When she saw the frightened child on entering the nursery, Margaux reflected she should have attended to Maili’s comfort, rather than her own. Maili calmed instantly at the sight of her. Her fears had in all likelihood been for her new mama rather than herself.
Her trembling ceased, and with a few gentle strokes of her cheek and her hair, the girl fell asleep in Margaux’s arms. The nurse and Catriona sought their own beds once Maili was finally resting. Gavin and her father were no doubt attending to the sordid details of dealing with the authorities and tidying up the mess. Margaux was grateful to be left out of that process. She selfishly wanted Gavin to be there with her, comforting her, as if they had a real marriage.
Her life had flashed before her eyes tonight, and she realized the only regret she would have had was her marriage. Oh, she was not regretting marrying Gavin. No. She was regretting the terms of the marriage. There were no clauses for falling in love.
Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, she noticed. She wondered if Gavin had returned to his room, and she tried not to be resentful that he had not come to check on her. She needed no more than reassurance; there was nothing physically he could do for her. Nevertheless, she still coveted his embrace.
She must have dozed off to sleep when she felt his presence rather than heard it. Her eyelids were heavy and she struggled to open them.
“Shh, lass. I didna mean to wake you. I wasna expecting to find you here. I was looking in on the girls before coming down to you.”
“Maili was upset,” Margaux whispered in explanation.
Her eyes searched his as he knelt before her. He looked exhausted. He was stripped to his shirt-sleeves and breeches. His shirt was open at the neck and his hair was tousled. To her, he had never looked more handsome. She carefully disentangled herself from Maili, and Gavin scooped her into his arms the moment they were through the nursery door.
He deftly made his way down the nursery stairs and into her chamber, and gently placed her on the bed. She did not want to let go of him.
“Gavin,” she whispered. The glow of a single taper flickered in his eyes, and all of her bold intentions flew out of the window. She needed him. She willed him to understand. She shyly touched his face. He seemed to comprehend her unspoken words. He buried his face in her hair and pulled her back into his arms.
“Margaux.” He said her name as a caress.
“Please.” She could not bring herself to ask. It seemed distasteful to ask one’s husband to make theirs a true marriage, but she knew he would not do so unless she did. Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat, and she could not say the words.
He loosened his hold on her.
“I doona wanna take advantage of your shock.”
“Please. I am ready to be your wife,” She was reduced to begging. She had finally worked up the courage to give herself to him, and he insisted on being a gentleman.
“Margaux, I…” he hesitated.
Very well, she thought. He did not say he was opposed, and her mother’s advice echoed in her mind. Perhaps he was trying to be a gentleman. She would never know unless she tried, and she might not find the courage again. She would show him what she could not find the words to say. She pulled back from him enough to find his face and she met his lips with her own. The sensation was dizzying and she trembled with longing.
“I do not know what to do,” she confessed nervously.
“You are doing admirably thus far,” he teased, but graciously proceeded to show her the way. It seemed her kind, gentle husband had repressed his passions and then unleashed them in that moment. He took her face between his hands and spoke to her with them and his lips, at first frenzied with desire, then soft and caressing.
“Mo grá,” he whispered.
Words were no longer necessary, as they became lost in their embrace. They poured out their love for one another, and Margaux felt the peace and contentment she had longed for in their marriage.
Later that morning, as Margaux lay awake, trying to assimilate the change in her life and her marriage in the past few hours, it was almost too much to bear. She was never one to be swept away by emotion, but she felt she had earned a few tears over the past few weeks.
She felt an arm come about her, and a finger wiped away her tears.
“I suppose it too much to hope those are tears of joy?” Gavin asked gently in her ear.
She hiccupped a laugh. “I suppose some of them are.”
His head was buried in her hair again and she felt him nod.
“Along with a few of gratefulness and humility.” She inhaled a ragged, deep breath. “When I think about what could have happened…” She could not finish. He pulled her tightly to him, holding her as she sobbed.
“Doona think about it. You are here now. We will only think about the future.”
“True. Everything we have been through has brought us to where we are now. Who knows where we would be if none of it had happened.”
“I would like to think you would have succumbed to my charms anyhow and tossed out your silly terms,” he teased.
“How was I to know you were perfect?” she reciprocated.
“I am not perfect, lass.”
“I cannot think of a thing to support your claims.”
“For one, I have been derelict in my duties as your doctor. Does it still hurt very much?”
He looked toward her bandages. He sat up and slowly began to remove them.
She shook her head and forced herself not to look away. She needed to see his face when he looked.
Instead of disgust, a look of tenderness swept over his face and bending his head over her arm, he began kissing his way from her hand to the top her cheek. He even kissed the twisted purple ropes and puckered scars that would always serve to remind her she wasn’t perfect any more.
“I canna tell you how terrified I was last night,” he said in a strained voice.
“I was as well,” she said quietly.
“I doona ken how many more frights you can give me, wife. You have exceeded your rations for our entire marriage.”
“I had best behave, then,” she murmured mischievously.
“For many years to come,” he agreed.
