Come Midnight (22 page)

Well, not with impunity, then, but I can still use it. Aye, I'll die from the ordeal, but with the contract destroyed, hell will have no claim on my soul—thank God and all the blessed saints.' Holy Mother, I knew you would show me the way.

Caitlin turned to her sister and Ashleigh, a bright smile firmly in place. "Megan, I can't find a single objection t' yer plan. I think it'll work."

"It will—it's absolutely brilliant!" Ashleigh exclaimed.

"So 'tis settled, then," said Megan, giving Caitlin a hug. "Ye'll invoke the charm and send the bast—er, the rotter straight back t' hell!"

"Aye," said Caitlin. " 'Tis settled."

Chapter 16

As Megan and Ashleigh prepared to leave, Caitlin reviewed Megan's plan in her mind and knew she could say nothing of it to Adam. He certainly knew how many times she'd invoked the charm. And Adam, she felt certain, would accept nothing less than a scheme that saved her life, as well as her soul. Which wasn't in the offing.

Yet how was she to keep him from finding out? With the servants knowing she had visitors, she couldn't prevent him learning who'd come to call, though the visit itself was easily explained: The duchess and her sister had come to wish them happy on their engagement. The problem lay in preventing Megan and Ashleigh from spilling the beans. When he asked the duke to procure the special license, Adam had invited the Westmonts and the St. Clares to the wedding. They could be expected to return to the Hall for a wedding toast and some refreshments after the ceremony. And when they did, there'd be every opportunity for talk.

"You must relax, now your mind is relieved, my dear, Ashleigh was saying as Caitlin accompanied them to the entry hall—and frantically sought a plausible means of keeping them silent. "You're free to anticipate—to simply enjoy being a bride. Tell me, have you given any thought to what you'll wear?"

"W-wear?" Caitlin stammered. She was only half aware of what had been said. Her brain was furiously wrestling with her problem, rapidly discarding one solution after another.

"Why, yes," said the duchess as Townsend went to fetch their shawls, "considering you've had so little time to prepare. A pity this wedding couldn't have waited. I've a superb mantua maker in London, who'd have created a splendid wedding gown for you. Of course, I realize now why Ravenskeep arranged this marriage in such haste—"

Megan chuckled. "Ye may be sure there's waggin' tongues about who'll assume the worst, but don't fash yerself,
macushla
." Her eyes twinkled as she eyed her sister's reddening face. "The scandal broth will cool. And even if a babe should appear in less than nine months—"

"Megan!" Ashleigh swatted the Irishwoman's arm with her fan.

"Merely pointin' out the obvious," Megan replied with an unrepentant grin.

"Nonetheless, I prefer to dwell on more seemly things," Ashleigh sniffed. She turned back to Caitlin. "Now, I do hope you won't think me presumptuous, my dear, but you and I are about the same size. Would you allow me to lend you a frock to wear for your wedding? I've a lovely ivory sarcenet that's quite tastefully accented with moss green furbelows. And with your skin and eyes, my dear ... well, it would be perfect."

She chuckled, patting her rounded belly. "I dare say, I won't be fitting into it for a while. I'd be honored if you'd consent to wear it."

Caitlin was so touched, she forgot her pressing problem for a moment. "I—'tis I who's honored, Yer Gr— ach, I mean, Ashleigh. 'Tis kind o' ye."

"Then, it's settled," said Ashleigh. "I shall send it along with my ladies' maid this afternoon. In the event it requires a few adjustments. Betty's a wizard with needle and thread. She'll have you swearing it was made with none but you in mind."

"Er... speakin' o' swearin'," said Caitlin, seeing her opportunity. "May—may I swear ye both t' secrecy regardin' this plan o' Megan's? I ... I'm not certain, but 'tis possible 'twould overset his lordship t' learn I've confided—"

"In us, without his leave?" Megan cut in with a grin. "Ach, these men!" she exclaimed with an arch glance at her sister-in-law.

"So sensitive!" said Ashleigh, rolling her eyes. "I vow, half of humanity goes about thinking the other half's too delicate to know what goes on in the world. Meanwhile, the 'delicate' half spends most of its time pretending it's so—and the rest of the time shielding the 'strong' half from learning we're on to them!"

"Ye've the right of it, there," said Megan with a chuckle. She patted Caitlin's hand. "Niver fear, darlin'. Just let his lordship assume ye thought it up yerself. Yer secret's safe with us."

"Safe as houses," said Ashleigh with a wink.

In a flurry of silk and lace, the two swept out the door to their carriage. Megan clucked to her team and tooled down the drive as adroitly as any young blade in town.

