Mariel (32 page)

Phipps said with a girlish wonder she could not curb, “The engine is trimmed with scarlet, Lady Mariel! As scarlet as the ribbon you wear with your navy gown. Imagine that!”

Ian squeezed Mariel's fingers, and she knew he shared her amusement with Phipps's enthusiasm. The older woman had been unable to hide her delight with the forthcoming trip. Rosie urged Miss Phipps to explore the ticket office with her. Happily, she agreed.

In the flurry of activity in trying to prepare for the hastily planned journey, none of them had had a chance to catch their breaths. With the help of the caring residents of the Cloister and the shire, everything had fallen into place quickly. The deacons of the church volunteered to supervise services for as long as the reverend needed to be in London with Lady Mariel. Even the school board cooperated, promising without hours of debate to order the books Mr. Jones had told her were the best for the students.

In the midst of the preparations, Mariel had realized with shock that she had no idea where they would stay in the city. When she asked Ian if he could suggest an appropriate hotel in his native city, he laughed.

“What's so funny? With the queen's diamond jubilee going all year, London is busy. I don't want to get there and find we have no place but the street to sleep.”

Putting his arms around her, he drew her down onto his lap. Mrs. Reed was busy in the kitchen, preparing to close the house. The housekeeper would go to visit her family while her employer was away. She granted Mariel and the reverend privacy, although her presence nearby could never be ignored.

“I have taken care of all that already,” Ian said with a smile. “A nice place. Five bedrooms, each with its own private bath; a drawing room; a parlor; and a dining room, as well as a full staff.”

“We don't need anything that fancy,” she gasped, calculating the cost of such luxury. “It will be frightfully expensive.”

“It's free.”

“Free?” Her fingers on his cheeks noted the laugh lines deepening along his face. “What is all this?”

“When my grandfather died, he left me his London house. We can stay there.”

Despite herself, she gasped. She had never considered Ian in anything other than in his role as the country minister. Though she knew his mother lived in London, she could recall little else he had told her of his past. If she had thought about it, she would have realized that the sons of merchants and other middle class families did not ride to the hunt, as he had. That he was related to the residents of both Beckwith Grange and Avelet Court, two of the finer homes in the area, should have told her that Ian came from a monied background.

To cover her reaction, she asked quietly, “At your house? Alone?”

“You will have Phipps and Rosie with you.” He did not speak his thoughts. Too many times she had pushed him away when had tried to do more than kiss her chastely.

Ian tried not think of that as he made sure their luggage was taken from the carriage to the wheeled baggage cart at the station. If Mariel would let him breach the wall she had erected again, he could explain that he knew her fears and wanted to help her overcome them. He never was given the chance. She had become a dear friend again, but nothing more. Sometimes he wondered if he had only dreamed the luscious hours of loving her. Then he would feel her fingers on him and know the ache within him came from real memories.

Mariel turned as she heard her name called. “Dr. Sawyer,” she said with a forced smile. She did not want him to think she was displeased to see him. All her nervousness centered on the journey ahead.

“I wondered if you would hear me in this crowd.”

She tilted her cheek for his fatherly kiss. Laughing, she answered, “I find I hear more than I wish to now, doctor. Maybe I heard it all along, but it seems to invade my privacy much more.”

“Mariel, as I told you before, there are no guarantees my friend can help you,” he said with his characteristic bluntness.

“Yes, I know that.” Her tone grew as serious as his. “I know that, but I continue to hope.”

“Of course you do. So do I. That is why I am sending you to see Lester Gillette. He is the very best man in his field. If anyone can help you, it will be him.”

She bit her lip to silence the thought that rang in her head. Conversely, if Dr. Gillette could not help her, no one could. She stiffened as she felt a hand against the middle of her back, but relaxed when she heard the doctor greet Ian.

“Have a pleasant trip,” the doctor said tritely. She wondered if they had exchanged a look that said more than their words. It did not matter to her. She knew how small the chances of regaining her sight were.

A whistle shrill in the clear air interrupted the conversation, relieving all of them from having to think of something else to say. With the obligatory good wishes and handshakes, the party of four boarded the train. Miss Phipps pointed out everything to Rosie with continuing enthusiasm. She did not pay attention to her lady's morose expression. Once this trip was underway, she expected Lady Mariel would regain her normal buoyancy.

Ian spoke to the conductor, who gave them directions to their rooms. Taking her arm, he led Mariel along the narrow corridor. If he spoke to her, she did not hear him. The sound of her own fear rang in her ears, repeating the words over and over that this trip was useless. She did not know if she could survive the destruction of her hopes. Before, she had told herself she had adjusted to this handicap. She knew how untrue those words had been.

At their door, Ian left her in Phipps's care while he went to speak to the conductor. The older woman followed her into their private quarters. Sunshine was warm on Mariel's face as she sat on the velvet corduroy seat. She listened to Rosie's squeals of excitement as she discovered the other wide bench.

Phipps bustled opposite her in the small compartment, telling the porter where to put their small bags and assuring herself that the other luggage had been secured in another car. Mariel hid her smile as she heard the man's politely resigned replies.

“Good news, ladies,” came a familiar male voice. “The gentleman in the hall assured me that the train should be on time bringing us into Paddington Station.”

“Wonderful, Reverend,” gushed Phipps. “I am glad you are here. Will you sit with Lady Mariel while Rosie and I check on the arrangements for our meals?”

Before he could answer, the woman and child had fluttered out of the tiny room to satisfy their curiosity about the train. He closed the door and walked to where Mariel sat by the window. Dropping to the seat across from her, he watched as she unpinned her hat and placed it on the cushion next to her.

A clank and a sharp squeal announced that the train was leaving the station. She clutched the arms of the chair, but the train moved fairly smoothly from the platform. Slowly, it gained speed, pressing her back against the cushions.

