She closed her eyes to better remember, although it would be an occasion she would not soon forget.
When the drawing room door opened, she beheld an empty room. Confused, she turned back to Mr. Hunter only to find the door closed behind him. Was this a child’s game? Something her nephew had planned? No, he was not the playful type. Turning back, she surveyed the room, at first scanning past the gentleman leaning against the hearth mantel. How she had missed him, she could never say, but once she saw him, she could not unsee him.
Never had she expected to find Colonel Sir Duncan Starrett standing in the Red Drawing Room. Not just in her home, but actually standing.
His eyes locked with hers.
Ever the gracious hostess, she could not move or speak. Struck dumb, was she, by this vision. It hit her what he was doing here just as suddenly as she had spotted him in the seemingly empty room. Her brother may grant them far more leniency than what was accustomed of an unmarried lady and a gentleman, but he would only leave them alone in a room, least of all in his own home, for one purpose.
A wave of dizziness swept over her. Don’t swoon, she told herself.
Finding her voice, she said, “How pleasant you should call on me, Sir Duncan. Do, please, have a seat.”
She waved to the chairs surrounding the fireplace. He bowed, his eyes never leaving hers, and strode to her rather than sitting.
Her breath caught in her throat as he prowled to her. He stopped within arm’s reach and took her hand in his, raising it. Turning it over, he pressed her palm to puckered lips. A warm thrill trembled her body at the touch.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries. Mary, my love, will you do me the honor of walking life’s trials with me, of standing by my side, of wheeling through tribulations should I be in a chair? Will you be my wife?”
Her heart beat so erratically, she was positive she would faint. What happened to them getting to know each other? What happened to his inability to move his legs? What happened to his lack of sensation? What about Bernard?
Throwing rational thought and gentility aside, she threw her arms around his neck and peppered his face with kisses.
“You know I will,” she said, leaning back to take in his flushed cheeks, broad smile, and bright eyes.
An errant strand of coffee-colored hair dropped over his forehead. She swept it back, running her fingers over his brow, tracing his sideburn down to his mouth, touching a lazy fingertip to the cleft in his chin. Without awaiting an invitation, she hugged him against her breasts and met his lips with an open mouth. He sucked in a breath and pulled her more tightly to him, hands on her hips.
Though his lips embraced hers with the hunger of a starving man, it was his body’s reaction that took her most by surprise, eliciting a gasp his kiss smothered. Pressed between the apex of her thighs was his hardened desire. All she could do was arch her spine and tilt her hips, desperate to feel more. Her soul ached for his touch.
His kiss lightened even while her body burned, not wanting to quit the embrace, wanting to anticipate their vows right there on the drawing room floor.
Duncan’s arms loosened as he took a step back to admire her. His eyes roamed her face with tenderness. With another step back, he took her hands in his and pulled her to the nearest set of chairs, urging her to sit. She did not want to sit. She wanted to resume kissing, to feel his attraction again. It was not to be had. With a sigh, she sat, draping an elbow over the arm of the chair.
Looking him over, especially post kiss, she could not imagine him confined to a chair and could not reconcile this image with the one she had seen nearly two months prior, an invalid trapped in a laudanum-induced sleep, his skin feverish, his body helpless and unresponsive. Now, he looked like a colonel, strong and commanding, not quite like the slender and jovial boy she had loved so long ago, but more appealing as the man she now wanted to marry.
Duncan sandwiched Mary’s hand in both of his. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Would you believe me if I said that I worried you would say no?” he asked.
“Why ever would I say no?”
“A host of reasons. One look at this home made my knees knock. I couldn’t imagine you wanting to live in any humble home of mine after growing up in a palace. And there’s my condition to consider. And that we agreed to court first and get to know each other all over again. And Bernard. And all the old concerns of my station. And—”
She covered his mouth with a finger. “Hush. You’ve asked. I’ve answered.”
Nodding, he kissed her finger before moving it to join her other hand, wedged between his. “I couldn’t wait another day for life to begin. I want to embark on our new life now. We’ll be able to spend more time together as a betrothed couple. No more waiting for my mother to invite you to tea and hoping we’ll have a moment’s privacy under their watchful gazes.”
“Most importantly, I can kiss you whenever I want,” she said.
“Yes, that too.” He chuckled. “What of your mother? Should I worry she’ll have my parent’s home set to fire?”
Mary giggled. “Hardly. At worse, she’ll have you hanged at dawn.”
“Oh, is that all?” He ran a hand across the back of his neck.
“Don’t worry about my mother; I’ll handle her. Enough distraction, though. Are you going to keep me in suspense?” Mary nodded to his legs—enticingly muscled in taut, silk breeches.
“It’s a miracle, is it not? I’m not recovered, but by each day, I’m improved. Other than when riding, I have not regained sensation, but I do have use of my legs now. There are times when I’m unsteady, times when they’re slow to respond, but after daily practice, I believe I can fool most. How’d I look? Were you convinced? Did I walk to you as a normal man?”
His expression held such intense conviction, she giggled again. “Not at all like a normal man.”