The duchess waved to Caitlin, and Caitlin waved back. Watched until the vehicle rounded a curve in the drive. The last thing she saw was her sister's bright hair catching fire in a shaft of sunlight before it vanished from sight. Caitlin sagged with relief.

***

Adam and Andrew returned from their excursion shortly after noon. Caitlin spied them in the distance as she watched for them from her window. She'd found herself missing them terribly after Megan and Ashleigh left. Now she raced pell-mell down the stairs and out the door, eager to greet them.

She was nearing the stables when she drew to a sudden halt, seized by a stab of acute pain.
How very normal and ordinary it seems, running to greet my menfolk as they return from a jaunt over the downs. Yet there's nothing ordinary about it. This is the last, the only time, we'll ever share such a precious moment. Ah, Blessed Mother, how do I bear it?

Hush,
whispered a quiet voice inside her.
Every
moment we live is precious, though it may seem ordinary. Think of the countless men and women who let the precious moments pass, deeming them too ordinary to notice. You have been granted this rare chance to see what others fail to see. To value the time you have left, and through it, to appreciate the gift of life. To know the preciousness of every ordinary minute.

With this, Caitlin felt a curious calm descend. A still serenity that settled deep inside her. Even the gentle breeze ruffling her curls seemed to whisper of peace and acceptance. Her heart brimming with love and gratitude, she smiled at Adam when he drew his team to a halt. Grinned at Andrew as he climbed down from the gig and ran to greet her. She could see the child was beside himself with excitement.

"There you are, Caitlin!" he cried. "Papa and I had a splendid ride in the phaeton, didn't we, Papa? We saw all manner of lovely things on our ride. Spotted cattle and haystacks and six ducks in a pond—I counted!—and folk who waved and wished us happy. And Papa let me take the ribbons! 'Course, we had to go very slowly for that part, but I did it without any ham-fisted fumbling—didn't I, Papa?"

"Not a ham fist in sight," his father agreed. Adam affectionately ruffled the dark, windblown curls so much like his own. His gaze, however, was on Caitlin, absorbing the sight of her like parched earth drinking in the rain. Caitlin's heart turned over as she saw the tortured look in his eyes: love held captive, imprisoned in helplessness and regret.

"Any news?" Adam whispered hopefully as he kissed her cheek. Caitlin looked so serene, he thought perhaps she might have discovered an answer to their plight. He certainly hadn't. As the morning passed without an inkling, he'd begun to sink into a dour and comfortless mood. Not even his son's exuberance could dispel it. It had been all he could do to maintain a tranquil, if not entirely happy, facade for Andrew's sake.

"I'm workin' on it," Caitlin whispered. She sounded confident and determined, which was deliberate. She'd thought long and hard about what to tell Adam when he asked, as she'd had no doubt he would. Megan had said to let him think Caitlin herself had found then-solution ... but of course, that was out of the question.

Instead, she'd decided to keep his spirits up as best she could. That meant letting him know she hadn't succumbed to doubt and despair. In the time they had left, she would savor what they had together, do all she could to help Adam savor and treasure it. They must make every second count.
Every moment we live is precious ....

"We'll work on it together," he murmured. Caitlin was heartened to hear an echo of her own determination in his tone before Andrew claimed their attention.

"Caitlin, Papa says, now my leg's healed, I can begin riding my pony again! Would you like to meet him?" The child grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the stables. "His name is Toby, and he's been summering in the east pasture, but Papa asked the grooms to fetch him while we were gone riding, and he's just the bestest pony in the whole world, and ..."

The three of them spent the day together, under a golden August sun whose heat was offset by the gently cooling breeze. As he introduced Caitlin to his pony, Andrew chattered away with all the ebullience of a healthy six-year-old. Next, they enjoyed a luncheon Cook had prepared; they dined al fresco, under the big elm shading the paddock where Toby munched a carrot, sent by Mrs. Needham in the picnic basket. Then it was a leisurely stroll through the formal gardens, with Andrew running—he rarely walked now, when he could run instead—ahead of the adults to investigate the maze at its center.

Afternoon found them inside the house, where they had an informal tea served in the smaller drawing room. There, Adam conferred briefly with the upper servants on preparations for the reception, which would take place immediately after the morning ceremony. This prompted all sorts of questions from Andrew:

Why was His Grace being called the best man? "Caitlin, shouldn't it be Papa?" Andrew asked with a frown. "I think he's the bestest man—and what's more, he's the one being married!" She and Adam explained the tradition and its nomenclature, and the child seemed satisfied. But it was the response he gained from the question he posed next that delighted him.

