“Of course, isn’t everyone?” she retorted. Without waiting for his response, she added, “Besides, what could be a better motif for a kite than an angel? Not only are they beautiful, they can fly higher than anything on earth … all the way to heaven.” She paused to sigh. When she again spoke, her voice was soft, almost reverent, filled with a wistfulness that made Michael glance back up at her face. “That is my greatest dream you see, to fly. If a person didn’t have to die to become an angel, I would be most anxious to join their ranks.”
“Then you wish to fly to heaven for a visit?” he gently quizzed, smiling tenderly at her latest bit of whimsy.
She shrugged and nodded in tandem. “Only if I could come back here after my visit. Otherwise,” another shrug, this one accompanied by a head shake, “I would be perfectly happy just soaring above the earth and looking down. Can you imagine the sensation of doing so—the thrill, the feeling of absolute freedom? Why, you could see forever and go anywhere.”
“Indeed you could,” he replied, thinking how radiant she looked in her fanciful enthusiasm. She practically glowed, as if she were lit from within.
Smiling dreamily, she met his gaze, her eyes soft and far away as she pensively murmured, “Have you ever imagined what heaven will look like when you get there?”
He smiled back ruefully. “I used to, when I still believed in such a place.”
“What! You don’t believe in heaven?” Her raptly introspective expression vanished, and she looked genuinely grieved. “Oh, Michael. No! How very sad. What made you stop believing?”
“Life and the living hell it has become over the past two years, although”—his brittle smile softened into a real one—“I must admit that I am almost inclined to start believing again now that you are here.”
“Truly?” At his nod, she nodded back, her voice growing resolute as she countered, “In that instance, I must work harder to help you do so.”
“Oh?”
Another nod. “I must strive to create a bit of heaven for you right here on earth. Once you have experienced it here, you cannot help but to believe that there is a place where such joy is possible for all eternity.”
“And how do you propose to do such a thing?” he inquired, genuinely intrigued.
“Well, first we must determine what brings you joy … something you haven’t done in a very long time and wish to do again.”
Michael didn’t have to think twice to know the answer to that: he wished to make love again. Indeed, he could think of nothing more heavenly than seeing Emily’s face transfixed with pleasure and hearing her cry his name in her rapture as he took her. Since that was impossible and since he didn’t care to dwell on the vision the thought was provoking, he uttered his second favorite activity, “Riding. I would very much like to ride my stallion, Shurik, again.”
“Then you shall,” she stoutly declared. “You must.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot,” he interposed. “It is one of the activities I am no longer permitted to enjoy. Eadon worries that I might take a tumble and hit my head. According to the general consensus of experts, a blow to the head in my condition, even a slight one, could prove fatal, or at the very least cause a drastic increase in seizures.”
She couldn’t have looked more crushed.
“But I really do not miss it so very much, not anymore,” he lied, smiling in a way that he hoped would make her smile back.
She did, halfheartedly. “Still, there must be something I can do. Perhaps—”
“You do more than enough already,” he interjected gently, reaching across the table to take her hands in his. “Simply seeing your smile and hearing your voice give me far more pleasure than I could ever express. You, my darling wife, are my angel, and anywhere you are is heaven on earth to me.” And it was true. Hmmm. It seemed that he believed in heaven after all.
Chapter 14
As often happens on the moors of Dartmoor in autumn, the rains set in and continued without cease for the next two weeks, keeping Michael and Emily confined to the abbey.
Michael, who had experienced the seemingly interminable storms before and had grown to dread the excruciating boredom and gloom he always suffered in their wake, found himself actually enjoying his captivity. How could he not with Emily by his side? She brightened his days with her luminous smile, her vibrant pleasure in life coloring each gray hour, all of which flew swiftly by on wings of quiet contentment.
