Stepping up onto the dais, Marcus was stunned at the change only a few hours had wrought in his old friend. Lord Manning’s features were gray and shrunken and he looked every one of his nearly seventy-five years.
Marcus carefully seated himself on the bed and took one of Lord Manning’s hands in his. “Milord,” he said softly, “it is Marcus.”
The old man stirred and opened his eyes. “Marcus,” he repeated with difficulty. A smile, more a grimace than a smile, crossed his worn features. “I fear,” he managed, “that you find me not at my best.”
Affection in his gaze, Marcus replied, “Indeed, milord, I have seen you look better—even after a night of deep drinking and wild wenching.”
Lord Manning half laughed, half choked at Marcus’s words. The blue eyes brighter, he said, “You were always good for me. Made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.” His gaze locked on Marcus’s face, he said, “Seward says I’ve had my notice to quit, but before I go, there is one thing I want to see: you and Isabel married.”
His features impassive, giving no clue to the grief churning through him at the thought of an old friend’s death, Marcus stared at Lord Manning for a long minute. The baron’s request didn’t come as a surprise; he’d been half prepared for just such a request. Lord Manning was determined to see that Isabel was safely settled and his grandson in safe hands before his death. Before the pause became noticeable, Marcus nodded and murmured, “Since that is your wish, I shall do my best to see that it is accomplished.” Forcing a smile, he said, “It is a good thing, is it not, that Mrs. Appleton’s brother, Bishop Latimer, is staying with her. I shall leave you but a short while and obtain a special license.” He glanced over his shoulder at Isabel’s numbed expression and said, “While I am gone Isabel can send for the vicar and, when I return, we can be married.”
Lord Manning nodded and dropped off into a deep sleep.
Leaving Seward to attend to Lord Manning, Marcus swept Isabel from the room. His gaze searching her face, he said gently, “It will not be the wedding we might have planned, but it will make an old man’s last hours happy.”
Tears flooding her eyes, she nodded. Tried to speak but could not. Visibly fighting for composure, she got out, “I would do anything for him. I love him as I would my own father. I cannot bear the thought of him dying.” Anguish on her face, she cried, “What am I to tell Edmund when he wakes and find his grandfather has died?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to give up hope? We must prepare ourselves for his passing, but we must not give way to despair either. Until this happened, he was a powerful, vital man. He is not dead yet and until he is, I refuse to countenance anything else. And if the worst happens, I will know that our marriage gave him peace of mind.” He tilted her chin up and dropped a quick kiss on it. “Send word to the vicar and then go back in there and remind the old devil of everything he has to live for. Be strong for him.” Concealing his own fears and anxieties, Marcus turned on his heels and strode away.
The faintest tinge of pink and gold was breaking across the horizon when they were all gathered once more in Lord Manning’s bedroom. The number of people filing into the big chamber had grown considerably in the intervening hours. Before leaving Manning Court for Mrs. Appleton’s residence, Marcus had placed a note to be delivered immediately to his mother in the hands of a sleepy-eyed servant. The note contained a brief explanation and warned her that if she wanted to be at his wedding, she best make haste. Consequently, she and Jack were two of the people standing silently near the silk-draped bed where Lord Manning lay so pale and quiet; Vicar Norris, who had arrived only minutes before them, stood talking to Mr. Seward in a low undertone nearby.
It wasn’t to be expected that when Mrs. Appleton discovered the reason for Marcus’s middle-of-the-night visit she would remain at home. Her soft face full of grief and blinking back tears, she insisted on returning with Marcus to Manning Court to spend a few last precious minutes with the man she loved and had hoped to marry. Presently, she was standing at the side of the bed, Lord Manning’s frail hand clasped in her warm, plump one. Bishop Latimer, when awakened and the situation explained to him, was not only willing to issue the license but was determined to be at his sister’s side during her ordeal and had accompanied her to Manning Court.
