When It's Perfect (36 page)

Mimi, too, had changed. She’d grown large with her first child, due in eight weeks. She and her husband adored each other as well, though they bickered frequently. It wasn’t a nasty bickering, she decided, but more of an extension of their loving, intimate relationship. It was simply their way as a couple, and they had grown so close, especially with the baby on the way. Even as Mary watched her sister move uncomfortably in the summer heat, she felt a stab of jealousy for an experience she would never have.

She and Marcus hadn’t bickered. They’d had so much in common being unusual individuals of society, as it were. They were two reserved people who had fulfilling work, complex thoughts, and unmatched independence, and who, for a few short weeks, had found each other.

Their love story had been based on intellect, admiration, and true friendship, but it had also been one of intensity and heat and courageous love. And that, Mary mused, would be the hardest thing of all—giving up her friend and sizzling lover in Marcus Longfellow.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Mary blinked, realizing she’d been staring blankly at the fountain and hadn’t heard a word of her sister’s tirade about the annoyances of pregnancy. At least, that’s what she thought they’d been discussing.

She patted Mimi’s knee. “I’m sorry. My mind was drifting.”

Her sister smiled, her clear brown eyes acknowledging a certain appreciation for the power of reflection.

“You can’t hide here forever, Mary,” she said soberly. “You need either to face him, or move on.”

Mary sucked in a long breath of hot summer air and sat straighter,

looking not at her sister, but the rose trellis beyond.

“I won’t be seeing him again,” she said with conviction, wishing she could doubt that. “And I’m considering some work in Bedford for Lady Larson-Cower. She’ll be remarrying next spring.”

Mimi nodded, giving way to another moment of silence. Mary wanted the work, but it no longer held her full attention.

“But what of him?”

Mary glanced at her sister. “Him?”

“Your earl.”

Her heart raced with the thought of her and Marcus together again.

“He doesn’t belong to me,” she corrected, though at that moment she wondered where he was, what he was doing, if he’d ever learned the truth behind his sister’s demise, as he’d so hoped. She sighed and leaned back on her hands. “He’s also, I’m quite sure, forgotten me.”

Mimi jerked back in surprise. “I’m sure he has not.”

She smiled at such naiveté. “Thank you for the confidence in my feminine charms, but he’s got land to run, work in Egypt, of all places, and I—” she hesitated, then dropped her voice to murmur, “I was not for him.”

For a long moment Mimi watched her; Mary could feel her gaze on the side of her face. Then her sister reached out and draped an arm across her shoulders, hugging her.

“Have you told me everything?” she asked softly.

Mary’s stomach tightened a little, but she tried to ignore the sensation. “Mostly everything,” she replied.

Mimi grinned. “I hope the details you left out of the adventure were merely indescribable.”

She tapped her fingertips on the cool marble beneath them.

“Completely indescribable.”

Mimi laughed at that.

She thought for a moment, then added sedately, “He did help me work through some difficult thoughts about you and Nathan, though.

Marcus is a good listener, and he often gives such profound advice.”

“Good gracious, Mary,
profound
advice? You exaggerate like a woman in love.”

She smiled. “It’s all talk.”

Mimi huffed. “I doubt that.”

Seconds of silence passed between them. Then Mary glanced at her sister, taking note of her pink cheeks, the beading of perspiration on her

forehead.

“Would you like to go inside? You look uncomfortable in the heat.”

Mimi shifted her weight on the bench, arching her back so that her belly stuck out to her knees. “No,” she replied, grimacing. “I’m uncomfortable everywhere. I cannot
wait
to get this child out of my body.”

“You’re having a girl,” Mary said as if she actually knew.

Mimi grinned sheepishly. “I think so, too. Poor Nathan.”

Mary laughed, then leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs as she looked to her hands. “How is he, Mimi?”

“Who? Nathan?”

Mary nodded. “After everything that happened to him.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Mimi asked, frowning.

“It’ll always bother me,” she murmured, rubbing her thumbs together purposely.

