Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Shemaine thrust an elbow backward, playfully jabbing him in the ribs, and tossed a smile over her shoulder as she coyly scolded, “Behave, sir!”

  “With every woman but you, my love,” her husband assured her huskily, spreading kisses upward along her throat. “You’re my solitary source for carnal pleasures.”

  “I’m glad.” Shemaine sighed, leaning her head back upon his shoulder as she stroked the lean hands that had returned to caress her breasts. “I could not bear to share you with another woman. I’m like Roxanne in that respect.”

  “Aye, madam, but I’m your possession, not hers. You have a right to feel that way.”

  A light knock on the front door interrupted, announcing the arrival of their guest. With the summons, Gage remembered that Andrew would have company in his bedroom that night and that the walls were not thick enough to keep the squeak of a bed from being heard.

  “We’ll have to try out the bear rug tonight,” Gage mused aloud, slipping a hand inside his wife’s chemise to fondle a round breast. “Or Mary Margaret will wonder about our inability to leave each other alone.”

  “I aired the rug outside yesterday,” Shemaine informed him, lifting smiling eyes upward to meet his warmly glowing gaze. “Knowing your insatiable appetite, I considered our options with Mrs. McGee in the next room.”

  “ ‘Twas shrewd of you, my dear, to think ahead,” Gage murmured, dropping a loving kiss upon her brow. Brushing his fingers with slow deliberation over a pliant peak, he withdrew his hand and let out a halting breath as he moved back a step, but his attempt to curb his excitement was greatly impeded when his wife reached behind her for a quick, exploring stroke of her hand, sending a thunderbolt jolting through his loins. Then, with a gleaming smile of appreciation, she cast a triumphant glance toward him, wrenching a grin from him. “Aye, I can’t be around you without being affected. If not for Mary Margaret waiting outside our front door, I’d make time for us this very moment.”

  “The invitation is open anytime, my love,” Shemaine breathed with a sultry smile.

  “I’ll collect upon your promise later,” Gage assured her with a meaningful wink, moving toward the door.

  Stepping into the parlor, Gage directed his thoughts to something far less pleasurable than his beautiful wife and had regained control of his appetites by the time he got to the door. As he opened the front portal, Mary Margaret greeted him with a smile and then turned to wave farewell to Gillian, who had brought her upriver in his father’s boat.

  “I’ll see ye tomorrow,” she called to the young man.

  Facing her host again, Mary Margaret looked him over from head to toe and nodded her approval of his gentlemanly attire. His frock coat, breeches, waistcoat and stockings were of deep blue silk, nicely accentuated by a crisp, white shirt, jabot and stock.

  Sweeping a hand to invite her in, Gage showed a leg in a gentlemanly bow and smiled. “Welcome to our home, my lady.”

  Mary Margaret complied with a grin. “Well, ye handsome rogue, I see ye’ve lost none o’ yer looks since I last saw ye. Ye’ve garbed yerself a lot fancier, I vow.”

  “Something my father gave me,” Gage admitted, smoothing the costly coat. He had almost forgotten the rich, sumptuous feel of silk. “He said his girth had expanded well beyond the fit of the garments, but that’s not likely, considering he’s the same size I’ve always known him to be.”

  “Then think of the garments as a gift from a dotin’ parent,” the woman recommended kindly.

  A contemplative smile traced Gage’s lips. “I never thought of my father as a doting parent before, but I suppose I’ll have to change my mind, considering he took the lance that was meant for me.”

  The Irish blue eyes twinkled teasingly as Mary Margaret tilted her head at a coy angle. “Have ye missed me?”

  “Immensely!” Gage replied with a chuckle, and brought in her small case from the front porch as she leaned on her cane and glanced about her.

  “Where’s yer pretty wife? An’ Andrew, where is he?”

  Gage swept a hand casually toward the loft. “Andrew’s upstairs with his grandfather. You may go up and introduce yourself if you so desire. Shemaine isn’t ready yet and has need of my services before she can be presented.” He held up the satchel to gain the elder’s attention as he stepped toward the bedroom door. “I’ll put this in Andrew’s room in case you should have need of it. I’ve already pulled out the trundle bed, so I’ll leave the case beside the one you’ll be sleeping in tonight. The taller bed will be more suited for you.”

