Felicity came to the table to sip some tea in hopes it would ease her stomach. “Your sister slept on your pillow?”
“No. Just wrapped it up in blankets with hers.” Lianna giggled. “I thought she was playing a caterpillar in its pupa, until I threw back the covers to tickle her. Only pillows were there. I’ll not be mad for too long, since it was such a fine trick.” Licking her fork, she laughed again.
Fresh terror gripped Felicity’s heart.
Landrigan … he wouldn’t dare.
Or would he?
Thoughts of his threats the other morn, of young girls being sold for slaves, taunted her.
Felicity tossed down her tea and rushed to fling the doors open, nearly tripping over her skirts as she burst out of the castle and down the stairs into the courtyard.
But it was too late. By the time she reached the gate, his wagon was disappearing around the first bend in the road.
Screaming so loud her chest rattled, she took off after him on foot. Rocks and sticks slashed at her skirt’s train, tearing it to shreds as she ran.
Chapter Twenty-four
Nick met Landrigan’s gaze as they passed on the road, dust flying up between them. The Irishman flashed a smug smile and tipped his hat. Nick had to stop himself from hopping onto the other gig so he could pound the cocky maggot’s face.
Nick wondered what he’d been doing at the castle … if Felicity had proposed the plan about the bogs.
“Let me take those, Miss Aislinn.” He grasped the reins and coaxed the horses into a canter, eager to learn the outcome. As they rounded the bend, he saw a figure running toward them, waving both arms. Due to the color of the gown, it didn’t register that it was Felicity until they were almost upon her. The fancy shoes she wore offered no traction over the dusty terrain, and she slipped and fell.
“Whoa!” Nick jerked back on the reins. The horses snorted and Tobias almost toppled over the wagon’s gate at the prompt stop. Nick leapt down and rushed to Felicity’s side, helping her stand.
“Aislinn…” She sobbed without looking up, her face buried in Nick’s chest—breath hot against him. “We have to get her back.”
Nick lifted Felicity’s chin with both hands. What he saw in her eyes ripped his heart down the middle. Helplessness, panic, and degradation. The same look he’d seen on the night he saved her at the brothel.
Tears ran tracks through the dust smudged on her face. Nick wiped them with his thumbs and started to tell her Aislinn was fine. But the state of Felicity’s elegant gown claimed his attention. The bodice had been torn, gaping open where her brooch set askew. When he noted the hem waving in shreds at her ankles, he could barely contain the surge of anger scalding his gut.
“What did that snake do to you?”
Before he could get an answer, Felicity’s attention locked on the wagon.
“Aislinn … is that you?” she cried. “Why are you wearing those clothes?” Prying herself from Nick’s arms, she strained to reach the wagon where Tobias was helping Aislinn down. Nick led Felicity over, supporting her elbow so she wouldn’t fall again in her unsteadiness. All the while, rage lapped at his core.
He released her so she could hug and scold Aislinn, having to bite his tongue to keep from demanding an answer to his question. Her maternal instincts had taken over. She would be unreachable until her emotions were spent. Better to go to the source.
Nick glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Landrigan’s egress—a hot flash of fierce protectiveness searing his blood. He could easily catch the fool on bareback. Then he’d beat the truth out of him. Or kill him trying.
Clooney, Binata, and Lia came out from the castle, sprinting through the gate toward them. Felicity would have ample assistance getting inside. Clenching his jaw, Nick strode to the front of the wagon and motioned Tobias over.
“Help me unhitch the team.”
When the stable hand gave him a curious glance, Nick started to work off the leather rigging himself, patting the horses’ muscled flanks to soothe them. “I’m going after Donal.”
Tobias began to help but stopped as footsteps stirred behind Nick.
Nick turned to find Felicity staring up at him, her face flushed from crying.
“Please,” she said, looking as fragile and lost as a child. “Stay, Nick. Stay, and never leave us again.” Then she threw herself into his arms.
Stunned, he nestled his nose and fingers into her tangled hair. The others gathered around the embracing couple, and all thoughts of retrieving Donal faded beneath the softness of Felicity’s orange blossom skin and those gloriously sweet words, “never leave us again.”
