Chapter 32

MAB HAD BEEN IN THE intimate company of seven men in her life, and she’d thought she had been well versed in the pleasures that were to be had. She usually found her pleasure in the thought of sexual relations as opposed to the act itself. But as she gazed at William, the way he drew the flat of his tongue slowly up the length of his fingers, the way his eyes closed as he tasted her desire for the first time, the growing dark patch on his britches that told her he’d got just as much enjoyment from pleasuring her, she realised she knew practically nothing about the act itself.

He’d only used his fingers on her. But the way his tongue flicked between the crevice of his fingers, the memory of how he’d lapped at her nipple, had her close to begging him to use his tongue on her next, swiftly followed by the intimidating bulge in his britches.

William’s smile was positively malevolent when he finally turned his attention back on Mab. She hadn’t realised when she’d spread her legs, her hips rolling in time with his languid licks, nor had she remembered cupping her hand to her breast, her damp nipple rolling between two fingers.

William reached beneath her, his arms pulling her against him in a bridal lift as if she weighed nothing, got to his feet and crossed the room to the bed. She felt a fresh wave of desire take hold as he placed her gently on the bed.

“You’ll stay the night?” she asked, her tone only one note shy of a plea.

To her utter disappointment, William shook his head. Her disappointment must have shown on her face, for a flash of concern flittered over William before his features softened. Finally, he said, “Mab, I would love nothing more than to remain here with you. But my” – his brows knotted as he tried to find the right words – “situation ... is something that you should take time to consider. I am here to find a wife. A life with you, if you’d have me, would make me the happiest man on this earth. But I am far from a catch.”

Mab’s nostrils flared in frustration. Hadn’t she already said that his financial situation did not bother her? Her dowry alone was enough to support a harem – or, more accurately, a reverse harem, she supposed – of fortune-hunting husbands if she so wished.

He seemed obsessed with driving home that he had no money, as if dowry or no, she’d potentially face a life of destitution if she chose him. But then she remembered that William hadn’t heard of the Dubarry family, and ergo wouldn’t be familiar with just how wealthy her family was.

And who cared if William didn’t have an education? She technically did, even if the qualifications were void because she had female anatomy. She had put that education to use just as well as any man could.

And of course, there was the recent discovery of his brother having murdered his father. But scandal was relative. The old viscount had been disliked among the ton, and Lucius Blackwater and his wife, with their cruel ways, weren’t faring any better in the popularity department, his title the only reason they were still received. In fact, Mab – whose sizable purse strings still had her firmly on the marriage mart in the eyes of the gentlemen of the ton – would hazard a guess that news of her non-existent virtue would cause more of a stir than a fifteen-year-old murder committed by a dislikable viscount. She’d go as far as to say that should the murder be proven, and they hanged for their crimes, it would be the elusive and apparently dastardly William Blackwater’s ascension to the title of viscount that would be the talk of the ton.

In fact, Mab Dubarry marrying William Blackwater would outstrip all other gossip. She had no doubt that when she returned home arm in arm with William, the Viscount Lucius Blackwater could travel to Rome and murder the Pope, and it still wouldn’t be as talked about as a romance between a wallflower heiress and a brooding anti-hero.

The ton really were fickle people, thought Mab.

She’d better prepare herself for it, though. For no matter how much William might try to dissuade her, she’d made up her mind. She would be leaving this place with a husband, and she’d chosen William.

She felt somewhat giddy about the notion. She still didn’t agree with the tradition of marriage, of course. But somehow, she’d found a love match in the most unlikely of men. She’d never thought she would find someone who could stand her feminist ways, let alone champion them.

And she certainly would not be letting the only man in her entire adult life whom she could picture a fulfilling, equal life with slip through her fingers. And if a marriage license was how she’d keep him, then so be it.

“I do not need another night to consider,” Mab said, her tone firm.

William took a step forward. “Please, Mab. Do consider what little I offer carefully. This” – he gestured at his ensemble – “is not me.”

Mab resisted the urge to stand up, clasp his shoulders and shake some sense into him. She truly did not care that he brought no finance or standing to the table. He brought things that were much more important: understanding and acceptance .

But it seemed that this gesture was important to William. He wanted no doubt in his mind that Mab understood who he was before they moved forward. And so, Mab nodded in agreement.

