Rules of Surrender (30 page)

Leila whisked her hand away.

Then Adorna shifted her gaze to the child seated on the pew beside her. ”He’s not mad, he’s happy.“

Leila shook her head. Except for the crumpled white rose from Charlotte’s bouquet, she looked quite respectable in her pink velvet gown. ”He doesn’t look happy.“

”Well, he is,“ Adorna snapped. She intercepted a shocked glance from Aunt Jane, and collected herself. ”He’s just determined.“

Robbie leaned across Leila and whispered loudly, ”Why isn’t he happy?“

”He is happy,“ Adorna repeated. ”He’s just… men really like it when the wedding part is over.“

”Oh.“ Robbie nodded wisely. ”So the mating can begin.“

Uncle Ransom smothered his smile with his hand.

Adorna put on her most helpless act and gestured for Uncle Ransom to deal with Robbie. Uncle Ransom ignored her. He’d not only
seen
Adorna’s helpless act before, he’d seen
through
it almost at once.

”It’s all right, Grandmama.“ Leila patted her hand. ”You don’t need to be afraid. You don’t have to get up in front of everyone and talk so they laugh at you.“

At first Adorna thought how charming it was that Leila thought she should comfort her. Then she thought—”Wait. Who has laughed at you?“

Someone shushed them from behind. Probably Lord Bucknell, suffering from an attack of bellicose propriety. Adorna ignored him. ”Has someone teased you, dear?“

”Not really.“ Leila’s lip quivered. ”Just a little.“

Robbie leaned over again. ”It was the vicar’s son. Alfred made fun of her accent and made her cry.“ He leaned back again, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently brotherly love won out over young friend-ship, especially when Alfred vexed her about the very quirk she shared with Robbie.

”I didn’t cry,“ Leila said.

Robbie rolled his eyes.

”Maybe once, but not for long,“ she conceded. ”That stupid boy can’t make me cry.“

Looking at Leila’s thin chin, pointed into the air, at her tall, scrawny body, at her dark thick hair, Adorna was struck by her resemblance to Aunt Jane. Aunt Jane, whom Adorna revered for her courage, her stubborn integrity and her capacity to love. All characteristics Leila contained in abundance.

And Robbie. In his profile, Adorna saw Wynter’s stubborn, outthrust lip, his brooding search for stability and… his ability with a blade. Closing her eyes, she remembered how nine-year-old Wynter had carved her table with
his
knife. Back then, she had laughed.

She heard her own dear husband’s voice in her head.
Adorna, without a child’s love, you’ll shrivel and grow old.
Loving a child, laughing at its antics… that was Henry’s prescription to combat age, and it had worked. Until the day of his death, he had retained a youthful spirit, and for that, she had loved him.

Of course, these children were mischievous and a trial for a woman used to her own way. But Adorna had always doted on children. She looked toward Wynter, handsome and shod, his gaze fixed to the door at the back of the church. Behind him, the ancient stained-glass window gleamed, rich with colors. Tears prickled in Adorna’s eyes. She swallowed. She was
not
going to cry.

She was not going to dwell on the fact that this wedding was a culmination of dreams going back to the day she’d rocked Wynter in
his
cradle. She’d feared those dreams could never be fulfilled during the empty years of his absence, but soon… oh, soon she would have other grandchildren to pamper.

From the corners of her eyes, she saw Robbie slide his arm around Leila’s shoulders.

The other grandchildren wouldn’t speak with an accent. Their coloring would be similar to everyone else’s in England. They’d have both a father and a mother.

They wouldn’t need Adorna.

Robbie needed her. Leila needed her. Adorna stifled a surprise sob with her gloved fingers.

”Grandmama?“ Leila whispered.

Adorna struggled to respond, to behave as if tears weren’t trickling down her cheeks.

”What’s wrong with her?“ Robbie forgot they were in church, and he spoke out loud.

Aunt Jane shushed him. ”She’s happy,“ she explained.

”People here really act funny when they’re happy,“ Robbie said in boyish disgust. But his hand softly touched Adorna’s shoulder.

And Leila planted a kiss on her arm.

The organist began to play. The soprano began to sing. Charlotte stood at the back of the church with… the Earl of Porterbridge? Adorna blinked, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, then shrugged and moved aside to allow Leila and Robbie the best view.