  Mary Margaret elevated her gaze as she heard the low murmur of a deep voice drifting down from the upper story. It had a nice sound to it, she thought, but promptly faced Gage with one of her concerns. “Ye sure I won’t be disturbin’ Andrew sleepin’ in his room tonight?”

  “He’ll enjoy your company,” Gage reassured her. “He’s been a bit lonesome in there since we put up the wall between our bedrooms.”

  “The wee tyke will no doubt be havin’ a new brother or sister before too long,” Mary Margaret ruminated aloud, cutting her eyes back toward Gage. “That will help ease his lonely plight, ta be sure.”

  Gage grinned and cocked a querying brow at her. “Now look who’s watching for Shemaine’s belly to grow,” he teased, and lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “You’ll have to give us time, Mary Margaret.”

  “As if I’ve not given ye enough as it is, ye rogue!” she rebuked with a chortle. “Just how much time do ye need?”

  “Give or take a month or two . . . or maybe more.”

  Mary Margaret flung up a hand as if to pooh-pooh his argument. “Ye’ve been wastin’ time, else ye’d be knowin’ whether or not yer wife has been caught.” Growing suspicious, the elder eyed him closely. “But then, ye’ve always been a bit closemouthed, Gage Thornton, an’ I’m thinkin’ ye wouldn’t be tellin’ ‘til the rest of us can see it for ourselves.”

  “Now, would I keep such an important secret from you?” Gage inquired in an affectionate tone.

  Mary Margaret responded with an exaggerated snort. “Bet yer infernal hide, ye would!”

  Curbing a smile as her host chuckled, the woman progressed several steps toward the back corridor and then, upon recalling a matter of grave importance, turned back to reclaim Gage’s attention just as he reached the bedroom door. She was reluctant to bring tales of woe into the Thornton home so soon after their altercation with Horace Turnbull and his men, but she thought her friends needed to be told. “I assume ye’ve not heard that Samuel Myers went missin’ for a pair o’ days. . . .”

  Gage looked at her, perplexed. “You mean he left Newportes Newes?”

  “In spirit only.”

  Gage’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “They found Mr. Myers in his well this morn’n. His neck had been broken.” She sighed pensively. “He might ne’er been discovered except, on the way down, his foot got tangled in the pulley rope on the bucket.”

  Gage set his jaw at a reflective angle. “I presume he didn’t break his neck just falling in.”

  “Dropped, more’n likely. Alma Pettycomb said she came ’round ta see Mr. Myers the other day an’ found him squabblin’ with his neighbor, Dr. Ferris. ‘Twould seem they were arguin’ over Annie. Myers claimed ye had cheated him, an’ Colby called him a bloody blackguard an’ a liar ta his face.”

  Gage’s lips twisted grimly. “So Mrs. Pettycomb is now pointing a finger at Colby as the murderer.”

  Mary Margaret dipped her head in the affirmative. “She’s become quite taken with the fact that yer father is a lord and, for the time bein’, has given ye a reprieve from her criticism. Otherwise, she’d be layin’ the blame on ye, too.’’

  “How kind of her,” Gage jeered caustically.

  “Not really.”

  He looked at the woman, sensing that something more was coming.

  “Alma is now sayin’ Shemaine’s not fit ta be yer wife, what with her bein’ a convict an’ all.
”

  “Too bad someone didn’t drop Mrs. Pettycomb down a well!” Gage growled in vexation.

  “Aye, someone might be tempted to do the deed one o’ these days, but I’d rather it not be any o’ me friends.” Mary Margaret eyed the man closely until the full weight of her statement penetrated his awareness, then Gage laughed and reassured her with a shake of his head.

  “Don’t worry, Mary Margaret, I won’t ruin my life killing that old crow. She doesn’t bother me that much.”

  “That’s good.” Mary Margaret smiled in relief and, lifting her cane, pointed toward the corridor. “Yer father is decent, is he not?”

  “Not really,” Gage quipped, lending a whole different meaning to her question. “Right now, he could probably take on Potts and come out the better. Just be warned.”

  Mary Margaret’s smile never wavered as she tossed a glance toward the stairs. “I think I can take care o’ meself.”