While Marcus had been gone, Isabel had struggled with the question about whether to wake Edmund or not. Knowing how much he loved his grandfather, she reluctantly decided that he should be allowed to see him before the old man died. Edmund, his young face full of stunned misery, knelt on the other side of the bed, rubbing his grandfather’s arm, his gaze painfully fixed on the lined features.
Deering, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Deering, his wife, having both grown up in the baron’s household and their parents before them, stood side by side near the door, Mrs. Deering trying to muffle her sobs in a big white handkerchief. Marcus knew that several other longtime servants hovered anxiously just outside in the hallway, trying to brace themselves for the devastating news that the only master they had ever known was dead.
Despite the coming dawn and the many candles that had been lit and placed around the room, a gray gloom that had nothing to do with the lack of light seemed to smother the area. Mrs. Deering’s quiet weeping by the door drifted in the air, adding to the depressing atmosphere. Not, Marcus thought, the best start to a wedding.
Hiding his own grief, keeping his features calm and placid, Marcus walked up to where Isabel stood near one corner of the bed watching her son and his grandfather. Touching her on the shoulder, he said, “Everyone is here. Shall we proceed?”
Her face white and strained, the golden-brown eyes huge and filled with anguish, she nodded. Half dazed by grief, she was hardly aware of the other people in the room, hardly aware of what she was doing. She was numb and even the thought of marriage to Marcus couldn’t break through the cloud of sorrow around her.
Once everyone was in place—Isabel and Marcus standing on the dais near the vicar at the foot of the bed, the others gathered nearby—Mr. Seward gently woke Lord Manning. Lord Manning stared blankly at the physician for a moment, then, as if remembering the circumstances, he glanced over and saw the others around the bed. After help from Marcus and the physician, he was half raised in his bed, and a pile of pillows placed behind his back. Sighing, he sank back against them.
Lord Manning’s left eyelid drooped and when he attempted a smile it was clear that the left side of his face was partially paralyzed. Still, he managed a smile of sorts and said in a rallying tone, “You’d think from the expression on your faces that you were here for a wake instead of a wedding.” Sitting up a little taller in the bed, the blue eyes sharper, he added, “I’m not ready to have dirt thrown in my face yet, so I’ll thank you to get rid of those Friday-faces. Like to put a man off his feed.”
His words lightened the atmosphere and, satisfied with the faint smiles that flickered here and there, Lord Manning looked at the vicar and, motioning weakly toward Isabel and Marcus, said, “I believe we are here to see these two married, so let us get on with it.”
The ceremony was simple and brief and, within moments, Marcus and Isabel were pronounced man and wife. In a fog of misery, the ceremony passed Isabel by. She was aware of saying her vows, aware of Marcus standing so tall and imposing beside her, but the reality of what was happening didn’t touch her. Her marriage was simply something to be endured before she could turn her attention back to her son and Lord Manning.
Marcus, too, suffered much the same depth of grief that consumed Isabel, and didn’t pay a great deal of attention to the ceremony either. Like Isabel, most of his thoughts were on the old man watching them from the bed. Still, when it was time to kiss his bride, he did so and, for just a second, felt a flicker of satisfaction and delight. Isabel was his! His wife. He stared down into her upturned face and some deep, primitive emotion moved within him. Not desire, although that lurked beneath the surface, but something stronger, more lasting and more profound, a
nd then the vicar offered congratulations and the moment passed and his focus again returned to Lord Manning.
There was not the open joy one usually finds at such an event, but the beaming expression on Lord Manning’s face after Marcus had kissed his bride made up for it. The ceremony completed, at a nod from Seward Marcus ushered everyone from the room, until only he, Isabel, Edmund, Seward, and Lord Manning remained.
In the time before everyone had arrived, arrangements had been made for refreshments to be served in the morning room. It wouldn’t be the gala breakfast normally associated with a wedding, Isabel admitted, but it would keep the servants occupied for the moment and give an air of normalcy to the situation for the others. She doubted that anyone would leave very soon. They would, she thought with an ache in her heart, remain until Lord Manning died.
