He nodded and tried to flash a smile, but it was weak. “Of course I’m happy,” he lied. Mostly, he was confused and at a loss. “But you see, it’s like losing a friend. A pompous, sarcastic, always right friend. I… I’d come to rely upon it.”
She swallowed. “For advice?”
He nodded.
“I thought you always ignored what the voice said.”
He grimaced. “Most of the time. But sometimes I listened.” He released one of her hands to gesture vaguely. “And sometimes it was wrong. Sometimes I won the bets, or sometimes I needed to work longer hours at the mill. Sometimes I knew what I was doing without benefit of an imaginary tutor.”
“So it was your imagination?” she said, obviously latching onto the sanest option.
He sighed. “It was a voice that spoke to me, clear as day. And now, it is gone, and I feel…” He swallowed and forced himself to continue. “I feel alone.”
Then her expression did soften. All the worry and anxiety slipped from her face as she touched his cheek and stroked a finger over his mouth. “But you are not alone. I am here. Lord Redhill and your brother are here. You have friends now. Confidantes and brothers-in-arms.”
“Brothers-in-arms?” he asked, a little startled.
“What would you call men who take shifts watching me without pay? Tell me that Will or Lord Redhill or even Mr. Morrison have asked for coin in return for their services.”
He shook his head. “Of course not. They are doing it out of fear for you.”
“And love for you.”
He flinched slightly, uncomfortable with the term when applied to his friends. Except, even as he recoiled from the word, warmth entered him. Those men were his friends. And Will was his brother.
“Comrades-in-arms,” he said softly. “I like that.” Then he looked at her, grabbing onto a different topic because this one had become too painful. “Did I tell you that Robert has a new investment he wishes me to look over? I shall need more funds if I am to restore Crowle Castle to anything habitable.”
She smiled, obviously more at ease. “No, you hadn’t. What is it?”
He expounded on what Robert had in mind. They chatted easily then, dressing slowly, exchanging lingering kisses. It was a normal conversation, or at least, as normal as it ever was with Irene. After all, he couldn’t think of any other woman who would understand business the way she did.
But the topic of his madness lingered like a pall over it all. Was she afraid of him now? Did she think less of him? Would she leave him? That thought struck a lance of pain through him, such that before they left this tiny nursery, he had to know what she thought.
“Irene,” he called when they were fully dressed and heading for the door. “You said before that you loved me.” He swallowed, dreading to ask the question, but needing to know. “Do you still?”
She hesitated. She was across the room, and he watched her tuck her hands together. “I said I very much feared I was in love with you.”
He nodded. After what he had just told her, she had reason to fear. Any woman would. “And now?”
She grimaced, looking to the floor. “Why did you bring me to this house? Why did you choose now to tell me about… about…”
“About my madness? This is the home that I want to buy. This is the home where I want to have a wife and children. I have never thought about that before. Not seriously. But I am now, and any woman who…”
He stopped speaking. He didn’t want to say this from across the room, so he crossed to stand before her. He wanted to take her hands, but she had them gripped tightly together. He touched her arms instead, stroking them lightly up and down.
“Any woman who talks about love should see this home. See this room.” He took a deep breath. “And she should know that my madness might pass on to our children.”
She gasped at that, her hands going to her belly. He had a moment’s panic then. Was she pregnant? But no, she couldn’t be. They had been using prevention. Except, of course, for that first time. But surely she would know by now if she were pregnant. Surely, she would have told him.
Eventually, he realized that she’d made an instinctive gesture. Every woman did that, even great-grandmothers. When anyone spoke of babies, they touched their own bellies. The gesture meant nothing.
“Your madness came from a fever,” she said.
“Yes.” Then honesty forced him tell all. “I spoke with a doctor once. He said the fever could have triggered something—a weakness of some kind. The same could happen to any child of mine.”
She swallowed and looked at him. “Did he recommend a treatment?”
Grant snorted. “He wanted to lock me up and experiment with any number of medicines. He had an asylum with plenty of patients, he said, who were just like me.”
“Just like you?”
“They heard voices, spoke to unseen people. They had delusions about who and what they were. One claimed to be Jesus. Another claimed to be a woman trapped in the body of a man. They were all lunatics,” he said softly. “Or so the doctor said.”
“And he said you were one of them?” She pressed her hand against her mouth.
“He did. He said I would grow worse. The madness would take root, and I would soon become just like them. Raving.” He swallowed. “Violent.”
“But…” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them to search his face. “But the voice is gone now.”
He nodded. “And I never became violent,” he said. “I never did anything but hear a voice—sometimes—telling me I was a damned fool.”
“But this doctor said you would get worse.”
“If I wasn’t treated… if I didn’t take his medicines.”
“And did you?”
He shook his head. “I ran as fast and as far as I could. Ended up in a gypsy camp learning how to blow fire.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “I suppose burning down a barn makes a little more sense then.”
He smiled, though the gesture was hard. “No, it doesn’t,” he corrected softly. “It was foolish and stupid, but it was the only way I could win enough money to pay for the wedding. And from there, I ended up at the mill.”