  “I never suffered any doubts, madam.”

  With a chortle the Irishwoman waved him toward the bedroom with a flourish of a slender hand and continued toward the loft. Upon nearing the last step in her ascent, she rapped the tip of her cane against the floor to announce her presence.

  “ ‘Tis Mary Margaret McGee comin’ ta see the gentlemen in this upper room.”

  “Miz McGee!” Andrew cried, scooting off his grandfather’s bed. The boy ran to meet her and, taking her hand, led her back toward the cot.

  William hurriedly jerked off his eyeglasses, tucked them in a breast pocket of his nightshirt and pulled the sheet nigh to his chin before he glanced around with a scowl. The prospect of having a harping ol’ biddy at his beck and call had put him in a sour mood, but upon laying eyes on the small, trim, winsome woman, he immediately had second thoughts. He sought to lift himself upright from his pillow, but an excruciating pain shot from his back through to the front of his chest, and he fell upon the bed with a sharp grimace.

  “Your pardon, madam,” William apologized in some embarrassment as she stepped near. “I have not the strength to rise and meet you with courteous attention. Lying in this cot without reprieve for so long has taken its toll upon me.”

  “No need ta bother yerself, me lord,” Mary Margaret assured him with a sweet smile. “I’m well acquainted with yer infirmity an’ do not hold it against ye.” She swept her eyes casually along the length of him and, for once in her life, had to agree with Mrs. Pettycomb. He was an admirable specimen, even for an English lord. But then, she had always considered Gage Thornton an exceptionally handsome man, and there was definitely a striking resemblance between father and son.

  “I was just reading to my grandson,” William explained, gathering up some of the books that Andrew had brought to his bedside.

  “Please continue,” she urged, laying a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sure Andrew would love it. While ye’re doin’ so, I’ll go down an’ make us some tea. If I know Shemaine, she’ll be havin’ some wee cakes or crumpets made for servin’ with tea.” With a light, affectionate pat on Andrew’s shoulder, she moved toward the stairs.

  “Mrs. McGee . . . ?” William was amazed at the urgency in his tone and rebuked himself for having grown so awkward around women. Perhaps he had been too long a widower and too ambitious in his shipbuilding endeavors, for he had lost most of the social graces that women found attractive in men. In the years following his wife’s death, he had grown hard, unpolished, and irascible. No wonder he found it difficult to talk to the fairer gender.

  Mary Margaret returned to the cot and looked down at him inquiringly. “Would ye be wantin’ somethin’, me lord?”

  He flicked a quick, hesitant glance upward, but upon meeting eyes that were a truer blue than the sky, he dared to hold her gaze. “I was wondering how skilled you are with cards. . . .”

  The blue eyes twinkled as Mary Margaret raised her small, pointed chin and challenged him. “Skilled enough ta give yer lordship a run, ta be sure.”

  William grinned with the same cajoling charm his grandchild had mastered. “ ‘Tis boring up here all alone. Perhaps after Andrew has been put to bed, you’d consider a game or two. . . .”

  Mary Margaret inclined her elegant white head ever so slightly, but the shine in her eyes was dazzling. “A game or two . . . or mayhap even three. . . .”

  Shemaine and Gage were just coming out of their bedroom when Mary Margaret stepped from the back corridor into the kitchen. The elder paused to admire the young beauty who now wore a deep turquoise silk that had once been Victoria’s most enchanting gown. The woman clearly remembered how comely the previous owner had looked wearing it, but not nearly as much as the present one. A narrow turquoise ribbon adorned Shemaine’s slender throat, and from her earlobes hung pearl droplets, a recent gift Gage had bestowed upon his bride. Her fiery red hair had been swept atop her head beneath a white lace cap. Wispy curls had escaped around her face, lending an enchanting softness to the coiffure. A matching lace shawl draped her slender shoulders.

  “Ye’re a good-lookin’ couple,” Mary Margaret declared with exuberance. “The best I’ve ever seen!”

  Shemaine sank into a shallow curtsy. “You’re as kind as always, Mrs. McGee.”

