Cards & Caravans (8 page)

“Thank you.” Before Evelyn could leave, Belinda had to ask one more thing. “This Order everyone’s mentioned...is it true that Connor and the others are all descended from King Arthur’s Round Table? And that their magick is passed from father to son?”

“It’s true,” Evelyn said simply. “Though often, I think, the daughters have powers of their own, like Genny’s gift for sensing medical concerns. The Order is starting to recognize that in recent years. I believe there will be women in the Order within your lifetime. The men in charge have slowly come to accept that their daughters and granddaughters are also forces to be reckoned with. That will be something to keep in mind if you have daughters of your own.”

“And Sir William is one of those men?”

“Yes. Of course, he’s mostly active in an advisory capacity these days. Fergus has taken over the reins of the Edinburgh headquarters. Connor spends most of his time there or in London. I hope you won’t have any problem with living in the city.”

“Edinburgh or even London sound heavenly after being in an isolated village for ten years. Thank you, Lady MacKay—Nan. For everything.”

The green eyes twinkled again. “You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to having a pair of young hands to help in the conservatory and still room. Neither of my granddaughters is an avid gardener.”

“I can’t wait. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

After the older woman left, Belinda lifted her small jewel case off the dresser where her borrowed lady’s maid had left it. She withdrew a heavy gold band and smiled. Here was one thing she could bring to this unexpected wedding that was hers and hers alone—another legacy from her grandfather. At least Connor’s family wouldn’t have to provide his wedding band. She tilted it and read the inscription, in Italian, faded nearly smooth from decades of wear. “Forever together,” she whispered. It had been true for her grandparents. Holding the ring, she felt the band warm against her skin, uncannily like Leo Smith was giving her his blessing. Perhaps he had been, in advance. He’d known she’d need the caravan one day—perhaps he’d known she’d need the ring as well. She slipped it on the thumb of her right hand, just to feel him close for a moment.

She’d napped earlier, and anxious as she was, there was no way she’d be able to sleep. Her body was already recovering from her ordeal at the gaol. Picking one of her notebooks and a pencil out of a carpet bag, she settled in the window seat, enjoying the sunshine of the autumn afternoon while she wrote. Despite her nerves, the words flowed, and her little fairy tale took on a whole new dimension of magick, and the enchanted castle became stronger and sturdier, made of aged, mellow stone instead of white marble.

The minutes flew by so fast she was startled to hear a knock on her bedroom door. A glance at the clock on the bureau told her it was nearly five. Her stomach rumbled, confirming her observation as she set her notebook aside and opened the door.

All four MacKay women rushed inside, carrying mounds of colored fabrics. While Maura looked pinched, Melody, Geneva and their grandmother all smiled warmly.

“Chose your color,” Evelyn said. They laid four gowns on the bed—one in ivory, one in mauve and one in sky blue. The fourth was much bolder and lower cut—a rich amber-colored taffeta trimmed with claret.

It only took Belinda an instant to decide. While Queen Victoria had made white popular for young maiden brides, it was considered crass for a widow, and she’d always preferred bold colors to pastels. “The gold.”

“I knew it,” cried Geneva.

“I have some topaz earrings you can borrow,” offered Melody after her sister elbowed her in the ribs.

“Thank you, but I’ve earbobs of my own.” Belinda set her notebook on the bed and pulled a small pair of garnet earrings with seed pearls in gold filigree settings from her jewel case. “My grandmother’s.” There was a matching pendant on a thin gold rope chain. While they were less impressive than anything the MacKay family wore, at least they were hers, and something she could carry with her to feel her own family close.

“Perfect.” Evelyn held one up and nodded. “Along with some crimson roses for your hair, to match the bouquet you’ve chosen, and perhaps we’ll add one or two of my dark yellow tea roses to the arrangements.”

“Lovely.” Belinda couldn’t agree more with Evelyn’s choices.

“What are you writing?” Geneva noticed the notebook and smiled. “Recipes? Spells? A scandalous diary?”

Belinda shook her head. “Just stories. I like—liked—to make up tales for the village children.”

“May I?”

Belinda shrugged. “Go ahead.” She stood while Maura and Melody stripped her to her corset. They traded her small at-home hoopskirt for a fuller evening crinoline and pulled the gold gown over her head.

