My Fallen Angel

by Pamela Britton

  The door clicked open and Lucy turned to see Tom striding toward her with the clomping steps of an outraged general. One look at his attire and she realized it wasn’t her he was angry with, but rather, whomever had dressed him.

  She choked back a laugh. Goodness, someone had forced the boy into a jacket two sizes too small. The arms of the garment ended halfway between wrist and elbow, exposing the cuff of an equally small shirt beneath. Trousers, which very obviously belonged to someone much shorter, rode far above his ankles.

  “Look what they done ta me,” he cried, holding out his arms.

  It was at that exact moment one of his buttons launched itself like a rock from a catapult. She ducked, the button striking the window behind her with a metallic ting. It clattered to the floor and spun on the ground like a top.

  When she straightened, Tom looked so outraged, so completely belligerent, she couldn’t help but let loose with a gurgle of laughter which quickly turned into full-scale chuckles.

  Tom was not amused. “They stole me clothes,” he gritted out, his little fists clenched in anger.

  Lucy laughed harder.

  “The earl’s man forced me inta this bloody outfit, sayin’ it were either that or nothin’ at all.”

  Lucy managed to gasp out, “Oh, Tom. You look as if you got caught in a rainstorm and hung out to dry.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Never wanted no part o’ this bloody scheme anyhow. Everybody tiptoein’ aroundme and callin’ me m’lord, as if I were some watch-fobbin’ nabob.”

  Lucy’s laughter abruptly faded. Even though the words were spoken bravely, she could hear the underlining note of fear. Sympathy for his plight washed over her. It would be hard to be suddenly thrust into a world that was totally foreign and unfamiliar.

  She walked forward and she could see the tears gleaming in his eyes. Placing a hand against his cheek, she watched as his control broke, sobs racking his small frame.

  “Oh, Tom,” she said softly, drawing him into her arms. “This hasn’t been easy for you, has it?”

  “I’m scared,” she heard him murmur. “Ain’t never been so scared in me life afore. Not even o’ those pirates.”

  Resting her cheek against the top of his head she said gently, “Things will work out. You’ll see.”

  “Don’t wants ta be no lord’s son,” he hiccuped. “I want to be your son, or Salena and Adrian’s.”

  She drew back to stare down into washed-out violet eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tom, but it’s not possible.”

  “Then I belong on the streets with the rest o’ me mates,” the boy continued.

  “No, Tom. You belong here, and though you may not realize it yet, in time you will.”

  “But the man don’t feel like me father.”

  “He will, Tom. One day soon. You’ll see.”

  Just then the door opened, the object of their discussion walking into the room. The earl took two steps into the room and stopped dead in his tracks. “Good God!” he cried. “What happened to your clothes?”

  Tom darted a glance at her, then back at the earl, whose uncertainty in how to treat the boy shone in his eyes. Tom didn’t make it any easier. He stared at the earl, his eyes declaring war.

  “Would you like to change out of that monstrous outfit?” the earl finally asked.

  And Lucy could see it for the olive branch it was. Trouble was, did Tom see it?

  “I s’ppose anythin’s better’n this,” Tom grumbled, snapping the branch off. He ignored the earl’s outstretched hand as he walked by.

  The earl stared after him, a look of uncertainty on his face.

  “Give it time, my lord,” Lucy said softly as Tom walked out of the room. “He’s been through a lot.”

  “I understand, Miss Hartford. Believe me.”

  Yes, Lucy thought. Undoubtedly he did. It must be difficult to lose one’s wife and gain a son all in the space of a few hours.

  They both looked up at the sound of a carriage wheels crackling down the drive. She turned toward the window, her eyes widening at the shiny black carriage making its way toward the house with all the pomp and ceremony of a coronation. There were two footmen in green and gold livery stationed behind the vehicle, three men riding postilion atop the silver-gray horses, and two outriders. The horses’ tack gleamed, even in the gray light, and the black paint on the coach was so shiny she could see the reflection of the earl’s green lawn in it. Behind the vehicle rumbled another coach.

  Her aunt’s.

  “Garrick,” she breathed.

