by Mia Marlowe
~from the secret journal of Lady Nora Claremont
Chapter Twenty-Six
“He’s so pale,” Nora said as she tucked the fine cotton sheets under Pierce’s chin. She reached out to stroke his cheek. The muscles under his skin didn’t so much as twitch.
“As I understand it,” Lady Easton said, “Westfall was insensible for about a week when he was a child. He has only been out for a day this time.”
Every hour felt like an eternity to Nora.
After Lord Stanstead had escorted her, as he’d promised, directly out the front door of Bedlam, he’d ducked back in. Within minutes, the earl had reappeared with Dodsworth, bearing an unconscious Pierce over his shoulder. Mrs. Mounsey dogged his steps, berating the big orderly all the way with language worthy of the saltiest sailor.
Nora had sent Mrs. Mounsey to present herself at her residence in St. James Park with instructions for Mr. Whittles to find a position for her within Nora’s household.
She’d refused to be parted from Pierce, demanding to be allowed to accompany him back to Camden House.
The Duke of Camden had made her welcome. She’d even been taken into the confidence of the Order of the M.U.S.E. The secret work of the Order explained so much about Pierce. Her heart constricted with love and pride for him.
And fear.
If he didn’t wake…
“You’ve not had much rest,” Lady Easton said. “I’ll sit with him a while.”
“I’m fine.” Nora settled onto a straight-backed chair at Pierce’s bedside. When they had first arrived at Camden House, the duke’s sister had tended to Pierce, and His Grace’s servants had prepared a bath for Nora. Only time would help her hopeless hair, but at least she was clean and wearing a borrowed gown. Fortunately, Lady Easton wouldn’t allow a quack to be brought in for Pierce. He’d suffered far too much at the hands of medical professionals already. “I can’t leave him.”
“Of course. Speak to him. Perhaps he’ll follow the sound of your voice back to us,” Lady Easton said as she withdrew from the chamber. “Ring if you need me.”
Nora leaned forward and placed a trembling hand on Pierce’s chest. She was comforted by the regular rise and fall, but her belly still writhed like a bucketful of eels. Even if he wakened, she would lose him, because she’d decided to set him free. She didn’t deserve to keep him.
“Why did you risk so much for me?” she whispered.
Because I love you.
She could almost hear his voice. Did that mean she was going mad, too? If she was, it might be a blessing. She couldn’t face the world stone-cold sane without him.
“I haven’t told you before now,” she began softly. “I don’t know how to say it except to come straight out with it. I love you most desperately.”
His chest continued to rise and fall.
“I shouldn’t, you know. You deserve to be loved by someone so much better than me. Someone worthy of your love.”
His eyelid twitched a bit, and she gasped.
“If I were the unselfish sort, I’d leave right now so you could be free to find that someone. You were trapped back in Bedlam because of me. Who knows what calamity will befall you next on my account? I ruin everyone I touch, and I can’t bear to ruin you,” she continued as his eyes opened slowly.
“What if being ruined by you is the best thing that could ever happen to me?”
“You can’t mean that.” A sob tore at her throat. She didn’t deserve such love, such unqualified acceptance.
“I do.”
A tear teetered on her eyelid and then streaked her cheek. She couldn’t resist his relentless love. He wore her down with his constancy and made her believe she could trust him with all of her. “Then I will be selfish. I won’t leave you.”
His hand reached up and covered hers.
“You’d better not,” he said.
“Oh, Pierce.” Nora meant to only buss his cheek and settle sedately back into the chair, but before she knew it, she was climbing into bed with him, snuggling close, and peppering his dear face with kisses. When she finally settled beside him, he sighed.
“What happened while I was…gone?” he asked.
“So much I don’t know where to begin.”
“Start with how I got here.”
“After Lord Stanstead saw me out of hospital, he went back into Bedlam and Sent a thought to Dodsworth that he should carry you out to the waiting coach.” Nora giggled. “And while he was at it, Stanstead suggested to the orderly that if he ever laid a hand in anger on a patient again, he’d be promptly sick all over his own shoes.”
“Sent, you said. So you know about Stanstead’s ability to project his thoughts into the minds of others.”
“I know about all the Extraordinaires. The duke has told me about your work with the Order of the M.U.S.E.”
He frowned quizzically at her. “What about the letters?”
“I gave them to His Grace. He has already been to see Benedick. They have reached a gentleman’s agreement. Benedick is in possession of those incriminating letters, and the duke has custody of the Trust Powder. The prince regent is safe.”
Pierce closed his eyes. “So much done while I lay here helpless as a naked chick.”
“You are not helpless.” She raised herself on her elbow so she could grin down on him. “But you are naked.”
He smiled back at her and started to pull her closer. “So I am.”
She straight-armed him. “Not so fast, my love. You need to recover your strength first. You’ve had quite a blow. And besides, you shouldn’t think this wasn’t your doing. None of the good that has come to pass would have happened without you. You’re the one who risked everything to find the letters.”