“It’s fortunate we have similar coloring,” said Connor’s mother as she pinned the waist. “We’re also of a size. I’ve never worn this gown, so you won’t feel you’re dressed in hand-me-downs to be married. Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you.” Belinda wasn’t sure she’d ever accepted a more grudgingly given present, but for Connor’s sake, she would be gracious to his mother. “That’s incredibly generous, Lady MacKay.”

Unlike her mother-in-law, Maura didn’t suggest a more intimate name.

Once the gown was pinned and handed off to a maid for alterations, Belinda found herself seated in front of the mirror while another maid took charge of her hair. Steam-powered curling tongs and straightening irons waited on the dressing table, making Belinda gulp. So did the tweezers wielded ruthlessly about her eyebrows.

She winced as the brush tangled in her curls. Hopefully Connor wouldn’t mind a bald, plucked and singed bride. At least she would be in a magnificent gown.

* * *

“I need a ring.” Connor entered his grandfather’s study to find the older man in close conversation with Connor’s father. One advantage of a family as old as time was that things like jewels tended to accumulate. There ought to be a spare wedding ring collecting dust somewhere in one of the family coffers.

“Thought you might.” William nodded toward a small silver box on his desk. “See if that one will do.”

Connor opened the box and studied the ring that rested inside on a bed of black velvet. A low whistle escaped his lips. “How old is this?” The large, dark ruby was cut in a cabochon, not faceted like modern jewels. Celtic knots decorated the antique gold band.

William shrugged. “Our records show it was given to one of the MacKay family by Mary, Queen of Scots. Beyond that I don’t know. It’s old, but sturdy enough for everyday wear. I had a jeweler look at it a while ago to make sure.”

“Why on earth would you have done that?” Connor lifted the ring and carried it to the window. Red fire glinted from deep within the stone. “You couldn’t have known I’d need it.” It wouldn’t have suited the copper-haired Wink at all, and everyone had expected him to marry her.

“Your Nan told me to. She didn’t say why and I didn’t ask.” William chuckled. “That’s a good lesson for a young man about to be married. Sometimes ’tis better not to question too much. Just do as you’re told.”

“He’s right, son.” Fergus peered at Connor’s face in a way that made Connor feel like a naughty schoolboy, but then tipped his head. “If you’re determined to do this, you might as well take notes now. Knowing when to keep your mouth shut is one of the secrets to a happy marriage. You’re certain about this?”

“Aye.” Connor took one last look at the antique ring and returned it to its box, which he slipped into the pocket of his coat. He had no doubts or cold feet. Just being apart from Belinda this long was making him itchy. It wasn’t even about the sex—although he wanted that rather desperately. He also wanted to talk to her and hear her laugh. Clearly he’d gone off his head as she claimed, but he seemed to be enjoying his insanity. “I’m sure. Have you heard any more about the men hunting Belinda?”

“Not specifically. They have sent out notices to watch for the fugitive,” William said. “There’s more, however.”

“There seems to be a concentrated attack on minor magick users in the north of England and southern Scotland,” Fergus said. “Someone organized is behind this and their aim appears to be eradicating anyone with even a trace of power.”

“So the problem goes beyond the threat to Belinda,” Connor said. “We could all be at risk, if the group decides to expand its sights and take on the Order.”

“Exactly,” Fergus said. “We’ll discuss it with the others when they arrive later today but you aren’t to worry about that tonight. If you intend to go through with this wedding, you owe it to the girl to keep your mind on her, not on your work. Leave that to the rest of us.”

“I know.” Connor ducked his head, realizing his father was also obliquely asking about his feelings for Wink. Oddly, Connor could barely remember what it was about the slender redhead he’d found so appealing. “It’s only been a day, but I’m certain this is what I want to do. I won’t be thinking about anything—or anyone—else when I’m with Belinda.”

William clapped him on the back. “Good, then. I hear one of the dogs has selected her. That’s a good sign. I’ve never known one of the deerhounds to choose badly.”

“It’s good to know you trust the judgment of a puppy more than mine,” Connor said. He remembered that the dogs had shunned his uncle Gideon. Perhaps they were wiser than their human companions. “But yes, I’d like to give her Willow as a wedding present.”

“She’s from a different line than your Rowan,” William mused with a grin. “You can have pups to play with your own children.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I like puppies, but don’t get ahead of yourself, old man. I’m not a father yet.” He wouldn’t mind. The idea of raising a family with Belinda was vastly appealing. And if they couldn’t have their own? Well, perhaps they could adopt, if she wanted to. Surely there were children somewhere in need of a family. It wouldn’t be the first time the Order had taken in new blood. Four of the Hadrians were adopted, five if one counted their foster son, Tom. The MacKay family had accepted them with open arms, so Connor was sure they’d come to love any children he called his own.

