Thunder and Roses (49 page)

After swallowing a bite of currant bun, she said, “His lordship has put all the men to improving the shoring in the shafts that survived. They say he’s also ordering a new Watts steam pump and a winding engine, so that the men won’t have to ride up and down on that dreadful rope like a bunch of grapes.”

“T
hank
heaven!” Clare said fervently. “It sounds as if everything necessary will be done. With luck, the mine will never have such a disaster again.”

“Michael seems to be picking up where he left off four years ago,” Nicholas agreed. Looking at his hostess, he said, “Marged, if Owen is awake, might I talk to him?”

“I’ll go see.” She went to check on her husband, then returned and said, “He’s awake, and he’d like to see you.”

“I suppose it would be too much for him to see me as well,” Clare said. “Marged, will you join me in offering a prayer of t
hank
s?”

Marged cocked her head curiously. “I never thought you resembled your father, but for a moment, you looked just like him. T
hank
you for reminding me that it’s time for a prayer. I’ve been at sixes and sevens ever since they brought Owen home.”

As the two women knelt together, Nicholas went upstairs. Owen and Marged shared a tiny room at the front of the house, not much larger than the double bed that dominated the space. Owen was pale and his left leg was splinted, but his expression was peaceful. Wordlessly he raised his hand.

Nicholas clasped it hard and sank onto his knees by the bed. “T
hank
God you’re all right,” he said intensely. “It’s hard to believe that you survived such a blast, then three days of being trapped below ground.”

“I guess it wasn’t my time,” Owen said, his voice a little hoarse. “A miracle I wasn’t killed outright, and another miracle that

I was close enough to the
adit
to work my way out.”

“You deserve some of the credit as well,” Nicholas said. “Finding your way out of a maze of tunnels, in total darkness, with a broken leg, was an amazing feat.”

“I was highly motivated.”

Nicholas studied the other man’s face. “Why did you make me go first? You have a family and are needed far more than I am.”

Owen smiled faintly. “I knew that if I died, I’d go straight to heaven, but I had serious doubts about you.”

For a moment Nicholas wondered if the other man was joking. When he realized that Owen was perfectly serious, Nicholas began to laugh helplessly, resting his head against the oak frame of the bed. Yet even in the midst of his laughter, he knew that he had seen an awesome demonstration of faith, one that would affect him profoundly for the rest of his life. Unable to speak of that, he said only, “You were absolutely right. If heaven and hell exist, I’d now be frying like an egg.”

“Very likely.” There was a hint of twinkle in Owen’s eyes. “Now you’ll have more time to change your ways. Not that you’re truly wicked, but I doubt you’ve ever given serious thought to the state of your soul.”

“Right again. Clare will undoubtedly have a positive effect in that area.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “We’re to be married in a week. You’re the first to know.”

“Fancy that, our Clare a countess,” Owen said with pleasure. “You couldn’t make a better choice—you need a woman with her feet firmly planted on the ground.”

Seeing that the other man was tiring, Nicholas stood. “If you’re on your feet by then, perhaps you’ll be able to give Clare away. I think she’d like that.”

“On crutches?” Owen said doubtfully.

“We’d be happy to have you there in a bath chair.” Feeling as if a boulder had dropped from his heart, Nicholas went downstairs again. More people were arriving, so he and Clare bid Marged farewell and left to make room for other well-wishers.

As they returned to Aberdare, Clare said, “If you had known that Owen was alive, last night wouldn’t have happened, and today you wouldn’t be facing a life sentence of marriage.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps it was meant to be. It’s done, so there’s no point in brooding.” His mouth quirked up. “As you may have guessed, there’s a broad streak of fatalism in the Rom.”

“As long as you are … content.”

He gave her a quick glance, wondering if she regretted the prospect of marrying him, but her expression was serene. “Apparently Michael took what I said in London seriously. Now that he has seen the situation for himself and taken steps to rectify it, there is no need to break the lease.”

“I must admit I’m impressed. Apparently when he retrieved his temper, he turned into a reasonable man,” Clare said. “Now you’ll have more time for the slate quarry.”

“Would you like to spend your honeymoon riding to the
Penrhyn
quarries? Just the two of us, mountains, daffodils, romantic nights beneath the stars …”

Her brows rose. “And when it rains?”

“Cozy but less romantic nights in
travelers
‘ huts in the mountains.”

“Sounds lovely.” She gave him a smile that made him want to tether the horses and drag her off into the bushes.

After mature consideration, he did exactly that.

 
The next week was a whirl of activity. The wedding didn’t require much planning, for they had decided on a small ceremony at Aberdare. However, there was much to be done in the village among the families of men who had died in the mine. Clare went to a dozen funerals, held weeping women in her arms, and helped widows plan for the future. As word of her engagement spread, there were some who regarded her with disapproval or resentment, but her marriage was minor news compared to the explosion. She thought it ironic that the village’s concern over the disaster made her own situation easier.