”There’s Lady Miss Charlotte. She is so beautiful.“ Leila spoke so quietly Adorna had to lean down to hear her. ”After she’s married Papa, do you think she’ll still be nice to me?“

Her subdued question tore at Adorna’s heart. How could a child residing in
her
household be so unsure of herself? Especially her own granddaughter? Leaning over, she hugged Leila to her. ”Of course she’ll still be nice to you, darling. She loves you—and so do I.“

CHAPTER 26

The wedding had been a triumph.

Wynter had listened intently while Charlotte whispered her vows. Then he’d proclaimed his fidelity and loyalty to her in firm tones that resounded throughout the church. In this manner, he had assured her he not only understood the oaths they took, but that he intended to keep them. He would not be neglectful, cruel or unfaithful. He knew she must have been pleased and gratified by his sensitivity.

The reception, staged in the ballroom and long salon of Austinpark Manor, was less of a triumph. He knew Charlotte thought so, too, because the smile he adored was artificial and strained. They had to stand in line with his mother and Porterbridge, murmuring polite nothings at guests he wished to Gehenna. Howard and his harpy of a wife. Lady Smithwick and her very disappointed daughter. Hodges and Shilbottle. Drakely and Read. Stewart.

Stewart…

”Cousin.“ Stewart shook Wynter’s hand firmly. ”Congratulations on your marriage to such a lovely, accomplished Englishwoman. Now you’ll settle down and be in the office every day, eh?“

The trouble with Stewart, Wynter thought, was that he looked completely sincere. His compliment to Charlotte sounded free of mockery, and he behaved as if he really hoped Wynter
would
come into the office every day. The man was a gifted actor—for an embezzler. ”Thank you, cousin,“ Wynter said gravely. ”But I must take my honeymoon first, and teach my bride the pleasures of love.“

Next to him, Charlotte gasped. Down the receiving line, Mrs. Morant fainted. Adorna giggled.

Leaning close to Charlotte’s ear, Wynter asked, ”Was that a personal comment?“

”One doesn’t speak of the honeymoon in mixed company.“ Her voice was steady, but her gaze slid away from his.

”Then I will not do so again.“ Not when it made her lose the little color still highlighting her cheeks. Raising his voice, he called to the people remaining in the receiving line, ”My bride is tiring. We shall cease greeting now so she may sit and you may dine and consume intoxicating beverages. Later we shall start again.“

Laughter rippled among the crowd, but they dispersed at record speed.

”That was not…“ Charlotte sighed and gave up.

”I know.“ Wynter took her arm. ”But you are not a blushing bride. You are pale.“

”I say well done. My feet hurt, and I have to find Piper. See if she’s still mad at me.“ Porterbridge shambled off.

”Your years in the desert certainly gave you an attitude of command, dear.“ Adorna smiled at him, then stroked Charlotte’s cheek. ”You
are
wan, Charlotte. A plate of food and a little brandy would do you wonders.“

Wynter had made it his business to know what she liked. ”She does not like brandy. Nor does she like coffee. She shall have tea.“

”Actually, I’d like a glass of wine,“ Charlotte said.

”No. No wine.“ He noted Charlotte glared at him as if he were dictatorial, when actually he had her best interests at heart. ”No wine today, oh blossom of the desert. I do not wish you impaired for our true union later.“

Now the color swept into her cheeks.

Satisfied that his ruse had worked, he led her to an upholstered chair, ousted the occupant and placed her in it. ”Sit. I have an offering for my bride.“

”Wynter.“

She used his first name. That pleased him.

”There will be no union later.“

Still she challenged him. That displeased him. Going down on his knees before her, he lifted her hand and showed her the wedding band of plain gold he had placed there only hours earlier. ”I pledged you my troth. You will accept it.“ With a kiss on her fingers, he rose and left.

He had a gift for her. A very special gift. The best he could give her, one that signified his commitment to her happiness. For she would be happy in this marriage, of that he was determined.

As he strode toward the stairway, he noticed Bucknell standing stiffly near the doorway, staring at Adorna. Just staring. Not moving toward her, not leaving.

And Adorna—she stood near the doorway on the opposite side of the ballroom, ignoring Bucknell with all her might.

This Bucknell had made his mother cry. Wynter hated to take the time now, but later he would be distracted, and as Adorna’s son it was up to him to take Bucknell vigorously to task.