She wanted nothing more than to drag him to her bed, to spend a night sampling the many ways he could pleasure her in their marriage and to show him the few tricks she’d learned over the years. But she supposed she could wait one more night if it gave William peace of mind.

“I will see you at the soiree tomorrow?” William asked.

Mab nodded.

William’s lips pulled into a heartbreakingly wholesome smile before he bowed deeply. He crossed the room and opened the door, lingering at the threshold. When he turned to face Mab, his entire expression met his smile. She didn’t think she’d ever seen his brows unclenched, and the thin lines that had striated his forehead just moments ago were gone. His dark eyes flickered with something akin to hope. “Until tomorrow, my love.”

MAB LAY IN BED, HER eyes fixed to the ceiling for the majority of the following morning. She replayed her encounter with William over and over, her hand clutching the breast he’d paid such close attention to. It wasn’t until a light knock at the door finally pulled her from her musings that she realised just how long she’d spent in bed.

“Come in,” Mab said.

The door creaked open, and Tilly, her smile wide and expression bright, poked her head from behind the door. When she saw Mab was still in her nightclothes at – Blast! A glance at the clock on the mantel indicated that it was, in fact, no longer morning – past noon, Tilly’s brows furrowed, and she scurried across the room to Mab’s side.

“Mab! Are you w-well? ”

Mab politely swatted Tilly’s hand away as she tried to feel her forehead for a fever. “I am perfectly fine,” Mab said, grasping hold of Tilly’s hand and squeezing excitedly. “In fact, I rather think I’m more than fine, Tilly. I have decided that I will be marrying William.”

Tilly’s squeal was of deafening proportions as she flung her arms around Mab’s neck and squeezed with more might than Mab thought possible from such a slight girl.

“I just kn-knew it! Oh! How exciting! Has he proposed yet?”

“Not quite,” Mab said, a grin spreading across her face. At Tilly’s look of confusion, Mab answered, “I plan to tell him of my intentions this evening. He does seem rather reluctant to share his misfortunes with a wife.” More than reluctant, Mab thought, he was positively hung up on the notion. “However, I simply shan’t take no for an answer.”

Tilly’s mouth formed a little o before she said, “I wish I could be as courageous as you, Mab.”

Mab placed a hand on Tilly’s. “You’re the most courageous person I know, Tilly.” Tilly turned a shade of pink. “I, thankfully, have never had to put my courage to the test. I am simply bold.”

“Then, I wish I could be as b-bold as you. I would love to find the confidence to do something brazen out of w-want, not necessity,” she said quietly.

Mab thought for a minute. Finally, she said, “Why don’t you ask Benedict to marry you?”

Tilly’s eyes widened as if scandalised. “I couldn’t do that!”

“Why ever not?” Mab asked.

“It’s not the d-done thing, Mab. It is for the man to ask the woman.”

A very unladylike pfft escaped Mab’s lips. “You have found a man you could truly see yourself sharing your life with?”

Tilly nodded.

“And he is clearly enamoured with you, is he not?”

Blushing, Tilly nodded again .

“Then why not use this as an exercise in building confidence? There are very few things in this life that women can exert control over, Tilly. In fact, I rather think that we must start to rebel against the small things before traction can be gained for permanent change.”

Mab rather thought that was exactly what Aunt áine had done. She was just one woman. A woman who might not have been able to change the world, but who had carved out a little sliver for herself to rule how she saw fit. Indeed, she had created a safe space, a place to heal from the attention of men and to find a partner that might foster independence. Mab wondered just how many couples had left Gaol Manor and had re-entered the world with a similar attitude. How many would foster an independence within their children and show a new generation of females to expect more. Nay, demand more . While Mab was just a tiny cog in a much more complex fight for female independence, it must begin somewhere. And she had no doubt that, perhaps not in her lifetime, but somewhere down the line, a day would come where women throughout the world would belong to themselves. The notion of possession of their person, and their virtue and subsequent breeding being their only value, would be foreign and incite revulsion.

But great things had humble beginnings, and Mab would do her part. Should her marriage with William produce children, regardless of sex, they would be brought up equally.

Like her parents had brought her up.

Her heart clenched at the thought of her father. He really was a rather modern man – his brash decision to marry her to Lord Robert Alabaster and sending her off to a fabled place to find a husband notwithstanding. She had her mother to thank for the majority of her personality, but she had her father to thank for fostering her independence. Where he could, he had always treated her as an equal, and she supposed she really ought to forgive him.

