Lewiston shook his head. “No. It’s too late.” He turned and stared downward. “He wouldn’t listen to me. Told me you
earned
the right to be marquess. And these other voices in my head say that’s wrong. Very wrong. I know that—”
“Lewiston, come away from the edge,” Lachlan begged. “Tell me where Charity is. Tell me you haven’t hurt her. It doesn’t have to be any worse than it already is.”
“She wouldn’t listen to me either.”
Sudden fear gripped Lachlan. Had his brother already thrown Charity to her death? He struggled to remain in control and took another step.
Lewiston held up a warning hand. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll jump . . . and then you’ll never find her.”
Relief flooded Lachlan, hope that she was still alive. His brother wouldn’t be promising to show him her body, would he?
Sebastian appeared from the trees farther down the bluff, about thirty yards behind Lewiston. Lachlan kept talking, not wanting his brother to notice. The sound of rushing water below would help cover his friend’s approach. “It isn’t Charity with whom you’re angry. It’s me. Tell me where she is, and then you and I can work through the rest. We’re brothers.”
Sebastian moved closer and mouthed, “We’ve got her.” Relief filled Lachlan.
Unfortunately, Lewiston saw his expression change. Following Lachlan’s eyes, he turned, saw Sebastian, and sighed. “That’s it, then.” He glanced behind him and took the last step toward the edge. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is for the best.” He vanished over the edge.
“No!” Lachlan ran toward the cliff.
Sebastian reached the spot first, grabbed his cousin and stopped him from looking over the edge. “Don’t,” he said quietly. Lachlan stared into his eyes, fighting tears. “Mercy took Charity to the keep. Go there. You don’t need to see this. Think about the living.”
Lachlan slowly nodded. He spared one last glance at the place he’d last seen Lewiston, and then he turned and ran back to Apollo, leapt into the saddle, and spurred on the horse back up the path.
He clattered across the drawbridge without slowing down and pulled up before the main doors, gravel spraying from the stallion’s hooves as he skidded to a halt. His heart in his throat, he walked inside and through the foyer to the great room. Charity was kneeling next to the sofa where her sister reclined, the two hugging and crying with relief.
When she saw Amity’s eyes flick toward the doorway, Charity looked over her shoulder to see Lachlan standing there, an expression of stark pain on his handsome face. Without a word she stood and walked to where he was standing. “I love you,” she whispered. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “Your child and I are safe.”
Lachlan fell to his knees, closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her abdomen. Tears streaking her cheeks, Charity stroked his hair and whispered soothing words of love and solace.
Epilogue
Spring, 1817
The
day, nearly everyone agreed, couldn’t have been more perfect for a celebration. The Marquess and Marchioness of Asheburton emerged from the tiny church. A moment later, Dr. and Mrs. Matthew Meadows appeared as well, and stepped up beside the first couple, followed by Father Bartholomew and all the members of their extended family. There were riotous cheers from the entire village. Their faces glowing, the twins clasped hands.
“We did it, Amity!” whispered Charity. “We finally had the double wedding we’ve always dreamed about.” Amity squeezed her sister’s hand in reply, mute with happiness.
After months of continued admonishment from the aging clergyman, Lachlan had finally grudgingly agreed that it was only right that they retake their vows in his church. Charity, who had been secretly conspiring with Father Bart to bring about the event, had instantly decided it could only be held on their twin daughter and son’s first birthday, and that Amity and Matthew would have to come make it a double ceremony. Before Lachlan could blink, he found himself neck deep in plans—and Ackerlys.
“I’m not quite sure how this became such a circus,” he said to the babies, who were supposed to be napping in the nursery. He had taken to slipping into the room just after the nanny put them down in the afternoon. It was the only
room in the house where he could be assured a brief modicum of peace. “I thought it would be a simple matter of standing in church with my family and agreeing to spend the rest of my life with your mother, with whom I have already agreed to spend the rest of my life.”
Charlotte giggled and pulled her blanket over her dark, curly head, but Charles stared up at his father soberly, as if agreeing and empathizing with his plight. He sat up and gave his sister a reproachful look.
