Fortune's Bride (45 page)

Esmeralda almost dropped the cup she was lifting to her lips
and stared at Sabrina. “Robert did not marry me in Lisbon,” she said. “Did he
not explain…? Oh, heaven, what did he say?”

“Merry—” Sabrina put her hand over Esmeralda’s and squeezed
it gently. “Don’t be so frightened. We are all very eager to love you, and I
can see that you well deserve that love for yourself. I will not deny that
Perce and I were a little concerned when we first heard about it. It seemed so
unlike Robert to marry for money—”

“Money?” Esmeralda squeaked. “How do you know about the
money?”

Sabrina looked a trifle self-conscious. “Well, of course,
when Robert simply announced that he had married a woman named Esmeralda Mary
Louisa Talbot whom he had met in India, Papa Moreton began to move heaven and
earth to discover who you were, and when the Earl of Moreton and Roger St. Eyre
start to move heaven and earth, believe me, it moves. Your bankers were as clay
in their hands. Merry, what is wrong?”

“Robert doesn’t know,” Esmeralda wailed. “Oh, he will be so
angry. He will never understand why I did not tell him.”

“No one can be angry about half a million pounds,” Sabrina
said, laughing, and then the first sentence Esmeralda had said hit her. “Robert
doesn’t know!” she repeated, stunned. “But why… Oh, Merry, forgive me, I don’t
mean to offend you, but I know Robert did not carry a broken heart home from
India, and he was always so determined not to marry. So why—”

Esmeralda picked up her cup, sipped her tea, took a deep
breath, and said, “Because he is the kindest, most chivalrous man in the entire
world,” and began at the beginning and told the story of her life.

Naturally, it did not take five minutes. There were
questions, and pauses while Sabrina whooped with laughter, and other pauses
when both women wept, and there were interruptions when emotions became too
intense and Katy insisted Esmeralda must dress to give her a chance to calm
down. However, before noon the whole tale was told—all of it, even including
Esmeralda’s pregnancy, at which Sabrina exclaimed with intense joy and reported
she was in the same condition herself.

“And I was growing afraid that I never would be,” Sabrina
said. “Because, you know, Perce and I have been lovers for more than a year,
but right after we were married—in September because William was killed a year
ago August and it seemed wrong to marry virtually the day the official mourning
was over—” Sabrina stopped, aware from Esmeralda’s stunned expression that she
had heard nothing of this before. “Robert never told you,” she said. And then
asked, “What in the world do you talk about?”

“The army,” Esmeralda said simply.

Sabrina whooped with laughter again. “I should have known,”
she gasped, and embarked on the story of
her
life, which brought in
Leonie and Megaera and their experiences.

By the time Sabrina was finished, Esmeralda was as
lighthearted as she could be, considering that Robert was still in Spain and
might be in danger. She was no longer in the least troubled by any irregularity
in her background. “I’m awfully glad to know I am not the only one who has
seduced an innocent husband,” she said laughing.

Nor did her meeting with Robert’s parents later in the day
do anything to dampen her happiness. It was clear that the countess was utterly
delighted with her new daughter-in-law. She was as kind as her son and would
have loved any woman Robert was willing to marry. That Esmeralda was also
gentle and most eager to be loved filled her cup of joy. She had never believed
that Robert married for the money and now put it out of her mind. The earl was
less simplistic in his response, but he knew Esmeralda was from a decent
family. The earl had, naturally, applied to Robert’s commanding officer for
information and had received rather more than he expected, but it was good
news.

Thus it was her father-in-law who told Esmeralda that Sir
Arthur had not forgotten his promise to try to discover her relatives in
Ireland. He had been successful and had traced both her Connor and her Talbot
relations. Both had immediately offered her a home or any other help they could
give her. And this, the earl said dryly, must be out of disinterested kindness,
because Sir Arthur had no idea she was an heiress and could not have passed the
information to them.

All the while he had been talking and listening, the earl
had also been judging, and before he parted from Esmeralda, he made it plain
that he would have approved Robert’s choice even without what Esmeralda
brought.

“Not that I have any objection to an Indian heiress as a
daughter,” he said, bending down to kiss her brow, “but I am very glad to know
that my opinion that Robert is an idiot need not be revised. I hate to revise
an opinion.”

