“I didn’t mean to involve you so closely,” Dominic said, startled. “If Lord Grahame chooses to publicly accuse me of seducing his mentally disturbed niece, you could be involved in a nasty scandal.”
“We’ve been boringly well behaved for much too long,” Rebecca said blandly. “The ceremony should take place day after tomorrow, I think. Tomorrow is too soon to arrange a proper wedding.”
Dominic frowned. “A very small wedding is best. I don’t want Meriel strained any further than she is already.”
“I understand,” Rebecca said reassuringly. “But even if Kenneth and I and perhaps the children are the only guests, there should be some sense of celebration. Marriage is one of life’s most important undertakings, so a wedding should not be a sad, shabby affair.” She slanted a warm, private glance at her husband. “Believe me, in later years you will both be glad to look back on a day that was special.”
Dominic nodded slowly. “You’re right, Rebecca. Meriel has been deprived of so much—she deserves a chance to be a bride. Besides, I’m not sure I could make all the arrangements by tomorrow. The special license, engaging a minister, the marriage settlements…” He started a mental list that included stopping by his rooms for clothing. Marrying Kyle’s bride while wearing Kyle’s own garments would add insult to injury.
Rising from her chair, Rebecca crossed to the windows at the back of the house, which overlooked the garden. “Will Lady Meriel let me paint her, do you think?”
Dominic set aside his mental list and joined her at the window. The small but pleasant garden had one tree at the far end, with a wooden bench round the trunk. Eyes closed, Meriel sat with her back against the tree. The Kimball hound lay at her feet, while the gray tabby dozed on her lap. He was glad to see that she had regained a little color.
“She might be willing,” he replied. “But not on this visit, I think. She’s having enough trouble enduring the city.”
“Rebecca and Sir Anthony and I may have to draw lots to determine who paints her first,” Kenneth observed with amusement. “She has an irresistible ethereal quality.”
“I can see her as Daphne,” his wife murmured. “Just beginning to turn into a laurel tree to escape being ravished by Apollo.”
“I think Keats, myself,” Dominic remarked.
“‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci?’Perfect,” Rebecca said with swift comprehension. Her eyes became hazy with inner vision. “Spun glass with a core of pure steel. A silver maiden in a primeval forest, surrounded by enchanted beasts.”
“Later, my love.” Kenneth put a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder. “What the girl needs now is a refuge, not a mythic painting.”
Snapping immediately back to reality, Rebecca said, “Do you think she’d mind if I went out and spoke with her?”
“If she minds, you’ll probably know soon enough.” Dominic smiled wryly. “Though I’m sure the only person she’s bitten has been my father.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with laughter. “I think I shall like Lady Meriel.” Stripping off her painter’s smock, she left the drawing room.
Dominic began to discuss logistics with Kenneth, grateful for the impulse that had led him to this safe haven. Even if Grahame thought to seek his niece in London instead of Gretna Green, he’d never find them in this private home. Two more days and they’d be husband and wife, and Meriel would be safe.
Safe, and his.
Street noise was a constant background hum in London, and Meriel didn’t realize she had company until a soft feminine voice asked, “May I join you?”
Ashamed of her earlier weakness, Meriel spent a moment collecting herself so she would not disgrace Dominic in front of his friends. Luckily, a garden and a purring cat were most therapeutic. She opened her eyes. Lady Kimball’s light was opalescent, many-layered, and sparked with changeable colors. “Of course, Lady Kimball. Forgive my rudeness in bolting out here.”
“London is overwhelming for anyone who grew up in the country.” Lady Kimball seated herself on the tree bench to Meriel’s right. In her mid-thirties, she wasn’t much taller than Meriel, with untidily knotted auburn hair and an air of imperturbable calm. She glanced at the sleeping hound. “Horatio has taken a remarkable liking to you, and I can only assume that you mesmerized the Gray Ghost, the cat in your lap.”
“I like animals.” Meriel stroked the old cat’s soft fur, wondering if Roxana and Ginger were pining for her. With luck, she would be home within the week. But first, she must learn to be strong. There was nothing very attractive about a female who could not manage the simplest aspects of life.
