Love Forever After

by Patricia Rice

  “We all have to die sometime, Nellie. Now show me where you saw those children. I might as well accomplish something constructive with this evening.”

  Chapter 7

  The pounding at her chamber door did not resemble Graham’s abrupt knock. Penelope wearily dragged herself from the depths of sleep to contemplate the gray dawn and the source of the noise. After the theater she had joined Guy and several other couples in a late supper, and she had arrived home shockingly late. She was not ready to wake.

  The pounding continued, howbeit discreetly, and an anxious voice called out. “Oh, my lady, please wake up. Mrs. Haywood says you must come quick.”

  There was a whispered conference in which someone recommended going up to the attic and fetching my lady’s personal maid and sending her into the viscountess’s chamber, while the first voice expressed as much fear of doing that as disturbing the lady.

  This foolish debate roused Penelope sufficiently to realize some household emergency had taken place. Not wanting the noise to disturb Graham, she sat up and reached for her robe, then called for the maids to enter.

  Alexandra’s nursemaid bobbed a hasty curtsy and launched into her woes. “It’s Miss Alexandra, my lady. Mrs. Haywood says you must come. I told her I could not wake you and you being up and about all night, but she won’t hear of nothing else but I come to fetch you.”

  Penelope found her slippers and tightened the belt of her robe. “What is it, Peggy? What’s wrong with Alexandra?”

  “It’s the fever she’s got. Burning up, poor little thing, and nothing will bring it down. She’s crying for you, but she can’t hardly talk, her throat’s that swollen up.”

  Penelope didn’t need to hear more. She hurried down the hallway to the nursery.

  By the time Graham had wakened and was apprised of the situation, a physician had come and gone leaving instructions, liquids, and unguents. Alexandra continued to moan and suffer the effects of fever, and a rash was breaking out all over her pale face and chest.

  At Graham’s entrance Penelope glanced up with relief from where she sat beside the bed applying cold compresses.

  “Oh, Graham, I didn’t want them to waken and worry you, but I’m so glad you’re here. Is there no other physician we can call upon? I know Dr. Broadbent is a very respected man, but his medicine does not seem to bring the fever down, and I’m at my wit’s end to know what else to do. I was always taught to keep the room very warm and the patient covered until the fever broke and sweated out, but Dr. Broadbent says we must lay no fire and that she needs no other blanket. He says the rash is caused by the heat and will go away if we follow his instructions, but it seems peculiarly like the measles the children suffered last spring in the village. No amount of unguent will make them go away until they’re ready to. What should we do?”

  Her husband ran his hand through his hair, then gripped her shoulder as he gazed upon the vulnerable child in the bed. “There is Dr. Headly back in Surrey. He is the one who tended me after the accident. He saved my life, but he is very old and does not get out much anymore. Perhaps if I send a carriage. . .”

  His fingers trembled, and Penelope covered them with her own. “Let us wait until tomorrow. I would not risk the doctor’s health because of my own uncertainties. The children I have nursed have never been my own. The responsibility frightens me. I’m sure she will be fine in a day or so.”

  Graham wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her and be reassured in return, but she might find such an action more fearsome than comforting. That she thought of Alexandra as her own daughter provided all the comfort he was entitled to, and gratefully he squeezed her hand.

  “I will trust your judgment, Penelope. Dr. Broadbent treats mostly the elderly. It may have been years since he’s seen a case of measles. Are measles serious?”

  “They can be, but at least I know how to treat them. Do you really think he could be wrong?”

  “I should think he is very likely wrong,” Graham announced, praying he was right in relying on Penelope’s judgment.

  His response seemed to return his wife’s confidence, and when he left, she was ordering up a fire and calling for blankets.

  Graham wandered helplessly in and out of the sickroom for the remainder of the day. At times Alexandra smiled at him and his heart did cartwheels. Other times she slept, and her ragged breathing tore at his insides. Penelope was always there, and her assurances relieved his mind more than anything.

