by Andrea Kane
"Mr. Scollard." Taking his cue, Aurora plopped down in an armchair, leaning forward and staring earnestly into his face. "Have I done the right thing? Am I making a mistake? Have I totally lost my mind? I never truly imagined I'd marry at all, much less wed Julian Bencroft. What should I do?"
"My suggestion? Drink your tea. It won't stay hot forever."
"Really?" Aurora shot him an I-know-better look. "I rather suspect it might. 'Tis your tea, after all." Dutifully she drank down the whole cup, feeling that extraordinary surge of energy Mr. Scollard's tea always produced. She then proceeded to gobble up one of the cakes she so relished. "Um. Delicious," she proclaimed between bites. "But three of them? Even I have never managed to devour more than two." Gratefully she accepted the refilled cup Mr. Scollard handed her, then bit into her second cake. "Although I am hungrier than usual this morning. Perhaps I can indulge myself just this once. Not a crumb more than three, however. I've already been measured for my wedding dress—late yesterday afternoon, in fact. The modiste will have my head if all those exquisite yards of silk and lace don't fit."
"Wedding dress?" Mr. Scollard's forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Oh, yes. That delicate silver and white gown you've envisioned since you were five; a gown you obviously never imagined wearing, given the fact that—what was it you just said?—ah, given the fact that you never truly imagined you'd marry at all."
Aurora's lashes swept her cheeks as her friend's message found its mark. "Very well, so I daydreamed a bit as a child. Oh, all right," she amended, feeling Mr. Scollard's penetrating gaze. "So I still daydream now and again. That doesn't mean I ever thought I'd actually realize my dream."
"Of course not. Because you couldn't conceive of a man interesting enough to spend your life with. A man as vital and alive as you. A man with a thirst for life and a hunger for adventure. A man like Julian Bencroft."
Silence, but for the crackling flames of the fire.
"Or is it not the idea of marriage itself that's rendered you so off balance," Mr. Scollard pressed gently, "but the idea of marriage to this man in particular?"
"Everything about Julian Bencroft renders me off balance. I don't think I've righted myself since we met."
"And that disturbs you? Odd, I thought it was tedium you found disconcerting."
"I did. I do." Aurora gave a dazed shake of her head. "Listen to me. I don't know what I'm saying, much less what I'm feeling. Please, Mr. Scollard, help me."
His vivid blue eyes shone with equally vivid memories. "Your expression … your plea … you sound much as another did not too long ago. Another whom you love very much."
A sage nod. "You're speaking of Courtney."
"Surely you recall how she grappled with her feelings for Slayde?"
"Yes, but that was different."
"Was it?"
"Definitely. Courtney and Slayde fell in love. They shared their thoughts; they understood each other … why, Courtney transformed my brother into an entirely different man."
"After being thrust unexpectedly into his life—yes, she did. As Slayde did for her. My point exactly." Mr. Scollard took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Love is an astonishing force. Stronger than all other forces combined. Except perhaps fate. Fate, much like you, is not only fervent, she has a definite mind of her own. It appears she's decided to insert herself in your life."
"For good or for ill?"
"Your instincts say for good." A glimmer of humor. "Evidently so does your balance. Else it would have found a way to right itself by now. Two days have passed since you met the duke, and one sleepless night has elapsed since his proposal—and his revelation. Surely that's enough time to regain your sensibilities."
Aurora sat bolt upright, having scarcely heard Mr. Scollard's final sentence. "So you do know."
He shrugged. "There's much I know, still more I don't."
"Exactly what is the much to which you refer?" Aurora asked cautiously, guarding her words in a way she'd never anticipated doing with her oldest friend.
A smile touched Mr. Scollard's lips. "Your honor is as fierce as your spirit. I'm proud of you, Rory. The duke requested secrecy, and secrecy you have granted. Despite the tragedies you've faced, the limitations that have so thwarted your need to fly, your character has flourished. You'll make an exemplary wife, at least for one as uncommon as you." With that, Mr. Scollard set down his cup. "Now, to address your question about the much to which I refer. I refer to Geoffrey Bencroft and James Huntley. Fine men, both. Loyal to their country. Brave and intelligent—with an insatiable thirst for adventure. Much as the great-grandchildren they begot. The ones who have inherited their legacy and are soon to be joined in a partnership as profound as that of the Fox and the Falcon—a partnership that is identical in some ways, splendidly different in others." Mr. Scollard's eyes twinkled. "I needn't elaborate on the differences. In any case, Geoffrey's mind was keen, perceptive, cunning as that of a fox. James's tactics were flawless, unfailing, lethal as those of a falcon. 'Tis wrong for their memories to remain tarnished. Just as it's wrong for the black diamond to remain unrestored to the sacred temple from which it was taken. But none existed who could right those wrongs. None until now."
Aurora sucked in her breath. "If you were aware of all this, why didn't you tell me?"