More troubling was Nicholas’s attitude. He was charming and considerate, and clearly he delighted in her body. Yet she felt that in most ways they were less intimate as lovers than they had been as adversaries. It was as if he was compensating for their increased physical closeness by stepping back emotionally. Though his withdrawal did not shake her belief that it was right to marry, it grieved her greatly. She could only hope that the
dailiness
of marriage would dissolve his reserve.

On the fifth day after her engagement, she returned to Aberdare in late afternoon and was met by Williams. “The Earl of Strathmore is in the drawing room. He arrived two hours ago.”

“Oh, dear,” Clare said ruefully as she removed her bonnet. “And Nicholas hasn’t returned from Swansea yet?”

“No, miss.”

She entered the drawing room and found the earl comfortably ensconced with a book and a tea tray. “Lucien, what a surprise. Nicholas didn’t tell me that he was expecting you.”

Lucien rose and took her hands, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. “He wasn’t—I decided to deliver the special license in person. He should have known that I wouldn’t want to miss his wedding. Every groom needs a friend by his side. To his regret, Rafe can’t come. Tied up in the Lords—some bill that he’s been working on is coming up for a vote. He did, however, order me to kiss the bride on his behalf.” He brushed her other cheek with his lips.

“I’m not quite a bride yet.”

“Then I’ll have to kiss you again on your wedding day,” he said placidly. “Twice, unless Nicholas objects.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.”

“It’s what an uninvited guest deserves.”

“Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?” she suggested. “It’s a perfect May day.”

“If I recall Wales correctly, we’d better get outside quickly, or it might be raining when we get there.”

She made a face. “Sad but true.”

The sunshine was still there when they emerged onto the
flagainstone
patio. A peacock strutted up and fanned his tail, the sun shimmering magically on the blue-green patterns of the feathers. “Handsome creatures,” Lucien remarked, “but staggeringly stupid. A clear example of the curse of beauty.”

Clare laughed. “You and your other Fallen Angel friends are beautiful, and none of you seem stupid.”

He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow, amusement gleaming in his green-gold eyes. “True, but we didn’t become friends because of appearances.”

“Is there any particular reason why you banded together and have stayed friends for so long? Beyond the obvious fact of enjoying each other’s company, I mean.”

“Most groups of boys consist of a leader and a number of followers,” he said reflectively. “Perhaps we became friends because none of us enjoyed being led.”

“I would have supposed that you were all natural leaders. Each of you could have ruled a circle of adoring sycophants.”

“But we didn’t choose to. Rafe despises toadeaters, and as the heir to a dukedom, he attracted them like a horse attracts flies. You know Nicholas—trying to get him to do something he doesn’t want is like trying to order the wind, yet he has no desire for power over others. Too much the Gypsy, perhaps. Michael, I think, preferred to test himself against his equals rather than settle for the easy domination of weaker characters.”

“And what about you?” she asked, intrigued by his analysis.

“Me? Like Nicholas, I dislike taking orders, but I don’t particularly enjoy the visibility that goes with leadership.”

“Born to be a spymaster, in fact.”

“Afraid so.” He looked doubtfully at the peacock, which was strutting before an unimpressed peahen. “Do lower your voice. Those peafowl might be French agents.”

She laughed as they went down the steps to the gravel path. “Nicholas may be hard to order, but his sense of responsibility can lead him to do things that he might prefer to avoid.”

Lucien gave her a shrewd glance. “Are you concerned that he is marrying you from a sense of responsibility?”

“A little.” Unable to resist this chance to discuss her concerns, she said carefully, “When he and I struck our original bargain, I was a stranger and it was easy for him to threaten to ruin me. But as he came to know me as an individual, I think he started to feel guilty, and his proposal was the result. Previously he had been quite adamant about not wanting a wife. I hope that he doesn’t come to regret our marriage.”

“While he takes responsibility seriously, it wouldn’t get him to the altar if he didn’t want to go,” Lucien replied. “I don’t believe I have ever known Nicholas to do something that he truly did not wish to do. As the old earl learned to his cost. That’s why they were usually at loggerheads.”

The gardens were improving rapidly now that the old gardener had three husky young assistants. Risking the gardener’s ire, Clare stooped to pick a scarlet tulip. “What was Nicholas’s grandfather like? I was never in a position to know him.”

“A difficult man. His attitude to Nicholas was very complex, but warmth was never part of it. They would have gotten on better if Nicholas had groveled. Instead, though Nicholas was always courteous, he had a way of being … not quite there.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, thinking how he had been for the last few days. “It’s rather maddening.”

“Certainly it maddened his grandfather.”

Their wanderings had brought them to the rockery. As they followed the twisting path, a peahen began to shriek from her perch in a nearby tree. Clare regarded the bird with disfavor. “At least the males are decorative, but the way the females screech tempts me to experiment with peahen fricassee. To the extent that I ever thought of it, I assumed that peafowl were elegant and aristocratic, but it turns out they’re only noisy, glorified pheasants. It’s been a sad disillusionment.”

“So much for the glamor of the nobility.” Lucien’s mouth quirked up. “For some reason, talk of peacocks reminds me of Nicholas’s first wife.”