  Toward midnight he returned to find Penelope curled up and asleep in the chair beside Alexandra’s bed. The little girl’s hand was wrapped trustingly in his wife’s palm, and Graham gazed upon them with an inexplicable longing. This was the way he had imagined it when he had first married. Alexandra’s birth had rekindled his hopes. But the accident and the tragic events before and after had demolished any pretense that he could have a normal life. And now it was too late.

  He touched Penelope’s shoulder, and she instantly awakened. She checked on Alexandra first, then smiled up at Graham.

  Her smile nearly devastated his reserve, but he held out his hand. “Come, my sleeping beauty, you will do no one any good if you don’t get your own rest. I will sit with her awhile.”

  “Oh, no, Graham, I could not keep you from your sleep. I am fine right here.”

  Her eyelids sagged as she spoke, and her voice had an unconsciously provocative note to it. Graham smiled at the seductive picture she created. “If you do not remove yourself at once, I will carry you out. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Penelope’s eyelids flew wide open. “You wouldn’t!”

  If she had been quite awake, she would have realized it would be impossible with his limp and injured hand, but he liked that she thought him omnipotent.

  “I would,” he replied sternly. “Now give me your hand and be off with you.”

  Reluctantly she released Alexandra and wrapped her fingers around his healthy left hand. Her fingers were warm in his. “Do you wish me to escort you back to your room?” he inquired.

  Penelope shook her head. “I can find my way. You will send for me if anything changes?”

  “Be certain of it. I would panic without you to tell me what to do.”

  He resisted the urge to hug her against his chest and seek the comfort of her loving arms. She offered friendship. He did not dare ask for more, no matter how close circumstances brought them.

  Nodding, she took the candle and slipped away.

  Within a few days the fever had broken and Alexandra was fretfully complaining of her confinement. But for Graham nothing was quite the same as before. Penelope had spent those days selflessly nursing his daughter from a possibly fatal illness, and now he felt the tables had turned on him.

  He had brought the little baroness to his home to act as a kind of superior governess for Alexandra and a companion and buffer against the world for himself. He had showered her generously with his wealth, offered her carte blanche for all else, and assumed he had fulfilled his obligations. These last days proved he owed her much, much more.

  He knew Penelope thought no such thing. Her relief at Alexandra’s convalescence was as great as his own, but in Graham’s eyes, that selflessness multiplied his obligation. He had offered her nothing but material things while she had given his daughter life and love. And not just Alexandra had benefited from her generous affection.

  The viscount ruminated over these matters as he stared at the host of invitations that had accumulated over the last few days. The invitations were addressed primarily to both of them as a couple. That was what Penelope wanted and that was what she deserved, to be part of a loving couple. Graham wasn’t certain how to go about that. He had dug himself into a proper hole from which there seemed no way out, and he was quite likely to be buried there if he continued as he had been. Besides that, it had been years since he had courted anyone in any guise. How in blazes did one go about courting one’s own wife? Particularly if she was quite likely to be repulsed, if no
t out and out horrified by his attentions?

  He could have the marriage annulled and let her go free to find her own partner in life, but he had no intention of doing so. She might be made a widow soon enough. Alexandra had grown much too attached to free Penelope. No, somehow he would have to supply her with the attentions she deserved.

  With only these vague ideas in mind, Graham sought out his wife in her chamber the next morning.

  Much rested now that Alexandra seemed to be recovering, Penelope smiled at her silent husband. “Have you some more wishes you would like to command of me my lord?” With a wave of her hand she dismissed her maid and rose from to greet Graham.

  His countenance was so solemn as to be terrifying, but she was much less afraid of him now than she had been that first night. She had learned he was just as human as any man, more so, perhaps, because of his infirmity. She wished there were some way she could initiate the touching that was so much a part of her nature, but she had been schooled too well on the proprieties to break that taboo. She clasped her hands in front of her.

  “It is your wishes I wish to consult, my lady. You have not spent a minute out of this house in days. Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go?”