  “So soon?”

  “Yes, and unless I miss my guess, the other coach belongs to my friend Salena, the Duchess of Warburton.”

  “Warbuton!”

  Lucy headed for the front door, hearing the earl follow. They reached the porch just as Salena’s coach drew to a flamboyant, hoof-skidding halt.

  A footman jumped down and placed a small, cushioned step atop the ground so precisely Lucy wondered if he’d been waiting all morning to do exactly that. “’Ere ya go, Lady Salena,” he said as he opened the door.

  “Thank you, Will,” a soft voice answered. A moment later an elegant figure draped in a rose-colored gown stepped down, golden eyes lighting up when they met Lucy’s. The feather hat perched atop her wheat-colored curls brushed the frame of the door as she rushed forward. “Lucy, you goose, I can’t believe you went and followed Garrick.”

  “Warned his lordship she would,” said another voice.

  Lucy groaned as her aunt slowly climbed down from her own coach. “Aunt Cornelia, what a surprise.”

  “I’d wager it is,” she snapped, banging her cane on the pebbled ground like a priest slapping the pulpit.

  “This is your aunt?” the earl said from behind her.

  Lucy turned. “Er, yes, my lord. Aunt Cornelia, this is the Earl of Selborne, Tom’s father.”

  Cornelia’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s true, then? Garrick told us you’d convinced the man.”

  “They have, my lady,” the earl confirmed.

  “Good, for I don’t fancy my niece embarking on any more adventures. Heart couldn’t take it.”

  “Neither could mine,” grumbled a feminine voice.

  Lucy looked up. “Beth!”

  Beth stepped down, her white and blue dress a stark contrast to the black carriage. She looked disgruntled as she made her way toward Lucy, but the look slowly faded into a smile. “Congratulations, Lucy. I knew you could do it.”

  Lucy felt an answering grin spread across her face. “Thank you, Beth.”

  “I should hope I helped, too.”

  At the sound of that familiar and beloved voice, Lucy turned toward her aunt’s carriage with a radiant smile. Garrick stared back at her, the most poignant and tender look on his face she’d ever seen. It made her breath catch. The man looked as if he wanted to drag her into his arms and never let her go. And then she caught sight of who was walking beside him. “Adrian!”

  An answering smile nearly as bright as the gold watch fob dangling from his tan waistcoat spread across the Duke of Warburton’s face. “Lucy, my dear. How lovely to see you in skirts for a change.”

  She giggled.

  “Although considering your propensity for fire, that might not be a good thing.”

  Lucy laughed again, delighted to have all her friends with her, even if her aunt seemed to have developed a permanent tick in her cheek.

  “Where’s Tom?” Salena asked.

  “We sent him upstairs to change.”

  “Which reminds me,” the earl said. “I offered to find him some clothes.”

  At Salena’s questioning look, Lucy explained as she led them back to the salon. Quickly, she brought them up to speed on the morning’s events. By the time she was done, Tom and the earl had joined them. Tom took one look at Salena and flew into her arms. The earl watched, a look of curiosity mixed with longing on his face as, next, the boy hugged Adrian.

  “It’s good to see you, imp,” the duke said. “We wer
e worried about you.”

  “Ya should’a seen it, Adrian,” Tom said excitedly. “There was pirates and a sea battle. And Lucy got the crew sick, an we, Garrick and I, was locked in the ‘old, an’ we almost died—”

  “Ahem,” Lucy coughed.

  Tom glanced at her, then at the earl. It was to the boy’s credit that he actually appeared to realize the effect his words had on the earl. “But we come out all right an’ tight, we did,” he added.

  “My lord,” Salena said into the uncomfortable silence which followed. “May I say how glad we are you and Tom are reunited.”

  The earl nodded stiffly.

  “We realize how difficult this must be for you,” Adrian added. “My wife thought it might be a good idea to stay with you just until the boy is settled.”

  Tom looked ready to declare his unwillingness to become “settled” but Salena silenced him with a glare.

  “That would be most kind of you, Your Grace.”

  “Adrian. Please, call me Adrian, and my wife Salena, if you will.”

