by June Calvin
“But, Thorne, the children do it.”
“Children have parents who insist that they work in the mines and factories. They are given little choice.”
“Exactly. They are treated like domestic animals; it would be far better if in fact we could find animals to do such dull and yet dangerous and tiring work.”
As she talked, Allison warmed to her subject—not to investing in Mr. Eamon’s venture, but to finding a way to relieve children from onerous work.
Thorne drew the conclusion that the scheme appealed to her not as a moneymaking venture, but as a way of helping poor children. As he watched her eyes flash, her hands cut the air, he knew he must swallow a bitter pill and let her throw away ten thousand pounds, or put his foot down and convince her of his cruel inclination to disregard her feelings.
He dragged his hand down his face. At that gesture, Allie felt triumph swell her heart. Though he had not exploded with indignation, he clearly wished to deny her this request.
Thorne’s mind raced, searching desperately for a compromise. At last he said, “If you have your heart set on this, Allie, I will permit it, not as an investment, but as a charitable donation. You must expect no return upon your capital, and perhaps must in the end see all of your money go for naught.” He hoped if he presented it to her in that light, she would be amenable to other suggestions for ways to spend that money helping poor children.
His eyes caressed her face. He had surprised her, that was clear, but surely once and for all he had convinced her he was no tyrant! Thorne crossed to the sofa where Allison sat, her mouth open in astonishment.
Allison’s astonishment had quite a different cause than he supposed. He had given in to her on the most ridiculous scheme in her little bag of tricks. Poor man. He must be utterly besotted. It would be a heavy responsibility for me to bear, for I would constantly have to watch out never to abuse the gift of his love. Can I be happy with such a passive man? The tiny curl of disdain Allison felt cast a new light on Thorne’s stepmother. Had Lydia demanded so much of Thorne’s father out of need to provoke him into standing up to her? Would she one day turn into just such a shrewish harridan, simply out of disgust because her husband had no spine?
“Catching flies, my love.” Thorne put his index finger across her open mouth. She closed it abruptly and sprang back.
“I am amazed that you would permit such a scheme!”
Thorne chortled triumphantly. “Listen to me, Allison. I have never been so lonely as in the last few months. Having once admitted I love you. I find it almost impossible to live without you. Will you please marry me?” He attempted to take her in his arms. Allison pulled away. “Oh. Thorne, don’t.”
“Don’t?” Thorne watched her eyes fill up with tears. “Don’t what? Tell you that I love you? Propose to you?”
“Yes. No. I mean ... It is just that...” She lifted her hand to his cheek, cradling it briefly before standing up abruptly. “I do not believe we will suit. You had the right of it, all along. I am far too managing a female to be entrusted with a husband so doting he would allow me to do anything so absurd.”
“So doting ... but I thought... you wanted ...”
“I wanted good financial advice, not passivity and mealy- mouthed acquiescence. If I had been sure of any of these proposals, I would not have brought them to you. I hoped that as we worked through them you would realize that you and I are perfectly capable of reaching rational conclusions together.”
“Rational! You speak of rational!” Thorne stood up, his eyebrows nearly meeting as he glared at her. “That trained ape proposal is the most irrational bit of sentimental twaddle that I ever heard of.”
“Precisely. Yet you would have let me throw away ten thousand pounds on it.”
“If you realized how silly it was, why did you speak so eloquently in defending it?”
“Oh, Thorne, Thorne. I put it before you expecting you to refuse it. Then you would no longer fear that you would be unable to say no to me. Alas, I proved just the opposite. Now I am less sure than ever that we could be happy together. Though I do not wish to be treated as a nonentity, neither do I wish to be married to one. ”
Thorne was utterly confounded. “I never felt so tom in my life. I wanted to laugh you out of countenance for bringing that thing up. and at the same time I wanted to forbid you even to think of it!”
“Then why ... ?”
“Because you think I will be a tyrant. It is what you fear most, is it not? Much thanks to James for his meddling! I don't say I blame either of you. I was often dictatorial with him. But I won’t be that way with you, Allie. Though that scheme deserves contempt, you are an intelligent woman. I know you would rarely present me with that kind of a dilemma. I thought it was your compassion for the children that clouded your judgment. I hoped to steer you toward a better use for your charity.”
