by Jackie Ivie
He lifted her away from his chest. She must not be good at hiding yet, for his eyebrows drew down as he searched her face.
“You’re every bit as socially acceptable as I am. Our love doesn’t harm anything or anyone.”
“Tenny?”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed, the move silently begging for release. He opened his arms and she stepped back from him. One step. Then, another. She’d have to say it aloud. She wondered how he could act so loving toward her, when he had nothing to offer that she would accept. She turned her back on him, focused on the knight sitting just below her shoulder level.
“I can’t stay with you, Tenny. Even if you know everything. I still can’t stay.” She looked over to the knight for reassurance. Strangely, she felt she received it.
“Give me a reason, Averill. Tell me why you’d leave me. Tell me something I’ll believe.”
She straightened her back. “I wouldn’t do that...to your wife.”
She didn’t have long to wait for his reaction. To her amazement, he chuckled, and then he threw back his head and laughed. He was still laughing as she turned back toward him.
“You listened when I spoke to my uncle, didn’t you? Oh, Averill, how can you be so incredibly, wonderfully foolish?”
“I’m not foolish!” Her hands balled into fists again. “You said you were married. I heard it. You said you eloped years ago. I heard you say that, too. And I won’t be your mistress! You hear me? I won’t live in the shadow-land Antonio showed me. I won’t!” She shook so badly, her words jumbled together.
“Mistress?” Both his eyebrows shot up. “Well. I never offered you that position.”
Averill’s mouth dropped open. What was he offering, then? Artist and sometime lover?
“I meant you, Averill. You. If you had listened to the entire conversation, you would’ve heard me. I told him I was married to Averill Ben-Masiz, although, when I first got a marriage license, I didn’t even know your last name.”
“M-m-marriage license?” She felt faint, and swayed with it.
“Here.”
He reached beneath his vest. Pulled out a leather-covered pack. Spent countless moments unfastening the tie and unrolling what turned out to be a document holder. The fiery weight in her belly changed. Losing some of its grip on her. Averill walked three steps to a chair and collapsed into it just as her knees gave way.
“I wasn’t entirely truthful with you in Venice. I did leave England in the clothes I wore, but I stopped to purchase this first. I had it arranged the instant I found you, but you ran away. Here.” He handed her a long piece of parchment, tri-folded. Crumpled a bit around the edges. Creased. “I was always offering you the position of my wife. I love you. I told you so in Selantepe. Look for yourself.”
She opened the document. It was a marriage license, and beneath all of Tenny’s names and titles it listed the bride as Averill –Last name unknown. Her hands shook so badly, the certificate fell to the floor.
“How could you have thought differently?”
“But Harvey said—”
“I told you once it didn’t matter what all the Harveys in the world say.”
“I…never wanted to hurt you,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes, feeling such a surge of hope, she had to be glowing with it. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
“Averill. I love you. The only thing that could hurt me is if you leave me again.”
“What about the earl?”
“Oh. He’ll come around. Even if he doesn’t, what’s to stop us from leaving? I’m not tied to the Hall. If I’m disowned, I can always go to my mother’s family. She was a French émigré. You’ve met her family, I believe. Dachon.”
“The Comte?”
“The same. And when I’d found you’d sold him my painting? Well. He’s lucky he is related as closely as he is. I don’t lose many duels.”
“You’re related to…Dachon?” Was the world truly that small?
He took a deep breath.
“Averill. I told you I’m the black sheep. Remember? It wasn’t all entirely due to my behavior. My parent’s marriage probably raised more than one brow. They had different views of the French during the war years, despite the fact that Dachon is an old title. Ancient Regime. My mother’s antecedents go back to the siege of Orleans. Fifteenth century. As for my father? Well. He was the younger brother to the Earl of Tennison, and once it became obvious Uncle Theamus would remain childless, I became instantly suitable as heir. I’ll be the twelfth Earl of Tennison. I’ve been told what that means for years. Preached to, at length, about how much heraldic weight the position carries. And I have to tell you exactly what I told my uncle. I don’t care. Love trumps everything. The title can go to another Tennison, if my uncle can find one. Being earl means nothing to me without you, Averill.” He shrugged. “Less.”
“Nothing?”
