by Cheryl Bolen
None of these reassuring comments was capable of lifting the gloom from this chamber. Perhaps it was the dreariness of the weather. Even this, the warmest room of the house, was as cold as a tomb. Christopher got to his feet. "Who's up for a game of billiards?"
Aldridge stood. "A capital idea."
Morgie shook his head. "I can't. Not when Lyddie's in danger."
"Your wife is not in danger," Aldridge said sternly.
"I feel it in my bones."
Now Haverstock stood. "You've always worried too much about her, and you've never been right in your fears. Lydia’s as strong as an ox. I daresay she'll outlive every one of us."
The aged oak door squeaked open, and there stood the Aldridge's stooped-over butler. Never a friendly sort, the old fellow looked even more somber than normal. His gaze went to Morgie, and he cleared his throat.
"Mr. Morgan may come now to see his wife. She's . . . " He paused, his thick white brows lowering. "She's passed away."
Chapter 8
Amidst the cries of anguish, Christopher kept a cool head. Too many times he'd experienced the butler's mangling of words. He raced up the stairs on Morgie's heels. "Perhaps Barrow has miscommunicated."
Aldridge stopped almost in mid stride, a firm hand on his old friend. "He may be right, Morgie. Surely Barrow’s mistaken, owing to his hearing impairment."
Morgie did not stop but continued hurrying to see his wife's body.
It wasn't Christopher's place to be there, but he was strangely compelled to join the press of anxious men. Only Brockton stayed below.
When they reached the landing, Lady Caroline was emerging from Lady Lydia's chamber, a smile on her face.
What the devil?
When she saw the stricken look on Morgie's face, she said, "Pray, Mr. Morgan, do not let Lady Lydia see you like this. You mustn't show her you're disappointed to have a daughter."
Tears rushed down Morgie's face. "Lydia's not dead?"
Lady Caroline’s eyes widened. "I told Barrow to tell you she was at last awake."
Christopher stepped forward. "Apparently Barrow took last awake for passed away, poor chap."
Morgie had not heard. He flew into the chamber where his wife and daughter lay in the darkness.
The dowager Haverstock and the other women left the two alone.
"Then all is well with Lady Lydia?" Christopher asked Lady Caroline.
"At last!"
They both laughed.
"I pray she didn't suffer too greatly."
"Her suffering has been well compensated."
The babe. Lady Caroline was as child-mad as her sister, Lady Finchley. It was a shame she was willing to wed the blackguard Brockton in order to become a mother.
His hand touched hers. "The child who has you for a mother will be blessed indeed." He turned and left.
* * *
The anxiety of those long hours of Lady Lydia's lying in had put such a strain on the gathering that the large Christmas Eve dinner had been postponed until Christmas Day. They all went early to their beds. In spite of her physical exhaustion and the recurrent memory of Lady Lydia's difficult birth, Caro was unable to sleep.
She kept remembering Christopher's words when he'd referred to her having a child. Only a man in love could have spoken with such tenderness. Why had life so cruelly robbed her of marrying the man she loved? Why was Christopher so averse to marrying?
She thought of how dislikable Lord Brockton was. She thought of how unsatisfactory his kisses were. She came to realize that even if it meant she could never have a home of her own, never become a mother, she could not marry him.
It was a monumental decision. Thank God she'd never told her family about her betrothal. That would have made it so much more difficult to break the engagement.
When could she do so? A pity they’d all gone to bed so early. She must cry off before the family gathered tomorrow afternoon for Christmas dinner. She began to rehearse the words she would use.
Even with that decision made, she still could not sleep. Not when Christopher Perry lay sleeping just down the corridor from her. She loved him still with every beat of her heart and always would. Would she die an old maid all for the love of him?
* * *
Sleep eluded Christopher. He'd never given much thought to love—real love like that of Morgie for his cherished wife. After the satisfactory completion of Lady Lydia's lying in, Finch had explained how upset he'd been. "I knew just exactly how Morgie felt," Finch had said, "for I kept thinking of how I'd feel if it had been my Maggie."
Did every man here at Glenmont love that deeply? He thought back to his own parents and remembered how devoted they were to each other, remembered his mother's devastation when Papa died. She was still young and beautiful and sought after, but vowed that she would never love again.
Will I ever love like that? The answer was ridiculously simple. He would always love like that. That's why he'd dismissed his mistress. There was only one woman he'd ever love, and that woman was Lady Caroline Ponsby.
As he lay there peering into the flickering fire, he heard a door opening. He was almost certain it was Brockton's door for he was in the next room. Was that defiler of women going to try to sneak into Lady Caroline's bedchamber?
Christopher leapt from his bed. Betrothed or not, Christopher would not stand for it! He quickly stepped into his breeches and eased open his door to peer down the corridor, which was lighted by wall sconces at fifteen-foot intervals. Surprisingly, a fully-dressed Brockton strode right past Lady Caroline's room.
Why in the devil was the man carrying a candle? Aldridge saw to it that every corridor was well lighted throughout the night.
As long as Brockton was not forcing himself on Lady Caroline, his actions were of no interest to Christopher. He quietly closed the door.