"The legacy wasn't mine to share; therefore, I saw only smoky fragments, wisps of truth—until yesterday when the duke opened that chest. Suddenly the haze lifted and my vision cleared."
"Then tell me, is it Julian's and my fate to fulfill our great-grandfathers' quest?"
"You have much to fulfill, equally as much to be fulfilled. Both those tasks pose daunting challenges."
A sigh. "And of course, it's too soon for you to predict whether we'll meet those challenges."
"Meet them you shall. Surmount them?" A resigned shrug. "I see only that which is offered for my sight."
Aurora propped her chin on her hand. "Tell me about Julian."
"What is it you wish to hear?"
"Anything. I need your guidance."
An insightful look. "Do you?"
"Of course—yes." Aurora felt utterly exasperated. "I'm marrying a total stranger, a man as transient as a gypsy, as fleeting as the tide, and as overwhelming as the forces of nature."
"I concur wholeheartedly." Mr. Scollard placed a fourth cake on Aurora's plate. "All the more reason to gather your strength. Excitement can be quite taxing. As can freedom, adventure, and, of course, passion."
That brought her up short. Aurora cast a swift sidelong glance at her friend, wondering how to interpret his comment. Oh, she hadn't a doubt that he'd deliberately chosen the very words Julian had used to describe her future as his wife. But by passion did Mr. Scollard refer to a vast ecumenical passion for life? Or did he refer to something far more intimate? Could he actually perceive the wild explosion that stormed her senses each time Julian took her in his arms?
Her perusal provided no answers. The lighthouse keeper's expression was nondescript as he calmly stirred sugar into his tea. "Your betrothed is not totally dissimilar from your brother, Rory," he asserted. "Remember, autonomy is often a result, not a choice."
Aurora's speculations vanished, her mind racing off in this new and significant direction. "Especially in Julian's case; his father was a horrid, vengeful man."
"Indeed."
"What do you know of his mother?"
"Only that she was a quiet, docile woman whose health was as weak as her will. She died twenty years ago. Julian and his brother Hugh were lads at the time. Sadly, Hugh inherited his mother's frail constitution."
"Hugh was the same age as Slayde."
"Yes, senior to Julian by a year. Hugh and Slayde entered Oxford simultaneously. Unfortunately Hugh fell ill and died during that first term."
"I recall Slayde being terribly distressed when that happened," Aurora murmured. "As were my parents when Slayde told them the news. Obviously my family thought highly of Hugh."
"He was a good man, hon
orable of purpose, generous of nature. Quite different from his father and grandfather."
Aurora frowned. "And from Julian?"
"Not in principles, but in fact. Very different."
"Were they close?"
"In heart, yes."
"In heart," Aurora repeated. "Does that mean they cared about similar things or about each other?"
"Feelings are best expressed by those who experience them," Mr. Scollard replied.
A discouraged sigh. "If that's an answer, its meaning eludes me."
"That's because the answer you seek is not mine to convey. You will hear it from another, to whom the answer and the feelings belong. At which time, the meaning to which you refer will become abundantly clear—to both of you."
"If that another is Julian, I'll have to assume he talks in his sleep. As you yourself just pointed out, my betrothed is a very autonomous man, not one to expose his feelings—to anyone, much less a wife."
"The merlin is deceptive."
"Not this merlin," Aurora countered. "Certainly not like his namesake, the merlin falcon, who appears to be small and nonthreatening. No, Mr. Scollard, Julian is anything but deceptive. He's overwhelming in every way—stature, presence; he looks every bit as threatening as he is."
"But is he every bit as threatening as he looks? Or is that a deception unto itself; one of which even the duke himself isn't aware?"
Aurora blinked, thoroughly confused. "I don't understand what you mean."
"You will." Mr. Scollard patted her cheek and rose. "Soon. Now come. 'Tis time to climb to the tower and watch the onset of the new day. Then I must get on with my chores and you must get on with your daydreams." Another twinkle of those omniscient blue eyes. "By the way, fret not. Your wedding dress will fit perfectly. Four cakes or not."
* * *
As always, Mr. Scollard was right.
Thirteen days later, the dress did fit perfectly. Although, Aurora mused as she pirouetted before the looking glass, was the impeccable fit the result of Mr. Scollard's prophecy alone or had it something to do with her own inexhaustible bursts of energy—the bubbling anticipation that had made settling down for meals virtually impossible?
She'd probably never know for sure. All she did know was that ever since Mr. Scollard's prediction, she'd scarcely managed to stand still, much less sit, a fact that had thoroughly exasperated the poor maids who'd required her overseeing to pack her bags, and infuriated her already peevish modiste who had insisted on measuring mademoiselle for a wardrobe of new suitable gowns. Suitable for what? Aurora had wanted to scream. The next months would doubtless be consumed not with attending lavish house parties, but with searching for the black diamond. Madame Gerard, however, didn't know that. Further, the woman was unyielding, claiming that a married woman—and a duchess no less—required an entire line of new dresses, one for every occasion. Rather than argue, Aurora had steeled herself for what turned out to be prolonged hours of taking measurements, choosing colors, and selecting fabrics.
