Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

“You may kiss your wife.”

  Verbena gave a start. Neither moved for a moment. Damon breathed first, a strange sigh. He touched her face with the hand that had not been holding hers. His face drew nearer and nearer, and finally his eyes closed. Unless that was her own? She felt his breath first, faint as a whisper, before something even softer brushed her mouth. She did not know what to do in return. Did she pucker her mouth as she had as a young girl, pretending by kissing her own hand?

  And then his lips melded with hers. So this is a kiss, she thought, before thought fled, his lips pressing warm and soft against hers for a powerful instant. He was shaking the merest bit, like a wire stretched too tightly.

  He pulled away, and rested his head against her forehead for a moment. In a whisper for her ears only, he said, “That will have to do for now.”

  Then he straightened and shook the vicar’s hand. “Thank you, good sir. I am most grateful.”

  In all that time, she realized, he had never let go of her hand.

  *

  Damon fought the impatient urges to drum his fingers on his leg, shift restlessly, whistle, and whatever else would release the tension that kept building every time he looked across the carriage and saw his wife.

  His wife. She was finally his, with all her blond hair and green eyes, her soft skin and sharp tongue and the prickles that made him want to tease her.

  It had been a long day. After the wedding, they had all ridden back the way they came, up the hill to Aunt Mabel’s house and the feast the servants had been working on during their absence, back to the packed trunks that held her gowns and clothes for Roderick.

  Damon decided not to stay the night. They had been away from the other children too long.

  He still had to tell his parents about the baby.

  She insisted on changing out of the blue gown before they climbed into the carriage. “It is far too fine to wear riding in a carriage for hours. I could not bear it if anything happened to it.”

  It was a wrench to see Verbena back in the shabby, old dyed black gown. She would, of course, insist on the full six months of mourning for her sister, but after that he would deck her in the finest fabrics he could find. Perhaps a bit of feminine finery would help in his final goal. He had almost accomplished everything he had set out to do. Verbena as his wife, and the true heir back into the Thern fold.

  Just like her mourning period, the real work was still ahead. He could tie her to him with legal vows, but that would not make her love him. Without that, their house would be as cold as the weather outside.

  Damon looked out through the fogged glass window at the expanse of white that crowded close to the rutted road. They would have to find an inn fit for a night’s stay soon. For safety if nothing else, he would book them together in a single room. He sincerely hoped Verbena would not have a fit of the vapors when she found out.

  A smile tugged at his lips. Verbena, have the vapors? Hardly.

  A faint squeak from across the carriage pulled his attention back inside. The smile faded as Damon stared at the basket with the soft blankets he had managed to purchase before they left. He knew that under the bulk of coverings, Verbena was holding Roderick safe against her side. After raising her siblings single-handedly, it might take a while to convince her that men could be useful with babies, too.

  He heard another whimper, the warning of coming wakefulness and wails. He had not held his nephew for more than a few minutes at each stop while Verbena was putting on her new fur cloak. She may have removed the blue dress, but she did wear the other gift.

  He had set himself quite a task with his wife. He smothered a sigh, and looked out his own window.

  Verbena shifted in her seat for the second time in that many minutes. Damon knew how she felt. His own bottom had been trapped in a carriage far too much this past week. “Yes, my dear?”

  She smiled. A little one, but a smile nonetheless. “I think we need to find a suitable inn for the night. Roderick is getting hungry again and he needs to sleep in something that does not jounce.”

  *

  Verbena turned to the small window. It was frosted around the edges and at the whim of some childish urge, she leaned over and blew on the glass. Her breath froze and blocked her view.

  A soft chuckle from across the carriage seemed to tickle against the skin of her face. When she glanced over, Damon’s gaze met hers, and sure enough, his eyes held a twinkle even though he had wiped any smile from his face.

  How strange to be alone with him.

  The carriage driver gave a call and Damon stood against the jolting over the frozen road and lifted the door in the roof. The carriage hit a hole and lurched hard. Damon grabbed the frame.

  “A biggish town ahead, sir,” the driver called back, his voice coming clearly through the roof opening. Verbena scrubbed the frost off her window. Sure enough, a valley spread below them, filled with snowy roofs and chimneys billowing smoke.

  “Find the best inn,” Damon said clearly, and then sat down, wincing and rubbing his left leg.

  She wanted to ask about the pain, but did not know if it would embarrass him. Verbena clenched her hands and tucked them back under the carriage robe. If they had courted and fallen in love, shared hopes and dreams, spent hours planning their future, she would know these things.

  But they had not, and her stomach tensed. How long would it take before she knew what he expected, and just where her place was in this muddle?

  “A town ahead,” he said unnecessarily.

  “Yes, I heard.”

  Conversation died again. The town closed around them with surprising speed. A prosperous town, she could tell, with window boxes under the windows, empty now but promising colors for the spring.

  Verbena peeked out the small clear patch in the frost-rimmed window. “I have never seen a town this size with such wealth.” She bit her lip. Maybe that was not the right thing to say. After all, she had already let him know what she thought of the Thern’s attention.

