The Bittersweet Bride

by Vanessa Riley

  “Son?” Lord Crisdon asked, raising his head. “I didn’t know you would be here. I no longer need your assistance. The widow is selling.”

  Mother rushed to him and wrapped her arms about him. “I’ve missed you so, Ewan. Your play is wonderful. I’ve seen it twice with all my friends. I told you, Crisdon, he would be great.”

  “Yes, you did, my dear. A Fitzwilliam, the talk of the town.” Lord Crisdon folded his arms, wrinkling the sleeves of his pristine charcoal coat. “A Fitzwilliam in theater.”

  Lord Crisdon turned toward the hall. “There could be worse things.”

  Theodosia stood at the threshold of the room, holding Philip.

  Ewan’s breath caught, overpowering the anger boiling in his gut at his father’s sneer. She’d changed into a fresh gown of blush. Bright and beautiful, with her silky hair way up in a shiny black chignon, she could be one of the pretty flowers on the trellis. And Philip, he wore a crisp white pinafore and sat safe and secure in his mother’s arms.

  “I see you are here, Lord Crisdon,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d come, too, Lady Crisdon.”

  His mother looked her way for a moment, then took a few steps Theodosia’s way. Maybe she had to see the boy’s crystal-blue eyes.

  Lord Crisdon took papers from his pocket. “Here is the paperwork. I’ll have my bank draft the amount.”

  Brow raised, Theodosia took the papers from him and handed them to Philip. Carrying the boy to the mantel, she pointed to the flames. “Philip, toss this rubbish into the flames. Lord Crisdon, we will use my paperwork, and you were to come with the banknote or there will be no deal.”

  “Crisdon,” his mother said, in a voice that sounded weepy. “Don’t cheapen out now. She’s going to sell.”

  Ewan shook his head. “I have a better deal for you all to consider, and it will only cost twenty thousand pounds.”

  “Speak up, my boy.” Lord Crisdon moved toward Ewan. “I am assuming, since you are here that you’ve already married her, and the land is ours.”

  “No. I am here to see about Mrs. Cecil and her son’s best interest. I edited a few pages of the bill of sale to a lease, of sorts.”

  Theodosia bit her lip. She came to him and took the papers from him. “Ewan, this is not what I—”

  “Trust me, Mrs. Cecil. Trust me now, or never.”

  With a nod, she handed the papers to Lord Crisdon.

  His father took them and pressed his beady face close to the pages. He harrumphed. “Twenty thousand pounds to lease the water rights? How is this good? It doesn’t give us Tradenwood.”

  Ewan took Theodosia’s hand within his and she smiled, a big true one. “The widow is eloping, but I will make sure her affairs are in order. Sign this, pay her, and make Jasper master over Grandbole. Then this lease is perpetual. You will never suffer from water rationing again; no further payment after this.”

  His father groused. “A lease that can be changed annually? Why would I ever do this?”

  “You can simply pay a one-time fee and abide by the terms, or you pay annually. What was the amount each year you wanted, dearest?”

  “It was twenty thousand pounds per annum,” Theo said, turning Philip away from Lady Crisdon’s slow advance.

  Ewan took his son from Theodosia. He wanted Mother to see him, to feel the loss that he’d lived until yesterday. “Mrs. Cecil, if the Earl of Crisdon is late in his payments at 4 percent interest, what would that be?”

  Theodosia didn’t blink and said, “That would be another eight hundred pounds.”

  With Philip squirming, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “She’s a dream with numbers.”

  Lord Crisdon guffawed as he paced back and forth. “That’s blackmail. Son, you are very sure of yourself.”

  “Never been more, my lord, never more.”

  The man smiled at him. “Didn’t think you had it in you, my boy.”

  Catching Theodosia’s gaze, he gave her hand a little squeeze. “I didn’t either, not until I lost the one person who believed in me.”

  Mother sat on the chaise and pulled out her fan. “But what of Tradenwood? I thought she was going to sell it back to us?”

  Lord Crisdon went to the desk and dipped the pen in the ink. “No. Fitzwilliam has come up with a good plan.”

