Authors: Susan Carroll
"No. No!" Trent heard a soft cry behind him. It
came from Chloe. She plunged wildly past him, darting into the lane as though
she would run the mile back to Windhaven on foot if permitted to do so.
Moving swiftly, Trent caught her by the shoulders, gently
restraining her. "No," he said. "To the carriage. Quickly."
In her panic, she didn't seem to comprehend him, but then
she nodded. With an efficiency borne of years of command, Trent snapped out
orders to Mr. Henry to sound the alarm, telling Lathrop to help bundle the
dazed women into the old coach that had been waiting to convey the wedding
party back to Windhaven.
As the vehicle lurched through the darkness, Chloe was
thrown up against Trent. She clutched at his hand and he sought to offer her
some words of assurance, but none came. He had a very bad feeling about this.
His worst fears were realized as the coach turned up the
drive. The horses plunged back in such terror that the coachman could no longer
drive them on. Flinging open the coach door, Trent dismounted to face the
hellish scene taking place before his eyes.
The west wing was already a blazing inferno, the fire
leaping toward the sky. And the the merciless wind only served to fan the
flames, driving them toward the main body of the house, as though Windhaven
were nothing but so much dried tinder.
Momentarily stunned, Trent felt Chloe tugging at his hands.
"Oh, Will, please," she begged, her breath
catching in a sob. "Make it stop. Please do something."
Will did not know what was harder to bear, her complete
faith in him or his own sense of helplessness. He would have marched into hell
itself for her. But he knew nothing he could do this night was going to save
Chloe's beloved Windhaven.
Chloe had always believed that no matter how great the
disaster, things would always look brighter in the morning. But as she surveyed
the ruin of what had been her home, she wished the night had never ended, the
darkness forever veiling Windhaven's scarred walls.
The sun would choose today of all days to poke through the
clouds, bringing light but no warmth, a most merciless light that revealed the
west wing to be nothing but a pile of charred beams. The main portion of the
house remained standing, but the stonework was scorched black, the stench of
smoke yet strong in the air.
Chloe felt nearly sick from the cloying smell, her eyes
rubbed sore from a night she would never forget yet never clearly remember. The
ordeal had already become a blur of images like a bad dream: the demonic
red-gold light of the fire, Windhaven's timbers crackling and groaning as
though the house itself were crying out in pain. Will's desperate, determined
face as he sought to round up all hands and organize a bucket brigade. But it
had all been hopeless against such raging conflagration, as hopeless as
expecting a single tear to put out the fires of hell.
Only the storm breaking at last had prevented Windhaven's
burning entirely to the ground. With a wild crack of thunder, an icy rain had
cascaded down in torrents. But Chloe had been unable to greet the deluge with a
cry of joy. She had stood numbly, rainwater streaming down her face, watching
the flames expire in an angry hiss, like some fiery monster in its death
throes. But the monster had already done its work.
Chloe vaguely recollected Will's strong hands on her
shoulders, forcing her to come away. Everyone had returned to the vicarage to
get warm and dry, to await the coming of first light to see how bad the damage
had been.
No one had been able to sleep, but Chloe had pretended to do
so, not wanting to talk to anyone. She felt as though some bright part of her
had been reduced to ashes along with Windhaven, that part of her that had
always found reason to hope.
She knew Will's marriage to Emma had been but temporarily
disrupted. No doubt the ceremony would be completed in the morning, and then
Will would be gone.
When the others had trudged out to view the wreckage, she
had joined them out of sheer listlessness, having no real desire to go poking
about in the debris, seeing what was to be salvaged of a lifetime of memories.
Her sisters kept stealing glances at her, waiting as though
expecting some of her customary good cheer and optimism. Chloe had none left to
offer them.
Not that they needed her comfort, in any case. She had
already heard them whispering, making plans. The vicarage was far too small.
They would have to beg temporary shelter at the squire's manor until
arrangements were made to travel to London, to stay with Cousin Harriet.
Lathrop had offered to escort them.
