Authors: Annette Blair
By the time he stood there, tears clung to her lashes. “I had imagined that her little hands would be soft as silk,” Lace whispered.
He curled himself behind her and became her strength, slipping a comforting arm around her waist, while she mimicked hugging the child she’d lost, except that she cuddled stone, without heartbeat, like her babe.
They remained that way for some time, quiet, one in purpose, seeking comfort and solace from each other, and the grace to move ahead with their lives.
“Gabriel, we’re at peace now, right?
“I’d like to think so. I’m much more at peace now that you’re home.”
“So am I, amazingly. Then I can ask. Was the service beautiful?”
“Which service, pet?”
“My baby’s funeral. Did you make it wonderful? Tell me about it.”
“Ach, Lace, your mother asked for no service. The babe never lived. She was stillborn.”
“Do you want to hear a secret?”
“I’d be honored.”
“I heard her cry. Mama said I didn’t, but I remember.”
He remembered too, sitting below Lacey’s window while she labored to bring forth the child of another, her pain like a knife to his heart. It most certainly did enter the world with a cry . . . which meant that it had not been stillborn at all. Odd that her mother had lied.
Perhaps she thought it would be easier on Lace to think her child had been stillborn, which seemed preordained, in God’s hands. If it had actually taken a free breath, its second had rested in a midwife’s hands. Hard to make peace with that.
And if the child had been his, he would probably have spent the rest of his life agonizing over his inability to coax a second breath, then a third, and more, from the babe.
“No life and no service to send her to God, the poor thing,” Lace said and smoothed the headstone. “It hurts my heart to know.”
“Your mother ran me like she ran us all. But your little one could have a service now, Lace.” Gabe wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “We’ll sing hymns, and I’ll pray that we get to parent her when we all meet in heaven. Set your heart at rest and name the date for her service.”
She clasped one of his hands and held it to her heart. “Who would come?”
He could see how much she wanted it. “You, me, Bridget, MacKenzie . . . and Nick.”
“You’d do that for me? With Nick?”
He settled her head on his chest, set his lips in her hair. “Aye, love, I’d do about anything for you. Even stand back and let you go to Nick, should you wish it, though I’d rather keep you for myself.”
“Which is why you came looking for me? Because MacKenzie said I’d gone to see him?”
“Yes, I did, but it’s occurred to me since we spent time with Nick that you came home t
o
m
e
. You did not take ship to America, did you?”
That did it. “You’re almost right.”
Stricken, Gabe reared back.
“
I
cam
e
for Bridget.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The day of the ball dawned bright and sunny, but Lace paced her room till the middle of the afternoon. She knew only one Scoundrel’s wife, her dear friend, Jade, who owned the Benevolent Society for Downtrodden Women in Peacehaven on the Sussex coast. Oddly enough, during Lacey’s four years there, Jade had married Marcus Fitzalan, one of Gabriel’s Scoundrel school friends. She also knew Abigail who married Marcus’s brother Garrett. But she knew none of the other Scoundrels, their wives, their titles. She should have had Gabe make her a list, but it was too late for that now.
As to titles, she had one again herself, so she felt less skittish about making light of the formalities. “Just call me Lace,” should work.
With the butterflies in her stomach, she wore one of her new day dresses in gold gauzy muslin, trimmed at bodice, waist, and hem with an intricate embroidered edging in flowers and curls of aubergine. She loved the new styles. Since the last time she was measured by a seamstress, high waists had gone the way of walking sideways through doors to accommodate wide-hooped skirts.
Dresses all had slight flares to the skirts now with ankle hems, cinched waists, wide shoulders, and ballooning sleeves. What made this one especially lovely
was the pleated V-bodice to the neck and the double-layered matching capelet one could add for morning calls.
Last night in the parlor, with Cricket and Mac looking on, Gabriel had surprised her with it, and with a confection of a silver gown for Nick’s ball. He said he ordered it the day they went shopping for her new wardrobe while she went to look at bonnets in the shop next door.
Cricket had jumped up and down and applauded, and Mac’s eyes teared as she gave Gabe an approving nod.
Bridget came in bringing Lace back to the present with a happy smile because her girl was all frilly frocked and sable hair curled, as excited about making friends with their company’s children as Lace was about new and old friends.
“Lacey?” came the call. “Lace, where are you?”
“I know that voice,” Lace said, taking Bridget’s hands. “Wait until you meet my bestest friend,” she whispered.
But Jade’s little Emily came flying into the room first and threw herself at Lacey’s skirts, pushing Cricket out of the way.
Lace bent to embrace Emily, the child she’d come to love at Peacehaven.
Bridget crossed her arms over her chest and stamped a foot
as if to say,
“
You’re supposed to be hugging me.”
Lacey laughed and brought the girls’ hands together. “Emily, also known as Emmy, I’d like you to meet my Bridget, also known as Cricket. You’re both nearly five.”
“Emily Fitzalan, you come back here,” Jade called.
“We’re up here,” Lacey shouted.
Jade filled her doorway, and Lace burst into tears. They were in each other’s arms in a blink.
Two pups, dachshunds, also old friends, found each other: Ivy’s Tweenie and Emmy’s Mucks were soon dancing beside them, yipping and generally hugging in their own puppy ways. Ivy came in to say his hellos to Jade and Emmy before he went to the Towers to join the Scoundrels for a good cigar.
“Where are the rest of the wives?” Lace asked. “I’m nervous-sick with anticipation.”
Jade looked her up and down, brows furrowed. “Nervous-sick, you’re—glowing!” Lace turned to Emmy and Cricket. “Girls, go down to the drawing room and tell the ladies we’ll be down in a minute.”