Veering toward the tedious nobleman, with a jerk of his head he indicated Bucknell should come with him. Bucknell followed, as Wynter knew he would. Leading Bucknell into the library, Wynter marched to his desk and stood beside it, stiff and tall. ”Sir, you will tell me if your intentions toward my mother are honorable, or if you are merely toying with her heart.“

Bucknell puffed up like a dueling moorfowl. ”Honorable? Of course my intentions are honorable. She will have none of them.“

Which left Wynter with nothing to say for a few very critical moments.

”Adorna—your mother—Lady Ruskin—“

”I know who she is,“ Wynter said dryly.

”She refuses to marry me. I have begged, I have pleaded, I have pointed out the benefits of such union to us both, but she wants…“ Bucknell turned a ruddy red. ”She wants an affair.“

”An affair?“ Wynter should have known. When had his mother ever done anything in the customary way?

”As distressing as it is to me, she will not wed. She says we are too different for our marriage to be successful. She says we’re not suited for a lasting relationship. She says our only recourse is…“ Bucknell’s cravat seemed to be choking him. ”Bedsport.“

Wynter was fascinated. ”But she adores you. I have seen it.“

”I thought so, too, and I assure you, Lord Ruskin, I worship her with all my heart.“ Bucknell paced across the library, hands behind his back. ”But I am an honorable man, and I will not so disgrace my name and hers with such irregular behavior.“

Wynter wouldn’t have thought the older man would need guidance, but obviously he did. ”This determination for an affair is very wrong-headed of her.“

Obviously pleased that he and Wynter agreed on one thing, at least, Bucknell trumpeted, ”Just what I told her.“

”So you must steal her.“

”Steal her?“ Wynter saw the moment Bucknell understood, for he stiffened as if he were a corpse. ”You mean, kidnap her?“

Wynter thought about it. ”Yes. I believe that is the word.“

”I say, kidnapping might be the way to get a bride in your desert, but we don’t perform such barbaric acts in England.“

”Really?“ Wynter hoped Bucknell didn’t suffer an attack of apoplexy. ”I didn’t believe this was a cultural matter, but a matter of human nature. My wife, whom I always turn to for advice and guidance, has told me that men and women are no different in their ability to learn.“

”Harrumph. Well, I wouldn’t say that. Most women are delicate flowers—“

”Most women, but not our women. My wife and your beloved have proven themselves in the most difficult of conditions. My wife during her years as a governess, your beloved when she guided our business during my absence.“

”Yes, yes, both the Lady Ruskins are extraordinary women, but—“

”My wife“—Wynter enjoyed repeating that word— ”has also told me that the women in El Bahar are the same as the women in this country, and if given the same opportunities to learn and be independent, they would be as Englishwomen. Is this not so?“

”I suppose,“ Bucknell said grudgingly.

”Thus, it makes sense that Englishwomen, if treated the same as women in El Bahar, would respond in much the same way. I must tell you, when a Bedouin woman meets a man she desires but who is of a different tribe, the Bedouin man will kidnap her and take her into the desert, keeping her until her protestations have died beneath the barrage of ardor he showers on her. It is well-known that these are the true love matches among the Arabs, for the woman is pleased by her husband’s boldness and devotion to her.“

”Young man, that is just unacceptable.“

”No. Unhappiness for the rest of your life is unacceptable.“ No wonder his mother hadn’t wanted to marry Bucknell! No desert man would provide his woman 50 uncertain a wooing, and this proved that such pallid civilized English courtship was not effective. ’Taking action to secure your happiness, and hers, is the only sensible recourse.”

“Your mother wouldn’t respond to such barbarity.”

“Indeed, my mother is a woman who admires daring, yet it appears she is unable to ascertain the difference between mere lust and a man’s deep love and admiration. If both love and daring are combined, she would be willing to ride into the desert with her kidnapper.” Wynter frowned as if the thought had just occurred to him. “As you have undoubtedly noticed, my mother is a woman who attracts men like a flower attracts bees. I am surprised no one has kidnapped her previously.”

“Englishmen do not kidnap their brides.” Bucknell sounded as if he were trying to convince himself, now. Well, Wynter had done what he could. “It is, of course, your decision, but please note, my lord, you have my permission to kidnap my mother at any time.” He left Bucknell sputtering.

The wedding had been an ordeal.