The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2)

by Julianna Hughes

  From what she had read in the papers, she understood why he was reluctant to talk about his second marriage. But he was just as reticent about talking about the first one too. And unexpectedly, it left her feeling a little jealous of the long-dead woman.

  But that couldn't stop her heart from palpitating wildly every time he came near. Tonight, it had started when she had walked onto the keep's ramparts to wait for him. They had agreed to meet on the north side of the ramparts at midnight, but Mary hadn't been able to wait until then. She had sneaked away more than an hour ago. Ostensibly, to relax and read a book, which she had brought with her but hadn't managed to read a single line from.

  Suddenly, a door creaked in the distance and her heart began racing. But rather than turn to see who was joining her on the roof, she remained rooted in place, staring across the moon-lit fields at the glimmering light as it reflected off the Aln River.

  Heavy footsteps slowly approached from behind, and she caught the familiar scent of sandalwood and musk that was uniquely Peter's. From the corner of her eye she could see him step up to the battlements to share her view of the night.

  "Did your mother dragoon you into dancing with the ladies on your list?" she asked as lighthearted as she could.

  One of the things they had talked about was the infamous list his family had put together of prospective brides for him. He hated the thing, but had agreed to give each of the young ladies a chance and see if they might make him a good wife. And each night, he would regale her with what he thought about the various women he had met. So far none of them seemed promising. At least that’s what he kept telling her. Over time, Mary had come to hate the thing as much as Peter did.

  He turned to her and she reciprocated but felt a jolt of dread bolt through her. His face was drawn, and his eyes looked feverish.

  Her hand shot out and grasped his arm. "Peter, what is it? What is wrong?"

  Mary's heart pummeled beneath her breasts as she watched him struggle. "Have you settled on one of the ladies on your mother's list?"

  His body shuddered, and Mary knew she had guessed correctly. Her stomach roiled and dread pooled in her belly. But knowing how he dreaded the ideal of marrying another woman like his second wife, she wasn’t surprised by his mood.

  So for his sake, Mary forced a smile to her trembling lips and asked the question for which she didn't want to hear the answer.

  "So, who is the lucky lady, your Grace? Who will be the next Duchess of Rollens?"

  Chapter 7

  "I have made a decision. But before I tell you who I've chosen, I would like to tell you about my first two marriages," Peter said.

  A cold chill raced up Mary's spine as she stared up at the consternation on his face. Because of his reluctance to talk about his earlier marriages, she knew his change of heart would have a profound effect on his life. And Mary wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about them. But neither did she want to stop him, as she could see how important this was to Peter.

  "Alright, Peter," she said.

  He gazed down at her for several minutes then reached up and covered her hand with his. Reflexively, she turned her hand over, and he interlaced his fingers with hers. Even through the thick gloves they both wore, a shock of awareness coursed through her from the intimate contact.

  Peter tugged her hand, then turned them toward the back of the rampart. A stone bench sat there, built against the wall, and had become their safe haven as it offered protection from the cold breeze, and a minimum of privacy. Consequently, sitting there had become an idyllic conclusion to their days while they talked. It was one of Mary's fondest memories. And she hated that it was about to become one of her worst.

  Once they were settled, he tucked her hand tightly against his side as if he was afraid she would try to run off from him, which she would never do. His voice was low and tentative when he began speaking, and Mary leaned closer to hear him more clearly.

  "Some of my earliest memories were of my father and mother telling me one day I would be the next Duke of Rollens. And that I would be one of the most powerful men in all of England. And that with great power, came great responsibilities and numerous obligations."

  Mary flinched. She wasn't surprised, but she was appalled. It wasn't something a small child should have to be burdened with. Mary also wondered why he had chosen now to tell her of such things. Intuitively she understood it had something to do with whom he had chosen as his bride, but she already knew he would have to choose somebody befitting his station in life.