She frowned, obviously thinking hard. “Most of your life then,” she whispered.
He had told her that already, but this was not something a person absorbed quickly. So he nodded and remained silent. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to imprint it upon her skin and her body so that she would never leave him. And he wanted her to say it back with all the strength and conviction that he felt.
But that was too much to ask, so soon after telling her all this. He could not add the burden of his love now. Not yet. So he said nothing. And, in the end, she changed the topic. She gestured toward the late afternoon sun.
“We need to leave soon. Mama will wonder where I am.”
He nodded, lifting his arm to escort her out. He was terrified that she wouldn’t take it. That she would be too afraid to touch him even through his coat and her gloves. But there was no hesitation as she set her fingertips lightly on his arm. They walked out of the nursery and down the steps to the front. He was in the process of opening the door when she squeezed his arm to stop him.
“Grant,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“It’s a beautiful house. Any woman would be happy to live here.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she meant herself. Would she be happy to live here? But again, that was too much to ask. And so, he simply dipped his head in a nod.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you for asking,” she returned.
They walked in silence to the carriage. Ten minutes later, he escorted her to her front door. He did not stay for tea. He had no interest in doing the pretty with her Mama just then. Besides, he had to finalize the purchase of the house. So he simply touched her hand, holding it for as long as he dared.
“Shall I come by in the morning? Escort you to Penny’s wedding?”
She bit her lip then shook her head. “It will be early, and I have my other protectors.” She gestured at the footmen who had melted seamlessly into their positions about the house, while the butler remained alert beside her in the hallway. “I shall meet you there.”
He had no choice but to accept her decree, though it felt like he had cut off his arm. Or perhaps, more like she had cut out his heart. Either way, there was nothing to do but nod and bow deeply over her hand.
Then he walked away.
Twenty-seven
Irene woke late on the morning of Penny’s wedding. She’d spent the night suffering nightmares of Grant turning into a violent lunatic, and she felt shaken and horrified by her own dreams. He was not mad—at least he wasn’t at the moment—and she was being ridiculous.
Yet there was no controlling her fear or her dreams. It didn’t help that her stomach was still tetchy. It always had been, truth be told, whenever she was anxious. But today was Penny’s day, and Irene refused to darken the celebration with her own anxieties.
She bathed as quickly as possible, dressing in a brand new gown made specifically for this day. And as a special treat, Penny had made matching shoes for all the ladies of the shop. Irene admired the perfect stitching in the light pink slippers. They weren’t practical, of course. Imagine walking about London in pink slippers! But they were beautiful, and Penny had written Irene’s name and the date on the sole. That made them just like real wedding slippers, except there was no groom’s name.
As Irene held the beautiful items, she imagined Grant’s name there. She pretend wrote his name with her finger. She put it right below hers, along with his full title. How wonderful that would be, she thought sadly, her heart clenching in longing.
How silly she was! How could she want something so desperately when her mind was busy listing the reasons it could never happen, and her emotions were chock full of fears regarding his sanity? He had responsibilities to his title and position. She had no desire to risk an insane husband, or worse, a damaged child. Not when her life was so perfectly ordered now.
And yet, she wanted it. Yearned for it, in fact. And all the logical reasons that it could not be didn’t seem to matter. She loved him. She wanted to take those risks. And yet, her fears made her hands tremble, especially with the nightmares so fresh in her mind. So with a sigh, she slipped on the beautiful shoes and tried to be happy wearing wedding slippers with only one name on the soles.
She arrived at the small church early for the ceremony, but late for the gathering of the bride’s friends. She felt ridiculous entering with two footmen—one walking in front, the other behind—and for the thousandth time, she cursed the paranoia that had created this situation. Fortunately, her friends understood as she knocked on the door that led to where the bride waited.
Penny bid them enter, and Irene waited in irritation as her footman scanned the interior and nodded, stepping back to allow her to finally greet her friends. Penny was radiant, her gown specially designed by Helaine to show off the girl’s curvy body without restricting her sometimes forceful movements. Penny was a powerful woman, in body and mind, as she was the sole support for herself and her toddler brother. And now, she had a man who loved her desperately and had an income, since Samuel was a runner. He was the perfect man, and Irene already knew the two would be radiantly happy.
She greeted Penny, handing over her gift in the form of a small box. Behind her, the other women—Helaine, Wendy, and Francine—all craned to see.
“What is it?” Penny asked.
“Open it and see.”
With a giggle, the girl pulled off the ribbon and looked inside. Her gasp of awe wiped away the last of the tension in Irene’s body. This was what life was about: good friends with happy faces, celebrating the wonder of life. Meanwhile, Penny pulled out a couple of the two-dozen pearl buttons that lay inside.
Irene smiled as everyone admired them. “They are the last that I could find in all of London. And they are for you, Penny, not some other lady’s shoes.”
“But what need do I have for such pretty things?” the girl whispered. “I’m just a cobbler’s daughter.”
“You are an artist who designs beautiful shoes. And you should wear these in your new shop. Make all the ladies envious as you walk around in slippers so amazing that everyone must have a pair.”