Crestfallen, his gaze dropped to the floor.
She said, squeezing his hand, “You swaggered like a colonel who knew he was about to get the girl.”
Duncan swung his eyes back to her, the corners crinkling once more. “If we should marry immediately after the banns are read, that will give me three more weeks to practice. With faith, I could have sensation by then. I could be normal by then.” Under his breath, he said, “God, I hope so.”
“I’m here even if you find yourself back in the wheeled chair. I’ll wheel you into the church myself if I have to.” She had meant the words to be encouraging, but he frowned in response, drifting into thought.
When he looked up again, he said, “You should know that my father wrote to the Army of my circumstance. He meant well, of course, but I’ve been discharged for medical reasons and will not be returning. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful news, Duncan! Now you won’t have the weight on your shoulders of selling your commission. Knowing you, you would have felt guilty, thinking you had abandoned your men, or some such rubbish. Now it’s been taken care of, neat and tidy.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
His answer was spoken so softly, she wondered if he was as happy about the news as he ought to be. Surely, he had not wanted to return to service. The thought strangled her breath.
“Before your brother interrupts us, and I must admit, I’m surprised he’s left us alone for this long, I have an important question to ask.”
She pulled her hands from his to grip the arms of her chair.
“What type of horses are you hoping to breed?” he asked.
The question was so unusual, she laughed. “What type of horses? Of all the questions, I hadn’t expected that one. To be honest, I don’t know. Thoroughbreds? I don’t even know if I want to breed them for auction or by request. It’s a point of frustration, I admit. Why do you ask?”
“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise. Only, I need to
know the breed. Think on it?”
She puckered her lips in thought. “What about warhorses?”
He raised his brows. “Are you trying to stud my horse?”
Blushing, she said, “Now that you mention it…”
“Caesar would be ecstatic. Let me think on the possibilities. I’ll say nothing more now lest I ruin your wedding present.”
Chapter 16
The carriage swayed its way into the village. On the horizon rose a sun that promised a day of good weather. Mrs. Starrett and Mary sat together facing Colonel Sean Starrett and Duncan, whose backs were to the horses. Bernard, in his Sunday best, perched on his papa’s lap.
Duncan had shared with Mary his grand plan to walk all the way to the church for his first appearance since that fated evening, but given his fatiguing struggle to walk without feeling, he listened to reason and accompanied the family in the carriage.
When the horses halted, Mary reached a hand to cover his. He returned a nervous smile before offering to hand her down the steps.
She saw the crowd before he did.
Duncan’s eyes were riveted on her descension, none the wiser. With a flick of her head and a nudge to his arm, she enticed him to turn around. A double queue led to the church door, the Reverend Quinn Starrett standing at the entrance in his vestments. All the village, or so it appeared, were gathered to greet Duncan for his walk into church. Back rigid, jaw clenched, hands furling and unfurling into fists, he stared at the crowd, all of whom waited for him to promenade and be the first to enter.
At Mrs. Starrett’s coaxing, Bernard took her hand so Duncan could walk the aisle unencumbered.
With chin high, Mary placed a hand on her betrothed’s arm, tugging him forward with a gentle squeeze. It was the inducement he needed. Relaxing his shoulders, he took one step forward, and then another. His gait smoothed with each step, Mary hugging his arm with her fingers.
Applause rippled through the crowd as he approached his brother.
“Welcome back,” the vicar said, holding out a hand to shake Duncan’s.
They made their way to the first pew, the closest to the pulpit. After Bernard scrambled in ungentlemanly enthusiasm to wedge between her and Duncan as they took their seats, Mary looked around her. She had never been in the village church before. The family only ever attended the private chapel, the estate clergyman crafting sermons befitting the dowager duchess’s preferences. It was strange and exciting to be sharing her Sunday with so many people.
She reached an inconspicuous hand to touch Duncan’s only to find her fingers wrapped around the thin arm of Bernard. He smiled up at her, legs kicking air, grabbing her hand with his cold palm. Goodness. For a moment, in her awe of the present situation, she had forgotten about him. His hand remained in hers as the vicar stepped into the pulpit.
His opening words were the reading of the banns. Mary glanced at Duncan as the words wove through the church. He winked back at her. These words made it real. There was no turning back, no second thoughts, no fire-breathing mother who could smote them asunder.
“I publish the banns of marriage between Lady Mary Mowbrah of the Mowbrahs of Annick and Colonel Sir Duncan Starrett of the Starretts of Norham. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.”
A murmur, followed by a hush, swept through the congregation. Although today was the first official announcement of the betrothal, everyone knew. How people knew was beyond Mary’s understanding, but everyone knew. They knew even before the two walked to the church arm-in-arm. All the same, Mary held her breath, a dreadful vision of her mother breaking down the door of the church to declare her just impediment. But what would the dowager duchess say? That she would not have her daughter marry a commoner? That would not bode well for Catherine’s popularity nor local reception. Only when the vicar proceeded to the sermon did Mary release her breath.