“And you risked everything to find me.” He pulled her close, and this time she let him. His kiss was a benediction. This man knew her—all the flaws and odd angles of her soul—and he loved her in spite of them. She melted on the inside, all warm and sweet as pie filling.
“Seems to me we found each other,” she said.
“Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
“Yes, Pierce, with all my heart.”
He sat up straight. “Then I’ll send for the Hobarths right away so you can have Emilia with—”
She stopped him by pressing two fingers to his lips. “That’s a lovely thought, and I love you all the more for it. I hope you’ll do it and everything will work together so that I can see my daughter grow up. But I don’t ever want you to think I’m marrying you for anything other than yourself. You, all by yourself, are more than enough for me.”
He gazed at her intently. “I can’t tell if you mean it.”
“Lower your shield. I have no secrets from you.” He was welcome to all of her—unreservedly. “I love you, Pierce, now and for always.”
“That’s just it.” He rubbed the lump at his temple. “My shield has been down since my eyes opened and I haven’t heard a single one of your thoughts.”
Epilogue
My initial confusion about hearing the thoughts of others was nothing compared to the day when the voices stopped.
~from the secret journal of Pierce Langdon, Viscount Westfall
The sun dropped below a blanket of clouds and shot a parting shaft of mellow light across Westphalia on its way to its westerly bed. Pierce leaned on the parapet of his family’s country manor and surveyed his viscountcy with a satisfied heart.
He missed hearing the voices of other minds in his head, missed the way they washed over him, bathing him in a jumbled up sea of emotions and cogitations. He never would have guessed that he’d become attached to the droning tide that had formed the background for his own thoughts, but somehow he had.
“It’s the perversity of human nature to want what we don’t have,” he said to himself with a shake of his head.
In the stable yard below, a hostler was putting a new trotter through its paces, growling out commands to the horse. Pierce hadn’t erected his mental shields si
nce he escaped from Bedlam a second time, but he still couldn’t hear what the working man was thinking.
One of the housemaids came out to lean on the fence. The hostler stopped work to speak with her in low tones. Then the maid gave him a resounding slap, turned on her heel, and flounced back inside. Shoulders slumping, the hostler hung his head. Pierce stared at him fixedly.
Trollop. Just when I was about ready to plight my trough, too.
Pierce jerked in surprise. He’d heard the man’s thought as clearly as if he’d spoken the words in his ear. What had changed to make it possible?
After a bit, he reasoned that his gift wasn’t completely gone. It had simply undergone a change. It was no longer passive. Instead of having thoughts roll over him, Pierce had to go get this one by concentrating on the fellow.
Elation flooded his chest. If he was right, his gift was finally going to be both manageable and of great use. He’d be able to pick and choose which mind he invaded, like his friend Stanstead did. He’d be of use to the Order once more. He’d—
“I thought I’d find you up here,” Honora said as she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.
“I never grow tired of looking at it.” He never thought he’d be back in his rightful place, either. But once he’d convinced the magistrate who’d ruled him unfit that he no longer believed he heard the thoughts of others, he was able to take the reins of the estate and send his uncle and aunt packing. While he and Honora had honeymooned in Scotland, his man of business had moved the Hobarths into the caretaker’s cottage with Mr. Hobarth as the new steward of the estate. Hobarth quickly replaced all the staff loyal to Pierce’s uncle and set the place humming. Mrs. Hobarth came on as head housekeeper, and Emilia was given full run of the manor house.
The child was an affectionate sort with all the adults on the estate, giving out hugs whenever she felt they were needed. The day Honora finally got to hold her daughter in her arms was one of the happiest days of Pierce’s life.
“No, I never tire of looking at the place.” Pierce turned and tucked his wife’s head under his chin. Her glorious hair was still a cropped bob, but it curled enticingly around her ears and nape. “And I never tire of looking at you, either.”
“Are you sorry not to be an Extraordinaire any longer?”
He shrugged. He needed more time to experiment with this new aspect of his gift to make sure he was right, that the business with the hostler wasn’t a singular occurrence. The ability to actively decide to hear someone’s thoughts was radically different from being inundated with them willy-nilly. But Honora didn’t need to know about his suspicions until he was sure. “The duke knows he can call on me if I can render the Order any service.”
Likewise, the powerful Lord Albemarle would be hard pressed to deny him or Honora a favor should they ever need his assistance. Benedick was quick to give his former mistress his blessing when she left him and had decided not to fill her position with another young courtesan.
“I’m reaching the age,” Benedick had told them, “when no one will think it odd that I’m satisfied with my own company. As far as the world knows, the snow gathering on the roof has effectively guttered the fire in the chimney.”
Pierce doubted Benedick was going to remain that solitary, but he was equally sure the baron would never be foolish enough to betray any other company he kept by leaving a written record. At least, not until the world changed quite a bit.
“Do you miss not being able to hear what I’m thinking?” Honora interrupted his thoughts.