One way or another, Connor was determined to do his best by Belinda. She might be forced to marry him, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be content. He intended to spend his life making sure of it.

Chapter Six

Belinda had expected her second wedding to fly by in a daze. Instead each moment seemed to pass by in a measured pace, as if some greater power had determined that every second be imprinted upon her mind. She was dressed in a borrowed crinoline, new silk stockings from someone’s bags and a pair of Melody’s shoes that only pinched a bit. On the top half she wore a silk shift under her old cotton corset, and her grandmother’s garnets. Her hair was pinned up in an elaborate arrangement decorated with roses. Rather than be given privacy while she dressed, she greeted a small but steady stream of other women who popped in to pay their respects to the MacKay ladies as they arrived.

Her wedding guests included not just one, but two duchesses, the wife and mother of the current duke of Trowbridge, roughly the same ages as Connor’s grandmother and mother. The next duchess, now Marchioness Lake, was a fireball a little older than Belinda, who arrived with a camera. Belinda had seen one of Marchioness Lake’s books of photography in Shadwick’s little lending library, but she hadn’t connected the name of Connor’s friend with the famous photographer until the plump, exuberant woman asked if she could document the wedding in pictures. She also plopped her six-month-old son, Ned, into Belinda’s arms with no apparent concern whatsoever. Belinda leaned down and sniffed the tot’s soft brown hair and sighed. How she’d love to have one of these for her own.

There was also Caroline Hadrian, Lady Northland, a blonde sprite who arrived with a tiny girl in her arms. Caro, as she asked to be called, didn’t look much older than Belinda herself, but had a married daughter and another of maybe twenty, along with what seemed like a dozen younger ones, including the babe in her arms. Her ginger-haired daughter Winifred was wed to an inspector who’d been knighted, so the younger woman was Lady McCullough. The abundance of titles made Belinda’s head spin, which only got worse when she realized that in a few hours, she’d be among them, as the youngest Lady MacKay. At that point, Geneva gave up keeping track.

A boy—young man, really—in a military uniform and with hair almost as fair as Caro’s poked his head in the door and called to Caro. “Mum, Will wants to go play with the dogs and Sylvie is out in the garden. I can’t keep track of all of them, Piers has disappeared into the library and Papa is closeted somewhere with Sir Fergus.” The lad didn’t even blink at seeing a strange woman in her underthings—although the satin corset cover and petticoats concealed more than some of Belinda’s simple skirts and shirtwaists.

“I’ll go help.” Nell, Lady Northland’s second daughter, said. Nell was as dark and exotic enough to be from India or Persia. She lifted her youngest sister and settled the baby on her hip. “It was lovely to meet you, Belinda. I hope you and Connor are very happy.”

“Oh, they will be.” The boy at the door grinned broadly and winked. “I can guarantee that. Told you Connor would find the right woman for him. Piers owes me a tenner.” With that, he and Nell disappeared, slamming the door behind them.

“Well, how lovely.” Caro beamed. “That was my son Jamie, by the way, down from military academy for the party. He has visions, so I’m thrilled that he saw you and Connor happy together.”

“He told me last summer that Connor would find someone,” Winifred—who was apparently called Wink—said with a wide smile. “He even described you. I’m glad it happened so soon. Connor’s very dear to all of us.”

Belinda gulped. Visions? The surprises never stopped coming, although it was nice to think this marriage stood a chance. Then more guests arrived, she was laced and tied and buttoned into the gold silk gown and she stopped being able to think. This was the antithesis of her first wedding. She and Micah had been married in the village church on a Sunday afternoon, with a large crowd of both circus folk and villagers. Her grandfather had given her away but neither she nor Micah had seen the need for elaborate dress or other frippery. She’d worn her Sunday gown and a new bonnet. Afterward, there had been a picnic luncheon on the village green, and she and Micah had retired to their farmhouse before suppertime. This time, at Connor’s request, Belinda had a matron of honor and a bridesmaid—both his sisters, of course. Geneva mentioned that her husband Magnus had arrived by dirigible for the ceremony, and that he would attend Connor, along with another man, apparently Caro’s foster son, and Connor’s closest friend.

