Secrets of Midnight (13 page)

"I believe your father's ready, darling."

Corisande glanced up from her sweet-smelling bouquet to
see, indeed, that her father was drawing near with his opened prayer book in
hand. Doing her best to ignore the stab of guilt that she was deceiving the man
she held so dear, she turned to Donovan as her father reached them and bestowed
upon him a gloriously blissful smile that would have done Lindsay's flair for
the dramatic proud. "Oh, my lord, I'm so happy this moment has come at
last! So truly, truly happy."

At once, Donovan looked so startled that Corisande
wanted to laugh, but the wedding ceremony had begun, their small number of
witnesses rising to their feet. Corisande had heard the service performed so
often since childhood that she listened with half an ear, not wanting to focus
upon sacred words that to her, right now, meant nothing.

She answered where she must, taking care to look
adoringly at Donovan as they repeated their vows, then blessedly the short
ceremony was over, the marriage register signed, the delicate gold band like a
cold weight around her finger. But what
wasn't
cold
were Donovan's lips when he drew her into his arms and kissed her, his mouth,
so warm and insistent, moving intimately over hers.

At first she thought to pull away, but that wouldn't
do, no, not with everyone watching. Instead she melted against him just as any
happy bride would do, her arms winding around his neck as she began to kiss him
back.

She really wasn't sure if she was doing it right,
having no prior experience except for the other day, but she decided she must
be close when she felt him tense as if in surprise—although she wasn't tense,
not at all. She felt quite wonderful, dizzy almost, this kissing business more
than pleasant and something over which she'd be damned if he had all the
control. Two could play—

"All right, woman, enough. There's no need to
overdo it."

Corisande snapped open her eyes, Donovan's terse
whisper hardly what she would have expected from the happy groom. Nor would she
have expected his look of irritation as she slid her arms from his neck, but it
was gone in the next instant as Frances rushed forward, the housekeeper dabbing
at her eyes with a white silk handkerchief while Linette, Estelle, and
Marguerite all clamored round to give Corisande a hug.

"Oh, Corie darlin', Lord Donovan. I'm so thrilled
for 'ee both! What a lovely wedden—"

"But you're crying, Frances!" piped up
Estelle, looking momentarily concerned.

"Ais, child, don't mind me. I always cry like a
new babe at weddens, I do. Means nothing more than I'm happy too."

"Yes, my lord, Lady Donovan, allow me to offer my
sincerest congratulations!" enthused Henry Gilbert, although the agent's
eyes grew alarmed when Corisande frowned at him, as much for him cutting into
their little group before she could speak to Frances or her sisters as that she
despised the man. She couldn't help it. The skinny little weasel had caused so
much hardship these past three years . . .

"It appears,
Gilbert, that
my new bride has been rendered speechless with happiness." Donovan
suddenly spoke up with a firm squeeze to Corisande's elbow. "But perhaps
if she knew how hard you worked earlier this morning, handing out bags of grain
to the tinners until your fingers were raw, she might find it in her heart—"

"Yes, thank you, Henry, truly," Corisande cut
in sweetly —oh, no, even Donovan's infuriating little warnings weren't going to
rile her!—as she glanced from him to the agent, who despite her soft words took
a few cautious steps backward.

"I—I'll wait outside with the carriages, my lord."

"That will be fine, Gilbert. We won't be long."

Confused, Corisande looked back to Donovan as the agent
hurried down the aisle, his long blue coattails flopping against his skinny
legs. "Surely we're not leaving already. Frances has made a lovely meal,
rabbit
pie
and plum pudding—"

"I'm afraid Grace Twickenham, my new cook, has
prepared a special wedding breakfast for us as well. I'm sorry that I neglected
to tell you sooner but—"

"Ais, Corie, we've no problem here," Frances
interjected with a wide grin.
" 'Tes
a fine idea
to go to your new husband's house an' a fitting one too. An' I know the girls
wouldn't mind at all seeing such a grand place, would 'ee?"

"Oh, Corie, can we?" Marguerite's eyes shone
with excitement while Estelle hopped up and down.

"I want to go to Donovan's house! I want to go to
Donovan's house!"

