by Andrea Kane
With a prolonged sigh, Aurora nodded, her jubilant mood temporarily held at bay. "Yes. I'm sorry I've been so morose all week."
"You needn't apologize. You were in shock. 'Tis just that it hurt me so to see you in pain. And I felt helpless to appease it."
"As you and I both know, there are some things we each must face on our own. In my case, it was more than the shock of Elinore's guilt I was coming to terms with. It was the realization of my own stupidity. How could I not have known? How could I have trusted, befriended a deranged woman who killed just to gain possession of an unlimited supply of jewels, who murdered my parents, shattered my childhood—and Slayde's?"
"It wasn't your fault," Courtney defended at once. "Elinore is insane, Aurora. She's also very clever. She fooled everyone—right down to Miss Payne, who worked for her and knew the evil that existed beneath that elegant veneer. Think about it. Miss Payne actually believed Elinore meant to bring Grimes and her to the continent rather than leaving their bodies as food for the gulls. And why? Because—despite all she is, all she's done—Elinore appears to be so bloody composed, in total control of herself and the situation, a lady to the core." Courtney shook her head in amazement. "Aurora, you should have seen her. She never showed remorse, never flinched or looked away, not even when I slapped her. Nor did she look the slightest bit perturbed when Mr. Oridge announced they were going to Bow Street
. All she did was open her bag, ensure that all her gems were accounted for, before smoothing her hair, readjusting her brooch, and announcing she was ready to go. If you'd seen the regal way she walked off … as if Oridge were leading her to a ballroom rather than to a jail cell." Courtney drew a harsh breath. "A woman like that could deceive anyone."
"I realize that now." Aurora squeezed Courtney's hands. "And I promise you, I'm fine. 'Tis time to bid the past good-bye. There's a grand and glorious future awaiting us." So saying, she shook off the momentary melancholy, leaping to her feet and glancing at the clock on the mantel. "Speaking of the future, I'm to deliver you, dressed and ready, to the lighthouse, by eight o'clock. That's when your birthday celebration commences."
"At eight A.M.?" Courtney began to laugh. "Does poor Mr. Scollard realize he'll be expected to eat cake just after dawn?"
"Oh, I think so." A mysterious smile. "I think Mr. Scollard is well prepared. Now, I'll go fetch Matilda. She wanted to select a special gown for you in honor of the occasion."
Watching Aurora dash off, Courtney smiled, feeling more blessed than she'd ever dreamed possible. Even the past week's painful events—Elinore's arrest, the announcement to the staff of Miss Payne's betrayal, and Aurora's understandable distress—couldn't obliterate the joy of knowing she was about to become Slayde's wife.
Although, between the emotional aftermath of Elinore's guilt, Slayde's unexpected business trip to Cornwall, and a wondrous array of wedding plans, they'd scarcely seen each other all week—other than during the darkest hours of night when Slayde would come to her, make love to her until neither of them could breathe, whisper over and over how much he loved her.
For Aurora's sake, he always left before dawn.
But soon, that discretion would no longer be necessary.
Because, in five short days, Courtney would be Mrs. Slayde Huntley.
At that joyous thought, Courtney climbed out of bed, thinking that this was indeed the most wonderful of birthdays—far different than what she'd anticipated one short month ago when her life had seemed over, her heart empty.
Pausing, she slid open her nightstand drawer, lifting out her father's timepiece. "Papa," she whispered, snapping open the case. "I only wish you could share—" She broke off, her breath expelling all at once.
The watch was moving.
As she stared, the lighthouse beam shed its light across the waters, and the ship sailed forth, seeking its path. The scene unfolded like a shimmering ballet, not once, not twice, but repeatedly, making no move to slow down or stop.
Courtney stared, transfixed, wondering if this was heaven's way of smiling down on her, blessing her future with Slayde as the time drew near for their lives to merge, to become one.