He’d lost his best friend today, but he’d finally found his way home.
The following three weeks flew by in a whirl of preparation. The playroom became Nick’s sleeping quarters once more, now that he could take the four flights of stairs. He insisted that since he was healed, he should also shoulder his share of the workload. He hiked with Clooney and Nutmeg each day to learn the boundaries of Felicity’s estate and the far-reaching expanse of the bogs they would harvest. He also took up several of Felicity’s daily chores—helping gather the eggs under Lia’s scrupulous eye and assisting with the girls’ studies—so Felicity could help Cook with her maid duties. Felicity had also been spending extra time in her greenhouse. For some reason, she seemed more determined than ever to spur new growth in the passion vines and resurrect her caterpillar populace.
For Nick, getting Felicity to agree to marry him had been the easy part. Much easier than convincing her to let the girls accompany them to the parish in Carnlough for the ceremony on the day before Lia’s birthday.
After so many years of hiding her nieces, the thought of taking them out in public horrified her. But he’d managed to persuade her by vowing that if she allowed them to come, he’d waive the conjugal rights he’d hoped to obtain.
It frustrated him that Felicity still insisted—even after her emotional welcome on the roadside and the furtive kisses they’d indulged in at every opportunity since—that their union be in name only.
The shyness over her scar must have spurred the stipulation. She’d seemed even more conscious of it since his return, rubbing her fingers over her chest every few minutes or so. It had something to do with Landrigan’s visit. Nick didn’t care that Felicity claimed the Irishman had been pleased with the peat bog proposition. That his only condition was he wouldn’t sign a contract until the work had begun.
Nick’s gut told him otherwise. Neither did he buy her claim that her gown’s bodice had torn upon her fall to the ground.
He had every intention of finding out the truth, even if it meant tracking the Irishman down later.
For now, he tamped his quiet fury, having more pressing matters to tend. There was just enough money left from the earring to pay the fee for the license. Upon Nick’s sworn declaration that there was no canonical impediment to the marriage, the archdeacon handed over the piece of paper which would defer the three-week waiting period and the calling of banns.
“The bishop will be here shortly.” The small man’s nasally voice echoed all the way up to the rafters in the empty sanctuary. “I’ll retrieve the parish register to record the union. Ye can wait by the altar.” His balding head nodded at Aislinn and Lia as he stepped into an adjoining room.
Neither girl responded, both captivated by the late afternoon sun where it filtered through the stained-glass windows to paint a patchwork of rainbows on the hardwood floor.
As soon as the archdeacon left, the girls giggled and began to slap their hands together, chanting an Irish rhyme: Marry in white, everything's right; Marry in blue, lover be true; Marry in pink, spirits will sink; Marry in grey, live far away.
“Just look at them,” Nick said, grasping Felicity’s lace clad fingers and leading her to the altar where the scent of incense and lemon oil mingled to a heady balm. “Aren’t you glad you allowed them to come?”
Felicity watched the girls as they
stepped in and out of the rainbows, each trying to stay within the color she’d chosen. She squeezed Nick’s hand and smiled. “I must admit, it’s a rare thing to see Aislinn so carefree. But Lia … well, she’s not nearly as giddy as when you brought Butterscotch back for her. You’re her ‘Mister Sir’ again—high on a pedestal.”
Nick grinned. “A precarious position. It’s rather slippery up here.”
Felicity’s laugh sparkled. “Yes. She told me of your attempt to entertain her during your chores this morn.”
He feigned a sheepish expression. “Juggling in a chicken coop is never a good idea.”
“Well, I’m sure isn’t the first time you’ve had egg on your face.”
He wagged a finger at her, scolding. “Can’t deny it. You’re a witty one.”
Laughing again, she stepped up to straighten his collar. He’d been fortunate to find a shirt and some trousers the color of coffee among the clothes the kind old widow Hannah had insisted he take. Paired with the black cravat and vest Felicity loaned him, it made a passable suit for a groom.