After a long moment’s hesitation, Mimi said, “You know, Nathan’s never discussed his anger, because I’m sure he doesn’t want to hurt me by reliving the pain our family caused him. But please understand, Mary, that he’s gotten over much of his bitterness. I think—I think forgiveness is a relative thing as well. In Nathan’s mind he’s been able to rationalize that the wrong our family caused him in ‘fifty-one, while initially hurting him deeply, ultimately gave him his wife and child five years later, and a reputation in his field of work that’s even greater than it was before.” She reached over and squeezed her hand. “It
is
over, and if there are any lingering doubts in your mind, they’ll fade eventually.

Nathan is happy now, Mary, and that’s what’s important. Try and remember that.”

Mary gazed at her sister, feeling a depth of appreciation unfelt before today, mixed heavily with her own longtime sorrow. It was an odd combination of thoughts that stirred her mind deeply, and yet she believed in Mimi’s love and gratitude, especially when coupled with Marcus’s bold pronouncement that her future would work out as it should. She needed to trust that, as she always had trusted him.

“And you?” she asked softly.

Mimi grinned slyly again. “I couldn’t be more pleased with how my life has turned out. You know that.” She stretched again. “Of course I’ll probably be cursing all of you when I give birth to this fifty-pound wonder.”

Mary laughed with an ease in the tension, and patted her sister’s bulging belly. “Fifty?”

“It feels like it, anyway. Look at my feet.”

She glanced down. “Swollen again.”

“And it’s not even noon.” Mimi sighed and awkwardly raised her body. “I think I’ll go inside where it’s cooler and put them up.”

Mary stood as well. “I’ll join you. I need to be getting home soon anyway.”

Mimi placed a palm on her shoulder. “Stay here. There’s something I have to show you first. A surprise.”

She clasped her hands behind her, her forehead creasing in frown. “A surprise? In the garden?”

Her sister lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s the perfect place for this surprise, I think.” She lifted her skirts. “I’ll only be a moment.”

With that, she turned and walked with as much grace as possible out of the fountain alcove.

« ^ »

M
ary sat again on the marble bench, arranging her yellow chiffon skirts around her legs and ankles. The day had grown quickly hot and humid, and her gown clung to her body most uncomfortably. Whatever the surprise, she hoped Mimi would bring it quickly and allow her to retire indoors. Maybe it was a new fan. One could only hope.

“Hello, Mary.”

She’d never jumped so quickly in her life. At once she was standing, her back to the fountain, her hand at her chest in defense of her racing heart, staring at the spectacular figure of Marcus Longfellow standing five feet from her in a morning suit of slate gray.

She gaped at him. Stunned. “Wha—what are you…”

He raised his brows. “Doing here?”

She clamped down on her mouth. “You’re doing that again.”

He nodded, stepping closer. “Finishing your sentences for you?”

“It’s a bad habit, Marcus,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back.

He eyed her thoughtfully as he moved up to stand beside her, gazing down to her face. “I have many bad habits, Mary. It should give you great pleasure to discover them one by one and scold me for them.

Actually, I think I’d enjoy that. Life with you should never be boring.”

She shook herself, closing her eyes briefly and then opening them again in the fear that she was dreaming.

I could never dream this perfectly
…

She started shaking as he reached out and ran the back of his finger down her cheek, but she never looked away from his brilliant blue eyes, so close she believed she could feel their heat.

“You never told me how you got your scar,” she said breathlessly, avoiding conflict at all costs until she got her bearings.

His lips turned up crookedly. “Didn’t I?”

She waited, and when he added nothing more, she sighed loudly for his benefit. “No.”

He nodded, taking a finger and skimming it across her jaw, toward her mouth.

“I usually tell people it’s a battle wound.”

She laughed outright. “A battle wound?”

He smirked. “Actually, when I was about ten, George and I were playing some sort of game with tree branches. He swung at me and I forgot to jump. They stitched it, of course, but not well.”

Her smile faded as he reached her lips with his finger, he let the tip linger on the cushioned softness, stroking it back and forth until her legs felt like jelly and she started breathing fast.

