Surrender Becomes Her (18 page)

Marcus’s mouth tightened. “Indeed. Collard’s brazen actions are legendary in the smuggling community. Whitley’s acquaintance with him gives credence to your assumption that he has the memorandum and is looking to sail to France—or places friendly to the French.”

They had reached the heavy double doors of the house when the sounds of a horse galloping through the night broke the silence. Marcus turned, half expecting to see Whitley charging down the driveway. He frowned as he recognized the rider as one of the servants from Manning Court.

“Mr. Sherbrook! Mr. Sherbrook!” cried the young man as he pulled his lathered horse to a stop at the foot of the stairs. “I have a message from Mrs. Manning for you.” Leaping
from his mount, he waved a small envelope in his hand. “It’s the baron, sir. He’s taken mortal bad.”

Isabel’s note confirmed the servant’s words.

Marcus,
she wrote,
come quickly. The baron collapsed shortly after we returned home this evening. The physician has examined him and believes he is dying. Lord Manning insists that you be here. Isabel

A
fter giving Jack a hurried explanation, Marcus rushed to the stables and within moments was once more riding through the night. This time, fear drove him and he pushed his mount dangerously as he cut across the countryside taking the shortest route to Manning Court.

When he jerked his sweating horse to a halt at the impressive entrance to Manning Court, he wasn’t surprised to see the physician’s black gig in the circular driveway or to find the house ablaze with lights. The Manning butler, Deering, rushed across the wide terrace to greet him.

“Oh, Mr. Sherbrook! I am so relieved that you are here,” exclaimed Deering, his agitation plain to see. “It is just dreadful! We cannot believe that he is dying.” Recalling himself somewhat, Deering said more formally, “If you will follow me, sir, I will take you to Lord Manning at once.”

Quietly entering the bedroom of Lord Manning, Marcus slowly walked across the big room toward the dais dominated by a massive burgundy and gold silk-hung bed. In the flickering glow of several large candelabra placed strategically around the room, he saw the shape of the old baron beneath the heavy silk coverlet, his hands lying white and still on the fabric. Still garbed in the amber silk gown she had worn to dinner at Sherbrook Hall, Isabel half sat on the side
of the bed, her head bent, her fingers gently brushing Lord Manning’s. Beside her stood the physician, Mr. Seward, his long face grave.

Marcus cleared his throat and Isabel started. Looking over her shoulder and seeing him, she leaped to her feet and ran across the distance that separated them. Throwing herself into his arms, she gasped, “Oh, thank God, you came! He has been most insistent that you be here.” She fought back tears. “It happened so suddenly. We came home and, after Edmund had gone to bed, we were enjoying a few moments together in the green salon before retiring ourselves, when he made an odd sound and crumpled to the floor.” A shudder went through her as she relived that terrible moment. “I screamed for Deering and we managed to rouse him, but though he was conscious, his words were slurred and he didn’t seem to know us. It took Deering and three footmen to get him up the stairs and into his bed. I sent immediately for Mr. Seward.” Tears spilled unheeded down her cheeks. “Marcus, Mr. Seward says he is suffering from apoplexy and is
dying
.”

“I wouldn’t,” Marcus said with more confidence than he felt, “give up all hope, my dear.” Flashing her a comforting smile, he added, “The baron is pluck to the backbone and I do not believe that he is ready to stick his spoon in the wall just yet.” Setting her aside, he walked to the dais.

Mr. Seward glanced at him, his expression grim, and said, “I do not know how much time he has.” Disapproval in his voice, he said, “He demanded your presence. I did not think it wise but he was so greatly agitated I agreed that you should be here. Once he knew you had been sent for, he quieted and has been resting calmly. Do not, I pray you, allow him to become upset again: it may hasten the end.”

Stepping up onto the dais, Marcus was stunned at the change only a few hours had wrought in his old friend. Lord Manning’s features were gray and shrunken and he looked every one of his nearly seventy-five years.

Marcus carefully seated himself on the bed and took one of Lord Manning’s hands in his. “Milord,” he said softly, “it is Marcus.”

The old man stirred and opened his eyes. “Marcus,” he repeated with difficulty. A smile, more a grimace than a smile, crossed his worn features. “I fear,” he managed, “that you find me not at my best.”

Affection in his gaze, Marcus replied, “Indeed, milord, I have seen you look better—even after a night of deep drinking and wild wenching.”

Lord Manning half laughed, half choked at Marcus’s words. The blue eyes brighter, he said, “You were always good for me. Made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.” His gaze locked on Marcus’s face, he said, “Seward says I’ve had my notice to quit, but before I go, there is one thing I want to see: you and Isabel married.”

