Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  He paused. There was an ominous feel to the quiet. “It is possible,” he said slowly, “that my source might be spreading it. The news might have reached them by now.”

  “I will get ready,” she said, and started to rise.

  “No.” The word was said without inflection, but it cracked on the air. “I would prefer to do this alone.”

  “Why?” Verbena sank back down onto the chair’s edge.

  “I think it best that you not be there.” Damon said nothing more, just looked at her with those eyes that could hide his thoughts so easily.

  A sudden thought, a burst of intuition, hit her. “You have not yet told them we are wed.”

  “No.” The word was stark and unadorned, just no.

  Pain stabbed her, but she forced it back. This was not the time for hurt feelings. The air was thick with a different tension, one she did not understand.

  Damon stood and went to the window, looking out at the cold street. Verbena stayed on the edge of the chair and waited for him to say something, anything to explain himself.

  He had not told his family that he had married her. No, not her, but a Barnes.

  He had gone through the family closets to clothe them, but a moment of that day came back. She had said she hoped this did not cause problems with the family. Instead of saying, of course it won’t, he had returned, I knew what I was doing when I asked you to marry me. A chill slid down her arms, and she rubbed her hands up and down them but the cold did not go away. She put her hands back on her lap. “How concerned are you?”

  “For myself? Not at all.” But he did not turn away from the window.

  “Then why don’t you want me to go with you?”

  He turned around at last. He straightened his shoulders. His military bearing was all too obvious. “I would like some day to have the link between the families be peaceable. I will be giving them a lot to take in all at once, and I do not know how they will react. It is best I do this alone.”

  He walked toward the door, but stopped at her side. His hand came down on her shoulder, a soft touch. Warmth seeped into her skin. “I believe this is for the best. You have a nurse to help get settled. I promise you, I will be sure to tell you how things went.”

  Verbena felt his unease, and reached up catching his hand before he could pull it away. “Take care.”

  “Always, my dear.” Then he moved toward the door, taking the warmth with him.

  CHAPTER 23

  The streets were sloppy with the promise of spring soon to come. Melting snow splashed up the horse’s legs and onto his freshly polished boots and newly pressed trousers. He knew the way to his parents’ house, so other than dodging horses and carriages, his mind was free to wander toward the upcoming conversation.

  Roderick. The first grandchild and Andrew’s flesh and blood. And, of course, his marriage, Verbena and the children.

  He rode neatly between two carriages and turned the corner onto his parent’s street. The stable was open. He dismounted and tossed the reins to the nearest groom.

  “Sir Damon!” The man smiled broadly. “It has been a while. Good to see you, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The groom led his horse away as Damon turned toward the house.

  “Sir Damon!” The housekeeper was coming down the stairs when he walked through the door. “What brings you here? How lovely to see you.” She scurried down the last few steps. ““Can I get you some tea?”

  He shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Nordly, but save it for when my parents ring. I expect you will be bringing plenty then.”

  Her eyes filled with rare emotion. “It does my heart good to see you so healthy. I don’t know if I will ever get the sight of you back from the war out of my mind. You looked like death then, you did.”

  He grinned at her. “Then I must come more often.” And with Roderick, he would be a frequent visitor.

  The parlor was empty, pristine as always, not a chair or a candle out of place, so he hurried through it and into his mother’s morning room. Sure enough, there she was. He stood in the doorway, watching her as she sat at her desk, her quill in her hand, writing. There were unhappy lines on her face, the same lines he had seen after Andrew’s funeral. Her hair showed more grey than it had before he left on his momentous journey.

  He smiled as he tapped on the doorframe, and stepped into the room. “Mother.”

  She looked up, startled. “Damon. Where on earth have you been?”

  Damon crossed the room to kiss her cheek. “Out of town. Checking on a report, one that you should find most interesting.” He plucked the quill out of her hand and pulled her, protesting, to her feet. “Come, Mother, let us find Father and I will tell both of you what I discovered.”