  As Peter continued he seemed to be rambling more than just telling her a story. "I can't remember exactly how old I was when I understood that one day I would have to marry and secure the Hendricks’ dynasty. But by the time I attended Eton, it was something I had accepted as just another part of my life. However, I thought I would have time to pursue other interests before that day came.” He glanced at her, and Mary knew he meant his passion for science. He continued, “Then in my last year at Oxford, I was called home by my father."

  He stopped and gazed up into the starry night sky. When he started again his voice had changed, more hesitant. "My parents were of course not happy that I was pursuing a degree in chemistry and mathematics. When I got home I was called to my father's study, and we had a horrible row. He ordered me to end my studies, and I refused. And then in the middle of one of his rants he grasped his chest and collapsed in front of me."

  "Oh, Peter," she cried out.

  He didn't seem to hear her as he gazed off into the distance as if looking back in time. "The doctors said he had a weak heart." Peter turned to her, and his eyes seemed to be asking her something. "They didn't know how long he would live and told us to not upset or excite him more than was necessary. I was two and twenty at the time. And my father didn't want to die before the next generation in our dynasty was established. So he and a friend of his arranged a marriage between me and Lady Hortensia Stonehamton."

  His eyes roamed over her face, and then he turned to look out over the battlements again.

  "I had my doubts about the validity of my father's diagnosis, because the next day he seemed as healthy as ever. But I wasn't willing to challenge my parents or the doctors. So I agreed. As a dutiful son, I was honor bound to marry and continue the Rollens' line. But I didn't really want the marriage. And neither did Lady Hortensia. In fact, she was adamantly opposed to the union. At the time I was unaware of her objections. And then on our wedding night, she told me so in so many words and more. Hortensia also informed me that she was in love with another man and that she was carrying his child."

  Mary gasped and turned towards him. Her other hand rose of its own volition and covered his.

  "I believe she thought I would expose her and then have the marriage annulled, which legally I could have. But I didn't.” He glanced at her then turned away. “I couldn’t.” He took a breath. “Hortensia was an incredibly beautiful woman by polite society’s standards. A real diamond of the first water and the toast of the ton that season. And I didn't care that she was already with child, or that she had loved another before our marriage. I convinced myself that I was in love with her and told her that I would accept the baby as mine, even if it was a boy."

  Mary knew what that meant. Especially to a family like the Rollens.

  "But it made no difference to Hortensia. She hated me and made sure I knew it. She started drinking heavily every night and doing things that were dangerous for her and for her unborn child. And then she went into labor early one night and delivered a stillborn girl."

  He looked down at her with anguish on his face. "I named her Jocelyn and buried her in the Rollens' family plot at Kirkmore. Three days later I buried Hortensia beside her child. I think she just gave up on life and willed herself to die."

  Despite the betrayal, Mary could tell that he had cared deeply for both his first wife and her child. "I'm so very sorry," she told him. Whether for his wife's betrayal, or for hers and the child's loss, Mary didn't know.
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br />   He shook his head and looked away from her. "My mother had arranged a second marriage even before Hortensia was cold in the ground. But this time I refused to go along with their plans. I insisted on honoring my wife with a full year of mourning." He glanced down at her and grimaced. "Not because I had loved her so deeply that I needed the time to mourn, but because I didn't want them to push me into another hasty marriage. And then after the year, my mother arranged a second marriage between me and the daughter of a close friend of hers, Lady Hurston."

  Mary shuddered with repulsion. She still remembered reading about the exploits of Peter's second wife, Lady Violet Hurston.

  "Violet," he shook his head, "was not in love with anyone, with the exception of herself and the idea of becoming a duchess. Our betrothal lasted nearly a year, and I thought I knew who she was by the time we were joined. But I was wrong."

  Peter took a breath and then tried again. "Violet was. . ."

  "Promiscuous," Mary provided, when he hesitated.

