With the wildly enthusiastic, if inept, help of Zachary and Jacko, the staff was able to insure that the soon-to-be Mrs. Manchester had a memorable wedding. The small parlor where the event took place was overflowing with several tubs and urns of flowers—tall, delicately hued gladiolus, airy sprays of baby’s breath, and huge yellow lilies—and the bride herself wore a wreath of delicate white rosebuds on her black, curly head in place of the traditional orange blossoms.
Morgana made a lovely bride, her cheeks flushed rosily with excitement, the gray eyes clear and sparkling, and wearing a rose-sprigged white muslin gown, she looked almost ethereal as she stood in stunned elation at Royce’s side before the justice of the peace. Royce’s appearance complemented Morgana’s, garbed as he was in a formfitting coat of dark blue superfine with gold buttons, his snowy white cravat starched and intricately arranged, the tawny locks glinting with golden lights from the sunshine that poured into the room. They were without a doubt a handsome couple, and with Zachary, Jacko, and a beaming Chambers and tearful Ivy looking on, Morgana and Royce were wed at two o’clock on July 18, 1815, precisely one month after Napoleon’s devastating defeat at Waterloo.
Afterward they retired instantly to Lime Tree Cottage, where the remainder of the servants had been busy preparing the house to receive its new mistress. Because she had once been one of them, even if only briefly, the London servants took a particular pride and interest in the proceedings, and for the afternoon, Royce had banished the lines that separated master from servant. Alice, Hazel, Matt, and the others were eagerly waiting for the wedding party in the main salon, bouquets of flowers everywhere. In a daze, Morgana surveyed their smiling faces as they shyly came forth to offer good wishes for her marriage, still not quite able to fully comprehend that she was indeed Royce’s wife. Time and again she would glance at him and then at the wide gold band Royce had purchased in London yesterday, the gold band that he had put on her finger less than an hour ago, and then she would shake her head in amazement. Neither Zachary’s exuberant embrace and muttered “I knew that Royce would do the right thing! Isn’t he a great gun?” nor Jacko’s bearlike hug when he lifted her from the ground and swung her around the room as he bestowed his most hearty congratulations, seemed to make it any more real. She was convinced that she must be dreaming, but then she would look over at Royce and her heart would melt with love for him. Dream or not, it didn’t matter. She loved him!
The day proved to be an extremely happy one for Morgana, the only sad note the fact that her mother, Jane, had not lived long enough to see her so wondrously established and that Ben could not have been here to witness the wedding. She had not entirely forgotten the horrors of last night either, and every now and then, when she least expected it, the knowledge that someone had tried to kill her would slide unpleasantly across her thoughts.
Royce had not forgotten last night either, and he was never very far away from his bride, those golden eyes watchful and alert, despite feeling there was nothing to fear from anyone in the room. But if he felt fairly comfortable in trusting Chambers and Ivy and the majority of the London servants, he was not entirely easy in the matter either. More than once his gaze rested upon his valet, Mr. Spurling, as he wondered again whether the precise little man had told the truth that night the one-eyed man had attacked him; and if Spurling had told the truth, it still meant that someone here was a spy for the one-eyed man! Not the most reassuring idea, Royce concluded derisively, as he continued to study the various servants, his speculative glance stopping for quite some time on handsome young Tom Cooper. Now, that’s who I would use, Royce decided sourly as he took note of the crafty intelligence in the limpid blue eyes and the man’s easy charm with the servant girls.
Just then Morgana gave a delightful gurgle of laughter at a lighthearted quip from Zachary, and Royce’s interest in Mr. Cooper vanished, his gaze coming back to warmly caress his wife’s lovely features. It gave him a surprising amount of pleasure to call her “wife,” and that reminded him that he had not yet written the announcement of their marriage for publication in the London papers—and the sooner that was done, the safer she would be, he thought grimly. Unwilling to simply abandon her in the middle of the festivities, Royce held off disappearing into his study for another hour, and by that time, the small gathering was beginning to dissipate and the household members were returning to their traditional roles.