“How fast does it go?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don't know. You could ask one of the conductors or porters. It moves faster than your automobile did.”

“It is so wonderful to be able to travel in such comfort.” She did not wince at each mention of the automobile or the accident as she once had. Time was erasing that pain as well as the physical discomfort.

His hands brushed the dirt from the seat where Rosie had soiled it with her shoes. He looked from it to Mariel's face turned in profile to him. Once those soft lips had parted willingly beneath his and warmed his breath with her own. His eyes followed the modest lines of her traveling suit. The worsted jacket of kelly green and the plaid skirt to match gave her a jaunty appearance for the beginning of their trip. He did not have to search far in his mind to think of her dressed in fine, nearly transparent silk, laughing with him as they partook once more of their love.

Aware of the raised window shades, he did no more than touch her fingers. When she placed her other hand over his, she smiled. “I'm glad you are coming with me, Ian.”

“Did you think I would let you do this alone?”

“Sometimes I don't know what to think anymore. I know things weren't simple before, but now …”

He moved to sit next to her on the bench. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he smiled as her head rested against him. If he had to court Mariel from the beginning again, it would not be such a terrible fate. He enjoyed holding her and knew the reward his persistence would win him.

“Would you like to meet my family while we are in London?” he asked as he watched the panorama speeding past the window. “I received a letter from Mother yesterday. She is having a small party at her house tomorrow night.”

She shook her head. “I haven't been invited, Ian. I could not possibly attend a private gathering.”

“Mother's idea of a small party is no more than a hundred people. It will hardly be private.”

“I haven't been invited,” she repeated regretfully.

“I am inviting you. If I attend, I do not wish to do so alone. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you, Lady Mariel?”

A faraway expression softened her face. To be with other people, to hear music, to dress in the ballgown she had packed in case they attended the theater.… Such dreams she had thought were as battered as the automobile, never to be resurrected. Ian refused to let her think anything was impossible.

“Will you dance with me?”

“Dance?” Instantly he realized what she meant. If she was to be brave enough to enter an unknown house filled with strangers, he must show he was as courageous and waltz her across the dance floor. With a laugh, he said, “It has been a while, but I think I can manage, if you don't mind having your feet stepped on.”

“It won't be the first time.”

“I am sure of that. You must have been invited to many balls by your young suitors.”

She smiled in remembrance. “Uncle Wilford was determined I would be escorted to every dance in the shire, even if he had to do the honors himself. You know, it is funny, but the fondest memories I have are of the dances Uncle shared with me.”

“That is because you could not love any of the others who wanted to hold your hand like this or kiss your cheek.” He bent to place his lips against her face.

Her face turned to him. A shy smile tilted her lips. “You are right. I could not love any of them. Not as I love you, Ian.”

“You still love me?”

Shock wiped the soft expression from her face. “Did you think I stopped loving you? I don't think I can. You are inside me, here.” She pointed to her heart. “I love you, Ian Beckwith-Carter. I love your ornery nature and confounded temper. I even love you when you prove me wrong.”

“No, my love, I only proved you were right.” His fingers framed her face. “You are the same Mariel who won my heart. Nothing could change that. I love you, Mariel.” He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “When we get to London, stay with me.”

Her brow furrowed as she said, “But, Ian, I am staying with you. Oh!” She drew away as she realized what he meant. She shook her head vehemently. “I can't, Ian.”

“Why not? Don't mention Rosie, for she would not notice if you sleep alone or with me.”

The return of their two traveling companions saved her from having to devise a lie to answer him. She could not tell him the truth. One by one, she had overcome her fears until only the one that kept her from marrying him in the first place remained. If she allowed him to convince her to return to the indescribable delights of his bed, she would not be strong enough to continue to refuse his proposal as she must.

Rosie chattered about all the luxurious rooms she had seen in the cars. They were able to quiet her enough to take a nap by promising to wake her in time for dinner. Phipps urged them to go to the lounge car while she sat with the child. Not wanting to be alone with Ian, Mariel decided the public car would be the perfect spot to spend the first hours of their trip.

The motion of the car rocking on the tracks made Mariel's head spin, until she learned to compensate for the rhythm as she walked. When Ian opened the door at the end of their car, sound exploded at her. The muted click-click of the wheels on the tracks became painful in her ears. She thought she could hear Ian speaking to her, but could not decipher the words over the noise. Only when they entered the next car forward did she understand him.

She smiled as he took her hand once more. Quietly, he described the scene before them. The plush beauty of the room, decorated in the highest rococo style, ran the full length of the car. On both sides, by the windows, overstuffed chairs in rich, red velvet offered views of the passing countryside or could be turned to facilitate conversation. Matching drapes softened the lines of the windows. She felt his arm move to point out the arched ceiling, gilded in a floral design. Cut-glass globes lit the narrow room. At the far end, a carved bar served drinks to gentlemen while a porter offered the ladies something of a lighter nature.

Mariel allowed Ian to select a seat for her. From the quiet in the car, she suspected they were the only passengers in it. That supposition strengthened when, as soon as Ian excused himself to get a glass of brandy, a porter appeared at her elbow.

“May I offer madam something to drink?” he asked in a deep voice, which rivaled the rumble of the engine far ahead of them.

“Yes, thank you. A cup of tea would be lovely.”

The waiter held out his tray. He frowned when the lady did not select one. Glancing at the cups, he saw that they were clean and that the beverage steamed enticingly. He started to speak when her escort returned.

Ian silently picked up one of the cups and told Mariel to hold out her hands. Only when he was sure she had her fingers around it securely did he release the saucer. When she thanked him, he regarded the steward as if daring him to speak the thoughts written across his face. The waiter glanced with candid curiosity from Mariel to the man wearing a minister's collar before scurrying away.