"You shouldn't call him Donovan," chided
Linette in a half whisper, looking askance at her younger sister. "At
least not until he says it's all right—"

"He's your brother-in-law now, Linette. Of course
you must call him by his Christian name." Corisande threw another radiant
smile at Donovan. "Isn't that right, my love?"

Donovan nodded, silenced as much by the stunning beauty
of Corisande's smile as his vexation that he could be so strongly affected by
it.

What the hell was she up to? One moment she'd looked
angry enough to spit, then the next she was playing the eager bride to the
hilt, no, overacting was a more apt description. Overacting as shamelessly as a
second-rate vaudevillian, and he wished she would stop. He had gotten quite
used to her frowns, her angry glances, her name-calling, and constant
indignation, albeit she'd usually behaved well enough when others were around,
but these damned smiles were another matter altogether, heating his blood and
making his pulse pound, and when she'd kissed him . . .

"Well, I suppose we should be on our way if
everyone is agreed." Somewhat unnerved by the way Donovan was staring at
her, his dark eyes the veriest black, Corisande added, "If that's all
right with you, darling. I wouldn't want to disappoint your new cook."

"Ais, now, we don't want to do that!" Frances
blurted out to Corisande's relief, the housekeeper breaking the unsettling
current between her and Donovan. "Come on with 'ee, girls. We'll quick put
away the meal and then settle ourselves in one of those fine carriages, shall
we?"

"No, no, I want to ride with Corie and Donovan!"
Estelle protested as Frances took her small hand. "Please, Corie . . ."

Corisande opened her mouth to say yes, deciding
suddenly that she didn't relish the thought of being alone with Donovan all
that way, only to have Frances firmly reply before she could utter a word.

"Silly lamb! There'll be times aplenty to ride
with your sister an' her husband, never 'ee fear. But not on
their
wedden
day." With that, Frances and her crestfallen charge headed
down the aisle accompanied by Marguerite and Linette while Corisande, sighing
to
herself
, turned back to Donovan.

"I . . . I should see about my father. Sometimes
it takes him a while . . ." She didn't wait for a response—the man was
still staring at her!—but half fled to the sacristy. "Papa? Did you hear?
We're all going to Donovan's—"

She didn't finish, her father to her surprise having
already changed from his vestments and meeting her at the door with a gentle
yet somehow sad smile on his face, his eyes slightly wet.

"Papa, are you all right?"

"You look . . . you look like your mother today,
Corisande. All in white . . . so beautiful."

She swallowed hard, unable to say anything for the
longest moment. But then suddenly Donovan was beside them, his voice sounding
as deep and strong as her father's had been broken and shallow.

"I'd be honored, Reverend Easton, if you would
accompany us to my home." Donovan glanced at Corisande. "Our home."

She stiffened—the lies, oh, the lies!—but at once
reminded herself of her new resolve. "Yes, Papa, please come with us."

To her surprise again, he nodded; she'd fully expected him
to refuse their invitation, preferring the solitude of his study. She had
hardly seen him these past few days, well, except for Sunday service and then
again late last night when she'd returned to the parsonage to find him outside
in the garden, sitting upon the bench with his head in his hands. But she hadn't
disturbed him; she had seen him like that many times before.

Strangely enough now, though, he seemed almost eager as
the three of them walked together down the aisle, and Corisande took note that
her father's step seemed less slow and labored. Perhaps the wedding had
heartened him, which made her feel guilty all over again, but she quickly
shoved away the thought.

Once outside, she watched him crinkle his eyes at the
bright midday sun, this lovely third day of April the warmest the season had
yet offered—Joseph Easton even smiling when Marguerite waved gaily to them from
the second and much larger carriage.

"Frances said I could wait here, Corie. Isn't it
grand?"

Corisande didn't have a chance to answer as Donovan's
voice sounded beside her.

"Gilbert! Help me with the good reverend."

At his command Henry came running, Corisande ignoring
the sensation of interested stares upon them from dozens of onlookers on the
street and at their windows as she watched the two men lead her father to the
carriage. It was then that she noticed Estelle running from the parsonage as fast
as her short legs could carry her, her sister grinning from ear to ear and
clutching Luther to her breast.

