Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

T he novel’s ending buried itself in a corner of Mary’s mind and would not be coaxed into revealing itself. A day ago, she knew the entire story with defined clarity. When the hero kidnapped the heroine, she didn’t recognize him. He kept his identity a secret, even from her, because he was a pirate, wanted for hanging, and he feared she would give him away. But what made him tell her in the end? And why did she forgive him?

Splotches of ink covered the page like burnt circles that threatened to devour the plot. Shut in her room for a day and a half with curtains drawn and candles blazing, she’d done everything possible to steer her mind from Daniel. Daniel and Louisa. Daniel and Almery. Daniel who loved her but not enough to forgo his castle. She, Mary, Lady Mary, was admired and maybe even loved but not enough. The stories she wrote did not reflect real life, where good husbands died and true love stayed true only when convenient. In life, the hero abandoned the heroine in favor of treasure.

Tears splashed over the ink, smearing her words into indecipherable streaks. She slammed her hand against the page and enjoyed the sharp edges of the paper knife her hand as she wadded it up and threw it to the floor, where it joined the dozens of similarly discarded pages. A slow pulse jabbed at her left temple, and her eyes ached. The story would never end. A happy ending for her fictional characters eluded her when she lived in despair. If she could not write, she had nothing.

At the basin, she rubbed soap over the ink on her hand and splashed water on her face before lying in bed. She could not fall asleep. Her life was upended. And this is what came of letting impropriety take control. At least Louisa would avoid ignominy.

Louisa. Louisa and Daniel.

If she lay in bed and did nothing, if she allowed her anguish to consume her, they would win. They being whom? Maybe Daniel? Maybe his parents? Most definitely the world that censured women if their behavior was not impeccable, that kept them from living fully, that tried to take and take with no intention to give.

A story sparked.

She pulled herself out of bed, extinguished the candles, and threw the curtains wide open. The light seared her eyes, but she pushed open the window and yelled to the passersby, “I am the author, Lady Mary!” When a few turned her way, she waved and smiled, though they edged away from her. Hair certainly askew, and wearing a dressing gown, she mustered every last bit of resolve into keeping that grin on her face. Don’t let them win.

With the window open, she sat at her desk and trimmed her quill. Surely there were female pirates. Yes, Jean de Clisson and Grace O’Malley. Beginning with page one, she flipped the characters. Originally, Lord Stealton, peer of the realm, had turned out to be a pirate. In this version, Lady Hollingwood, daughter of the prime minister, became lady pirate, terror of the sea.

The room darkened. She lit candles and kept writing. Candles expired. She lit more. Her mind flashed brighter as the story progressed. She plundered and took captives. She laughed and cried. She fell in love, was loved in return. Their love saved the day.

The manuscript was a mess of crossed out words and re-writes, but calm resided in its completion. She rested the quill on top of the pages and went to bed.

D aniel knocked on Mary’s door, but there was no response. Perhaps the innkeeper had not seen her leave. He tried the door, and it slid open. He would wait inside until she returned. A soft buzz came from the bed. Mary lay on her back, her mouth open, fast asleep. A wild cloud of hair haloed her head, and her nightdress was askew. His hands ached to take hold of her, but he had never seen her so tranquil. He sat at the desk, a neat stack of paper in front of him. On top of the paper was a note, Dear Mr. Porter. Set the press! This is even better than the last! While the pages were in order, the writing on them was not. He began reading, an immediate smile tickling the corners of his mouth. She, Lady Mary, was hilarious and sweet and honest. Between the drama and utter impossibility of the story lay truth. He scratched his chest, to distract from the prickling at the edges of his eyes. Beautiful Lady Mary. How he loved her. How he hoped for her forgiveness.

He turned to look at her and met her eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I hope you don’t mind. This latest manuscript—it’s a masterpiece. I suspect each new book of yours will be my favorite.”

She drew in a shaky breath but sat up in bed with regal calm, clutching the sheets to her chest. “You should be preparing for your wedding. Where is Louisa?” Her words came ever faster, and he wanted to calm her in his arms but did not know if she would accept his embrace.

“Louisa is on her way to Stroud. She did not wish to marry me, so Agnes shall take her back to Lady Halverson.”

“You and Agnes? Who are you to make decisions for my niece?”

“It was Louisa’s decision. I admit your friend is not to my liking, but I found she’s a good sort. She will go to Cornwall and convince your brother that Lady Halverson’s home is the best possible place for his daughter. Somehow, I think she is the perfect person for the task.”