  Tears welled in his mother’s eyes, and she fanned faster. “No. This was my home. I was born here. She doesn’t—”

  Philip fidgeted more, so Ewan set him down. The boy took the old book of Shakespeare from the table and climbed up onto the chaise, next to Mother.

  Fanning harder, she looked straight ahead. “Do something, Crisdon.”

  “Mother, he is doing something by taking Mrs. Cecil’s deal. If not, he knows Ewan Fitzwilliam-Cecil will personally ensure not a drop of water will flow to Grandbole.”

  Theodosia looked up. Her trademark lip bite had bloomed into a perfect smile. “Ewan, you would change your name, for me?”

  “Yes. Cecil will be the name celebrated in Town, and it allows you to keep the only name you’ve ever known.”

  She gripped his arm tighter. “Thank you.”

  Something passed over his father’s gaze. He pulled his note from his pocket and made the sum twenty thousand pounds, but he made it out to Ewan Fitzwilliam-Cecil. “You win. Lord Hartwell will now have full control of Grandbole, and I will join your mother in London. Come along, my dear.”

  Mother rose. “So you are marrying her? You will be master here?”

  “It’s none of your concern. I love you, Mother, but you are not welcome.”

  Her big blue eyes widened to a point of almost popping. “I’ll say sorry. Have you no charity for your old mother?”

  Ewan moved to the door and held it open. “My loyalties are to Theodosia and Philip. Maybe we’ll visit you in Town at one of your fabulous parties, but not here.”

  Her jaw trembled. She clutched her husband’s arm and left the room. Lord Crisdon paused for a moment and grasped Ewan’s hand. “Hold on to what is yours. And congratulations. You bested me.”

  “Father, I made things right.”

  The man nodded and left the room.

  Theodosia came to his side and put a palm on his arm. “I am so sorry, Ewan.” She hugged him tight. “I never wanted you to choose.”

  Ewan scooped her up, pulling all her weight against him and spun her. “A man has to choose.”

  “I can’t believe.” She was winded, tearing up so much, but the last wall separating them had to be released. “Your mother looked so heartbroken.”

  For a moment, he cradled her against his silk waistcoat, against his scar-filled chest and restored heart. Setting her on top of the writing desk, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped up every droplet trailing her flared nose. “We have one thing to resolve. Now, that you’ve compromised me with this overnight stay, forced me to change my name, you must decide if we wed.”

  She hiccupped and furrowed her brow. “I thought you had decided.”

  “No. You need to ask me and mean it. Now, I am not opposed to you thoroughly ravishing me, if that will bring you assurance of my affections.” He kissed her palm. “I need you to be very sure.”

  “I’m scared Ewan. What if we end up hurting each other again?”

  Wiser than before, he shook his head. “That won’t happen. My love for you is stronger than anything.”

  “But I’m not strong, not when it comes to you. Ewan, I’m weak. I’m fragile. I fear you walking out of my life, out of my son’s life, and this time no miracle will bring you back.”

  “Love means being brave. There is no one braver than you, Theodosia.” He put his hands to her waist, lifted her in the air, and twirled her until she clung to his neck. “My love means you can put your weight on me, all of your burdens. I love you, sweetheart.” He set her back upon her slippers and took one step from her. “The strength of my feelings could overwhelm you. I could sweep you away in a wave of emotion so thick, that you’d float. I have e
nough love and patience to wait for you, until you are sure. You are worth everything to me, but I need to know if you want to be with me for the rest of your life?”

  Swaying a little, she twisted her fingers. She stilled and put her hands to his face. “Ewan Fitzwilliam.”

  “Fitzwilliam-Cecil.”

  “Ewan Fitzwilliam-Cecil, will you marry me?”

  He said nothing and stared at her.

  Her forehead filled with lines, and she put a hand to her hip. “Well?”

  “Was that it? What about the part about loving me forever? Your note said something about keeping me in your heart. I want to hear that aloud. A direct address is important. And do it loud, so Philip will hear.”

  Theodosia’s lovely mouth opened but nothing came out. She shook as if she’d received a shock.