She thought of just how much joy it would bring him to know she had chosen a husband. And, most importantly, a love match to boot!

For she did love William.

My fairy.

“I shall think upon it,” Tilly said. “In the m-meantime, would you care to join me at Arabella’s?”

“I think I shall,” said Mab. Her stomach let out an almighty protest at having missed breakfast, and she hoped Bobbie had prepared some of her delicious bannocks. “You go on ahead, though. I shall catch you up.”

MAB MADE THE NOW FAMILIAR walk towards Arabella’s cottage, taking great delight as she walked around the ancient monument. Now that she knew she was to spend her life with William, the story of how they’d met – minus the fact that they were at Aunt áine’s – was incredibly exciting and, in a way, fit perfectly with Mab as a person. She could never picture herself telling her children that Mother and Father met at a ball. Telling them that Mother had almost killed Father by knocking him off an ancient monument was far more in line with her personality.

“This arrived in the post this morning, dear,” Aunt áine’s disembodied voice called from the distance.

Mab glanced around but couldn’t see Aunt áine anywhere.

“My apologies for opening it, but it was addressed to me, even though I believe it pertains to you,” Aunt áine, wherever she was, continued.

“I cannae read it,” Arabella’s voice replied.

A cool wind whipped around Mab, and she realised that Aunt áine and Arabella must be just over the valley she was ascending, their voices carried on the wind. Mab made a coughing sound to announce her presence, but the wind carried it in the opposite direction.

“It says, ‘Dear áine, the fact that I am writing to a figure of folklore should indicate the desperation of my situation. I have been hired by a client of high standing who is desperately trying to right a good many wrongs. It has recently come to light that his son may be responsible for a number of atrocious acts since the family estranged themselves from him. In my investigation, I have found the only common denominator to be yourself, with whom I believe the recipients of my client’s son’s attention have sought refuge. Should you truly be on the receiving end of this letter, I implore you to respond. My client wishes to ensure that the three women in question know how deeply he regrets bearing such a monster into this world, and that any grandchildren are happy and healthy. He wishes to support them in any way possible and to seek justice for them. Please respond at your earliest convenience. Yours sincerely, Marcus Lee, Private Investigator.’”

“You mean me and my wee Hamish?” Arabella asked. “But I dinnae ken the name of the man who did this to me. He was just a visitor to the household.”

“Keir does bear a striking resemblance to his foster brother. Tilly has not named the man who attacked her, but if this is to be believed, then they may be one and the same. I have had many girls come through my doors in a similar situation to yours, but who the third one might be that Mr Lee alludes to may be more difficult to narrow down. I shall have to consult my records, but the likelihood is that she has been married, and I am not convinced that picking open an old wound is wise if she is happy.”

“What do you think we should do?” Arabella asked.

“I believe that is for you and Tilly to decide. I shall speak to Tilly when the time is right, and if you wish to hear Mr Lee out, I shall summon him.”

“Och, sure what can his client do for me and my wee Hamish? I am happily handfasted with my wife. I intend to live and die in my wee cottage. And Hamish? That child has brains to burn. Probably too smart for his own good. I have no doubt he’ll put it to good use and make something of himself on his own merit. I want nothing to do with Mr Lee and his client .”

“I will leave the decision up to Tilly then,” Aunt áine said. There was a brief pause in which Mab finally made it over the valley, her legs burning at the effort. Aunt áine held Arabella’s hand, the letter still in her other, as she said, “But if indeed Hamish and Keir are half-brothers, you will need to discuss it among yourselves if you tell them. Ah, Mab!”

Mab, clutching her sides, hadn’t realised that Aunt áine had spotted her. “I’m just ... here to see ... Arabella and Tilly ...” she wheezed.

Mab was sure the walk to Arabella’s hadn’t been as strenuous the last time. As if reading her mind, Aunt áine said, “There is a much gentler incline if you veer slightly left over the valley.” She pointed a score of yards from where Mab had just appeared, and there was indeed a well-trodden path that Mab, in her haste, had missed.

“Come, Mab, and ye can recoup over a wee drop of tea,” Arabella said, looping her arm in Mab’s.

Aunt áine waved her goodbyes to the pair before taking off in the direction of the path. A few moments later, the cottage came into view.