Lacey spoke up. “Cricket, find your kitten now that there’s another pup in the house, and put her in the barn until we can introduce her to Mucks properly. We don’t know that they’ll get along as well as Merry and Tweenie.”
“Want to see my kitten?” Bridget asked Emily, taking her hand. “Her name is Merrycat.” And just like that, they ran from Lacey’s room and down the stairs as if they’d been doing it forever.
Jade circled Lacey. “That glow. Are you—?”
“Happy? Sure. Almost.”
“Are you sure you’re not—?”
“Not.”
“Lace, we lived together for four years, became best friends. You’ve got a look, bit of a give-away radiance.”
“As to that, so do you, Jade Smithfield Fitzalan. Rosier cheeks. Twinklier eyes.”
“There you go, and you’re right.
I
a
m
in a delicate condition. Are you?”
“Oh, mercy, Jade. Gabriel says he wants to marry me.”
“Good thing, considering. So have you told him?”
“Nothing to tell.”
Jade stepped back, her lips firm, her eyes seeing too much. “What’s stopping you from marrying him?”
“He keeps forgiving me for sleeping with Nick.”
“Isn’t forgiveness a good thing?”
Lace huffed, slapped her hands to her hips, and tapped a foot.
Jade grinned. “Ah, I remember the story now. Even though you said you did, Gabriel should have known instantly that you would never.”
Lace gave her friend one strong nod. “Exactly.”
Jade chuckled. “Trust beats forgiveness.”
“Trust is everything.”
“Lace, he might hav
e
truste
d
that you’d never tell a lie, especially about something so important.”
“Don’t take his side, however valid your point.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Jade hugged her.
Lacey clung and bit her lip. “Well, if he didn’t know back then that I lied, he should know by now. I’d marry him if he believed in my unconditional love. If he said, ‘You couldn’t have slept with Nick. It’s impossible,’ I’d marry him today.”
Jade rolled her eyes.
Lacey narrowed hers. “What?”
“We’re not here for a ball. We’re here for your wedding. Yo
u
ar
e
marrying him today.”
“What!”
“Gabriel planned it as a surprise. He brought a vicar from a neighboring estate, invited all of us, and he doesn’t even know you’re . . . glowing. Give him credit for loving you, for wanting you so badly, he’d pull a bull-headed, man-stupid stunt like this. It’s you he wants, perfect and high up on that pedestal where he set you, with him as your lowly servant, the unworthy vicar’s son—which is what keeps him from seeing the truth. Fact is, he doesn’t think he’s good enough for the Lady Lacey Ashton. You know that, right?”
“I know humiliation,” Lacey said. “And I’m trying not to plan his public flogging.”
“Lord, Lace, I only met him a short while ago, and even I can see how much he loves you.” Jade sat on Lacey’s bed and pulled her down. “You mourned that man for four years at Peacehaven. You came back to him, and now, well, you could be, couldn’t you?”
Lace sighed, “Perhaps.”
Jade giggled. “There’s no halves about procreation, love. Either you did or you didn’t make it possible. I’d like to think you did. So let’s say on the off chance that you are, do you really want to be ostracized again? I say marry him tonight and make peace with his stupidity later. Or flog him, whatever. But this time have his name ready for any children that may come of your love.”
Lacey rose and dusted off her skirt. “I’ll think about it. All of it. You know, they sa
y
we’r
e
in a delicate condition. My current situation woul
d
kil
l
a man.”
“Then you are?”
“
I
don’
t
know.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Maybe,” Lace granted.
Arm in arm, they went downstairs discussing how strong
—
no
t
delicate—a woman had to be to bear a child.
The Scoundrels’ wives were a delight. They agreed not to share titles, just first names. “This is Patience, married the longest, Faith married the next longest, and this is Patience’s last remaining ward, Sophie.”
Sophie curtseyed. “I’m the only one she couldn’t marry off when she gave us a season to find husbands. I don’t seem to take. Too American, I think.”
“Too forthright and too much the hoyden, I think,” Patience said. “It’s your excellence in pugilism,” she added. “If you keep beating up your suitors, bloodying their noses and knocking them unconscious, you’ll never find a man.”
The ladies nodded with wide eyes, hands over mouths, and reluctant chuckles, while Mac brought in an assortment of aromatic teas, scones, berry jams, and clotted cream.
“I’ve never been so hungry at teatime,” Lacey said, finally relaxing with her guests.
Faith’s daughter, Beth, age seven, ended up sitting on the floor with Emmy and Cricket, three new friends, each with a pet in hand—Mucks and Tweenie, the dachshunds, and Cricket’s Merrycat. Bridget had made Merry’s introduction to Mucks the minute they came down.
“Where’s Abigail?” Lacey asked looking for the only other woman she’d expected to know. Abigail had been an inmate at Peacehaven when Lacey taught there, until Abigail and Jade became sisters-in-law after marrying the Fitzalan brothers.
Jade beamed. “Abby and Garrett couldn’t make it. They’re due for their second at any time, but the rest of us wanted to come down and meet you—while our husbands stink up the Towers library with cigar smoke and talk of schoolboy pranks.”
“If we hadn’t come soon,” Sophie said, “we couldn’t have come for afternoon tea. That’s the law of the land, right? No visits of an evening? Not like in America when we trod all over everyone’s evening just for the pleasure of their company, and maybe a game and a dance or two, all unplanned.”
The ladies chuckled, because Sophie obviously acted the gauche American on purpose.
Patience slipped an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Our Sophie entertains the ladies, though no
t
nearl
y
as well as she entertains the men.”
“Speaking of which,” Faith, Justin’s wife, said, “I do believe that our host, the Duke of Ashcroft, or Nick, which he told us to call him, is smitten with Sophie. He may have left her side on occasion since we arrived, but he has barely taken his gaze from her.”