  “Your father is in his study, and you know how much he hates being disturbed.”

  He tucked her hand through his arm, drew her out of the room and continued down the hallway. “Some things are worth the interruption.”

  At his father’s study door, Damon knocked two sharp raps and waited with ingrained courtesy until he heard the “Come” before entering. “Hello, Father. I hope you have a few minutes free.”

  He seated his mother in one of the chairs that faced Edward’s desk. Dark, impressive and heavily carved with elongated deer loping up the legs and across the front, it sat in the middle of the room, almost a duplicate of the study in Thernwood.

  “Damon. How good of you to bother to come and let us know that you are alive.” His father relaxed in the chair, its impressive back rising far above his greying head, and frowned at Damon. “I have been making excuses for your absence all over town for almost two weeks now.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Father.” Damon walked over to the side of his father’s desk and pulled himself straight, looking from one puzzled and annoyed face to the other. “I come with remarkable news. When I rushed out of London, there was a very good reason. I ran into one of the guests from the funeral. She had a report that shocked me. I had not heard a single hint of what she said until that moment, and before she spread the tale I had to see if it was true. I could not tell you until I was certain either way.”

  Father gave a grunt, disgust put to sound. “If you run after every rumor, you will never have a chance to catch your breath. Really, Damon, surely you know that. There are more important things in life than chasing stupid remarks.”

  Damon looked at his father. Best to just say it. “Edeline and Andrew were expecting a child.”

  A strange sound came from his mother. Damon glanced over. Her eyes were wide and shocked, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white.

  “So Edeline was pregnant.” Edward shrugged. “What does that have to do with us?”

  “He’s Andrew’s son,” Damon said with asperity. “That makes him your heir, not me.”

  “Who told you this fairy tale?” There was such certainty in Edward’s voice, such coolness in his manner.

  “I have seen the child, Father.” Damon did not move, just stood there and fixed his father in his gaze. “I assure you he does exist.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment.”

  “Edeline slipped out the very morning Andrew died,” his mother said, her voice shrill. “Who else would she have gone to meet but a lover? Your father is right, the child cannot be your brother’s. Do you not think we would have given anything for a grandchild?”

  “I know exactly where Edeline went that morning.” Damon looked at his parents. This was uglier than he could possibly have expected. What a good thing he had insisted his wife remain at home! “She sent a message for her sister Verbena. They met in the gazebo.”

  “Honestly, Damon!” His mother was slightly pale. “Who told you that tale?”

  Damon felt his fingers clench on a shelf. “I caught her sister on the route back home. I spoke to her. There was no illicit tryst. The morning Andrew died, Edeline merely went out to meet her sister.”

  The room was quie
t for a sudden moment. “You spoke to the sister? You are certain it was that same morning?” The color seemed to have drained from Imogene’s face.

  “Quite certain, Mother. And there is more proof. Edeline wrote a will before she died, begging Verbena to care for their son. She was very clear in it that the babe was her husband’s.”

  Edward’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What is this you say?” He exchanged a quick glance with his wife. “Edeline is dead?”

  “Yes. She died birthing her son two weeks ago.” Damon’s gaze went from one to the other.

  “You are certain the child is Andrew’s?” Imogene was on the edge of her chair, her hands tight on the chair’s ornate arms.

  “Now, my dear,” Edward said in a rush, “you know it cannot be. Do not let your wishes override your good sense.”

  “But what if it is?” Imogene turned her attention to her husband. “Do you know what I did? That very morning I accused her of rushing off to meet a stableboy! I said that to her very face! No wonder she would not tell us anything about the babe. We must get our grandson.” She turned back to Damon. “You said you have seen him? Is he well? He did survive?”

  His mother had said such vile things to a new young widow? And the very morning of her husband’s death? The more he heard, the more he understood why Verbena could hardly stand his family. “Yes, he survived. He is well and healthy. I took the babe, he is at my house here in London now. His name is Roderick, by the way.”

