"I knew I remembered that place," Lucy said, her eyes glowing. "I remember laughter and sunshine. Joy."
"What you should recall is getting soaked to the bone," Dominic said softly. "You plunged in after the swans, and I... pulled you from the water. Your mother was so grateful, she insisted on telling my mother what a fine son she had, insisted on thanking her."
Valcour's voice dropped low. "I didn't know who she was until she introduced herself to my mother, told her she was Emily d'Autrecourt, Lord Alexander's wife, and that your name was Jenny. You were already racing off again, chasing fairies or sunbeams, your golden curls bouncing. Your mother turned to chase after you. I don't think she saw my mother start to cry."
Lucinda reached out, and Valcour came to her, catching up her hand.
"I knew my father would kill the man who had besmirched his honor. And every time my father asked me who had done so, all I could think of was you... a little moppet with golden curls, and a beautiful lady, laughing as we splashed toward her. How could I tell my father, Countess? No matter how much I loved him?"
"Dominic... I'm so sorry..." she whispered.
"My noble sacrifice was all for nothing in the end, wasn't it? You were alone, stolen away from your mother."
"The 'Night Song' was with me always. Making me hope, making me dream. That is why I really came back to England. To find the person who wrote it... to find the magic. And I did. Dominic, I did."
Valcour looked down into her shining eyes. "I love you, hoyden," he whispered. "I tried to tell you so many times when you lay here, sleeping. I kissed you, I begged you—"
"More likely you were ordering me around again."
He smiled a little. "When Natty climbed through my window, told me where you'd gone, I was crazed with worry."
"Natty? That was how you found me?"
"The resourceful little rogue followed you. Then, when d'Autrecourt abducted you, the boy came to tell me. He'll never want for anything again, I promise you!" Valcour looked away, his voice husky. "Why didn't you trust me, Countess? Let me help you?"
"I was coming to tell you, but Aubrey was there. You looked so sad, I couldn't bear to distress you."
"Distress me? You drove me to madness, chasing after you, not knowing if you were alive or dead, lost to me forever." Valcour stopped, his voice wondering, awed. "But the music... the music brought you back to me, didn't it, Countess?"
She nodded.
"Aubrey and Mama are below stairs, waiting. They've been here from the first. They love you, you know."
He hadn't known any more joy could be squeezed into Lucinda's eyes, but they glistened, tears starting afresh.
"Aubrey knows everything. And the boy... the infernal boy always did know how to discomfit me. It seems he has decided to forgive me for being a—how did you put it, angel, a pompous ass? They're giving me a second chance. And now I have a second chance with you as well. I promise you, I'll prove worthy of it. I won't rage at you anymore or order you about or play the tyrant—"
"And I won't ever defy you again." She promised so solemnly, but her eyes were laughing, filled with so much tenderness, it broke his heart. "I am plotting a lifetime of rebellion against your tyranny, my lord. I count on you to be an adversary worthy of the Raider's daughter."
"I'll never be worthy of you, Lucinda St. Cyr," Valcour whispered. "But I promise you, Countess, I'll love you more than any man has ever loved a woman before. I'll try to be all the things you wrote in that letter to your parents. Try to be everything you ever dreamed."
"I only want you, Dominic. A stubborn, arrogant English aristocrat who kisses me until my bones melt and rages at me and loves me. I only want everything you promised me all those years ago in the 'Night Song.' A love so perfect no dream can ever compare."
Valcour lowered his mouth to his countess's, sealing his promise in a way no mere words could ever convey, his kiss as hauntingly beautiful, as filled with magic as the song he had written for a little girl so many years before.
Epilogue
Ian Blackheath's eyes seethed with sullen hurt as John Wilkes's coach jolted on its way from the ship's landing, the bubbling excitement of the Blackheath children and the delighted chatter of Emily and Claree doing little to ease the sting of disappointment Ian felt at Lucy's defection.
He had been pacing the ship's deck from the moment England's shore was in sight, as if hoping to see bouncing golden curls and the saucy face of the daughter he hadn't seen for two years. But the ship had docked, the gangplank had been lowered, and the trunks cast off, and still there had been no sign of Lucy.