Understanding dawned. Allison’s tense posture relaxed, her sapphire eyes danced with amusement. “We have been working at cross purposes, Thorne.” She closed the distance between them and looked up at him invitingly.
At her approach the Marquess of Silverthorne knew that if he lived to be a hundred he would never feel more relieved than he felt at that moment, seeing Allison go from a woman poised for flight to one poised for kisses. He accepted her unspoken invitation eagerly, pulling her to him for an urgent kiss that left them both breathless.
When he paused for air, she tried to pull away, for there still remained one very important problem. “But Thorne, what about an heir?”
“Shhh, my love. It doesn’t matter.” He tightened his hold on her and bowed his head, seeking another kiss.
“Of course it matters.” Allison pushed on his chest until he released her. “I couldn’t bear to see you unhappy, perhaps even bitter, if—”
“I told you true when I said that concern for an heir was less important than my fear of loving a woman too much. But you spoke the truth when you said I am not my father. Nor are you Lydia. I have come to realize that love is not a trap when the love is on both sides. And what do I want with a biddable wife? Compared to you, my challenging, intelligent little love, such a woman would be a dead bore. Perhaps I might become the tyrant with too passive a woman, but you will put me on my mettle.”
“Still...”
“And James is coming along nicely. You would hardly recognize him as the same person. Besides, you are not such a ninny- hammer as to suppose there is a guarantee that any woman I might marry would present me with an heir. Don’t you realize even the most nubile of the season's young misses might be barren, or have only girls? Now kiss me, and let us set a wedding date.” He pulled her back into his arms again.
“If you truly mean what you say—”
“What do I have to do to convince you?”
“Then I have some good news for you. Charles did not want a large family.”
So caught up was he in convincing Allison to marry him, it took a few long seconds for the implication of this to sink in. “You mean ..
She turned her head away to hide the blush she felt rising in her cheeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before now, minx?” Thorne’s hold on her loosened abruptly.
She stepped out of his arms. “What if I might actually be barren? I didn't want to face the regrets if...” Thorne’s thunderous expression filled her with dismay. Had this confession given him a disgust of her?
“He caused you pain.” Thorne touched her face, gently cupping her chin with his hand.
Relief at realizing that Thorne’s anger was directed at Charles left Allison weak-kneed. “It is in the past, Thorne.”
“I assure you it is! Nothing of that sort is in your future, at least not until you have all the children your heart desires. Come here!”
His face strained with suppressed passion. Thorne drew her into his arms for another kiss, a kiss that ended all doubt that they would be, must be. married, and soon.
Epilogue
Allison thoug
ht it very romantic of Thorne to bring her to the castle for a private celebration of their second wedding anniversary. Their guests had turned in an hour ago, and after they had gone up to the nursery to look with silent adoration on their six-month-old son, Thorne had led her down the servants’ stairs with an air of great mystery. In the gig waiting at the kitchen door, he playfully tried to prevent her from seeing what he had placed behind the seat. In addition to one of cook’s famous picnic baskets brimming with delicacies, there was an interesting mound of clothing wrapped in luxurious towels.
He conveyed her up the newly repaired castle road while cuddling her against his side and bestowing frequent kisses. The balmy August evening seemed made for love. Excitement pounded through Allison at his arched brows and possessive smile as he helped her down from the gig. He can never make love to me too often, she thought.
Moonlight drenched the keep. “How thoughtful of the moon, to be at the full tonight,” he said, tilting his head up appreciatively.
“Either it is shining inside the keep, which casts your repairs in question, or you have caused it to be lighted.” Allison stepped over the threshold eagerly. Thorne followed, picnic basket over one arm, mysterious bundle tucked under the other.
The keep’s ground floor had been hastily emptied of farm implements and old furniture two years ago, to serve as a reception hall for their wedding breakfast, after their simple but lovely wedding in the old chapel. One of the few to survive the civil wars without damage, the chapel had been the perfect setting for their marriage. Today the ground floor of the keep boasted period furniture, the wall sconces had been fitted out with glass fixtures, and the new gas lighting cast a soft, romantic glow over it all.
Thorne directed Allison toward the back of the great hall, but she demurred. “Wherever you are taking me, and I can’t even begin to guess where that is—”
“Little liar,” Thorne teased, bestowing another of those kisses that turned her blood to fire.