He winked. “You really should have listened to the entire exchange, love. But, I’ll confess. As soon as I told my uncle your name, you should’ve seen his relief. I truly do think he worried I might have wed with some nameless trollop. When he found out it was the artist he’s quite fond of, well...”
He stopped speaking and approached her. Averill’s eyes widened as he went to his knees in front of her. He took her hands. The touch dissolved the last vestige of the stone weight.
“Do you understand yet, how much I love you?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes awash with unshed tears. “Yes.”
“And do you promise never to run away again?”
He lifted one of her palms to his lips. Touched his tongue to her skin. It sent a solid thrill shooting through her. Averill nodded.
“And will you marry me and stop this nonsense?”
It was almost impossible to answer when his lips reached her wrist, then her lower arm, pushing her sleeve aside.
“Oh yes!”
He lifted his head, the warmth in his eyes embracing her and heating her until she longed to shed more than just her cloak. She didn’t have to leave him. Ever. She’d never torture herself with another parting.
He retrieved the marriage certificate with one hand and stood, bringing her to her feet beside him.
“I love you, Andrew.” She stood on tiptoe to whisper it into his ear.
“Thank God. Well. Averill. Looks like I’ve a bit more penance to do.”
“Penance?”
“Exactly. I’ve found the perfect love and given no time to enjoy it. Again. Come along, darling. We’ve got quite a bit to do yet…starting with releasing servants.”
“Harvey?”
He chuckled slightly. “Oh, no. No. I’ll deal with Harvey. In good time. That can wait. I was speaking of the men I have posted. At every exit. And the gatehouse. And the drive. And…well. I even sent one to the nearest posting house.”
“You did?”
“With your history? Please. Grant me some wits. You’re an escape artist. I was taking no chances. I’ve just gone through a year’s worth of hell in the past hour pacing this floor, thank you very much.”
Averill giggled.
“Oh. Before we leave, I need alert you. I’ve started another scandal. And I’m not finished yet.”
“How?”
He grinned down at her. “Well. After I found out you were actually here – at the Hall – I proceeded directly to the ball room. I believe I broke several social codes, and I’m not speaking of my incorrect attire. You were missing. Nobody knew where. I caused quite a ruckus, actually. They may still be speaking of it down there.”
“You didn’t!”
“Don’t worry so. We’ll live it down. And we won’t be about to witness it, anyway. It’s going to be a long night, love. A very long night…ending somewhere between here and France.”
Her throat closed off. “France?”
“Well. I did say we eloped. And I’ve paid passage to Paris. Come along. Oh. I think you’ve got something to show me first. A bit of precious
baggage we need to retrieve first.”
“Baggage?”
He headed for the door, grabbing up the candelabra on the way. Averill could’ve sworn, as they left, that the knight winked at her.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The nursery was the same…yet everything felt so much different! The cradle containing little Andrew was set just to one side of the table. A rocking chair was beside it. The fire was nothing more than a few glowing embers. But it felt so much warmer!
Averill put her finger to her lips for silence before bringing Tenny with her. He seemed to drag oddly at her hand as he tip-toed with her. Averill didn’t make much sound. Tenny’s boots made little thudding noises. The warning wasn’t needed. Little Andrew was awake. Stirring. A fist went up above the cradle, and then the other. And then a foot. Averill thought her heart might burst.
“Hello, darling.”
Averill had him in her arms and held so tightly, he should’ve been fussing. He wasn’t. He simply watched her with the brown eyes so reminiscent of his father. Averill turned to Tenny. Looked up. And couldn’t believe the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her and the baby. His eyes didn’t look brown just then. They were pure liquid gold. Her heart melted, sending a flood of warmth everywhere. There wasn’t a bit of cold in the world. Anywhere.
“Oh, Averill. He…he looks like me.”
His voice choked.
“I think so.”
“He even…has my eyes.”
He kept his voice low, but it didn’t hide the awe that stained it.
“You want to hold him?”
Tenny’s hands came up, shedding more light since he still held the candelabra. He backed a step. His eyes went wide. “Oh no. No. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Averill…I don’t have the hands for it. I’ll…drop him.”
“Then sit. I’ll help.”
“No. Truly. This is not a good plan. I don’t think—.”