  Peter grimaced and shook his head. "That is putting it kindly. Once Violet got the coronet on her head, she changed into a very different person than the one I had courted." He hesitated and then shook his head. "No, that isn’t really fair. Violet was always a very self-absorbed woman. I just didn't pay any attention to it until after the wedding. I think I wanted to believe she was different than Hortensia. But she wasn't. If anything, she was worse."

  He stopped speaking and a quiver ran down her back that owed nothing to the cold wind. "The papers said she and her lover fell to their deaths at a house party," Mary said.

  He laughed humorlessly. "Once again, that is putting it nicely. She and her latest lover fell naked from the third floor balcony while engaged in a public tryst, in front of a dozen witnesses."

  Mary bit her lower lip. She had been appalled at the account in the paper of Peter's second wife's death. Now she was sickened by it.

  He took a deep breath and gazed down at her. "The short of all this is that I refused to go through another ton marriage after Violet's death. Something neither of my parents were willing to accept. So I bought a commission in the 85th Foot and went to fight for King and country. I was determined to let the title pass to my cousin Lonell."

  Mary pulled back and blinked up at him. She knew about his cousin Lonell Hendricks. Most of England had heard, or read, about the man's depraved lifestyle. To be willing for a cousin to inherit the title, Peter must have been completely disillusioned by his first two marriages.

  Then Mary realized that something must have happened in the ensuing years if he was now willing to marry for the third time. "What changed?" she asked.

  He regarded her for several heart-rending seconds. And then softly said, "I guess the war is what happened. Or more to the point, what I saw during the war. Not just the horror of the war, but also the unconditional love of some of the men I served with.” His eyes lightened a little. “Especially a man by the name of Micheal Cragg and his wife Elspeth. He was a sergeant in my company. A huge Scotsman that was one of the most ferocious fighters I've ever seen. A Highlander through and through and so was his wife. But what impressed me most about him was the way he was with his wife. A tiny bit of the thing compared to Micheal. But just as fierce. I never saw two people so much in love in my entire life. And I realized by the end of the war, that that was what I wanted more than anything in the world. Including the cursed title I was born to."

  Her heart lightened for the first time that night. She finally understood what he was looking for. It still hurt a little, but she was delighted that this time he would look for love and not a ton match.

  "So you are looking for your own Mrs. Cragg?"

  He gave her his whole attention, just stared for what could have been eons, but was probably only a few seconds. Her pulse raced, and she couldn’t bear the suspense of one more heartbeat. "You found your bride on your mother's list of debutantes?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "You haven't found your bride?"

  He nodded his head, confusing the hell out of her.

  “Peter, you're not making any sense. You have, or you have not, found your prospective bride?" she demanded.

  "Yes, I have found the woman I want to marry. Just not on my mother's list. She is at the top of my list, not hers," he said, and then reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper.

  Carefully he unfolded it then handed it to her. Mary glared at him as she took it from his fingers. In the dim light she turned it toward the full moon, and then stared uncomprehendingly at the long row of names in a delicate script with thick black lines drawn through each and every one of them. Then she glanced at the bottom, and in the same heavy handwriting as the lines, she found her name inked in. Another line was drawn from her name to the top of the page with an arrow pointing above all the others.

  Every nerve in her body exploded, and then froze. She could do nothing but stare at her name for countless minutes as she gathered the courage to look up. Finally, she took a deep breath and lowered the paper as she turned back toward Peter.

  The look on his face was boyish. And hopeful. His eyes seemed to be pleading with her, but Mary's mind was having a hard time comprehending what it was he wanted.

  "Just what is it you are trying to say?" she asked, and then flinched at the tremble she heard in her voice.

  He reached over and took her gloved hands in his, holding them tightly. "Mary, I am asking you to marry me."

  She gazed up at him stupefied for several heartbeats. A dull ringing seemed to have begun in her ears as she was having a hard time hearing what he was saying. Then what he had just said hit her like a punch to her stomach.