That was all well and good for the others. Windhaven had
never meant as much to Lucy, Agnes, or even Emma. Chloe's sisters, even Agnes, seemed
to understand that, going out of their way to be kind to her.
But Chloe shrank from their sympathy, stealing away at first
opportunity to what remained of the blighted garden. Sinking down on the old
garden bench, she only wanted to be left alone. Her lips set into a taut line
when she saw Agnes approaching.
Her self-assured little sister looked strangely younger this
morning. Perhaps owing to the hair tumbled about her pinched face, or because
she was wearing a cloak borrowed from Mr. Henry's mama, three sizes too big.
With unaccustomed diffidence, she sidled up to Chloe.
"It is not all so bad, really, Chloe," she said in
a gruff little voice. "I have been up to our room. The fire went out
before it did much damage there, although of course everything reeks of smoke.
But look what I fetched down for you."
Extending her hand, she displayed a sooty wooden object. It
took Chloe a moment to recognize her small carving of Saint Nicholas. She only
stared at it, making no move to take it.
Agnes drew forth a handkerchief and proceeded to ruin the
fine linen in an anxious effort to wipe the figure clean, "I knew you
would want to take this to London with you."
"Whatever for?" Chloe asked dully.
"Well, because it's your Saint Nicholas. Your good-luck
piece."
"It's only a carved block of old wood," Chloe
said.
Hadn't Agnes told Chloe exactly the same thing many times?
Then why did the girl look so crest-fallen, scrubbing harder than ever at the
old figurine?
"There. 'Tis almost as good as new."
When Chloe still did not reach for it, Agnes's smile faded.
She fretted her lip, looking as though she wanted to say something more but
didn't know quite what. After an awkward pause, she laid the statue beside
Chloe on the bench and walked away with a sad backward glance.
Chloe felt like the greatest wretch imaginable. Agnes must
be hurting, too. The library had been gutted, every last one of her precious
books gone. Chloe might at least have thanked her little sister, but even that
simple gesture seemed to demand too much of her.
Her gaze drifted down to the object on the bench. The
statue's wooden eyes, which she had once fancied so wise, stared blankly back
at her. An unreasoning surge of anger coursed through her. Chloe snatched up
the figure and dashed it to the ground.
Then she buried her face in her hands, wishing more than
anything that she could cry. But last night's fire seemed to have consumed
every last drop of water, even her own tears.
She did not look up when she heard the crunch of a footfall
and sensed a presence looming over her. It had to be Emma hovering again, or
perhaps Agnes had come back.
She choked out, "Cannot all of you just leave me
be?"
"I am afraid I cannot do that, Chloe." Will's
quiet voice penetrated the haze of her misery.
Chloe lowered her hands to peer up at him, his face lined
with exhaustion, a strand of dark hair tumbling across his brow. She glimpsed
the remains of his once handsome uniform beneath his open cloak, the fabric
rumpled, the buttons tarnished, one sleeve slightly scorched. He looked very
much like a weary commander returning from battle, one that he had lost.
"I have had no chance to speak with you alone," he
said. "And I very much need to do so. May I sit down?"
Chloe merely shrugged. He took this for her consent,
lowering himself stiffly to her side.
"I cannot imagine what there is to say," Chloe
said bitterly. "Though I suppose I do owe you an apology."
"For what?"
"For burning your house down. You did warn me about the
dangers of having those decorations in the parlor."
"The fire had nothing to do with your decorations. It
started in the west wing. Your groom thought he heard a prowler. When he went
to investigate, he dropped his lantern. But this has not all been a total
disaster, Chloe. Luckily, the wind was blowing away from the stables, and the
main part of the house—"
"Is a total ruin," Chloe interrupted with a touch
of asperity. "There is no need for any of this heartening pretense,
Captain. This disaster merely saved you the problem of tearing Windhaven down
yourself. I know you never wanted to live here with Emma."
"I admit it freely. I never did. Not with Emma, in any
case," he added.
But Chloe rushed on, not heeding him. "Now you can do
as you always wanted with a clear conscience, find Emma some smart new house
near town."