“Best just go along with it, my lord,” advised Tommy, who could typically be found near the twins. He’d appointed himself their protector not long after they arrived, and took his job very seriously. Lachlan hid a smile but had to agree with the young man’s logic. Having one Ackerly in his household was disruptive enough. There was no fighting the lot of them.
He stood, kissed each twin on the forehead and ruffled Tommy’s hair. “I’ll go downstairs and see if I can sneak into my study to get some work done. This will all be over in just five more days, right?” The boy nodded agreeably and then opened the book he’d chosen and began reading the babies to sleep.
Miraculously, Lachlan made it to his study without incident. He breathed a sigh of relief, closed the door and then turned toward his desk, intending to catch up on some dreadfully neglected paperwork.
Charity was seated there, a determined look on her face. “We need to talk about your mother.”
So much for working. Lachlan raised his brows. “What about her?”
“I would like you to ask her if she’ll stand as witness with us when we speak our vows.”
He scowled. Despite the close relationship his wife had developed with his mother, Lachlan had found it difficult to rebuild the emotional bridge Lady Eloise had spent his entire twenty-three years demolishing. Charity brought the subject up from time to time during the year and half or so they’d been married, but she hadn’t forced the issue. Now, it seemed, she had decided it was time.
“Why don’t
you
ask her?” he suggested.
Her eyes softened. “Because it would mean a great deal to her if you did it, darling.” She watched his expression harden. “It would mean a great deal to me, as well.”
When her husband didn’t respond, she continued. “She’s your mother. That will never change. Give her a chance, please. If you don’t and lose the opportunity, I think you’ll regret it.”
“She should come to me,” he grunted.
Charity stood and walked around the desk to lay a hand on his arm. “I know. But she’s afraid. She thinks you’ll reject her.”
With good reason
, he thought. But he stared down into his tiny wife’s earnest aquamarine eyes and felt himself softening. He sighed, lifted one of her hands, and began inspecting her fingers.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a musical little laugh.
“They
look
like ordinary fingers.” He kissed the tip of each and then pulled her into his arms for a kiss. She melted against him, and turned her face up to his. “But they can’t possibly be the same sort the rest of us have,” he said.
“No?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head and whispered against her lips, “Because I continue to find myself hopelessly wrapped
around them.” Then he kissed her until they both forgot, for a time, about his mother, about the ceremony, and even about the house full of visiting family.
Later that day, Lachlan
did
go talk to his mother, who joyfully agreed, with tears in her eyes, to stand with him as he renewed his vows. And five days later he found himself sandwiched between his wife and his mother, while Matthew Meadows stood between his wife and her father facing Father Bartholomew, who could scarcely manage to conduct the ceremony past the enormous smile on his thin face.
The celebration that followed took place on the grounds flanking Asheburton Keep, and everyone in the local environs was invited. Villagers trooped up the hill, following the coaches bearing their lord and his family, for a day filled with fun and games. The focus shifted quickly from the couples to the children, for this portion of the event was technically being given to celebrate the first anniversary of Charles and Charlotte’s birth.
There was more food than anyone could possibly consume, and there were clowns and minstrels and gypsy fortune-tellers to entertain the guests. Music and laughter rang through the air as the lines between aristocrat and commoner blurred for one beautiful day.
Mercy was in heaven. She trailed after the Duke of Blackthorne, chattering like a magpie. “Perhaps we should have our fortunes told, your grace,” she said with an impish smile. “You know, of course, that I am quite seventeen now. Not a little girl at all.” She gave him a hopeful look.
Sebastian looked dazed. He stared over her head at the spot he’d last seen his cousin. He’d been in Scotland for only two days but was exhausted from trying to keep himself from ending up in a compromising situation with Mercy.
Not, he was sure, that she had any intention of forcing his hand in that manner. Quite the opposite. It simply didn’t occur to her that they weren’t already betrothed, and he had not yet been able to bring himself to kill the adoration he saw in her pansy blue eyes.