Emily, too, savored their time together, especially the evenings they spent in the cozy winter saloon, sprawled on the plush Oriental carpet before the toasty fire. As they lounged against the pile of velvet and silk cushions they had pilfered from the chairs, Michael with a mug of hot milk and she a cup of chocolate, they whispered of their dreams and shared their most treasured memories, spinning a web of intimacy from which neither wished ever to escape.
True, when viewed as a whole, their rainy day routine would no doubt have appeared mundane to those unaware of the special bond between the powerful young duke and his beautiful duchess, tedious even. But to those who knew them best, the servants, who had seen their beloved master’s torment and the healing power of Emily’s joy, to them those days were a miracle. They understood the significance of the seemingly ordinary schedule of everyday events, and they rejoiced. For after two long, grim years, Michael Vane, duke of Sherrington, was again lord of the manor.
As for Emily and Michael, they arose each morning charged with a heady thrill of anticipation, looking forward to the delightful discoveries they never failed to make about themselves and each other whenever they were together. Thus they endeavored to spend as much time as possible together, a quest that began each morning when they met for breakfast, a relaxed, leisurely meal during which they nourished their bodies with Cook’s delicious victuals and their souls with each other’s company. After breakfast they would reluctantly part for several hours to attend to their individual duties.
Emily, who with Michael’s guidance had gradually adopted the role of lady of the manor, tended to household matters, after which she secretly worked on a surprise she was making for Michael, one which she hoped would enable him to ride again. Michael’s time was spent on ducal business or submitting to Eadon’s treatments, which he now tolerated with only minor detriment. They would then meet again promptly at three for their daily walk. Because they were unable to venture outside, they took their exercise in the house.
During the first week they strolled through the long picture galleries with Michael acting as a guide, pointing out portraits of his ancestors and other such luminaries, and relating stories of their exploits. When they came to a portrait he was unable to identify, they would make up a fanciful name and history for the person, their hilarity escalating into absurdity as each tried to outdo the other with the preposterousness of their fictitious character’s escapades.
Emily loved those moments best, seeing Michael’s jewel-like eyes sparkle in his mischievous glee and hearing the unbridled joy of his rich, easy laughter. He delighted in his newfound sense of whimsy and she thrilled to his pleasure. So much so that by the end of their second week of confinement they had thoroughly examined every painting and named every portrait they could find. Loath to see their fun end, Michael had contrived a new diversion, which he introduced that very afternoon.
Thus when Emily met him at their usual rendezvous place by the gargoyles, one of the beasts which now wore a feather-and-ribbon-trimmed cocked hat and the other a fussy leghorn her grandmother had forgotten to pack, she found Michael clad in a dark blue greatcoat, with a lantern in one hand and her red woollen cloak draped over his other arm. Though Emily was warmly dressed, the drafty halls and galleries being chilly on such days, Michael insisted that she don the heavy wrap, saying that he thought she might enjoy exploring the closed wings and deserted upper floors of the abbey, all of which were bound to be cold.
Always game for adventure, Emily obed
iently allowed him to slip the cloak over her shoulders, busying herself with fastening the front hook-and-eye closures while he turned his attention to lighting the lantern. That done, they were off. At Michael’s suggestion they started at the addition off the northeast wing, one he referred to as the old banqueting house.
Built during the reign of Elizabeth, the banqueting house, which had originally stood apart from the abbey but had been joined by an enclosed promenade a century later, turned out to be more of a lodge than a mere pavilion for feasting. Standing three stories tall with each floor housing several rooms full of quaint, antiquated furnishings and once fashionable gewgaws, it proved to be the perfect place to while away a rainy afternoon.
Laughing and chatting as they went, they roamed from room to room, studying the still bright murals and well-preserved tapestries, peeking beneath the covers that shrouded the dated furnishings, and testing the abandoned instruments in the tiny music room, all the while imagining the lives of the people who had once loved and laughed there. Of all the rooms they toured, however, fascinating though they were, none caught Emily’s interest more than the ones on the third floor. For at some time in the abbey’s long history, early during the past century Michael informed her, they had been used to house the Vane children.