“But her reputation?—”

“No one knows save family. Savage is in Nottingham and will be sent abroad soon. All will be well.” He repeated his mother’s phrase, but it did little to calm the turmoil that had increased in his chest since she woke.

“Let us hope that is true.” She huffed and grabbed the locket around her neck, brows pinching together.

“I came because…” He walked over to her. She drew away, clutching the sheets up to her chin. “Fear not. I did not come to ravish you, though the thought has crossed my mind.”

She did not smile.

His cheer dissolved into trepidation, but he knelt next to the bed and pulled a ring from his pocket. “Lady Mary Allen, I am sorry for being an arse. Will you marry me?”

She pushed his hand with the ring into his chest. “I most certainly will not. Really! You sneak into my room in the middle of the—” she glanced out the window “—day, interrupting my repose and expect that calling yourself a rude name will convince me to forget that you made me feel less than a pile of dirt?” Her voice hitched. “I am sorry I did not tell you who I am, but it seems I judged rightly.”

“Don’t say that. I understand better now. Let me help you feel like…like a pile of gold.” He pulled a face, hoping to lighten the mood.

She snorted. “Your comparison is lacking.”

“Diamonds?”

“I know my worth. You do not need to convince me of it. But I am not a gentlewoman. I am an author who writes somewhat scandalous novels. I do not need marriage to make my life worth living.”

“Of course not. But would you like to be married? Because I would like to love and adore and cherish you.”

“This makes no sense.” She edged away from him. “I see. Louisa left, and now you need me to obtain your true love, Almery.”

“No. I love you and want to marry you.”

“Your parents agreed to this?”

“I don’t need their approval. I have money, not enough to buy a castle, but we can live comfortably. Perhaps we’ll go to Nottingham, and I’ll resume my work with Smith’s Bank. Or travel for a while.” He remembered Louisa. “What do you wish?”

She sat up. “No castle?”

“What is a castle without a queen? Now, let me put this on your finger?—”

“Daniel, no.” She inched away from him. “You will not be happy without your castle. It’s your dream, your future.”

“You are my dream.”

“I am not suitable. I write romances. I am not the gentlewoman you expect me to be.”

“You can be any sort of woman you wish. I want you the way you are, without pretense or efforts to curb your tongue or bridle your behavior.”

“How did you know?”

“What? That you hide what you think? Do you know how closely I’ve watched you? Since the moment of our first meeting, I have been unable to take my eyes off you. When you say something out of politeness, you squint and take hold of your locket.” Her soft lower lip quivered, and her gaze fell from his. “Right now, for instance, you are thinking how I should not be in your room. Probably because you’re also thinking of kissing me.”

Her eyes flew to his. “I am not!”

“No more lies between us, Lady Mary.”

She relaxed into a smile, her fingers losing their hold on the blankets, but her face tightened again. “If we marry, you will resent me. You worked your whole life for Almery.”

“As soon as you left, it became as hollow and cold as a cave.” She snorted, and it made him laugh. “I am telling the truth. But you will have to pardon my incompetence when it comes to words. This is foolish, but without you, the castle had no light, no warmth. I cannot be where you are not.”

She looked at her hands, out the window, at the writing desk. With his finger on her cheek, he turned her face to his. “To quote your hero from A Woman Who Loves , ‘You are my life. My soul is restless without you.’”

She leaned toward him, a slight move, but he hoped it meant something. His hand still rested on her jaw, and he slid it behind her head, his fingers tangling with her hair. There was no need to pull her toward him. She came, meeting him halfway, and with an answering fervor. She pulled his collar toward her, and Daniel understood the word sublime.

M ary opened her eyes in the darkness of morning content, save for one thing only. Daniel’s landau. The destruction of the equipage had niggled at Mary’s contentment ever since she’d seen it ruined. She wanted to give him something, a token of her dedication. Restoring the carriage to him would pale in comparison to his abandonment of Almery. To obtain a carriage as a wedding present…well, the idea sent a thrill of pleasure down her spine. He belonged to her, was central to her life and she to his. A second chance at love, and she would treasure every moment with him, the good and the bad.

On the previous day, Mary saw an advertisement for a used landau in a local paper. She slipped out of the room with a prayer on her lips that the innkeeper sat at his desk. He did, and she asked the distance to Brimington.

“It’s less than three miles away.”

Mary released a slow breath. Not far.

“I would like to borrow a horse.”

