The Ugly Duckling Debutante_FINAL-3 (29 page)

“What’s so funny?” Sara asked as she began rubbing oil down her arms.

He choked on his words. “Absolutely nothing.”

The bath did look quite enticing. Before she had time to object, he had pulled off his clothes and splashed into the tub across from her. His smile turned seductive as he took the oil from her hands began slowly rubbing down her arms. He felt insanity creeping on as he realized that it might be a great while before she trusted him full with her body again. Gently he leaned down to kiss her lips. A lot still needed to be said.

He tried not to tense up, and why should he? His beautiful, forgiving wife was sitting in his lap kissing him. He reluctantly pushed her back and sighed. “Sara, we need to talk.”

“I hate it when you start sentences like that,” she muttered scooting back into the tub. His face held an amused expression as he waited for her to stop scowling.

“I know we said we’d start over, but I can’t live with myself knowing that you’re always going to wonder why I said and did the things I did. I don’t want you to think for one second that the only reason I confessed my love was because I thought you were dying, or because I found out you were pregnant.”

Sara broke eye contact, assuring Nicholas even more that he needed to have this conversation with her. “Sara, look at me.”

She did.

“I am an idiot—all men are, but I think my name still sits on the top of the list.”

She giggled and bit her lip, for once not arguing with his solid reasoning.

“I said those things because I was hurt that you would lie to me. I assumed the worst because, quite honestly, I’ve never let anyone except Lisa in. I was scared, and even more so, I was vulnerable and didn’t like being put in that position. I was already on my way to loving you and when I found all that out, I was terrified that you were like every other girl. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt, but my own stupidity and pride kept me from seeing you for who you really are.”

He scooted forward and scooped her up into his arms.

“And who am I?” she asked quietly, still looking away.

“You’re caring, forgiving, wonderful, and beautiful; you are quite honestly the most amazing person I have ever met. Looking at you now, I can’t believe how blind I was. I was so worried about myself, still allowing the past to dictate my choices for the future, telling myself I shouldn’t be happy and that you couldn’t have a place in my already broken heart.” His voice felt hoarse and thick. “When I went to Scotland my only desire was to run away and lick my wounds. I felt like you deserved to be rejected and hurt for being dishonest. I had no idea about your past, nor did I care to even listen. I was too worried about myself.” He suddenly felt even worse than before. Only the scum of the earth had such selfish tendencies. “What kind of father am I? I even left Duncan in London!” He rubbed his eyes with his hands, willing the moisture to stay within his eyes.

“Nicholas,” Sara said gently. “Nicholas look at me.”

He composed himself and looked into her piercing gaze. “The way I’m looking at you is the way that your son looks at you. You’re a fantastic father, a great husband, and this look I’m giving you is a look of love, forgiveness, honesty, and strength. We weren’t made to live alone or without wounds. We were never promised we wouldn’t go through storms in life; the only promise was that after the storm there would be a rainbow. Do you believe that? Because I do. You’re my rainbow, and I’d like to think Duncan and I, as well as this little one—” She pointed to her flat stomach. “—are
your
rainbows, too.” She reached out and cupped his face. “You were forgiven before you even asked.”

It was then Nicholas Renwick’s heart began to heal again. The minute his wife offered him the forgiveness and love he so desperately sought after all his life. The love he didn’t do anything to deserve but was given to him despite his many shortcomings.

He whispered the words against her cheek. “I love you.”

She laughed softly as she guided his hand to her stomach. “I know.”

Epilogue

Five years later

“Samuel!” Nicholas bellowed through the hall. “Samuel, get down here this instant!” His aggressive five-year-old proceeded to run down the stairs at lightning speed, missing the last one with all the grace that a young child could posses and promptly fell on his bottom.

Mischievous blue eyes looked up at Nicholas, melting his heart instantly. What had he been so upset about again? Oh right, Samuel had single-handedly cut all the hair off his sisters’ dolls and then fed it to the chickens.

Nicholas’s temper returned. The poor girls were only two and a half, and they cried for hours!

“Samuel, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Samuel bit his lip perplexed at such a question or so it seemed. “They had ugly hair,” he stated dryly. Leave it to Sara to give birth to a son that had more wit and dry sarcasm than the two of them combined. Nicholas pinched his nose and rolled his eyes. “Son, listen to me.”

Samuel nodded his head and crossed his arms, in the exact same fashion Nicholas habitually did when he was concentrating. “One day you’re going to want girls to like you and girls like to be treated like princesses. If you treat your sisters cruelly, then you won’t learn how to treat girls nicely. Then no one will want to marry you. You don’t want that, do you?”

Samuel grinned. “Dad, did you have that problem?”