“Except,” inserted Francine with a giggle, “they won’t be able to get the pearls. They are just for you!”
“Oh, I shall be able to get more,” inserted Irene casually. “But not ones nearly so fine and not for another month at least.”
Ever the businesswoman, Penny looked up with a frown. “What if I charged an extra premium for more buttons just as beautiful as these? Would you be able to get them then?”
Irene grinned. “For you, my dear, of course!”
Then they hugged again, and everyone began talking weddings. Francine’s was coming up soon. She was marrying their bookkeeper, Anthony. Helaine mentioned Will and Josephine. The girl had purchased a whole trousseau, and Helaine was busy designing dresses for the wedding. Irene laughed as joyfully as the others. Or she did until she caught Wendy’s eyes. The seamstress looked sad. As far as Irene knew, the woman had no suitor and was too busy to find one. And the problem with Demon Damon was apparently still unresolved. No man would want to court a woman trapped in the Demon’s clutches, and so the girl was single—and apparently, wistful about the lack. Irene understood, having her own full measure of turbulent emotions regarding weddings.
The time flew by, and soon the ladies were making their way to the pews. Irene was surrounded by her footmen, but they took up discreet positions in the shadows. Irene was seated next to Helaine, who was reminiscing about her own unusual wedding day. Then suddenly, Irene felt a warm body press a little too closely.
Grant.
Her whole body welcomed him, even before she turned to greet him. Her spine softened, her belly warmed, and a smile curled her lips. And that was all before she actually saw him dressed in the finest fabric his mill made. It was a somber black, but the waistcoat sported a red and gold design that… she blinked. That perfectly matched the color of her gown. Yes, she was wearing the soft angora he had wrapped around her that day so long ago at the inn. Wendy had been able to repair the cut from the knife attack.
“Did you know I was going to wear this?”
He nodded, smiling. “I asked Carol. She told me.”
Irene grimaced. “That girl knows more about what I am doing than I do.”
“Which promises her a bright future as a secretary.”
Irene nodded as her gaze flowed over him. He appeared relaxed. Actually, he looked stunningly handsome, but what she felt took her in the opposite direction. He seemed tense. His eyes constantly roved the church then abruptly returned to scan her. His hands were set calmly to either side of his legs, but they twitched restlessly. He was not so calm as he pretended, and she supposed she understood why.
His confession yesterday lingered in their thoughts. It would take some time before he understood that she had no intention of shunning him because of his previous madness. But he wanted more than simple friendship, and as her body ached for him, her mind kept her apart. In the end, she did the best she could. She touched his hands, quietly intertwining their fingers.
“I am glad you are here,” she whispered.
He clutched her hand tight and flashed her a grateful smile. “I would be nowhere else.”
Then the ceremony began. Samuel waited in resplendent attire at the front of the church. His brother served as attendant, looking supremely happy, even as he muttered something to the groom.
“I’m not fidgeting,” Samuel responded, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I have simply worked out who stole that silly tiara and wanted to make a note—” His voice cut off, his thoughts obviously lost as his bride walked in.
As Penny’s father was gone, Lord Redhill walked her down the aisle. Beside Irene, Helaine relea
sed a soft sigh of delight. Penny carried hothouse roses, brought by Helaine, but even those rich blooms paled at the happiness in Penny’s face. She was stunning, her eyes so filled with happiness that Irene’s chest ached. The woman’s step never faltered, her gaze never wavered. And when the two met at the altar, it was as if two halves of a perfect whole snapped together. They touched, they smiled, and when it came time for vows, their voices were strong and clear.
Wedded. And with no doubts whatsoever, Irene realized. “Amazing,” she murmured. Even as in love as she’d been with Nate, her voice had trembled over her vows. She’d had fears, especially as none of her family had come to the wedding to wish her happiness.
But Penny and Samuel had all their friends and family around them. And the strength of their bond rang louder than their words, stronger than their rings. It was there in every gesture, every grin, and in their sparkling eyes.
“Oh, to love like that,” she whispered.
“So sure,” Grant murmured.
“So strong.”
He looked at her then, and she met his gaze. He knew. She read the understanding in his face just as clearly as he read the doubts in her own.
“Grant…” she whispered, but he cut her off.
“Don’t fret. I don’t blame you for a moment.”
But she blamed herself. He was a good man. And he was not mad. How did one simply forget fear? How could she simply close her mind to such concerns? He squeezed her hand and looked away. She saw heartbreak in the way he held himself stiffly beside her. His profile was remote, but he still held her hand. She took solace in that.
To cover the moment, she grabbed for a question—anything to ease the awkwardness. “Are you coming to the wedding breakfast?”
“Yes, of course.”
Meanwhile, the couple turned to the congregation, and people were rising to congratulate them. Like everyone else, he pushed to his feet, but she could hear his words clearly.
“The breakfast and the shop unveiling after that.”
“The what?”
He laughed. “Carol really does know your schedule better than you do. After the breakfast, Penny is going to open her newly designed shoe shop for us to see.”
Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] Page 27