* * *

One minute after midnight, she held Sir William’s arm as he escorted her down the aisle between chairs set up in the conservatory. Nell Hadrian sang in an alto so beautiful Belinda almost wept. Then Sir William handed her off to Connor, who was magnificent in a black dinner jacket and a blue-and-green MacKay tartan kilt, a red rose tucked in his lapel. Those lovely pale blue eyes caught hers and held them as they joined hands. His gaze traveled over her finery—lingering on the deep neckline of her gown with a glint of distinct masculine approval. Then his eyes caught hers and his warm smile lent her courage to turn and face the vicar.

“I do.” His voice rang out, strong and confident. Unwilling to shortchange him with a timid bride, she made sure her own vows were spoken with as much conviction. She gasped at the antique ruby he slipped onto her finger; then she placed her grandfather’s ring onto his. He lifted an eyebrow and his lips tightened momentarily. Any other time she glanced up at him, she found him already looking at her, his gaze warm and his lips curved into a smile.

Soon it was done. The vicar pronounced them man and wife, and finally Connor was told to kiss his bride. Lady Lake’s camera clicked, the white light of flash powder filling the room, but Belinda lost herself in her new husband’s touch. Just like the night before, when his lips touched hers, the whole world around her disappeared. When hoots of laughter and applause finally penetrated the fog caused by the kiss, Connor pulled away, blinking with as much bemusement as she felt. With a smug smile, he tucked her arm in his as they turned back to the eighteen or twenty guests and bowed. Another score or so of the MacKays’ tenants and staff stood at the back, all applauding. Belinda drew in a breath as deep as her tight lacing would allow.

They posed, alone and with their attendants and Connor’s family, while Lady Lake snapped photographs. Her handsome husband—a marquess and the heir to a duke, calmly acted as a photographer’s helper. Clearly this entire lot was as crazy as the MacKays, but it was a rather lovely form of insanity.

Now she, Belinda, was a part of it to. She struggled to catch her breath and take it all in. She was no longer a widow, no longer Mrs. Danvers of Danvers farm. Now she was Lady MacKay, wife of Sir Connor, and connected, in one way or another, to all the glamorous, well-bred, expensively clad people in this room. Keeping a smile on her face was more effort than one might have thought. As if sensing her incipient panic, Connor squeezed her hand. Once the applause died down, they retired to the library with the vicar and their witnesses to sign the marriage documents. Finally, they joined the others in the Tower’s largest dining room, where a lavish supper had been set. During the five courses, toast after toast was drunk to the bridal couple, and as many more to the anniversary couple, although their grand party was to be the following night. As the meal progressed, Belinda was introduced to those guests she hadn’t already met.

Since the dinner was
en
famille
, strict protocol on placement had been ignored. Belinda and Connor were seated together in the center of one side of the table, so that they could converse with almost anyone else. On Belinda’s right sat Sir Tom, Connor’s closest friend. On Sir Tom’s other side was his foster sister, Wink, and beyond her sat her husband, Sir Liam McCullough, a superintendent for Scotland Yard. Connor’s sisters sat across from them, with Geneva’s husband, Magnus, an enormous Viking-looking fellow with long fair hair, between them.

“It’s nice not to be the most newly married among our circle of friends,” said the copper-haired Wink.

“You’re newlyweds?” Belinda wasn’t surprised. The two clearly couldn’t keep from touching each other when they thought no one was watching. “How long have you been married?”

“Not quite three months,” Sir Liam replied with a fond glance at his wife.

Tom chuckled and held up both hands in mock horror. “It’s been an eventful summer, but it stops now. I’m nowhere near ready to be leg-shackled.”

“Well, that still leaves Melody and Nell,” said Geneva from her place across the table.

Both of the unmarried ladies shook their heads. “Not unless a miracle happens,” Melody said. “If I ever find a man who doesn’t mind an airship engineer for a wife, then maybe. But I’m not holding my breath.”

Nell Hadrian, on the far side of Liam, just gave a wistful smile and asked Geneva about her baby son.

Belinda turned to Connor, who chatted with Lady Lake, on his left, about her commission to photograph the royal family.
And
this
woman
just
took
my
photograph
—
repeatedly
. Belinda took a sip of champagne, more than a little overwhelmed by the chaos of the last few days. Again, Connor seemed to sense her distress, because he slid his arm around her waist and gave her a quick squeeze. “Amy is from Quebec. Amy, my bride has traveled all over Europe as part of her grandparents’ circus.” He beamed at Belinda. “Have you ever been to the New World?”

