A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  Reverend Shrewsbury dropped his prayer book. “You cannot—”

  “I assure you I can.”

  The hard glitter in the duke’s eyes effectively reminded the reverend of Jourdian’s power, and he realized then that if His Grace decided to replace him, the duke would complete the task swiftly, efficiently, and with no second thoughts. “The ring,” he mumbled.

  Jourdian slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the ring.

  “Amethysts,” Emil said, admiring the beautiful ring. “The exact shade of Splendor’s eyes. How thoughtful of you, old boy.”

  Jourdian looked at the ring, then caught Splendor’s gaze. Emil was right. Splendor’s eyes and the sparkling gemstones were the same compelling shade of lavender.

  Had he been thinking about Splendor’s eyes when he’d chosen the ring?

  His own mental question maddened him anew. Quickly, he pushed the ring on Splendor’s finger, then glared at the reverend.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife!” Reverend Shrewsbury boomed.

  “Congratulations!” Emil exclaimed. He gave Jourdian a quick pat on the back, then turned to Splendor. Taking her hands, he kissed each of them. “You’re fairly glowing with happiness, Splendor.”

  “Aye, that is what I am doing, Emil, because I am happier than I can ever remember being.”

  “We’re family now,” he told her. “And I want you to know that if there is ever anything I can do for you…anything you need, you’ve but to tell me. I’ll be happy to do whatever—”

  “I’m sure you will,” Jourdian flared, removing Splendor’s hands from Emil’s grasp.

  Emil smiled. “Married all of one minute, and already acting the part of the jealous and possessive husband, eh, Jourdian?”

  Emil’s observation rankled. Jourdian dropped Splendor’s hands and turned toward the door.

  “Your Grace,” the vicar said, “you’ve yet to kiss your duchess.”

  “Quite right,” Emil declared, still smiling. “Kiss her, Jourdian.”

  Noting that every gaze in the room was centered on him, Jourdian faced Splendor.

  Smiling broadly, she raised her face and parted her lips in preparation for his kiss.

  Jourdian bent and barely touched his lips to her forehead.

  There, he thought. She had his kiss, his ring, and his name.

  It was done.

  He turned and walked out of the room.

  “Did you find him, Mr. Tate?” Mrs. Frawley asked when Emil returned to the house.

  Standing in the entryway, Emil took off his coat and handed it to Ulmstead. “No, and now it’s too dark to see. Hopkins said he took Magnus and rode directly out of sight.”

  Mrs. Frawley looked straight into Emil’s eyes, knowing she could speak her mind with him without fear of reprisal. Indeed, Emil encouraged the Heathcourte domestics to be open and honest with him. “But it’s been three hours. His Grace didn’t even stay to cut the cake with his bride. And a beautiful cake it is, too, Mr. Tate. On a moment’s notice Mrs. Kearney managed to create the confection, and you would think that Lord Amberville would at least have one bite to show his appreciation. And what of Miss Splen— I mean Her Grace? The poor poppet. She’s up in her rooms now. Alone. And this her wedding night! Oh, the poor little thing.”

  “She did appear rather sad, didn’t she?” Ulmstead said, looking up the grand stairway. “That pretty sparkle in her eyes faded when His Grace marched out of the drawing room. How could his lordship have done such a thing?”

  Because he’s a cad, damn him, Emil answered silently. “I’ll go speak to Splendor. Somehow, some way perhaps I can explain…” He stopped speaking. How could anyone truly explain Jourdian Amberville? The man was like an intricate puzzle whose pieces wouldn’t fit together no matter how hard one tried to fit them.

  Still, for Splendor’s sake he had to try. “I’ll go speak to her,” he said again.

  “And I’ll have Tessie take her a bit of fruit and cream,” Mrs. Frawley said.

  Nodding, Emil crossed to the stairs. “Oh, Mrs. Frawley, did you ever solve the riddle of Splendor’s silk flowers?”