Instead, he was all but barreled over by a red-haired boy of about nine who looked distinctly uncomfortable in full dress regalia.
"You must be that Raider fellow come to see the countess," the lad had said, tugging at his neckcloth. "I ain't supposed to yank at it," he confided, "but the dashed thing's choking the life out of me."
"Who are you?" Ian demanded, nonplussed. "A messenger from my daughter? Some sort of page?"
"Hell no! I mean, heck no. I'm John Wilkes's new boy. Nathaniel."
Ian stared. "You belong to John Wilkes?"
"Just adopted me a month ago. It was a hard decision for me to make. I was right happy living in the countess's garden, you see. 'Specially since his lordship darkened ol’ Pappy Blood's daylights when the bastard tried to fetch me back to a life of crime. But the Wilkeses wanted a boy real bad. An' they've got a stable almost as prime as the earl does." For an instant those button-bright eyes flicked longingly to Ian's gold watch chain. "Course, the lady keeps hugging me whenever I pass by her, and I still have the devil of a time not filching a body's purse when there's a delicious fat one just dangling there waiting to be pinched. But my new pa don't tolerate stealing."
"Ian! Emily!" The cry of greeting made Blackheath turn, to see John and Claree striding through the crowd, their faces alight with pride in the cheeky rogue standing at Ian's side.
"I found that Raider fellow for you," Nathaniel announced. "An' I didn't even take his watch, though the chain is dangling there just begging to be snatched."
"You've shown admirable restraint, boy," Wilkes said, ruffling carroty curls. "And I trust you also showed restraint in... other ways as well?"
"Not a word, sir. I was just about to tell 'em all that the earl and her ladyship misplaced the time of the ship's arrival."
"Misplaced the time?" Ian blustered. "What the devil is that supposed to mean? How could the girl forget what time her family was arriving after two years' separation?"
Natty smirked. "Her ladyship always has been a little shatter-brained. And anyway, countesses are much too exalted to come to the dockyards. She probably had a soiree at some duchess's house that was much more important."
"The devil you say!" Ian blazed.
"Ian, enough. Let's just get in the coach and go see her!" Emily passed the sleepy bundle that was little Jesse into her husband's arms. Ian took his first son and scowled into the toddler's face. "If that sister of yours has gone arrogant on me, I vow, I'll be back aboard that ship before she sails out again!"
"You're being absurd," Emily said in soothing accents, climbing in beside Claree. "I'm certain there is a perfectly good reason Lucy didn't come to meet us."
"Such as?" Ian demanded. "She's been climbing out windows? Playing ghost?"
"Oh, dear! I thought the earl had put a stop to such things," Claree interrupted, a worried pucker to her brow.
Emily smiled. "From what Lucy says in her letters, his lordship dotes on her to the point of madness, and is so protective of her—"
"I doted on her and I could never control her!" Ian groused. "There's not a reason in the world that girl shouldn't have been here to greet me... I mean, her mama. I know how disappointed you were when she wasn't there, Emily Rose!" He huffed, then lapsed into a fit of sulks that lasted until the coach rumbled to a stop. Ian looked up at an elegant townhouse, suddenly sure that if his Lucy came bouncing out the door he
would forgive her anything.
But the door was closed, a hush blanketing the place, as if no one but the Wilkeses had any idea her ladyship's parents had just arrived from across the sea.
John's eyes were dancing as he opened the coach door. "We'll leave you to your reunion. You might mention to Lucy that she invited us to tea tomorrow."
"What? Has the girl become too dull-witted to bother remembering such trivial matters?" Ian thrust Jesse back into his mother's arms.
"See for yourself, my friend," Wilkes said with a grin.
Pendragon was in no mood for cryptic amusement, especially at his expense.
He bolted out of the coach, stalking up to the house, elated at the prospect of seeing his daughter again, sick with apprehension that the Lucy he knew would be gone.
A footman swept open the door, bowing low. "If I may be of service, sir?"
"You can tell me where the blazes my daughter is!" Ian snapped.
"You mean, 'her ladyship'? I believe she is upstairs, napping."