The sole diversions that had gotten her through the endless fortnight were her daily romps about the grounds with Tyrant—prompting a host of frustrated guards to follow in their wake—and her recurrent visits to the lighthouse. Three or four times each day, she'd raced down and burst into Mr. Scollard's domain, interrupting his work to pace about, babble incessantly, then become restless and rush back to the manor. The lighthouse keeper, extraordinary man that he was, had never complained, only listened patiently and silently, an odd smile playing about his lips.
During several sleepless nights, Aurora had contemplated slipping out of the manor and making her way to the far grounds of Pembourne where her great-grandfather's falcon cages stood. No one had disturbed them in years, so they'd be just as James had left them, other than the fact that they were now empty. Or perhaps not empty, perhaps holding a clue that would help her and Julian find the black diamond.
No. She'd dared not give in to that temptation lest the guards report her actions to Slayde, necessitating an explanation she'd promised Julian she would not give—yet.
Julian.
Apart from Aurora's speculations over the black diamond, Julian had been the major source of her sleeplessness. Maddeningly, she'd seen him but once during that interminable waiting period, four days prior to the nuptials when he'd come to flourish their newly acquired marriage license and to tell her privately—during the two minutes he managed to get her alone—that he'd uncovered nothing of consequence at Morland.
He'd also managed during those same two minutes to kiss her senseless—deep, drugging kisses that had left Aurora trembling long after he released her, long after his carriage disappeared around Pembourne's drive.
Between her preoccupation with the mystery hovering at their doorstep and the escalating fire Julian had kindled inside her, Aurora was ready to explode into a million scalding pieces.
The arrival of today, her wedding day, had indeed been a welcome relief.
For the first time since Julian's proposal, Aurora had applauded the deluge of activity that awaited her. From the instant the sun rose, excited servants had darted in and out of her chambers, preparing her bath, fussing over the selection of her undergarments, crooning over her gown.
At last, there she stood, gazing at her own reflection, nearly giddy with anticipation. Reverently she caressed the delicate silver and white creation that billowed at her feet, wondering if the flame-haired apparition staring back through awed turquoise eyes could in fact be she.
"You look beautiful." Courtney hovered in the doorway, a vision in lilac silk, lovely and glowing with impending motherhood and sisterly pride. She beamed her approval as two maids feathered Aurora's filmy lace veil about her shoulders in a shimmering white cascade. "Your bridegroom is going to swoon the instant you enter the chapel."
With a wry grin, Aurora reached up, touched the coronet of wildflowers that crowned her head. "That I doubt. Somehow I think there has yet to be a sight overwhelming enough to cause Julian to swoon."
"You underestimate yourself—and your effect on the man you're about to wed." Courtney walked over, nodding warmly from one maid to the other. "You've done a splendid job. Thank you both. I'll take over from here."
A minute later, Courtney and Aurora were alone.
Aurora cast a speculative glance at her friend. "Is something amiss? You're not feeling ill, are you?"
"Everything is fine. I feel wonderful." Courtney smiled, laying a caressing palm atop her abdomen. "The babe and I both do," she added. "The reason I asked the maids to leave is so you and I could talk—alone. This is the last chance we'll have to do so, at least the last chance before you leave Pembourne as Julian's wife."
Even as Courtney spoke, the sound of horses' hooves reached their ears, confirmation that the Huntley carriage had been brought around front and was now being readied for its drive to the chapel.
"Our last chance to talk alone?" Aurora murmured with her first glimmer of trepidation. "That sounds so final. Courtney, our friendship … our times together…" She chewed her lip, tried again. "You, better than anyone, know Pembourne has been more of a prison to me than a home. Slayde spent most of my life abroad, sequestering me here amid a host of guards. I realize he was only doing it to protect me. Nevertheless, my devotion to the servants notwithstanding, I have no affinity for this estate. But you—that's another matter entirely." Aurora's voice quavered a bit. "I feel as if we're sisters, and I don't mean only through wedlock. You mean the world to me, and marriage or not, I don't want things to change between us."
"Between us?" Courtney shook her head fiercely, seizing her friend's hands and squeezing them tightly. "That's never going to happen. Nor did I mean to imply that it might. As far as you and I are concerned, the only thing that will change is your residence. We'll still see each other constantly, confide our thoughts and our feelings, share our exploits. No, what I wanted to discuss was a different relationship, one you're first entering into; one that definitely will
change your life." A pause. "Aurora, you're embarking on a whole new path. Along with a whole new set of experiences, different from any you've ever known. Beginning tonight."
Aurora didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You're referring to my wedding night."
"Yes. I am." Courtney's gaze probed Aurora's, her sea green eyes alight with concern rather than embarrassment. "You and I have conversed about everything under the sun—except this. So let me begin by asking, do you know what to expect?"