Edmund sat down on the bed next to his grandfather, stroking the old man’s arm again as if by his very touch he could stave off death itself. It seemed impossible to him that his grandfather was dying and he took comfort from the feel of his grandfather’s warm, sinewy arm beneath his hand.
Isabel sat on the other side of the bed, forcing herself to smile. “We’ve all danced to the tune of your piping,” she said teasingly, despite the lump in her throat. “Are you happy with the results?”
Lord Manning nodded. His words slightly slurred, he murmured, “Indeed, I am quite pleased.” He looked at her keenly. “And you, my dear? Are you happy?”
Isabel swallowed a lump in her throat. How could she be happy when he was dying? How could she ever be happy when she knew that her marriage, a marriage she had never wanted, might destroy everything she held dear? Willing a light note into her voice, she said, “Of course.” She glanced at Marcus, who stood beside her. “I have a fine, handsome husband. What woman wouldn’t be happy?”
“And I,” said Marcus slowly, his gaze roaming slowly over Isabel’s face, “have married the only woman that I ever wanted for a wife.” It was true, Marcus realized with a small start. Marriage had never been in his plans for the future, but once he had become engaged to Isabel, his whole world had changed and a life without Isabel by his side as his wife had been unthinkable. A small part of him understood even before his stunning announcement of their engagement that buried deep inside of him had been the knowledge that there was only one woman in the world for him: Isabel. Yes, he thought slowly, he had wanted to marry her and had, perhaps, for a very long time....
Lord Manning chuckled and Marcus’s attention immediately switched to the old man. The baron was pale and obviously exhausted, but Marcus decided that his color looked better and that the frightening blank expression was gone from his eyes and face.
“How are you feeling?” Marcus asked softly.
Using only half his face, the old man quirked a smile. “Not as good as I would like.” He closed his eyes. “I think I would like to rest now.” His gnarled hand tightened on Edmund’s. “But leave the boy.”
Quietly, Marcus, Isabel, and Seward left the room. In the hallway, Marcus said to Seward, “Why don’t you join the others downstairs for some refreshments? Mrs. Sherbrook and I will stay in the sitting room, and if there is any change, we will ring for you immediately. And if you wouldn’t mind, please ask Deering to send up a tray for Mrs. Sherbrook and myself. We’ll leave the selection to him.” He glanced at Isabel’s wan face. “But some hot tea would certainly be in order.”
Seward hesitated and Marcus said, “Lord Manning is resting comfortably now and there is nothing that you can do but fret him. He will either recover or die. His fate is out of your hands.”
The physician took a deep breath, nodded curtly, and disappeared down the stairs.
Marcus guided Isabel into the pleasant sitting room that adjoined Lord Manning’s bedroom and, after seating her on a dark blue damask sofa and telling her what he planned to do, he walked back into the bedroom to speak to Edmund. Lord Manning had already fallen asleep, but Edmund looked up when Marcus approached.
Smiling at the boy, he said, “Your mother and I will be in the sitting room. I shall leave the door ajar and, should you have need of us, just call out.”
Edmund smiled shyly and nodded.
Returning to the sitting room, Marcus took a seat in a high-backed chair covered in blue and gold striped velvet to the side of where Isabel sat like a little wraith. Her bright red hair glowed like a flame in the candlelight and the skirts of her amber gown spread out against the dark blue material of the sofa made a pleasing contrast. The strain of the evening was evident in the purple shadows under her eyes, the unnatural paleness of her skin, and the tightly held curve of her mouth—not to mention the unconscious twisting of her hands in her lap. Certainly, no one looking at her, he thought ruefully, would ever take her for a woman just married. At least, not happily married, he amended.
Reaching across, he laid his big warm hand over her cold smaller ones. Her fingers immediately clutched for him and her eyes lost that distant stare as they met his.
“It has been an eventful evening, has it not?” he said quietly.
She gave a small choke of laughter. “You could say that.” Her gaze dropped to their entwined fingers. “How do we go on from here?” she asked unhappily.
“Th-th-there hasn’t been any time to discuss any plans before we m-m-married.” She swallowed. “I know we are married, but I—” Her voice closed off and a flush stained her cheeks.