Napping? Zounds! It was worse than Ian had thought. Had the girl become one of these lazy English chits barely able to lift their cup of chocolate before noon?
"Lucy?" Ian bellowed, heading for the stairs. "Blast it, girl, where are you?" Ian called.
"Please, sir! Quiet!" The footman stammered. "The earl will not tolerate such noise right now!"
"I've not seen my daughter for two years! The earl can go to the devil!"
From the moment he'd received word of her marriage, Ian had instinctively disliked the man who had stolen his daughter away. This English earl, doubtless cold and aloof, bitingly arrogant, groomed by valets to sickening perfection.
None of Pendragon's preconceptions had prepared him for the man who charged down the stairway at that moment.
Dark hair tangled in a wild mane about a harried face, black eyes looking befuddled as the devil. A fine linen shirt clung in damp patches to his chest, the sleeves rolled up over well-muscled forearms.
"Be quiet, damn your eyes!" the man bit out. "Who the blazes are you and what are you doing in my house?"
"I'm Ian Blackheath."
Pendragon's glare had made whole squadrons of English soldiers turn and flee. But never had he seen such a singular reaction as the one on this man's face.
He slammed to a halt, blinking in abject confusion. "Yes! No! That's impossible! You aren't supposed to be here for days and days. Surely I would have remembered..." The man raked his fingers through his hair then looked at Ian again. "What day is it, anyway? Thursday? Friday?"
Ian took a step back. God knew, he'd often suspected Lucy would drive her husband insane. But this was beyond even his considerable imagination.
"It's Saturday," he snapped. "What the devil have you done with my daughter?"
"A good deal too much, if the results are any indication," Valcour said cryptically. "Damn the girl, do you have any idea what she's done now? Of course not. She wouldn't do the sensible thing and prepare you! What fun would that be? You'll have to come see for yourself!"
Ian caught a glimpse of Emily's puzzled face, the children clustered about her. But Valcour was already charging up the stairs. Ian rushed after him, heard the others following in his wake.
At the far end of the corridor, the earl flung open the door to the most elegant chamber Ian had ever seen—a chamber obviously converted to a nursery.
Pendragon slammed to a halt, as if the earth had suddenly split before him.
Lucy stood in a gown of river-blue satin, her back to the door. She was totally unaware of her father's arrival, but her laughter rippled out. "It's too late, Dominic! I'm afraid you will have to 'hang the infernal fool' who made that disturbance."
"No, Countess!" Valcour interjected. "There's been a terrible mix-up."
"But your daughter is wide awake again and demanding her papa!" Lucy called. "You swore you'd hang the next person who disturbed her."
The piteous wail that erupted made Ian stagger into the room, stunned. "A baby?"
Lucinda whirled, her face like sunshine—bright, filled with joy. "Papa! Oh, Papa!" She raced toward him, baby and all. "You're here at last! Where are Mama and the little ones and—"
She cried out, catching her mother and sisters in a delighted embrace as they entered the room. "I can't believe you're all here at last! I've missed you so much! And this is Jesse! Good morrow, little brother! He looks just like you, Papa! I swear he does!"
She turned to Valcour, relief in her eyes. "Dominic, I had forgotten what day it was! Thank God you remembered."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Valcour insisted. "I didn't remember. Near as I can figure, the—the coachman did."
"John and Claree fetched us from the dock," Ian said, amidst the infant whimpers. "But they didn't say a word about a baby, by God's wounds! Girl, why didn't you write and tell us you were with child?"
"Lucy, are you all right?" Emily asked.
"You see why I didn't tell them, Dominic?" Lucy said, triumphant, then turned back to her parents. "I knew the moment you heard you would both be in a blather. I didn't want to worry you. And I wanted so much for it to be a surprise! But in the end, it turned out more astonishing than even I could have imagined, because—"
"Wait," Ian said, pointing almost accusingly at the little mouth contentedly sucking at the tip of Lucy's little finger. "That baby isn't crying."
"No, it's the other one's turn," Valcour said, as if that explained everything. "It's some sort of pact concocted in the womb. One awakens, the other sleeps; one is hungry, the other won't eat if God Himself commands it. The instant there is a lull in the storm, they both wake up, bellowing to bring the house down."