Returned to his bed, he went to close the velvet drapes around it but decided against it. As long as the fire burned, the bedchamber was tolerable. Perhaps later, when the fire died out, he would close the drapes for warmth.
He propped himself on pillows, watching the sputtering fire grow weaker and weaker until it softly died. When Brockton did not return to his room, Christopher decided to investigate. After all, the man had a nasty reputation. Perhaps he was nicking the ducal silver.
Fully dressed, Christopher left his room—and immediately smelled smoke. Not from this floor—from higher up. Good Lord! Could it be from the nursery? His heart pounding, Christopher raced down the corridor and flew up the wooden staircase to the top floor. Beneath the glow of a wall sconce stood Brockton. There was no candle in his hand. Dear God!
He knew he must act quickly. He knew, too, that he couldn't do this alone. He yelled as if he were on the top of a mountain trying to be heard far below. "Fire! Fire!"
Christopher must find the children! He stormed past Brockton, cursing as he elbowed him as hard as he could. The wooden door was ablaze. Christopher froze for a moment. This close to the blaze, the heat was so intense he felt as if he could melt into a pile of ash. I have to run through fire to save the children.
He could die. But, unlike Brockton, he couldn't live with himself if he didn't try.
He took a deep breath, said a prayer, and charged through the blazing doorway. His body became an inferno. The wall of fire, thankfully, had not migrated into the chamber. Once he was past it, he threw himself to the carpet and rolled, then leapt to his feet and peeled off his charred jacket and used it to cover his singed hair for a moment.
Oddly, he wasn’t aware of his pain. All that mattered was the children.
His initial cries must have awakened the lad who slept here as well as his nurse who emerged from a little alcove. She leapt into the boy’s smoky chamber, screaming hysterically.
Through the smoke, Christopher recognized the lad as little Ram, the duke's lad and a most cherished nephew of Lady Caroline. The little fellow sat up in his bed, coughing and regarding Christopher with huge, frightened eyes.
Christopher scooped him into his arms. They couldn't go out through the wall of fire. They'd have to go out this third-floor window.
"Come with us," he shouted to the crying nurse.
She nodded, then raced to the window as smoke swelled through the room. The fire chased them. She threw open the casements, and with a wail and one crazed look back at her charge, she hoisted herself upon the window. And she leapt into the darkness.
Her fading cries would haunt him until the day he died.
Which might be today.
Blast it all! There was no ledge. Holding tightly to the lad while straddling the windowsill, he cried out again with the same force he'd used earlier. "Help! Help!"
Someone must toss them a rope or bring a ladder. Something. Jumping down three stories might be quicker than burning to death but just as fatal.
He was curious to see if the nurse had survived her fall, but the night was too black.
He must try to scale the stone wall like a deformed spider.
"Ram," he said to the shivering, whimpering lad, "you're to hold on to me as tightly as you can and do not let go. I will need my hands to climb down this wall. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. I shall need you to ride piggy-back style from behind. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Christopher turned so that the boy could mount his back.
The lad clung to him as he positioned himself on Christopher's shoulders.
Christopher lowered himself from the window, his hands clutching the windowsill until he could get a foothold between the stones.
His hands were getting hotter as the raging fire ate up the lad's room and threatened to follow them out the window. If he could descend further, he would have, but there was nothing he could stand upon. He would have to keep holding on until the flames lapped at his fingers.
Amidst his prayers for help, voices from below broke through the horror like a bolt of light on the darkest night.
"We've got a ladder!" The duke said. "Are you all right, Ram?" His voice was anguished.
"Yes, Papa!"
Please hurry. The heat shot through his painful fingers. He hoped to God he could hold on long enough to get the boy to safety.
The top of the ladder banged twice against the wall before it came to settle within five feet of Christopher's boots. The duke was climbing upwards, his face lighted by the fire that had almost reached Christopher's fingers. When he came as high as he could climb, he said, "Son, you must carefully climb down Mr. Perry's body until your Papa can reach you."
Christopher did not know how much longer he would be able to hold on. If it weren't for the child, he would have plunged into the darkness as the nurse had done. It was as if his hands had been tied to a boiling cauldron. He grimaced in unbearable pain. Tears shot from his eyes.
The lad shimmied down Christopher's back. Then his legs. When his little hands closed around Christopher's ankles, the duke was able to snatch his dangling son to carry him to safety.
But the duke merely handed the boy off to the next person on the ladder. "Don't drop, Perry. We'll get you."
Christopher couldn't hold on. The fire was too close. He drew a deep breath in preparation of dropping to almost certain death.
"Quick, Perry!" Aldridge said. "We've got another ladder. It's taller. Just to your right."
The thudding sound of that second ladder solidly anchoring against the wall was the best sound he’d ever heard.
As he hung on with only his left hand, Christopher's dangling right leg found the top rung of the second ladder, and he planted one boot on it. Thank God this ladder was tall enough! Then he let go the other hand and hoped his left foot would steady on the ladder. He had to brace himself against the wall by flattening his hands against it. The pain seared from his fingers though his arms. But he remained upright.
* * *
Tears streamed down Caro's face when Elizabeth's arms closed around her crying son. Thank God little Ram had made it!