Emotion constricted her throat as she watched the scene unfold again. The beam. The ship. The journey. Each time, the sequence was the same.
And each time, the ship found its way home.
* * *
"Are you sure Mr. Scollard is expecting us?" Courtney asked anxiously as they approached the lighthouse door. "It seems utterly still."
"Let's go in and see." Aurora turned the handle, guiding Courtney inside.
They'd scarcely crossed the threshold when a small flash of gold tore across the sitting room.
Yipping excitedly, it crashed into Courtney's legs and collapsed in a tangle of squirming fur and impatient limbs.
"What on earth…?" Courtney stooped, picking up the wriggling pup, who immediately began lavishing her cheek with enthusiastic licks. Courtney was laughing so hard she could scarcely speak. "When did Mr. Scollard get a dog?"
"He didn't," Aurora replied. "This little lad is a visitor. He won't be staying."
"He's precious," Courtney said, inspecting the pup, who, momentarily nestled in the crook of her arm, then broke free, leaping to the ground and racing after his tail. "He's a babe, scarcely a few months old." She glanced at Aurora. "How did he get here?"
"He's ten weeks," Aurora supplied. "As for his background, his mother belongs to a family in the village. Unfortunately, their cottage isn't large enough to accommodate a litter of pups. They managed to find homes for all of them—except this fellow. Evidently, he was too spirited for his own good. His wild racing about discouraged those families who came to look at him. 'Tis a pity. When he came to the lighthouse, he was quite homeless."
"Homeless?" Courtney stared at the dog, who, unaware he was being discussed, continued to rush in circles in avid pursuit of his tail. "Oh, Aurora, he can't be homeless. He's too young to survive on his own. And he's not too spirited—Lord knows, if people were condemned for that trait, you and I would have been put away long ago."
"True." Aurora nodded, her expression oddly solemn. "In any case, I said he was homeless. He no longer is. In fact, I think he's quite eager to go to his new home—and his new mistress." With that, she squatted, capturing the pup in midspin and placing him in Courtney's arms. "A puppy, you said. More specifically, one who needed you." Aurora's turquoise eyes glistened with tears. "Well, he does. And so do I. Happy birthday, Courtney."
Courtney's gaze widened. "He's for me?"
"For you. From me." A watery smile. "I don't know if you'll always thank me for this gift, but I know for sure the pup will."
"Oh, Aurora." Courtney stroked the tiny golden head, melting beneath velvet brown eyes filled with equal measures of warmth and mischief. "I don't know what to say."
"Tell me what you plan to name him."
With another burst of energy, the pup leapt from Courtney's arms and tore off, this time upsetting papers off a small end table before dashing partway up the stairs, then back down.
Both women began to laugh. "How about Tyrant?" Courtney suggested, gathering up the pages that had fallen. "I think the name's fitting, don't you?" She glanced at the papers she held, her brows arching in surprise. "I didn't realize Mr. Scollard was building himself a cottage."
"He isn't."
"But look: these are sketches, not far from the water's edge, it appears. He's obviously planning to build this cottage."
"He is."
"But you just said—"
"I meant he wasn't building it for himself."
"Then who is he building it for?"
"I'll let Mr. Scollard tell you… Oh, here he is. Good morning, Mr. Scollard."
"Good morning, ladies." With a warm smile, the lighthouse keeper approached them from the kitchen, placing a tray of tea and cakes upon the table. "Happy birthday, Courtney. Ah, I see you've found your gift."
Courtney blinked. "Oh—you mean Tyrant." She
glanced over to where the pup was now contentedly chewing on a biscuit that had definitely not been there before. Then, again, in Mr. Scollard's lighthouse, one expected magic.
"No, I didn't mean your new friend—although he is a charming devil. I meant the drawings."
"I don't understand."
Mr. Scollard pointed. "The cottage. Do you like it?"
"It looks lovely. But why would…?"
"A place to call home when on land. 'Tis most important, wouldn't you agree?"