Her warm brown eyes melted him as her fingers smoothed his lapels. “Thankfully, you clean up nicely. You look like such a gentleman.”
He grasped her hands and held them there, wanting her touch for as long as possible. “When you stare at me like that, my thoughts are far from gentlemanly.”
She glanced down. “I’m just so … what you did, giving Johnny away… and your earring.”
Nick pressed his thumb to her lips. “Shhh. That’s in the past. Today—this day—is only about our wedding.” He let his finger glide down to tap her softly pointed chin.
A quiet thoughtfulness swept over her as she clasped the butterfly brooch at her chest. “I hope you won’t have regrets.”
“About Johnny, or the earring?” Nick directed Felicity to a pew.
“About anything,” she mumbled. She settled beside him, smoothing the lace overlay of her powder blue gown. Her delicate fingers wound together nervously in her lap.
Dust particles swirled around her in the soft light, adding an angelic aura to her profile. She hadn’t been sporting black over the past three weeks. Nick liked seeing her out of her mourning clothes. It was as if she’d finally peeled off the layers of sorrow she’d been wrapped in for so long.
Today, with her hair braided and piled atop her crown and that glow of nervous anticipation in her cheeks, the false wrinkles couldn’t touch her vibrant beauty. But since he’d already commented on her loveliness—at last count, five times in the past hour—he opted to keep it to himself.
“No. No regrets,” he finally answered. “Least for me. I gather Clooney’s far from happy, though.” The old man had driven them over in the wagon but hadn’t stayed for the ceremony.
“It’s not that at all. I had business for him to tend.” She bit her lip. “Following up on workers for the peat bogs.”
“You know I want to be the one who hires them,” Nick said. “They’ll need to answer to me.”
“Absolutely. We’re simply lining up interviews for this week. The sooner we get started, the better.”
Nick studied her fidgets, suspicious something more was going on, but hesitant to dampen the mood by pressing her. “What of Lia’s birthday gala?”
“We’ll have the workers come the day after. That gives us two more days to schedule them.”
Seeing how the subject made her uneasy, Nick decided to change it. He withdrew from his pocket a handful of flowers wrapped in a linen hanky. “Aislinn helped me pick these from the greenhouse earlier, while you were getting ready. It’s your bouquet.”
“Mouse’s ears.” Felicity’s face lit up.
Nick felt a pull deep within. Every time she graced him with that smile, it nearly undid him for want of kissing her. Not only that, but she’d called the flowers by their special name, in honor of his childhood memory.
He handed her the bouquet. “These are my apology, for leaving you to deal with Landrigan alone. That will never happen again.”
“Thank you.” Felicity nestled her nose in the blossoms. “Lavender, too? Aislinn must have told you they’re an Irish tradition.”
Grinning, Nick touched the tiny purple clusters, grazing Felicity’s face in the process. “To ensure a happy and long union. Though I’m surprised you would put any stock in such frivolities.”
Felicity tilted her head coyly. “I’m beginning to see the charm in superstitions.”
“Ah. But are you charmed enough to believe in the Raven?” He regretted saying it the moment it slipped off his tongue. The subject always seemed to sour her mood.
To his surprise, Felicity regarded him with a hint of amusement. “Let’s just say, that the past week has been filled with unexpected revelations.”
“Really? Revelations about ghosts, perchance? You told me you no longer believe Donal is masquerading as the Dark Raven. But you haven’t told me what changed your mind.”
Without looking at him, Felicity shrugged.
He tried again. “The stairs leading up to the turret … I saw bare footprints imprinted in their dust on the day I returned.” He glanced at her feet. “The size of a lady’s. I hadn’t noticed them there before. Why would you have gone up the broken stairs, not even bothering to wear shoes?”
Felicity clutched her flowers with her free hand. “I thought I heard something…”
“And?”
“And … didn’t you say this day is only about our wedding? Please don’t make it about the afterlife … about Mina.”
Touched by the insecurity in her voice, Nick propped his elbows on his knees. He would broach the subject again at a better time. It was to be his home, too, after all. “Fair enough. Have you any other customs to incorporate in our ceremony? Stepping over a broom, crushing a glass beneath our shoes?”