A short time later, Morgana retired upstairs to change her gown, and Royce signaled Zachary and Jacko to follow him into his study. Seating himself behind an elegant kneehole desk, he smiled at the other occupants and waved them to a pair of barrel chairs covered in fine Spanish leather. Reaching for several pieces of vellum and lifting a black-feathered quill from its Boulle inkstand, he remarked, “I just want to write out the notice for the Times, and then I want to discuss your plans for this evening—I have a few things I’d like you to do for me, if you don’t mind.”
A trifle surprised, Zachary and Jacko glanced at each other and then shrugged. There were a few moments of silence broken only by the scratch of the quill against paper, and then, his missives completed to his satisfaction, Royce folded the papers and, placing each one inside an envelope, sealed them.
His task finished, he laid the envelopes aside and explained, “I shall have Matt leave early tomorrow and take those up to London—the sooner news of my marriage to Morgana becomes public, the easier I shall rest! Which brings me to my reason for calling you in here.” Looking hard at Zachary, his attractive features taking on a grim cast that was becoming almost habitual of late, he said bluntly, “I want you to be highly visible tonight—go everywhere you think that you will meet members of the ton and any other acquaintances of ours from London who might be visiting in the Tunbridge Wells area. And even if you have to crudely finagle your way into Wetherly’s house party, I particularly want you to find members of that group and talk loudly and at great length about the wedding today. Tell as many people as you can, as often and as soon as you can, but make certain you find at least some of the people who are staying at Wetherly’s house and tell them. I want everyone to learn of Morgana’s marriage to me within the shortest possible time.... Perhaps then the one-eyed man will think twice about continuing with his attempts to regain Morgana, and even more importantly now, it’s possible that whoever tried to kill her last night will think better of it.”
“Do you honestly believe that?” Jacko asked quietly, his face grave and his blue eyes fixed anxiously on Royce’s face.
Royce uneasily rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, but for the moment, it’s the only thing that I can do. Until we know either who is trying to kill her or why, we are rather at a loss, but hopefully the marriage today has strengthened our position somewhat.” He grimaced wryly and confessed frankly, “Not to wrap it in clean linen—by marrying your sister, I have lifted her out of the ranks of obscurity and into the very bosom of the ton! When someone strikes at her now, they are no longer dealing with a little waif I found in the gutter, they are dealing with the wife of a wealthy, well-connected member of society—even if I am an American!”
Zachary nodded his dark head, saying dryly, “I suppose that having a great-grandfather who was a Viscount is something that we can be grateful for!”
Jacko cleared his throat uncomfortably and muttered, “I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if Zachary went alone tonight.” He smiled faintly. “I’m afraid that you will find no Viscounts or even a mere lord in the background of the Fowler family.”
His features inscrutable, Royce glanced over Jacko, taking in the neatly tied cravat, the expert fit of the bottle green jacket and thigh-hugging buff breeches that he wore. It was obvious that Zachary’s overflowing wardrobe had been raided to good effect and that there were some notable needlewomen in the house to have so quickly made the necessary alterations needed to accommodate Jacko’s sturdier build. Anyone meeting him for the first time would promptly take him for a member of the leisured class, and Roy
ce had no doubt that Jacko could hold up his end in any conversation that might be instituted. Meeting Jacko’s worried gaze, Royce said silkily, “Since you and Morgana have no idea who your fathers were, I wouldn’t be so quick to state that there are no members of the aristocracy in your heredity—you might be surprised!”
Jacko grinned slightly and nodded. “But I still don’t think it’s a good idea to foist myself onto your friends.”
Royce suddenly looked very haughty, his nostrils flaring a little. “Why?” he asked coolly. “Aren’t you my wife’s brother? Am I not to acknowledge her relatives?”
Knowing when he was beaten, Jacko spread his hands deprecatingly, his eyes twinkling, and he laughed. “Very well, kind sir. On your head be it! And don’t say I didn’t try to warn you if I make a cake of myself!”