  Maybe this was too hard for her. Maybe it was too much to expect after all they’d been through. Loving her more than himself and his ego, he decided to make it easier for her to accept him. “I’m teasing—”

  She put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. I need to say this. Be patient or I won’t get the words out. You know I struggle with words. That day so long ago in the carriage house, I should’ve said the words, don’t leave me, or take me with you. I should’ve begged you to not to part from me. I was so afraid of your father and so shamed for my own actions. I let fear steal my voice then; I can’t let fear take it now.”

  He wanted to tell her he understood, but he knew her well enough to know she had to say her peace. “I’m listening.”

  Biting her lip, she stopped and grabbed ahold of his gaze. “Six years ago, an ignorant flower seller lost her heart to a dreamer, but what that wonderful man needed to know was that he was her best dream. Ewan, my heart crumbled when I thought you died. I wanted to die, too. Then I found I carried your babe. That part of you had to live. I had to keep alive any piece of you and the love that burned so brightly it scorched my soul. Know that even when you were dead, or far away, you were in my heart, haunting my memories with an everlasting love. When I couldn’t grieve anymore, when I thought my soul was dry, you were there in my tears.”

  He took her hand and kissed it, then wove her palm against the scars on his chest. “I should have been here to dry those tears. I will never ever let you be far from me again. I’ll never be parted from you, Theodosia. I love you more than anything.”

  Trembling, she fell into his embrace. “Mathew rescued me and Philip. I loved him for that, but I have always, always been in love with you. Not a day, not a moment passed without you being in my heart, and this time, I know you won’t let me go. I can trust you with all of me, with the best of me, with our son.”

  He claimed her lips, whispering his love in each kiss, taking her mouth with a desire to assure her he felt the same, that she was a part of him, too—the only part that had worth.

  She brushed at her eyes. “So, yes, Mr. Playwright. I love you. Marry me. Make me Mrs. Ewan Fitzwilliam-Cecil, a new name that I will love above all else.”

  “Yes,” he said, hoping she heard the promise of forever in his tone. “We should be going. I want you to have our name as soon as possible.”

  Slipping from him, she went to her desk and rummaged inside until she pulled out her satin reticule. “That name, it’s better than Flower Seller.”

  “You will be Theodosia Fitzwilliam-Cecil, the flower girl who made two men love her. For my vanity’s sake, I’d like to think of the first husband as a placeholder, the one you needed until I grew up.”

  “Mathew wasn’t—”

  “I know.” He brushed his lips against hers. “It’s my goal, to make you secure in my love. I want to be your preferred husband. I hear it’s difficult to beat a true ghost.”

  “You were my first love, Ewan, and now my last.”

  “Time for new memories.” Grasping Philip in one arm, he clasped her hand and headed to his rented carriage. “It’s time to go elope.”

  Pickens stood at the door, the one he’d stood guard on the many nights Theo had kept Ewan at bay. His smile was big. “Godspeed.”

  “Tell Lord Hartwell and my fiancée’s dearest friends to have a wedding supper ready here when we return, in three days.”

  He settled his family inside the carriage and tapped the roof. As it started down the drive, Theodosia settled Philip onto his lap. “We could’ve taken one of my carriages. This is a long trip for a squirming child.”

  “No, I like it quiet and intimate here. Forces you to be near.”

  She frowned up and looked out the window. “I should go get medicine or an onion for Philip. He might have pain.”

  “I thought of it. It’s in my stowed bag. I must be prepared to live life with you.”

  “That’s a half a penny for the onion. At least ten shillings for the laudanum. That’s a lot of money.”

  He reached for a bag on the floor and pulled out the little wooden horse and put it in Philip’s small hands. “Well, this playwright will use his simple means to be of use.”

  “You are. You make me happy. We will be safe with you, Ewan. This time, I truly know it.”

  Blessed beyond measure, he waited for Theodosia to settle beside him. It was the place she belonged, next to his heart.

  Epilogue

  Theodosia yawned as the sounds from the first floor of Tradenwood, a pianoforte and laughter, finally started to quiet. Her open balcony door let the sweet smell of clematis inside her candlelit room. She sat at her vanity, staring at the gold band Ewan had purchased for her at Gretna Green. Simple, elegant, easily encompassing her finger. Her heart warmed at the sight of it. This meant security for her and Philip.

