by Candice Hern
She swallowed and attempted to speak again. “Never.” It was weak, but it worked this time. She swallowed once more. “You could never lose me,” she whispered.
“I’m glad,” he said, and ran soft fingers along her jaw and throat. “You see, I never told you I loved you, and my heart was breaking because I thought you might die without knowing.”
Her own heart soared. “You love me?” The words squeaked out like a mouse.
“More than life,” he said, and kissed her tenderly, oblivious of the crowd of people milling about and surely watching.
They both tasted of smoke and soot, and laughed when the kiss ended and each of them spat out bits of ash. James removed a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. He wiped her face and then his own. The square of linen was black when he finished. He tossed it aside and took her in his arms again. For a long time he just held her.
“I love you, too, James.”
“Verity.”
“I have for the longest time but was afraid to tell you.”
“And I was afraid to tell you.” He laughed. “What a pair of idiots we’ve been.” He kissed her again.
She gazed into his eyes, devouring the sight of him, the wonder of him—and then she realised what had happened.
“James! You saved us. We were trapped in there and you saved us!”
A pained look flickered in his eyes.
“You charged into a burning building to save us. A burning building.”
“So I did.” He looked down at his filthy clothes, reeking of smoke. “And not too much the worse for wear. But what of you?” He ran a finger over her left eyebrow. “You’ve been singed.”
“Have I?” She reached up and felt the charred ends of her brow, then dismissed it with a wave. “James, do you know what this means? You faced fire. You were not immobilized, you did not black out. You faced it. James!”
He looked inexplicably sad when Verity thought he should be ecstatic. Something was wrong.
“I believe I have shed my demons at last,” he said in a somber voice. “But I have lost something in the bargain.”
“Tell me.”
And he did, in as few words as possible.
“He was my closest friend, except for you,” he said. “And yet he killed my wife and my son, and Billy Clegg. All for hatred of me, because I had the woman he wanted.” He gave a great, shuddery sigh. “So much that I’d believed in was a lie. I thought he was my friend. I thought I was a murderer.”
He shook his head as though to clear it, then studied her up and down, taking in her scorched and tattered skirts, examining her hands and arms. He touched her bare shoulder through a rent where the sleeve had been ripped away from the bodice. “Are you sure you are all right? You are unharmed?”
“My throat is raw and I have a singed brow; nothing more. And I am heartsore at what you have learned of your friend. But I cannot be unhappy. We have both survived this night. I have discovered love where there had been only hope. You have conquered your fears and seen your good name restored. Despite all that has happened, there is much for which we must be grateful.”
“It is a bittersweet triumph, though,” James said, “to have my good name back at the cost of Alan’s betrayal and death. And yet you believed in me all along, when everyone else, including me, believed I was the culprit. For that, I will always honor you. Verity, my love, I do not know how I could have come through all this without you. Let me ask you once again, in front of all these friends who are doing a poor job of pretending not to watch us, and just for the pleasure of hearing your answer: Will you marry me?”
“I would be honored to marry you, James. Honored and proud and full of joy. It is the least I can do for two hundred pounds!”
A cheer went up from the crowd as James took Verity in his arms once again.
Epilogue
She was ready when he came for her.
Verity had asked James to escort her downstairs to breakfast. She wanted to be with him, to see his surprise, when he saw what awaited them in the Great Hall.
She had dressed in a new gown of figured sarsnet silk with a soft flounce of French lace appliqued to the hem with a narrow band of embroidery. The sleeves were long and full, confined at the wrist with a band of the same embroidery. The falling collar, trimmed in French lace, left bare a V of throat and revealed the gold chain and tiny gold cross that had belonged to her mother.
In honor of her new, though temporary, unmarried state, Verity wore no cap.
James stood back and gave her an admiring glance. “You look beautiful, my love. Is that a new dress?”
“Yes.” She spun around for him to admire the entire package. “It cost the earth. I hope you do not mind, but I wanted to look especially nice today.”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “Why should I mind? You did not have a chance to be much of a bride that first time. I want you to feel like a bride today. You look beautiful.”
So did he. He wore a blue tailcoat with notched collar and wide lapels, a striped silk waistcoat, and gray ankle-length trousers. He looked every inch the gentleman of fashion.
“Oh, James, I am so excited.”
“So am I, my love. We have waited many long months for this day. I confess I began to despair of ever seeing your wretched marriage annulled, but it is done and you are free. Have you changed your mind and prefer to savor your new freedom?” He grinned, for he knew she wanted no such thing.
“Freedom does not suit me,” she said. “I find I prefer the married state after all.”
“Good. Then let us go down to breakfast. The Reverend Chigwiddon should have arrived by now.”
And not only the vicar, Verity thought as she bit back a smile.
James offered his arm and led her down the stairs and through to the Great Hall, where he came to an abrupt halt. “What the devil?”
The old hall was teeming with people—his tenant farmers, his cottagers, their wives—all dressed up in their Sunday best. The hall was laid out with three long tables in a U shape, set for breakfast. At the bottom of the U, in the center, sat the old seventeenth-century Great Chair, imposing as a throne, where the master of Pendurgan always sat.
James was stunned. Verity had revived another old Pendurgan custom. He turned to her and smiled. “I’d forgot,” he said. “It’s the annual tenants’ breakfast, is it not?”
“It is indeed. Always on St. Perran’s Day.”