She left a note for Daniel, telling him she would return soon and not to worry. Thus, before the sun fully emerged, she sat aside Jinx, the borrowed horse, who trotted with terrific speed down the country road and had no trouble taking direction. They arrived in town and found the address written on the advertisement.

She arrived at a sprawling house with the incongruous appearance of having been under construction for generations. The butler opened the door and glowered over a long, pointed nose at Mary.

“Good morning. I have come to speak with Mr. Patterson on very urgent, important business.”

He disappeared without inviting her in, but in a few moments, a gentleman appeared.

“I am Mr. Patterson. How can I help you?”

She explained her interest in his landau.

He eyed her, not with disapproval exactly, but curiosity. Her request was unusual. Women did not involve themselves in these sorts of things.

“Come along, then.” She followed him out to the stable, where he yelled, “Horace. Here’s a lady come about the landau.”

Horace emerged, a bit of straw protruding from his grey beard. “A lady? Well, let’s get to it, then.”

Inside the carriage house, the groom presented the landau with a flourishing arm. It was very pretty, with a high sheen and tasteful embellishments in red and gold that made the otherwise unremarkable black carriage something special. The interior boasted tufted burgundy leather seats. It was beautiful, but Mary had no idea what she was looking at. Carriages had wheels, and horses pulled them. Some were ornamented, others were not. Well, this one looked fine. She would take it. Besides, it was nearing noon, and she did not wish to keep Daniel waiting.

“Let’s go into the house and take refreshment while we discuss the carriage,” said Mr. Patterson.

Thank goodness, for her stomach was growling.

After deliberating over the weather, the church spire, and Mary’s lack of familiarity with the area, Mr. Patterson asked, “How is it you have come for a carriage? Pardon my impertinence, but should not your husband be here?”

“I am a widow.”

Understanding softened his eyes and he seemed to shrink. He nodded. “I am sorry. My wife passed a year ago, and I feel it every moment.”

They shared a long, sympathetic look.

Mr. Patterson took a shaky breath and returned to the matter at hand, saying he would be pleased to sell her his carriage.

Now they arrived at the real problem. Mary had not secured the funds, because it would require writing to her steward in Ireland. The process could take weeks.

“I have a particular desire to take the landau today. However, I have yet to send word to my man of business.”

Mr. Patterson’s mouth, so compassionate a moment before, reshaped into a hard line. “I am not a charity.” He looked at the clock. “Come back when everything is in order.”

“It is not the lack of funds, only that it will take some weeks to access them. My property is in Ireland.” Mr. Patterson quirked his brow, and Mary could not tell if he was interested or incredulous. “I have something of great value to leave as security.” With shaking fingers, Mary touched her locket. It was large enough to fill her hand and hung on a thick gold chain. Embellished with diamonds, seed pearls and gold trimmings, it spoke for itself. She reached around her neck, unlatched it, and removed the accessory she’d scarcely taken off since Lord Allen had placed it around her neck.

He took it from her outstretched hand, rolled it over in his own, and pushed the latch that opened the locket. Lord Allen was inside.

“Your late husband?”

Mary nodded.

“My wife.” He gestured to a portrait that sat in a place of honor between two windows.

“She was lovely.”

“I will put this somewhere safe and let you borrow a pair of horses.”

Mary melted in relief and gratitude, and clasped his hand.

M ary pulled the horses to a stop in front of the inn and searched the bustling street. A boy of about nine ambled by. “Hello, there. You, young man,” she called to him.

He approached and lifted his hat at her.

“Go inside the inn and tell Mr. Fletcher to come out right away, but do not tell him anything else.” She handed him a farthing, and he disappeared into the inn.

Mary’s heart jumped at the sight of Daniel striding out of the inn. He looked around, his eyes skipping over the landau.

“Daniel!” She waved at him.

He met her gaze and paused there, that familiar, adoring smile lifting the corner of his mouth. Those blue eyes captured her and sent her spirits soaring. Was this real? Could she own such happiness? He approached and grabbed her ankle, then hoisted himself beside her. “When you weren’t here, I worried. I missed you.”

“Trust that I will always return for you.”

He traced her lips with his thumb, cupping her chin.

“Do not tease me like that,” she said. “Kiss me.”

“We are on display for the entire town.”

She reached for his face and pulled him to her. There was no resistance. He gave, and she received. She gave, and he received. His mouth promised a lifetime of acceptance, a shelter where she could be her honest self and expect the same.

“What is this?” He gestured at the carriage.

“Your first landau did not make it to Gretna Green, but I am determined this one will.”