Her mother had made a point not to speak to her at dinner. How her mother had found out about the engagement, she did not know, but likely Drake had told her to save Mary the trouble. All through dinner, that once-a-week dinner in which her mother graced them with her presence, Catherine had talked as though Mary were not at the table, as though she were invisible, absent, or dead. That was perfectly acceptable to Mary. If she never had to deal with her mother again, life would be as it should be. It was, after all, one of the perks of marriage.
The voice of the vicar slipped through her thoughts, his tone filled with a genuine praise she had never heard from the estate clergyman.
“‘Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer,’ Romans 12:12 points us to the miracle of faith, faith that has, as Colossians 1:11 reminds us, strengthened the weak ‘with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness.’”
The Reverend Starrett held a hand towards Duncan, though his eyes surveyed the church. His voice lowered, as if sharing a secret, before rising again in triumph. “‘Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him,’ James 1:12. Before you today, you see a miracle. ‘And God wrought special miracles by the hands of’ Dr. Knowlton, physician. My brother, our returned hero who fought for Crown and country, walks before us, renewed of strength, rewarded with love. Should faith ever falter, look inward to our flock, for the touched walk amongst us, reminders of God’s love and charity.”
Tears stung Mary’s eyes. So moved was she by the vicar’s words, she released Bernard’s hand to fish out her handkerchief. Her watery gaze found Duncan’s when she looked up. His stare was stony, his jaw ticking with tension. She nudged Bernard to take his hand. Though the boy did, Duncan did not seem to notice. His hand took the tiny one in his as though by instinct, his expression shielded.
Was he moved, as well, but fought to show it? Was he angry his brother spoke of the condition so openly? She could not read him. She had always been able to read him. One look and she would always know his thoughts and feelings, and yet now, she hardly knew the man sitting one tiny person away from her. And she would be married to this man in three short weeks.
She bit her bottom lip, eyes watering anew but for a different reason this time. All her dreams were coming true at last, so how foolish to cry, but of a sudden, she was overcome with the weight of it all. They had spoken so little since his return. She knew nothing of this man. Did anything of the old Duncan remain? Oh, and there was motherhood of Bernard to consider, a new life in a new place somewhere in Durham, a move away from family with only him and Bernard, though it had been his family she had fallen in love with. It was all overwhelming. On the happiest Sunday of her life, she felt a conflicting loss of self.
It was a good thing the vicar preached more about miracles for there was hardly a dry eye in the church, making her likeness to a watering pot one of many.
By the time they walked out of the church, Mary had recovered herself, as bright eyed and refreshed as when she first walked in. No one could say she did not have the constitution of nobility.
Everyone crowded outside, eager to speak with Duncan, to welcome him back, ask about his baronetcy, ask about his recovery, a few asking about the betrothal and if they would have the wedding here. Duncan’s affect had changed, she noticed. He was all smiles. Clasping hands, the corners of his eyes crinkling, an aura about him that commanded everyone’s attention, he spoke to each and every person.
She hardly knew this version of him either, though she liked it better than the man she had seen in church. The Duncan she knew had been a flirtatious jokester, always ready for a laugh, always wanting to break a rule or two with her. Together, they were daring and adventurous. They rode against the wind, swam in petticoats and breeches, played pranks on the grooms, kissed until they
panted. Would she ever see that Duncan again? Did she want to? She was not the same person any more than he was, but that had been the man she loved.
Ah, blast this wretched onslaught of melancholy on a happy day! Breaking into a fierce smile, she rounded the crowd with Mrs. Georgina Starrett and Mrs. Miranda Starrett, accepting congratulations, Bernard dawdling alongside her since he refused to leave his new friend’s side.
By the time she returned to the carriage, she was in good spirits. The people treated her in unexpected ways, differently from normal. No, that was not quite right. They still afforded her the deference of her station, but they were far more welcoming than they had ever been. Rather than treating her as the austere daughter of a duke, they treated her almost as though she were one of them. Almost. They were not obviously intimidated or knee-scraping, at least. All the times she visited with her sister-in-law with charity baskets and conversation, she had been met with blushes and blusters.
Maybe, in time, they would see her. Really see her. No one had ever really seen her. No one except the old Duncan, that was. No one but he had seen past her parentage. Maybe she had a chance to be seen if on Duncan’s arm.
“Did you enjoy the sermon?” Mrs. Starrett asked as the carriage jolted on its way.
Mary did not answer at first, thinking mother asked son.
Mrs. Starrett touched her arm.
Turning a smile to her hostess, Mary said, “Oh yes, very much so. I’ve never heard such impassioned words on a Sunday.”
“No? Goodness me, why ever not?”
“The only sermons I’ve heard are those from the Annick clergyman. Mother sends him notes on what he’s to compose. Attendance is just the family in the private chapel, of course, and we rarely meet every Sunday anyway.”
Duncan looked at her over Bernard’s head. “What do you mean by rarely?”
“Let’s just say my mother isn’t the God-loving sort. We hold chapel once a month at most.”
“I didn’t know you weren’t devout,” Duncan said, staring at her with a frown.
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