Horror gripped her as she looked upward to see the rectangle of flame leaping from the window of what had been Ram's bedchamber, a blaze of light from the fire illuminating Christopher's sleek bare back. His hand disengaged from that same window and his dangling foot searched for a solid foothold. It was as if the ability to breathe had been sucked from her body. She couldn't watch.
A scream broke from her, and tears gushed as her head twisted away.
The cacophony of frantic voices hushed. The chilly, black night went silent. It was as if the dozen people who surrounded her all held their breath.
Her eyes shuttered, she prayed.
Then as quickly as the crowd had hushed, a roar of cheers went up.
Christopher's safe!
She could breathe again.
Tears streamed down her happy face as she watched him descend the ladder that was anchored at the bottom by a half dozen strong footmen and her brother.
Aldridge was the first to greet him, attempting to shake his hand.
But Christopher withdrew it, wincing.
His hands had been burned.
She rushed to him and threw herself into his arms. As his arms slowly closed around her, she thought this was the happiest moment in her life. "You're hurt, my darling," she murmured.
"I've never been better," he said throatily.
"I thank you from the bottom of my heart," a choked-up Aldridge said. "I would be honored to have you as a member of our family."
She gazed up at the man she loved. "And I, dear man, would have perished if something had happened to you."
His brows lowered. "What about that damned Brockton?"
She shook her head. "I could never have married him. Not when I love you, you goose."
Christopher eyed the duke, who wore an amused expression. “What about the nurse?” He knew how impossible it would have been to survive a fall from three stories, but he hoped he was wrong.
The duke sadly shook his head.
Fury bolted through Christopher. "Then Brockton’s a bloody murderer. He started the fire."
Aldridge looked as angry as the blaze. “You mean this was deliberately set? Why would anyone want to kill my son?”
She gasped and turned to her brother. "Lord Brockton wanted to be a hero to impress you."
"So that explains it," Christopher said. "He didn't have the guts to run through flames to save the lad."
That explained why Christopher was shirtless. "You went through flames to save my nephew?"
Before he could answer, Aldridge uttered, "My God, Perry. You're the bravest man in England. I owe you everything I possess."
"You owe me nothing." Christopher gazed tenderly at Caro. "But I would be honored to win the hand of your sister."
He'd said it! He'd finally said the words she'd been longing to hear every day for almost two years.
"Nothing could make me happier," Aldridge said. He turned away. "Except perhaps killing Brockton." He strode off angrily.
She knew her brother was too controlled to actually kill her former fiancé, but when Aldridge was finished with Lord Brockton, the earl might wish he were dead. One thing was sure. Lord Brockton would never again be seen in England. He wouldn't be the first man Aldridge had banished from his homeland.
A coatless Lord Haverstock met them at the door and told them the fire had been put out, and all the children were safe.
She sighed. "Thank God. Now, my soon-to-be husband and owner of my heart, we must see to your hands."
Chapter 9
They all sat at the long table for Christmas dinner. Every child was permitted to attend on this special day—even if their messes were enough to dampen appetites.
Caro sat next to Christopher, whose hands were bandaged and, for now, unless. She fed him as if he were her own much-loved child.
After the goose was picked clean and the sweetmeats laid, Aldridge, who sat at the head of the table, tapped his claret glass with a spoon to get everyone's attention. When
every eye went to him, he looked affectionately at his son, then cast a solemn look at Christopher. "I think it's appropriate on this day to give thanks. I am blessed to have a wife and son whom I cherish, and I'm particularly grateful to Mr. Perry for risking his life to save my beloved son." He smiled, drew a breath, and continued. "It is with profound joy that I announce the betrothal of Mr. Perry and my sister Caroline. I've been waiting for a very long to make this welcome announcement. You two are perfect for one another."
"I've always thought so," Caro said, looking up at her Christopher with worshipping eyes.
Christopher smiled at Aldridge. "Thank you, your grace. I must own that I have been a bit intimidated by you and am, therefore, grateful to learn that you approved of me—even before last night."
"If you hadn't offered for her by today, I was ready to prod you with a musket."
Caro was relieved that her brother approved of Christopher. "I must apologize for inviting that wretched man here." She was embarrassed and ashamed. "I had lost hope of marrying the man I've loved for so long . . ."
Morgie piped up. "Ah, so that's why that bugger was here! You were trying to make old Perry jealous."
"Not exactly," she said. "I had lost all hope and was trying to fall in love with that odious man." She looked back at Christopher. "I had planned—even before the fire—to send him away today. I knew I could not go through with marrying him”
They all expressed their mutual contempt.
"While we're making confessions," Lord Haverstock said, turning to his wife, "I have one to make. Forgive me if I've been distant as of late. I'd taken a huge risk that I feared was going to clean us out. It occupied all my thoughts, but I'm happy to say that all's well. I'd mortgaged the castle in Ireland for a risky investment that finally came back up two days ago. I sold all the stock for a good profit, bought back the castle and am well-fixed now."
Lady Haverstock laughed. "I knew you'd been worried about finances so I sold my mother's necklace. I planned to give you the money today. For Christmas."
