through the night. She wondered if they would make love again in the morning.

  * * *

  When morning came, she felt James stirring beside her and her lids lifted to discover him, his head propped on his hands, looking happily down into her face. She reached out to stroke his muscled arm and grew excited to remember neither of them wore any clothing whatsoever.

  “Your touch may get me started again, love,” he warned.