“Sit down, Andrew Tennison. Now.”
Tenny sat. The rocker creaked loudly with his weight. It looked insubstantial and small beneath him, especially with his knees aligned almost with his shoulders. He looked out-of-place and uncomfortable. And absolutely perfect.
“Now. Put the candles on the table. Good. Open your arms. Yes. You can use your legs to support him if you need to.”
The babe looked tiny once she settled him in Tenny’s arms, making certain Tenny cupped Andrew’s head in his palm. Tenny had his hands propped atop his thighs, and wasn’t moving. Little Andrew didn’t either. Averill held her breath, watching as the baby regarded his father seriously. It matched the look on Tenny’s face as he looked up.
“You see? I told you, you could do it,” Averill said.
“He’s not going to cry, is he?”
“He might. Babies do cry, you know. It looks more like he’s mimicking you,” she whispered back.
“What is…his name?” He cleared his throat mid-sentence.
“You can’t guess? He’s your son. I named him Andrew.”
“Andrew. Oh, Averill.”
He sounded close to tears as he looked back to his son. Averill had to blink the tears from her eyes as she watched them. And then the nanny’s door scraped open, loud in the stillness.
“Now. Just what is going on here?”
The woman came bustling out, tying the belt on her robe as she did so. Tenny had reacted instantly, standing beside Averill in such a quick motion the rocker legs smacked into the floor several times before stopping. A glance showed Andrew clasped against his father’s upper abdomen with one arm, while the other went about her waist.
“I heard a noise and…oh. It’s you, Miss Averill. And…oh my! Your Lordship!”
The woman bobbed a curtsey, despite the hour and how strange it was. Tenny pulled Averill closer.
“Good eve, Nanny. Or…should I say, good morn?”
“It’s…late. I’ll give you that, my lord. And …I haven’t seen you in the nursery since you were in leading reins.”
“You’re going to pretend you haven’t seen us now. Fair?”
“I am?”
“I’ve come to claim my wife and son, Nanny. We’re escaping…for a bit. And we need your help.”
“Your wife…and son?”
The woman’s voice was faint. She looked close to that affliction. Averill would’ve stepped toward her, if the woman hadn’t recuperated and stared at them wide-eyed.
“Exactly. Now. If you’ll just go back to your room, and pretend you never saw us, I’d be appreciating it. And don’t worry. We’ll be back in a month or so. Maybe sooner.”
“Oh. Very good, my lord. And Miss Averill? I never suspected a thing! You never said—. Will wonders never cease?”
“Your room? Our escape?” Tenny prompted.
“Oh.” The woman sighed. “Very good. Very good. You always were one for a shock, Andrew. I mean…my lord. Safe travels. And to you, as well, your ladyship.”
And then the woman curtsied to Averill. The sound of the door closing muffled her gasp. It matched the feeling making her knees quiver.
“She…just called me ladyship,” Averill was stunned. Her voice sounded it.
“You’ll get used to it, darling. Now. Where are his things?”
“Things?”
“You know. Cloths. Blankets. What-all else a babe needs.”
“I packed them.”
“And…just where have you hidden this pack?”
She told him. His brows went up. He was getting very secure with the babe, she noticed. Nothing about Tenny looked awkward or hesitant. And then he winked.
“Servant’s staircase? Good plan. We can reach the stables without notice that way. Come along.”
“You want to give me the baby?”
“Oh. I think you’ve carried him long enough. It’s my turn. Step lively, love. We’ve got a carriage ride before us, a ship to catch, and then a captain to stand before. In that order.”
“A captain?”
“Captains can perform weddings, darling. It’s perfectly legal, and binding, and impossible to break. You’re wedding me just as soon as I can arrange it. And I’m not taking no for an answer, just so you’re forewarned.”
“Oh…Tenny.” She would’ve giggled, but the emotion went awry and sounded close to a sob. “As if I’d want to.”
“Okay then. Prove it. Lead on. We’ll follow. You know, Averill. I could get accustomed to handling my son. It’s not so difficult.”
“Oh. Just wait until he needs his nappies changed,” she replied.
Copyright © 2014 by Jackie Ivie
ISBN 978-1-939820-29-7
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Jackie Ivie, Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)