Lady Kimball leaned over to scratch Horatio, who moaned with canine bliss. “If you don’t object, the wedding will be held here the day after tomorrow.”
Meriel nodded, relieved. “I would like the privacy of that, Lady Kimball.”
“Call me Rebecca.” Leaning back against the tree trunk, the older woman said pensively, “I became involved in a scandal when I was a girl, and for years after I lived in this house as a recluse. It was very hard to emerge from solitude and reenter society.”
Meriel cocked her head to one side. “How did you manage?”
“Very badly. Kenneth had to drag me, kicking and screaming, to my first ball.”
“I see why he and Dominic are friends,” Meriel said dryly.
“They share a certain directness,” the other woman agreed. “Even with Kenneth at my side, my first venture into the fashionable world was ghastly. People stared, whispered behind my back, even insulted me to my face. But Kenneth’s friends accepted me for his sake, and soon I was glad to have rejoined the world. Though my attic studio was safe, it lacked variety.”
So because Kenneth’s friends had helped Rebecca, she was now doing the same for another outsider. Generous of her to try to make Meriel feel like less of a freak, though the situations were hardly the same. Meriel said wistfully, “I think my journey to the world will be much longer than yours.”
“Longer, and surely harder,” the other woman said quietly. “But with determination and the right companion, any journey is possible. You chose well with Dominic. I’ve never known a kinder, more accepting man, except for Kenneth.”
Rebecca was right—Dominic had been saintly in his patience and understanding. Too saintly, perhaps, for a female who was more pagan than lady.
Interrupting her thoughts, Rebecca asked, “Is there anything you would like for your wedding, or any questions you’d like to ask?”
Understanding what wasn’t said, Meriel replied, “Are you going to offer me a lesson on my marital duties? A very embarrassed general in Shropshire attempted that.”
“No lessons unless you ask for them,” Rebecca promised, her gaze shrewd. “But I would like to offer you a gown to be married in. You and I are near the same size, and I have something that should suit you very well.”
“Thank you.” Meriel felt a sting of tears; the last days had left her emotions scraped raw and too easily affected. She hated feeling so vulnerable. “You’re very good to a mad stranger.”
“You appear saner than half the painters I know. Not that that’s difficult!” Rebecca rose to her feet. “Stay out here as long as you like. When you’re ready, you’ll have a nice quiet room at the back of the house.”
“Thank you,” Meriel said again, wishing she were more eloquent. To her own surprise, she reached out to touch the other woman’s hand. “I’m glad that Dominic brought me here.”
Rebecca took her hand in a warm, turpentine-scented clasp. “I hope we see more of you. Dominic is almost a member of the family, and that means you are, too.” Rebecca’s gaze sharpened as she noticed the fading mehndi bracelet on Meriel’s wrist. “What’s this?”
“Mehndi. They are temporary designs painted in henna, very common in India and other Eastern countries.”
Eyes bright as a girl’s, Rebecca dropped onto the bench again. “How fascinating! Please, tell me more. Do the patterns have special meanings? Is it possible to get the henna
here in London?”
With a smile, Meriel began answering her hostess’s questions. It was good to have something to offer in return for all she was being given.
Chapter 35
Dominic was relieved to see that Meriel looked almost her normal self when she returned from the garden, though obviously she was tired. With only a brief glance for him, she requested a light supper in her room so she could go to bed early.
Tired himself and not wanting to disrupt the household routine any more than necessary, Dominic also excused himself not long after dinner. But before going to his room, he stopped to check on Meriel.
She called permission at his knock, and he entered to find her perched on a window seat, legs drawn up and arms locked around her knees as she gazed into the long summer twilight. The gray tabby had accompanied her, and was daintily finishing off the last of Meriel’s supper.
“I hope you ate something before the Gray Ghost took over your plate.” Dominic kissed the top of Meriel’s head, then sat in a chair by the window seat. Her bare toes peeped from beneath the hem of her dress.