  “But Adrian,” Tom interrupted. “I wants ta watch Luce and Garrick get leg-shackled.”

  “Then you must ask your father.”

  “You’re not wed?” the earl said, looking between Lucy and Garrick.

  “Er … ah, no. We’re to leave for Scotland today,” Garrick answered.

  Lucy gasped. “Today! But Garrick, it’s so soon.”

  “The sooner you’re wed the better,” her aunt harrumphed.

  Yes, she supposed that was true. Still, it would have been nice to be sent off in style. She would have liked to have a big wedding, with hundreds of gawking guests and a bunch of little choir boys singing in their pubescent voices, but it looked as if that was not to be.

  “I had your aunt pack you some clothes so we can leave straight for the dock,” Garrick added.

  “You did?”

  “And I brought you my wedding gown,” Salena said softly.

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh, Salena. You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “And I packed some clothes for you,” her aunt said. “Not that you deserve it, you wretched girl.”

  “Oh, Auntie,” Lucy said softly, delight spreading through her. A small wedding would be ever so much fun, she concluded. And in Scotland, too. How scandalous. Pushing herself to her feet, she blinked a few times to dispel the dizziness which had plagued her sinceher bump on the head, and walked to her aunt’s side. “Thank you, Auntie.”

  Cornelia, obviously in a perverse mood, hardened her jaw.

  “You do know that next to Garrick you’re the most important person in my life.”

  “You have a fine way of showing it, gel, gallivanting around as you do.”

  “But I had to go with Garrick. I couldn’t let the man I love ride into danger without me.”

  Her aunt looked as if she was going to be stubborn, but when Lucy reached down and gave her a hug, she heard her say, “Very well. You’re forgiven, but only because after tomorrow you will no longer be my responsibility.”

  Lucy drew back, rolled her eyes, then gave her aunt a kiss on her cheek.

  “Well,” the earl said into the silence which followed. “Since everything appears to be settled, I’ve suddenly been struck by an idea. In an effort to repay you for the risks you took on behalf of my son, I insist you take my yacht to Scotland. ‘Twill be quicker than returning to London, for as you know, Selborne is only a few miles from the coast. My ship can be ready to sail within the hour.”

  Stunned silence greeted his words.

  “That’d be mighty sportin’ of ya, guv,” Tom announced.

  The earl looked pleased by his son’s response, saying, “I do have one request.” Lucy nodded encouragingly. “I would like for Tom and me to accompany you.”

  Tom’s eyes widened before he rushed across the room and into his father’s arms.

  27

  They arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, an hour or so before dusk, and Lucy was so excited she could barely stand it. She had spent the day in the main cabin due to her aunt’s dire murmuring about bad luck for the bride to see the groom before the wedding. Lucy hadn’t minded too terribly much. Salena, Beth, and her aunt had kept her company, but she would have liked to observe the voyage from the main deck, not the earl’s plush cabin. Thank goodness they’d arrived quickly.

  “You look gorgeous,” Beth murmured, stepping back to admire the sight of Lucy in Salena’s wedding gown.

  Her aunt, who was busy making last-minute alterations, pushed herself to her feet, her bones creaking nearly as loudly as the ship. “You’ll do,” she pronounced.

  “You look wonderful, Lucy,” Salena seconded.

  “Yes, but I do wish you had more cleavage, Salena,” Lucy murmured, glancing down at herself. “I dare say

  I’m about to burst out of this thing. Not only that, but this dress is heavy.”

  Salena laughed. “’Tis the pearls.”

  Lucy glanced down. Pearls, pearls, pearls, she thought. Hundreds of them. The were on her puffed sleeves, on the skin-tight fabric at her wrists, on the bodice, and around the heart-shaped neckline. The gown was so heavy she felt as if she were dragging around the entire crew with her when she walked. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if a whale mistook her for a giant clam.

  A knock at the door interrupted that dire musing; she heard Adrian’s voice saying, “The coachman has returned. Garrick has sent him to fetch you to the chapel.”

  “Good,” her aunt called back, the skirts of her deep blue dress rustling as she cast one last, critical eye over her niece. “We shall be out in a moment.”

