His brows snapped together. “Why?” he demanded in a soft voice.
“Because your mother thinks Jess is mine and Ommar’s child. And that I foisted her off on the Haddads to raise,” she told him.
His face scrunched up. “Mary, we both know that is impossible.”
She felt her face flush as memories of last night flooded her. “Nevertheless, it is what she believes. And it is what others will believe as well.”
He shook his head, and then gently caressed Jess’ cheek. “Mary, even if I hadn’t taken your . . . you know, last night. It would still be impossible for you to be Jess’ mother.”
She started to protest, but he shushed her and held up a finger, and then nodded down at Jess, who had closed her eyes and was sleeping now.
She glared up at him for shushing her.
“Discounting the possibility of immaculate conception, let us consider the other reasons you cannot possibly be our daughter’s biological mother.” He held up his hand and began counting them off one by one.
“One, how old is Jess?” he asked.
She glared at him. She had told him last night, so he should know. “She is three months old.”
He nodded as he held up a second finger. “And where were you three months ago?” he asked.
The glimmer grew to a small flame. “In Yorkshire, taking care of the Hurtles’ children.”
He held up a third finger. “And the nine months before that?”
She smiled a little sheepishly. “In Yorkshire, taking care of the Hurtles’ children,” she repeated.
“So there is no way this child is anything but what she’s purported to be, the orphaned child of two of your friends,” he assured her.
The flame of hope grew and then sputtered. “But look at her, Peter. She looks just like me. Facts won’t matter to the ton. They never do.”
His face turned hard. “Is that what my mother told you?” he asked.
Mary nodded.
“And do you care if people believe she is your child?”
“No,” she said and shook her head. “But it will destroy your reputation. And your work in Parliament. You will lose the support for your bills.”
“That sounds like my mother talking,” he said.
Her heart beat painfully against her ribs. “But is it true? Will marrying me cause you support in the House of Lords?”
He hesitated, and it was all the confirmation Mary needed. “Maybe,” he reluctantly admitted. “Probably some. But it doesn’t matter.”
The flame burned out once again. “But it matters to me. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your reputation, your position in politics, and your place in polite society. Nor do I want you to grow to hate me, like you did your first two wives. I won’t be your third scandalous marriage, Peter. I can’t. I just can’t come between you and your family and destroy all that you have worked so hard to build.”
He grasped her shoulders and she jerked enough to rouse Jess a little. They both heard the baby whimper, and he softened his grip.
“You will not destroy my reputation. And by interfering with my affairs, my mother has already destroyed any hope of a future relationship with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “You don’t mean that, Peter. Your mother loves you. And you love her.”
His eyes bore into hers for several heartbeats, and then he softened. "Maybe," he allowed. "But I think it would be better for all of us if I do not encounter her for a few years."
"Peter," she scolded.
His eyebrow snapped together as he stared down at her. "Fine," he hissed. "Then a few months."
"Peter, you cannot do that," she said. After the way his mother had acted during the house party, Mary could well understand his feelings. She was hoping to never see the woman again. Or at least not for a very long time.
"I do not want to talk about it now," he said, reminding her of the boy she had met twenty years ago.
Suddenly his frown disappeared, and he straightened up and gave her a patently false smile. "I am famished. Are you?" He reached out and clasped her arm gently and pulled her toward the office door. "I'm told there is a little inn on the outskirts of the village that has the most wonderful fare in the morning. All of the villagers rave about it."
Confused, Mary pulled up short and stared up at him. He was acting so very peculiar. As if none of what had happened this morning mattered.
"Peter, we need to talk. Your mother has forbidden me to marry you." She laughed humorously. "Actually, your mother has forbidden me from ever seeing you again." Mary reached into her coat pocket and removed the envelope with Lady Hurtle's letter of recommendation, and the duchess's hundred pounds. "She gave me a hundred pounds and told me I was to never talk to you again."
His face hardened and then he plastered that annoying fake smile back onto his face. "In the first place, it is not my mother's money, it is mine. And in the second place. . ." He glanced around and then back at her. "And in the second place, I am famished. And you should know that men cannot think on an empty stomach. So I say we go to the inn, have a good breakfast, and then we can talk about this." He eyed her carefully before he demanded, "Agreed?"
Mary didn't agree, but there was nothing she could do or say about it right then. And she was a bit hungry. Nor did she want to continue talking about his mother right then.
As they walked out, they met Peter's valet as he ran toward them. The tall, lanky man smiled at her, which was extremely unusual given the circumstances. When he reached them, he leaned toward his employer and whispered. She was sure she heard, "Everything is arranged." But the rest of it was lost to a gust of wind.
In less than half an hour, Peter was handing her down from the coach, which she had noted was not a hired coach but the Rollens' black lacquered traveling coach embossed with his coat of arms. He escorted her and Jess into the Fox and Quail posting inn on the north side of the village, just before the bridge over the River Aln.
Peter had not said a single word to her during the short ride. Instead, he had taken the wicker basket from her hands and settled it on the seat beside him. He then had proceeded to play and talk to the infant after successfully awakening the girl. Mary thought he was adorable and wanted to strangle him for it. They needed to talk. She had to make him understand that he could not marry her. But he wasn't giving her time to say a word. Just kept putting her off with, "later," and then focusing all of his attention on baby Jess.