Courtney felt a slash of pain as she remembered having used those words to describe what she'd wanted for herself and her father. "Of course I agree. And I don't mean to appear ungrateful. I'm just puzzled."
"Why?"
"Because I'll be residing at Pembourne with Slayde and Aurora."
"Of course you will," Mr. Scollard said patiently. "I don't expect you to live in the cottage, only to accept it as a gift."
"But then, who…?"
"Happy birthday, Courtney."
It was Slayde's voice, deep and resonant, that reached her ears, and Courtney looked past Mr. Scollard to see her future husband emerge from the bedchamber, guiding a weak but beaming man into the room.
All the color drained from Courtney's face. "Papa?" she choked out.
Arthur Johnston took the remaining steps on his own, holding out his arms to his daughter. "Courtney—" His voice broke. "Happy birthday."
"Oh, God—Papa." She rushed to him, hugged him fiercely, tears of joy coursing down her cheeks, drenching his shirt. "You're alive. Dear God, you're alive. Not just alive, but here. With me."
Amid her emotional litany, she heard her father's murmured assent, felt the trembling of his hand as he stroked her hair. Desperately, she focused on that reassuring motion, the gentle pressure of his palm tangible evidence that she wasn't dreaming, that this impossibly wonderful illusion was in fact reality.
It was the slight falter in his touch that brought her head up.
"Papa, you're weak. You need to rest." Capturing his hand, Courtney guided him into a chair, then knelt at his feet, afraid to look away, afraid that, if she did, he'd vanish. "You look so thin, so tired…"
Arthur Johnston leaned forward, patted his daughter's cheek. "I'll mend," he said quietly. "Just seeing you is enough to ensure that. Now stop worrying."
"I'd given up," she whispered. "I'd stopped praying for this miracle. But it's occurred nonetheless. The watch … it wasn't wrong … and today—it wasn't just Slayde and me that made it start anew. 'Twas you … the fact that you're here … alive…" Knowing words could never convey all she longed to explain, she tugged the timepiece from her pocket, opened the case. "It stopped the day you went overboard," she got out, her voice quavering. "Several times, it moved, only to stop again. And then this morning, it resumed—for good." She studied her father's beloved face, watching tears glide down his cheeks as he absorbed her words, reached out to touch the precious gift his wife had given him all those years ago. "Here, Papa—" Courtney snapped the timepiece shut and pressed it into his palm. "The watch is back where it belongs—with you."
Reflexively, her father's fingers closed around the engraved case. "Yet another miracle." He bent to kiss Courtney's forehead. "Not only have you been restored to me, but now your mother has as well."
Still dazed, Courtney struggled to think straight, to ask all she needed to know. "How did you survive? How did you find me?"
A muscle worked in her father's jaw. "I owe my life to Lexley," he said fervently. "It was his loyalty and courage that gave me a fighting chance. He severed as many of my bonds as he dared before casting me to sea. The remaining bonds, I managed on my own. The currents were with me; they dragged me into a peaceful inlet, where I crawled on shore and collapsed for Lord knows how long. Eventually, a fisherman found me, brought me home. He and his family took me in, gave me food and as much care as they were able. I don't remember much; I faded in and out of consciousness." Again, Courtney's father leaned forward, smoothing her hair off her face, pain lancing his weathered features. "I kept seeing flashes of you, crying, weak and bandaged, needing me. And your mother, begging me to help you. Twice, I crawled from the house—I suppose I was delirious with fever—to look for you. Each time, I collapsed. I'd all but given up when Mr. Rayburn located me."
"Mr. Rayburn?" Courtney gasped.
Her response elicited that cherished twinkle she loved so much and had thought gone forever. "Um-hum. You asked how I found you. Well, my future son-in-law hired one hell of a fine investigator. Rayburn unearthed me within two days of searching. The news he gave me that you were alive, cared for—was the best medicine on earth. The next day when Slayde came to fetch me, I was more than ready for the carriage ride from Cornwall to Devonshire. He brought me to Mr. Scollard's lighthouse. That's when we decided on this birthday surprise." A grin in Aurora's direction. "I never thought Lady Aurora would keep it to herself."