“Robert is
not
an idiot,” Esmeralda protested,
smiling impishly. “After all, he did not marry me for love, either.”

“That is what I said,” the earl pointed out, with a teasing
grin. “Any man who did not love you on sight is an idiot, my dear.”

Thus Esmeralda’s homecoming was truly a homecoming. She
remained with Sabrina, not because she was not pressed most lovingly to live at
Moreton House but, she explained, because Robert had told her to go to Stour
House and would expect to find her there. However, she saw almost as much of
the occupants of Moreton House as if she had lived there. Her days were very
busy. There were arrangements to make with her bankers, there were long letters
to write to her relatives in Ireland, there was an apartment in a neighboring
mews to fit out for Molly and Carlos, above the stable where Boa Viagem and
Luisa would live, there was her own shopping to do, for when the Season began,
all of the Moretons’ and the St. Eyres’ social connections would wish to meet
her.

However, despite the steady and absorbing occupation and the
kindness of her new relations, Esmeralda’s eyes grew more and more haunted as
each day passed. No one remarked on her growing fear. They were all afraid
themselves. Perce spent half his time at the Horse Guards prying for
information, but no one had any news more recent than that brought by Sir
Charles. Roger St. Eyre came down from Stour himself to speak to Lord
Castlereagh, but even Roger could not obtain information that was not
available. They did learn, from Philip via the smuggler Pierre Restoir, that
Bonaparte himself had left Spain before the English had reached Corunna, but
that gave no assurance the embarkation had been successful.

Esmeralda cried herself to sleep every night, and the only
thing that could make her smile by January 26 was little Kevin, who was growing
like a weed in summer. At teatime the next afternoon, the whole family had
gathered in Sabrina’s parlor. The conversation was strained and disjointed, and
there were frequent silences. The last of these was broken by the sound of
horses trotting down the street. Everyone burst into talk at once, frantically
denying the need to listen in the hope that the carriage would stop, but
Esmeralda could not pretend. She rose to her feet with a gasp and ran to the
window. Silence fell again like a pall until she turned and ran out of the
room.

Into that silence, her voice came, high and terrified.
“Major Colborne, oh, no!”

And then a man’s voice, but no one heard what he said
because there was a concerted rush to the door. Naturally, the jam there
prevented anyone from getting out for a minute. Chivalry was forgotten. The
stronger males pushed out in front of the women and went racing down the stairs
then out the open door, but there they all stopped, effectively blocking the
view of their anxious womenfolk so that the countess began to weep aloud until
her husband turned and said joyfully, “It’s all right, Emma. He’s just getting
out of the carriage slowly.”

Then Robert was shaking off Colborne’s steadying grip,
catching Esmeralda to him, and saying, “Don’t cry, love, don’t. I’m quite all
right.”

“You would be,” Colborne snapped, “if you hadn’t insisted
driving at such a pace.” And then to Esmeralda, “He’s had a nasty knock on the
head and lost a bit of skin on his ribs, that’s all. When he’s had some sleep,
he’ll be fine.”

“I’m fine now,” Robert insisted. “You’re all making a fuss.”

“I never make a fuss,” Esmeralda said firmly, “but you are
not fit to be seen or smelled, Robert. Your appearance is frightening your
mother. She is not accustomed to filthy rags. Come to my room, and I will make
you decent.”

She did no such thing, of course. He barely made it up the
stairs, although he stubbornly refused any assistance, and when Esmeralda
tumbled him into bed, boots, and all, he fell asleep in the middle of a mumbled
protest. Tactfully, no one disturbed them. Truthfully, no one wished to do so.
Now that his family knew Robert was alive and not seriously hurt or ill,
everyone was more interested in Colborne’s news than in Robert himself. Even
Robert’s mother was content to leave him to Esmeralda. Robert was not easy to
nurse.

Fortunately, he did not need nursing. He had been suffering
from no more than a recurrence of the dizziness and raging headache, caused
originally by his concussion and brought on again by the jostling of the
carriage. About ten o’clock Robert sighed and opened his eyes. He, too, looked
at the elaborate bedcurtains, but he guessed at once where he was and said,
“Merry?”

