The Perfect Kiss (31 page)

Billy Finn, dressed in a uniform of slightly oriental design, was clutching a ragged bunch of wildflowers, which he thrust at her, saying, “There’s rosemary in there, miss, so ye don’t forget to come back to us.”

She thanked him and gave him a hug. “I’ll miss you Billy,” she whispered.

They all lined up to farewell her, shaking her hand, pressing small gifts on her and wishing her a safe journey. Even old Grandad Tasker creaked forward and pressed a rose in a pot on her. “Tis the same rose as his lordship’s mam used to grow. She loved them roses and I reckon you do, too,” the old man said. She thanked him brokenly.

Finally there was Granny Wigmore, looking bright and rosy. Of all the people there, she was the only one not visibly distressed. She hugged Grace. “Farewell, Lady. You’ll come back to us at Wolfestone, never fear. I know it here.” She touched her heart. She handed Grace a small silken bag. “Sleep on this, Lady, and it’ll sweeten your dreams.” It smelled of roses and herbs.

Grace kissed Granny on the cheek. “Look after him, Granny.”

“I will, lass. I will.”

Abdul handed her into the carriage, which was just as well, for she could hardly see for tears. “Could you tell Lord D’Acre good-bye for me, please?” she told him. “I couldn’t tell him last night.”

“Of course,
sitt
.” He added in Arabic, “God grant you a safe and pleasant journey.” He tucked a travel rug around her and safely stowed away the various bits and pieces she’d been given, leaving her only Billy Finn’s flowers, which she refused to give up. The whole time she stared out of the window, looking at the faces of the people who had become so dear to her in such a short time.

She glanced up to the windows above and saw Melly in her nightgown and shawl, watching miserably. Grace lifted her hand. Melly’s face crumpled and she pressed her palm to the glass.

A few windows across from her, Frey stood, dressed in a gorgeously embroidered dressing gown. He must have been awoken by the noise of the carriage. As their eyes met he lifted his hand in a solemn farewell and made the sign of the cross, a blessing for her journey. She thanked him silently, then with a jerk, the carriage moved off.

Her eyes clung to a third window, but it remained cold and blank and empty. There was no movement, no sign of a tall dark man with intense golden eyes.

She waved good-bye to the others blindly. Billy Finn ran after the traveling chaise for several hundred yards, but she lost sight of him as they turned the corner. She looked back, but Wolfestone and its people were nothing but a blur of tears.

Chapter Eighteen

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me:
And hast command of every part
To live and die for thee.

ROBERT HERRICK

 
 
THE CARRIAGE DROVE BETWEEN THE WOLF-MOUNTED STONE gateposts and her sobs grew louder. She wiped at her wet eyes and cheeks with her hands.

“Here, use this.” Dominic proffered a handkerchief from the dark corner of the coach.

She leapt about a foot in the air. “Where did you come from?”

He slid along the leather seat and, cupping her chin in one hand, proceeded to dry her face for her. “I was here the whole time. You were too busy looking out of the window to see me.” He smiled tenderly at her. “Your eyes are like drowning violets.”

“Last time they were dew-spangled bluebells,” she said tartly, snatching the handkerchief from him and moving to the opposite side of the carriage, out of his reach. “Why are you here?” She scrubbed at her face with his handkerchief.

“I’m coming with you.”

“But I’m leaving you.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m coming with you.” He took the handkerchief from her and proceeded to dry her eyes. “You don’t imagine I’d let you leave me without coming with you, do you? No, if you’re running away, we’ll run away together.”

She snatched the handkerchief back. “I can do it myself. And I’m not running away.”

“No? Looks like it to me.” He retrieved the handkerchief and said softly, “Stop fussing, love, and let me do this.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant—come with her or dry her cheeks. “But you can’t come with me when I’m leaving you.”

“You’re my dream, remember? I have no choice.”

Fresh tears flooded her eyes. He blotted them tenderly. She pushed his hands away saying, “But . . . what about Wolfestone? What about Melly? And Sir John?”

“What about them? If they want to come, they can get their own carriage. We only have room for us.”

“But today Frey will be calling the banns for the second time.”

He shrugged. “Frey must do what Frey must do.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What about Melly?”