"Where Emma lives is none of my concern. That is going
to be Mr. Henry's problem."
When Chloe stared at him, he said, "Didn't you
understand what took place in church yesterday? My marriage to Emma has been postponed—forever.
You were right all along. Mr. Henry and Emma are still in love. The pair of
them could have saved us all a deal of trouble by being a little less noble.
Emma should have made her feelings known to me at the start."
Astonished and confused, Chloe seemed unable to take in the
full import of his words. She focused on his criticism of Emma. "My sister
is a perfect lady, Captain Trent. She has always been wonderfully
self-contained, never one to make a vulgar parade of her emotions."
"If that is what being a lady means, I wish Mr. Henry
joy of her. For my part, I much prefer the lass who wears her heart on her
sleeve."
He covered one of Chloe's hands with his own. "My dear,
I know this is a poor time to speak of such a thing the day after the dissolution
of my engagement to your sister, but ..." Will paused, swallowing hard.
Chloe had never known himt to be so shy about speaking his mind, but she felt
far too drained to offer him any encouragement.
"I wonder," he said, "if you could find it in
your heart to consider—just consider, mind you—the prospect of one day marrying
me."
Chloe gasped. Could he possibly have thought of anything
more cruel to say to her? She yanked her hand away, crying savagely. "Oh,
don't!"
"Then you find the thought that repugnant. I had
hoped…"
His voice trailed away as Chloe shot to her feet, blazing
with hurt and anger. "Go back to your blasted ship, Will. Your duty is
finished here. You have seen Emma restored to Mr. Henry, and Lucy is also as
good as spoken for. Agnes and I will be taken care of somehow. You need feel
under no further obligation to my father's memory."
Flushing, Trent also leapt up. "This has nothing to do
with your father. I did not propose to you out of duty. Damn it, Chloe. I love
you."
"No one falls in love in only one week!"
Trent flinched to hear his own heedless words flung back at
him. "I was wrong about that, too, and I have already told Charles and
Lucy so. They may leave at once for Gretna Green if they've a mind to—with my
blessing.
"Perhaps it is asking too much for you to forget what a
fool I have been," he said. "I only beg you to believe one thing. I
do love you, Chloe."
But as he gazed deep into her lackluster blue eyes, Trent
was tormented by the fear that Chloe was never going to believe in anything
again. No more fairies, no more ghosts, no more Christmas magic, and certainly
no more faith in the words of a certain clumsy sea captain. The world suddenly
seemed a much bleaker and colder place than it had ever been.
Her delicate features set in hard lines, she spun away from
him. "Shouldn't you be preparing to return to your ship? I would not want
to be the one responsible for you neglecting your duties."
"My duties be hanged. The papers are probably already
being drawn up for my court-martial." Trent was keenly aware himself that
he should already have been on his way to Portsmouth. But how could he ever
just go and leave her in this fashion?
He continued, "My ship, the blasted navy, none of that
matters just now. I suppose it doesn't even matter if you believe what I say.
Whether you will it or no, Chloe Waverly, you have my love. When I am long gone
from this place, I will have left my heart with you."
He reached out to stroke her hair, but she shrank away even
from that feather-light touch. Despairing, he let his hand drop back to his
side.
"Well, then," he said hoarsely, "I suppose it
only remains to bid you farewell, my dear. God keep you."
Turning on his heel, he forced himself to walk away before
he made a complete fool of himself. But he had not taken many steps when he
heard a deep sob escape her.
"Will!"
He spun about eagerly when she called his name. Such a cry
would have had the power to draw him back from many leagues farther than the
short distance he had traveled. He made his way to her side in two long
strides.
Tears flowing down her cheeks, Chloe rested one hand against
his chest, tried to speak but couldn't. Yet no words were needed. His own heart
quite full, Trent opened his arms, and she rushed into them. She buried her face
against him, weeping down the front of his uniform while he pressed feverish
kisses against the silky tangle of her curls.
"Everything is going to be all right, love, I promise
you," he said. "I could not save Windhaven for you, but I swear I
will build it up again."