Now standing in the main nursery, the one in which Michael’s ancestors had spent their earliest days, Emily was struck by the austerity of her surroundings. With its stark whitewashed walls and hard wood-planked floor, the room was nothing short of dreary—a far cry from the sort of pampered luxury in which she’d have expected the children of one of England’s mightiest families to be kept. Indeed, aside from a scattering of sensible furniture, among which were several small cots, a rather lovely swinging cradle, and a trundle bed, no doubt meant for the nurse, the room contained few amenities, none of which suggested comfort or cheer.
As Michael opened the heavy drapes to allow more light for her inspection, Emily stooped down to examine a hexagonal-shaped baby walker, which had once been a bright cherry red, judging from the chips of remaining paint, then rose to study a nearby pair of turned ash high chairs. Both chairs were very elegant, but had no doubt been hideously uncomfortable for their young occupants given the knobbiness of their lathe work backs.
She had just moved to the low oak table with its six child-size fiddle-back chairs and had kneeled before it to contemplate the meager display of playthings arranged upon it, when Michael came to stand beside her. Setting the lantern on the table to further illuminate the toys, he disclosed, “This was my great-grandfather, Edmund Vane’s, nursery. I showed you his portrait, remember?”
Indeed she did. How could she forget Edmund Vane when it was from him whom Michael had inherited the handsome cleft in his chin? Idly picking up and examining a piece of the dissected wooden puzzle scattered before her, she replied, “Of course I remember him.” A head. The puzzle piece depicted a man’s head with curly black hair and a short beard. Curious about the picture to which the head belonged, she set it back down and began shifting through the other pieces, looking for ones that might fit as she added, “As I recall, he was a handsome but exceedingly dour-looking man. And now I know why he possessed such a gloomy disposition. Judging from the bleakness of this nursery, he was given little to be cheerful about in his youth.”
“Ah, but you misjudge him. By all accounts he was a most cheerful man … one of the great wits of his time,” Michael countered, sinking to his knees beside her. Picking up a beautifully carved wooden horse on a wheeled platform, which he proceeded to admire from all angles, he explained, “As I have pointed out on several occasions, you can never trust a formal portrait to be a true depiction of its study. I do not know about America, but here in England it has always been the practice for artists to paint their subjects in the fashion of the day. During my great-grandfather’s time it was modish for a man, especially a nobleman, to look like a strong, valiant leader. That being the case, it would never have done to paint him with the smile I am told he wore on most occasions.”
“Still, I cannot imagine that his childhood could have been very gay, not confined to a dreary place like this,” she retorted, fitting a body in a multicolored coat to the head before her.
He shrugged and set the horse back on the table, giving it a push that sent it charging to the center. “I doubt if it was much worse than anyone else’s childhood of the time.” At her sniff of disbelief, he gently reproved, “You must understand the views of the day in order to appreciate the truth of what I say.”
“Oh?” she challenged, glancing up to shoot him an incredulous look.
He nodded and picked up a puzzle piece near her elbow, carefully examining it as he explained, “From what I have ascertained from reading accounts of the time, childhood was viewed as a necessary evil to be gotten over as quickly as possible. Hence, little concession was made to it.”
“But that is dreadful!” she ejected, genuinely shocked. “Childhood isn’t something to be rushed and dismissed. It is a wonderful, magical time to be cherished by parent and child alike. Furthermore, it takes years of love and nurturing, and at least a thousand concessions, before a child is ready to move beyond it.”
He latched the piece he held, a pair of sandal-shod feet with the name “Joseph” inscribed beneath them, to her colorfully clad man. “That is a lovely thought, Emily, but unfortunately, not one commonly shared by the aristocracy of the last century. Most lordlings of the time were required to be gentlemen by the age of five. Not only were they dressed like their elders, they were expected to parrot their ways and converse in an adult manner. Some could do so in several languages.”