  Imogene sagged back into her chair, the color seeping back into her cheeks even though white spots remained on her forehead. “A boy. Andrew’s child.” Wonder filled her voice. “And safe in the family.” She tried to rise, but her legs did not seem to want to hold her and she remained perched on the edge of her chair. “We must go see him. Right away. Today. There is no time to waste.”

  It was time for his second piece of news. “Before you go charging over to my house, I have a second bit of news.”

  “Oh, Damon, now is not the time.” Imogene smiled at her husband. “Edward, can you believe it? We have a grandchild! I must go see him. The other news can wait.” She managed to get to her feet.

  Damon held up his hand. “No, Mother, it cannot. This second news is all of a piece with the first. Mother, Father,” he looked between the two of them, “One of the reasons I was away so long is that I am married.”

  “Married!” Edward’s voice exploded in the room.

  “Married?” Imogene echoed him, and sank back down into the chair. “You are wed? Oh, Damon.” The words were rich with shock and reproach. “When? Where? To whom? Why did you not tell us? We should have been there! How could you get married without us? Do we even know the woman?”

  Damon looked between his parents. “No, in all truth, I think you do not. I see now how very lucky I was to succeed at all. It took all my powers of persuasion, not to mention subtle threats, to convince Verbena to marry me.” He felt himself stand straighter, proud to claim her.

  “What?” Edward gasped out the word, and rose slowly from his chair, like a thundercloud building on the horizon. “Tell me it is not true. What have you done?” His father’s face went pale, as pale as his mother’s had been.

  That look stabbed as harsh as a knife. “Yes, you heard what I said.” He had expected it to be difficult, otherwise he would have brought Verbena along, but this? He had made his choice and he would not change it even if he could. “I am married to Edeline’s sister. Her name is Verbena.” It seemed incomplete, so he added, “Verbena Thern.”

  “You would not do such a thing to your family name.” Edward slammed a fist on the desk. “I told you not to marry into that family! Did I not tell you that her father is a drunk? You would link us to them again?”

  “Edward!” Imogene bolted to her feet. “All that matters now is Andrew’s child!”

  “If having a drunkard in the family were a sign of bad blood, no one would dare claim our prince,” Damon said in a dry voice. He felt his fingers relax. At least he had one parent on his side. Although if Verbena had been told of his mother’s cruel words, finding forgiveness might be a challenge at best. “I was lucky to get her to marry me. You know nothing of her. Of how hard she has worked to raise her brothers and sisters. She is the linchpin of that family, a woman of rare courage and devotion and loyalty. She is ferocious is defending those she loves, and I cannot think of a safer place for Roderick to be.”

  Damon took the few steps over to the desk, and bracing himself on his fists, leaned close to his father. “Just in case you ever try to cast aspersions against her character, she was pure when we wed, and I am certainly with enough experience to know. If I hear anything against her that I even suspect might have started with you, I will call you out, father or not.”

  Twin gasps fairly sucked the air out of the room. “You would never!”

  “I recommend you not test me on that.” He straightened. “We were wed in Bath, and it is duly recorded. Just as Roderick’s birth is recorded there. Verbena has a paper in Edeline’s writing bequeathing the baby to her care.”

  A sob burst out of his mother’s throat. “My foolish tongue! If I could only take my words back.”

  But Damon had to wonder, even as he hated himself for doing so, how much of her grief was for Edeline’s hurt and how much was for herself, and the possibility of ensuring a visit to see Andrew’s son.

  Andrew, always his mother’s golden boy.

  CHAPTER 24

  Thomas Barnes jumped off the farmer’s wagon as it slowed before the inn, the iron wheels splashing through the mud left by the melting snow, doffed his hat at the man, and stretched the kinks out of his back. His stomach twisted from hunger, setting up aches deep inside. He looked at the familiar place where he had spent so many an hour away from the squabbles of his children and sighed. Ah, the sweet smell of drink, wafting off the first breezes of spring. He took another deep breath, his nose quivering after so many months at sea, alcohol a thing of dreams. He jingled the coins in his pocket, and chuckled. His second daughter was a gorgon when it came to a man having a draught or two. Well, she was not here, and he had coin, and the scent of ale teased his nose, fairly making his eyes water from longing.