  Mrs. Frawley nibbled her bottom lip for a moment. “Mr. Tate, the only explanation I have been able to think of is that someone replaced the silk daffodils with real ones. Granted, daffodils are not in season in November, but— Well, perhaps one of the gardeners was able to grow the flowers in the conservatory or in the greenhouse. That must be the explanation, don’t you agree? After all, silk flowers do not turn into real ones by magic.”

  “No, they don’t,” Emil agreed, then began his ascent up the winding staircase. In only a few moments, he stood before Splendor’s door, knocking lightly. “Splendor?” he called softly, his lips pressed against the portal. “It’s me, Emil. May I come in?”

  Inside, Splendor flew down from the top of the canopy, changed herself into human size and, with a handful of stars, she caused Jourdian’s silk shirt to float across the room and into her hands. Quickly, she slipped back into the soft garment. “Come in, Emil.”

  He walked into her room, and stopped abruptly.

  He frowned and squinted his eyes.

  Sprinklings of silver twinkled all around Splendor, as if stars had trickled down from the nighttime sky and drenched her copper-red hair and alabaster skin with their light.

  She looked like an angel. Or some sort of magical being.

  And Emil didn’t know whether to fall to his knees or to run.

  Chapter Nine

  “Emil?” Splendor murmured.

  Emil rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, deciding he was seeing things. He was so tired. Exhausted from looking all over the damned countryside for Jourdian.

  When he opened his eyes again, the silvery shine he’d seen all over Splendor had vanished.

  “Emil?” Splendor said again.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I saw… Never mind. I’d like to talk to you, Splendor, but if you’d feel more comfortable with me in one of the parlors rather than in your rooms, we can go downstairs.”

  She leaned her head toward her shoulder. “You are much like My Grace. He does not think it proper for a woman to be with a man in a bedroom, either. But he did not tell me exactly why, so I still am unsure. I have tried so very hard to understand him, but I cannot. Please close the door, Emil, because My Grace’s cat is on the prowl. I saw him earlier, lying in wait in a pool of shadows down the hall. If only My Grace owned a rabbit or a hen rather than a cat, it would be ever so much easier to live here. Could you tell me what I did to make My Grace leave the house so abruptly?”

  His mind spinning, Emil shut the door. “Splendor,” he said gently, “it wasn’t Jourdian’s intention to marry you three days after having found you.”

  She nodded. “He had no choice.”

  “Then you understand.”

  “I do. He is enchanted with me, Emil. Wedding me was the only thing he could do.”

  Emil couldn’t help but smile. Splendor was right. Jourdian was enchanted with her. But Emil knew his cousin would rather fight a lion with a toothpick than admit to being bewitched.

  “Emil, do you remember all those things Reverend Shrewsbury said at my wedding?”

  “Reverend Shrewsbury says a great many things, Splendor. The man has a big mouth, and it’s rarely shut. Besides gossiping… You should hear his sermons at church. The man loves to hear himself talk, and he’d probably preach all day long if the growls of his congregation’s stomachs didn’t finally drown him out. I can barely tolerate him, and neither can Jourdian.”

  At that, Splendor began to deliberate. So the reverend irritated Jourdian, did he? So the reverend loved the sound of his own voice, did he?

  She smiled a secret smile.

  “What were you going to ask me about Reverend Shrewsbury?” Emil asked.

  “Those vows he wanted Jourdian to make. The ones about love. Do those vows mean that there is love in my marriage to Jourdian?”

  “Uh…” Emil
walked farther into the room and sat down in a yellow velvet chair near the dresser. “I’m not the one to answer that, Splendor.”

  She decided to ask Jourdian instead. If, indeed, love was a part of their marriage, perhaps she could begin to comprehend the mysterious emotion.

  “Are you very angry with Jourdian?” Emil queried.

  She climbed onto the bed and stretched out in the middle of the soft mattress, wiggling her bare toes upon the soft yellow satin coverlet. “I was never angry with him. Anger does not come as easily to me as it does to him. I confess that I was sad, though.”

  “I see,” Emil said, but he didn’t “see” at all. “You’re no longer sad?”

  “I am happy that he married me. And soon he will give me a child.”

  Not if he continues to stay away at night, he won’t, Emil replied silently.