  “I know this place,” he said with faint surprise, as if he had lost track of their route. “It belongs to a friend of mine. The family has found many ways to help support the shops here.” Damon shifted on the seat, looked out the window and then looked back, clearly weighing his next words. She might not know him well, but she could tell that much. Verbena braced herself.

  “Under normal circumstances there would be nothing amiss about stopping at my friend’s house and asking lodging for the night, but I think it best that we stop at the inn, instead.”

  She waited.

  A faint red seemed to creep up his cheeks. Of course, it might have been the way the lowering sun crept through the window. “I was not always the upstanding citizen you see today. When I was younger, I got in with some friends that – well, I have been thinking lately that it is time for me to cultivate a new group of associates.”

  Verbena forced herself not to smile. Apparently he was not aware that she might have heard of his less savory exploits. Damon the Demon, indeed! “I have no objection to an inn. It might well be the best place to find a nursing mother. Or at least find some milk. Roderick can’t wait much longer.”

  *

  Everything was so simple when one had wealth, Verbena marveled anew. Damon’s orders were fulfilled as quickly as he spoke them. Two bowls of boiled mutton stew and potatoes sat on the small table, along with a steaming pot of tea. Across the room, a plump woman was breastfeeding Roderick, and the poor babe nursed as if it were his last meal.

  Damon had taken a room with a small fireplace. With impeccable tact, he had left her alone with the wet nurse, giving the woman privacy. The fireplace did not keep the room very warm, it really was small but the room was big enough for the largest featherbed she had ever seen, two chairs, and even a small table. Regardless, the meager relief of even that much heat made her shudder.

  To think that an inn would have a finer room and better furniture than her own house. Verbena looked down at her worn, dyed gown,
and abruptly hated it with fervor. She groaned before she realized she had made a sound.

  “Somethin wrong, ma’am?” The wet nurse looked over with open curiosity. She was a jolly woman, with brown hair up in a sloppy bun, a round face, and matching body that spoke of several other children at home. “Ye needn’t feel bad that ye cain’t nurse yer own babe. Many’s the woman what could not.”

  Verbena managed a smile. “He is actually my older sister’s child. She died in childbirth.”

  “I’s truly sorry to ’ear that, ma’am.” A moment of awkward silence fell as they both absorbed those stark words. Tucking her breast back under her bodice, the woman raised Roderick to her shoulder and began patting his back. “It’s good o’ yer man to take ’im in.”

  “Yes, it is indeed.” Disregarding all the other complications, it was good of Damon.

  If she was truly honest with herself, Roderick was not the only reason she had accepted him. He was just the reason she could safely admit to. It would hardly do to say she found Damon physically beautiful, with his piercing dark eyes, that thick black hair that curled over his forehead, his tall body, strong broad shoulders, and the warm deep voice that sent tingles through her body. All he had to do was say something, and she was half in his power. A smile from him threatened to melt her completely.

  Not that she would admit to it, of course. A woman had to have some pride. And right now, alone in the room with a stranger while he was off doing she knew not what, pride was all that held her together.

  “Doubt ye’ll ever ’ave to worry ’bout feedin the little tyke. That man looks like e can afford bout anythin.” Roderick interrupted with a surprisingly loud burp. The wet nurse laughed and looked at the baby with motherly amusement. “E’ll be ready for more, I’m thinkin.” She put Roderick to the other breast, and was rewarded by having him take hold again. “Are there more at ’ome waitin to welcome this un?”

  “No. We’re just married.” She did not dare say they had been married just that day.

  “Oh.” The woman was silent for a few minutes, as if weighing this odd arrangement. “Well, it be good yer man is willin to take the little tyke regardless, and that the weddin ain’t been put off even with you in mourning an all, and ’ow nice the first babe be a boy. Me man an I got three boys, but me sister’s only ’ad girls. Er man ud be glad fer a boy, no matter where it come from.”

  Verbena only nodded. “Can you come again in the morning?”

  “’Course I can. Me own little un is up bright an early so I’ll jest head on ’ere once ’e’s done.”

  The woman finished, tucked Roderick into his basket, picked up the coins Damon had left for her, thanked Verbena profusely, and left.

  A faint crust lined the edge of the stew, warning of cooling. Verbena paced the room, trying not to look at the bed, a very large bed compared to her old one, clearly designed for two, and caught herself picking at a stray bit of thread coming loose from the sleeve cuff. The sunset turned the room pale wintery gold, and her stomach began to rumble.

  Damon still had not returned. He said he had friends here. Whatever he was doing, she had given him enough time to come back and join her for their meal. If he was anywhere near the inn, he should have seen the wet nurse leave and known he could come back up.

  Verbena sat down at the table set for two and began to eat.

  *

  The bed was very small after all, when two people shared it. Verbena wished for sleep so she could stop thinking and wondering, wished for her heart to slow its hectic beat.

  Damon’s courteous explanation rang in her head. “I have decided that an inn is hardly the place for our first night. I want it to happen in my own house, with no interruptions to disturb us.”

  As if timed, a ribald shout drifted up from the dining room, words that made her blush. They both had winced at the same time.

  “Do you see what I mean?”

  She had nodded, and wondered even then, as she did now, if the waiting was worse than the smells and sounds.