Having a good idea where she was going, he smiled and raised her chin until she was forced to meet his eyes. “Isabel, I am not about to demand my conjugal rights tonight,” he said softly, “if that is what worries you. You may tell Deering to prepare a bedchamber for me, and for the next few days at least, you may pretend that I am merely a guest. When my mother returns home, I shall have her see to it that a trunk is packed for me and delivered here by one of the servants.” He flashed her a whimsical look. “I will not deny that this is not the way I envisioned my wedding night, but there is more at stake here than our enjoyment of the marriage bed. I do not intend to disrupt Lord Manning’s household any more than necessary, and that includes removing you and Edmund to Sherbrook Hall or forcing myself into your bedroom. We are married. God willing we will have a long life together. There will be time enough for us in the future.”
Her face glowed and she leaned forward saying earnestly, “Oh, Marcus! Thank you! You are being most understanding.” She turned to look at the opened doorway that led to Lord Manning’s bedroom. “I-I-I am afraid that at present I can think of nothing but ...” Her voice was suspended by tears.
“He’s dear to me, too,” he said somberly. His expression bleak, he added, “If he dies, the next few weeks will be painful and neither one of us needs to be worried about the changes our marriage brings.” He took a deep breath. “Once this is behind us we can concentrate on our changed circumstances.”
Relief almost made Isabel giddy and the cold iron claw that had been lodged in her belly since she realized what the baron was about vanished. Sinking back into the softness of the sofa, she looked at Marcus, thinking that he looked attractively roguish with his black hair tumbling across the broad forehead and his cravat slightly askew. The bottle-green jacket was not of the first stare nor were the breeches and boots in their usual pristine condition and they added to the roguish air. She smiled to herself. None of them probably looked their best. Her lashes lowered hiding her eyes and covertly she studied him, this man who was now her husband. He was dearly familiar and tonight with his tired, rumpled elegance he drew her as he had at no other time. She knew an urge to caress that wide brow, to soothe the lines of weariness and strain she saw on his dark face, to wipe away the unhappy cast to his fine mouth. The image of that mouth hard against her breast sent a stab of needy desire streaking through her and she gasped in dismay. How could she think of such a thing with Lord Manning dying in the next room?
“What is it, my dear?” Marcus asked, hearing that soft sound.
To her great rel
ief, there was a tap at the door and, at Marcus’s command, Deering walked into the room carrying a large silver tray. His face was composed, but the quick glance he sent toward the open doorway leading to Lord Manning’s bedchamber revealed where his thoughts lay. Placing the tray on a mahogany table at one end of the sofa where Isabel sat, he bowed and said gruffly, “Cook has been busy since Lord Manning was first stricken. You will find warm cross buns, apple fritters, some ginger biscuits, as well as slices of rare sirloin, rashers of bacon, coddled eggs, and tea and coffee.”
Marcus smiled at him. “Please send her my compliments. My wife”—and only Marcus knew what pleasure it gave him to say those words—“may enjoy the biscuits and tea, but the sirloin and eggs are precisely what I need right now.”
A slight smile flitted across Deering’s face. “Indeed, that is precisely what Cook said, when I protested.” His eyes slid again to the open doorway and his voice lowered. “Is there any change?”
Marcus shook his head. “None for the worst, at least. He is resting peacefully with his grandson at his side.”
Unable to think of a reason to remain, Deering bowed and reluctantly left the room.
While Isabel picked at her crisp, spicy biscuit and sipped tea, Marcus helped himself to a large plate of rare sirloin, coddled eggs, some warm buns, and two apple fritters. It had been a long time since he had last eaten. For several minutes there was a companionable silence as Isabel nibbled her biscuit and stared blindly into space and Marcus concentrated on the food on his plate.
His plate empty, and feeling somewhat revived, he rose to his feet and said to Isabel, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to see how milord is doing and if Edmund would like one of the apple fritters while they are still warm.”
Surrender Becomes Her Page 16