Hamish, hawk-eyed, caught sight of them almost immediately and squealed, “Mam! Mam!”

“What is it now, Hamish?” an irate voice called from the depths of the cottage.

“It’s Mama! She’s back, and she’s brought the Fairy Queen with her. Have ye got the bannocks ready?”

Mab couldn’t help but smile as Arabella rolled her eyes.

An unfamiliar woman with obsidian skin and coiled black hair tied in a loose bun atop her head, all of which was covered in a light dusting of flour, appeared at the door, a wide smile on her face, an overflowing plate of bannocks in her hand and an identical ring to Arabella’s hanging off a chain around her neck.

Arabella unlooped her arm from Mab’s, crossed the garden to her wife and kissed her on the cheek. “Darling, this is Mab. Mab, this is my wife, Ms Bobbie Alan,” she said proudly.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Mab said.

“Mama! Stop dotterin’ and invite her in – ouch!” Hamish had appeared at Arabella’s side, and just as swiftly, received a soft smack to the back of his head. Brows furrowed and rubbing his head furiously, his icy eyes narrowed at his mother. “What was that for?”

“Brains to burn, but ye cannae seem to grasp the concept of politeness,” Arabella said.

“What part of that wasnae polite? I was invitin’ her in!” Hamish said defiantly.

“And what about saying yer Mama is dotterin’ was polite, dear?” Bobbie said.

Hamish thought for a moment. “Aye, ye may be right, Mam. Sorry, Mama. Now can we invite the Fairy Queen in?”

Before either had a chance to answer, Hamish had slipped his hand into Mab’s and dragged her past his mothers. He gestured for her to take a seat beside Tilly, who wore an amused smile on her face as she clutched a bundle of cloths, which presumably held her son within, to her chest.

“Mam! The bannocks!”

“Honestly, Hamish, I swear ye are a wee changeling, for surely I couldnae have produced such a rude and ill-mannered child myself!” Arabella called over her shoulder as she fussed around the hearth, swinging a kettle over the fire.

Hamish narrowed his eyes once more. “How could ye have produced me, Mama, when ye said wee bairns are brought to mothers by storks?”

“Here’s yer bannocks, dear,” Bobbie said, stifling a laugh as she placed the plate in Hamish’s lap. “Why don’t ye offer them to Mab and Aunt Tilly, hmm?”

Still wearing a look of suspicion, Hamish got up from his spot on the ground and nestled himself on the seat between Mab and Tilly, swinging the plate between them so swiftly that neither had the opportunity to grab a bannock, his eyes never leaving Arabella’s back.

“Bobbie was just telling me that there’s to be a wedding,” Tilly said.

“A wedding? How exciting,” Mab said, and she found that she genuinely meant it. “Who is to be married?”

“Deidre and David! I believe they will officially announce it at the soiree this evening.”

“Auntie?” Hamish asked. “When are ye going to ask the prince to marry ye?”

“Hamish, women are not the ones to propose,” Arabella said.

“Is that so, aye?” he replied, his icy eyes once more narrowing at his mother. “So how did you and Mam get engaged? I suppose it was the stork who proposed on that occasion too?”

There was a brief silence before all four women burst into a chorus of very unladylike laughter.

“That wasnae supposed to be funny!” Hamish howled, barely audible over the giggles, snorts and wheezes echoing around the room. “I’ll get to the bottom of who this stork fella is, mark my words!”

A fresh wave of laughter erupted, and Hamish, having realised that he had most certainly lost the battle, settled back into the seat, arms crossed and a glower on his face. When he finally glanced up at Tilly, it was betrayal that marred his features.

“I didnae think it was a stupid thing to suggest,” he huffed.

Tilly’s laughter trailed off, and she placed a hand on Hamish’s cheek. “Apologies, Hamish. And you’re quite right. It wasn’t a silly s-suggestion. In fact, you’re not the first one to have suggested it today.”

Hamish turned his head to his mothers and stuck out his tongue, but the pair were staring at Tilly, both wide-eyed and grinning, eager to hear more.

“I was thinking about it on my way over h-here, and I do not believe there is a man more suited for me than Benedict. And I think it is about time I take control of my life,” she said, her cheeks reddening as she glanced at Mab, “and pursue what I w-want for a change. So, yes, Hamish. I believe I will ask the prince to marry me.”