“Oh, but you have nothing to fear, my young friend,” Royce drawled, with a mocking glint in his topaz eyes. “I’m sure that you will meet several members of the ton tonight whose manners and morals will make yours seem rather genteel and sophisticated! However, there is one thing I do think that we should definitely change.... Jack has a much more, er, respectable sound than Jacko, don’t you think?”
“Of course!” Zachary agreed excitedly. “Jack Fowler; that shall be your name!”
Shrugging his shoulders, the newly renamed young man obligingly allowed, “Jack it shall be!”
The three men spoke briefly, again speculating on the reasons behind the attack on Morgana and discussing plans to keep her safe. Eventually, though, the topic was exhausted, and since there was not any reason for them to remain at the house, and with Royce’s strictures in mind, it was not too many minutes later before Zachary and Jack departed for Tunbridge Wells in Royce’s gig.
The house seemed very quiet after Zachary and Jack had left; the initial excitement surrounding the wedding had faded, and the servants had returned to their usual duties. Alone in his study, Royce glanced around the pleasant room, thinking that under different circumstances, he would have been very satisfied living here—but knowing that someone wanted to kill his very new bride made him anxious to be gone from this place, eager for the date of sailing to arrive. Realizing with a start that in all the furor last night and then the commotion in arranging the wedding today, he had not yet mentioned the fact that they would be sailing for New Orleans in just a little over two weeks, Royce hurried from his study, eager to see his bride, and not just because he wished to tell her about their impending departure from England!
He found Morgana coming down the stairs; in place of the rosebud wreath, a spangled pink silk ribbon had been wound through her black curls, and she had changed into a simple muslin frock with puffed sleeves in a charming shade of rose. Watching her graceful progress, realizing that this utterly beguiling young woman with those delicately lovely features and smiling gray eyes was actually his wife, Royce was conscious of a powerful surge, a nearly overwhelming sensation of love and pride flooding through him.
Meeting her at the base of the stairs, he flashed her a charming smile, one that made Morgana’s heart beat erratically in her breast, and kissing her hand, he murmured, “And do I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Manchester?”
She dimpled enchantingly, laughter gleaming in the depths of her clear gray eyes, and dropping him a saucy curtsy, she replied impudently, “Well, bugger me blind if you ain’t!”
Royce threw back his tawny head and laughed; then, uncaring where they were or who saw them, he swept her up into his arms and kissed her soundly. They parted breathlessly from the embrace, the sweet, heady knowledge that their relationship had changed irrevocably flaring between them. No longer were they merely mistress and protector, no longer just man and woman slaking each other’s passion; now they were man and wife, their lives unalterably linked forever.
Wordlessly they stared at each other, Royce feeling his heart swelling uncontrollably with love for her; Morgana shaken by how very fortunate she had been to have this man who she unashamedly adored want her for his wife ... and it almost didn’t matter that he had never said that he loved her—she had, she was quite positive, love enough for both of them!
They might have stood there indefinitely staring besottedly at each other if Chambers, a broad smile on his face, hadn’t coughed discreetly and murmured, “Sir, madam, since it is very fine, I have taken the liberty of having Cook prepare a picnic supper for you.” Not quite looking at them, apparently fascinated by the architecture of the staircase behind them, a staircase he had seen numerous times before, he added casually, “I believe that the lake is quite pleasant this time of day.”
Royce couldn’t help laughing at such overt manipulation, and turning to look at his butler’s now carefully bland face, he said jestingly, “If Wellington had men of your caliber with him at Waterloo, it is no wonder that Napoleon was defeated! Such expert maneuvering, I have never before encountered!”
Chambers’s lips twitched, but he bowed and asked, “Would you like me to bring you the basket?”
Glancing at Morgana and seeing her pleased expression, Royce nodded. “An excellent idea!” he replied instantly, wanting very much to keep his bride happy.
Carrying a large wicker basket and some blankets and soft pillows, Morgana and Royce left the house a short time later, sped on their way by a beatifically smiling Chambers. Leisurely they strolled down one of the many flower-lined, winding paths that crisscrossed the property, enjoying the sweet scent of violets and roses that drifted in the warm summer air. They wandered aimlessly, having no particular destination in mind, stopping every now and then to admire an especially pretty view or an eye-catching blossom or bush.