He examined her cheeks and found another spot to dry. “I don’t think she’ll mind me taking a trip to London, do you?”

“I won’t be your mistress.”

He gave her a shocked look. “Perish the thought! I wouldn’t insult you so by asking—even though I believe it’s a very fine position, but only for some women. Not for you.”

She scooted across the seat and frowned at him suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

“I’m going to London to visit the queen.”

“Be serious!”

He smiled and said softly, “I’m escorting you to your family.” He sounded quite sincere.

“Truly?”

“Truly. It’s a long trip.”

She thought it over a moment. “You promise there will be no funny business?”

He heaved a mock sigh. “Spoilsport. All right, I promise.”

She tried not to smile. Then she thought of something. “If we travel together, and especially if we stay at the same inn, my reputation will be in shreds. I’ll be ruined.”

“Ruined?” He shook his head and said firmly. “I wouldn’t harm a hair of your head, let alone ruin you. I’ve thought it all out. We shall stop overnight at Cheltenham and stay with friends of mine there. Married friends.”

“But I’ll be alone in a closed carriage with you for nearly two days.”

“Nonsense. I’ve brought along another female to chaperone you. Not to mention a driver and two grooms.”

She looked around the carriage pointedly. “Well, where is this female then?”

He waved a hand, “She’s up the front, out there with the driver. She’ll only travel inside if it’s raining. Mostly she prefers enraging other dogs who we pass and having the wind in her face.”

“Other dogs—you don’t—you can’t mean
Sheba
?”

He grinned.

“You’re using your
dog
to chaperone me?”

He said indignantly, “She’s a very good chaperone. She’s never let a cat come near me!”

She stared at him, biting her lip, but she could not prevent a giggle escaping. He was outrageous.

He immediately pulled her into his lap. “Now just relax, my love. I’m not letting you go alone, so let us just enjoy the trip.”

Grace gave in. She lay against Dominic’s chest and wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t know what he was up to, coming with her like this. It didn’t make sense to her. But she’d been offered a short reprieve and she didn’t have the strength to send him away again. Not just yet.

 
“I HEREBY PUBLISH THE BANNS OF MARRIAGE BETWEEN DOMINIC
 
Edward Wolfe, Lord D’Acre, of Wolfestone Parish and Miss Melanie Louise Pettifer of the Parish of Theale in Reading. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the second time of asking.”

This time there was hardly a ripple in the congregation. The absence of Lord D’Acre and Miss Greystoke had been noted. Most people knew by now that they’d gone off in a carriage at dawn earlier in the week. No, that was old news.

But this congregation was just as thrilled as last week’s, possibly more so, for this Sunday the Turk had, in his master’s absence, escorted Miss Pettifer to church.

What’s more, he’d escorted her to the Wolfe family pew, bowed, then retreated to a nearby commoner’s pew and remained throughout the service, sitting between two Tickel girls.

It had been rare entertainment, the village agreed afterward, for the three Tickel girls had almost come to blows over who was to sit beside the big foreigner. Tansy had lost, and had flounced off and sat with her mother, pouting and glaring throughout the service.

He, amazingly, had not turned a hair—and they could tell, for today he wore no turban, but a colorful, foreign-looking hat, which he’d removed, very properly, before entering the church. His hair was very black and very thick and curled around his collar in a heathenish manner.

He’d stood for hymns and even sung, he’d knelt for prayers and as far as anyone could tell, he hadn’t put a foot wrong, except that he didn’t utter a word of the prayers, even though both Tickel girls were holding prayer books for him. And he hadn’t gone down to the rail for communion.

The congregation paid little attention to the sermon; it was busily speculating on whether the Turk was a heathen or some sort of odd foreign Christian, and whether they should welcome him or not. Since he was bigger than most of the men present, it was decided that he should be welcomed into their midst. After all, not many villages had a real live Turk to boast of.

They filed out of the church in the wake of the minister and altar boys, well pleased with the day’s offerings.

Grandad Tasker spoke for them all when he said as he shook his minister’s hand, “A grand service, Vicar. Not too long a sermon and plenty to look at!”