“What!”
He nodded. “It wasn’t at all uncommon for a five-year-old to be fluent in Latin and Greek. Many knew French as well and had a rudimentary knowledge of the other scholarly disciplines.”
“How very sad,” she murmured, her heart aching for the noble children and their tragically premature loss of innocence.
He fit another puzzle head, this one with a white beard, to a body wearing a ragged robe holding two stone tablets in its arms. “It seems sad only if you know anything different,” he returned with simple logic. “Since it has always been the tradition of the British aristocracy to mold their peers from the cradle, most noble offspring were never exposed to the more frivolous aspects of childhood and thus never missed them.”
“I still think it beyond tragic,” she maintained, her tone communicating her scorn for his theory. “Thank goodness you nobles have come to your senses and have ceased your barbaric robbery of your children’s childhoods.”
He shrugged one shoulder and picked up another puzzle piece. “I never said that it had ceased. There are a number of peers who still adhere to what you term as a ‘barbaric robbery of their children’s childhoods.’ To them it is simply the way things are done. Since they were raised in a like fashion and are pleased with the adults they have become, they see no reason not to perpetuate the tradition.”
“But—but—” she sputtered, grappling for the words to express her outrage. She found them in the next instant and was poised to articulate them when a new, undeniably hideous thought struck her. “Oh, Michael! Surely you weren’t brought up in such an abominable manner?” she cried, stricken by the very notion.
He shrugged again and pressed the puzzle piece he held, which read “Moses” beneath his tablet-toting man. “Not entirely, though you must bear in mind that I was raised by our grandmothers, both of whom naturally have some rather old-fashioned ideas.”
“Exactly how old-fashioned?” she quizzed, her eyes narrowing in her terrible suspicion.
“It was their belief that an heir such as I, who bore three ancient and powerful titles at the age of two, must be an infant prodigy in order to do justice to his position in society. Thus, I could read and write by the time I was three, I mastered Latin at four, and had a good grounding in Gr
eek, geography, literature, and algebra by the time I was five.”
Emily simply stared at him, too appalled to do more. Then she began shaking her head over and over again. “You poor, poor dear,” she murmured, hating the thought of what he must have endured to have had his brain crammed so full of knowledge at such a tender age. “It must have been a grueling ordeal for one so young, learning such difficult lessons. However did you bear it?”
He picked up another puzzle piece, scrutinizing it from several angles as he slowly replied, “I daresay that I had an easier time of it than many boys in my position. At least my tutor never caned me if I was slow to learn, and he very much believed in the benefits of play.” He nodded, as if coming to a silent resolution, then concluded, “All in all, my childhood was pleasant enough, though I must admit that I missed not having siblings. At times I got rather lonely for the company of other children.”
Emily watched as he tried to fit the puzzle piece to one he’d plucked from the piece pile earlier, imagining a life without the merry company of her beloved brothers. The devastating emptiness she experienced in doing so made her feel lost and alone and strangely hollow, as if she’d somehow lost her heart and was helpless to retrieve it. Not knowing quite how to reply in the wake of the wrenching sensation, she rawly inquired, “Surely you had friends?”
“Yes, but no close ones my own age.” He discarded the puzzle piece, which had failed to fit. “Perhaps I might have had better success at friendship had I been allowed to choose my own company. But of course, that would never have done. In keeping with her ambition for me, Grandmother allowed me to associate only with children from the upper stratum of the peerage. ‘Never too early to begin forging bonds with your peers, my boy’”—he mimicked the old tyrant’s strident tone to perfection—“she used to whisper as she introduced me to yet another little lord or lady with whom I had absolutely nothing in common but our future positions in society.” He shook his head. “Truth be told, my very best friends were the servants here, though I wasn’t allowed to spend nearly as much time in residence here as I would have liked as a child.”
Bewitched Page 25