  “He is truly mine now,” Splendor added. “I only wish I could understand him better.”

  Emil leaned forward in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees. “I came up here to talk to you about him, Splendor. He isn’t an easy man to understand. As a lad—”

  “He was lonely. He made many wishes, but then he stopped. He wept, and he yearned. Sadness was his companion. It still is.”

  Emil was amazed. “Did he tell you those things?”

  “Nay. He speaks little of himself.”

  “Then how did you learn so much about him?”

  She turned to her side. “I have watched him. One need only look to see.”

  Emil remained astonished. Splendor had learned more about Jourdian in three days than other women had been able to learn in ten years.

  “He will nay allow me to make him happy, Emil,” Splendor said. “And when I asked him questions that would help me to know him better, he became angry. Is he ever angry at you?”

  Emil smiled. “About three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year.”

  “And what do you do when he’s angry?”

  “Sometimes I get angry right back at him.”

  “But I cannot get angry at him.”

  “And why is that?”

  She moistened her bottom lip. “There are some who say my lack of aggressiveness is a fault,” she said, pondering her father. “I am well aware of the fact that I am much too docile at times, but I...I fear I simply do not know the way to summon true anger.”

  “You should learn.”

  Splendor thought perhaps she would take lessons in aggressiveness and anger from Harmony. Surely there was no better teacher in the world.

  “Practice on Jourdian,” Emil suggested, then smiled. “You needn’t fear him, for I assure you his bark is far worse than his bite.”

  Splendor frowned. She’d seen animals bite before, but never humans. She’d never heard humans bark either, for that matter.

  “You don’t always have to return his anger, however,” Emil continued. “Sometimes he might need your compassion. Or a smile. Sometimes a hug. Let your own emotions tell you how to react.”

  Splendor knew her shallow fairy feelings would not aid her in her dealings with Jourdian.

  “Of course, you must give thought to your own self as well,” Emil said. “You don’t always have to be so concerned about Jourdian that you ignore your own happiness. If he’s not behaving as he should, by all means tell him so. If it is you who need the smile, compassion, or embrace, advise him. There are many men in the world who couldn’t care less about their wives’ contentment, but they are fools in my opinion. Granted I’m not married, but I believe that when a man takes the time to see to his wife’s needs and wants, he’ll be all the happier for it.”

  Splendor digested that bit of information carefully. If she told Jourdian exactly how she wanted him to behave, he would be all the happier for it.

  And she so wanted him to be happy. “Very well, Emil, I shall tell him what I expect from him when next I see him.”

  “You do that. And don’t let him cow you, Splendor. I understand that it’s difficult for you to be angry at him, but it doesn’t take true anger to stand up to someone. All you need is a bit of courage.” Emil almost laughed when he thought about Jourdian being told how to behave by his delicate little wife. “And tell him about yourself. It’s all well and good that you want to know him better, but let him know you better, too.”

  Splendor understood then that she’d been right in her decision to tell Jourdian about her Faerie origins. “I shall tell him about myself when next I see him.”

  Emil started to nod, but then shook his head. “Well, tonight’s your wedding night, and not really the time for much talking.”

  “What will Jourdian and I do then?”

  “What?” Good heavens, Emil thought. Jourdian hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said Splendor knew nothing about lovemaking!

  Emil didn’t know whether to envy his cousin or feel sorry for him. “Jourdian will know what to do tonight,” he answered lamely. “And tomorrow will be soon enough for you to begin telling him about yourself.”

  “Very well. But since he’s not here, will you tell me more about him now?” Splendor asked.

  “You’re already acquainted with his dark side.” Emil rose and walked to the window. There he watched shadows play in the moonlight on the terrace. “But there’s another side to him as well. Jourdian may seem cold and uncaring, but…”

  “He is neither cold nor uncaring.”

  “No. If not for him, I might still be living in a dilapidated cottage in the nearby village of Mallencroft, eking out a miserable living just as my father was forced to do.”

  “Oh? What did My Grace do for you?”