“Perhaps another time,” he murmured, and stepped neatly around the table. Mercy followed. “But don’t let me stop you from having
your
fortune read,” he said hastily. Suddenly struck by an idea, he pulled a couple of coins from his pocket. He handed them to the gypsy and, grasping Mercy by the shoulders, plunked her down in the empty chair. “Come find me and tell me what she predicted for you,” he commanded, and then he strode away before she could get up and run after him.
Sighing, Mercy stared across the table at the colorfully garbed old lady. Short of being rude, which didn’t sit well with her, she was going to have to follow through.
As soon as the reading was over, she thanked the lady and hurried off after the duke. It took a while to find him in the throng, but she finally spotted him talking to Lachlan. Before she could reach the pair, however, the duke clapped his cousin on the shoulder, nodded, and began walking toward the keep.
Mercy quickened her steps.
“Hold on there, little sister.” Lachlan stepped in front of her, a smile on his face. “You aren’t leaving the party so soon, are you?”
She peered over his shoulder just in time to see her hero disappear inside the castle walls. “I’ll be right back. I was just going to talk to his grace for a moment.”
“Ah. You’ll have to send him a letter. He’s gone to instruct his coachman to ready the team. He wants to get an early start on his trip back to London.”
Mercy frowned. “But he won’t get far before night falls!”
“He’s going to spend the night at the border.” He slung an arm across his young sister-in-law’s shoulders and began steering her back toward the festivities, trying to help his cousin out a bit.
Mercy played with her little niece and nephew for a while but kept one eye on the keep. Finally, unable to stand the thought of Sebastian leaving without at least saying good-bye, she slipped away. It was as she walked across the drawbridge that she saw the Blackthorne coach standing ready in the drive.
Inspiration struck. She waited until the coachman’s back was turned, then sprinted the short distance to the coach, turned the handle on the door, and climbed quickly inside. Safely tucked away, she sat primly on the edge of the luxurious velvet seat and waited. Now Sebastian would be forced to see her before he left.
She listened, for a while, to the men working and talking outside. There were occasional bumps that jarred the vehicle as they loaded provisions and the various other items they had brought with them. Each time Mercy looked expectantly at the door, thinking Sebastian had arrived, but it never opened. Finally she slumped back on the cushions, wondering what was taking him so long.
The interior was quite warm, and she began to feel drowsy and a trifle irritable. She sighed and decided to count to one hundred. If Sebastian didn’t show up by then, she’d have to get out and go find him. She had barely made it to twenty before her eyes fluttered closed and she fell asleep.
Darkness descended, and the villagers began making their way back down the hill to their homes. The Kimball family and various Ackerlys waved good-bye and went inside the
keep, collapsing into chairs and onto couches in the great room, tired after the long and glorious day.
They talked quietly for a while before Patience looked around the room, brow furrowed with concern. “Where’s Mercy?”
Everyone shrugged, and Grace laughed. “She’s probably followed the duke wherever he went to try to get away from her.”
Lachlan shook his head. “Sebastian left hours ago,” he said. “He wanted to get an early start on his trip back to London, so he had his coach packed and then followed on horse back. I’d imagine he’s at the border by now.”
“You imagine wrong.”
Everyone swiveled their heads toward the foyer in surprise at the sound of the Duke of Blackthorne’s voice. He stood there, his hand locked around Mercy’s upper arm, a look of long-suffering resignation on his handsome face.
“The urchin stowed away in my coach.”
“I most certainly did not,” Mercy cut in indignantly. “I fell asleep in your coach while I was waiting to tell you good-bye. It isn’t my fault you decided not to ride inside the vehicle. I’ve already explained that to you a thousand times.”
Sebastian didn’t respond.
Trevor’s lips twitched. “She
does
look rather well rested.”
“Thank you,” Mercy said, then scowled when the men in the room all burst out laughing. “I don’t know why he’s so cross about it. It’s not like I was gone all night or my virtue was compromised and he had to marry . . .”
This time, the women laughed, too.