She was there before the sound died, bending over the bed,
kissing him, murmuring disjointed ejaculations of love and joy, and then
pulling away a little to say, “You must be starved. I’ll ring for the maid to
bring up some supper.”

“A bath first,” he said, smiling. “We did get food along the
road.” Then he frowned. “What happened to M’Guire?”

“Oh, I am so glad he is safe, too. I didn’t see him. I
didn’t know he was with you. But don’t worry about him. I’m sure someone will
have taken him to Molly’s rooms.”

“I hope you’ve done well by her,” Robert said soberly. “I
owe M’Guire my life.”

Esmeralda’s breath caught. “What happened?” she whispered.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Robert shrugged, but his
voice was cheerful. “You know M’Guire isn’t the greatest of talkers. From what
I made out, I must have been hit on the head during the action and left for
dead. When the French were rolled back and I didn’t show up, M’Guire started to
ask questions, found Hermes, and came looking for me.”

“You mean no one else noticed you were missing?” Esmeralda
said in a tight voice.

“Well, they had a lot to think about,” Robert replied, the
lightness gone from his voice. “Sir John’s dead. He was struck by a
cannonball.” He blinked back tears. “It took him such a long time to die.” But
then he sighed and said, “Maybe it was worth it to him. He knew that we had
beaten the French before he died. We buried him there, at Corunna.”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Robert.”

He looked at her steadily for a minute and then dropped his
eyes. “I am, too—I think. But you know, Merry, the government would have made
him a scapegoat. They would have torn him apart for this campaign, even with
the victory at Corunna and despite the fact that I believe he
has
saved
Spain. He was a sensitive man. He never had the resilience Sir Arthur has. I
think that partly caused the mistakes he made. He felt he couldn’t take a
chance, that they’d be down on him like dogs on a rat if he was defeated.”

There was nothing she could say, and she kissed him
wordlessly and when he lay quietly, unresponding, she pulled the bell cord and
went to the door to wait for the maid. When she had instructed her to arrange
for a bath, Robert was sitting up. He put out a hand to her, and she took it
and kissed it and then began to help him take off his clothes. She shuddered a
little at the raw patch on his ribs, but she could see it was healing well, and
she made no remark, merely handing him one of Perce’s dressing gowns. He stood
belting it, looking down at her.

“How beautiful you are. Merry,” he said, smiling again. “I’m
glad you grabbed me and were screeching ‘Robert, oh, Robert.’ I might not have
recognized you. And then I would have made my bow to you as if you were a
stranger.”

She laughed. “I hope it’s love that has changed my
appearance and not that your eyes have gone funny because of that knock on the
head.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. But maybe it’s all the
finery.” Suddenly he frowned. The word “finery” had brought to mind the cost of
such ornaments for a woman and that reminded him of money and a statement in
his father’s letter that had shocked and hurt him—and the truth of which he
could scarcely believe. “Damn it, Merry,” he exclaimed, “do you have some
secret you don’t want to tell me?”

“Not now, Robert,” she said eagerly. “I’ve been waiting to
tell you. You’ll be happy. In July you’ll be a father.”

“A—a what?”

She laughed aloud at his stunned expression, unaware that he
was thinking along other lines. In the ship on the way home, Robert had come
across his parents’ letters and for want of other occupation had read them. His
mother’s was simply full of joy at his having taken a wife and concern for
him—motherly nonsense. But his father’s had been read several times over in
stunned disbelief. It had informed him that Merry was worth over five hundred
thousand pounds and had inquired delicately why he felt the need to marry for
money.

“A father,” Esmeralda repeated distinctly, enjoying herself.
“It is a natural consequence of…of consummating a marriage, you know.”

His mouth opened, closed. “Me?” he said, still not really
absorbing her meaning. “Me? A father?”

“I swear to you that I have been faithful.” Esmeralda
giggled. “Unless this is another immaculate conception, you must be the father”

“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Sit down. Or should you lie down?
Can I—”

“Robert,” she choked, almost unable to speak for laughing,
“stop. I am not ill. Honestly, you must not coddle me or worry about me. I have
been with child since we left Lisbon.”