Courtney's head whipped about. "You knew?" she demanded of Aurora.
A beatific smile. "I knew. In fact, yesterday when you were being fitted for your wedding dress, I managed to sneak Mr. Lexley down here for a little reunion with your father. The three of us and Mr. Scollard had a grand time. And with each cup of Mr. Scollard's tea, your father grew stronger."
"Speaking of which, what's in that brew, anyway?" Courtney's father asked Scollard. "I feel more fit by the minute."
"Well, of course," was the matter-of-fact reply. "You need to regain your strength. How else would you be able to walk Courtney down the aisle?"
"You notice he didn't answer your question, Mr. Johnston," Aurora commented. "'Tis his way. It means he likes you."
"He must. He's building that cottage for me."
"For you?" Courtney's breath suspended in her throat.
"Well, certainly for me. You're not going to need it. You'll have a huge estate to keep you busy. But I need a place to stay when I'm on shore."
"You can stay at Pembourne with us."
Her father shook his head. "Not for the amount of time I have in mind. I'll need a place of my own. Besides, I promised you a birthday gift as well, remember? Even if Lady Aurora did steal away half of it." He grinned at Tyrant, who was lapping up stray droplets of tea and becoming more energetic by the minute.
"Papa, you promised me only a week," Courtney reminded him. "I'd never ask for more than that."
"Well, I would," he replied gruffly. "I want many, many weeks—months—in the years to come."
"But—the sea is your life."
"Only a portion of my life. I want time for the other portion as well—on land, with you." A hard swallow. "I wouldn't miss seeing my grandchildren grow up for all the oceans in the world."
"Excellent," Mr. Scollard inserted. "Because the cottage will be fully built by the time Courtney and Slayde return from their wedding trip."
"I don't doubt it," Courtney's father replied with solemn gratitude. "You're an astounding man. From what I understand, you helped Slayde figure out where I was, and for that I'm eternally in your debt."
"Don't be. 'Twas Slayde's belief, not my vision, that brought you here."
"I agree." Arthur's gaze returned to his daughter. "Courtney, I'd all but given up, too. Were it not for the remarkable man you're to marry—who made sure I was found and brought back to you—I'm not sure I would have endured much longer."
For the first time, Courtney allowed herself to look at Slayde, having known from the onset that once she did, every shred of her composure would vanish. "Thank you," she said in an aching whisper. She felt her father squeeze her hands, then release them, a silent conveyance of his approval and understanding.
Courtney rose, walking toward her future husband, gazing up at him with her heart in her eyes. "I love you," she choked, her voice breaking as she reached him, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "I don't know how to thank you."
Slayde enfolded her against him, hugging her fiercely to his heart. "You just did."
Courtney clo
sed her eyes, savoring the absolute rightness of Slayde's embrace, the exquisite balm of being surrounded by those she loved, beckoned by a future that held naught but happiness. No other moment can ever be this perfect, she thought fervently. This overwhelming sense of joy was an incomparable, once-in-a-lifetime experience.
* * *
She was wrong.
Five days later, on her father's arm, Courtney knew an even greater joy as, clad in exquisite yards of white and silver, she walked down the aisle of a small Devonshire chapel and, before God and man, became Mrs. Slayde Huntley.
The chapel was filled to capacity, the wedding attended by the entire Pembourne staff—including Rayburn, Oridge, Cutterton, and a swarm of guards, all of whom were relaxed for the first time in ages, secure in the knowledge that, just this once, neither Courtney nor Aurora had any intention of bolting. At the head of the chapel were Lexley and Mr. Scollard, beaming from ear to ear and, of course, Aurora, her face aglow, her smile wrapping itself around Courtney as it declared them sisters.