“Sometimes.” Even though he’d not been married long, he knew better than to experiment on his wife with this new manifestation of his psychic gift. Honora would be the first to demand the privacy of her own mind. Besides, she deserved it. “It was both painful and useful to know what’s buzzing in the brains of others. But in this case, I’ll make an educated guess at your thoughts.”
He cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered something deliciously filthy into her ear, something he thought his lovely wife would like done to her, slowly, repeatedly, and with feeling.
“Pierce!” She slapped his chest playfully. “What a wicked idea!”
“Am I wrong?”
She smiled impishly. “We’ve an hour till the dressing gong sounds for supper.”
“Only an hour, hmm? I may have to rush things, but I believe we can make a credible start.” He scooped her up and carried her to the stairway that led from the roof back down into the manor house. “To bed, wife.”
“To bed, my lord. But, just to be on the safe side, let’s hide the dressing gong first.”
“Even if I can’t hear the thought before it comes out of your mouth,” Pierce said with a grin, “I do love the way you think.”
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Author’s Notes
Thank you, dear reader, for spending time with me and the M.U.S.E.s. I hope you enjoyed your visit to my imaginary psychic Regency and will want to return to us often.
Even though many of my characters possess psychic abilities, their gifts don’t always help them solve the mysteries of the heart. The Madness of Lord Westfall is about forgiveness and receiving second chances we don’t deserve. Honora and Pierce both needed to forgive their families for the wrongs done them. And they needed to forgive themselves for the roads they wish they hadn’t taken. But since, in the end, their paths intersected, I don’t think they’d change a thing.
As always, I try to make the history in my books as accurate as possible. I’m sad to report that my description of Bedlam was probably not horrific enough. It was not unusual for people to pay admission to make sport of the unfortunates housed there. The water chair used by Pierce’s doctor was considered a real treatment for madness at that time and was thought to be an improvement over the head-first dunking tank that preceded it. At least the number of drownings went down. And there is a report of a woman, like poor Mrs. Mounsey, who was judged to be mad and was committed to hospital simply because she refused to allow her husband in her bed. In her case, the water chair put her in a more biddable frame of mind, and she was released to her spouse’s dubious care.
About Lord Albemarle’s homosexuality…a number of well-known Regency personages were probably gay, but since the act itself was considered criminal, there was no coming-out. Lord Byron, for one, reportedly had male lovers. The laws against “buggery” were considered “The Blackmailer’s Charter” because gay men were willing to pay an extortioner’s price rather than be exposed. And no wonder. In 1806, more men were hanged for sodomy than for murder. The last two men to be hanged in Britain for “unnatural acts” were executed in 1835, but the law punishing homosexuality by death was on the books until the 1860’s.
What a terrible time to be different. Or a woman. Makes me thankful for now.
I love to hear from readers! For more about me and my books, please visit www.miamarlowe.com. And let me extend a special invitation for you to join my newsletter. That way, you’ll be notified when the next M.U.S.E. book comes out!
Happy Reading,
Mia
Acknowledgments
No book is the work of only one person. The Madness of Lord Westfall wouldn’t have happened without help from lots of people. I’d like to thank a few here:
Erin Molta, my editor. She pored over the manuscript and poked and prodded until the story was the best it could be. I’m thankful for her grasp of storytelling hot buttons, “spot-on” good taste and—above all—her stamina! It’s an honor to work with her.
Kelley York, my cover artist. Kudos for capturing the flavor of the M.U.S.E. series. And thank you to Nancy Cantor, my copy editor. Any errors that slipped through her grammar gauntlet are definitely my
fault.
Natasha Kern, my tireless agent. I don’t know what I’d do without her!
Ashlyn Chase and Marcy Weinbeck, my critique partner and my beta reader. The feedback from these two never fails to motivate and encourage me.
My husband, the love of my life. After all these years, he still knows how to show a girl a good time! Definitely hero material!
And last, but assuredly not least, YOU, dear reader. Thank you for investing a few hours of your life in my book. I’m thrilled to share the story with you. Thanks for bringing your imagination along for the ride. It means the world to me. Truly.
About the Author
Mia Marlowe didn’t intend on making things up for a living, but she says it’s the best job she ever had. Her work was featured in the Best of 2010 issue of PEOPLE magazine. One of her books is on display at the Museum of London Docklands next to Johnny Depp memorabilia. The RITA nominated author has over 20 books in print with more on the way! Mia loves art, music, history, and travel. Good thing about the travel because she’s lived in 9 different states, 4 different time zones. For more, visit www.miamarlowe.com.
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Also by Mia Marlowe
The Curse of Lord Stanstead
an Order of the M.U.S.E. novel
Wherever Cassandra Darkin goes, fire is sure to follow. It’s not until she’s swept into the arms of a handsome, infuriating stranger that Cassandra Darkin learns she’s a fire mage—and that her gift comes with blazing desires. With his pretenatural ability to influence the thoughts of others, Garrett Sterling is sent to gather Cassandra for the Order of the M.U.SE. But Garrett’s gift has a dark side...and the moment he begins to care too much for Cassandra, he knows he will doom her to an inescapable fate.