Felicity smiled, obviously relieved. “Well, we could walk through the center of town so the citizens can throw pots and pans at us—to bless the marriage.”
Nick fondled the lace at the end of each of her fingertips. “Ouch. I never realized Irish goodwill was so violent.”
“Not violent, really.” Felicity’s fingers wound through his. “Sometimes it’s the most heartfelt gestures which draw blood.”
He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it and her lacy glove tickled his nose. “And sometimes that pain can be an exquisite pleasure.”
Holding her gaze, he turned her hand over and swept his lips across the dip at her inner wrist, touching his mouth to her accelerated pulse. Her face burst to pink, firing his passion. How a woman, who’d lived through so much degradation and shame, could still manage a chaste and maidenly flush beguiled him beyond all reasoning. He started to lean in for a kiss, got just close enough to feel the rush of her warm breath and to watch her dark lashes close in a trancelike stasis when…
“An Irish penny!” Lia spouted from behind them, breaking the moment.
Felicity jerked back fully alert, all signs of the trance lifted away. She held Nick’s gaze for a moment before they both turned to the child.
Arms linked over the back of the pew so her feet swung just off the floor, Lia held out the coin. “See? I found it on the ground.”
Aislinn came up from behind and helped her sister down. “I’m sorry. I tried to restrain her but she was too excited.”
Nick smiled. “Tis all right. So … what’s so special about a penny?”
Both of the girls rolled their eyes, pitying his ignorance.
Felicity grinned. “For luck, every Irish bride needs five things on her special day. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue—”
“And an Irish penny for her shoe,” Lia interrupted, handing off the coin to her aunt.
Felicity held out the penny. “This belongs to the parish, little goose. No doubt it fell from the giving plate. Aislinn, could you put it on the pulpit please?”
Aislinn strolled to the front of the sanctuary. She placed the penny atop the pulpit and stop
ped to study a portrait of the Virgin Mary on the wall.
“But Auntie, what of your luck?” Lia skipped around to the front of the pew and climbed atop Nick’s lap, draping him in the scent of milk and rose petals. He helped the sprite arrange her stiff skirts and petticoats then held her tiny waist to keep her balanced on his knees.
Felicity laid her bouquet on the pew so she could hold Lia’s hands. “I have four of the five. That should be enough. I’ve my something borrowed with the rings Cook gave us to use until we can buy new ones. They belonged to her parents, so they’re old as well. My dress is blue—”
“So your lover will be true.” Lia grinned.
Felicity looked down, flushed again.
“I can attest that he will,” Nick promised, to which Felicity’s gaze lifted.
“And what have you that’s new, Auntie?”
Felicity tightened her focus on Nick. “Faith. Today, I have faith in my heart.”
Nick’s blood and bones warmed at the sincerity in her eyes.
Again, Lia shattered the moment by wiggling in his lap. She craned her neck to pout in his direction. “Auntie’s the princess of the castle. You’re to be her hero. Don’t you have even a penny she can use? Princes are supposed to be rich.”
Duly scolded, Nick released one side of her waist and dug in his pocket for the scant remains of his diamond’s intake. “Here. This one should do nicely.”
Lia polished the penny on her skirt and handed it off to her aunt.
Felicity lifted her hem and lace-fringed drawers enough to tuck the penny into her ankle boots. Nick felt a stab of desire at just the glimpse of her calf. The vision took him back to the outlook post, when that very leg had been wrapped around his lower back.
It was a shame to start off the marriage with a half-truth. But he wasn’t about to relinquish his husbandly rights. Felicity’s effect upon him each time he saw her, much less touched her, would be impossible to ignore for a lifetime.
He thought of the carving he was making, how just running his fingers over the counterpart curves could lead his mind to dark and sweet places. She wanted him every bit as much as he did her. So, he would romance her, gently. And let her make the first move. Once she got over her initial shyness, she would realize that he desired her in spite of her flaws.
The Glass Butterfly Page 26