  What a whirlwind the past three days had been. They’d journeyed to Scotland, only stopping for a meal or to water the horses. They’d arrived for a simple ceremony with a blacksmith whose coal-dusted hands had bested her own coloring. It all seemed too quick, and too short of a service to support the guinea Ewan had left the man.

  Yet, maybe it was worth the stares they’d received. They did look different from other couples venturing to marry. Nonetheless, once Ewan had kissed her dizzy, she’d stopped paying attention to villagers and the footman. His love made the world disappear.

  The door connecting their rooms opened, and Ewan came inside. The burgundy-colored robe draping his shoulders made his outline look royal, kingly, but the scars showed him as blessed.

  Barefoot, he strode to her, took her hand, and spun her to Frederica’s pianoforte tune.

  “How is Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil this evening?”

  She looked in his eyes and didn’t know quite what to say. Happiness spilled from her heart, but so did nervousness. This was their first moment alone since the wedding.

  He twirled her again. “Philip’s tucked in bed. Your friends, Miss Burghley, Miss Croome, and Miss Thomas have assured me that they will take care of him, should he need assistance. And my dear brother is also in charge of making sure my theater friends don’t stay too long.”

  Ewan stopped midstep. “I may have tasked the wrong man to chaperone. He’s enjoys a good party.”

  “Lord Hartwell is quite capable. He chose my advertisement, after all. I feel quite confident in him.”

  “Yes, he does seem to have good taste, as does Miss Croome. She’s beguiled by the actors. Maybe she has a future in the theater.”

  Theodosia muffled a giggle, thinking of her dear friend. “No, she’s too shy, but she has a serious liking for Arthur Bex. She adores his voice.”

  Ewan tugged free the bow of Theodosia’s nightgown. “He’s a great actor, but she should take care. He’s fighting something, not sure what, but something.”

  “Little Miss Croome is big with plans but too nervous to carry them out. You saw how she was mouse quiet through supper.”

  He spread the thin fabric of her robe and wove his hands underneath, cupping her shoulders. “Sheer does look good on you.”

  Her face heated and she took a half step backward. “I haven’t cha
nged too much. It’s been six years since you saw—all of me.”

  “Shyness is one of your enduring qualities, too.” Ewan scooped her up. His eyes, those bluer-than-blue wonders, glittered with candlelight. He carried her to her wide bed, separated the curtains, but allowed the gauzy fabric to sweep her face. “One of many and finally a bed, a wide one.”

  Soft and gentle, he laid her upon the mattress. He dipped out, blew out most of the candles, then entered from the other side of the canopy.

  The music below faded. The beating of her heart overtook his. Six years since she’d been this close to him. Maybe she was dreaming, a wicked, delicious dream of the man who knew her soul, who was finally free to love her.

  The sweetness of his gentle caresses almost distracted Theodosia from his fingers slipping off her robe, his thumbs flicking pins from her hair.

  He splayed her locks between his palms. “You are the most beautiful woman. Six years have served you well.”

  She sat up with her hair dripping down her arms. She bit her lip and waited.

  Smiling, he reached over, grabbed all the pillows, and turned back down.

  “What? Ewan?”

  He fluffed one and adjusted it underneath his neck. He worked a spot in the bedsheets smooth before stretching. “Good night, my love.”

  She hovered over him and shook him. “But technically this is our wedding night.”

  “I’m not rushing you, Theo. I made my father pay a large dowry for me, which cancels out the payment made to Lester.”

  “Yes, that was clever of you, but what does that have—”

  He trailed his pinkie over her nose. “This being my first marriage, shouldn’t I be like the new bride awaiting discovery?” He leaned up and nipped the lobe of her ear, raking it with sensations. “You know what to do to help my motivation. I remember a vixen, a saucy Circe plying me with temptation in a carriage. Where is she?”

  “Hiding. Wondering how things will be with us. Six years later.”

  He put her hand to his chest, forcing her to feel the wild thread of his heartbeat against the scars. “We will be better. We know better. We will love better.”