The breakfast was indeed delicious, although Mary barely tasted any of it because of her anxiety. And despite his claims to be famished, Peter spent most of the next hour talking to Jess and the inn's maid and cook as they cooed over the infant he kept claiming as his new daughter.
By the time his valet showed up to whisper something in his ear, Mary was literally ready to strangle him. This time there was no missing the valet's words. "All is ready, your Grace." The man turned to her and beamed in a way that made her decidedly uncomfortable. He then turned and trotted out of the inn and toward a waiting carriage that was not the Duke of Rollens’s.
"Peter Thaddeus Alfred Hendricks, what is going on here?" she demanded.
He quickly stood up, and then turned and picked up Jess’ basket and took a step back. "I'm giving you and my new daughter an escort, of course." He held out his arm to her, and she eyed it cautiously. He was up to something. She had seen that same look on his face twenty years ago.
Glancing around, Mary saw all the expectant faces and knew she couldn't challenge him here in the middle of a crowded inn. So she took his proffered arm and allowed him to assist her to her feet. Then just as they were drawing near the door, the rotund woman she had been introduced to as the cook rushed up to Peter. She handed him hot towels.
"Ye won't want the little mite to catch a cold. Now would you, your Grace?"
Mary looked between them. Something was definitely going on. She had never traveled with a duke before. Nor with an infant as small as Jess. But she was fairly ce
rtain it was unusual for a cook to offer up hot towels for an infant that was only going a few steps from the warmth of the inn to the relative warmth of a ducal coach.
Peter further confused Mary when he bent down and bussed the old woman's rosy cheek and thanked her. He assured her that he would return them shortly, then took Mary’s arm and guided them out the front door.
Peter hung tightly to the basket while the driver assisted her into the coach, and then he followed. She noted that he never relinquished the basket, and in fact, was keeping Jess close as if he were afraid Mary would disappear if she got her hands on the baby.
Mary bit her lips and began counting. She was not going to put up with any more of his shenanigans. They needed to talk. And before they got back to the castle. However, it only took her a few minutes to realize they were not headed south toward the front of the castle. Instead they turned north over the River Aln, and toward Scotland.
Enough was enough. "Peter what do you think you are doing?" She glanced out the window and saw they were passing over the river. And a sudden thought struck her. "Are you abducting me? Taking me to Gretna Green for an anvil wedding?" Which didn’t make sense as she knew he had a special license in his pocket.
Her heart started racing and then froze when he shook his head. "No, I'm not abducting you. Nor am I taking you to Scotland. Not unless you want me to."
Trying to breathe through the pain in her chest, Mary said, "You can’t marry me, Peter. You just can't. I’ll destroy your family’s name. Because no matter what you say, everyone will think I gave birth to Mary Jessica out of wedlock."
His eyebrow snapped together.
"Peter, it is true," she insisted.
His face took on a hardness, and then he sat back in his seat and gave her an odd look. One that she couldn't interpret.
"Mary, first of all, marrying you will not destroy my family’s name. Nor will it overly damage my reputation. And secondly, I am eight and twenty years old, and my mother has no say in what I do. Especially, not in whom I choose to marry. Thirdly, I am the Duke of Rollens. And therefore, the head of this family. They will do as I tell them to do. And if I tell them to accept you as my wife, they will.
She laughed. "How autocratic of you. But no matter how much you want it or how often you order them to accept me, you can't really force them, or anyone, to do so. . ."
He shook his head. "Then I won’t even try. I'm not marrying them. I am marrying you."
Mary felt torn. She didn’t want to cause him more pain nor another scandal, which marrying her would most definitely do. As his mother said, it might destroy him.
"I can't marry you Peter. I can't," she insisted.
Peter stared at her and shrugged his shoulders. "Alright,” he said and settled back in his seat. “Then we won't marry." Mary was immediately suspicious. The man she had come to know would never give up that easily. "But I have no intentions of letting you go either. Not unless you tell me you no longer love me."
Mary couldn't lie about her love for him. "I can't do that." He sat forward, so she hurried on. "But neither can I marry you. Not and tear you and your family apart."
He stared back at her, then shrugged his shoulders once again. "Like I said, I can live with that." He suddenly leaned forward and clasped her hands. "But know this, Mary Elizabeth Penrose, I will follow you to the ends of the earth. No matter where you go, I intend to be right beside you. Until you tell me you no longer love me, I don't intend to let you out of my sight."
Mary was stumped. She had no idea how to respond to him. And as she sat there contemplating her next argument, she suddenly realized that the coach was no longer moving. When she glanced out the window, she saw a familiar trail. The one that led to the old Scottish ruins and her safe haven.
He must've seen the look on her face as he pulled back the curtains and gazed at the trail as well. "I thought we could take one last look at our special place before we head to wherever you are taking the three of us," he said without looking at her.