  She turned and grabbed the bouquet of orange blossoms and roses that the duke had been sent to get.

  No doubt Adrian had paid a small fortune for them, but Garrick had insisted on roses. Lucy smiled and inhaled their sweet fragrance, sure that for the rest of her life the smell of orange blossoms and roses would remind her of this day.

  “Well, are we ready then?” her aunt asked, her eyes suspiciously bright.

  Lucy’s own eyes welled with tears as she reached out and hugged her. “Oh, Auntie. This is the happiest day of my life.” She pulled back and smiled mistily at her friends, the blue dresses they wore shimmeringthrough the wetness of her tears. “Nothing could spoil it. Nothing.”

  He was going to die. The thought kept pounding into his head with the force of a thousand anvils. Tonight would be his last day on earth. His last day with Lucy.

  Garrick stood before the altar of the church, brow beaded with sweat though the day was cool. The black jacket he wore felt tight, and the white shirt beneath it seemed to squeeze the life out of him, as if each breath he took grew shallower and shallower, until at last he would take none at all. But he mustn’t think of that. Mustn’t think about how horrified the priest behind him would be were he to find the man who stood before him had sold his soul to the devil. Mustn’t think about how lately he’d felt a blackness creeping upon him. Most of all he musn’t think about her. About Lucy.

  “You look nervous, my friend,” Adrian whispered, his voice echoing off the beams of the ceiling some one hundred feet above.

  “A touch,” Garrick murmured, hoping Adrian would leave it at that.

  As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. A door to their left opened, precluding the duke from saying anything further. It was Lady Cornelia.

  “She’s waiting outside the chapel door,” she whispered, darting a glance at the priest, then at Adrian, who stood next to him. “You look nervous, young man.”

  “He is, a bit,” Adrian answered for him.

  “Hmm. Don’t blame you. I’d be nervous too, if I was marrying my niece.”

  “Let us all thank God you are not,” Adrian joked. Cornelia smiled, then turned and sat next to the earl.

  The chapel door opened and Tom poked his head in. “Are we ready?”

  “Aye, young man,” the priest answered.

  The boy nodded, di
pped back outside and said something, then swung the chapel door wide open, latching it into place. When he was done he practically skipped to his seat, looking every inch an earl’s son in his dark gray jacket and off-white trousers. The moment he sat, Salena walked through the doorway and the look of love she exchanged with her husband sent a shaft of poignant longing though Garrick His hands clenched by his side. God forgive him, but he wanted to run, to escape the pain that assailed him.

  But he could never escape.

  His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to contain the multitude of emotions slamming into him with the force of a tidal surge. Longing. Dread. But most of all, fear.

  Salena smiled, apparently oblivious to his pain as she took her place next to Lady Cornelia. Beth entered next; the ceremony would be small, but all the more poignant for its simplicity. All too soon the church quieted, so much so that Garrick could hear the priest shift upon his feet; his black robes rustled, the pages of his sermon crinkled.

  And then he saw her.

  She stood in the doorway, a sudden beam of sunlight emerging from the clouds to illuminate her form. His breath caught. The dress she wore glowed, the pearls luminescent and almost seeming to have an energy oftheir own. Her hair caught the light, the long tresses hanging loose down her back like a wall of molten flame. Emerald eyes glowed.

  Those eyes were filled with love and happiness as she gazed down the long aisle. The narrow, oblong widows lining the walls lit the way like a giant carpet of light as she made her way toward him. Automatically, he held out a hand to her. And the moment she touched him a cloud dipped in front of the sun. Everyone blinked. The priest shifted. Garrick ignored the ominous sign and clasped her hand in his.

  “Come,” he said, his voice deep and filled with aching tenderness, with the longing of a man who knew he was to die.

  She nodded, then followed him to the altar and knelt beside him. From that point forward, Garrick concentrated on speaking the words which would bind her to him until midnight. Every word he spoke was torture, every vow filled him with regret and anguish. And when it was over and he glanced into her loving eyes, he knew with a certainty she would never love another.