"Both? You don't mean... twins?" Emily gasped, the color leaving her cheeks. "Child, did all go well?" The woman who had brought forth five children without a wisp of concern obviously found the fact that her daughter had been in travail daunting beyond belief.
"Did it go well?" Valcour moaned, going to scoop up his tiny daughter. "It was terrible! The worst night of my life! But Lucinda delighted in it. She adores nothing more than driving me wild!"
Lucy laughed at her husband. "You would think that since I produced a son, as our bargain required, the man would be elated!"
"I am, hoyden, I am, it's just..." Valcour looked at his wife, the anxiety he had suffered still shadowing his face. "I didn't know there would be so much... so much pain." His voice dropped, barely audible. "I didn't know I'd be so damned scared!"
"And here I thought Lucy was the one who had the babies," Ian observed wryly.
"You are a fine one to talk, Papa!" Lucy teased. "You and Dominic are exactly alike. He didn't leave my side for a moment. Not even when the midwife threatened to chase him from the room with a fire iron if he didn't calm himself."
Blackheath looked from his radiant daughter to the son-in-law he had been so determined to dislike. He grimaced. It was damned hard to dislike a man who looked so battle-dazed. "It was a bed warmer when Norah was born. I can still see old Mahitabel waving that thing at me, cursing."
"But two babes!" Valcour echoed. "Why is it Lucinda has to outdo the rest of the world at every turn? For six weeks now, the whole house has been in an uproar. Of course, Lucy kept it in an uproar anyway, but this has gone beyond even that madness. My wife will not allow the so skillful nurse I hired to give any but the most cursory aid. No. She insists Mama and Papa be neck-deep in lullabies and cradle rocking."
"As if anyone can keep you from the nursery, my lord!" Lucy teased. "I vow, I wake three times a night to an empty bed and find Dominic bending over the cradles."
"I just want to be certain they're both breathing! They were so infernally tiny."
Ian nodded with abject sympathy. "I know. They seem so impossibly helpless. But next thing you know, they'll be climbing out windows in the middle of the night, raiding the pantry and terrorizing the servants."
The warnings fell on deaf ears, the new papa already enrapture
d again. "My God, did you ever see anything so beautiful? Beautiful just like their mama."
Emily touched Valcour's arm. "Perhaps you would care to introduce us?"
"This is Dante." Lucy indicated the tiny angel in her arms. "The one who is complaining at the moment is Aria. Dominic had just gotten her to sleep before you arrived. A feat that was not accomplished without considerable effort, I might add. The girl is incredibly hardheaded and opinionated for such a small person."
"I wonder where she would get such a trait," Valcour snorted.
"They're beautiful," Emily said, touching one tiny cheek. "Look, Jesse," she said, setting the boy on unsteady feet. "See the baby?"
"If you ask me, they look bald and squally," Norah piped up. "But I s'pose, in time, I can teach them to be quite naughty, don't you think?"
Valcour rolled his eyes heavenward. "Without a doubt, considering the chase their mother led me."
Valcour felt a small hand tug at his breeches and looked down into the face of little Hannah. "That horsie is too big for them. They'll fall right off," the child observed, pointing to a rocking horse of gargantuan proportions, a wooden sword and a doll house intricate enough for a crowned princess standing against the wall. "I could take 'tare of it for the babies."
"I would be most grateful if you would do so. My brother sends a new trinket every week for the two of them! He's a captain in the cavalry. A fine one. But he seems to consider it his mission in life to see that his niece and nephew are hopelessly spoiled."
"As if you aren't the worst offender in that regard," Lucy said, delighted. "The day after they were born, he ordered up matching ponies for the two of them, the most beautiful ponies with cream manes and tails and coats like aged gold."
"They adore their ponies. I've taken them out to see them a dozen times. I vow last time Dante smiled, and as for Aria—look at the hands on this girl! She already has the makings of a fine horsewoman!" Valcour flushed and took his son from Lucy.
The earl dipped down on bended knee, a baby balanced in the crook of each arm. "Look, children. A little man, and a little lady, both at once. Is your sister not the most amazing woman ever born?"
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