Till Dawn Tames the Night

by Meagan Mckinney

  "Oh, I shudder to think how Mr. Phipps will take this revelation."

  Taking a deep breath, Aurora opened the door. "Well, he shall know it this afternoon. Wish me good luck."

  Faith watched her go in stunned silence.

  She was tired, broken with a weariness that went be­yond the physical into the spiritual.

  Aurora climbed the stairs to her garret room, wonder­ing what was going to happen to her, to the Home, to Faith. She hadn't been able to tell John about the baby. After she'd asked for the money, he rambled to her about the true message in St. Paul's teachings. "Let the women learn in silence with all subjection!" he'd ranted, and she knew it was not the time to mention her condition.

  But for the first time John mentioned to her his trip to Africa and his plans for selling the Home. She'd been shocked, for though John had his failings, he was far better a master than many would be. To let the Home fall into uncaring hands was a fate too terrible to contem­plate, yet she had a worse one waiting for her. She was sure John was going to ask her to marry him again. He planned to take her with him to Africa, he'd all but said that, and knowing that, she would be forced to flee to St. George's earlier than she'd imagined.

  She eased herself down on her little bed and drew the patched comforter over her. She was too exhausted to solve all her problems, but this one was serious. If she fled to St. George's, what would happen to Faith and the children under a new owner? Would the man be kind? And if he was not, who would be there to challenge him?

  She rolled over and closed her eyes. She would have to do something. That was her last thought before she fell into a deep dreamless slumber.

  "Wake up, Aurora! The gentleman's here to see you!"

  Aurora opened her eyes and sat up. Faith stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs, a frenzied expression on her face. Aurora thought she'd only just closed her eyes, but she'd obviously been asleep for hours.

  "Tell him I'll be right down," she said, scrambling out of bed and pulling her hair back into its neat bun. She made a quick overall appraisal of her appearance in her cracked looking glass, then flew down the stairs.

  It was so terribly difficult to deal with the peerage. She hated it, having to pretend they were not the monsters they were, gladly accepting their unwanted progeny as if they were some kind of refuse. But she always kept her temper, for those who paid for the Home at least kept the children off the parish. Everyone knew that children on the parish never lived past their first birthday, for they were usually starved, and given cheap paregoric when­ever they wailed for sustenance.

  With that thought heavy on her mind, she put a smile on her face and went to the closed doors of the parlor. She would take the man's babe and she would even thank him for it. He would never know how much she loathed him.

  "Good day to you, sir," she said as she rushed into the parlor. The man was standing with his back to her, star­ing solemnly out the soot-covered window. He certainly was a finely dressed gentleman. His blue coat of superfine fit like a glove. He was tall with broad shoulders, but slim, slimmer than Vashon had been. And his hair was most certainly not in a queue, for though it was jet black as his had been it was cut into a fashionable Byronic crop.

  "Have you a child, sir, for whom you need a place?" she asked, but still the man did not turn around.

  He was beginning to intrigue her. His grave stance, his reluctance to turn around, gave her pause.

  "Good sir? How may I help you?" she whispered, sud­denly overcome with a wild, sweet yearning.

  The man lifted his hand and she saw something in it— a brass key exactly like the key she'd left in the hall at Peterborough's mansion.

  She clutched the door. It couldn't be him. In her state, she must be seeing things.

  He turned around. There was no disputing it. It was him.

  Trembling in disbelief, she wanted to convince herself that it was a mirage, but no matter how she tried, she saw only the man she loved. Some might have thought it was his brother, for he now looked just like Peterborough, tamed and civilized. But as Aurora stood by the door, she knew the man before her was not Josiah. This man's eyes reflected a joy and a warmth that only Vashon's would have.

  It was Vashon.

  Their gazes finally met. His expression spoke elo­quently to her, telling her of a longing and a love that he had never been able to put into words.

  Her first steps were the hardest. She had to force her­self to believe in this vision before her, this ghost wrought from her own terrible need. But the closer she walked, the more she knew it was true, and by the time she flung herself into his embrace, she knew he was real. In ecstatic disbelief, she felt his arms go around her, and she felt him warm and alive and hugging her so tightly it was as if nothing in the world could every pry him from her.

  "My God, I thought you were lost to me forever. I killed you," she suddenly wept, unable to take her eyes off him. "So are you an angel then, come to take me to heaven?"

  "You didn't kill me," he said.

  "I saw Peterborough fire the shot. I saw the blood."

  "Am I not worse for it?"

  She stared at him, joy, hope and fear mingled into one tragic emotion. She couldn't take her gaze from his face as if by moving her gaze away he might disappear for­ever. And if that were to happen now, she knew she couldn't endure losing him twice, and her only hope then would be to join him.

  "Look at me, love. I am all too mortal."