  Penelope widened her eyes. “If I tell you, would you take me?”

  “That is a presumptuous question. I’m sure Aesop had a fable that had something to do with looking gift horses in the mouth.”

  Penelope attempted a demure expression. “Of course, my lord. I shall never look my mare in the mouth again. May I go to Drury Lane? I am sure Guy is quite bored with the performance, but there is an actor there who is so magnificent I feel as if I’m living in Shakespeare’s time.”

  Graham regarded her with a hint of amusement. “You have seen little or nothing of London since you came. Wouldn’t you prefer to shop in St. James or visit Westminster Abbey or attend the opera or Vauxhall? Kean is said to be good, but how many times can you watch Macbeth?”

  “A dozen, at the very least. Please, I have never seen the plays acted before. They take on so much more consequence in the flesh.” She flushed as his eyebrow lifted. “You know what I mean, so do not pretend otherwise. Or have you grown so cynical that you no longer marvel at the transformation of words into action?”

  “It has been a long time since I’ve been to the theater, and I am curious about this actor whose praises everyone sings. Drury Lane, it is. What night are you free, my lady?”

  “Any night you choose,” she said.

  “Then we will make it tonight. I see no reason for delaying. Will that suit?”

  “Yes, of course.” Penelope continued to watch him with hope and disbelief. “Are you certain? I do not want to ask more than you meant to give.”

  Graham caressed her cheek with his gloved hand. “That is a very small fraction of what I would like to give you, my pretty Penny.”

  At her shocked look he drew back and laughed. “Be ready on time or I shall leave without you.”

  He dragged himself out, leaving Penelope to stare at the closed door. Whatever had come over her charming ogre? To risk meeting the public eye to please her was a step she had not dared to pray for so soon, but to call her pet names and look at her as if she could possibly be. . . She almost thought “wife,” but that was coming on too strong. Good friend? That did not seem right, either, but “lover” or “mistress” were out of the question.

  She was placing entirely too much consequence on the gesture. She would just have to be careful to please her husband so he wouldn’t regret his offer.

  Chapter 8

  Disdaining ladylike grace, his country wife raced down the stairway at the assigned time that evening. For this special occasion she actually wore the lilac silk, and Graham watched her with admiration. He had never thought about the transformation of the vicar’s prim daughter into a butterfly of fashion, but she had succeeded beyond the realms of his imagination. Perhaps her open, honest features did not have the frail delicacy of the acclaimed beauties of the day, and the nondescript coloring of her brownish gold curls would not give poets anything to write about, but she carried herself with a pride and grace that would do a duchess proud, and anything she wore would make men’s heads turn.

  Graham grinned at this thought. If the vicar’s daughter had any notion of how very seductive she appeared in that clinging silk with only a bit of frippery to call a bodice, she would bury herself in shawls and cloaks. As it was, she seemed totally unconscious of her effect upon him, and violet eyes turned up to peruse him with merriment.

  “Am I on time, my lord? You look very distinguished this evening.” For an evening at the theater he had not bothered to deck himself out in silk breeches and stockings, but he had donned a velvet coat of midnight blue over silver-gray pantaloons.

  Penelope brushed away an imaginary speck on his white cravat. “How do I look? Do I pass inspection?” She gazed doubtfully at her attire, then held out one satin shoe to be certain the ribbons were tied.

  “You will hear enough flattery before this evening is over without hearing it from me. If you are not ashamed to be seen with me, I am certainly not going to complain of you. You are positive this is what you want?”

  “Of course.” Without a hint of doubt Penelope gestured for the butler to bring her pelisse. She snuggled into the fur-lined wrap he’d bought for her.

  She sent him a mischievous look as he donned a hooded cloak that concealed him from head to toe. “You will look like a highwayman in that, you know. Have you sword and pistol?”

  Graham gripped his walking stick with both hands and gazed grimly at his irreverent wife. “Highwaymen are much admired by the inhabitants of Drury Lane, cripples are not. I have no desire to start a riot this night. I will thank you for a little respect.”