  He strode across, and shoved the door open, stepping inside and breathing in the cooking food, meat pies, the fresh bread coming from the oven in back.

  And best of all, the drink. He jingled the coins faster as he walked to the counter and leaned against its high top. The innkeeper, round from eating too much of his own food and bald on top with a wild fringe of hair about the ears, had his back turned as he loaded a plate. Thomas smiled. “An ale, Robbie me man, and a plate of meat pie and pudding, if you would.”

  Robbie swung around, and blinked when he realized who it was. For an old friend, the man did not seem all that happy to see him, but then he never did. Well, Thomas had money this time, and he would make sure Robbie knew just how much. He might even toss the innkeeper a tip, just to rub the man’s nose into it.

  “So, Tom Barnes,” Robbie said with a sigh that made Thomas clench his teeth, “ye’re back from the sea then? This last trip was a long one. I hear your coins rattling.”

  “That it was, Robbie, that it was. You got no worries on that score.” Thomas slapped a shilling onto the counter and looked up just to watch the innkeeper’s face. “See, I can pay.”

  “You always can when you first come back,” Robbie said in a bland voice. “You always can.”

  A sharp clap on his back sent Thomas into the counter with a ‘whoof.’ He whirled around with a scowl, only to yell with glee, “Jemmy! Ah, Jemmy!” He pulled the man against him and thumped him in return, then shoved him back and grinned. Jemmy, about Thomas’s age but with fewer streaks of grey in his tawny hair, was nearly half his size, but wiry from years of plowing and chopping on the Thern land and strong as an ox. “You are here?” Thomas hooted with laughter, only to wince from the stomach pain in his side. He’d gotten good at ignoring it, but today it
was sharper than usual. He had to eat soon. He concentrated on his friend. “And at this hour of the day? I would have thought your wife would have something to say about that.”

  “It is too early to plant, Tommy. You have been away too long. You have forgotten the seasons.” Jemmy looked up at Thomas, all the laughter washed from his face, and a strange prickle ran down Barnes’ spine.

  “You’ll not have heard, then, have you, Tom?” His friend’s eyes were sad, his face filled with concern.

  The room seemed suddenly quiet, all conversation from the tables behind him muted and far away. Even the sounds from the kitchen had gone still, the crackling of the meat on the skillet of a moment ago seemed to have faded as well. Thomas looked over at Robbie, but the man’s face was just as somber.

  “What?” He looked around the room, but everyone seemed to be either engrossed in the mug in front of them or giving none-too-subtle prods at their companion, as if urging the other to speak. “What?”

  “Your daughter Edeline died in childbirth, what would it be, a few weeks ago now,” Robbie said quietly. “She gave an heir to the Therns, but did not live to see him. A boy, it was.”

  Thomas looked at Robbie, then Jemmy, then around the room at the other faces, none of whom wanted to meet his eyes. “When did this happen? How can the child be a Thern? She was not with child when that worthless husband of hers died.”

  Robbie’s slow shake of the head stopped him. “Ah, so everyone thought. She hid it well. After the young Mr. Thern was buried, your daughter fled to your wife’s sister and hid there until the babe was about to be born. One day this winter, deep in a snowstorm, an old carriage rattled up and a liveried coachman got out to ask the way to your house. The next day the same carriage left, Mrs. Downs told us. Miss Verbena left with the carriage, and was gone for several weeks. Next thing we know, the other young Mr. Thern was in and gone like ‘is tale was afire, to come back one week later with your second daughter as his wife, and the babe in his possession. He dismissed Mrs. Downs and brought the rest of your children up to the big house. They stayed only a couple days, from the reports out of Thernwood, and then the big fancy carriage rolled down toward London, and we ain’t seen hide nor hair from them since. All the servants told the same story, that he took your whole family off to London.”