“The Gray Ghost and I made a bargain,” she said without looking at him. “I got the first half of the meal, and he gets the second half.”
“You’re feeling better?”
She nodded, her gaze on the urban garden, or perhaps the jumbled rooftops of Mayfair. “But my life has changed so much that sometimes I wonder if I’m dreaming.”
He studied her cool profile. “Are you sorry for the changes?”
She was silent for a long time. “I suppose not. Much has been gained. But I was happy before you came, not knowing or caring what I missed. Would I have been better off staying as I was? I cannot say.”
He winced. Though in general he appreciated honesty, it hurt that she was so ambivalent about having him in her life. Trying not to sound defensive, he said, “Change would have come sooner or later. Lord Amworth was all that ever stood between you and the asylum, and he’s older and in poorer health than Lord Grahame.”
“Perhaps Warfield was the dream. If so, it was a happy one.”
“Are you unhappy now?”
She shivered. “I feel…suspended.”
As much for his comfort as for hers, he stood and lifted her from the window seat, then sat in the chair again with her across his lap. She exhaled softly and settled against him, her head on his shoulder. As the light faded, he stroked her back, reassured by her weight and warmth and familiar scent.
Knowing that it must be said, he murmured, “It’s not too late to change your mind about marriage if you truly don’t wish it, Meriel. Other arrangements can be made to keep you away from your uncle. Rebecca’s parents are about to leave for their summer house in the Lake District. Rebecca said you could go with them, and stay for the next several months. It’s a wild, quiet place. I think you’d like it there.”
Her slim body tensed, and the silence stretched so long that he was sure she would take this opportunity to back out. Instead, she asked in a flat little voice, “Are you having second thoughts now that you have seen how ill-suited I am to be a wife?”
“Good God, no!” he exclaimed. “What gave you that idea?”
“I have caused you a great deal of trouble. Now that we are here in London, it must be obvious that I will never be ‘normal.’” She tilted her head back, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. “Society says that a gentleman who proposes marriage is not allowed to change his mind—only ladies have that privilege. A stupid rule. I release you of all obligations. You wished to rescue me, and you have. Being a gentleman should not cost you more than it already has.”
His pulse began hammering. “I want you not from obligation, but from love, Meriel. I just had to be sure that you are marrying me of your own free will.”
Her mouth twisted with patent disbelief.
Horrified by the realization that they were a hairsbreadth from splitting apart, he kissed her hard, wanting to burn away her doubts. After a startled moment, her mouth opened under his and she responded with fierce hunger. As desire scorched through him, he realized that this was what they had needed.
They had not made love since the night she’d been rescued from the asylum. On the journey, they had occupied separate rooms for propriety’s sake, and because he had not wanted to burden her with physical demands when she was under so much stress.
But passion was healing, a way to renew fraying intimacy. He felt her coming alive, kissing back, her nails digging into his shoulders.
As the kiss became deeper and deeper, he slid his hand up her leg, under the skirt of her borrowed dress. She opened her knees so that he could skim the silky skin inside her thighs. When he touched the moist, heated folds of hidden flesh, she gasped. He probed more deeply, caressing until her hips began rolling, grinding provocatively into his lap. Feverishly he swept her up and laid her across the scarlet counterpane.
Then, urgent, heedless of subtlety, he unbuttoned his trousers and mounted her, yanking aside skirts and petticoats so he could thrust into her hotly welcoming body. She sucked in her breath when he entered, then wrapped arms and legs around him so their plunging bodies would stay locked together.
Their coupling was swift and feral, a fury of the blood that fused them into one. When he felt her convulsing, he captured her mouth so they absorbed their cries in each other. He poured himself into her, then subsided, shaking and dizzy, as he wondered at the madness that had overcome them both.
Panting for breath, he rolled onto his side. “Do you still doubt that I want you?”
She gave a soft laugh and touched his cheek. “No, Dominic.”
As he heard the satisfaction in her voice, he realized that she had needed to know what power she had over him. Under her air of fragility was great strength, and for many years she had been master of her own life within the confines of Warfield.