Frustrated and needing time to think, she reached for the door handle and flung the door open. It would have banged into the side of the coach if not for the driver standing outside and ready to open it. Mary tried to leap to the ground, but the ever-attentive driver stepped forward and proffered his arm. Not wanting to seem churlish, she grasped it and then jumped down.
Not waiting to see if Peter was following, she stormed up the slight hill and plunged into the woods. Her mind whirled with all the reasons the two of them could not marry. She had just settled on a particular one when she broke through the trees and came to a stumbling halt at the sight before her.
An evergreen tree had been cut and set up near the outline of the old magic pond. Candles and decorations covered it in the style that was quite popular in Germany. Holly and other holiday decorations adorned the crumbling wall and boulders. And near the middle of the ruins, where her father had believed the enchanted pond had been, stood a number of people. The most prominent one, or the one that caught her attention first, was a vicar—maybe because he was dressed in his formal robes and held a large book.
Peter moved up behind her and stood silently as he held the wicker basket containing baby Jess. Taking Mary’s trembling hand in his, Peter pulled her to the middle of the indentation of the magical pond and sank down on one knee. He set the basket between them, and then gazed into her eyes.
"Mary, you once told me that this place was magical, an enchanted placed blessed by the hand of God. And that if you made a wish here, in the middle of the old pond, God would grant you your heart’s desire." He took a breath and let it out. "Twenty years ago, I made such a wish, and I asked you to marry me. And on that day, you gave me your Christmas promise, that if on this day in twenty years we were both still unwed, then you would marry me. So Mary Elizabeth Penrose, I am asking you, once again, to be my wife. To love me, as I love you, for the rest of our lives."
Remembering the ring she had place beneath her bodice that morning, Mary reached up and began slowly pulling up the neckless from around her neck. She pulled it free and clutched it in her hand and felt the familiar bolt of energy course through her once again.
She gazed at Peter, and then glanced over at the people gathered there. Most of them she had seen but did not know. All of them were staring at her. Not with condemnation or judgment but with expectations of her accepting Peter's proposal.
With him kneeing in front of her, they were nearly eye-to-eye now. And she could see the love and hope swimming in his emerald eyes. How could she fight such a thing? Maybe he was right, and this had been ordained by God twenty years ago. Maybe that was what she had been waiting for all this time. For the boy she had adored to grow into the man that she could love.
Pulling the chain over her head, Mary quickly untangled the ring and clutched it in her fist. It continued to pulsate in her palm with apparent magical powers. She took a breath then opened her hand to show the ring to him.
"You gave this to me when we were children, and I said I would marry you if you asked me again in twenty years."
He smiled up at her, then took the ring and held it in one hand and her left hand in the other. "Miss Mary Elizabeth Penrose, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Mary took another breath and gave in to her heart's desire. "Yes, I will marry you Peter Thaddeus Alfred Hendricks."
Epilogue
Their first real argument began six months ago. Not that Mary minded in the least. She had wanted to go back to Alnwick Castle to celebrate their one-year anniversary. Peter was just as adamant they not go. Which had nothing to do with Northumberland or the castle and everything to do with their first baby being due the end of December. Privately Mary had agreed with Peter; it was too arduous of a trip for a nine-month pregnant woman to make. But at the time, she just hadn't felt like agreeing with him for some reason. Lady Thelma, Peter's eldest sister, had told her it was just the pregnancy making her so emotional. And since Thelma had been throu
gh it three times, Mary had had to accept her expertise in the matter.
Mary was especially grateful he had won the argument when she woke up this morning and felt the first twinges of labor in her lower back. Which meant, depending on how stubborn her new son or daughter was intending to be, Mary could give Peter his second Christmas baby in two years.
"When are you planning on telling him?" Lady Briann asked. "Before or after you give birth?"
Lady Briann Hendricks was Peter's ten-and-nine-year-old sister. And by far Mary's biggest ally in the Hendricks’ family. Unlike Lady Thelma and Lady Devanna, his seventeen-year-old sister, who were still a little reserved around her, Lady Briann had wholeheartedly welcomed Mary into the family. In November, Mary had discovered why Briann was so willing to overlook Mary's shortcomings. The girl had secretly fallen in love with a soldier. And not an officer and a gentleman but a common soldier at that. A sergeant in Peter's old regiment, and a man whom the Duke of Rollens liked and called a friend.
The duchess had been livid and, of course, had forbidden the match. Peter, on the other hand, had approved it with the understanding that the couple wait a year to marry. Sergeant Perkins had agreed. Briann had not. Mary didn't think they would make it to March before they eloped.
Another twinge began in her lower back and then eased off. Letting out her breath she smiled. "Once he knows I'm in labor, he is going to lock me in our room until the baby decides to be born. And I want to enjoy as much of the holiday as I can before then."
Briann laughed and shook her head. "You just want to wait until Jess and the others open their presents. Which I am assuming is why you asked my brother to bring the children down early."
Mary smiled back. It would be Jess’s first real Christmas. Last year she had been too young to understand the significance of her arriving on Christmas Eve. She was still too young to fully understand all the fuss that was going on. But she had caught the enthusiasm of the other children and was just as excited for whatever was about to happen.
The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2) Page 12