  She lowered her eyes and studied him. He did look worse. He was much too thin for his frame. His face looked almost gaunt and his bronzed skin was gone, but to anyone who didn't know him, he might be merely sporting a lordly pallor.

  "If I touch you, will you vanish?"

  "Touch me and see for yourself."

  She ran her hand down his chest. It was hard and warm and thrummed with the beating of his heart. She laughed and cried in the same breath. "How could fate be so merciful?"

  "I had to survive, don't you see?" He took her face in his palms.

  She shook her head and her tears fell over his hands.

  "I finally had something to survive for."

  She closed her eyes, and with unspeakable relief she let him hold her. She placed her cheek against his chest and felt the strong, reassuring beat of his heart. She would never want for another thing as long as she had him.

  When her tears were finally spent, he pulled her away and studied her with the same intensity she'd studied him. It was as if he couldn't bear to miss a detail. But out of the blue, something in her appearance struck his fancy and he tipped back his head and laughed. It was a beauti­ful sound.

  "And what are you laughing at, good sir?" she asked smartly, all the while wondering if she could ever bear closing her eyes in sleep again if that meant she had to part with him.

  "When Isaac returned to Hugh Town and told me how you insisted on returning here, I must admit I expected to find you in a rather sorry state. But to look at you now, I can't believe you ever missed me. Why you're actually getting plump."

  She met his gaze. Her eyes held the slightest hesitation, but that alone spoke volumes.

  He inhaled sharply, understanding flooding his fea­tures.

  She hardly needed to say her next words. "I fear it's not the state of my mind that has me growing plump."

  He stepped back and leaned on John Phipps's desk. Crossing his arms over his chest, he perused her. "And what shall we name this babe? Is it a boy or girl?"

  "I cannot tell you that now, sir." She smiled softly. "But regardless, I do have the name picked out. I hope it will be agreeable to you."

  "And what name is that?" he asked, puzzled.

  She reverently lowered her voice. "I should like very much that this child's name be Blackwell. For its father is the viscount, you know."

  He reached for her. When she was in his arms once more, he said, "I like that name. It's been used too infre­quently in my family." He sobered and looked down at her, his face the most handsome
in the world. "I told you how I felt on that bluff, Aurore. The words were never spoken, but they shall be now, both loud and clear. We shall marry in the cathedral of your choosing and we shall have everyone there to hear those words, Flossie, Isaac, even the Regent if you wish."

  "The Regent! He wants you twisted!"

  He glanced at her, obviously surprised at the slang she'd picked up on the Seabravery. "On the contrary, I've secured a complete pardon. He owed me that, at least, for all I've done for him. And he's proclaimed me the Vis­count Blackwell, renouncing Josiah's evil deeds. I prom­ise you, from now on, we'll live the quiet life here in London. I will be the most stuffy peer in town."

  "Good heavens! I can't even imagine that!"

  "Well, you must imagine it. Everything will be changed now. The pirate Vashon is gone."

  "But you cannot take away the dragon," she said, run­ning her hands down his back. "You'll never be rid of it, Vashon, and in the future, when I look at you across a crowded ballroom, I'll know it's there, for my eyes only."

  "The dragon will be the only thing to stay."

  "But we must have Mirage. We cannot give up Mi­rage."

  "Mirage will stay also. If you wish it."

  "And Isaac shall marry us quietly aboard the Seabravery while we return home. I could not have you unhappy in London, my lord. You belong, we belong, at Dragonard."

  "Is there anything else you desire, my greedy viscount­ess?" He laughed.

  "Yes. One last thing. I beg you, buy me the Home as a wedding gift. And allow me to rename it simply 'The Bluefield Home for Little Wanderers.' "

  "It shall be done. But what has happened to your illus­trious Phipps?"

  "Is that a note of jealousy in your voice?" She smiled. "I suspect John will now be the one to have an adventure ahead of him. Especially when he learns of my upcoming nuptials."

  He smirked, then kissed her with a passion that took her breath away. It was a long time before they parted, but when they did, he shook his head. "I'm afraid one thing has changed. The Seabravery's gone. She's the Sleeping Beauty now."

  So that was why he had escaped the notices at Queen­hithe. She laughed and fell into his arms. She never wanted him to let her go.

  He stroked her hair, and they stood in each other's arms for another long moment. Finally he said, "I love you, mon Aurore. When you came upon my ship that very first day, I thought I was the one who had captured you. But now I see it very differently."

  She stopped at his words, unable to believe he had really said them. "What did you say?" she whispered.

  "I said I love you. You think you forced me to feel it, but you didn't. In the end I found I couldn't help my­self." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "When death came to take me on that bluff, the only thing stopping him was my love for you. And in that tug of war, I finally knew what truly made me strong."

  "And what was that, my love?"

  He held her tight. "You."