His features impassive, giving no clue to the grief churning through him at the thought of an old friend’s death, Marcus stared at Lord Manning for a long minute. The baron’s request didn’t come as a surprise; he’d been half prepared for just such a request. Lord Manning was determined to see that Isabel was safely settled and his grandson in safe hands before his death. Before the pause became noticeable, Marcus nodded and murmured, “Since that is your wish, I shall do my best to see that it is accomplished.” Forcing a smile, he said, “It is a good thing, is it not, that Mrs. Appleton’s brother, Bishop Latimer, is staying with her. I shall leave you but a short while and obtain a special license.” He glanced over his shoulder at Isabel’s numbed expression and said, “While I am gone Isabel can send for the vicar and, when I return, we can be married.”

Lord Manning nodded and dropped off into a deep sleep.

Leaving Seward to attend to Lord Manning, Marcus swept Isabel from the room. His gaze searching her face, he said gently, “It will not be the wedding we might have planned, but it will make an old man’s last hours happy.”

Tears flooding her eyes, she nodded. Tried to speak but could not. Visibly fighting for composure, she got out, “I would do anything for him. I love him as I would my own father. I cannot bear the thought of him dying.” Anguish on her face, she cried, “What am I to tell Edmund when he wakes and find his grandfather has died?”

“Didn’t I tell you not to give up hope? We must prepare ourselves for his passing, but we must not give way to despair either. Until this happened, he was a powerful, vital man. He is not dead yet and until he is, I refuse to countenance anything else. And if the worst happens, I will know that our marriage gave him peace of mind.” He tilted her chin up and dropped a quick kiss on it. “Send word to the vicar and then go back in there and remind the old devil of everything he has to live for. Be strong for him.” Concealing his own fears and anxieties, Marcus turned on his heels and strode away.

The faintest tinge of pink and gold was breaking across the horizon when they were all gathered once more in Lord Manning’s bedroom. The number of people filing into the big chamber had grown considerably in the intervening hours. Before leaving Manning Court for Mrs. Appleton’s residence, Marcus had placed a note to be delivered immediately to his mother in the hands of a sleepy-eyed servant. The note contained a brief explanation and warned her that if she wanted to be at his wedding, she best make haste. Consequently, she and Jack were two of the people standing silently near the silk-draped bed where Lord Manning lay so pale and quiet; Vicar Norris, who had arrived only minutes before them, stood talking to Mr. Seward in a low undertone nearby.

It wasn’t to be expected that when Mrs. Appleton discovered the reason for Marcus’s middle-of-the-night visit she would remain at home. Her soft face full of grief and blinking back tears, she insisted on returning with Marcus to
Manning Court to spend a few last precious minutes with the man she loved and had hoped to marry. Presently, she was standing at the side of the bed, Lord Manning’s frail hand clasped in her warm, plump one. Bishop Latimer, when awakened and the situation explained to him, was not only willing to issue the license but was determined to be at his sister’s side during her ordeal and had accompanied her to Manning Court.

While Marcus had been gone, Isabel had struggled with the question about whether to wake Edmund or not. Knowing how much he loved his grandfather, she reluctantly decided that he should be allowed to see him before the old man died. Edmund, his young face full of stunned misery, knelt on the other side of the bed, rubbing his grandfather’s arm, his gaze painfully fixed on the lined features.

Deering, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Deering, his wife, having both grown up in the baron’s household and their parents before them, stood side by side near the door, Mrs. Deering trying to muffle her sobs in a big white handkerchief. Marcus knew that several other longtime servants hovered anxiously just outside in the hallway, trying to brace themselves for the devastating news that the only master they had ever known was dead.

Despite the coming dawn and the many candles that had been lit and placed around the room, a gray gloom that had nothing to do with the lack of light seemed to smother the area. Mrs. Deering’s quiet weeping by the door drifted in the air, adding to the depressing atmosphere. Not, Marcus thought, the best start to a wedding.

Hiding his own grief, keeping his features calm and placid, Marcus walked up to where Isabel stood near one corner of the bed watching her son and his grandfather. Touching her on the shoulder, he said, “Everyone is here. Shall we proceed?”

Her face white and strained, the golden-brown eyes huge
and filled with anguish, she nodded. Half dazed by grief, she was hardly aware of the other people in the room, hardly aware of what she was doing. She was numb and even the thought of marriage to Marcus couldn’t break through the cloud of sorrow around her.