Allison had often wished they could make love in the Sultan’s bath, but it had been badly damaged when Newcomb and Paddy were tromping back and forth over the tile with heavy chests of treasure. She had an idea her wish was about to come true, but not to be seduced before time, she persisted when the kiss ended. “Let us visit the chapel first.”
Thorne agreed somewhat reluctantly, to her surprise, for hadn’t he caused it to be lighted, as if in anticipation of her request?
“Remember how Marie refused to be married there?” Allison reminisced as they walked toward the chapel. “Claimed there were ghostly presences there. Of course, she sees them everywhere.”
“I remember. If it had not been for Bean’s calming influence, I doubt she would have remained on the estate. Only the promise of a new cottage convinced her to marry him.” Thorne seemed distracted. “I did not ask the chapel to be lighted,” he said, frowning.
Allison knew even as she approached the chapel door, from which a radiant light spilled. “Oh, Thorne. She is here.”
“I thought I heard bells.” He looked down at her wonderingly.
They stepped into the chapel. At the alter two figures knelt. After a few moments the couple stood and came toward them. Thorne made to move aside. “It is our Silver Lady.”
“Yes, with Sir Broderick, if I am not mistaken, though he is not in armor this time.” Allison, too, stood aside to let the ghostly pair go by. But they did not pass. Instead, the Silver Lady stopped and regarded them gravely. Sir Broderick stood at her elbow.
Thorne drew in a deep breath. His heart thundered, his mouth had cotton in it. Yet it wasn’t fear, but a sort of joyful awe that he felt. “I can see them both, quite clearly,” he whispered in Allison's ear. Then he bowed formally to the couple. “My lady ghost, welcome. At last I have the opportunity to thank you—”
The soft chiming voice of the Silver Lady interrupted him. “We rejoice with you on this your anniversary, and wish you joy of your son. We may not linger after this, but it has been my urgent wish to bring you. Lord Silverthorne, some words of comfort.”
Thorne bowed respectfully and awaited the Silver Lady's words.
“Your father never believed in the treasure. He married your mother out of love, after your grandfather brought her to his notice. He never told your step-mother that her son had no claim to the treasure because it seemed pointless to him. Nor did he take the boy to the north tower that day. Young Percy had heard his mother demanding that it be found, and took it upon himself to look for it. Upon learning this, your father hastened to save the boy, but instead perished with him. It grieves me to think you believe him both foolish and venal.” Thorne could not speak; tears tilled his eyes and tightened his throat. He could only nod and bow.
The Lady then turned to Allison. “I leave the family legacy in your capable hands. Lady Silverthorne. I bid thee good-bye and fare thee well, my sister and my friend.” The Silver Lady smiled into Allison's teary eyes, then took her husband’s hand. With great dignity the pair walked past them and into the castle keep, where they faded from sight.
After the spirit-lovers departed. Allison and Thorne turned into one another’s arms and held on as if their survival depended upon it. Long, silent moments passed before Thorne tilted her head up and solemnly began to repeat his wedding vows. Allison joined in, standing in the near darkness of the old chapel.
When they turned back into the hall, arm in arm, Thorne chuckled throatily. “After that, my planned anniversary celebration seems anticlimactic.”
“Oh, I hope not, my lord.” Allison laughed naughtily. “I believe you have yet to show me the most recent renovation to Silverthorne Castle.”
“Someone has given me away.” Thorne pretended to be angry. “And after all the precautions I took.”
“When that Italian marble accidentally arrived in our shared bath, I began to suspect.” She tugged on his arm eagerly. He lifted a key from his vest pocket and handed it to her, picked up the basket and bundle again, and followed her into the Sultan’s bath.
* * *
June Calvin has been married to her one and only since 1962; they have one grown son, Craig. When not writing she loves to make candles, crochet, or watch birds. She has been a teacher, secretary, PR. person, museum educator, antique dealer, newspaper reporter, and teacher again before discovering the world of Regency romance. Finally realizing what she wanted to be when she grew up, she wrote The Baron and the Bookseller, which won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award in 1993.
She loves to hear from readers, and promises to respond with a newsletter and bookmark to all who enclose a long, self-addressed, stamped envelope. Write her at P.O. Box 60433, Oklahoma City, OK 73146-0433, or e-mail her at [email protected]
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