“I do not know what I did to deserve you, Gavin. I am afraid you have found yourself a bad bargain. I want to make it up to you.”
“Mo grá, we may not have married for love, but I have certainly found it. And I consider myself to be the luckiest lad on earth. Perhaps one day…”
It was her turn to shush him. She placed her fingers over his mouth.
“There is no one day. If I have learned anything from this dreadful experience, it is to live in the present. I have been afraid to show my love for you, to tell you how I felt; but no more.”
“And I would never have forced you into anythin’, but I confess to be verra, verra happy to reciprocate.” He smiled devilishly and pulled her back into his embrace. Margaux felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.
When Margaux and Gavin found they were able to face the world, which was perhaps prompted solely by the need to check on the children, they made their way to join the others around the breakfast table. Gavin saw Margaux blush as she met the knowing faces of her family, while he was greeted with congratulatory winks and nods.
One would scarce credit the events of the past night from the jovial cheer of the household that morn.
“How are you, chérie?” Lady Ashbury greeted her daughter.
“I confess I am a bit tired,” Margaux said, and then blushed again. He suspected she was worried they knew of her and Gavin’s night-time activities.
“That is understandable, my dear,” Lord Ashbury remarked. He turned to Gavin. “We found the vicar, earlier this morning, behind the gardener’s shed. It seems he came to his senses and tried to stop Mrs. Mulligan, and was clubbed over the head for his insolence.”
“He is still alive?” Gavin asked, ever the doctor.
“Aye, he was taken to t
he nearest cottage by Buchanan. He did not think it right to have Mulligan near the house. Mulligan will keep for now.”
“You saw him?” Gavin asked with surprise.
Lord Ashbury nodded as he sipped his coffee.
“I will deal with him after breakfast,” Gavin said, unsure how he felt about the information. He looked toward his wife, who had paled at the news. He reached out to take her hand. She looked up and smiled at him. His heart began to race at the love he saw in her look.
“I wonder if we will ever be able to make sense of it all,” Margaux wondered aloud.
“Sometimes it is best not to know,” Gavin said softly, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand.
“Mulligan was muttering quite a bit,” Lord Ashbury confessed. “He was trying to excuse his wife’s delirium.”
“Excuse it?” Margaux asked, incredulity in her tone.
“It seems both she and Mrs. Bailey had been taken advantage of as girls,” Lord Ashbury began.
“Then why…” Margaux looked stupefied.
“I did not get a full, coherent account, mind you, but it seems Mrs. Bailey felt called to help the poor girls, whereas Mrs. Mulligan was brought to believe the abuse had been asked for—that it was her fault,” he explained.
“And she made it her mission to rid the village of the filth,” Gavin added distastefully.
“I had wondered why Mrs. Bailey was in the main house that night,” Margaux said.
“It appears she was there trying to warn you, or save you,” Jolie replied.
“Poor woman,” Lady Ashbury said sadly.
“One of the girls recalled seeing Mrs. Bailey arguing with a lady on the night of the fire, before she went missing and I found her in the house. The girl also mentioned Mrs. Bailey telling the woman she wasn’t supposed to be there, so maybe Mrs. Mulligan thought her sister would not be burned,” Gavin reasoned aloud.
“Only the harlots,” Margaux retorted.
“It does explain why she set fire to the house her sister lived in,” Ashbury replied.
“I wonder if that is why Mrs. Bailey tried to keep me from helping at the Dower House.” Margaux voiced her thoughts, obviously attempting to make sense of the madness.
“Perhaps, but we will likely never know the whole story,” Gavin reflected, still holding her hand. “It seems a troubled soul is at rest. All we can do is attempt to help the vicar.”
“As long as he won’t preach here again,” Margaux said with a guilty smile.
“He can preach as much as he likes from his cell in the gaol. He may not have instigated the murders, but he did not stop them. I have little doubt, when the vicar is questioned, we will find my brother’s death was no accident.”
This statement was met with murmurs and gasps of surprise.
“I do not doubt them capable, but what makes you suspicious?” Ashbury asked.
“When I went back over everything in my head, it completed the puzzle. There were many pieces that alone were innocent. For instance, Lady Ida mentioned she thought they would be gone by now, which I now understand to mean the Mulligans. But until I heard Ashbury tell me Iain had meant to replace the vicar and died before that happened, I wasn’t certain the deaths were not accidental.”
“Then there was the fire that caused Iain to move his journals to the dungeon,” Margaux added.
“Aye. And the family had ceased to attend church, but Wallace didna ken the vicar had been dismissed, since he had retired. He only came back to help after I arrived. If I had ken Iain had dismissed them, I woulda taken her threats more seriously.”
“Do you think the wheels were sabotaged? The day we went into the village…” Margaux’s voice trailed off in remembrance.
“I do. I think that was the final piece of the puzzle for me. I am thankful no one else was hurt. When a lunatic snaps, no one is safe. As we saw, Mrs. Mulligan had transferred her obsession to Margaux. Either way, I will never have my brother back, but I suppose it brings a small measure of resolution.”