Why, Andrew asked, had Townsend muttered it was a pity there was no one to give the bride away? Again, the adults explained the tradition. "But there is someone," the child protested. "Caitlin's my governess and my bestest friend! Why can't I give her away?"

Adam and Caitlin looked at each other. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Adam asked her.

"I am," she replied with a grin. The grin broadened as she turned to the disgruntled child. "Andrew, me boyo, ye've just found yerself a major role in the weddin'!"

***

After a quiet supper, again involving just the three of them, they tucked a blissful Andrew into bed. Then came the first difficult moment since Caitlin greeted Adam and Andrew at the stables. As he always did without fail, Adam tiptoed toward the door when his son prepared to say his prayers.

"Papa ... ?" Andrew's voice sounded tentative ... diffident.

His father halted, turned to face him. Caitlin noticed his face reflected the uncertainty in the child's. "What is it, son?"

"Papa, why do you always leave when I'm about to say my prayers? Don't ... Don't you like them?"

Wordlessly, Adam looked at him, unable to form a reply.

Seconds ticked by, while Caitlin held her breath. She could feel the beating of her pulse beneath the skin. The agony of indecision on Adam's face was almost more than she could bear. Oh, my love, stay! Hear the innocent prayers of your child, and let them open your heart!

Adam gave no indication he'd heard her silent plea. "I'm sure I should like them very well," he told the child at last. "But I think Caitlin's a better listener than I am, and she's told me how you always include me in your prayers. Will you do that for me again tonight, Andrew? Will you say a prayer for me? I ... I'm not half so good at it myself, do you see."

"Oh, I will, Papa! I shall say a special prayer, just for


you."

Overcome with emotion, Caitlin had ducked her head through this exchange. Now she took a moment to blink away tears, then risked a look at Adam's face.

But he was already gone.

***

Caitlin searched for Adam when she left Andrew's room. He wasn't in the hallway where he always waited for her after they saw the child abed. He wasn't in his chambers. With growing concern, she made a swift tour of the downstairs, though she skirted the beehive of activity in the kitchens; the servants were busy preparing tomorrow's reception—a small one, but it did involve a duke and duchess—and she hardly thought Adam would be found there. Eventually, she questioned the footman on duty in the hall. He'd been at his post since his lordship escorted her and Lord Andrew upstairs, he informed her; and, no, his lordship had not come back down.

Trying not to give in to alarm, Caitlin all but flew up the stairs. Two dozen rooms and many anxious minutes later, she finally found Adam in the library. She breathed a sigh of relief—until she saw his face.

London gossip had been full of Lord Byron while she was there. Much had been made of the scandal, which Caitlin ignored; she did recall, however, someone mentioning the poet's face having a "brooding Undertook," a description that had puzzled her. She hadn't understood what it meant... until now.
The Darkness sits upon you like a shroud, Adam, a stor, and I've so little time left.

"Ye must fight it, love," she said fiercely. "Fight the Dark and win the Light!"

"How, Caitlin?" he whispered brokenly. He stood by the unlighted hearth, a single taper burning on the mantel. His tall frame was swathed in shadow, scarcely discernible in the gloom. "In the name of all we hold dear, tell me how."

"I think ye know the answer t' that," she said softly. She went to him, until they stood but a hand's width apart. "Ye knew it when the lad fair broke yer heart with his askin'."

"Prayer?" he replied sardonically. His arm swept an arc that encompassed the poorly lit room. "What in the hell d'you think I've been trying to do here?" He gave a mirthless laugh that broke on a sob, his lips twisting in a bitter parody of a smile. "What in the hell, indeed!"

"Stop it!" She threw her arms about his waist, felt him resist—and clung like a burr till his arms closed about her. "I'll not let ye give in t' despair," she murmured against his chest. Beneath it, she could hear his heart pounding like a drum, and she took it for her mantra.

"Ye're here—and alive! Alive, when, not two nights past, 'twould have been easy for me t' give ye up for dead. Aye, dead, and soulless in the bargain! But I did not give ye up—no, I'll not hear a word about how I managed it, d'ye hear?

"Ach, would ye listen t' me?" she said with a muffled laugh. "Last night, 'twas yerself urgin' me not t' give up. Now, 'twould seem we've traded places. But, Adam, I'm after tryin' t' point out somethin' else as well."

She withdrew slightly, just enough to gaze up at him. "I've bought us time, Adam, and that's no small thing.

Time, and every second precious! Will ye spend it blatherin' o' hell and defeat, or will ye—"

"Enough!" he cried, and swept her up in his arms. Turned and carried her through the adjoining door... to his bed. To the only solace he could find: Caitlin's sweetly welcoming body—and her fierce, unflinching heart.