  The Irishwoman softly hooted. “Don’t ye be thinkin’ I’d fill yer heads with lies ’cause I’ve nothin’ better ta say, dearie. ‘Tis truthful I be, an’ don’t ye be forgettin’ it.”

  With a laugh Shemaine sank into a deeper curtsy. “I won’t, Mrs. McGee, and thank you.”

  Leaving her, Shemaine hurried up the stairs to see if there was anything William needed before she and Gage left. As she came in view of his lordship, he swept off his eyeglasses and looked her over in avid appreciation.

  “I wonder if Maurice du Mercer realizes yet what is missing from his life,” his lordship pondered aloud as she began fluffing his pillows.

  “I’m sure by now Maurice is being relentlessly bombarded with invitations from parents eager to make a good match for their daughters. In fact, he has probably chosen another young lady as his betrothed.”

  “I find it hard to believe that Maurice could forget you so easily, my dear, but his ill fortune has been turned to my son’s gain.”

  Shemaine did not feel inclined to talk about her former fiancé when her husband was waiting. “Do you mind so much that we’re leaving you with Mrs. McGee? She’s really a very delightful woman.”

  At present, William was as reluctant to discuss his change of attitude toward the widow as Shemaine was to speak of the Marquess. “Don’t worry about me. Andrew and I will manage.”

  Shemaine wasn’t satisfied with his answer, but on impulse, she leaned down and placed an indulgent kiss upon his forehead, causing his brows to fly sharply upward in surprise.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” she murmured, and patted his hand before she turned to give Andrew a kiss and a hug. At the landing, she grinned back at them. “You both be good now, or Mrs. McGee will tell on you.”

  Andrew giggled at the idea that his grandfather was being admonished to behave. William winked at him and, resettling his eyeglasses upon his nose, picked up another book, drawing the youngster back to his side as he began to read.

  CHAPTER 20

  The wedding ceremony joining Annie Carver and Dr. Colby Ferris was a joyous occasion. Shemaine had never seen her friend looking so fetching. The pale blue gown, which Colby had hired seamstresses to make for his bride, suited Annie’s coloring well, lending a vibrant glow to her light olive skin and gray eyes. Her lank, brown hair had been braided with blue ribbons and artfully swept on top her head. Miles Becker, a close friend of the doctor, had made her a pair of fashionable slippers and presented them as an early wedding present.

  Colby Ferns had gone through a transformation as well. The stubble of whiskers that usually accentuated his gaunt features had been shaved away, and his gray hair had been neatly clipped and tied in a queue with black ribbon. Tailored garments of a somber gray lent a more dignified ap
pearance to his tall, gangling form.

  The vows were spoken in low, murmuring voices, and then, after sealing the pledges with a ring and a hesitant kiss, Annie and Colby knelt to receive the blessings of the priest. United in holy matrimony, they rose and turned to be presented to their friends.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Dr. and Mrs. Ferris.”

  The guests responded with spirited applause, while chants of “Hear! Hear!” echoed throughout the church. Gage and Shemaine joined Calley and Ramsey in extending their congratulations to the newly wedded pair. With tears of joy filling her eyes, Annie threw her arms around Shemaine and held her close.

  “Did ye ever think we could be so happy in this here land, m’liedy?”

  “No, Annie,” Shemaine murmured, laughing as she hugged her in return. “I never dared believe such happiness could come from my arrest until Gage bought me and took me home with him. Then my life began anew.” Stepping back, she smiled at her tiny friend. “I wish you and Colby all the happiness in the world, Annie . . . and may you have many beautiful children.”

  Casting a timid glance toward Colby, Annie blushed. “Ye may think this strange, m’liedy, seein’s as how I got a babe from it, but I’ve ne’er been with a man but once in me life. Ta be sure, I’m as nervous as an untainted virgin.”

  Shemaine smiled. “I’m sure Colby will be gentle with you, Annie . . . just as he was with Calley when he brought her babe into the world. You saw how careful he was. Can you imagine him being brutish with you?”

  Annie shook her head. “Nay, m’liedy.”

  “Then don’t worry.”

  Stepping back to allow others to talk with Annie, Shemaine slipped an arm through her husband’s, and smiled into his warmly glowing eyes. “Annie makes me realize just how fortunate I am.”