  She bowed her head in sober agreement. “I forget others do not know you as I do. I am sorry, Graham. Are you certain you are willing to endure this?”

  “Don’t be a goose. If you do not mind, I can accept a few stares. Let us be off before we are caught in the crush of latecomers.”

  They arrived at the theater and the safety of his box without incident shortly before the curtain went up. At the appearance of someone in his long empty seats, a murmur rippled through the crowd, but Graham sat in the shadows of the interior. No one could be certain of his identity before the lamps dimmed.

  His wife lost herself in the spectacle of the play. Graham noted that she was oblivious to the opera glasses trained in their direction. She caught his hand as Kean made his entrance, and she failed to relinquish it through the scene that followed. Graham watched her with more amusement than the play.

  As he’d known it would, their idyll ended as soon as the curtain went down at intermission. While Graham admitted to Penelope that Kean had a certain presence but lacked the experience of a performer such as Mrs. Siddons, the Earl of Larchmont intruded with his countess. That lady threw a good-humored wink in Penelope’s direction, and Graham dragged to his feet to greet them.

  “It is an honor, sir.” He bowed as the older man studied his disfigurement.

  “By gad, so you’re not a ghost, after all! Thought there might be some flummery going on what with you being at death’s door all these years and then suddenly up and marrying a young chit, but you’ve got some juice left in you yet. Welcome back, boy! I congratulate you on your wise choice of females.” The lanky earl turned to Penelope. “You look ravishing, my dear. I collect it is your doing to bring the rapscallion out of hiding.”

  While Penelope responded to the earl’s bluntness, Dolly and the dowager Lady Reardon appeared on the arm of Henry, Lord Reardon, the eldest son. Graham raised his one visible eyebrow, but he bowed and greeted them with courtesy.

  “Lord Trevelyan, I know Lady Trevelyan promised to make my apologies for me, but I did not feel that was sufficient. Can you ever forgive my unspeakable rudeness?” the impulsive young miss asked.

  Graham flinched at Lady Reardon’s horrified gaze
.

  Penelope noticed and slipped her gloved hand through the circle of his arm. “Dolly, I told you that you needn’t worry. I only marry friendly gargoyles.”

  Graham bent his wife a skeptical look but amusement laced his reply. “On the other hand, I tend to marry horribly insolent creatures. We are well met, it seems.”

  Guy barged into the box to cast Graham a look of annoyance. “You could have found a less public place for your coming out. Half the ton are on their way up here. Did you have to introduce Penelope to all of society at once?”

  This was all the warning they received before a stream of visitors inundated the box. After a bit, Penelope recognized that most of these aristocrats had come to see a show as if Graham were one of the caged lions in the Tower. They stared in horror at his mutilated face, then turned to her with a sympathy that made her think of a barn cat outside a mouse hole. She was grateful she wore gloves to keep the men from slobbering over her hand.

  By the time the curtains rose, she was too exhausted from her performance to appreciate the professional one on the stage. She felt Graham’s rigid tension and knew his temper had kindled. “I know how it ends, Graham,” she whispered, touching his arm. “Let us go before the crush.”

  “We will sit here until the last bloody line,” he retorted furiously.

  Remembering the time he had torn into her home in a terrible rage, Penelope gulped and sat silently until the play ended, hoping his anger would recede before they left.

  She should have known better. Her husband had a wicked temper and a cynical wit and a penchant for getting his own way, but Graham had seldom been any less than kind to her. The man who left Drury Lane that evening had no resemblance to the gentle man she knew.

  He did not wear his cloak to disguise his deformity as he left the box. In fact, Penelope could swear he went out of his way to accentuate it with scowls, while pounding his walking stick obnoxiously. His leg dragged worse than usual, and his entire right side sagged in a ludicrous transformation from his arrogantly athletic physique. Penelope had the urge to jerk the cane from his hand and send him toppling to the floor in return for his childish tantrum.