Eventually they settled on a spot, out of sight of the house, near the shore of the lake, and they spread their blankets and scattered the pillows under the wide, spreading arms of a magnificent English oak tree. The light meal that Ivy had prepared had been delicious—crusty meat-filled tarts, an artichoke pie, mild yellow cheese, a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, and for dessert, juicy purple grapes and plump red strawberries glistening from their dusting with sugar. Royce detected Chambers’s fine hand in the three bottles of superb hock they found in the hamper, and having done a fairly decent job of demolishing the repast, Morgana popped one last sweet strawberry in her mouth and declared blissfully that she had never eaten a meal that tasted so good.
Together they repacked the basket, Royce keeping out the half-full bottle of hock which was all that remained of the wine, and then they settled themselves comfortably on the blanket, content just to enjoy the solitude and tranquillity of the waning afternoon. Morgana, a soft pillow behind her shoulders, rested against the trunk of the oak tree, Royce’s head in her lap, and her fingers toyed gently with his thick, tawny hair. Dreamily she stared down into his relaxed features, almost painfully conscious that she had never been so happy in her entire life. She wanted to hug this moment to her, to capture it, to always be able, no matter what the future might hold, to live again this time of sweet contentment.
Royce suddenly caught her straying fingers and, bringing her palm to his mouth, pressed a decidedly erotic kiss against the soft flesh, shattering the tranquil spell that had overtaken them. “Now that my stomach has been satisfied, I think there are other, ah, appetites that we should consider appeasing, don’t you?” he murmured against the tingling skin of her palm.
At his words and the touch of his lips against her flesh, Morgana was instantly aware of an inescapable stinging heat cascading through her body; her breasts suddenly seemed heavy and aching, the nipples tightening, and where Royce’s head lay cradled by her thighs, she was conscious of a throbbing, insistent hunger that burst into being. Her cheeks flushed, her fingers ceased their movements, and mesmerized by the hungry glitter in his golden eyes, she stammered breathlessly, “H-H-Here? Outs-s-side?”
Royce shifted slightly, and pressing his open mouth against her breast, he muttered, “Why not here? No one can see us from the house, we are totally alo
ne, and Chambers will have made certain that we are not disturbed... .” His teeth closed gently around her peaking nipple, and through the fabric of her gown, Morgana felt the heat and moistness of his mouth, the gentle bite of his teeth, and she shuddered with desire.
They had not made love since the night before he had left for London, and Royce had spent most of this day in an agony of impatience, wanting emphatically to be alone with her, to kiss her demandingly and find solace in her slender body from the merciless, urgent demands of his flesh. He had come home from London nearly bursting with desire for her, but last night her brush with death had banked some of the fire of his passion, and sensing that it was comforting that she had needed most and not his urgent possession, he had made himself content with a few hungry kisses before she had eventually fallen asleep, cradled protectively next to his big body.
His voracity for her had grown all through the day, the knowledge that she was his wife intensifying the passion he felt for her, and feeling the tremor that shook her body as his teeth closed gently around her nipple, Royce finally allowed the fierce, aching passion that he had so carefully kept tightly reined all day to surge violently through his body. “I don’t,” he said thickly, urgently pulling her down to lie next to him, “think that I could control myself long enough for us to reach the house!” His lips brushing tantalizingly against hers, he added mockingly, “And just think how shocked Chambers would be if he opened the front door and found me having my wicked way with you right at his very feet!”
Morgana giggled at his words, and Royce’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, you find my condition amusing, do you, wench? Well, let’s just see if I can arouse an answering fire in you.”
His kiss was devastatingly erotic, and blissfully Morgana gave herself up to his embrace, their location the last thing that was on her mind as the familiar tide of passion rolled over her. He kissed her deeply, his tongue plundering the warm confines of her mouth as if it had been months since they had last made love instead of mere days, and with his big body half lying on hers, she could feel the swollen hardness of him pressing conspicuously against her thigh, making her dizzyingly aware that his earlier comments had not been totally in jest.
Whisper To Me of Love Page 43