  Without realizing his actions, Emil crossed the room and sat down on the bed with Splendor. “When I first met Jourdian I was the uneducated son of an equally ignorant tenant farmer, completely unacquainted with the sumptuous lifestyle of England’s elite. I’d see their elegant carriages rumble by, but other than that I knew nothing about them. One fateful day, however, I happened to overhear my mother talking about the fact that she was first cousin to the duchess of Heathcourte. Isabel was Her Grace’s name, but she wasn’t always a duchess.”

  “What did she used to be?”

  “A peasant. She was born and raised in a shabby cottage in Mallencroft much like the one I grew up in. Her name was Isabel Brockett.”

  “Brockett? But who in Jourdian’s family was a Trinity?” Splendor asked, rubbing her hand across the yellow satin bed coverlet.

  Emil wondered how Splendor had known of the name Trinity, until he realized she must have read it on the marriage certificate. “Jourdian’s middle name is his great-grandfather’s surname. Virgil Trinity. Virgil’s wife was Pegeen. Their daughter was Abbie Trinity, Isabel’s mother.”

  Curious to know more, Splendor sat up and moved closer to Emil. “How did Isabel meet Jourdian’s father?”

  Emil shook his head. “I’m not certain.”

  “Perhaps he was riding his horse, and she was out strolling. They met on the road on a bright day. Birds were singing all around them, and maybe there was even a fawn watching from the woods.”

  Emil grinned. “Perhaps. All I know is that when Barrington first saw her, he fell instantly in love with her. At least that’s what I heard my mother say. Isabel really was a beautiful woman. She and Barrington were married shortly afterward, and Isabel left Mallencroft to live here in Heathcourte Manor.”

  He leaned against the bedpost. “From the bits and pieces I was able to gather, Isabel was always a flighty, self-seeking sort who never resigned herself to her poor social status. She longed to leave Mallencroft, see the world, and indulge in exotic adventures. I’m not altogether sure she even loved Barrington. But she certainly adored his wealth and the way he spoiled her. As the wealthiest peer in the realm, he was able to grant her every whim. Had she been a more compassionate person she would have had little problem convincing him to aid her destitute family in Mallencroft. But once she became his duchess, she severed all ties with her relati
ves.”

  “She was a frosty woman.”

  “Frigid. Shortly after her marriage, her father died, and her mother passed away only a month later. Isabel did not attend either funeral. She was too busy in London, spending Barrington’s money.”

  A knock at the door interrupted his story. Tessie entered then, carrying a tray laden with fresh fruit, warm bread, and a pitcher of rich cream.

  Splendor took the tray, set it on the bed, and reached for the maid’s hand.

  Tessie drew away. She had yet to understand how Splendor had escaped from the room three days past, nor could she reconcile herself to the fact that Splendor had consumed a bottle of skin lotion.

  Duchess or not, Splendor was a trifle balmy in Tessie’s opinion. “Hope you enjoy it, Your Grace,” she forced herself to say.

  “I am certain I shall,” Splendor replied, sensing the maid’s trepidation. “And how kind it was of you to bring the food, Tessie.” Quickly, she reached for Tessie’s hand again, this time succeeding.

  At the duchess’s touch, Tessie felt an odd warmth travel from the tips of her fingers all throughout her body. A sense of peace came over her, one of calm contentment, and she grinned so broadly that she felt her ears move. “It was my pleasure, Your Grace.” Smiling, she executed a small curtsy and then left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

  “The stains on her face embarrass her,” Splendor told Emil.

  “I know. I’ve seen her try to cover them with her hands. A shame there isn’t a way to remove them.”

  Splendor smiled. “Are you hungry, Emil?” She slid the tray toward him.

  For a while, they feasted upon the succulent fruit and warm bread.

  “Please continue with your story, won’t you?” Splendor asked.

  “Of course. Where was I?” Emil thought a moment. “Oh, yes. Well, a year or so after Barrington married Isabel, Jourdian was born. It surprises me that Isabel stayed home long enough to give birth to him. She and Barrington were rarely home. They traveled all over the world up until the time Isabel died when Jourdian was eleven. Jourdian spent the majority of his childhood with his governesses, tutors, and the servants. Until I found him.”