  Her husband had had no trouble falling to sleep. His deep, regular breathing whispered through the room during the fleeting moments of quiet.

  The ceiling had a small crack running along one corner, barely visible in the light reflected from the busy room below. She had not noticed it before, but before there had always been something else to look at.

  Maybe Roderick would wake and give her something to do while she waited for sleep to come.

  They had two more days on the road. She was going to be very tired if sleep fled each of those nights.

  She never thought she would be anxious to get to Thernwood.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Barnes’ house loomed before them in the brittle twilight. Only the sunset gave any glow to the curtained windows.

  “They are still up,” Verbena said unnecessarily. Her teeth wanted to chatter, and not from the cold.

  “They will be delighted to see you. And Roderick will no doubt be a comfort to them.”

  It should not seem strange that they were thinking the same thing. Roderick was, after all, the reason for this whole situation.

  Damon’s eyes were dark pools in the dimness of the carriage. “I think you do yourself a disservice. Undoubtedly you have eased them into other bad news over the years, and they have survived the telling.” He leaned forward and grasped her hands. How his could be so warm when he was in this cold carriage, too, she did not know. Her fingers curled around his. She told herself it was just to grab what little heat they could.

  The carriage slowed to a stop at the front door, the traces jingling like the clarion call of a thousand bells. Verbena looked down at Roderick in his basket, his little face so vulnerable and peaceful. Just the fact that his future now could be as peaceful as his sleeping face was all due to the man across the carriage from her, calmly preparing to climb out and face her family with their startling news.

  He was right. The children certainly would be delighted with this part of their news.

  Damon climbed stiffly down the steps the coachman had flipped into place, and turned to hold out a hand. Verbena stared at him, her thoughts pulling at her. He gave her a quizzical look in response but held her gaze. His second hand joined the first as he lifted her out of the carriage and held her still in front of him, his grip firm on her waist.

  Verbena tore her gaze away from Damon’s as she turned and picked up the basket in which the baby was nestled in so comfortably. Another bit of credit for Damon, he had chosen well when he purchased it. Woven reed, it was so light and so well made carrying it was nearly like carrying nothing, Roderick whimpered inside his mound of blankets, but did not wake.

  Damon rapped sharply against the doorpost, the sound echoing faintly. Standing before that familiar door, Verbena suddenly wondered why she was waiting outside in the cold. This was her house. Bracing the basket on one hip, she stepped around Damon and reached for the latch, but Damon caught her hand.

  “No.”

  She looked up at him, confused. “But it is cold out here. There is no reason to keep Roderick outside, when it is – mmph.” Damon touched a finger to her lips, and her words stopped, from more than just the sudden contact.

  “No.” The word was hard. Damon lifted his finger. “No, it is not, not any more. This house now belongs to your brother Julius while your father is away, and you will wait to be invited in.”

  The door opened just then, sparing her from any more thinking. Julius stood there in the small entryway. When she saw the girls jumping and squealing in the background, running for the door behind Julius, relief and love bubbled up. With a careful one-armed grasp on Roderick’s basket, she caught each one close, to hug and kiss and make up for the last long three weeks.

  Annabelle pointed at the basket. “What is that?”

  Before she could answer, Julius asked, “Where is Edeline? Why is she not here?”

  “We have bad news, I fear,” Damon said quietly. His somber voice told the boys
all they needed to know. After a horrified look at Verbena, pleading for denial, Matthew dashed up the stairs, hiding rather than be seen crying. Julius was old enough to know how to hide his pain until out of public view. He stiffened, even his face going still until he could speak without his voice breaking.

  Verbena mourned anew, and held the basket a little tighter. Details of the feminine mysteries of giving birth and the dangers with it were not for men or little girls, so all they said was, “Edeline died in childbirth.” It was not an unusual tale.

  As they passed the dining room, Mrs. Downs stepped away from where she had been bustling at the far end of the table, stacking and scraping. Her face was sober. “I weren’t eavesdroppin, but I ’eard the news. I am so sorry. I worried ’bout ’er. She seemed to ’ave lost ’er will, you know?” She paused, picking up a plate as if she needed something to do. “Am I right in thinkin some congratulations be in order, the two of you comin together an all?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” There was no time for any more conversation, for which Verbena was grateful. Damon’s hand in the small of her back moved her away. She was not ready to discuss this odd marriage she found herself in. Clamping her hands even tighter on the reed basket with its precious contents, Verbena made herself step into the parlor.

  Acting very much the man of the house, Julius took their coats and draped them over the chair by the settee. “Are you hungry?” He stood with his hands behind his back. Verbena watched his arms flex and shift, and knew he was wringing his hands out of sight.

  His lips trembled at the effort to maintain control. She looked away, and busied herself unwrapping Roderick, the basket balanced on the settee. His little eyes stayed tightly shut, but his mouth started sucking. In a few minutes, he needed to be fed yet again, but they had a little time to enjoy his curled-tight babyness. She picked him out, careful not to wake him before time.

  Damon shifted the basket onto the floor and waved her to the settee. He did not join her but remained standing, his hands braced on the back of a chair. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wood.