“No, just France, Belgium and a few of the German principalities.” Belinda couldn’t believe he’d announced her humble beginnings so boldly, but no one sneered or looked away. “My grandfather was born in Italy, but most of our travels were within the United Kingdom.”

“Circus?” Wink asked. “Are your related to a Mr. Smith? I helped repair his carousel this summer. He was a lovely man.”

“My grandfather was a Mr. Smith.” This was the strangest group she’d ever met. Farm villagers had turned up their noses at her origins, but this crowd of gentry and aristocrats didn’t care? “But he died a few years ago. Mr. Fernando Smith, who’s acquainted with Connor, is my great-uncle.”

“It was that Mr. Smith who asked me to check in on Belinda,” Connor said, trailing a finger across her cheek. His jaw, however, was tight whenever he looked at the lovely Wink. “That’s how we met. I’m now in his debt, rather than the other way around.”

When Wink spoke, Connor’s shoulders tensed, a change so subtle Belinda could have been imagining it, except she knew better. Something had happened between these two, and not so long ago that Connor was completely past it. Wink, while obviously head over heels for her handsome husband, seemed cautious whenever she spoke to Connor.

“Are you from Ireland, Sir Liam?” Belinda asked the Scotland Yard superintendent. “I believe that’s a trace of brogue in your voice.”

“I am, originally,” he said. “I haven’t been back in some time. My home’s in London now, with my wife.” He shared a tender look with Wink. Almost too swiftly to be seen, each of them shot a concerned glance at Connor.

Connor appeared to ignore the looks, but he took a deep drink of his champagne and swallowed hard. Up and down the table other eyes glanced nervously his way.

Belinda shouldn’t have been hurt. Anything between Connor and Wink was clearly over, as she obviously adored her husband. Had she left Connor a disappointed suitor? Belinda tested out the idea and decided it fit, no matter how unpalatable the idea was to her. Poor Connor. No wonder he didn’t care who he married at this point. He was in love with a woman who was not only married, but obviously head over heels for her husband.

Belinda squeezed Connor’s thigh beneath the table. Very well. She would do her best to make him happy, or at least content. Even if they never fell in love, they would have friendship and passion. That would have to be enough.

* * *

Connor fiddled with the thick gold band, which was a bit loose on his finger. He hoped to hell it was from his family vault and not Belinda’s first husband. Her hand rested on his thigh under the tablecloth, and he laced his fingers through hers, rubbing his thumb against the ruby he’d placed on her finger earlier. It had been a perfect choice, matching the red trim on her gown and the simple jewels she wore on her throat and earlobes. Once again, Nan’s intuition had been right on track.

After dinner, Connor and Belinda were expected to lead the dancing. There’d been no time to hire an orchestra, so a mechanical piano had been dragged into the great hall, which was decorated with flowers and candles. The villagers had been invited, and those servants or neighbors with instruments and talent had been pressed into service. Fortunately, the hastily assembled ensemble wasn’t too bad, especially when Nell began to sing an old Scottish love song. Connor took Belinda’s hand. “Shall we, wife?”

“Of course, husband.”

He’d been waiting to hold her like this all day. She fit in his arms perfectly, and waltzing with her around the floor was a nearly dreamlike experience. “Are you sure we can’t leave yet?” he whispered in her ear, making her giggle.

“Soon, I hope.” She gave him a wry smile as he spun her slowly. “The last few days have been exhausting to say the least. Your family is wonderful, but it’s been years since I’ve been accustomed to crowds, and my recent experiences haven’t been positive. I look forward to not having dozens of pairs of eyes on me.”

Hmm. Connor hadn’t been thinking of sleeping once he finally got his bride alone. He hoped he could convince her to stay awake just a little longer. Was it truly only last night she’d been in a cell, awaiting execution? The idea made something hurt, deep in his chest. What a terrible waste of a vibrant life that would have been. What a loss it would have been to Connor, one he might have never even known about.

They’d just finished their wedding dance and bowed to the company, when something or someone began to pound on the wide double doors of the old hall, which had once been the main entrance to the Tower.

“More guests?” Unwilling to let Belinda go, Connor held her there in the center of the floor, while a liveried footman eased open one of the doors and Ewan, the butler, poked his stately gray head out the door. “May I help you?”