But lately she’d been buffeted by forces beyond her control, and that had left her off balance. She needed reassurance that she was not a helpless victim. Tenderly he kissed her temple, thinking how lucky he was that reassuring her was so richly rewarding.
The subject of withdrawing from the marriage was not mentioned again.
The morning began well, with a visit to the Kimballs’ solicitor, chosen because Dominic wanted no part of the family lawyer who had revealed Amworth’s plans to Lord Grahame. The solicitor, a shrewd-eyed man named Carlton, promised to immediately draw up documents to keep Meriel’s fortune under her control so they could be signed that afternoon at Kimball House.
Procuring a special license at Doctor’s Commons proved simple, if time-consuming, and the vicar of the local parish was willing and able to perform the ceremony. Dominic’s last stop at his rooms had the bonus of finding his valet, Clement, who had just returned from visiting his sick mother, now much improved.
It was a relief to confide the events of the last weeks to Clement, who was as much friend as servant. Though the valet rolled his eyes eloquently several times during the narrative, he efficiently packed Dominic’s clothing and wished his master a pleasant wedding day. Dominic considered inviting Clement to the ceremony but decided against it. Meriel didn’t need more strangers around her. The valet could join him later.
Dominic returned to Kimball House to find that Meriel had become a household favorite. Besides playing with the children and keeping Rebecca company in the studio, she’d used weeds, garden flowers, and an ancient, paint-encrusted pot to create an arrangement. When Rebecca saw it, she remarked, “Meriel has the eye of an artist.”
“A painter in blossom and branch,” Dominic agreed. Now that he’d learned to appreciate Meriel’s originality, he loved her creations.
Late in the afternoon, Carlton arrived with the draft marriage settlements. At a meeting in the study, the lawyer explained the provisions to Meriel. Kenneth also attended as a general advocate for Meriel’s interests. Dominic didn’t want there to ever be any suggestion that he had taken advantage of her in any way.
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Faced by three earnest men, Meriel listened to the proposed settlements with a vaguely unfocused expression that worried Dominic. She seemed to have withdrawn from sheer boredom, and didn’t really grasp the importance of what was being decided.
He should have known better. After Carlton’s summary, she scanned the document, then calmly ripped it into pieces. As the men stared, she said, “The provisions for children seemed reasonable. Retain them. As for the rest, draw up a settlement in which Renbourne and I share equally in responsibility for Warfield, and have equal access to all moneys. Neither of us may do anything drastic, such as selling off land or investments, without the consent of the other.”
Carlton’s jaw dropped. “That is a very radical arrangement.”
Meriel’s delicate brows arched. “But surely not illegal?”
“Not if properly drawn,” the lawyer admitted.
“Then do it.” Meriel got to her feet. Wearing a simple blue morning gown of Rebecca’s, she was every inch an aristocrat. “If I die before my husband, he is heir to all I own. If we both die without children, my fortune goes back to whence it came—the land to my mother’s family, the bulk of the money to my father’s people.”
Dominic stammered, “B-but you wanted to have all of your holdings in trust, so that I would not be able to misuse your fortune.”
“Your idea, not mine,” she said coolly. “I said I would rather be your mistress than your wife, but I have never distrusted your honesty.” She inclined her head. “Gentlemen.” Then she turned and left the study, her long flaxen braid swaying gently.
Dominic, still stunned, saw that Kenneth was shaking with silent laughter. Carlton took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. “A remarkable young lady, Mr. Renbourne. One who knows her own mind. While her settlement requirements are most unusual, one cannot say they are unreasonable.”
Grinning, Kenneth said, “You’re marrying a sylph of steel, Dominic. One can see the blood of Norman conquerors in her veins.” Gaze becoming unfocused, he picked up a pencil and began sketching on a piece of torn settlement paper. “That’s the way to paint her—as a Norman chatelaine on the castle walls, defending herself and her people against siege while her noble husband is away. Fragile but indomitable as she brandishes a sword to rally her men-at-arms.”
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