Miss Molly Robbins Designs a Seduction
Page 31
She too laughed, all her worries of the past few months falling away like gilded leaves from the chestnut trees around the common. “Well, there is something about me that you don’t know, Danny.”
“Oh?”
“It’s another mystery.” She tapped the side of her nose with one finger. “Since you like them so much, I’ll let you guess. It’s your turn.”
“Damn you, wench. Tell me, or I’ll give you another spanking.”
“That’s a fine way to talk to your countess.” That stopped her dead in her tracks. Countess?
Molly Robbins was about to become the Countess of Everscham. That could not be. She must have fallen and cracked her skull open and be living in some strange fantasy world. Hopefully she could go on living in it and never return to sanity, if her mental state depended on never seeing him again.
She waited for her pulse to settle. Perhaps she should tell him to give up the title, but whichever way they made this work, one of them would have the harder struggle. Better they struggle with the money than without it. As she’d said to him, she may be a country girl at heart, but she was also practical.
Turning her face to him again, she exclaimed, “How could a lady’s maid ever be a countess?”
He was utterly unruffled by the thought. There was no hesitation. “The same way a bastard can be an earl. I have no doubt we’ll manage.” He kissed her hand. “We are quite a team, you and I.”
“But what about my business?” Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t want to—”
“You’ll never have to give it up. I want you to be content, and for as long as you want to sew gowns, I won’t stop you. My lady wife-to-be. Sakes, I’ll have to get used to that.”
“You will. Just as you got accustomed to good deeds.”
Rain fell faster now all around them, but the slate arch over the gate kept them dry. The wedding party had disappeared, and even Mrs. Flick must have dashed off for cover. It was just the two of them and the rain. The wind was colder now, but with Carver’s arms around her, she barely felt it.
Not just the two of them, she corrected herself; there was another soul to consider in all this too.
“If you’re sure you want to marry me, Danny, we’d better do it soon.”
“If I’m sure? Why else would I come all the way to this dratted one-horse village, chasing after a pert-faced dressmaker, when I could be home in my warm, cozy bed?”
Suddenly overcome, she flung her arms around his neck, and her muff fell to the flagstones at their feet. “I love you very much. So much I might burst with it one day. My seams feel very loose.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist. “But will you still love me when I’m old and ugly?”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “Of course I do.”
He laughed. “Most amusing, Mouse.” Then he stopped, and his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, we’d better do it soon? Why the haste?”
She blinked. “We don’t want another bastard in the family, do we?”
It took several moments for the color to return to his face. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Good Lord,” was all he seemed capable of managing.
“Jumping Jacks, as Lady Anne would say.” She smiled. “Something else for you to get used to, Danny darling.”
Epilogue
As they signed their names in the church register, Carver was reminded of the first time he watched her write her name, when she brought the loan contract to him on a rainy day last April. He could not have known then, that he was looking at his future wife and the mother of his children, but he always knew there was something devious going on behind that prim countenance.
He should have realized Miss Molly Robbins had designs upon him.
After the wedding, he held her hand and helped her up into the carriage. His sister and Rafe Hartley were there to see them off, along with her other village friends—Rafe’s father and stepmother and his aunt and uncle. Molly’s siblings came too, all greatly suspicious of their sister’s new title, and muttering that she’d better not expect them to curtsy to her.
The horses moved forward, and the carriage wheels bumped over muddy tracks.
He glanced at his wife and saw how she tried to hide her wet lashes, leaning out as far as she could to wave at the vanishing folk through the carriage window.
“You’re sad to be leaving Sydney Dovedale and all the people in it,” he said, drawing her into his lap. For once, he would permit her to cry in his presence, but after that, he never wanted to see her unhappy again, and he would make it his personal duty to keep her smiling.
“I am sad,” she acknowledged with a nod, sliding a slender arm around his neck. “But I am happy to begin a new chapter in a new world.”
“With me.”
“With you. With us. No matter what we are, or where.”
“That’s all that matters,” he whispered against her lips. “Just us.”
The lane straightened out, and the horses picked up their pace, leaving the village behind and carrying the Earl and Countess of Everscham away under a thinning canopy of copper leaves.
Soon, once winter took the countryside in its firm grip, those same branches would be stark and bare against a bleak sky. But buds would sprout again eventually, and birds would nest there. By the time the next Everscham heir was born, the cherry and apple trees that bordered the lane to Sydney Dovedale would celebrate the occasion with festoons of pink and white blossom. And thus the cycle of life began all over again.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my family and friends for their tireless support and encouragement. To Aubrey, Danielle, and everyone at Sourcebooks—your belief in me has taken me farther than I ever thought possible. And to all my lovely readers—without you, none of this would be worthwhile.
About the Author
Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four daughters. Entertained by her father’s colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters—all with far more exciting lives than hers—she’s always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines. Visit www.jaynefresina.com.