“Marcus…”

His features grew serious, his gaze probing. “I could never leave England without you,” he maintained huskily. “You are meant to be with me.”

Tears stung her eyes and she lowered her lashes. He placed his palm under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. But he didn’t kiss her.

Instead, he simply stared.

“What are you doing?” she asked in whisper, seconds later, eyes still closed.

She heard him inhale a long, raw breath.

“I’m staring at beauty,” he whispered, “thinking how much I missed it, knowing that if I never see another lovely thing in my life, I can go to

my grave with the memory of you, right now, dressed in yellow to match the sunshine.”

His lips touched hers gently, coaxing them to respond. He tasted heavenly, warm. She could never leave this again. For anything.

“Marcus,” she whispered against his mouth, “I love you. I love you…”

He groaned very softly, drawing her against him, wrapping his arms around her waist. He made her feel as if she were the most prized of wines, the most delicate of all porcelain. In seconds she placed her hands on his neck and pulled him closer.

God, how she’d missed him!

“Sit with me,” he urged after a second or two of tiny kisses to her lips and cheeks, her neck.

She followed his lead as he lowered her down to the bench, still clinging to him, still feeling him. He cupped her face in his palms, tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs, brushing his lips back and forth across hers. She threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling his hot breath against her cheek and jaw.

“There are so many things I have to tell you,” he murmured, “so much has happened.”

She nodded minutely and pulled back a little. He rubbed his nose on hers, then touched her forehead with his own.

“I’m going back to Egypt next week.”

Her racing heart began to pound. “I knew you would.”

“And you’re coming with me.”

She didn’t even argue. “All right.”

He chuckled, gave her a kiss on the bridge of the nose. “You’re very easy, Miss Marsh.”

She sighed against him, her eyes still closed, never wanting this dream to end. “You’re very persuasive, Lord Renn.”

He pulled back a little, gazing into her face. After several seconds of silence, he reached for her hands, covering them with his, so warm and strong.

She opened her eyes at last, focusing on his marvelous face, his penetrating eyes, noting how serious he was, how he studied her.

“What is it?” she asked, sitting a little straighter and caressing his cheek with her palm.

He pressed his lips together, then replied, “I’m resigning my title.”

Of all the things he could have said, she had never expected to hear something so astonishing—and yet so right, for Marcus. She noticed the

concern in his voice, in his hardened, determined features.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, lowering her hand to clutch his tightly again.

He thought about that for a long moment, as if he wanted to gather a reasonable explanation. In the end, he simply said, “Yes.”

Mary understood him, more than anyone, likely. Marcus Longfellow was his own man, his own person, with hopes and a work ethic unlike most. He was born to discover, roam, live life as a challenge, not as a controller. The title of earl suited George, a man who lived by convention, expected nothing more, wanted nothing less. Marcus no doubt knew this, had probably known about it for years, which he’d taken for granted on his long trips abroad. But it also could have something to do—

“This is not about you, Mary,” he cut in, reading her mind accurately and observing her reaction.

She smiled slyly. “Now you’re finishing my thoughts, too?”

He raised one of her hands and kissed the inside of her wrist, letting his mouth linger on the soft skin. “I knew what you’d think, yes. I knew you’d worry if I didn’t set this straight in the beginning. I would have married you if I were king.”

She felt her nose start to tickle, her lips tremble, and she forced a swallow. “I never thought I’d get married.”

“Well,” he admitted, voice firm and controlled, “I didn’t know whether you’d challenge me or not, so I took the liberty of getting approval from your father last night.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You asked my father for my hand?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

“That makes me mad. You saw him last night and nobody told me?”

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing her fingers with his thumb. “I wanted to surprise you.”

And a more magnificent surprise she would never get. A life, a love, in Marcus Longfellow. “You’re forgiven,” she said matter-of-factly.

He reached into his coat pocket. “I have a ring somewhere…”

She started crying, trembling even in the heat, tears filling her eyes.

In a swift moment of utter sublimity, he pulled out a single gold band topped with three rows of perfectly cut rubies, holding it out for her inspection.