“Samuel, I—“

“Because Mum said that lots of girls liked you even though you—“

“Enough.” Nicholas didn’t even want to know what Samuel had to say next. “Go find your sisters and apologize.”

Samuel nodded his head and trotted back up the stairs, rather cheerfully to Nicholas’s mind. It was as if he was staring at himself as a young boy. When Samuel reached the age to court, he was locking him in the upstairs attic. He had too much charm to do him any good at that age, especially with women.

He walked over to his study and smiled. Sara had redecorated it when she was pregnant with the twins. Her nervous energy came in swift bounds during those months, making it nearly impossible for even Nicholas to sit still around her.

“What are you smiling about?” Sara’s voice whispered behind his ear.

He jumped slightly then turned and pulled her into his arms. “Oh just about you, and the girls, and Samuel’s upstairs apologizing, by the way.”

“I still can’t believe he fed the doll hair to the chickens. You do know that the gardener is still pulling it out of the coop, right?”

Nicholas tried not to laugh. “Yes, and on behalf of men everywhere, I apologize. I don’t know what gets into him.”

“Oh I do!” She said without taking time to think. “He’s his father’s son, that’s what, plus Duncan isn’t the best influence when it comes to pranks. Did you know that just last week he brought a frog to church?” Sara’s eyes closed in absolute horror. “It was awful, especially when he handed it to Mother and asked her to hold it during the sermon.”

Nicholas laughed. Lady Fenton was the picture of elegance and grace, to envision her holding her grandson’s frog was the most amusing thing he had heard in ages. “What did she do?”

“What could she do?” Sara exclaimed. “You weren’t there to rescue her since you were gone on business all week, and I was still feeling ill! The poor dear sat there for an hour, Nicholas; an entire hour with the slimy thing in her lap. Oddly enough, it didn’t move.“

“Probably fell asleep,” he muttered under his breath.

Sara swatted him. “Be nice!”

“That
was
me being nice,” he grumbled. “That old vicar needs to be replaced and you know it.”

Sara huffed. “Well, yes, but I don’t see any volunteers, plus we’ll be leaving for London soon. We won’t have time to aid in the search.”

He nodded, then a thought popped into his head. “How about we stay for a while?”

Sara looked at him through thick lashes. “Whatever for?”

“Well, wildflowers for one thing,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Hmm I guess.” She wiggled against him.

“And I did promise you ducks,” he whispered huskily into her ear.

She pushed him away. “That was so long ago, how do you remember?”

“I remember everything about you, my little duckling.” He kissed her nose. “My beautiful, beautiful, perfect little duckling.”

She answered him by kissing him on the mouth. He looked down and caressed her swollen belly. “It’s a boy you know.”

“Well you have been right about every other one.”

He smiled. “I know, so what do you say?”

She winked at him then turned away. “I say we stay for the ducks.”

“Perfect,” he whispered as he watched his wife saunter outside.

He was left alone in his study to contemplate how utterly blessed he had been when a dark figure approached the door.

“Yes what is it?” he asked. A small maid had entered the room. Her face was red and splotchy, her hair a mess.

“You have someone wanting to see you, my lord.”

“Who?” He asked looking back at his desk.

“Well my lord, it’s, it’s…” The color on her face seemed to heighten with each word.

“Oh, I’ll introduce myself, thank you….” A deep voice came from the hall.

It couldn’t be.

Impossible. He had been in France for two years.

Before his thoughts could get any further he looked up at the doorway.

“Sebastian St. James, Duke of Tempest, at your service.” His old friend gave a low bow before continuing with, “I need your help.”

To be continued…

Also by Rachel Van Dyken

Oh no. This is not happening,
not
happening
!

I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a nervous habit. Sweaty hands aren’t attractive, or so Brad Macintosh said when he held them during couple’s skate my seventh grade year.

It’s my first choir solo ever. Why couldn’t it be our fall concert instead of our Spring Spectacular? I feel ridiculous standing in front of the entire school with my mouth gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the fact that my mother, who is standing up in the front of the audience waving with video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt. Thus the outfit is now screaming “uncool” on my lanky body.

Never am I this mean. But when I get nervous, I tend to snap at people. All week I’ve been at odds with my mom for taking pictures of me. She was literally documenting every day of my life up until the big solo or as she puts it, “my discovery!” Leave it to my mom to turn a junior high solo into the performance of a lifetime, which will not only get her daughter discovered, but will make her a best selling artist all before her eighteenth birthday. Somehow I don’t think MTV is going to be knocking on our door anytime soon for the professional footage my mom shot in order to do a “diary” on my life before I was famous.

Nervous and sweating, I begin my solo, praying I remember the words. When I finish, I felt like I’d run the fifty-yard dash the way my heart is hammering, but then I realize everyone is clapping. They’re all clapping for me. I did well!