  Mary recoiled, but he only tightened his grip on her hands.

  "W-What are you saying?" she demanded.

  Mortified, Mary realized that somehow, he must have realized her growing attraction to him and was playing some kind of cruel joke on her. The Duke of Rollens would never marry someone like her. Once again, she tried to pull away so she could hide her anger and embarrassment, but he held tight and pulled her closer. His face contorted with anxiety.

  He took a deep breath and then spoke slowly. "I'm asking you, Mary Elizabeth Penrose, to marry me. To become my duchess, and my wife, and hopefully so much more."

  She stared at him in shock for an eternity then jumped to her feet and jerked her hands free of his. "You can't marry me! Are you out of your mind?"

  He shook his head slowly as he replied, "No, I'm not out of my mind.” He then began nodding. “And yes, I can marry you. There is no reason in the world why we can't marry."

  Mary’s mouth dropped open. After faltering, she snapped it shut and glared at him. How dare he play with her this way? Had he no decency? The Peter she knew lay in tatters about her feet, but she wouldn’t let him see her pain.

  "This is some kind of joke. Isn't it?" she demanded.

  He shook his head and replied, "No, Mary it is not a joke. I am asking you,” he stressed the words, “to marry me."

  Turning toward him, she confronted him. "But look at me!" she cried out, then held her arms out to the side. "I am older than you. Peers do not marry thirty-year-old spinsters, they marry debutantes."

  He stood up and reached for her. But she quickly clasped her hands behind her back. He sighed and then continued. "Mary, I've married two debutantes and look how that worked out. And you are only two years older than I. So you are not too old for me to marry."

  Desperately she added the obvious. "I can't be a duchess. Duchess’ are tall, and graceful, and elegant, and . . . and beautiful. They are not short, fat, bluestocking governesses. I'm not even a noblewoman, Peter. My mother and father were Welsh.” He interrupted her. "Your father was half English and the brother of an earl."

  "Half-brother," she cried. "And he was a commoner. And dukes do not marry commoners."

  "Some do," he replied.

  Which she knew was true. So it stumped her until she rem
embered his mother, the Duchess of Rollens. Not to mention his paternal grandmother, the dowager Duchess of Rollens and one of the ton's most feared social dragons.

  "Your family would never approve of a match between us and you know it."

  Peter took a step toward her and she scurried backwards, keeping out of his reach. He stopped and regarded her carefully and then began speaking in that same disillusioned tone he had been using.

  "Mary, the first two times, I married the women my family wanted me to, and they were unmitigated disasters. So much so that I swore to never marry again and to allow the title to pass to one of the most disreputable men I know. But then I went to war and saw things that changed my mind."

  She started to tell him that one happy couple was not reason enough to marry someone like her, but he forestalled her by raising his hand and pleading with his eyes to let him finish. So she clamped her lips tight and nodded her head for him to continue. Then she would tell him that he couldn't marry her.

  "There is a saying among the soldiers that you either lose your faith, or you find it during a battle. I used to think it was all rubbish, until I was in the middle of it." He looked away and gazed upward. "But it's not. I heard men cry out in the middle of a fierce battle for God, for their mothers, or for their wives and families. And then one day, not during a battle but just afterward, I sat in a muddy ditch, filled with the remains of soldiers from both sides, and felt a presence I had not felt in a long time."

  His eyes returned to her. "Mary, I felt God that day. And he showed me a life that could be mine. Not as a peer, or as a duke, but as a man with a wife who loved him, and who made him feel good about himself. That vision sustained me through the rest of the war. And when it was over and I came home, I began looking for that woman."

  His eyes locked on hers. "And then seven days ago I saw you, and I knew I had found her. You were the woman God showed me that day."

  Mary had no earthly idea how to respond to what he had just said. Nor did he give her time to think about it. Peter took two quick steps and drew her into his arms, her hands penned between them. Her whole body flamed to life as he crushed her against the hardness of his.