The family took their leave after breakfast, and Gavin and Margaux sat in the garden, looking out over the loch, enjoying their first moment of peace together since their marriage. It was another warm, sunny morning, and the scent of lilacs, roses, and peonies intoxicated Margaux’s senses as bees buzzed around doing their work. She felt she had been sent to heaven overnight, such was the change in circumstance during the past four-and-twenty hours.
“Gavin?” she asked.
“Yes, mo grá?” he said tenderly.
“I have wanted to ask you what you said to me in Gaelic at our wedding,” she confessed.
“Tugaim mo chroí duit go deo?” He looked down at her with so much love in his eyes as he stroked her cheek, Margaux could only wonder she had not realized before.
“Yes. It has been on my mind constantly,” she whispered.
“I give you my heart forever,” he said, before leaning down to her and kissing her in a way that left no doubt at all.
“How could you say so, then? When you only married me for convenience?” she asked, when she had recovered.
“Mo grá, my love,” he translated. “I gave you my heart knowing that love would follow. I think I realized long before you did.”
“I am not certain when I knew,” she wondered aloud.
“It matters not when, only that you do.” He smiled at her, and her heart felt as if it would overflow.
“Yes. I can only be grateful that some greater power knew more than we did and took a hand in bringing us together,” she reflected.
“Even through fire.”
Preview of Melting the Ice
What man wants to marry unless he needs an heir?” Benedict asked scathingly.
“There are those who find companionship, if not love with a lady, Your Grace,” Hughes remarked encouragingly, with little regard for His Grace’s tone.
“Ladies are good for one thing only,” Benedict retorted.
“But you must marry one of them to produce a legitimate heir.”
“Must I?” he asked softly with an underlying challenge in his voice.
“The last heir has died, Your Grace.”
“You are certain?” he asked rhetorically.
“Quite, quite certain. Mr. Norton has made an exhaustive search.” The secretary held up the damning news just received from the solicitor.
“I see.”
“It must be done, Your Grace.”
Benedict Stanton, Duke of Yardley, sighed loudly. He was now faced with the one thing he’d vowed never to do again: marry. He remained silent, digesting this new-found information along with his beefsteak and kidney pie, which was suddenly souring his stomach.
The duke’s secretary was used to His Grace’s ways, and stood quietly while his employer made a decision.
Benedict exhaled audibly again.
“I suppose, Hughes, that you have made me a list?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The ever efficient secretary promptly produced a list with twelve names and their resumes, including bloodlines, properties, and dowries.
“As you can see, Your Grace, I have listed them in order of eligibility.” He paused.
Benedict shooed the list away.
“You may begin negotiations with the first one on the list. I have little care for their qualities other than breeding.”
The secretary cleared his throat nervously, which produced an elevated eyebrow from His Grace.
“I also took the liberty of providing those considered to be the Incomparables.”
The secretary placed the list on the desk before the duke.
“Incomparable is synonymous with idiot, Hughes. Is there a point?”
“Perhaps not quite synonymous, Your Grace. Let me tactfully say that some of the eligibles are not necessarily of prime stock, whereas others…” he said leadingly, using horseflesh terminology most like to convince the duke who preferred equine company to human.
“I care little for appeara
nces,” the Duke retorted.
“I think it best for you to make the decision, Your Grace. Or I could ask the Duchess…”
His Grace ignored the last taunt about involving his mother. “I should send you to negotiations with,” he glanced at the first name on the list, “Cohen’s daughter, a Lady Mary, but I gather you do not approve?”
“Lady Mary is all that is amiable, Your Grace, but she resembles your finest Arabians and she titters.”
The Duke cringed. Perhaps a mite of scrutiny would be called for.
“Have you seen all of them?”
The secretary flushed red. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
Yardley stared in stupefaction at his normally staid secretary blushing like a fresh youth.
“Very well. Make an offer to the first one you deem most suitable to my preferences.”
The secretary bowed and left the room.
Benedict wanted little to do with any female ever again, unless they had four legs. It had been nearly ten years since his first fiasco of a marriage, and the taste in his mouth was as bitter as the day it had happened.
Jolie pulled her horse to a halt as she skirted the edge of the chalk cliffs, inhaling the scent of the sea. As fond as she was of London, the reprieve to her cousin, Lord Easton’s, house in Sussex had been welcome. This Season did not boast any new suitors she could take seriously, and her family had all departed England, leaving her feeling lonely for the first time that she could remember.
She would return to London soon with Lady Easton as her chaperone, but there was no one serious contender for her affections. She would never confess to anyone, save her sisters, her fears of becoming a spinster. Her sister, Margaux, would rather that than marry someone she could not love. But not Jolie. She wished for a good match with someone she could respect, and who could make her life comfortable. She was not so mercenary as to accept anyone. She had, in fact, turned down so many proposals she had been teasingly nicknamed Ice, though nothing could be less apt to describe her. She had simply never found said qualities in one person. She did not require a title, contrary to popular belief. But being a duchess certainly would not hurt, she thought mockingly to herself.
Through the Fire Page 20