Outside, Abdul waited to escort Miss Pettifer to the carriage. “I’ll walk if you don’t mind,” Melly said. She was still a little nervous of the big man. Every time he looked at her she read disapproval in his eyes. “It’s such a lovely morning. Mr. Netterton will escort me.”

She looked at Frey, who nodded and said, “Yes, I’ll escort Miss Pettifer.”

Abdul bowed and strode away. As he reached the Tickel family, he paused and raised both elbows ever so slightly. There was a brief scuffle and he continued serenely on his way, a Tickel girl triumphantly hanging on each arm. Tilly hung back in the rear, looking sulky.

He turned and looked back at her. “Tilly,” he commanded in a deep voice. “There is enough of me for all of you.” Giggling, Tilly ran to catch up.

The villagers buzzed, delighted to be horrified at such openly scandalous behavior. But, well—you couldn’t blame ’em. What did Turks and Tickel girls know of respectable folks’ ways?

Melly stood next to the church door, waiting while Frey chatted to his parishioners. She didn’t mind waiting. It was pleasant in the morning sun, and besides, it was interesting hearing what people had to say.

A young woman walked up with a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. Melly had heard it crying in church. The young woman had left. She shifted the baby from one arm to the other. Melly stared, fascinated at the tiny curve of fuzz visible from the shawl.

She could not help herself. Without conscious thought she gravitated to the young mother. “May I see?”

Proudly the mother drew back the blanket to reveal a tiny infant, with button nose and the sweetest little red bow of a mouth.

“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Melly breathed. “What a dear little treasure. Oh, yes, you are,” she told the baby. “A precious treasure.”

The child stared solemnly at her with big blue eyes. One tiny hand waved aimlessly in the air and Melly caught the little fist, marveling over the perfect tiny fingernails.

“Would you like to hold ’im for a bit, miss?” the mother said. “I need to talk to Vicar a moment.”

“May I?” Melly was thrilled. Carefully she gathered the child in her arms, rocking him and murmuring gently so as not to startle him. Vaguely she heard the mother and Frey arranging for the child to be christened the following week, but all her attention was on the baby who lay so trustingly in her arms, staring up at her.

She planted a kiss on the fuzzy crown, on the silken cheek. She cradled him against her breast. The heavy, warm, weight of him felt so perfect, so right. She closed her eyes and breathed in the pure baby smell of him, crooning to him gently. She so ached for a baby of her own.

“I’ll take him now, thanks, m—” The woman broke off. “Are you all right, miss?”

“Yes,” Melly assured her, puzzled.

The young woman stared. “It’s just that you’re crying, miss.”

“Oh!” Hastily Melly wiped her cheeks. “Sorry. It—it’s nothing. The, um, the flowers in church sometimes have this effect on me.”

The woman gave her a long look. Melly avoided her eyes.

“You’ll have a bonny wee babe of your own, one day, miss, don’t worry,” she said softly and squeezed Melly’s arm.

Melly turned away. She didn’t want anyone to see how her eyes had flooded. She stood there, groping blindly in her reticule for her handkerchief.

“What did she say to you?” It was Frey’s voice, fierce, angry. He seized her by the shoulders and tried to turn her toward him.

“Nothing. She said nothing.” Melly tried to hide her face from him, knowing her eyes would be red, her face blotchy.

“I saw it, Melly,” he said sternly. “She made you cry!”

“No, no, she didn’t.” She tried to pull away.

He didn’t budge. “I’m not letting you go until you tell me why you’re in tears. She must have done
something
!”

“It was the
baby
! The baby made me cry!” she told him in despair.

“The
baby
?” He stared down at her. “Don’t you like babies?”

At that she looked up at him, and fresh tears filled her eyes and spilled down, and suddenly Frey saw it all: all the tender yearning, all the flat despair. “Come here,” he said and pulled her into his arms.

 
 
“WE’LL BE IN CHELTENHAM SOON,” DOMINIC MURMURED IN Grace’s ear. She stirred sleepily. Earlier, they’d been watching the moon rising through the chaise window and she’d fallen asleep, snuggled against him.

The journey had been swift and uneventful. Recent light showers had dampened down the clouds of dust that usually accompanied summer travel. They hadn’t been heavy enough to make the roads boggy with mud, so the roads were dry and hard and perfect for travel.