"Frances?" Corisande called to the
housekeeper, who appeared in the doorway with Linette in tow. "Did you . .
. ?"

"Ah, Corie, the poor child looked so glum when we
came out of the church. She asked if she might bring the dog, an' I didn't have
the heart to say no. Would 'ee?"

In truth, Corisande didn't mind at all, but she couldn't
help wondering what Donovan might say. He hadn't seemed very fond of Luther the
other day when the tiny mutt had been circling round his boots . . . yet did
she care? Smiling, she lifted the skirt of her wedding dress and went to meet
Estelle, hearing Frances's terrified cry for her to get out of the way almost
at the same moment her little sister suddenly stopped and stood openmouthed,
Luther yapping in her arms.

"What . . . ?" Corisande heard the ominous
rumbling and whirled in place, her eyes widening in horror as two huge pilchard
barrels rolled toward her, the salted fish flying out all over the street. But
she didn't think of herself. She ran instead toward Estelle, snatching up the
stricken child and dodging out of harm's way with no more than an instant to
spare, her heart slamming in her ears as the heavy barrels thundered past her
and crashed into the parsonage wall.

Chapter 12

"Corie!"

The cry hadn't come from Frances but Donovan. Corisande
spun to find him running hard toward her, on his heels Henry Gilbert and
lastly, half stumbling, her father. Yet her eyes weren't drawn to them but to
Donovan, his face taut, his pallor ashen as he reached her and pulled her,
Estelle, and a yowling Luther into his arms.

"Good God, woman, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, yes. We're fine," Corisande
croaked as Estelle began to wriggle between them.

"I can't breathe, Corie, and . . . and you're both
going to squish Luther!"

Laughing nervously to herself, giddily in fact, the
full force of what had narrowly been avoided hitting her, Corisande met Donovan's
eyes as he seemed to laugh, too, and released them. But he wasn't smiling, no,
not at all, as he glanced grimly at the smashed and splintered staves while
Corisande was suddenly surrounded by her family, Henry Gilbert, and wide-eyed
onlookers who had witnessed the near disaster.

"Lord help us, did 'ee see those hogsheads come
a-tumbling?" cried an old Cornish shipwright to no one in particular,
everyone clamoring and talking at once.

"I think they were ones set against John Killigrew's
house 'cross from the church," shouted another man, naming a respected
Porthleven fisherman. "Stacked an' waiten to go to market, they were, but
no export market to be found for 'em same as the rest of us, thanks to that
bugger Napoleon and his damned blockade!"

Corisande sighed heavily as the noisy crowd around her
grew larger and understandably belligerent, their comments now more centered
upon the village's plight of being unable to sell last year's bumper catch of
pilchards than on the accident that could have taken her life, Estelle's, and
poor Luther's. Donovan must have read her mind, his tone as tense and irritated
as his expression as he addressed the villagers.

"Did anyone see what happened? Anyone at all?"

A mute chorus of shaking heads and apologetic stares
greeted his query, one woman piping up, "We were watching the hubbub in
front of the church, milord, if 'ee don't mind me saying so, and with Corie
looking so lovely today . . ."

A sudden flurry of concurring compliments flew around
the
gathering,
so many that Corisande felt her face redden.
"The barrels must have tipped," she concluded with a shrug, eager to
be done with the whole unpleasant matter. "Stacked too high, I suppose,
perhaps a bit carelessly, an easy enough thing to do." She looked down at
Estelle, who had just planted a kiss on top of Luther's bedraggled head. "How
about a nice carriage ride, sweet? Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes, but only if I can bring Luther. He's
never ridden in a carriage, and I think he'd like it. May I, Donovan?"

Somewhat disgruntled by how her little sister had
warmed so quickly to Donovan, Corisande was nonetheless grateful when he
nodded, which drew from Estelle a high-pitched squeal of delight. Hugging
Luther, she slipped through the dense crowd as easily as a minnow and ran toward
the shiny black coach as she had only moments before, clearly none the worse
for all the excitement.