“And always filled with bleary-eyed tenants hung over from the St. Perran’s Eve revels.” He squeezed her arm. “But a fine tradition, too long lapsed. Thank you, my love.”
As he made his way toward the Great Chair, he stopped to speak to each farmer, each miner, and each of their wives. These were all the people who lived on and worked on Pendurgan land. It had long been the custom to entertain the tenants at a lavish breakfast banquet once a year, in thanks for their efforts to keep the land profitable. There had not been an annual breakfast since his father died, but James would make sure that this tradition, too, would live on.
James found the Reverend Chigwiddon and pulled him aside. The men laughed over the confusion James’s note had caused, since the vicar had long before received his invitation to the breakfast. James gave him the license and told him they wished to be married there, that morning, at Pendurgan, surrounded by his tenants. The vicar was pleased to oblige, as long as the bride and groom agreed to walk to St. Perran’s Church after breakfast to sign the register as was the law.
“Believe me, Mr. Chigwiddon, I know more about marriage law now than I ever cared to know,” James said. “I will not risk a single error, I assure you. The register will be properly signed. I’ll even drag along two witnesses to sign as well, for I know that is also the law.”
James signaled to Verity, who was speaking to Borra Nanpean, and she came to his side. He then held up an empty goblet and struck it with a knife blade several times. The chimelike sound brought silence to the big room.
“De
ar friends,” he began, and almost had to stop right there, his voice nearly cracking. He had lived so long in isolation, he never thought to call anyone his friend. Except Alan Poldrennan, who had been no true friend at all. But since that fateful midsummer’s eve, he knew these people gathered here to be his friends indeed. Another old notion turned upside down.
“Before we commence with the banquet,” he continued, “there is something else I would like you all to do. As some of you know—actually, I suspect all of you know—Miss Verity Osborne”—he slurred the “miss” a bit so it might be heard as “miz”; there was no need to explain about the annulment—“has agreed to be my wife.”
Shouts and cheers resounded throughout the hall, those gathered clearly hanging on to the celebratory mood of the previous evening.
James raised his hand again for silence. “Mr. Chigwiddon has agreed to perform the ceremony right now, this morning, here in this fine old hall. I would be honored to have you all as witnesses, and then to join us in a wedding breakfast.”
More cheers rang through the hall, but the crowd became silent during the brief ceremony, which the reverend spoke from memory, not having his prayer book with him. After the vows were spoken and James had slipped a beautiful sapphire ring on Verity’s finger, he shocked them all by taking Verity in his arms and kissing her soundly. The old hall rang out with thunderous applause.
When everyone was seated and ready for the banquet, James stood by the Great Chair with Verity beside him.
“There has been much tragedy and sadness in this old house these last several years,” he said. “That is one tradition I do not intend to uphold. I have loved two women in my lifetime. The first I lost to fire.” He looked down at Agnes, who sat at his other side, and briefly touched her shoulder. “I almost lost the second, Verity, in the same way.” He reached over and ran his finger along the spot where Verity’s singed eyebrow had never quite grown back. “But the days of tragedy are over. The Harkness family has been too much touched by fire, but we are now rescued by love—the love of a woman who is not even Cornish.”
The crowd laughed, and James continued. “Let this be a new beginning for Pendurgan, and hope this fine old house will soon be overrun with children born of the love we celebrate today. Now, let us dine in friendship, onen hag oll, one and all.”
When he sat, he brought Verity’s hand to his lips. “Thank you for healing my spirit, my lady, and for bringing me back to this life and this land and these people. And”—he whipped out a folded parchment from his waistcoat with a flourish—“I intend to have this auction bill of sale framed and hung prominently in this Great Hall, for it is surely the sweetest bargain any Cornishman ever made.”
They smiled into each other’s eyes, Lord and Lady Harkness, then turned to their guests and began to celebrate the first day of their new life together.
About the Author
CANDICE HERN has always enjoyed escaping into the history and literature of Regency England. After years of re-reading the novels of Jane Austen and other women of the period, she by chance discovered the great Georgette Heyer—and all her contemporary stepchildren—and was instantly hooked.
Candice lives in San Francisco in a house cluttered with African violets, orchids, Regency-period antiques, and mountains of reference books. She loves to hear from readers, and may be contacted via email at [email protected], or the old-fashioned way at PO Box 31499, San Francisco, CA 94131. Visit her website at www.candicehern.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Other AVON ROMANCES
BEFORE THE DAWN by Beverly Jenkins
BELOVED PROTECTOR by Linda O’Brien
HEART OF NIGHT by Taylor Chase
HIS UNEXPECTED WIFE by Maureen McKade
THE MACGOWAN BETROTHAL:
HIGHLAND ROGUES by Lois Greiman
THE MAIDEN AND HER KNIGHT by Margaret Moore
A SEDUCTIVE OFFER by Kathryn Smith
Coming Soon
MY LADY’S TEMPTATION by Denise Hampton
PRIDE AND PRUDENCE by Malia Martin
And Don’t Miss These
ROMANTIC TREASURES
from Avon Books
THE SEDUCTION OF SARA by Karen Hawkins
SOMEONE IRRESISTIBLE by Adele Ashworth
TOO WICKED TO MARRY by Susan Sizemore
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE BRIDE SALE. Copyright © 2002 by Candice Hern. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition June 2007 ISBN 9780061739682
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