Once everyone was in place—Isabel and Marcus standing on the dais near the vicar at the foot of the bed, the others gathered nearby—Mr. Seward gently woke Lord Manning. Lord Manning stared blankly at the physician for a moment, then, as if remembering the circumstances, he glanced over and saw the others around the bed. After help from Marcus and the physician, he was half raised in his bed, and a pile of pillows placed behind his back. Sighing, he sank back against them.

Lord Manning’s left eyelid drooped and when he attempted a smile it was clear that the left side of his face was partially paralyzed. Still, he managed a smile of sorts and said in a rallying tone, “You’d think from the expression on your faces that you were here for a wake instead of a wedding.” Sitting up a little taller in the bed, the blue eyes sharper, he added, “I’m not ready to have dirt thrown in my face yet, so I’ll thank you to get rid of those Friday-faces. Like to put a man off his feed.”

His words lightened the atmosphere and, satisfied with the faint smiles that flickered here and there, Lord Manning looked at the vicar and, motioning weakly toward Isabel and Marcus, said, “I believe we are here to see these two married, so let us get on with it.”

The ceremony was simple and brief and, within moments, Marcus and Isabel were pronounced man and wife. In a fog of misery, the ceremony passed Isabel by. She was aware of saying her vows, aware of Marcus standing so tall and imposing beside her, but the reality of what was happening didn’t touch her. Her marriage was simply something to be endured before she could turn her attention back to her son and Lord Manning.

Marcus, too, suffered much the same depth of grief that consumed Isabel, and didn’t pay a great deal of attention to the ceremony either. Like Isabel, most of his thoughts were on the old man watching them from the bed. Still, when it was time to kiss his bride, he did so and, for just a second, felt a flicker of satisfaction and delight. Isabel was his! His wife. He stared down into her upturned face and some deep, primitive emotion moved within him. Not desire, although that lurked beneath the surface, but something stronger, more lasting and more profound, and then the vicar offered congratulations and the moment passed and his focus again returned to Lord Manning.

There was not the open joy one usually finds at such an event, but the beaming expression on Lord Manning’s face after Marcus had kissed his bride made up for it. The ceremony completed, at a nod from Seward Marcus ushered everyone from the room, until only he, Isabel, Edmund, Seward, and Lord Manning remained.

In the time before everyone had arrived, arrangements had been made for refreshments to be served in the morning room. It wouldn’t be the gala breakfast normally associated with a wedding, Isabel admitted, but it would keep the servants occupied for the moment and give an air of normalcy to the situation for the others. She doubted that anyone would leave very soon. They would, she thought with an ache in her heart, remain until Lord Manning died.

Edmund sat down on the bed next to his grandfather, stroking the old man’s arm again as if by his very touch he could stave off death itself. It seemed impossible to him that his grandfather was dying and he took comfort from the feel of his grandfather’s warm, sinewy arm beneath his hand.

Isabel sat on the other side of the bed, forcing herself to smile. “We’ve all danced to the tune of your piping,” she said teasingly, despite the lump in her throat. “Are you happy with the results?”

Lord Manning nodded. His words slightly slurred, he
murmured, “Indeed, I am quite pleased.” He looked at her keenly. “And you, my dear? Are you happy?”

Isabel swallowed a lump in her throat. How could she be happy when he was dying? How could she ever be happy when she knew that her marriage, a marriage she had never wanted, might destroy everything she held dear? Willing a light note into her voice, she said, “Of course.” She glanced at Marcus, who stood beside her. “I have a fine, handsome husband. What woman wouldn’t be happy?”

“And I,” said Marcus slowly, his gaze roaming slowly over Isabel’s face, “have married the only woman that I ever wanted for a wife.” It was true, Marcus realized with a small start. Marriage had never been in his plans for the future, but once he had become engaged to Isabel, his whole world had changed and a life without Isabel by his side as his wife had been unthinkable. A small part of him understood even before his stunning announcement of their engagement that buried deep inside of him had been the knowledge that there was only one woman in the world for him: Isabel. Yes, he thought slowly, he
had
wanted to marry her and had, perhaps, for a very long time….

Lord Manning chuckled and Marcus’s attention immediately switched to the old man. The baron was pale and obviously exhausted, but Marcus decided that his color looked better and that the frightening blank expression was gone from his eyes and face.

“How are you feeling?” Marcus asked softly.

Using only half his face, the old man quirked a smile. “Not as good as I would like.” He closed his eyes. “I think I would like to rest now.” His gnarled hand tightened on Edmund’s. “But leave the boy.”